#Sidney Crosby blurb

[harlowhockeystick]

9 and 18 with coach!sid please <3

"without ever touching him, how can i be guilty as sin?" & "i can tell when someone wants me" | poetic prompts | warnings: smut (18+ MDNI, i can redo if you don't want smut with these prompts!)

takes place after this fic.

"girl, quit eye fucking and leave some room for the rest of us. i can tell your fantasizing, but i don't blame you."

"i'm not touching him, so how can i be guilty of anything?" y/n co-workers words snap her out of her daze as she teases back. it was the beginning of an emergency staff meeting, the meaning was unknown and it was causing quite the buzz around the gymnasium. teachers, admin, and athletic staff alike were sitting together asking each other what they'd heard, known, or if they were getting fired. there was a heavy level of anxiety sitting in the room amongst them.

"sorry," y/n mumbled and sitting up straight. her friend chuckled beside her. but she couldn't help but stare, it had been a week since their dinner together, and it was all she could think about. she'd had trouble teaching, would zone out when talking to carter, their scandalous encounter was taking over her life.

"what do you think they're gonna talk about?" the other teacher asked sitting next to her, sipping coffee out of her tumbler and scrolling through emails looking for clues. "i think they're gonna talk about staff relationships."

her words made y/n's stomach drop. did it get out? did someone see her car at his house? did carter say something? did carter find out? it's amazing how many questions can run through the brain in just two seconds.

"i heard that the boys tennis coach, thomas, is having an affair with the girls tennis coach. i think one of the players caught them in the athletic offices but they did something to keep the kid quiet." y/n feels her nerves calm down, but not all that much. her eyes met with sidney's and she felt like he was trying to silently tell her something but she couldn't pick up on it. they weren't that connected.

yet.

moments later the superintendent gets on the mic and announces to faculty that in fact, both the girls and boys tennis coach were let go due to their actions. the boys coach resigned, and the girls coach was fired due to threatening the school district since she didn't do anything wrong and she was a single woman.

she felt a ball coil up inside her stomach as the staff were reminded of the policy: relationships among staff must be brought before the board if they occur within the school year. it was a district policy, to keep drama out of the way, and to keep relationships private to the parties benefit. at least, that was the way it was explained.

-

that meeting was bullshit. sent 10:45 am

y/n's phone pings signaling a text from sidney. she reads it as her students are taking their test. she feels butterflies and anxiety at the same time. her leg bouncing underneath her desk as she plans a reply.

...but what did he mean? was he against the rule, meaning he wanted a relationship? or was it just a waste of time? yes, it was a waste of time.

i know, it could have just been an email. sent 10:48

he never responds, but she gets too busy with other class periods. she gets lost back in time once more, fantasizing about that night. during lunch break spent in her darkened classroom, a bowl of warmed up soup in front of her as she grades papers until the next class comes through.

but she gets lost, in the deep trance of the memory of him. if she thinks really hard she can still feel his tongue sliding against her slick core, she can feel herself coming undone again at the force of his skilled and talented body.

she can feel his calloused but soft hands sliding down her body, grasping at her breasts while he sucks all of the sweet juice that flows out of her. she remembers her back arching off his wooden dinner table while he lapped at her for at least ten minutes straight, before he slid his thick cock inside of her for another ten.

she's taken out of her daydream by the sound of the school bell. she has three minutes to get herself back in order to teach again. she considers assigning today a reading and catch up day...so she can continue to reminisce.

dinner at my place? sent 1:23 pm

hell yes sent 1:24 pm

-

"you're bad at hiding your feelings, y/n." sidney stated, flipping over the steak on the grill and setting his wine glass down on the granite countertop. y/n sat on the barstool across from him, drinking a cocktail she made herself.

"what's that supposed to mean?" she took a bigger swig of the alcohol this time, holding eye contact with him as he leaned onto the countertop with his hands, making himself appear bigger in front of her. it worked.

"i can tell when someone wants me. half the women in that school want me, but you're the only one who went for it." she feels like a crook who was caught. "i know you act like last week didn't happen, but it's all i've been thinking about." now he's standing just inches from her on his back patio, the smell of grilled steak and vegetables filling her brain and the firm but agonizing touch making her go weak.

"it's all i can think about too." his thumb glides across her cheek, his whiskey colored eyes staring into her soul, what it feels like for hours. he bites his lip and she thinks she's gonna pass out.

"tell me what you thought about, maybe we'll reenact it after dinner. can't have you eating cold steak, can i?"

[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.

[holy-puckslibrary]

sid to a furry friend's rescue!

florist!reader gets flustered during sid's calendar shoot

parents mentors for the day

chief crosby's got a date... and its not with florist!reader

... was in a bit of a silly goofy mood, forgive me (and be sure to read the endnotes!)

gif from @littlemessyjessi

This is the last thing Sidney Crosby imagined he'd come home to: another man settled in his chair.

His cat is curled in the intruder's lap, and said intruder's hand is curled over your knee. And Sidney's soup—homemade and hand-delivered—split in bowls between you.

"Thought you didn't need a babysitter?"

Sidney watches the gleeful expression wilt on your pretty face—color drained like his bank account succeeding the egregious bid he matched to make bail—with equal measures of self-satisfaction and self-contempt.

"I-I didn't, I just—"

"Settle down, Chief," the ranger laughs. "I knew our little lady here was feeling under the weather, so I thought I'd stop by after my patrol shift and keep her company while you were indisposed."

Sidney glares into the bright cerulean eyes of one Anthony Beauvillier, a park ranger in the Atlantic Coast Uplands region.

If memory serves, he was recently transferred from Waverley to Blue Mountain but resides in Peggy's Cove. This is a 50-minute detour.

In the opposite direction.

The Fire Chief's jaw is painfully tight, his blood scalding. If it were't for his, albeit dwindling, sense of self preservation, Sidney would've marched up those two steps—recently refurbished at his hand, might he add—to forcefully remove the park narc's grubby paw from your body.

Mercifully—for all involved parties, you do so shortly and of your own volition before joining Sid in your driveway.

Guilt smeared over your sickly features, your mouth parts, an explanation hot on your tongue, but all that comes is a grizzly cough that stings Sid's chest just hearing it. Despite his vexation, he's patient with you; he owes it to you both to wait it out. He hopes this is just one big misunderstanding somehow.

But, before you're able, the absolute last person Sidney wants to hear from pipes up.

"Resting, ma biche. You're meant to be resting," Tito attempts to coax you back onto the porch—back to his side—with an outstretched, up-turned hand.

(my doe / my darling — reminder: see end for important notes!)

Not as quick with his French as he'd like to be, he growls at the perceived insult. However, rather than running his fist through the opposition's teeth in your honor, Sidney defiles it.

The park ranger, and everyone else who happens to be out and about tonight, are treated to an unexpected eyeful of their Fire Chief's innermost feelings rushing to the surface. They pour into your mouth with reckless abandon, unconcerned with his public image or the utter lack of privacy; this kiss could be broadcast on the Nightly News for all he cares.

All that matters to Sidney Crosby is making his intentions known, and crystal fucking clear. Staking his claim is just a bonus.

"Well, it looks like my work here is done."

At your dazed expression and Sid's bewilderment, Tito stands from the rocking chair with a genuine smile fixed on his face. As he deposits evergreen Stetson atop his wind-swept hair, he pauses.

"Y'all have a nice night," he winks with a tip of the brim, bidding you farewell before slipping into his government-issued Ram.

As gravel crunches under the vehicle's wheels, gears click into place behind Sidney's burnt umber eyes, now gleaming with clarity.

"Nate and Emmy." — Statement, not a question.

"Please, don't be angry. They just wanted to help because... because I didn't believe that... y'know." You gesture to the sliver of space that still separates you, a bashful little smile pushing up your feverish cheeks.

He couldn't find it in himself to be ticked off about your best friends' not-so-harebrained scheme—which, honestly, deserved more credit than he would ever be willing to give it—if he wanted to. Not while standing so close he can smell the PEI tulips you've been elbow-deep in all month, and definitely not having tasted the whisper of herbal tea lingering on your tongue.

Smirking, he closes the gap with a gentle tug.

"Oh, I know." Voice dropping to a thick hush, his lips hovering a lick above your skin, "D'you believe it now?"

The pinkish skin crinkles around his warm eyes as you pretend to think.

"I could do with a little more... convincing," you ultimately quip. "But, only if you're up for the t—"

The remainder of your cajoling is overtaken by a fit of giggles as he corrals you up and across the porch. The front door slams shut with a satisfying air of finality. Though, not before little Ember slips in with you.

Chief Crosby was thorough by nature, and he'd be damned if he didn't dedicate the evening to dispelling any and all doubts threatening to take root. Feigned, or not.

—

gotcha! teehee 😋 sid really said sick germs?? no match for my LOVE!!! ALSO! tito anon, this ones for you bbyyyyy 💓💓💓💓

***** 'ma biche' was chosen because its typically humorous and rarely intended seriously, + can be considered majorly outdated (even by 60s sitcom standards)—and its not always romantic! ... it also sounds a lot like an english insult, hence sid's reaction lol (at least, according to my french-canadian grandmother who remains very confused by my random call for a french lesson on infrequently used terms of endearment lol) *****

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

[sc0tters]

Meet Rory Hughes | Crosby x Hughes AU!

summary: meet y/n “Rory” Hughes, the fresh face of the Pittsburgh Penguins!

warnings: none

authors note: this AU is very fresh but I couldn’t wait to share it with you. All thoughts and asks will be put under the #Crosby x Hughes AU! tag, this is an interactive AU so obviously send in your thoughts or what you want to see whilst I build up a masterlist.

☆ born on February 16th, 2002

☆ went third overall in the ‘21 draft year to the Pittsburgh Penguins

☆ completed her sophomore year at Boston College before she moved to the NHL becoming the first female in the league

☆ everyone thought she would struggle moving so far away but she grew to be independent quickly calling Jim only when she burnt her food

☆ plays as a centre

☆ third child to Ellen and Jim Hughes, only daughter to the couple

☆ a momma’s girl! calls Ellen every Friday night when they catch up, somehow they find things to talk about like Rory doesn’t text her mom with updates of each day…

☆ she swears that Quinn is her favourite brother but she truly has a soft spot for Luke

☆ when they played against each other in college both youngest Hughes siblings landed up in the box for checking

☆ but nonetheless they still love each other and left the box acting like nothing happened.

☆ Jack had to admit that he was sad that his sister didn’t join him in Newark but he was happy to see that Luke came

☆ Quinn almost cried seeing his sister go to Pittsburgh, not because he was proud of her, but because it’s Pittsburgh

☆ getting drafted to the Penguins felt pretty surreal though as it means Rory is now working with one of the most iconic players in the sport’s history

☆ that is probably her big thing she’s looking forward to doing in the league

☆ it’s about time the fresh faces ran the show

[princessphilly]

I would like a Crosby mustache ride.

@chara-hugs @whatishockey @newlibrary @himbos-on-ice @thebookofmags @littlebabyboybarzal

Nina hated mustaches so much. She hated them with the force of 100 red hot suns. Get a beard, a goatee, anything than just a fucking mustache was her thing.

Right now though, as the hairs of Sidney’s mustache tickled her inner thigh, she shivered as she hovered over his head. Her thighs wanted to close but as his hands grabbed her ass cheeks and kept her legs spread apart, she understood just how good that mustache could really be

[fallinallincurls]

“Come sit in my lap babe” with Sid😌😏

there's a permanent smile on sid's face and the summer sun has done him wonders since coming home to cole harbour. the pressure of the season doesn't exist here which makes him more relaxed and happy which you love to see.

so today when he suggested inviting some friends over for a little get together, you couldn't say no. and besides, you haven't seen nate or any of his friends for a long time so it was an easy yes.

except now, he's had maybe one more drink than he should've and is laughing at everything which is cute, you'll admit. but when you get back out on the deck with some snacks and realize there's nowhere to site, you're ready to solve the problem in a very simple way. then sid speaks up.

"come sit in my lap, babe." he says proudly, spreading his legs and patting his thighs like an invitation. you roll your eyes and giggle while waving him off.

"sidney, not in front of everyone." you insist, trying to be polite.

"nah, they all know i'm in love with you and it isn't like i haven't seen each of them pour on the pda in public while i'm there." sidney replies, offering you the smile you can't resist. "come 'ere,"

you don't get to fully respond before his hands find your waist and pull you down to sit in his lap. a wild blush spreads across your cheeks while his friends chuckle, but you settle in and enjoy every second of this.

[spine-buster]

To Sail Beyond the Sunset ft. Sidney Crosby | Chapter 5

gif credit @/rinkrats

A/N: 6000 words of...well...

Every time June put on a pair of pointe shoes, she felt like she was putting on a piece of second skin. They were as much a part of her as her nose, eyes, and hands. Every ballerina had a very specific way of moulding their pointe shoes to fit their feet, and June was no different; she could do it with her eyes closed, one arm tied behind her back – all the old adages were true for her. From the satin, the elastic, the ribbon, the toe pads and Second Skin, to knowing exactly where to sew the elastic to support her ankle, how long to cut the ribbon, where to bend and pop the shank, and how many times she needed to band the toe box against the wall or floor or even with her own heel so it softened and wouldn’t make noise on stage. She was perfectionist with it, but it was like second nature to her. She’d prepared thousands upon thousands of pointe shoes during her career. She didn’t think she’d ever forget how to do it. She could be a hundred years old suffering from dementia, and if someone handed her a pair of pointe shoes, she’d know exactly how to make them fit her feet.

When she was one of the principal dancers at the National Ballet of Canada, she’d been filmed for a video on their YouTube channel for this exact routine and it went viral, tallying something like 20 million views to date. Everybody apparently wanted to know how the best ballet dancer in Canada – and one of the best in the entire world – prepared her pointe shoes. Ballet already fascinated people, she thought, and pointe shoes were about 90% of that fascination. How could someone balance their entire weight on their toes? And not just balance – how could someone dance on their toes? Spin on their toes? Jump and land on their toes? For three hours? June made it look easy. She made it look effortless, like she was floating on stage at any given moment. “Magical” was often the adjective used.

Going back up en pointe again, after years of not doing so, was something June never thought she’d experience. She thought she’d be dancing well into her thirties. But the best laid plans… The first time she went back up en pointe, it was rougher than she wanted it to be. It was harder than she wanted it to be. With all the dancing and practice she’d done since she could walk, she thought it would be much easier. But no. Her body had betrayed her in a way she never thought she’d be betrayed. It failed her on one thing she’d gotten so much recognition for in the past; it failed her on the one thing that had made her famous. She knew she had to have patience with herself, but it was still frustrating. For years her body had been contorted and hyperextended and abused to look a certain way on stage and now it couldn’t even do the thing she wanted. She’d had more blisters than the entire popular of Halifax, more shin splints than she could shake a stick at, muscle strains, dancer’s heel, Achilles tendonitis, snapping hip syndrome, patellofemoral pain syndrome, and even osteoarthritis. She found a lot of anger in herself before she realized that she’d already given so much to ballet that she didn’t need to give anymore.

For all that her mom did when she was growing up, June really did love ballet. It brought her a solace not much else could bring. When she danced, she felt free, like she could do anything and be anything. And when she was performing on stage, she could become someone else. She didn’t always have to be Juniper Brooks, who grew up working class in a basement apartment in a suburb of Halifax with a pseudo-psychopath of a stage mom. She could become Odile, or Odette, or Sleeping Beauty, or Giselle – she could be anybody else but herself, and that helped her, in its own way, realize who she was a person with and without ballet. Ballet was truly one of the things she loved most in life which was why, when she couldn’t dance anymore, she decided to teach. It had given her so much, so she wanted to give back.

Ballet for June was hockey for Sidney. They’d both had their fair share of joys and pains associated with hockey and ballet while in Cole Harbour. For June it was her mother and jealous girls in her classes; for Sidney it was other boys (especially the older boys) with intent to injure him, and parents. Imagine. Grown-ass adults being jealous of a kid. If June could have, she would have told off every single one of them to their face. Because she knew she couldn’t do that without developing a reputation, sometimes, she’d scream and cheer for Sid so loud in the stands to drown out the parents’ jeers. They’d look at her like she was crazy, but she knew she was doing the right thing. Some of them would even look disappointed, as if they were sad Sidney wouldn’t be able to hear them call him names or tell their kids to get him. The funniest thing about the situation was that when Sidney won his Stanley Cups and brought them back to Cole Harbour, she’d see them waiting in the parade route or autograph line with their grandchildren.

Such was life.

***

Katja Simmons was one of June’s best friends, the person she was closest with besides Sidney, of course. They met at boarding school, having been roommates for their last two years, making the company together straight out of school. While June was promoted to principal dancer, Katja became a first soloist, and was still dancing with the company. Their positions meant that they usually got to dance together on stage – which is how June liked it. She liked having someone on stage with her that she could trust.

“Have you proposed to Sidney yet?” Katja suddenly asked over the phone. Their pair had been talking for over an hour and a half at this point, and the question really came out of nowhere.

“What?!” June shrieked. “Katja, what the hell?”

“Oh come ooooonnnnn, June,” Katja pressed. “He’s been back home for a while now. Have you proposed marriage?”

“Katja—”

“—Be his wife—”

“—Katja—”

“—Because you know you want to.”

“Katja!” June shrieked again. “Where is this coming from?”

“You know how much I love love,” Katja said as if that explained everything, and honestly, it kind of did. Katja had gotten married last summer to her long-time boyfriend, Niko, after almost ten years together. June was her maid of honour. She brought Sidney as her date. “And I’ll just never forget how he looked at you when he saw you for the first time after Swan Lake. Or how you two would write letters to each other literally every single day throughout high school. We can all see how in love you guys are. I just—I can’t believe you can’t see it, June! Or don’t.”

“Katja, I’ve told you – it’s so much more complicated than that,” June said. “He’s my best friend.”

“But that’s the way it’s supposed to be! Look at me and Niko. You wouldn’t want to marry someone you’re not friends with, right?”

“Of course not,” June agreed. “But it’s different. It’s…it’s…”

“It’s what?”

June took a deep breath. “Sidney is the most important relationship in my life – that I’ve ever had in my life. Between my mom being the way she was and Sidney just always being there for me – being this constant presence in my life even when we moved so far away from home and each other – Katja, I wouldn’t want to ruin anything. I can’t ruin anything. If I don’t have Sidney, I have nothing. Ballet can be taken away from me, but Sid can't.”

Katja was quiet momentarily, taking in June’s words. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Of course.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything because you can’t ruin what you and Sid have. It’s beyond that point. I don’t think your worry should be if you’re going to ruin anything – you shouldn’t have any worries at all. I think that you and Sid should have a talk about your future together, because you guys have been in love with one another your whole lives. You’re it for each other. It’s like When Harry Met Sally – remember what Harry says at the end? When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. You two need to realize it. Once you do, the rest of your life is going to start.”

***

“Have a good night, Chloe,” June smiled as she propped open her studio door to let out her remaining student. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sid’s SUV inconspicuously parked in the corner of the lot. She was expecting him, so it wasn’t much of a surprise, but she wondered if anybody else in the parking lot coming to pick up their kids did.

“Goodnight, Miss June! See you tomorrow!” Chloe waved off as she rushed to her parents’ car, throwing her bag into her brother’s face in the backseat before getting in herself.

June waved at the entire family as they drove off and watched them turn onto the street. It was only then that Sidney turned off his car. She watched as he got out and made his way towards her, a smile on his face. “Hey Junebug.”

“Hey. Come in,” she said, keeping the door open until he walked through, locking it behind him so nobody could pop in. They walked through the small lobby and into the dance studio – the only space they really felt any privacy, despite the door being locked.

They sat down in a corner of the room, knees touching since they were sitting so close. Personal space was a thing of the very, very distant past for them. “You’ve got a big smile on your face,” Sid commented.

“I’m happy to see you,” she said, trying not to hear Katja’s words from their phone conversation lull around in her mind. “Plus, some of the girls got their acceptances.”

“Really?”

“Claire, Malika, and Isabella are going to NBC,” she informed him. “And Zoë was accepted to the Royal Winnipeg Ballet.”

“Wow!” Sidney exclaimed, genuinely shocked at the news. “That’s incredible!”

“I know. They’re over the moon. I’m over the moon for them,” June couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Big difference from how I found out. And much different reactions, too.”

“God, yeah. I still remember that day,” Sidney said. “It’s still so clear to me – that look on your face as we met on the sidewalk. And you telling me everything afterwards. You were so upset, Junebug.”

“Could you blame me?” she asked.

Sidney shook his head. “Not at all.”

2002

“Do it again.”

June inhaled deeply. Her feet were killing her. Her knees were killing her. Her arms were killing her. The second she had gotten home from practice, her mom had demanded they practice everything in class again, since June fell out of one of her landings once. “Mom—”

“—Don’t mom me—”

“—Please, I’m exhausted,” she tried.

“Exhausted? You were the one who chose to fall out of your landing during the routine. Now do it again.”

The routine in question was Odette’s variation from Act 2 of Swan Lake. Most girls in her class still had trouble with staying en pointe during specific turns or for more than a minute of choreography. June was perfecting two-and-a-half minute character role variations. She and the other girls weren’t even on the same planet. But it still wasn’t good enough for her mom. “Mom, I’m beg—”

“Do it again, Juniper!” she snapped.

June held in the tears, the fatigue, the outright exhaustion, the everything, and assumed position. Her mother hit the play button on the boombox and the classical music began. If she was going to get out of this and satisfy her mother, she needed to execute every move with absolute perfection – her mother wouldn’t settle for anything less. So she did – every arm motion, every turn, every movement of her body was done with such precision that June almost shocked herself, considering the time of day and the fact that she’d already been in a four-hour class. She hit the last pose perfectly, and the music stopped. She waited for her mom’s reaction, scared of the outcome.

“Much better,” she said. “It should be like that all the time. Now go shower and get ready to eat.”

June didn’t have to be told twice. She left abruptly and ran into her room to take off her pointe shoes and leotard. She didn’t allow herself to cry until she got into the shower, and even then, wiped her tears away furiously. Her entire body ached at how much pressure and stress it had been under that day, and she felt she could barely raise her arms anymore to wash her hair. After she dried herself off, brushed her wet hair, and changed into some new clothes, she went back out into the main living area. Her mom had already put out her plate to eat: a small filet of salmon, steamed broccoli, and some cherry tomatoes. To anyone else, like Sidney, the portion size would probably be a snack; for her, it was dinner. Even a glass of lemon water was already made for her. When June sat down, she noticed her mom eating the same thing, but double the portion. They ate in silence.

June retreated to her bedroom after dinner to finish homework from the weekend and prepare what she needed for the upcoming school week at Astral Drive Junior High. It would have been the time that she called Sidney, too, but he was at a hockey tournament this week and June knew he and his family were probably driving home right now (and that he was probably doing his homework in the car). She’d have to wait until tomorrow to talk to him.

June wasn’t expecting a knock at her door from her mom. Usually, after dinner, her mom left her alone. After today especially, she didn’t think her mom would bother her. But alas, she was wrong. June wished she didn’t have to see her face until tomorrow morning. She took a deep breath. “Come in.”

Her mom opened the door and stood in the doorway, watching June at her desk with a binder open. “That last performance you did – it should be like that every time, Juniper.”

June stayed silent for a few moments. “I know. My arms were hurting rea—”

“—That’s the lazy girl’s excuse,” her mom dismissed her. “I push and I push and I push because you’re lazy and you can do better. If you’re not pushed, you fall behind. And then what good are you, hmm?”

By this point in June’s life, she’d heard those words a million times. But it didn’t sting any less. She fought to hold back her tears. “I out-danced everybody in cla—”

“—You danced like a lazy, selfish, stupid girl,” her mom interrupted again, not letting her get a word in. “I was embarrassed for you. Every penny I make goes to your dancing and you weren’t even fucking trying. You better start acting and dancing like a ballerina or else some other girl is going to steal it from right under you before you go.”

June furrowed her brows. “Before I go where?”

All of a sudden, her mom’s face had switched from agitation and anger to one of almost pride and smugness. “The Dying Swan,” she began, referring to a piece June had practiced meticulously and had performed at a local recital a few weeks ago. “A trainer from the National Ballet School was in the audience that day. Yulia called her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the National Ballet School has recruited you. You’re going to boarding school in Toronto.”

June’s heart stopped beating before it fell into the pit of her stomach. While she should have been happy about the opportunity to go to the best ballet training and high school in Canada, she couldn’t feel happy. At all. Instead, she felt blind-sided. The thought of leaving home, of leaving everything she knew, was scary. And the thought of leaving one person in particular – Sidney – made her sick to her stomach. There was no way she would go through with it. She couldn’t – not while Sidney was still in Cole Harbour and she was being shipped off to boarding school in a city she’d never even been to. She didn’t think she was mentally strong enough, and she wished her mom could see that – that it would probably do more harm than good. “No,” June shook her head.

“What did you just say?”

“No. I’m not going.”

Her mom’s eyebrows raised. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Juniper Brooks?”

“I’m not going and you can’t make me,” June tried to remain strong. “I’ll stay in classes with Yulia.”

“To hell you will,” her mom was harsh. “You’re going to Toronto and that’s final. All the paperwork is done. Your dorm room’s even been assigned. You don’t have a choice in this, Juniper.”

“No!!!” she screamed, and every emotion, every tear that she was bottling up inside came out with it. She shot up from her chair, and that’s when her mother turned her back and began walking away from her. “I’m not going! I’m not!” she followed her out.

“This was all done for you!” her mother screamed back. “All for you! And look how ungrateful you are!”

“Mom, please,” June pleaded with her. “Please don’t make me go. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll train more. I’ll put in more hours. But please don’t make me go there all alone.”

“Empty promises from a lazy girl,” her mom shot back. “Hopefully the school teaches you hard work. And dignity. God knows you need it as you stand there begging.”

“Mom,” her voice was full with tears now as they streamed down her face. She didn’t know what she could say to make her mom change her mind. She knew the tears wouldn’t help – if anything, it would make it worse. “Mom, please. Please. I can’t go.”

“You will go, Juniper.”

“Mommy—mommy p-please,” she wailed. June thought of only one thing: she got down on her knees, even though they hurt more than anything, right up against her mom. Her mom whipped around to see June putting her hands in prayer position, looking up at her with red eyes. “P-P-Please mom. You can’t separate me and S-Sid. I can’t g-go to T-T-Toronto. I c-c-can’t leave him. I can’t leave him. He’s my b-best friend. I can’t be that far away from him. I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you want. But I can’t leave Sidney. I can’t—I can’t be alone without him s-s-so far away—”

All of a sudden, there was another smug look on her mother’s face, but this time, it was mixed with amusement. Sick, twisted amusement. “Well well well,” she said, concealing her smile, crossing her arms against her chest. “I guess Sidney hasn’t told you yet?”

June froze in position. “Told me what?”

“Sidney’s leaving too. He’s going to a hockey boarding school,” her mom revealed. “In Minnesota.”

The words were like a nuclear bomb to June. She kept frozen in her position as the words sunk in. Sidney’s leaving to a hockey boarding school in Minnesota. Of course June knew about the possibility because Sid told her, but it seemed like such a long shot because it was a private school, and neither of their families had that kind of money. If there had been a change, Sidney would have told her about it. Right? She understood she wasn’t a Crosby, but she may as well have been one, and she would be the first person to know…right? Right? “You’re lying,” she found herself saying, tears still streaming down her face. “You’re lying and you know it.”

“I’m not a liar like you,” her mom spat back.

“I—you—that’s a lie. That’s a lie. You’re j-j-just saying that so you can ship me off to b-boarding school and never see me again,” June cried. “You’re lying b-because you hate me.”

“I’m not lying. You can ask Sidney tomorrow.”

“Sidney would never do that to me.”

“He already has.”

June felt like she was going to throw up. Both outcomes were horrible. If her mom was lying, then she was just a nasty liar; but if she was telling the truth…well, the truth was worse. The truth was much worse. “I hate you!” June wailed. “I hate you I hate you I hate you!!!” she wailed over and over again.

“I’ll live,” her mom dismissed her. “You’re going to that school if I have to drag you there kicking and screaming, Juniper Brooks.”

June got up from her knees. With all the emotion she had left in her, she screamed one more time. “I hate you!!!” With that, June ran back into her room sobbing, collapsing onto her bed as she cried and cried and cried.

Her mom didn’t come knock on her door for the rest of the night. Even when June’s sobs were so loud, they could be heard through the walls.

***

The next day, as Sidney waited for June on the sidewalk so they could walk to school together, he saw her approaching from the distance. He’d missed talking to her last night. Their usual Sunday night phone call usually had June reminding him of all their homework they did and that he had to bring to class for their teachers. But as she got closer, Sidney could see she wasn’t happy, and when she got even closer, he noticed her eyes were red. That could only mean one thing. “Were you cr—”

“—Are you going to boarding school in Minnesota?” she demanded.

Sid’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t find the words. “I—I—”

“No bullshit,” she swore. They hardly ever swore, even alone together. “Are you going to a hockey boarding school in Minnesota or not?”

“It…it literally just happened, Junebug,” he said, admitting it. “How—how did you know?”

“When did it happen?”

“We got the call Saturday at the tournament. They called my coach because he has a cell phone. How did you know?” he asked again.

“My mom told me.”

“How’d she find out? God, word must travel fast. One of the guys must have told someone back here and—”

“So you’re going?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Sidney paused. “Junebug, I—my parents and I had a really long talk about it. Like, really long. And we all think it’s best that I go, at least for a year, and see what it’s all about, and so I can get away from all the…noise over here. I was going to tell you, Junebug, I swear.”

June broke out into a fit of tears. They were streaming down her face like Niagara Falls. At least in Sidney’s situation, he and his parents talked about it. They thought about the pros and cons and made the decision as a family. As opposed to her situation, of course, of just being told of being shipped off somewhere with no choice. “My mom told me last night,” she managed to say through tears. “She told me because—because I was crying about…about…”

“About what?”

June tried to wipe away some of her tears. “My mom is sending me to boarding school in Toronto. For ballet,” she revealed. “She told me last night. I told her that I couldn’t—I couldn’t leave you. That’s when she told me about Minnesota.”

Sidney couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re going to Toronto? For ballet?”

“Against my will,” she said. More tears rushed down her face. “I want to be with you, Sid. I can’t leave you. I can’t go there on my own without you. I can’t—I can’t…” she couldn’t speak anymore, the sobs overcoming her.

Sidney hated seeing her cry, even though it happened every so often. It was one of the worst things in the world to him. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly as she cried on his shoulder. The sound of her sobs shook him to his core, because instead of annoyance or just general sadness, there was fear in them. “It’s going to be okay, Junebug,” he said, rubbing her back.

“No it’s not.”

“I’ll make sure it is.”

When June thought about it, when she really thought about it, it was the moment she fell in love with Sidney. She remembered clinging on to him for dear life, as if he was about to float away to Minnesota if she let go. She wasn’t ready for anything that was coming her way that late spring or summer, but she knew she would have been a lot worse off if Sidney didn’t help her through it. She remembered being so scared. She remembered hardly being able to sleep the week before they both left. She remembered them saying goodbye to each other and her bawling her eyes out in the taxi, crying so hard she threw up. Sidney had promised her that everything was going to be okay, and she believed him, but the fear kept creeping up.

“Hey Sid?” she asked after a few moments of silence, her voice soft.

“Hmm?”

“Remember when you told me it was going to be okay?” she asked. “It all was okay in the end, wasn’t it?”

“Of course it was,” he nodded. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

June couldn’t help but smile slightly. “As if you had the power to do anything. We were teenagers.”

Sidney shrugged. “I would have found a way,” he said. “I still wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

They looked each other in the eyes just then, letting the words hang in the air for an immeasurable amount of time. Sidney meant the words he said, and June knew it; he wouldn’t say them if he didn’t. Over thirty years of friendship, and he still felt that way. Through all the tears he had to hug away, the classes and competitions where she was worked to the bone, the cruel gossip from others, the unfair rules, the tiny meal portions, the feelings of loneliness – he would use all the power and influence he had in the world to make sure nothing would happen to her. Over thirty years of friendship, and she felt the same way about him. Through all the bullying he encountered, the taunts and jeers and slashes and hits, the news articles written about him as a kid proclaiming him to be everything from a local hero to a pissy show-off, the girls in their class who would grab his hands and twirl around and yell “I’m going to marry Sidney Crosby! He’s going to be a millionaire!” when they were twelve, thirteen, fourteen years old – she would never let anything happen to him.

June got up suddenly, all in one go. Sidney stayed firmly planted on the ground, looking up at her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get my pointe shoes.”

Sidney tried to remain calm, but he felt a nervous tightening in his chest. He nodded his head and watched her walk out of the room. While she was gone, he moved so he was sitting up against the wall of mirrors, underneath the barre. When June came back in, she was wearing ballet tights with a low back camisole leotard and a black pancake tutu. She had a new pair of pointe shoes in one hand, and her pointe shoe kit in the other. She sat back down across from him, without a word, leaving some space between them to have everything in front of her.

Sidney watched. He watched as June meticulously prepared her pointe shoes, as she’d done thousands upon thousands of times before, as he’d watched her do when they were teens. She was like a surgeon performing a quadruple bypass; the precision in everything that she did to prepare them was so detailed and thorough, it was probably only rivalled by his own pre-game rituals and superstitions. Hearing the familiar pop of the shank or watching as the needle and thread broke through the delicate satin – it was all part of a process he was so familiar with, and respected so very much, because it meant that June could do what she loved.

Only when she was done did either of them speak. “I’m going to stretch and warm up,” June informed him, pushing her phone that she left on the floor towards him with the pointe of her shoe. “When I’m done, I’ll tell you what song to play. My phone is connected to the speakers.”

“You got it, Junebug,” he said, watching again as she went over to a space at the barre and began stretching, hoisting her leg up and rising and falling, just as she’d learned so many years ago. She even went to get a roller. When she was done, Sidney was attentive to her every desire.

“There’s a mash-up song in my music – it’s not in my Spotify – it’s called Odette/Odile variations,” she said. “And turn the volume all the way up.” Sidney didn’t recognize the name, but scrolled through anyway, until he found it. He made sure the volume was on the highest setting before tapping on the song and putting her phone down beside him.

The second that the music began, Sidney knew exactly what kind of dance he would be seeing. June had performed every principal role in every major ballet in her day, but Swan Lake was her favourite, and being Odile/Odette was her favourite role, more than Giselle, or Sleeping Beauty, or Juliet, or any of the others. He thought she would choose an easier piece – he didn’t know why he thought that – but no. June was going for the big guns: the two solo variations where the ballerina really got to shine, showing off her immaculate technical skill and sophisticated character work.

Sidney watched in awe. It was like she hadn’t even stopped dancing. Her arms were fluid, her legs were straight, and she went up en pointe as if it was the easiest thing in the world. She executed every move flawlessly. Even her facial expressions were just as he remembered them when he would visit her in Toronto and buy tickets front row, centre stage to see her perform. The muscles in her legs, arms, and back were still strong and definite, carrying her gracefully around the room as she performed every pirouette, every attitude, grand jeté, sissonne, arabesque, double cabriole, brisé, and entrechat six with grace, elegance, strength, and determination. When the music for Odette’s variation ended, and she transitioned into Odile’s, Sidney knew exactly what he was going to get. Though she transitioned to embody Odile instead of Odette, her movements were just as precise, and there was something different about the way her body moved to take on the character. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen in anybody else, and June executed it so flawlessly. She did every time, and just because this was an audience of one, it didn’t matter.

Then the French horn and trumpets began. The symbols clashed. The infamous song blared through the speakers. June took a few moments to herself, when the danseur would traditionally dance, and then it was on. Back in the centre, arms extended, aaaaand…

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen…

Sidney could feel the tears well in his eyes as he watched her.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty…

Sidney’s heart stopped beating as he watched her complete the set. She did it. She fucking did it.

Thirty-one. Thirty-two.

She landed her ending pose perfectly – and she wasn’t even done. She had to end the pas de deux, and she did so in a flurry of piqués and chaînés that saw her whip herself around the room like a tornado. After more pirouettes, entrechat six, looking down and extending her hand to an invincible danseur, the music hit its last note and June flapped her arm out like a wing.

Then, silence.

Sidney and June let everything June had just done speak for itself and stand on its own. The first time Sidney had seen June do this, he had cried – and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. The crowd had erupted in a raucous applause at her completion of the 32 fouettés and at the end of the pas de deux, and he had gotten swept up in the moment. Now, alone in a ballet studio in Halifax where she’d just done the same thing, there was silence. It wasn’t until June forced her body out of the pose, and made eye contact with Sidney, was any other noise heard.

A sob.

June let out a sob she didn’t know she was holding in and practically collapsed into Sidney, who quickly outstretched his arms to catch her. He held her as they sat on the floor and she cried in his arms. They didn’t say a word to each other. Everything was being said in what they were doing – holding on to each other for dear life. It was only until June stopped crying that she pulled away to look into Sidney’s eyes.

And when she did, she knew that look. She knew that look because it was the same one she gave him, that she never gave to anyone else. Not even to her ex-fiancé. “You love me,” she said. She didn’t ask, because by the look in his eyes, she knew.

Sidney nodded. “And you love me,” he said, a statement and not a question, too.

June nodded. “All this time.”

“I think we’ve been in love with each other for thirty-one years and didn’t realize it sooner,” he said.

In movies, there is usually a grand declaration of love; running through an airport, or flash mobs, or a long speech with exquisite words. This wasn’t that. Sidney and June’s declaration of love was not grand, and it was not ostentatious. They weren’t chasing the other through an airport or organizing a flash mob atop the Halifax Citadel. This, instead, was simple: two people, after thirty years, sitting on a floor in a ballet studio in Halifax, finally admitting they loved one another.

[thedevilrisen]

sidney/jack/quinn (any of them) catching luke and nova making out

Sure!

-

"Dad! Luke and I will be in my room." Nova called as she brought walked hand in hand with her boyfriend up the stairs.

"Alright, leave the door open please?" Sid had asked, her didn't think they were the type of kids to do anything stupid but it made him feel better knowing that the door was open.

"Yeah!" Nova had called back down, once they crossed the thresh hold of Nova's room she turned and spoke to Luke. "Welcome!"

Luke admired Nova's room, he could see that she had made it hers. Nova flopped onto her bed and dragged Luke down with her. They were laying face to face.

"Hi." Luke had whispered. Smiling at her.

"Hey." Nova had smirked, leaning forward slightly, brushing their lips together. Luke's hand reached around the back of her waist, tugging her closer so her body was flushed with his, he deepened this kiss, licking along the seem of Nova's lips, asking for entry. Nova opened her mouth into the kiss as Luke's tongue licked in. Nova had roped her fingers in the curls around the nape of Luke's neck, Lukes hand slipped up the back of Nova's shirt to caress her waist.

"Hey did you guys wa-" Sidney was startled, "Uhm did you guys want some pizza?"

Nova tried to make herself a little more presentable, pulling her shirt down and fixing her her, "Yeah Dad, that would be great."

"Uh, yep alright. Be downstairs in five, please? Oh and Luke, maybe refrain from trying to shove your tongue too far down her throat, she has to do a speech on Monday." Sid had said.

"Uh, yeah, sorry Mr. Crosby."

[harlowhockeystick]

I'm sorry the mood board for coach!Sid and him sitting and reading to her in the bathtub 🥺.

Can you explain some more about that?

i would love to, actually. i would like to call this, sidney taking care of his woman after a long hard first week back at school.

coach sidney x teacher reader

"hey, i think you need to take a break," sidney said softly, his large hands rubbing your shoulders and laying a gentle kiss to your temple. you'd been lesson planning, emailing, and prepping for going on two hours now.

carter had gone to the first football game of the season with friends, so it was just you and sidney at home. he'd cooked dinner for you and helped you get things organized, but he stopped an hour ago. you found yourself drowning in papers and with highlighter marker all over your finger tips. he was right, but you needed to finish this if you wanted any chance at having a weekend with your boys.

"it'll be here tomorrow," he whispered, resting his palms on the table either side of you, trapping you in, trying to distract you. but you kept planning, kept digging, kept organizing. you kept marking, writing, typing until he sighed loudly and it took sidney shutting the lid of your computer and taking your pen out of your hand to get you to stop. "it'll be here tomorrow," he repeats with more punctuation.

"yeah, but i want to be able to spend time with you and carter tomorrow," you sighed, rubbing the tips of your fingers on your hairline, closing your eyes slowly.

"carter told me he's gonna be at the lake tomorrow with his friends. so it's just you and me tomorrow." sidney kissed your temple again, pulling on your hand. "go get in the bath, i'll come bring you a glass of wine. would you like me to read to you like last time?"

you hummed, standing up and stretching out your arms. "yeah, i'd like that."

as you sat in the warm bath, the bubbles had been fizzled out now and your once cold glass of wine now room temp. but you had all you need in this bathroom. sidney sat at the edge of the tub, the book the two of you had been going through together being read aloud. his soothing voice could put you to sleep, but the plot was just getting to the thickest point. "hey- stay awake, it's getting good." with his hand sidney flicked some water onto your face making you giggle.

you agreed on a stopping point in the book meaning it was time to get out of the tub. he wrapped a fuzzy towel around you, holding you close and swaying back and forth with him while he gave you soft kisses on your damp skin.

"how'd i get so lucky, sid?" your question made him chuckle.

"you're a helicopter mom who was threatening your sons coach," you scoffed and rolled your eyes attempting to pull away but he only held you tighter. "no no, i'm kidding. i ask myself the same question everyday, especially in moments like these."

[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)

[goldfades]

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒, 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 / 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 / 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈❜𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐄 / 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ─ SC⁸⁷

TRACK 12 ─── LOML

TTPD CELLY MASTERLIST !

౨ৎ ─ summary | caught in a cycle of love and heartbreak, you find yourself constantly returning to sidney crosby, the one person who promises everything but never follows through. as the years pass and the same promises echo between you, you’re left questioning if holding on is worth more than letting go

─ word count | 6.3k

─ warnings | ANGST ANGST ANGST, oh my god i teared up writing this (im on my period shut up). a rollercoaster of emotions, young love -> soulmate kinda vibe. on and off, just overall angsty (with no happy ending... its ttpd, what do u expect?) idk what else to add but like... if u need a good cry, read this

The night is colder than you remember, and the city lights are muted, softening the edges of every memory you have of this place. Pittsburgh’s skyline blurs through the frost on your windshield, each bright glow fading into the next as you pull into the parking lot of a bar you used to know so well. It’s different now—a new name, new sign, but the same chime of the bell when you push through the door, like a greeting from the past.

You used to come here all the time, back when the two of you were something. Not official, not permanent—never those things—but something more than a fling and less than a promise. He used to sit right there, at the corner booth, baseball cap pulled low and face half-hidden, and you’d slide in next to him like you belonged there. Because, for a while, you thought you did.

But now you stand there, scanning the faces, waiting to see if he’ll show. The text he sent still hangs heavy in your mind, words you could almost memorize by heart: Can we talk? I miss you. It’s always like this—a cycle you’ve danced for longer than you’d care to admit. He always says the right things, words that feel like they could anchor you in the storm of his life, but it’s always just a promise, never reality.

And that’s what scares you most.

Because this time, you don’t know if you’ll fall for it again.

───

It was summer, and everything was golden.

The sun filtered through the trees, casting shadows that danced along the edges of the makeshift hockey rink. You remember the smell of freshly cut grass, the distant hum of cicadas, and the way the air buzzed with a warmth that clung to your skin. You were barely a teenager, and the world felt infinite, stretched out before you like the blue sky above. It was one of those summer afternoons when the days felt endless and you thought you had all the time in the world.

The rink wasn’t anything special—just a patch of concrete nestled in the middle of the park, surrounded by chain-link fences and littered with the scuffs and scratches of a hundred other games. But for you, it was everything. Your brother had dragged you along, promising it would be “cool” and that the guys he played with wouldn’t care that you tagged along. You’d insisted on wearing his old jersey, the one that hung loose over your frame and brushed against your knees when you walked. It smelled faintly like sweat and summer afternoons, and even though it was too big, you wore it like armor.

He was already there when you arrived, leaning casually against the boards with his stick resting on his shoulder. He wore a backwards cap that made him look like an absolute douche, but you could still see the way his grin spread wide when he laughed. He was tall, at least compared to the other boys, and he had this presence about him—like he knew exactly where he belonged, and it was right there on that concrete. He radiated this easy confidence, the kind that made people naturally gravitate toward him, and you found yourself watching him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

“Hey, kid, you play?” he called out as your brother introduced you to the group. His voice was light, teasing, but there was something in it that made you straighten your shoulders, determined to prove you weren’t just some tag-along.

You lifted your chin, clutching your stick a little tighter. “Yeah, I do.”

A laugh rippled through the group, and he tilted his head, an eyebrow raised in a way that seemed to dare you. “Alright, show me.”

You skated out onto the concrete, feeling the rough texture beneath your sneakers, the familiar push and glide that came as natural as breathing. You could feel the eyes on you, the judgment, the expectation that you’d stumble or falter.

But you didn’t.

You skated like you always did—like you had something to prove, even when no one was watching. You could feel the summer breeze tugging at your hair, could hear the sounds of sticks clashing, wheels spinning, and the distant shouts of kids playing in the park. The world faded into a blur of movement and sound, and for a moment, it was just you and the puck, gliding across the concrete.

When you stopped, stick planted firmly, the puck resting right where you aimed, you turned to face him. His grin had shifted into something softer, something that looked like approval. He nodded, a small movement that somehow felt like a victory, like you’d passed some unspoken test.

“You’re pretty good,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m Sidney.”

You told him your name, trying to play it cool, but there was something about the way he looked at you, something that made your heart beat a little faster. You brushed it off—he was just another kid, another boy who thought he ruled the rink. But when he passed you the puck during the game, when he skated close enough that you could hear his breath, quick and heavy, you felt something shift, like the start of a story you hadn’t planned on telling.

The hours blurred together, the sun sinking lower as the sky melted into hues of orange and pink. You played until your legs ached and your cheeks hurt from smiling. He was quick, his movements sharp and precise, but he had this way of gliding past the others like he was weightless, like he’d been born on skates. And every time he sent the puck your way, you felt that rush again, that thrill of being seen, of being chosen.

At one point, when you stopped to catch your breath, he skated up beside you, close enough that you could see the way the sunlight caught in his eyes. “You should come out more often,” he said, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “We could use someone like you.”

You shrugged, pretending like you hadn’t already made up your mind. “Maybe.”

But deep down, you knew you’d come back.

And when he grinned, that slow, easy grin that made you feel like you were sharing a secret, you realized that maybe this was the start of something. Something that felt like endless summer days and the thrill of chasing after something just out of reach.

He was only a boy then, and you were only a girl with skates too big for your feet and dreams too big for your chest. But that was the thing about summer—everything felt possible. And standing there, the light catching in his hair and the warmth of his presence radiating like a sunbeam, you felt like you’d met someone who could make it all come true.

The years rolled on like they always do, slow and steady until you looked back and realized how quickly time had slipped by. What started as childhood games on concrete rinks and sticky summer nights turned into something deeper, something that felt like it could last forever.

When you were sixteen, things shifted. You’d always been friends, maybe even best friends. By then, he was already “Sid the Kid,” the local legend whose name was whispered with reverence around the rinks. But to you, he was just Sidney—the same boy who laughed with you when you scored, who always had an extra stick in his bag just in case, who stayed up late with you, lying on the cool grass, tracing constellations with his finger.

Somewhere between the late-night talks and the secret smiles, friendship turned into something more. It wasn’t a single moment; it was a thousand little ones, each building on the next until you both looked up and realized you weren’t just kids playing pretend anymore.

The first time he kissed you, it was right before his first big tournament. You’d been nervous for him, more nervous than he seemed to be. You’d walked down to the empty rink at dusk, the air cool and the sky the color of fading ink. You remember how his hand felt, warm and solid as it slipped into yours, and how he turned to you, eyes bright with something you hadn’t seen before. The kiss was tentative, like he was testing the waters, but it felt like fireworks, a spark in the night that you carried with you long after you pulled away.

From then on, you were something more—together but not quite official. You tried not to think about it too much, content with what you had. You showed up at every game, standing in the crowd with his number on your back, feeling that thrill when he’d glance your way. You’d spend the evenings together, sometimes in the rink, sometimes out by the water, stealing moments in between practices and tournaments. For a while, it was perfect.

Then, life happened.

He got drafted, and everything changed. He moved to Pittsburgh, and suddenly the boy who was always around, who could text or call at any hour, was miles away, caught up in a whirlwind of cameras, contracts, and the pressures of professional hockey. You were still in high school then, watching him from afar, cheering him on from a distance. You told yourself it was fine, that the distance didn’t matter, and that you were both still too young to worry about anything more than the present.

But even then, you could feel the space between you growing.

In his rookie year, you made the decision to move to Pittsburgh. You’d gotten into a college nearby, and when you called to tell him, he was ecstatic. You’d never forget the way his voice sounded on the phone—relieved, almost. Like he’d been waiting for you, hoping you’d make the leap. And so you did. You left your friends, your family, everything familiar to be closer to him. It felt like a grand, romantic gesture—the kind you saw in movies. But in the back of your mind, you knew it was more than that.

The first year was a whirlwind. You were in the stands for his games, holding your breath every time he took a shot, cheering louder than anyone when he scored. Off the ice, it felt like the two of you were creating a life together, slowly but surely. You moved in together, and even though his schedule was insane—practices, games, interviews—there were still those quiet moments.

Mornings when you’d wake up to him already gone, but with a note on the counter that read, I’ll be back soon. Evenings when he’d come home exhausted but would pull you into his arms like nothing else in the world mattered. It was enough, more than enough.

Until it wasn’t.

Somewhere along the way, the cracks started to show. At first, it was small things—missed dinners, texts that went unanswered because he was “caught up in meetings.” Then, the fights started. You’d ask him about the future—where were you going, what were you to each other? He’d dodge the questions, promising you that things would be easier once the season was over, once the next championship was done, once his contract was sorted out.

You tried to believe him, tried to convince yourself that you were both still young, that you had time. But every time you saw him, it felt like you were grasping at something that was always just slipping out of reach.

The first breakup came after his rookie season. You’d been together for two years, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on you, the uncertainty, the feeling that maybe you’d given up too much, too soon. You remember standing in the doorway, watching him lace up his skates, and asking, for the first time, why you weren’t moving forward. He looked at you, eyes soft but distant, and said he didn’t know. That maybe things were moving too fast. You didn’t yell, didn’t cry. You just nodded, kissed him one last time, and left.

It was the first time you thought that maybe he wasn’t ready to be with you the way you needed him to be. But it wasn’t the last.

Over the next few years, it was the same dance—back and forth, the two of you pulled together by some invisible force that neither of you could name, only to be pushed apart by the same old arguments, the same doubts.

Each time you broke up, it felt like the end.

You’d tell yourself that this time, it was really over. You’d pack your things, move out, and try to rebuild your life. But then, he’d call. Sometimes it was months later, sometimes just weeks, but it was always the same: I miss you. I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready then, but I am now.

And every time, you believed him.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you were the only person who really knew him, who understood the weight he carried every time he stepped onto the ice. Or maybe it was the promises he’d make when he held you close, whispering that one day he’d put a ring on your finger, that one day you’d have a family together. You told yourself that this time would be different, that you could trust him, that he was finally ready.

But each time, it ended the same way. The season would start, and he’d get caught up again—first in the games, then in the championships, then in the next contract. And you’d find yourself alone, the same questions building up, the same empty promises echoing in your head.

It went on like that for years. You tried dating other people, tried moving on, but it was always temporary. No one else felt like home the way he did, and you hated yourself for it. You’d built your life around someone who couldn’t give you the future he kept promising, and the worst part was, you kept going back.

You remember the last time you walked away. It was after another fight, the same one you’d had a dozen times before. You’d asked him about the future, and he’d given you that same look, the one that told you he was already pulling away. But this time, when he said, I just need time, you didn’t have the strength to believe him. You nodded, the lump in your throat too tight to speak, and left before he could see the tears in your eyes.

And now, you find yourself back where it all started, years later, wondering if he’s changed. If this time, when he said I miss you, it really meant something. But deep down, you already know the answer.

It’s the same as it’s always been.

───

You scan the room, your heart pounding, eyes darting from one face to another, hoping—no, dreading—that you’ll see him. Part of you wants to run, to turn around and pretend you never agreed to meet him. But the other part, the part that still holds on to the memories of you and him when things were easy, when love was simple and uncomplicated, keeps your feet rooted to the floor.

He’s always late, and you’ve learned to hate it. It’s not just a bad habit—it’s a symbol of everything between you two, a reminder that he always has something, or someone, else pulling him in another direction. Every time he tells you he’ll be there, every time you stand waiting, it’s like a countdown until he lets you down again.

You glance down at your phone, the screen lighting up with the time: fifteen minutes past when he said he’d be here. You think about leaving, about saving yourself the heartache. You’ve done this dance so many times before. You know the steps, know the way it’ll play out if you wait long enough. He’ll walk in, breathless and apologetic, and those eyes—God, those eyes—will soften when they find yours. He’ll look at you like you’re the only thing that’s kept him steady in a world that’s always moving too fast.

And you’ll feel your resolve slip, just like it always does.

Your hand tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white as you try to steel yourself against the pull of old memories. You think back to the last time you saw him, to the way he looked at you when you said enough. It had been one of those fights, the ones that started small—something about how he missed dinner again, or how you were the only one trying—and escalated into everything you’d ever bottled up. You told him you were tired of waiting, tired of hearing him say he was ready when all he ever did was prove otherwise.

He’d stood there, silent, watching you with that look—the one that said he was sorry but not enough to change. And you left, thinking that maybe this time, you’d finally meant it. That you could walk away and not look back.

But now, here you are, back in the same place, waiting.

A familiar ache spreads through your chest as the seconds tick by, every moment without him another chance for doubt to creep in. You don’t want to be here, don’t want to be the person who keeps holding out hope when all it ever does is hurt. But despite everything, you can’t help the part of you that still believes. The part that whispers this time could be different, even when you know it won’t be.

Just when you’ve almost convinced yourself to leave, the door swings open. Your breath catches as you spot him, shoulders hunched slightly like he’s unsure of how to approach. He looks older, wearier than you remember, but it’s him. The moment his eyes lock with yours, you feel it—the same rush, the same pull that’s always been there, drawing you back in.

He smiles, that small, tentative smile that used to melt your defenses. It’s like he knows exactly how to walk that line between sincerity and charm, and you hate how well it works. You fight the urge to return it, to let that familiar warmth bloom in your chest, and instead, you keep your expression neutral.

He crosses the room with that unhurried stride, his gaze never leaving yours. When he finally reaches you, he stops, just a foot away, close enough that you can smell the faint hint of his cologne—a scent you’d once known better than your own. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, like he’s memorizing the way you look right now, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and careful, like he’s testing the waters.

“Hey.” Your response is cool, guarded. You’re not going to make this easy for him, not this time.

He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck—a habit you know means he’s nervous. “I’m sorry I’m late. Got caught up—”

You cut him off, tired of the same excuses. “It’s always something with you, Sid.”

He flinches, and you almost feel guilty. Almost. But then you remember all the times you waited, all the empty promises, and you stand your ground.

“I know,” he says softly. “You’re right.”

The words hang between you, heavy with everything that’s come before. It’s different this time. Usually, he jumps right into the apologies, into telling you how much he missed you, how he’s ready now, how he’s changed. But tonight, he just stands there, the look on his face a mixture of regret and something else you can’t quite read.

And maybe that’s the problem. You’ve never been able to fully read him. You’ve spent years trying, and every time you think you’ve figured him out, he slips away. You wonder if he knows how much it hurts—wonder if he even cares.

“So, what is it this time?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest, your eyes searching his for any sign of what he’s thinking. “Why’d you want to see me?”

He exhales, a slow, deep breath that seems to carry the weight of everything you’ve been through together. “I just—” he starts, then stops, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I miss you.”

You shake your head, the familiar ache settling into your bones. “You always miss me when I’m gone.”

His gaze snaps back to yours, and for a moment, you see something raw in his eyes—something real. “No, I mean it. I’m tired of pretending everything’s okay when it’s not. I’m tired of losing you.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But the words feel like echoes of promises he’s made a hundred times before. And the part of you that’s always been waiting, hoping, feels like it’s hanging by a thread.

“Prove it,” you say, your voice steady even though your heart is racing. “Because I can’t keep doing this, Sid. I can’t keep falling for the same lines.”

He takes a step closer, and for a moment, you feel the pull again—the magnetic force that’s always drawn you back to him, no matter how many times you’ve tried to walk away. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to find the right words, and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

But as he reaches for your hand, you can’t help but brace yourself for the familiar sting of disappointment. Because no matter what he says, you know how this story ends.

He glanced down, looking down at the promise ring on your finger. Your ring finger. The same ring he'd given you many years ago, before he left for Pittsburgh. He told you it was just the beginning, a placeholder for something bigger. Something that, back then, felt like a certainty. You remember the way he slipped it on your finger, his hands steady and sure. His eyes shone with the same excitement you felt—like the future was a road you were both eager to walk down together.

“I’ll get you the real thing one day,” he’d promised, his voice brimming with that youthful conviction. “Just wait for me.”

And you did. For years, you wore that ring like a badge of honor, a symbol of everything you believed you were building together. When he left for Pittsburgh, you told yourself it was only temporary. Distance was just another hurdle, and the two of you had overcome so many already. You visited him during breaks, and every time he came home, it felt like picking up right where you left off. You thought nothing could break that bond.

Now, standing in front of him, you can see it in his eyes—that same look he’s always given you when he knows he’s let you down. But there’s a hesitation there, too, a weight he’s carrying that wasn’t there before. You wonder if he’s finally seeing it the way you do—if he’s finally realizing that words and promises are never enough.

He reaches for your hand, his thumb grazing the cool, faded metal of the ring. “I know I’ve said it before, but I—”

You pull your hand back, your chest tightening with all the years of waiting, all the times you’ve heard those same words and let yourself believe them. “Don’t. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

His jaw tenses, and he looks up, his eyes searching yours. “I do mean it,” he says, but there’s a hint of desperation in his voice now. “I know I haven’t been fair to you. I know I’ve asked too much.”

You shake your head, the anger and sadness mixing together until they’re almost indistinguishable. “No, Sidney, you’ve taken too much. You’ve taken years of my life—years I can’t get back.”

He winces, and you can see the hurt flash across his face, but you don’t pull back. You can’t. “I’ve given up everything for you—my job, my plans, my own life—because I believed in this. I believed in us. But every time, you leave. Every time, you break your promise.”

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can speak. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living my life waiting for a future that’s never going to come.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, and you can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to find the right words—words that you know won’t change anything.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it feels like the final nail in the coffin. “I know I don’t deserve you. But I’m here now, and I want to make it right.”

You look down at the ring, that small circle of metal that once meant everything to you. It feels heavy now, like a weight dragging you down, a reminder of all the time you’ve spent waiting for something that never happened.

“I can’t wait forever,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need more than just words, Sid.”

For a moment, it looks like he might finally say something real, something that could change everything. But instead, he just stands there, silent, and you feel your heart break a little more. Because you know, deep down, that he doesn’t have an answer. He never has.

“You still wear it,” he spoke slowly, glancing down at the ring. “Doesn't that mean something? Anything? That maybe, maybe we should give this another try?”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words settle around you like a storm cloud. It’s so typical of him, to latch onto the smallest signs, to twist reality just enough to make it feel like there’s hope. It’s the same hope that’s kept you coming back time and time again, like a moth drawn to the flicker of a flame.

But this time, that flame feels like it’s burning out.

“Sidney, I never stopped loving you,” you admit, and it’s the raw truth, the kind you’ve tried to keep buried for so long. “But love isn’t the problem. It’s everything else. It’s you telling me we have a future and then disappearing when it matters. It’s you making promises you can’t keep.”

He reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist, holding on like he’s afraid you’ll slip away for good. “I’m different now. I’m ready. I know I said that before, but this time—”

“No,” you interrupt, pulling your arm back, the frustration building in your chest. “You’ve said that every time. You tell me you’re ready, that things will be different, and I believe you because I want to believe you. But then the same thing happens—you get busy, the season gets hard, and suddenly I’m on the sidelines again, waiting for you to make time for me.”

His shoulders slump, and he looks down, like he can’t face the truth of his own words. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know I’ve messed up. But I swear, this time—”

“Sid, listen to yourself.” You cross your arms, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. “This time, next time—there’s always a next time. But it’s just a cycle. It always has been. And I don’t know if I can keep believing that things will change when they never do.”

His eyes lock onto yours, and there’s a flash of something you haven’t seen before—fear, maybe, or the realization that you’re slipping away. “But I don’t want to lose you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you.”

For a second, your resolve wavers. You see the boy you fell in love with, the one who used to hold your hand in the stands and tell you he couldn’t imagine his life without you. But the boy grew up, and his dreams took him places you were never a part of, no matter how hard you tried to be.

“You already have, Sid,” you whisper, feeling the ache spread through your chest. “You lost me a long time ago when you chose everything else over us. And I don’t think you even realize it.”

He steps closer, his hand hovering near your face like he’s afraid to touch you, like you’re something fragile that might break. “I’m trying, okay? I’m here now. I’m trying to make it right.”

You close your eyes, fighting the tears threatening to fall. “You always say that. But it’s not about showing up when it’s convenient for you. It’s about showing up when it’s hard, when things aren’t perfect, and proving that I’m more than just an option.”

When you open your eyes, you see the pain on his face, and it almost makes you want to take it all back, to say that you’ll try again, that you’ll believe him just one more time.

But you can’t. Not anymore.

“Tell me what to do,” he pleads, desperation clear in every word. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

But that’s just it. It’s not something you can tell him. It’s something he has to want, something he has to choose—without you holding his hand through it, without you putting your life on pause, waiting for him to catch up.

“I can’t tell you how to love me, Sid,” you say, and it feels like the hardest thing you’ve ever done. “You either do, or you don’t. But I can’t be the one always holding this together. It has to be both of us, or it’s nothing.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he hesitates, and in that silence, you feel everything shift. It’s as if the reality of the situation is finally sinking in for both of you.

“Maybe…” you start, your voice cracking, “maybe this was always going to be the end.”

His face pales, and you see the fear flash through his eyes, but you hold firm. “I can’t keep living in the past, hoping you’ll change. I need more than just words, and if you can’t give me that, then…” You take a deep breath, the weight of the years falling away with each word. “Then maybe we need to let go.”

Sidney’s lips part as if to protest, but then he stops. His hand falls away from yours, and the emptiness between you feels colder than the Pittsburgh winters.

You let out a bitter chuckle as the tears begin to fall. “We could've had a good life together, Sid. Everything you could've wanted. Kids, a nice house and some... some cute dogs,”

It seemed silly to say, but it was the truth. You swallowed as you looked, trying to stifle your incoming sobs. “And it would’ve been ours. Not just mine, or yours—ours.”

The words are raw, cutting through the stillness between you. You can feel the sobs building in your chest, threatening to spill out, but you hold them back, just for a moment longer. “But you never wanted that. Not really. Not enough to make it real.”

Sidney’s face crumples, and he looks like he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. “You always talk about wanting it all—wanting me, wanting the life we could have had, but then you pull away the second it gets too real. And I’m tired, Sid. I’m so damn tired of giving everything to someone who can’t meet me halfway.”

He shifts, taking a hesitant step forward, like he’s testing the waters, his eyes pleading. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want it,” he says, voice rough and cracking. “I just—” He rubs a hand over his face, frustration evident. “I didn’t know how to balance it all. I thought I’d have more time, that we’d figure it out eventually.”

“Eventually?” you repeat, the bitterness seeping through. “Sid, we’ve been at this for years. Years of back and forth, of me waiting for you to choose me. To really choose me. And every time, it’s the same story. I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that things will be different.”

He stands there, shoulders hunched, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. It’s the same look he’s given you countless times before, like he wants so badly to fix things but doesn’t know where to start. It makes your heart ache because you know, deep down, he’s not a bad person. He’s just… lost.

And maybe, you realize, he always will be.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “I just—every time I tried to make things work, it felt like something else came up, and I kept thinking if I waited just a little longer—”

“Then everything would magically fall into place?” you cut in, shaking your head. “Life doesn’t work that way, Sid. Love doesn’t work that way. You can’t keep putting off what you want, what you need, and expect everything to turn out okay in the end.”

He takes another step forward, reaching out like he’s about to pull you in, but you take a step back, needing the distance. “I’m not asking you to be perfect,” you say, the tears finally streaming down your cheeks. “I just needed you to try. To show up. To prove that I was worth fighting for. But it feels like every time I turn around, you’re already halfway out the door.”

His expression falters, and you know he wants to argue, to tell you that it’s different this time, that he’s ready now. But you’ve heard it all before, and the words have lost their meaning.

“I wanted the house,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I wanted the dogs, the kids, all of it. I wanted us, Sidney. And I believed we could have it. But you kept pushing it off, and now… I don’t know if I can keep waiting for something that might never come.”

He reaches out again, and this time, you let him. His hand closes around yours, and it feels both familiar and foreign—like holding on to a memory that’s slipping through your fingers.

“I love you,” he says, and there’s a desperation in his voice that makes your heart clench. “I’ve always loved you.”

You give him a sad smile, knowing that, despite everything, that much is true. “I know,” you say, squeezing his hand one last time before pulling away. “But sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

And as you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the cold, you hope—maybe for the first time—that you’ll be strong enough to let go. Because you know if you don’t, this cycle will only repeat itself. And you can’t keep breaking your own heart for someone who won’t give you the life you’ve always wanted.

That night, you dreamed of the house. The kids, and the dogs and of him. You'd wake up, it would feel like how it did the day you met—warm and safe, like everything in the world had finally fallen into place.

The sun would stream through the windows of that little house you imagined, its golden light wrapping you in the kind of warmth you’d always craved. You’d roll over, and there he’d be, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his eyes still heavy with sleep but soft, so soft, like he was seeing the whole world in you.

The kids would run down the hall, their laughter echoing, filling the space between your shared breaths. You’d rise together, slowly, and there would be no rush, no impending flight or long distance to worry about. Just you, him, and that perfect slowness of a morning spent together. The dogs would bound into the room, tails wagging, and the day would unfold in simple, perfect moments—breakfast at the table, messy hair and pajamas, the feeling of his hand on yours as he refilled your coffee cup.

It would feel right.

And in that dream, it would all make sense—why you’d waited so long, why you’d kept coming back, even when you knew better. Because in that world, in that life, you had everything you’d ever wanted. It was real, and it was whole, and there were no questions, no doubts, no space for the silence that always lingered between you in reality.

But then, you’d wake up.

You’d open your eyes to the quiet, dark room, the emptiness of your side of the bed. There’d be no warm sunlight, no laughter echoing through the halls, no weight of his arm pulling you close. Just the cold, still air of your apartment, the hum of the city outside, and the realization that it was all just a dream—a dream you’d had a thousand times before, and one you knew you’d have again.

And as you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, you’d feel that ache settle in your chest. The one that reminded you that no matter how real it felt, it was only ever going to be a figment of your imagination. Because the truth was, you had to wake up alone.

In that moment, you’d wonder if he ever dreamed of it too—if he ever pictured that life, those mornings, the way you did. If he ever saw a future where he stayed, where he chose you and didn’t let go. But you knew that even if he did, it wasn’t enough. Because while you were left clinging to dreams, he was off living a life that didn’t have room for you in it.

You’d curl back into the blankets, pulling them tight around you, pretending for just one more moment that the warmth was him. That maybe, one day, you’d wake up to the life you’d always imagined, and it wouldn’t slip away like morning mist.

But until then, all you had were the dreams and the memories of a love that almost was—almost, but never quite enough.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[sc0tters]

does any of Rory’s brothers ever find out abt the call? Or how did they react when she was crying after the match?

Playing in New York, Jack was definitely there.

So he is in super high alert because he’s confused why he was literally celebrating her goal more than she did.

But Jack is also Jack so he doesn’t push her to tell him anything merely citing that if she wanted to talk he was there for her.

Luke is posting her goal literally everywhere he could and he called her the moment she got back to the hotel and showered her with compliments because he thought that social media had been tough on her highlighting the fact that she is the only female player in the game.

Quinn on the other hand was the most receptive of them all. He called Rory shortly after Luke was done and he pressed her to tell him what was truly going on because in none of her goals in her career until now had she just stood there frozen in what seemed like shock.

So Rory did tell him that she was feeling the pressure of being in the NHL because that was partially true but it wasn’t the full truth obviously.

The boys find out about when she accidentally lets it slip. They were talking about Sidney when he reached some milestone at the Penguins and Rory felt hurt that her brothers were literally praising the man that made her life a living hell.

Of course they all freeze and eventually they get her whole story out of her and they all feel super bad for not being the person that she could tell earlier.

When the Penguins play the Canucks or the Devils Sidney is bound to see his ass more times than he can count as the boys want to defend their sister.

[theywantedplayer]

Masterslist

NEW MASTERLIST

Smut

All Categories 

who i write for 

Jamie Draysale 

“shit I didn't mean to say that”

Loved so dearly

“Its midnight where the hell were you

obsessed

Doing nothing with you

“my friends are really annoyed about how much I talk about you” “you’re staring”

Sparks fly-Taylor Swift

Thin walls NSFW

Good morning NSFW

Happy Birthday NSFW

"please kiss me" "stay quiet" NSFW

“ it’s okay just breathe” “look at me, please?” 

“I’m not leaving”

Trevor zegras

jealousy

“... " " "Wanna make out?" "Sure" “ the second I saw you I couldn't get over how beautiful you were”

“You're kinda cute in this” “only kinda.”"Did you see that?" "You saw that right?"

“someone’s happy to see me” “you bought me flowers?”

Picking fights 

he didnt say it 

obsessed

“don’t fucking touch what is not yours”  “Shh.. I’m here”

“oh hun, i wish you wouldn’t work yourself so hard” “you look exhausted”

“first one to make noises loses” NSFW

Just one more NSFW

Moth to a flame NSFW

Long Day  NSFW

Auston Matthews

“No, no, please don’t look sad. I can’t handle that.” 

“don’t fucking touch what is not yours” NSFW

I only want you 

obsessed

I think Your enough 

I wouldn’t do that to you” “i’m going to fuck your so hard you’re going to forget that guys name”

“You take me so well.” “Spread your legs wider.” NSFW

You comfort Austin after they get eliminated in the second round

paparazzi NSFW

“I’ve been in love you for years”

Jack Hughes 

This is how you celebrate a win NSFW

“Shh im here”

obsessed

All stars

First time NSFW

Jersey NSFW

Shower sex NSFW

Luke Hughes

“ i love you the way you are, okay? you don’t need to change. ”

High and dry NSFW part 2

Bruises

My boyfriends Brother NSFW

Finally alone NSFW

Drunk

“No, no, please don’t look sad. I can’t handle that.”

Quinn Hughes 

“im just trying to help you” “Please, talk to me’’

soft spot

“Baby can you please shut the fuck up”

“do you think I dropped my walls like this for anybody?”

"i’m going to fuck your so hard you’re going to forget that guys name”NSFW

you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad”“ you’re blushing” “am not” 

Submissive quinn NSFW

Flight NSFW

Brock Boeser

andrei kuzmenko

Nico hischier

Captain NSFW

“I wish you wouldn’t work yourself so hard”

Golden gold

“come and sit on my face and i’ll show you how much i missed you” NSFW

obsessed

Fair amount 

The purse 

Dirty talk NSFW

Little things

HandCuff’s+Blindfold NSFW

Arber Xhekaj 

I wanted to see you

Kirby dach

Freezing 

Cole caulfield

Feeling lost

“Why isn't he getting up?”

“I’ll never be good enough”“I wish you could see yourself how I see you”

Talking to yourself

“No panties?” NSFW

In every room NSFW

Sidney Crosby 

“Will you dance with me? Please, pretty please!” 

“I missed you so much” & “ you bought me flowers?”

“i love you the way you are, okay? you don’t need to change. 

obsessed

“Don't listen to them” “Because I know you” 

“Hey…..be safe”  “ you’re not even listening” 

Juraj Slafkovsky 

“I just wanted to be held for a while”

"everything about you amazes me"

“don’t yell at me in a language i don’t understand!” “please don’t cry, i’m sorry” 

Mitch marner  

“you’re crying” and “i missed you so much” 

“you were crying.” “you’re warm.”

obsessed

Second Chance 

“I get so hard when i’m around you“ 

Needy Mitch  NSFW

Carter Hart

Mat Barzal

“You smiled! I saw it, so no denying it.” and “You’re definitely the only person I would do this for.”

andrei svechnikov

Fastest Skater goes to?

“i’m going to fuck your so hard you’re going to forget that guys name” NSFW

leon draisaitl

“first one to make noises loses”

“come and sit on my face and i’ll show you how much i missed you” NSFW

"so, how much longer do you plan on using me as your personal space heater?"“Please kiss me.”

Jeremy Swayma

“no panties?”“Do you want my fingers?" NSFW

Morning kisses 

[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!

[starshine-hockey-girl]

I am hooked. Great job!

Enchanted-Sidney Crosby (1)

Summary: Jessica Hart and Sidney Crosby have history, and as they both return to their hometown of Cole Harbor in the summer for her sister's wedding. Is it possible for them to put their past behind them or is this small town just a little too small for both of them?

A/N: My first fic, please bear with me.

Word Count: 0.49 k

.....................................

Summer of 2014

"Did you hear Sid is back in town?" my mom asks as I re-organize the shelf in their store.

"Uh no, I don't really keep tabs on Sidney mom." I say folding up a box and throwing it on the growing pile.

"Honey it's been three years, don't you think it's time to let everything that happened between you two go?"

"I have. I just have no interest in seeing him or hearing about him, or having anything to do with him."

"Well that might be a bit of a problem since he's going to Sof's wedding." my mom says and I drop the book in my hand.

"What? What do you mean he's going to Sof's wedding? Why?"

"Because they invited him. The Crosby's are family friends of both the bride and the groom, there's no reason they shouldn't be invited. And that includes Sid."

"Right, no reason he shouldn't be invited. Not like he's my ex-boyfriend or anything. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because the last time you saw Sidney Crosby you didn't come home for 3 years, Jess. And you still haven't told any of us what happened."

"Because it doesn't matter mom. It's not gonna change anything. Things just didn't work out, besides Sidney's not the reason I haven't been home, it's work." I say and continue packing things on the shelf.

"Right. Sweetie, I just want you to be happy. Maybe talking to Sid will give you the closure you both need to move on."

"I am happy and I have moved on! And so has he." I say desperately trying to convince my mom. To convince myself.

"I know you. I'm your mom, and you are not happy. You have been a shell of yourself these last three years, burying yourself in work. It's not healthy for you. I'm worried about you Jess. And quite frankly I'm worried about Sid too. He hasn't been doing too good either, with all his concussion stuff going on. And don't pretend you're not aware. You and I both know you still watch every single one of his games. I just think reconnecting will be good for both of you even if it is just to get some closure." my mom says wiping her hands on her jeans and walking to the front of the store, seemingly done with this conversation.

A few hours later I was alone in the store, playing music and eating chocolate chip cookies, too emotionally exhausted from the conversation with my mom to do anything else. I almost choked when someone knocked on the door and entered unexpectedly.

"Oh I'm sorry we're closed-" I say the words dying in my throat when I look up and meet the hazel eyes that constantly haunt me in my dreams.

"Hi, Jess." his gravelly voice echoes, making me weak in the knees.

I take a deep breath before responding, my voice sounding uncharacteristically fragile.

"Sidney."

to be continued. lol.

[thedevilrisen]

Hospital - 5

TW: HOSPITALS, nothing bad, just a description of someone in a hospital.

Nova Crosby -

1:16am

Theorising while sitting in an intensive care waiting room at quarter past one in the morning is never a good idea. Particularly after being given fodder such as an unplanned emergency surgery, both men had their own ideas on what could have happened. Knowing the extent of Nova's condition before she was whisked away at the emergency room Luke was trying to use Sid's aged wisdom to conclude what happened. But both of them had absolutely nothing.

Standing, leaning against the granite kitchenette counter which was more so holding the exhausted form of Sidney up while he skulled the dregs of his third coffee. Religiously Sid only had one coffee a day on decaf, but in such a drastic situation where he needed to be as awake as possible if the promised Nurse ever actually came. Each time a pair of lone footsteps clacked down the hall Sid or Luke, whoever was closest to the door looked out to check if it was a Nurse.

Two times it was the food delivery, bringing in product for the next day, one it was the cleaner and three times orderlies who were moving wheelchairs back to the spots they needed to go to. Every time Sid became more agitated, the patient Canadian niceness was wearing thin, exceptionally fast. Each time it wasn't a nurse with answers and every minute that ticked by that the phone didn't ring with answers his frustration exponentially increased.

"I think I'm going fucking insane Luke." Sid mumbled, pouring hot water into another cup loaded with instant coffee. His incessant grumbling and almost permanently creased brow was giving away the fact that he hadn't had an emotional outlet since he left the game almost six hours prior. He had held Luke through his initial crash when he first arrived and had gave him a pat on the back and or shoulder rub depending on where he was when Luke needed a little extra comforting.

Luke was now almost apathetic, but Sid. Sidney was dangerously toeing the line of complete and utter meltdown. He prided himself on his sturdy and tentative nature. He was kind, never raised his voice, except when Nova goes joy riding with a bunch of college boys to New Jersey for the weekend- ... but thats a different story. Sidney solidly believed that any rebellious situation Nova had been in would be better than this right now. He could control it, make sure she was safe and okay. See with his own two eyes, not matter how red they were hazed with his rage that she was okay.

"I know what you're talking about Sid. I feel like I could drop asleep any minute but it's Murphy's law. I do that and suddenly she's awake and we can see her." Luke half slurred, half grumbled.

"This is fucking ridiculous, where did they say the ICU room is?" Sid spoke firmly, leaving no room for argument, although Luke tried.

"Sid, I'm as upset as you. It's only been a little while since the call, they are probably getting her sorted." The optimism coming from Luke slathered in monotonous tonality fell about as flat as a crepe to floor.

"No, that's my fucking daughter!" Sid launched back, the string holding him up seemed to fray ever so thinner. "Give me th-"

A gentle knocking sounded from the door, as a young Nurse, clad in burgundy scrubs poked her head in, pushing the door open, "Are you with Nova Crosby?"

"About fucking time!" Sidney crows, the clench of his fist in the fabric of his suit pant pocket is enough to give away the fact that he is fuming.

"I'm sorry Sir, we've been as quick as we could, you can come see her now if you want." The Nurse was desperately trying to diffuse Sid's anger, not directed at her but rather the situation.

"We'd love that." He spoke through gritted teeth. Checking Luke was following him as they began down the hall where they met a coded door that the nurse typed in and were led into a a white room with two sinks.

"If you could please wash your hands before coming in, it assists us in making sure the patients aren't compromised." before she had even finished both boys had started scrubbing, very thoroughly for their waning patience. When they finished the nurse led them through the ICU department towards the back where surrounded by a blue medical curtain was a bed. In that bed Nova laid, a fraction of consciousness, behind her bed was a plethora of machines which beeped and rang in their timely fashion. Sidney couldn't figure out when he went from fine to hyperventilating as he stared at his daughter, so young and fragile swaddled in white hospital blankets, akin to the ones she was handed to him for the first time he held her.

The ugly tubes coming out of her arms, cannulas in her elbow and top of her hand, a feeding tube coming out of her nose, a heart monitor connected directly to her chest. It was all too much, he didn't know he was crying and how obvious it had become that his mental capacity for the situation was declining greatly.

"Sir." A middle aged man in a white coat coxed him towards a door, leading him away from Nova. Pushing him outside as he looked a Luke who had sat down beside her, the moment romantic but catastrophic.

"That's my girl!" Sid roared in anguish, "Thats- THATS MY BABY."

"Sir, you need to calm down."

"NO DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. Thats my baby girl! I have raised her for nineteen years, I of all people deserved to know what happened to her as soon as I arrived! Do you know how much she means to me, seeing her like is equivalent to ripping my heart out and piercing it with a stake!" Sid was hysterically now, loud voice echoing throughout the deserted hallway. "I need to know! I need you to do your fucking job and not be incompetent! Please."

The doctor led Sid to a chair and sat him down. "I'm a father too, I understand your anguish." he took a deep breath, "I will tell you everything but I must warn you, it will hurt and be a shock to the system. My team and I are dedicated to helping your daughter though, I want you to trust we will do everything in our power to help."

Sid took a deep breath, this was going to be a long conversation.