#Sidney Hook | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

illusioninfnty · 2 years ago

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"it's a scream, baby!" ↠ day 15 ; keeping quiet

↠ billy loomis x reader x stu macher

fandom: scream word count: 3.9k warnings: nsfw 18+, gf!billy and stu, DUBCON, semi-public sex, homoerotic undertones, mentions of gore, cheating, degradation, dirty talk, thigh fucking, double penetration, knife play if you squint, gagging, unprotected sex, creampies, cumplay, cum eating, fingering, my stu bias definitely shows sorry guys

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

You weren’t really much of a party person, and all of your friends were aware of that. It was why none of them gave much resistance to the idea of you slipping away.

Stu’s house was insanely crowded, more than his usual parties. It was obviously because of the recent killing spree by the mysterious masked killer who had yet to be caught. Your general anxiety in loud spaces mixed with that of the unknown killer running around had you even more paranoid.

“Be careful!” Sidney calls out and Tatum waves as you make your way up the staircase. You send a small smile back as you weave your way through drunk teenagers stumbling all around, looking for more drinks.

You’ve been in Stu’s house plenty of times, having been friends with him for years at this point. You make a beeline straight for his bedroom, hoping that no one was in there hooking up so you could have a quiet place to decompress.

You knock loudly on his door, pressing your ear against it as the loud music and teens make it hard to hear inside. There’s no answer to your knowledge, and you slowly peek your head in.

No one is in the room, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You shut the door behind you and plop down on Stu’s bed, laying yourself out in a heap of exhaustion.

A bang from somewhere inside the room startles you, making you jump up from your seat. You notice that Stu’s closet door is slightly ajar, and figure that something inside fell down. You make your way over, the closet creaking as you open it.

A gasp leaves your lips and you step back after seeing what it was that fell.

It was one of the ghostface masks.

You slowly back away, eyes wide in disbelief with what you were seeing. No. It wasn’t possible, right? Stu couldn’t have been the killer; it made no sense. You bend down and cautiously pick up the mask.

It looks like your average store-bought cheap costume accessory. You inspect it closer, but bring a hand up to your mouth and almost drop the mask when you see what’s stained on it.

Small flecks of blood, all spattered across the edges.

The sound of the door creaking has you throwing the mask back into the closet and slamming the door, chest heaving as you pretend as though you weren’t searching through it.

In walks Stu, his trademark grin spread wide across his face.

“Now what are you doing in here?” he teases suggestively and wiggles his eyebrows. He closes the door and leans against it.

But clearly you’re not very good at hiding your emotions, because the smile instantly drops from Stu’s face. “Have you been…snooping in my things?”

You bite your lip and can feel your heart drop in your chest. “What? No! I just came in here to rest.” Your voice sounds incredibly shaking and you know there’s no way he’s buying it.

Stu’s eyes narrow, and he stalks closer to you. You back away in return, but his long strides make it difficult to put distance between the two of you. “I think you’re lying to me.”

He utters out your name in a warning tone. At this point, you know, he knows you know, and you know he knows you know that he’s the Ghostface killer. You make a feeble attempt to duck past Stu and make a run for it, but he grabs your arm and pulls you against his chest, completely restraining you.

You try your best at escaping. You pound on his chest, wiggle in his grip, and even try biting him. That fails miserably and Stu slaps his large palm against your mouth, preventing you from screaming for help.

He drags you over to the bed, and you start to kick your heels against his legs. You aren’t sure what he’s capable of anymore. Is this the moment you die? Is Stu going to kill you? You let out a choked sob underneath his palm, clawing at his hand but to no avail.

You push back against him with all of the force of your body, yet Stu remains solid. “Be quiet,” he mutters in your ear.

And then you feel it. On your backside, you can feel Stu getting hard. You whimper in fear, and your body goes limp. But he clearly notices that you could feel it, and he chuckles darkly.

“Got me excited with all that struggling, babe.” He shamelessly rubs himself against you, his erection fully hard beneath his pants now.

Despite the terror that you feel in that moment, you couldn’t help but moan silently.

You would be lying if you said you never thought of hooking up with your friend. Stu was hot, he was funny, and if Tatum was a reliable source, he also had a huge dick.

If fucking Stu could save you from death, you would gladly let him use you however he wished.

You quickly concoct a plan in your head—a lame one, but a plan—to seduce Stu in an attempt to hopefully convince him not to kill you afterwards.

Before you can even attempt to put your plan into action, the bedroom door creaks open. “Shit,” you hear Stu mutter under his breath. Both you and him turn together, and in walks Billy, sauntering as he usually does.

He pauses and raises an eyebrow as he surveys the position you and Stu are in.

“Did I interrupt something?” Billy smirks, his eyes going dark. You look up through your eyelashes at Stu, who presses you closer to him, as if warning you not to signal for help. He shakes his head at Billy.

“She knows, man.”

Your body goes completely rigid in Stu’s grip. A chill runs down your spine.

Billy was involved in this Ghostface shit too? Well, that actually surprised you less than Stu. Billy was kind of a horror junkie in secret, even rivaling Randy, and he always had this strange look in his eye whenever he thought no one was looking.

His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. “Oh?”

The tone in his voice is sinister, much different than what you’ve heard from him before.

He strides over, pulling out a knife from his pocket and holding it out towards you.

You shriek, but it comes out all muffled. You try to tilt your head away from where Billy points the knife to your chin, but Stu keeps his hand solid, forcing your head forward.

He clicks his tongue at you, teasing you for your failed attempts to escape.

“I really didn’t want to kill you now, sweetheart, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Tears gather in your eyes, threatening to fall. You still helplessly struggle against Stu’s grip, choking back sobs. You so desperately want Stu to release his hand, want to beg the two of them to keep you alive. You’re two seconds away from sounding like you belong in a bad porno that the boys rent from the video store where the woman says please! I’ll do anything!

But you don’t need to do any of that. Because before Billy starts slicing and dicing and stabbing at you, he backs away and looks Stu up and down. He then barks out a laugh.

“What, did chasing her around get you all stiff?”

Stu grins cheekily and grinds his erection up against your butt. You let out a surprised moan under his palm, grabbing onto his forearm. “You know I’ve always wanted to fuck her, man.”

Billy eyes shift between you and Stu, before pausing on you. A smirk slowly grows across his features until it morphs into a toothy grin. You can see the way his cock begins to twitch in his jeans and your heart sinks into your stomach.

“I’m not going to let you fuck her alone tonight.”

As if Stu was waiting this whole time for Billy’s approval, the hand that was restricting your mouth moves off and down to his jeans. Before you can even think about opening your mouth, Billy brings the knife back up your face, right under your chin forcing you to keep your mouth closed and head tilted up to meet his eyes.

“If you say a word I’ll cut your throat open and stick my cock in it.” He imitates the motion of slicing the knife across your throat.

You swallow harshly and can’t control the way you tremble under Stu’s hold. But the depraved part of you has your core throbbing, at the carnal lust that fills his eyes, so desperately wanting them both to get to fucking you sooner rather than later.

Scoffing in his face, you try your best to put up a calm front. “Are you guys all bark and no bite? All I hear is talking but no action.”

“Oh you’ll be getting action soon, baby.” You can feel Stu’s erect cock rubbing against your backside and the way that his arousal stains your shirt. His hand holds it at the base as he guides it between your legs, slowly fucking you between your thighs. You look down to see the bulging red tip of his cock leaking beads of precum as it penetrates the plush skin of your legs with every thrust.

Billy takes his knife and slices your skirt right down the middle, the two pieces falling to shreds at your feet.

“Yeah, there it is!” Stu yells as his long fingers poke and prod at your pussy through your underwear until it soaks the fabric through. “All nice and wet for us now.”

He moves the material to the side of your puffy lips and without so much as a warning sticks his cock right inside.

“Oh fuck,” you moan out as quietly as you can with the intense pleasure. It slides in easily with how wet you’ve gotten over the past couple of minutes. You arch your back into Stu as his long cock bullies its way inside of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Stu begins thrusting immediately, the sounds of your skin slapping together being the loudest thing in the room.

“Such a dirty little slut,” Stu’s voice teases, laughter evident in his tone. His arm around your waist holds you up as he pounds into you at lightning speed, bouncing you up and down his cock. Your feet lift off the ground ever-so-slightly as he pulls you up. “But I guess I’m kind of a slut to. Always wanted to fuck you like this.”

Through your lust-filled haze, you can see Billy stroking himself through his boxers, jeans already unzipped and pulled down. He stares at both you and Stu and where the two of you connect.

“You gonna join man?” Stu lifts you up under your thighs. The action lifts your feet up in the air and exposes your pussy directly in Billy’s line of view. Stu pulls his cock out enough so just the head remains inside, and starts fingering around your lips.

You gasp at the sensation, your arms gripping his own and your walls clenching down desperately onto him. Stu’s fingers make a v shape and pull your lips open wide. “There’s plenty of room for you in here.”

“N-no!” You sob out, clawing at Stu and kicking your legs. The implication is not subtle at all, and the fear has you clenching even tighter onto him. There was no way that you could fit both of them in your pussy. Stu’s cock is already thick and fills you completely; you don’t think you could take another one without breaking.

Billy continues to palm himself above his underwear, the head of his cock poking out from the elastic band. “Fuck yeah, now your speaking my language!”

“No! Billy!” You shake your head wildly, tears threatening to fall from your swollen eyes. “Stop! It won’t fit!”

He rolls his eyes and takes his hard cock out of his boxers, pumping it with a few solid strokes. “Stop complaining.”

“He’ll make it fit,” Stu giggles from behind you.

A strangled sound leaves your lips, a mix between a choke and a sob. You’re powerless in Stu’s hold as he moves your limbs every which way he pleases. He never lets up in his thrusts, his stamina completely insatiable, and it doesn’t feel like he’s stopping any time soon.

You have no choice but to lay helpless as Billy guides his cock into your wet hole, pushing against Stu’s. The stretch from the two of their massive lengths is painful, and you bite the outside of your hand as an attempt to soften your cries.

“Fuck,” Billy moans, slotting himself fully inside of you. His eyes squeeze shut and his head is thrown back in pleasure. Your hands press against his chest to stabilize yourself.

Your eyes roll back as you start moaning audibly, his cock stuffing you full alongside Stu’s.

“None of that.” Billy slaps a hand over your mouth and digs his fingers into your cheek. “If any one of those sleazebags outside hears those moans I’ll have to kill them and fuck you over their dead body.”

His voice is deep, gravely, and completely serious—you believe him in his entirety. You nod rapidly under his hold. You don’t want the death of anyone to be on your hands, no matter how annoying they are.

“Good. Now stay quiet.”

Billy and Stu take turns fucking themselves up into you. They give you any chance for a break, when one pulls their length almost completely out, the other shoves it in. They take turns pounding themselves into you. Your walls clench hard around them, being stretched to the brim. It takes all your power not to cry out from the pain and pleasure, but the fear from Billy’s unpredictably overpowers all other emotions.

Billy seems to be caught up in the haze of his own arousal, fingers digging in the skin of your hips as he thrusts his cock in and out of you rhythmically. He groans. “Forgot what it’s like to fuck a tight, wet hole. Sidney still hasn’t put out yet.”

Your body instantly freezes at Billy’s words. In the midst of all the chaos that involved finding out that two of your friends were active serial killers, both of them have been wanting to fuck you, and both of them actually proceeding to fuck you, you were ashamed to admit that you completely forgot about your the rest of your friends downstairs. Sidney and Tatum, two of your closest friends, were partying just below you and were blissfully unaware that you were in fact not resting from the partying, but instead getting your hole absolutely destroyed by their boyfriends just a couple hundred feet away.

The reality of your situation comes back to you and the dread starts to sink in. Instinctively, you begin thrashing your body all around, causing as much commotion as you can. Your nails end up scratching Stu on his arm. “Ow!” he whines out, but it’s a cross between a whimper and a turned on moan. He bites your neck in retaliation. “I like ‘em feisty, you know. Really gets my dick goin’.”

Billy, on the other hand, doesn’t take your failed act of defiance so lightly. His hand reaches up and squeezes your cheeks as he pulls your face close to him, not letting up with the pistoning of his hips.

“Not. A. Word.” Every syllable is spoken individually, heavily gritted out through clenched teeth. At that moment, an array of muffled voices is heard right outside the bedroom door. Billy and you turn to the source of the noise at the same time. Billy turns back to you first. “You know what happens if they walk in,” he trails off darkly, and out of the corner of your eye you can see the glint of his knife as it rests on the side table, within an arm's reach from him. If he wanted to, he could easily slip himself out of you and kill the unsuspecting partygoers within mere seconds.

He buries himself back inside of you as you say that, the two of their cocks fighting for their spots inside of your restrictive walls. Billy and Stu moan in unison at the feeling, both of you gripping onto them and the way they feel pressed up against each other.

As hopeless as your situation may seem in the end, you try to make due with what you have and not let the guilt consume you. There’s nothing you can do about it now unless you want multiple people to wind up dead. It’s fairly easy to erase your mind of anything other than the two guys currently surrounding you, whose relentless thrusts make your vision go white and limbs go numb.

Stu attaches himself onto your neck, no doubt leaving a trail of hickeys that’ll last for days. You lean your head back into him, giving him more access to the area. His long tongue licks all around the area, sending shivers down your spine.

His mouth eventually makes its way up to your own and Stu covers it, kissing you with great fervor. His tongue slides into your mouth, swirling it around with your own tongue. The kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, but it feels perfectly like him. It’s intimate as he massages your tongue and brings his hand up to cup your jaw. In that single moment, you can pretend like your new revelation didn’t exist and that this is just a sensual moment between you and your friend, who’s kissing you like his life depends on it.

But that’s not the case, as Billy brings you back to reality once again. He spanks your ass which has you gasping into Stu’s mouth and your eyes opening wide.

Spit dribbles out the side of your mouth as Stu finally lets up, moaning into your jaw. He gives your neck a big kiss before sucking another hickey into it. “I can be romantic sometimes,” he whispers teasingly into your ear, causing you to shiver.

Billy and Stu pound into you, even harder than before if possible, their hips snapping up against your body.

You know that your orgasm is fast approaching, the various simulations making you feel desperate for a release.

“Please, please, please, please,” your voice is hoarse as you whisper out in a breathy tone to keep as quiet as possible.

“Yeah? You want our cum inside of you?” Billy coaxes you, but you can tell that he’s just as close to reaching his peak as you are given the uneven rhythm of his ruts, pushing slightly against the pattern he had set with Stu.

You nod your head as much as you can, your vision going blurry with the speed you move it. You can feel Billy’s cock throb furiously in you and it's enough to make you reach your own orgasm before him, clapping a hand over your mouth as to not alert your presence to anyone outside.

Billy’s orgasm follows your own soon after, with a strangled moan leaving his lips as his hot cum releases all inside you. The mix of your two juices allows for easier movement within your walls, and after he’s done climaxing Billy slides out of you with ease.

But Stu is nowhere near stopping.

With the result of your’s and Billy’s releases aiding him, Stu ruts himself even further into you. He manhandles you so that instead of your previous position of being twisted in the air as Stu stands behind you, he throws you down on top of the bed and climbs on top of you, humping into you from behind with a newfound vigor.

“Finally get you to myself for a bit,” Stu grits out of his teeth as his hips piston at an immeasurable speed.

You can’t speak at this point, completely cockdrunk from the brunt of the thrusts you’re taking. Stu’s broad body completely engulfs your form as he pounds you into the bedsheets. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, only low whimpers and droll being produced from it.

You can hear the squelching of your pussy, the result of Billy’s cum and your juices, as Stu pounds his cock as far as it reaches. You can feel the release escape the sides of your pussy lips with the brunt of Stu’s thrusts and you can’t help but whine softly as some of the warmth and fullness from the cum leaves your body.

Stu’s hand runs through your hair until he grabs it at the base. He pushes your head down completely into the bed, using much more pressure than what was needed. The force of it causes your ass to arch further into him as he presses his front fully against your back, curving his form as if morphing to the shape of your hunched and fucked out form.

“Now that’s a nice view,” he groans out, one hand at the root of your hair and the other pawing at your ass.

Animalistic grunts leave Stu’s mouth and you can feel as he reaches the cusp of his orgasm. Curses leave his lips as he finally cums, pushing himself inside you as deep as he can and hitting parts never reached before. You can feel the jets of his hot release inside of you as it comes out in huge, thick spurts.

When Stu finally leaves your walls, the mix of all three of your orgasms comes flowing out, making you moan at the loss of the fullness from all three of you.

“C’mon now, push it all outta you,” Billy’s voice calls out from across the room, speaking up from his previous silent observer role as he recovered from his own peak.

You obey, squeezing as much as you can with your weak body. You can feel globs of cum escape your entrance, cooling as it runs down your thighs and onto the sheets below you.

You flinch as you feel Stu’s fingers scoop some out of you, and the smacking of his lips indicates he tasted it. You moan, only able to picture what the scene looks like.

“Oh? You want some?” Stu’s fingers hastily appear in front of you. The fingers from his other hand pull your mouth open and he shoves the cum covered ones inside, making you gag instantly. He rams them in and out of your mouth, barely giving you any time to properly suck on the cum. Flecks of the fluid fly out of your mouth along with your own saliva. Tears fall without a warning, your gag reflex working overtime.

Stu’s fingers fuck your mouth until all of the cum is virtually gone from them. When he finally pulls them out, your body completely collapses. It trembles furiously from all the overstimulation, unable to hold itself up.

Stu gives you a big wet kiss on your cheek and slaps his now-limp cock onto your bare ass. You can only whimper in response, your body too heavy to move any part of it right now. Your vision is blurry, but through it you manage to make out Billy, with his sweaty complexion and rumpled clothes back on his body, talking down to you.

“You stay put until we can get everyone to piss off. We’ll be back for round two.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ghostface #ghostface x reader #billy x reader x stu #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #scream x reader #billy loomis smut #stu macher smut #ghostface smut #scream smut #slasher smut #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slashers smut

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7-wonders · 1 month ago

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Hot Doctor Boyfriend

Dr. Jack Abbot x GN!reader

Summary: PTMC's in a tizzy over the admission of one of the city's biggest stars to the ER. Jack realizes that introductions, and explanations, are going to need to be made.

Word count: 2.5k

A note from the author: I'm not a medical professional and thus know nothing about how fast CT scanners can be made available. I also believe that sports injuries are sent to an actual imaging center the next day and not to the ER, but it made for a fun plot so please don't come for me on any of this. Thank you to the 150+ of you who voted that you wanted to see this trope in particular, and to the over 300 of you who voted on the poll in general!

In his personal life, Jack Abbot is not one to put much belief into superstitions. Black cats crossing paths, not opening umbrellas indoors, tossing salt over the shoulder—it’s never made sense to him why these have become rituals that are so ingrained in society. He’s a man of science and logic, and science and logic dictate that superstitions are fanciful and have no influence over events that may or may not happen in one’s life.

In his work life, though? Oh, superstitions are very much to be believed and adhered to. Saying that it’s too quiet while on a shift is a recipe for disaster. Full moons almost always bring out the crazy in everyone. For whatever reason, the hospital defies those carefully-held beliefs in science and logic and becomes something otherworldly. Jack’s certainly not about to ruin the careful balance that an emergency department achieves, and so he fastidiously follows these superstitions the moment that he clocks in.

He’s in late tonight, having used a couple of hours of PTO to attend a niece’s choir concert. The moment that he hits the ER floor, though, he’s wondering if he should have taken the whole night off instead. People are acting weird tonight. Huddling around in loose groups, giggling and talking, spreading information amongst themselves. They all keep looking a certain direction too, almost like they’re waiting for someone, or something, to appear. Even when he passes, they only bother to look busy for a few seconds before going back to their previous states.

By the time he reaches the ER floor desk, he’s feeling thoroughly rattled.

“Did the moon suddenly go from waxing to full during the duration of my walk from the parking lot to the ER?” Jack asks the assembled staff.

Mary, tonight’s charge nurse, shakes her head and smiles. “Nope. Full moon is still another fourteen days away.”

“Couldn’t tell. Why are they acting like this…all the–the whispering and shit? I hate it when they do that; feels like they’re conspiring against me.”

“We have a VIP in the ER tonight.”

Jack’s brows furrow. “Myrna’s back already?” Though Myrna’s a frequent flyer, coming back a mere two hours after discharge would be a new record for her.

“Nope. An actual VIP.”

He thinks for a couple of seconds, trying to decide who would be important enough to have an entire floor of medical professionals—people who have enough degrees combined to bring a thermometer up to triple digits—acting like nervy teens. “Okay, you’ve hooked me. Who’s disrupting our orderly chaos?”

Mary leans over the desk, eyes bright and a grin playing at her lips. “Sidney Crosby is sitting in North 3 right now.”

“What?”

Hockey is not the most popular sport in America. In fact, out of the four big professional sports leagues in the US, hockey is at the bottom. But one would have to be living under a rock to be in Pittsburgh and not know who Sidney Crosby is. He’s the city’s sweetheart; not only is he one hell of a hockey player, but he’s also a great guy. How many times has Jack seen something on the news about him donating his money or his time to local causes? How many times has he gone semi-viral for playing street hockey with random groups of children?

“Hold on,” he says, hastily grabbing a tablet from the charging docks. Not because he doesn’t believe Mary (he doesn’t make it a point to question any of the nurses, who regularly save his ass), but because he’s wondering what the hell one of the most decorated hockey players of the 21st century did to land in PTMC’s ER. Even as he reads, Mary verbalizes his chart for him.

“He was chasing a puck behind the net during tonight’s game against the Panthers and took a hard check. The training staff pretty quickly diagnosed shoulder dislocation, but they obviously don’t have the right imaging equipment at PPG. He arrived with one of the trainers, and they’re waiting for a doctor now after yours truly took vitals.”

“And you didn’t accost him or anything? I’ve seen those hockey romance novels you read,” Jack smirks.

Across from him, Mary flushes red. “I only fangirled a little bit, thank you very much.”

As his brain begins to catch up with what the commotion in the ER actually means, Jack’s own excitement fades a little. If Sidney Crosby’s here, and if he got injured during a game, then chances are that means—

“Guess we’re doing this now,” he says with a sigh, earning the curious eyes of those around him.

“Doc, you alright?” Shen asks, pausing in his walk from one bay to the next.

“Just fine.” He looks over the interns and residents who aren’t currently on a case, deciding which one won’t lose all professionalism the moment they’re faced with a veritable star. “Santos, you’re with me.”

Santos stares at him, the energy drink she was planning on taking a sip from paused halfway to her lips. The residents are on only their second week of night shift and are still getting used to life on the dark side, including the quirks of their new boss. Shen says he scares them, but that’s ridiculous; they all worked the PittFest mass cas with him just fine!

(Although…maybe that’s why they’re a little wary? The fact that the one and only time they interacted with him was during a pretty traumatic event where he was barking out orders? Oh well, that’s a conversation for his next therapy appointment.)

“Me?” Santos points to herself.

He has to fight himself from rolling his eyes. “Unless there’s somebody else here named Santos?”

“No, no sir.” She loops her stethoscope around her neck again and hurries after Jack, already halfway to North 3.

He pauses just outside of the doors and pretends to check the tablet in his hands, taking a quick moment to prepare himself for the finality of what comes next. When he and Santos enter the room, he goes against his medical instincts and doesn’t immediately greet the patient.

“Y’know, if you missed me that much, you didn’t have to have somebody stage an injury to see me,” he says.

From the chair next to the hospital bed, you smile. “What can I say, handsome? Our schedules haven’t meshed recently, I needed to get your attention somehow.”

The two others in the room are watching the exchange with the intensity and confusion of a novice attending Wimbledon. They’re both trying to figure out dynamics here, wondering what’s led to this moment where one seeming stranger is talking to another like they intimately know each other.

Finally, the hospital’s own VIP speaks. “Wait, is this hot doctor boyfriend?”

Though Jack isn’t facing her, he can hear Santos’s gasp as a surprised, “Boyfriend?” falls from her mouth.

You sputter while trying to remember how words work, and Jack laughs. “That was said to you in confidence, man!” you complain.

Jack steps closer to the bed and holds out his hand. “I guess that’s me. Dr. Jack Abbot.”

Sidney Crosby (the part of Jack that’s watched hockey since he was a little kid sitting in the den with his dad tries not to start freaking out) raises the hand that’s not currently in a sling to shake Jack’s. “Sidney. Call me Sid.”

He’s a little too starstruck to feel comfortable calling him a nickname like Sid, but it’s nice to have a friendly patient every once in a while.

Behind him, Santos’s thumbs surreptitiously tap on her phone, surely letting every resident in this hospital know that Jack Abbot is off the market. Jack rolls his neck, looks at Santos until she realizes she’s been caught and puts her phone in her scrubs pocket, and gets to work as best as he can.

“It’s already in your chart, but I want to hear it from you,” Jack says. “How’d you end up in the sling?”

“Jarry dumped a puck behind the net that couldn’t be iced. I went to chase after it and got checked, but hit the boards wrong. Felt a popping and pain right away, which is never good,” Sidney explains.

“I’m guessing this isn’t your first dislocation?” Jack asks, helping to remove the sling so he can examine the injury.

“Far from it.” Sidney’s scoff is cut off by a pained groan when Jack begins to feel the joint. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt like a bitch.”

“You need some meds?”

“We administered 600 milligrams of ibuprofen at the arena,” you supply. “A little morphine wouldn’t hurt.”

“Santos?” Jack turns to look at the resident.

“On it,” she says, already heading to grab the needed supplies.

“Your staff is diagnosing it as a dislocation, too?” Jack asks you.

“Like Sid said, he reported his pain as immediate and swelling has continued since the incident, which are two of the biggest indicators for dislocation. A preliminary exam at the rink says dislocation as well. We’re confident in that diagnosis but need imaging to confirm,” you report.

Santos, who’s returned with morphine and is working on drawing it up, looks at you. “You’re a doctor, too?”

You shake your head. “Athletic trainer. I work for the Penguins.”

“Nice.” She grins as she injects the morphine through the IV (Jack’s not sure if she’s smiling at your career or getting to do tasks related to her job).

Sidney relaxes almost immediately, the morphine quickly going to work. Jack takes the opportunity to finish his exam, confirming what everybody’s expected. “Your shoulder’s definitely dislocated. I’ll push you to the front of the CT line, and pending results, we’ll hopefully be able to pop it back in within the hour.”

Jack grabs the tablet and puts in the orders, adding, “Yes, it’s THAT Sidney Crosby” in the ‘notes’ section in the hopes that radiology will actually take him seriously.

“I gotta know,” Sidney asks you, “how did you and hot doctor boyfriend meet?”

“You remember when the front office gave us all tickets to the Steelers game in September?” He nods. “I was tailgating with some friends from marketing when a fight broke out in the spot next to ours. Fists started swinging and one almost got me when I turned around to see what was going on. Jack pulled me out of the way just in time.”

“I was a goner the moment you reared around with your fists raised like you thought I was going to fight you,” Jack recalls fondly.

You’re about to respond when your phone buzzes, and you look down. Though you don’t say anything, Sidney seems to already know what you’re looking at and grins.

“Tanger or Geno?” Sidney guesses.

You laugh lightly. “Tanger. Wanting to know if they’ve popped the shoulder back in yet.”

“Didn’t the game just finish?” Santos asks.

“Ten minutes ago, if that. Kris Letang’s an impatient one.”

“Holy shit, that’s so cool,” Santos whispers under her breath from the biohazard disposal receptacle near the sink, a rare crack in the badass persona she tries so hard to maintain at work.

“We win?” Sidney wonders.

“2-1,” you confirm.

Mary knocks before popping her head into the room. “CT’s ready.”

“Santos, go with?” Jack steps towards her and lowers his voice. “Make sure that nobody hassles him.”

She nods and takes one side of the bed, a couple of members of the transport team taking the other. You rise from the chair and move to Sidney’s side, stealing his phone and other personal items so that he doesn’t have to worry about them getting lost (or, god forbid, stolen by some superfan working tonight).

“You’re in good hands, okay?” you reassure. “See you soon, Sid.”

He gives you a halfhearted wave and then is gone. The room, so quickly full of life as doctors and nurses filed in and out to provide care, has gone quiet just as fast.

Just another day in the ER.

Now that it’s silent, Jack gets the joy of focusing his full attention on you for the first time today. To his pleasure, he finds you looking at him already, eyes and smile both soft.

“Hi,” you greet.

“Hi.” It’s breaking so many hospital protocols to give you a kiss, but he can’t resist a quick one. Not when you’re standing there in your team-issued quarter-zip and ice-friendly tennis shoes, looking very professional (Robby’s right—he really is whipped). “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too. How was Reneé’s concert?”

Jack smiles, pleased that you remembered. “Good! She killed her solo.”

“Oh good, I know you said she was nervous…” you trail off, looking over Jack’s shoulder and out the door. “Why are they staring?”

When he turns his head, he sees a small group of residents and interns curiously peering inside to see that Jack Abbot does have a life outside of work. Of course, they all scatter like marbles upon realizing that they’ve been caught. Javadi’s the last one to run, stuck like a deer in headlights until Mohan pulls her along. “I…may have not told anybody except for Robby and a couple of close friends here that I was seeing someone.”

“Jack!” You sound scandalized, but he can tell by the grin you sport that there’s no offense behind it. “We’ve been dating for six months now.”

“I’m not in the business of telling everybody my business. And you’re one to talk! I’m just ‘hot doctor boyfriend’ when you’re at work?” He can’t help but smile as he says it, from both the name and the fact that somebody cares about him enough to call him such a thing.

“Hot doctor boyfriend is fun to say! Adds some mystery to my life. Plus, hockey players are terrible gossips. It gives them something to talk about.”

“Maybe I was trying to do the same. Add some mystery to my life.”

You roll your eyes, knowing that he’s full of shit. “Sure, Mr. Brick Wall.”

“I think I prefer hot doctor boyfriend.” He earns himself a kiss for that. Screw propriety, he thinks as he leans in and steals a couple more precious seconds.

“We should go out there,” you murmur against his lips, “they’re gonna think we’re hiding.”

Jack sighs before pulling away, knowing that you’re right. “Or, and hear me out, we just stay here, away from the interns, and wait for Sidney to get back.”

Your eyes catch somebody else outside. “Aw, but he looks nice!”

Whitaker waves, sandwich in hand. When Jack shoots a stern look through the doorway, he quickly scurries off.

“You’re being too social for my taste,” he complains.

“Blame it on still being in work mode.” He can understand why a person would need to be personable in a stadium with almost 20,000 screaming fans, and he does not envy you at all.

“You and I have very different definitions of work mode.”

“My sweet, anti-social man,” you coo, patting his cheek affectionately before taking his hand and leading him to the door against his better judgment. “C’mon, let’s go say hi to everyone before Sid gets back and we both have to be professionals again.”

#dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot #the pitt #the pitt imagine #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot fic

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postercollector1975 · 2 years ago

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Last Of The Mobile Hot-Shots

Lobby Cards

1970 Warner Bros Pictures

#poster collector 1975 #last of the mobile hot-shots #james coburn #lynn redgrave #robert hooks #sidney lumet #gore vidal #tennessee williams #movie poster #promotional posters #theatrical poster #lobby card #warner bros. pictures

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deerlyinheadlights · 19 days ago

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the approximation of true desire

sidney crosby x teammates daughter!reader cw: NSFW, 18+, smut w/ plot, younger reader, age gap, sidney is lowkey a bad person, implied power dynamics, alcohol but neither parties are drunk, degradation, corruption kink, dumbification, loss of virginity, virgin! reader, innocence kink, unprotected p in v sex, oral (m receiving), dacryphilia (if you blink you might miss it), overstimulation wc: 8.6k plot: after sidney gets denied a hat trick he felt he very much deserved by who else other than his teammate: your father, a serendipitous encounter at a hotel bar leads to a very enticing night.

Sidney was not a particularly malicious man. Good tempered, mild mannered, methodical if given time, well rounded: all of these applied when off the ice. But anyone who knew anything knew his temperament changed when facing Hockey. What many considered a game, a hobby, meaningless was namesake to him. His humbleness went as far as his arms could reach.

In media; the press; fans, and to teammates, even: he would present himself as a good natured all canadian boy, sure! But when push came to shove: he lived, breathed, slept and reveled in his own rotted greatness. Captaincy was second nature to him, it streamed red, coursed in his blood. Prevented him from the pleasures of life: of a wife, of a family, of retiring 35: rich and dumb. He knew it was no one else’s fault but his own: but was it? A team without him was as good as hopeless. Worse than hopeless: Dead in the water.

Which is why as calm and as collected as Sidney likes to think he is: he did not take lightly to his teammates— your father’s— pathetic, measly, sloppy grievance of a goal: the final goal of the match: what could’ve been Sidney’s third of the night. Hat trick territory. When he set up that goal: pushed that black disc right into your father’s overpriced stick’s hook, in hopes for it to be passed right back to him: to take it home for the team, to get another record across his belt. And when that record never came? Sidney swore he wasn’t mad as the goal horns blared, hurting his plastic-clad ears. Sidney swore he wasn’t mad when your dad took that goal right off him with his sweaty mitts. He swore it didn’t make his blood absolutely boil to watch your dad celebrate like he had earned anything.

No. He wasn’t even that mad. Not really. He was kind in the locker room. In the post-games. To the rookies’ precious face. His fists weren’t clenched because he was angry. What a ridiculous assumption.

He told himself he was sitting against the metal of the locker room benches, white-knuckling the wooden slates because he could, because he had been feeling out of it lately. Not because he could snap someone in half. Sidney was regulated like that. Top half of his gear off; his boutiqued muscles facing the rest of the team. Palming away at his skates like it was his job to take them off with care and intent. Like keeping his blades pristine would unsour his mood. And when the room of men let out nasally roars, howling cheer when he came in: still in full gear, bouncing up and slapping the top of the doorway like it owed him something. Sidney released a disgruntled whisper from the back of his throat. Not a chance of fixing Sid's attitude now.

Sidney had began to pray for maybe the first time in years: Please, shut the fuck up.

“You guys see me out there?” A call to arms to the rest of the team. Sidney keeps his head down to his skates to avoid participation in the circle jerk about to commence, eyes rolling into oblivion. Half dressed men from every corner of this dark, mildewed Away locker room begin to bark compliments.

And for a moment in Sidney’s exceptional career, he wishes he weren’t Captain. He wishes with every fibre in his taught muscle that he didn't have to reward every lousy, snobbish oaf a pat on the back for any old goal a kid on juniors could hit. The irony is not lost on Sid. He set up that goal, it was his.

“What about you, Sid, huh? I was on fire out there.” Your father chews out, mouthguard pliant between his lips. Sidney lets the world melt away for a second: he watches as your old man settles in front of where he’s located, wringing out spit from his own mouth guard with nothing but contempt and anger running rampant in his mind.

“Yeah, man. You did good tonight, for sure.” Soft, barely a tone above happy, forced from the deepest parts of Sid’s diaphragm. A good job.

“Whaddya think? Me, Rusty, Letang and a few of the other boys are gonna go out for drinks?,” A toothy grin comes down at the captain. He forces one back. One that appears, tugs at the corners of his mouth, suggests something with haste and then fades back into normalcy. “...Celebrate the win with us!” He continues, using the end of his stick to poke at Sidney's nude shoulder. He hates that. He hates it so much he can’t bear to think.

“Nah, not for me, boys… Thank you, though. Gonna rest up, head back to the hotel, we still have a game tomorrow,” The righteousness returns to him, finds itself in his veins, Sidney forgets himself but is always quick to remember, projecting his voice to the boy-splattered room. “I actually– I remind you all that the responsible thing to do is have an early night. Treat yourself well. Be up early and prepare for tomorrow.” And with boyish charm, like clockwork, the room explodes with groans, scratching at him. Predictability is one of the few things he actually respected from his team. “Nah, nah. You guys have fun, okay?” Pushing himself up off the bench using your fathers shoulder as anchor, pushing down slightly harder than necessary while making his hockey-patriotic, holier than thou lecture an excuse to leave. Finally, get out of everyone’s sight. His sight.

And when Sid sits in that hotel bar, he replays the scene. That moment where he launched himself off your father, analysing at how your dad winced at the pressure. Pressure only presumed as innocent collateral to Sid’s strength. Sidney imagines it all. Imagine how badly he could've chewed him out if he wanted to, how publicly he should have shamed and blamed him to the post game reporters. It is not unlike Sid to be in his own mind, in the past. Picturing how good the hurt would’ve felt to afflict. And then, he spots you. God, you. Unbrushed hair that falls down around your face with no pattern yet seemingly with intent, you look young. Hell, you probably are. You are in the remainder of something half nice. You scream of similarity, you ache and itch at the back of his head. He has seen you before. Maybe, the rookie’s girl? Another washed up WAG? Probably so. You seem nervous though, you falter around, eyes dancing over him. Placing your weight on your left leg and switching it to your right, making eyes at Sid. Does he know you???

You look at him, like he’s letting you down, like you need him to pull you out of a crash of waves. Like you’re stuck in inner turmoil in front of him and he’s your life boat. And when he does: when he finally extends that hand: you jump. Jump like you’re afraid of him.

“Do we know each other?” It comes off harsh, harsher than expected. But; Sidney’s intent was also to be harsh. Last thing he needed is someone he doesn’t know acting like he was on their borrowed time. And when you flinch, he cannot help but absorb the power you unwittingly just handed to him.

“Oh! Sorry, Sidney..,” You begin your sentence like you’re so sure of yourself but halt in the middle: you’ve remembered yourself and you’ve remembered who Sidney is, haven’t you? “Just wanted to say hi,” your awkward tooth heavy smile begins to fade, the way you smile claws at Sidney: so, so, so familiar yet so, so, distant, “We met a few years ago?” you realise you’re an idiot: Why on earth would Sidney Crosby remember you? His head tilts at your words, eyebrows furrowed highlighting what few wrinkles he wears on his forehead, he’s hurrying you, he’s letting you know with minimal politeness that he couldn’t care less to try and remember. Your lips make an awkward shape, your full name falling off your tongue like you’re embarrassed. You should be. Oh! It’s you! He remembers you! 2 years ago, your dad played on your 18th, and with that badge of honour your old man finally allowed you in the pens lockeroom where you weaseled yourself into Sidney’s vision of sight, pleading with teen awkwardness, a fucked up haircut, and painted fingernails if Sid could please, please sign your jersey! He smiles, his eyes lighting up at your reminder of identity: repeating your name back to you a few times, you have your father’s last name, what a pretty adornment. It was like a gift, a present with a ribbon on top: kind of like your dad was saying ‘Here, Sid, from me to you!’

“Ah, yes! It’s you, of course, it’s you! I cannot believe I forgot.” Sidney feigns innocence, pushing the barstool adjacent to him with the rubber-soled tip of his shoe open wide enough to suggest ‘c’mon, sit down with me, I won’t bite’ and who are you to deny the captain of the pittsburgh penguins?

“What are you doing out this way? I thought you guys lived in pittsburgh” He prods at you verbally, examining you like roadkill.

“Ah! I’m travelling with my dad for roadies.” “Do you travel with him often?” He knows this answer. No, you don’t. There’s not a lot his team can get past him.

You shake your head, hair tusseling around you. “No, I wish. This is my first time, actually,” You continued on with your reasoning, you’re talking too much, but you’re too oblivious to even know that. Sidney eyed you as you effused, nursing down his overpriced health drink. God. Sidney liked to play innocent, sure, but you are. He knows you are.

“Ah! Well, first roadie! That’s a serious deal in the hockey world. You enjoying it?” Sid cuts you off, interpositioning you. He controls the conversation, not you.

“Mhm. The travel’s crazy though. Feeling jet lagged, a bit.”

“Tell me about it? I have 20 years on you and it doesn’t get any easier,” He banters, entertains you, keeps your mind at ease. You giggle, a forced giggle, ‘I want you to like me so i’m gonna giggle’ giggle, but a giggle nonetheless. “Didya watch the game tonight?”

“Mhm. I thought you played really well.”

“Really?” Sidney simulates interest. Like your compliment meant the world to him. “Thanks. I thought I played well too.”

And with no warning Sidney lands on his feet, collecting his jacket off the back of the chair, punching his arm through the sleeves. Oh, is the conversation over? You panic. Your face turning, eyes scrambling to meet him, bending in an unnatural way to meet his gaze. But you just sat down. He knows this though. He knows you’re oh, so worried that your five minutes with him is over. His head tilts again, oh that dreaded head tilt. But this time: there's no longer a feeling of animosity, he’s guiding you. He’s telling you to follow. Ohh. And you do so: you don’t say much. You don’t even let your throat muster up a sound of shock. You just trail behind him. Like a sunflower to the sun, like a duckling to its mother. You follow him with cloudy eyes. More in your head than in the reality of the situation. You don’t even realise it when he thumbs at the elevator, watching the tinny mercury light up a big metallic button that reads 15, that you’re going up with him. You don’t even feel yourself following behind as his plastic card buzzes you into what you must have felt like the holy grail of hotel suites, until you’re there. And then you’re really there. In your body. In Sidney Crosby’s hotel room.

Sid walks in, taking his layers off near the door. He doesn’t even say anything. Doesn’t show you around. Disregarding you at entry with his eyes like he would a jacket or a watch, leading you without motion to the small table hidden in the furthest corner of the room. He’s asking you to sit there and watch: watch as he prepares himself for whatever. You take your time to catch on: still overcompensating from lack of belief. And if you were anyone else: that would be fine. Sure. But Sidney’s resolve with you was quick to burn. His eyebrows lift as you loiter, sit down.

You realise and scramble: placing yourself politely on the fabric-wearing armchair, not quite sitting right; worming under the tension, tucking your legs underneath yourself. Sitting in silence but you watch in awe. The man in front of you begins to unravel himself. Placing his coat on his bed: along with whatever expensive watch he had thrown on. Your presence meant nothing in the face of routine. Stretching his back as he lets the day fall off him: his black shirt lifts to expose his mid-drift, you eye the elastic of his boxers, beginning to have a staring contest with the few and far in between hairs that lead upwards. When he cracks his knuckles it brings you back to life: your eyes shoot upwards as you find him to your left. At the minibar: searching for something, anything that interested him.

“You drink?” Clearing his throat, slamming the already heaving pressure back into your mind.

You begin to mumble, looking for words. God, this is so embarrassing. How do you explain to an icon that you haven’t even touched the side of drunk? He faces you, something remorseful yet not quite nurturing in his eyes. “Have you ever drank? You’re in college, no?”

“Yeah. I’m 20.” You choke out.

“Yeah?” Sidney laughs a little, like that means anything. “When I was your age, drinking was like— The only thing I did.” Batoning the transparent neck of an aged whiskey into his left from his right, he is a left shooter, after all. He lets the maple coloured liquid fall into a crystal cup: you’d never been allowed near the glassware your father had. His calloused hand brought the finery to his lips. He sips, delicately, like someone who knew the procedures of drinking would. He pulls away with wonder on his face. He liked this one: for a hotel’s choice, at least. Sidney approaches, approaches with meaning: bringing himself to your eye level, squatting. A glint in his eye you had not seen all evening. The distance between you was closer than you had ever been to a man. So, so close. Your air is now his, and the reverse for him.

He puts the glass between your faces, to your perfectly pink lips, and through half lidded eyes he tells you: “Drink.”

You let it in. You let him in. The amber travelling down your tongue, burning you on its way down. Tears being brought to your eyes: Jesus, why does anyone like this shit? It claws at your throat, it is not easy on its way down. It is poignant and it hurts with purpose. Sidney knows this, he knows the alcohol content is strong, even for him. He watches as you squirm, as you try to run from it without hurting his feelings. He finally relents, he finally allows you to pull away from the glass. Coughs begin to fall out of you. His hand finds the skin between your shoulder blades, rubbing it better.

“Aren’t you a big girl?” He coos. “All grown up now, huh. But you can’t handle one drink.” His shift in attitude alarms, shocks you to your core. But also awakens you, he sees it in you. Makes you buzz, a firefly vibrating itself into oblivion. He sees you shift your weight, aligning the seam of your pants perfectly. Your thighs are trying to simulate what only he has.

He leaves your vision: he’s punishing you, you aren’t allowed to look at him anymore.

Taking the crystal with him in his webbed hands. He absorbs you, drowns you in silence, he is your lifeboat but: maybe, he doesn’t wanna share the space with you just quite yet. Sid leans against the same dresser he poured your elixir on, feet crossing over each other, he begins to mutter your age, a million ‘20’s’ falling from him, like it would change the facts of the situation the more he let it leave his mouth.

“20, huh? 20 but can’t hold a drink” He pouts, the pink of his lip facing you, his falsities dripping off him. Palpably trying to tear you at your seams: like you were an unaged doll, made of cotton and he was, well, himself. “Can’t imagine you’ve ever been to a party,” widening his eyes at you, furrowing his brows, he’s not asking. He's telling you. “You popular with boys?”

You shake your head, eyes full of glass, words becoming void, still working yourself through the burn of the drink and the strangeness in your core. “No.”

“No? C’mon. Seriously? I’m shocked, truly. Guys love girls like you, small, innocent, could hold you in their palms if they wanted to. You’re kinda, what's the right word? Mouldable, aren’t you? I mean 20, you can’t even look me in the eyes, tell me what you want, what you’re feeling: or why a big girl like yourself can’t make use of whatever she’s feeling?” He smiles now, showing you his beautiful manicured teeth, his tongue sliding over his canines: eyes reaching for the roof. “..Do you even know how you’re feeling? Or d’ya just feel and wait for someone like me to come along and tell you.” He’s waiting for a response, your heart blinking red at you like a warning sign. You cannot muster a single word, just a sound, an exasperated suggestion of air leaving your mouth: he cannot help but venerate you, you almost weaken him. “Yeah, I bet guys love you. And you don’t even know it.” It comes from him like a sigh, like of course, you don’t know that. You are too yourself.

“Tell me. Do you want something from me, huh?” He propositions you. “Seriously, you can tell me anything as long as you use your grown up, big girl words. Which might be hard knowing you.” You double back for a second: he cannot help the hockey inside of him. Chirping, even when trying to coax something deeply wrong out of you.

Your jaw falls slack, do you want something from him? “I-, Uhm–”

“Can’t get it out, can you? No. No, you cannot.” Sid answers on your behalf, fills in your blanks. “Come here.” He commands you like he’s training you, his eyes falling to the floor: he’s suggesting that maybe in this moment, you don’t walk. This is your call to action, and you don't want to waste it. You don’t want to be uncool, and surely you don’t want to let Sidney down. This is the first step of many, the first word of a prologue from a book with a million chapters. You let yourself find your knees, palms touching ashen carpet, hair falling in your poor heated face: hiding your glowing cheeks, your sense of direction sullied but yet you seem to manage finding Sid: standing firm, like a lighthouse holds itself strong for a passing boat. The burn of your kneecaps is only remedied by the feeling of Sidney's body heat, the thinnest skin of your leg finding the cap of his shoe.

His thumb finds your chin, rubbing small abstract circles: “There you are.” The rough sides of his hands sweeping strands out of your face, his composure thin, jeans getting tighter, look at you, his teammate's daughter, who crawled over on his whim for no reason other than he said. “Let’s get a good look at that pretty face.”

“Do you? Do you want something from me?” He prompts you a final time. Your eyes begin to cloud, it can be overwhelming, can’t it? “I want something from you.” Sid’s thumb finds your lower lip, the same one that shares your father’s pout, a stark reminder of who you are to him, one that cannot help clawing at his boxers, tapping idly. Your mouth falls open, you don’t know why it does that but it does, and there he finds jubilation. Sid’s thumb rests on the small divot on your tongue, and what makes him all the harder is that he didn’t even have to suggest anything: you just rode Sidney's approval like a high and the high like instinct. You close your mouth, going limp like the only thing holding you up were his index and his pointer, feeling like a thousand bricks were laid in your head and that Sidney was the only thing stronger than the never ending cement.

To Sid: the way you look is as close as something can be to perfect, besides maybe a good wrist shot, the weight of the stanley cup, a thousand metals. You are enclosing on perfect going dumb at the taste of the salt on his fingers. He curls his wrist: gaining leverage to maneuver his fingers in and out, just subtly, just enough friction for you to feel like you’re doing something useful. You’re not good at what you're doing, your passing oral fixation is not apparent. His breath jumps, he is awfully reverent to your uselessness for someone who wrings out his team of all weakness. Your eyes flutter towards him, upwards, uncomfortable for you. More than easy for him.

“You’re not really good at this, are you?” Sid coos, aiding you in the learning process. He pulls his fingers into a hold in your mouth, and you cannot help but let a small whimper leave your incredulous lips, “No, you’re not. But, that’s okay. You’ll learn.” Sidney uses his right hand to brush your jaw, cleaning up the drool you’ve painted yourself with.

He grins at you, a knowing smile. Like he just got the greatest idea, a thought that almost made up for making that god-awful pass that cost him a hat trick.

“You ever given head before?” Once again, he knows this answer. But he wants to hear you say it, wants it to come from you. “Huh?” Sid goads, ripping his fingers from your mouth, delicate strings of spit connecting your lips and his fingers. Faux disgust drips off him, yet he remains enamored at the mess you’ve made. A scoff falling from his lips.

“We can’t have that, can we?” musing at the disarray you’ve left behind. He tuts, disapprovingly. The pads of his index and his pointer find your cheek, rubbing your saliva into the round of your face. A sensory nightmare for you, usually. But you can’t feel anything but the overwhelming lack of stimulation in your hips. He fists at your hair, a whine escapes you: you tried your hardest to keep it stuck in your stomach, you try your hardest to seem more experienced than you are.

He looks at you, his most perfect sacrificial lamb. A kicked animal at his feet (almost literally). “Go on,” a smile returns to Sidney “Give it a go, why don't ya? We all start somewhere.” You almost forgot: silly you, he’s doing this for you. To help you, to get you all ready for your final, most tumultuous year of college: not so he can scratch that perverse itch, not so every time your father fucks him over he can think ‘your daughter gave me head and you can’t do shit about it’. His fingers tap at the side of your temple, encouraging you to begin.

Your manicured nails claw at the metal of his belt, invigorated to please, you struggle to get past the leather, excluding you from what you already shouldn’t have. You should consider this a sign, but your mind can’t process left from right at this moment. Your cheeks begin to redden, do guy’s belts usually take this long to take off? You finally manage it, a smile presents itself. Sid can’t help but coo, you’ve not even begun to do anything of worth yet you’re preening at slipping a belt from the band of his jeans.

Your eye’s meet with the hardness in his boxers, black fabric covers what you so badly sought. Your hand ghosts over it, the warmness of your palm making contact with his length. His resolve has yet to snap, he understands the newness of this to you. You travel up and down against the cotton once or twice, exploration. One small step for mankind.

You pull at his underwear, desponding at how they cling to the roughness of his jeans. After fidgeting with the fabric, his cock springs free, nerve wracking in its existence. You feel dizzy at the sight, you weren’t an invalidate, by any means, you had watched porn (in rarity), when desire overcame you, when you felt you were gonna burst at the seams, when you longed to be touched by anyone or anything, but here it was: here Sidney was. Grown, erect, unadulteratedly himself. A whole different thing, not anything like you could’ve imagined.

Your tongue licks at his tip, precum meeting you in your efforts. You don’t know what you’re doing, you try and act in confidence, you know he can probably sense your fear: like most apex predators so often can with their prey. You accept your fate and bite the bullet, taking his weight in your mouth with as much grace as you can manage. You don’t do any of the stuff he likes, what he usually expects from a partner (whoever that may be, in their lack of significance), you don’t swirl your tongue around his cockhead, you don’t play coy and kiss around it, or thumb over the slit. You just take him in your mouth. Medieval. Torturous. Erotically naive.

Cocking your head back and forth, in what you can only assume is the correct way, moving from base to tip: and then repeat, over and over again. Wincing when your nose brushes against the fuzz that adorns his pubis. Sidney stares at you, drinks you in, if you would take a moment: unfocus yourself, you would see a light in his eye many have not seen since 2009. He has never been harder, this is what his wettest dreams are made of. Albeit, your actions aren’t driving his libido. It’s the situation. Sidney believes this to be, as most things in his life tend to be, a showboating exercise, holding the girth of him in your jaw. It’s not what you’re doing to him, it’s what he’s doing to you. Breaking what’s most delicate, the feeling of pleasure, as euphoric as touching art in an art gallery and never getting caught. The power you have relented to him. How he stands over you, looking at you with pity. Taking what should be a special moment between you and a boy your age and making it his: a moment of pure, guttural release. That’s what's truly getting him there, not whatever second guessed blowjob you’re giving him.

He grips onto your skull, like if he pressed any harder, maybe just maybe, his hands could slip right through the blood and muscle and get his fingers in the folds of your brain. Leveraging what he can, taking control in this moment, he’s using you. Pushing you into his pelvis, cushioned by a bed of curls, choked gags being released into nothingness, falling upon deaf ears. God, this is perfect.

Sid made a vow to himself that he would use self control, that if he knew anything, he would know to prolong this: but your unsure kitten licks, your nails digging into his thighs for support, the way you scramble for breath when he lifts you back for fresh air. Sidney wants nothing more than to paint your tongue with himself. There is no point prolonging the inevitable, he gives in, speeding up, hips bucking to meet the back of your throat. For every time you feel like he’s bruising an already open wound, he’s pushing himself closer into completion. And that final time you gag, your eyes meet his, looking for a sign, for anything. He withdraws from you, taking over, pumping himself to mock your motions. You don’t even know you’re supposed to get yourself all pretty and present yourself with cheeks hollowed, mouth open. Poor girl. He grips your jaw to correct you, thumb digging into your buccal fat: iron grip forcing your mouth open.

He doesn’t acknowledge your presence at this moment, doesn’t ask if it’s okay if he finishes in your mouth. That’s not how this is going to work, not between you two anyway. He just continues rubbing himself over you. The way you look at him, the way you buzz in his hands even though he is treating you so poorly: he can’t handle much more. “Tongue out.” a command from Sidney you are so obliged to follow. You watch with awe, with excitement: as he bolts his eyes shut, blissful groans escaping him gruffly, it all hits him. A snap of what you can only assume has been building up within him for a while. White hot lines of cum landing on your tongue, a jackson pollock of himself.

His mind's eye captures this moment, he catalogues this: stores the situation, your vacant eyes, the flatness of your tongue, the stiff coldness in the air, everything in the forefront of his mind.

“Swallow, yeah? That’s what big girls do.” Grasp loosening from your jaw, allowing you the independence to do so. You shut your mouth, letting the flavour sit with you for a second. Nothing you’ve ever quite tasted, not as bad as you imagined: but there was a certain Sid-ness to it. An aphrodisiac in itself because of its association with him.

You drink it down, swallow every last drop of his seed. You’ve learnt this time. Your tongue falls out against your chin, proof that you’ve followed his bodiless task. “Good girl.” Sidney purrs, like it has no weight on him, like it means nothing, condescending and full of air: he says it but you know he thinks you are full of filth, filth that he needs to pressurise into perfection. “It tastes good, huh?” poking at you once more. Trying to get you to bubble over.

“Uh huh.” you choke out, the most you can manage over your state of mind. You should’ve known that wouldn’t have been enough for Sid: “Mm?” “Yeah. It tastes good, Sidney,” searching for any sign of approval on his face, your brain going into overtime trying to figure out what you’re missing. “Thank you.” Your continuation seems to be the final piece. Now, he’s satiated, pride flaring in his chest.

You cannot forget your manners. You were raised better than that.

“Yeah. I bet it did. I bet it felt good to finally have some purpose, huh?” The meanness in his tone has grown familiar, and although your ego bruises as your eyes shoot away, Sidney watches as your thighs cling to each other, clenching around nothing, in hopes for something. “C’mon. Don’t act all shy. I see the way you react when I treat you the way girls like you should be treated. ”

He points at the taboo, what you hoped so deeply he would ignore. But you liked it, he knew on your behalf that you liked it, you liked being under Sidney’s knife, a mental game of pulling you open and looking at all your blood and mental entrails: the rawest, most erroneous, unkempt part of you, and fucking it into completion.

“I bet you’re wet right now.” Sidney has you to a point, you can feel your panties, dampened, sticking to your folds. “What do you do in situations like this, huh, pretty girl? Play with yourself?,” His head shifts, wordlessly telling you to get off your knees, and sit on the bed. “Do you wait around like you are for me, now? Or do you fuck yourself on your fingers?”

“It’s not rhetorics, answer me.” A low growl.

“No, Sidney.” A pathetic mewl from your lips, your voice not quite one you recognize, high pitched and a bit unsteady.

“‘No, Sidney’ what? ‘No, Sidney’ as in you’re so fucking dumb that you don’t even know how to get yourself off? Or ‘No, Sidney’, I’m just so greedy, I feed my pussy at her every whim?” The truth was that you were at odds with your body, every time you felt one way: your body would betray you with a crueler reaction, a wetness in your hole to your posture being manhandled into conformity by your golf coach, a small moan every time you were pushed around by your romantic literatures professor. You knew your body like you knew calculus, taught the bare minimum: enough to get by. You seldomly touched yourself, and when you did, you placed nervous, unrehearsed circles on your clit, bumpily getting yourself where you needed to be.

With a misplaced grunt, Sidney pushes you into the sheets. Hair spilling around you.

“No, Sidney,” A heady cry more than a sexy, calculated, performed response. “I don’t touch myself.” You continue. Sid almost swore the way you said it was a most-formulated call to action.

“D’aww. Poor, poor girl. Must be so horny. Dumb girl. Want me to fuck it better?” This he offers, this he craves, this you’ll share. It’s just like all the fantasies he’s palmed himself, in the dead of cold, hours of the night, to.

The calloused pads to his most overworked fingers catch themselves in the elastic of your waistband. He waits for you: it’s your turn to add lines to this stanza. “Yes, please.” Whining now. You push your eyes up to him, lip pouting, creases forming on your chin. You know that Sidney can’t say no when you ball yourself into your smallest, most inconsequential self. “Sidney, please.”

“Oh, with good manners and everything, huh? Must need it bad.” Sid assists, taking off your pants in the process. Leaving you in your underwear. Sopping wet, in their proclamation. ‘They’re nice’, you had thought a million times before as you stared at the way the fabric cupped your ass in the bathroom mirror. Polka dotted, navy and white. You had bought them from wherever, so long ago. “Aww, these are cute, aren’t they?” Sid ridicules, snapping at the hemline of your panties. The sting makes you yip, as the fleeting pain spreads through your hips.

And once again, you feel embarrassment heat the tip of your ears. You turn, trying to hide your face in your display of hair, something Sid deplores, you can tell by the way he pinches at the delicate skin above your thighs like he has the right to do that, like that is something he is owed. God, Sidney Crosby is calling you cute. You would’ve been honoured if you were still standing at that bar with him. But ‘cute’ isn’t exactly language you used for a fucked through femme fatale you just wanna sink your teeth in. Cute is a teddy bear for valentine’s day, cute is a baby duckling. Cute is a little thing, small, aloof, helpless, embedded in its behaviour, yet insecure in exactly that. Cute is you and your polka dot, not lacey at all, panties. And finally, he reaches down and pulls down that final layer that protects what he has been eagerly waiting for so, so, so long. For a moment, he spaces out. 100 different ideas of how he plans to fuck you begin to materialise in his head as he seemingly stares daggers at your cunt, he places a powerful swat at swollen clit, drowned in your own slick. Shutting your thighs as your pitiful hole clenches around emptiness, a pit in your stomach revealing itself.

“Please.” You wail, please no more? Or please, cause you can’t wait any longer and just need him in you?

“Patience. Jesus Christ. Did your dad ever tell you ‘no’, or ‘wait’ or ‘shut the fuck up’ at all in your childhood? Or did your piss poor attitude get you everywhere?”

You liked this colour on him, the colour that belittled you, that held your neck to his pointed heel. He spoke to you like you were to be broken in, fixed. Like maybe, at the end of the day: you were just the virgin highschooler who eventually became the virgin college student that no one would dare touch with a 10 foot pole. But he saw past that. He would touch you. And in his infinite wisdom, he should be making all your choices for you. Maybe what was best for you was being split open on his cock until you cannot form words cause you’re so pretty for him: you don’t even need words anyway. You can just be his toy. His plaything for when the world of hockey eventually lets him down. An approximation of what he truly desires, but yet is just out of reach. His most exquisite collateral to a breakdown 20 years in the making.

Sid pumps himself back to life, your legs being held open by his non dominant. A deep breath in, like he’s preparing himself. Nervous for what this implies, even though you couldn’t list one way this affects him. Rubbing his leaking tip through your folds, jumping every time his cockhead briefly adjoins your clit. You squeak in response, more than audibly.

“Relax for me.” The kindest he’s sounded all night. You untense for him the same way you clumsily splotter water onto a stain in a shirt you’re already wearing, only so you can look presentable, but the shirt’s not truly clean. And you are certainly, not really, relaxed at this moment.

You breathe deep as he lines up his cockhead with your poor, weeping, tight hole. And when Sid pushes in, the gasp you let out is loud. You almost wish you could’ve had it caught in your hands, but they are balled up trying to wring the pressure out of your head vicariously through the sheets.

Sid is heavy within you, it isn’t porn, he isn’t damaging your insides with his largeness, but this is also no easy feat. No prep, just your slick as far as you have hope. And to your credit, he is having very little issue traveling through you, slowly approaching half way through his length as you squirm beneath him, the entire time his eyes searing hotly into yours. If he wasn’t trying to make this moment absolutely fucking terrifying for you, he would be telling you how hard it gets him that he gets to see the unknown vacancy in your eyes as he takes your virginity. But Sidney knows the limits, and Sidney knows that makes him come off scarier than intended. Sidney will tell you that during a future escapade. Maybe in a year's time, when you two retrace this memory.

As Sid bottoms out, the pain becomes a bit more apparent. It’s a lot. Your moans are less so moans, more so a confused mixture of wet cries, and overstimulated mewls. For every feeling you get that it’s too much, that your insides are hurting, a wave of pleasure will water it down. You don’t even know what you want, right now. You are swimming in a body of ocean you never thought you’d be allowed in and the waves are more daunting than you had imagined.

Tears forming, big, splotchy in your waterline. “Sid-” “Shh. Sh. It’ll be okay.” He’s quick to comfort, but more because he’s played this game before. Years ago, before you even existed. He knows this drill. He doesn’t need you crying. Not now at least.

His palm finds your bare navel, exposed at your shirt which is lifted around the dips of your breasts, you can see him focusing, his hand moving downwards as he mumbles. Ah ha. He’s found it. At least, around there should be right. He presses right down like he’s digging for something. You hiss at first, but it falls out of your mouth lazier and lazier as it goes on, you understand now. He’s searching for himself.

“You feel that, kid? Feel my big cock inside you?” You’re just holding him now, blabbering blissful praise incoherently at him as he dangles pleasure in your face. The pressure becoming sweeter. He’s not even begun to thrust, this scene is lazy. Almost domestic, if you squint. Sidney would enjoy playing house with you, after all.

“I know after this, you won’t be so cockhungry and maybe finally we can get you acting good. Yeah. Just needing me to fuck the stupid out of you. Is that it, baby? Are you so dumb that you needed me to take your virginity so you can finally get your act together?” Your pussy flutters at his words, which only feeds his ego more, if you looked hard enough, if your eyes could focus, you swore you would have seen his head getting bigger in real time. “Or will it make you worse, a dumb little clockslut who likes it when I’m mean to her cause for once in her life she’s being seen for what she is? Am I gonna have to fuck you often for you to be good?”

You just claw at him, not sure enough of yourself to respond, your arms beam down his bare chest, trying to cling onto something, but nothing sticks. Your grip finds his bicep as finally, he begins to move. Slow, lethargic as his hips withdraw, leaving you for the first time in your life: feeling hollow. You had never before in your life been full, but what ached you all the more, is you had never been so close to empty. And you had begun to realize, it was not a feeling you liked. You sob as he withdraws to his tip. “More. Need more, please.” You choke out. “Jesus. Fucking needy. Obviously, you need more. Nothing’s ever enough for greedy little girls like you, just take, take, take." The crudeness of his words punctuated as he slams back into you, like he would’ve been kinder, slower, sweeter, more intimate if you hadn’t overstepped. A cry ripped from your throat as the white hot pain morphed into uglier, unfamiliar pleasure.

“There you go, you like that, don’t you?” His movements unrestrained but also, strangely aware of your limits, any boy your age wouldn’t’ve known this was an appropriate pace, but it was. Sidney knew. God, you were so glad Sidney knew. Strong, consistent, fast, but not aggressive. You felt like every bone had been ripped out of your body, like you were jello, to be molded. Like you were melting into the sheets.

Pleasure being ripped through you every time his pelvis met your cervix. Every time, his fuzz meets yours, stimulating your engorged clit just that little more. You were so drunk on it. Drunk on it all.

“Look at you. Learning so quickly,” His right hand digging deep into your sacrum, Sid feels dizzy at the way he can feel himself, and it doesn’t help it only feels better for you. His left finally meets your bundle of nerves, flicking it back and forth with reliable spirals. “I know you love it. Even if you wanted to pretend you hated it, you couldn’t. Crying like this is the first time you’ve ever eaten. Fuck. You’re drooling. Literally drooling.” And for every time you try to retaliate, you try to stand your ground: He lands another swipe at your clit, it makes you jump, hips bucking to try and run away, even though it's apparent that's the last thing you could want. And all he can do is laugh. Laugh in your face like it hurts you, like it doesn’t make you clench harder and harder on his length. Like you’re trying to pull him in and swallow him whole.

A line of spit falls from his lips, falling down into your pussy to be fucked into you. It’s a new type of sensation, a new kind of warm to every other warmness you’re feeling. You begin to shake, shake like a leaf being encouraged through the air by a summer breeze. You’re so close, you realize. It’s all so in your stomach. You might cry if you come right now.

“Gonna- Gonna cum, Sid.”

“Of course. Of fucking course you are, baby.” An exasperated sigh that falls out of him right onto you like a weight: like oh, of course you’re gonna cum cause you’re some insatiable beast with a high sex drive that he needs to squander before he can focus on important stuff, like oh of course you’re gonna cum, I’m Sidney fucking Crosby. I could be spending the night with a super model, my dick is as big as a red oak and I fuck like a rabbit on ketamine and yet I choose you, lucky you! You’re gonna cum! “Cum, then. Show me. Since that’s all you know how to do, apparently.”

And god, do you ever. Wide, expansive, white hot pleasure blinding you as you bolt your eyes shut. Attempts to squirm away from him, hips bucking themselves tired. Beautiful, arousing tears fall to your jaw like you’re a sculpture to be marveled. Sid helps you ride out your orgasm, finally, malleable, truly relaxed for him; as your body limpens under his touch.

Your heart beats like a drum in your chest, loud and consistent, unsuccessfully attempting to ground you in your less than mindful state. It would be working if Sid wasn’t still driving into you. You're conscious enough to know that you’re too sensitive for this. Too much, you assume. Your pussy’s still fluttering, taking new life. Hips still bucking, electric with aftershocks.

“One more.” He asks from you. One more, he promises himself.

“Can’t,”

“Can.” He rebuts. Well. He does know what’s best for you.

Sidney speeds up, grabbing your legs and throwing them over his right shoulder, pinned together at the ankles, the tension of being held together digs into your clit. This one is more for him, as much as he liked to give, he wasn’t coming out of this unsatisfied. He pushes into you like he’s trying to knock something loose in you, like he already hasn’t.

He listens to your gasps and moans, as he tries new angles, fucking up into you, or to the right. Trying to find that sponge in you, that sweet spot that makes every girl squeal. He just needs to find yours, and then he can revel in the squeals, revel like he does in arenas full of hungry desperate fans and their screams, but he much prefers the prior.

And when Sidney finally finds it, finds that spot in you that squishes underneath his tip like it is clay in his hands, makes you yelp, scream, like if you don’t scream: he won’t know to never stop. The mix of it, the pain that transforms to pleasure, the squeezing, the presence of weak aftershocks, and the suppleness of your g-spot. You are so close, He is so close. You two are close.

Still weak from your first orgasm, your second hits you hard. Powerful. Clenching around Sid’s dick like you might never have it again if you let go. Twitching in his hands. He pulls out quickly in fear of what will happen, which is met with a loud involuntary moan.

“Quiet, Slut.” He hushes, running his fist from base to tip like he might lose this moment. Might lose the opportunity to come all over you as you short circuit, as you worm, as you twitch. Teeth digging into his upper lip in concentration. He squeezes the pink head of his cock, and as if a command was given: cum spits itself all over your stomach. All over. Painted in his remnants.

Well… there you two are. Messes of each other’s making. Sidney takes deep breaths as he stands over you. Taking recon of what he’s done. This must’ve been how it felt when temptation was offered to Eve, although he is unsure if he is Eve or the serpent, if you are the great temptation or if he is?

Sid approaches the bathroom, wetting a towel, holding it underneath the sink, the cloth becoming oversaturated as his eyes go void, he closes in on his own mind again.

He comes back, silent. Like he’s planning. Like there’s more in store for you two. He makes delicate lines around your stomach, a wet trail following, cleaning up his mess to his dismay, a small tut coming from his pursed lips as he does so. He then examines your pussy, blood intertwined so closely with your slick, you wouldn’t have known if you weren’t looking for it. Sidney did always take very good care of his things, to be fair. He wipes you down, one final sense of pleasure shoots up at you as the rough of the towel touches your pussy. Reactive even in your most dead state. He lets you rest for five minutes before prompting you again. “Not bad for your first time.” He forces out the kindness almost, like he’s not done stripping you of your worth, not done fucking his resentment into you. A long sigh falls from him, like he has to remind himself he’s not finished playing with you, there will be a next time. It, unfortunately, can wait.

Sid taps at your thigh, encouraging you to get up, even in your limpness. You do have to return to your father before he believes you to be missing. “I’ll help you get dressed.” Offered half heartedly, your sweat soaked palms rest on his shoulders as he steadies your dizzy body, as your shirt falls back into its correct position, as he pushes your ruined panties up your thighs, hitting you with a little slap to your mount after the fabric returns, just cause it makes him smile, just because it reminds you that you are subjected to his every whim. He helps you step into your pants. “Shame you gotta put your clothes on, cover up everything nice about you.” Brushing hair out of your face, it’s weird. He just helped you get dressed, took your virginity, he has you by the small of your back as he walks you to the door, intimacy bloomed around you two, yet he’s still picking you apart. And, you still love it.

“You know how to get back to your room?” “Mhm.” “Okay, good.” He smiles, a full smile. “I’ll get in contact with you when I can, okay?” Sidney already has this down pat. Already knows you’re gonna wanna see him again. And, he is more than happy for that to happen. You know that. You both do. But, it’s gotta be on his terms. Like most things— like all things in his life are.

So, no. Sidney was not a particularly malicious man, not in his head. That’s not how he would choose to describe it. But when he walked into the locker room, the room beginning to chirp at him because obviously they heard your high pitched, lustful, yelps. When they made him describe the experience in detail. When Sidney got to smile and look at your dad, when he asked “Was she hot?” and Sidney gets to gloat: “Yeah. Like you wouldn’t believe.” That deep, satisfied, full like he just ate the feeling he got from that certainly didn't help.

Your dad was patting him on the back, celebrating him, howling at him, begging for more details of how Sid ravished his little girl. And he doesn’t even know. So, maybe, If you consider that malicious? Then maybe he was. But maybe, he just wasn’t one who took kindly to wounded pride.

fawn's notes: FIRST OF ALL: apologies for the formatting, the small text just wont stick for some reason ???? AND SECOND OF ALL : hi!!!! hope u loved!!! THIS IS DEF getting a part two, i rlly wnana give brad marchand some love next cause.. duh/??!?? but then after that. or maybe. before. TAOTD is gonna get a chapt 2even if u all hate it. BUT YEAH. NEXT ON MY LIST. IS THIS OR MARCHY!!! anyway give birds UPL WORK SOME LOVE !!! BOOOOYAAAAHHHHHHH ALSO!!!! one last thing i swear but if u feel so inclined please give love in the replies if u liked it...... i love tohear ur ideas and also compliments cause who doesnt

Please do not copy, translate or repost my works.

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dionysus-drabbles · 9 months ago

Text

Constantly on the cusp (of tryin’ to kiss you)

pairing: sid jenkins x f!reader

summary: you hooked up with sid all summer. it becomes a hell of a lot harder trying to navigate your relationship when you’re back at college together.

word count: ~2.4k

warnings: fluff, smut, & a hint of angst, freud references, dug out my a level psych textbooks for this one, possible mischaracterisation, reader smokes, reader is described as wearing a bra, shirt, shorts, and tights but it’s easily overlooked, protected piv sex, teasing, one or two mentions of marijuana, hickeys, ghosting, one mention of alcohol, sid is mentioned to have kissed another girl, refs to casual sex between sid & reader.

a/n: if ur the anon who requested, hi! hope I did ur req justice, i tried to include fluff, smut, and a little angst - I got a little carried away! hope I characterised him well enough & you enjoy it 💋 title from do i wanna know? by the arctic monkeys

It’s a warm Friday night, the cool breeze blowing through the window serving as a distant threat of the September weather yet to come. The sky is streaked with pink and purple, the gold of the sun setting shining in the horizon, the type of night you’ll know you’ll see as nostalgic as you grow older, and you’re in Sid’s room. You’re sat at his desk, reading from one of your psychology textbooks, pausing for a minute so Sid can keep up with writing notes, but the telltale scratching sound of pen on paper doesn’t come. When you spin your chair around, Sid’s lying on his bed, fingers laced over his stomach, eyes fixed on the ceiling - pen and notebook by his side.

“Oi,” you say, standing up and plopping down on the bed next to him, the shift in weight making him sit up and meet your gaze. “You’re meant to be taking notes,”

“It’s only September,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, suit yourself. Have fun failing your a-levels while we all go to uni, though, yeah?”

“Don’t be a twat. Why can’t I read and you make the notes?”

“Made them already,”

“Why can’t I use yours, then?”

“You’re seriously asking that?” You cock a brow, letting out a snort of amusement. You fall into silence for a minute, one that’s nothing if not awkward. Following your summer, being in Sid’s room without so much as a spliff, let alone your clothes on, felt unnatural. You’d found yourself fucking Sid for the first time after the first party of the summer, and it had quickly turned into a regular occurrence. Throughout August, the elephant in the room had been September, and you supposed it had been silently agreed to forget it ever happened. Easier said than done, based on the way your thighs pressed together whenever he moved vaguely in your direction.

“Can we not do this tonight, at least? Reckon we could make it to Tony’s party,” he suggested, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Psychodynamic approach isn’t going to learn itself, Sidney,”

“Fuck Freud. He just makes this shit up, it doesn’t make sense,”

“See, if you’d revised, you’d be calling it unfalsifiable,” you teased, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket.

“Piss off, let me have one,” Sid insisted as you lit it, blowing the smoke from your first toke in his face instead.

“Never taught manners, hm?” You snarked, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Please?” He countered, if reluctant. You turned to face him - when did you two get this close together? You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, smell his breath, and you suddenly realise his eyes are on your lips, not the cigarette. It’s instinctive now, the way you tilt your head ever so slightly when he’s this close to you, the way you lean in ever so slightly. His lips are about to brush yours when your phone beeps with a text and you both jolt back. You read it, shoving the cigarette into his hand as you stand up.

“I need to head home. Finish the fag. You can keep the textbook.” You leave without waiting for a response.

You have two unread messages!

sid: same time nxt week?

sid: will do wrk this time

When he next comes to revise it’s at your house, and somehow that makes you feel like you have the upper ground in this emotional cold war more than anything else. Your stomach turns whenever you think of how near you were to kissing the week before, and you’re not entirely sure if it’s butterflies or nausea. Either way, you’re sickeningly fixated on it. Unfortunately, the one time he’s focused, keeping to his promise to do work, you’re distracted.

“We’ve finished psychodynamic. Take five before humanistic?” You suggest, and he nods, leaning to open the window before coming to sit beside you on the bed. You give him a cigarette before you get one for yourself this time, but curse when you feel in your pockets to find them empty. And, like he can read your mind, he offers a lighter. You go to take it from him, cigarette between your lips, but he lights it for you instead. It’s oddly intimate, and you’re sure the feeling in your stomach is butterflies this time - and every other time.

You’re quiet as you smoke. Apparently, your mind thinks this is the perfect time to replay every single interaction you’ve had with Sid in this room. Every smoke, every kiss, every fuck, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep your resolve.

“Hey,” he says, nudging your leg with his foot. “Is there…are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, we uh- we should probably get back to-“ you stub your cigarette out as you speak, the butt of his already sat in the ashtray, but you’re not given the chance to finish your sentence as his lips press against yours. It’s a shock, but the farthest thing from unwelcome. One of his hands entangles in your hair, the other on your waist, and one of yours caresses the skin of his cheek whilst the other cards through the tufts of hair his beanie leaves revealed at the nape of his neck. Your tongue presses at his lips, compelling them to slide open, and you taste the smoke in his mouth, reminiscent of the cigarettes stubbed out only a moment before, stifling the taste of weed. He’s just as addictive, if not more than, and you think that you’d happily never smoke again if he said you could be together, have this regularity with him.

There’s a moment of awkward shuffling as Sid readjusts his position, and you take the minute to catch your breath. His back’s to your bed frame, and his hand travels south to your thigh and nudges with his pointer and middle finger, and you’ve been hooking up long enough to know he wants you in his lap.

“Are you- can I?” He stammers, hand having moved to the hem of your shirt, looking down at it before meeting your eyes, and god, you’re not sure why you ever thought you had the higher ground with him. You pull it off for him, and his breathing falters, leaving him shakily as his eyes are level with your breasts. You can feel his hardening cock twitch in his trousers belong you, and all of a sudden it’s summer again, and you don’t care about exams, universities, anything but each other.

His lips attach to your chest, sucking dark bruises onto your flesh. They’re discreet, they’ll be hidden by your shirt, but they’re there, and he gave them to you. You grind your hips down into him and he lets out a broken moan, voice cracking with pleasure halfway through. The possibility of coming before he’s even inside you crosses his mind, and he knows he needs to fuck you as soon as possible. He helps you manoeuvre until you’re beneath him, hands shaking with desperation as he fiddles with the button on your shorts, tugging the zip down and sliding his hand beneath the shorts, the tights, taking a minute to slide his fingers across your cunt through your pants, dragging his gaze back to yours with a grin.

“All this, already?” He mocks, tilting his head to the side as you break eye contact and squirm from the pressure of his fingers.

He knows he’s in no position to talk, and he knows the risk of blowing his load in his jeans is getting more and more realistic, so he wastes no time in pushing your clothing down to your mid thighs and nudging a finger into your heat whilst his thumb circles lightly around your clit, painfully teasing. You throw your head back, whining, and he uses his other hand to stroke your cheek, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “Need you to be quiet, yeah? Don’t want anyone hearing, need this all for me,” the possessiveness mixed with his thumb pressing firmly on your clit and the addition of a second finger has you clenching around him, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you try to muffle any noise that might slip out. You know you’re close, your fingers scrabble for purchase on Sid’s back, one hand pulling his beanie off and allowing you to reach your hand into his hair.

He knows you’re close, attentive to the way your legs start trembling and you tense up, and he withdraws any contact before you do. Any complaints you make he hushes, murmuring into your ear as he frees himself of his own jeans, pulling a condom from his pocket in the process.

“You’re so mean,” You whine, hands reaching to help roll the condom onto his cock, tip red and already leaking precum.

“Yeah, m’sorry, sorry for being mean,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves back over you. “Let me…need to make it up to you now, right?” He asks, aligning his cock with your entrance. He kisses you as he pushes inside, any noises either of you would make muffled into each other’s mouths. He rambles as he fucks into you, chests almost pressed together, as physically close to you as possible.

“So good. So gorgeous. Been missing doing this, y’know? Made me wait so long to have you, got me going crazy,” he nips at the juncture of your jaw and neck between sentences, each word punctuated with the type of slow stroke that has you arching your back into him, and you find yourself pulling his t-shirt off and running your hands over his skin as if it’s the last time you’ll ever feel it, smiling as you watch the muscles in his abdomen tense and relax as your fingertips brush against his hips. He picks up the pace ever so slightly, moving one of your legs so it presses against his waist and your heel digs into his back, and you mirror it with the other. He kisses you again as he watches you try to stifle a moan from the new angle, nails raking up and down the pale, smooth expanse of his back. Neither of you last much longer, and he has to leave within the hour. You’re left with a dull ache between your legs, a chest tingling from where his lips attacked it, and heart pounding with adrenaline. Oh, and a text. One that comes precisely seven minutes after he leaves.

sid: u free same time next wk?

Then next week, you’re left waiting. Five minutes turns into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. Thirty into an hour. You check your phone.

You have zero new messages!

You: nvr heard of warning sum1 when ur busy, sidney?

You don’t receive a response. He’s not in second period psychology on Monday, and you catch Michelle as you leave class.

“D’y’know where Sid is? He just aired me on Friday,” you say, lugging your bag onto your shoulder. Michelle shrugs.

“Probably on a comedown. You should’ve been there Friday, everything was going pretty hard, you’d have loved it. Last saw him then,” she shrugs, and your heart sinks. Oh. For a moment, your chest falls. Why would he do that? Shag you and ghost you? Why didn’t he do that in the summer, if he wanted to? The hurt quickly shifts into rage, a furious red feeling that seems to engulf you. If he wanted to play it that way, play the ghosting game, you’d let him. Fine. You didn’t need him. You resolved not to message him, going as far as to change his name in your contacts, but the texts you received that evening made it hard to stick to.

do not answer: (y/n)?

do not answer: im sorry, yeah?

do not answer: i need 2 talk 2 u

do not answer: coming ovr

You don’t say no. You should’ve said no, you know it’s better if you say no, you know you’re supposed to want to say no. But you don’t. When the knock comes on the door fifteen minutes later, you’re hoping it’s him. September weather has settled over Bristol, and it’s pouring with rain, so you end up opening the door to a particularly rain-drenched Sid Jenkins. He makes no effort to come inside, though.

“I’m sorry,” he says it before you’ve even fully opened the door.

“It’s fine, I don’t care, but, like, don’t expect any more tutoring, yeah?” you shrug, hoping your lie that you don’t care is more believable than it seems. He lurches forward and kisses you, a hand firmly on either side of your face, and when he pulls away you drag him inside and slam the door, staring at him with a sort of offended disbelief.

“I was gonna message, alright?! But then this girl kissed me at Tony’s for pres, and…I don’t know, I called her your name, and I just freaked out. I’m sorry for shagging and ghosting you, but it’s just…I can’t not date you, y’know? You’re just so nice and smart, and you actually listen to what I say. I’ve never had that before, I got scared. Tell me to leave, I will, I just needed to…I needed to tell you.” Sid rambles, and he could not be any more shocked when you kiss him. His arms wrap around your waist, and you don’t even care that he reeks of leftover sweat, booze, and weed from the weekend, or that his clothes are soaking yours. He’s yours, he thinks you’re nice, and smart, and pretty, and he wants to date you. You smile as you pull away, pushing his glasses back up his nose from where they’ve slipped and thumbing a section of wet hair off his forehead.

“So, dating, yeah?” You grin, still holding each other.

“I don’t know, I-do you want to?”

“Yes, Sid, I want to,” you giggle, and you’ve barely finished speaking before you’re kissing again. “Y’know, Freud would have said that calling another girl my name was an example of parapraxis”

“Are you really mentioning Freud right now?”

#sid jenkins x reader #x reader #fanfiction #sid jenkins #sid jenkins x reader smut #sid jenkins x reader fluff #sid jenkins x reader angst #skins x reader #skins gen 1 #tony stonem #michelle richardson #smut #fluff #angst #dio writes fics

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thesecretestblogever · 1 month ago

Note

Could you do prompt 18 with Sid after winning games at worlds please👀

pairing : sidney crosby x reader

w.c. : 800

warnings : MDNI 18+; protected p in v; sweet sex - nothing crazy

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The hotel room is quiet save for your shared pants and the slapping of skin as your boyfriend works over you. Your legs are hooked tightly around his torso to hold him as close as possible. Canada won yet another game in the Hockey World Championships, sending them into the semi-finals. Arriving at the hotel in Stockholm meant you experienced wild jet lag and you were exhausted after the flight. That didn’t stop you and Sid from breaking in the bed after their first win in the series the next night. And just like that, it became tradition. Sidney was known for being incredibly superstitious and when they won their next game? Well, having sex after a win quickly became part of the ritual.

So, the night before finals you found yourself yet again wrapped around him and taking every inch of him. Your fingernails raked down his back as he shifted his hips and hit your sweet spot.

“Sid- fuck, yes, right there,” you gasp out. You’ve had years to learn each others bodies, but it still catches you by surprise how he knows every in and out of you. He can control when he wants you to come. Some nights he likes to draw it out and see how long you can hold off, but tonight after a win, emotions are high and you both chase after your release.

He holds himself above you, his hand softly caressing your cheek before he leans down to capture your lips in his. His hips are strong and he thrusts into you with a delectable rhythm. He’s always so sweet when he’s ruining you - speaking sweet nothings into your ears, nipping at your skin, hands on either side of your head.

His hand moves to find one of your breasts, squeezing and running his finger over your nipple. You shiver at the touch as your body feels alight with fire.

“Feel good?” He’s not nearly as breathless as you, a side-effect of increasing stamina through many years of hockey. He could go for hours and you’re usually the one tapping out.

“So good,” your hands anchor on his shoulder as you moan out. You wonder if any of your room neighbors can hear you - if they’ve put two and two together that every night they win, loud moans trickle through walls and headboards hit rhythmically.

You push against him to flip yourselves so you ride on top of him. He gladly gives in, pulling you with him as he lays back against the pillows. It gives you the leverage to take control and he looks up at you with such affection it makes your chest swell. Steadying yourself on his chest you resume the sweet fucking.

“New position?” he asks, his hands holding onto the meat of your hips to help guide you and thrust upwards.

“Can’t hurt, can it?” You rock back and forth on him, looking for the right angle again. “As long as we both get off, I’m sure it still counts,” you moan out as you find it and start chasing the feeling bubbling up inside your belly. You lean forward to messily kiss him and he takes that as his opportunity to hold you there and hammer into you. It’s the exact right spot and you know it won’t take much more for you to come. Your fingers find your clit to quickly rub circles over the soft skin and it’s all you need to reach your peak, warmth blossoming from your core outwards. He works you through it, his thrusts becoming sloppier and less coordinated.

He can’t hold on any longer as you clench around him, folding over and barely holding yourself up. You’re a beautiful whimpering mess and he slams into you one more time before coming himself. He fills the condom with a groan, his head falling back into the pillows as the relief and pleasure sweep through him.

You take some time to recover and catch your breath. You feel buzzy and tired, your orgasm slowly fading leaving behind the pleasant endorphins. You’ll never get tired of Sidney, even if means fucking every other day to keep up the winning streak.

You climb off of him, a soft hiss coming from him at the sensitivity of post-coital bliss. You place one more kiss on his plush lips, light and sweet now.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asks with a cheeky smirk that shows off the teeth you love so much. You weakly slap his chest, standing from the bed to take a shower. When you glance behind you, it’s no surprise that he’s following right behind, fumbling to remove the filled condom as quickly as possible to join you in the warm water. He really would be the death of you.

#sidney crosby x reader #new blog celebration #sidney crosby #sidney crosby smut #nhl x reader #nhl blurb #nhl smut #nhl imagine

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courtingchaos · 8 months ago

Text

Feast

Pairing: Eddie x Reader x Steve, past Eddie x Steve (set in my Line Cook Eddie AU)

Word Count: 9.8K

Summary: It’s a Graveyard Lake House Smash 🎃

A/N: When I tell you Woof, I mean WOOF. I don’t want to tell you all how long I’ve had this sitting in the crockpot. It’s surprising it didn’t turn to ash. Instead I got this! Struck by what I can only describe as mania I was able to finish this and edit it all with the help of @jo-harrington . Now I have many many MANY people to thank for this even being an idea for me to play around with and I won’t fill this page up with a bunch of tags. Those of you that were there for its inception know and that’s what matters. Talk about a fucking labor of love. I pulled this out of my own viscera, I hope you like it ❤️ (Also, reference is made to the fic Strawberry if you guys want to go look at that smut too, but it is not needed.)

Warnings: Drug use (cocaine, weed), Drinking, DVP, Unprotected sex, Sex while under the influence

NSFW 18+ No Minors

“Oh this is cute.” The flyer invite is bright orange and full of Eddie’s little doodles.

“Yeah? You like it?” Eddie leans over your shoulder. “Made it all by myself.”

“You even signed it, look at you.” You grab his chin and give it a wiggle before he plants a kiss on your cheek.

“Obviously we’re invited. I’ve got my costume all planned out already.” He heads into the bedroom and misses you pulling a face.

“Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I won’t be there.”

His head sticks out around the doorframe, “What?”

“Yeah, too many requests off. I gotta close.”

“Okay? You’re off at what, 9:30?” Eddie waves you off before disappearing in the bedroom. “I’ll pick you up and we can be to Steve’s by 10, 10:30. Piece of cake, piece of crumb cake.” He does his best Father Guido from inside his closet and it makes you laugh.

“I’m gonna be tired, Ed.”

“And I’m gonna have weed.” He reappears with a different hoodie on.

You huff. “I don’t have a costume.”

“I’ll find you one.”

“I hate bagged stuff!” You aren’t really arguing with him, just pushing his buttons enough to see where his exasperation will take him. It sends his arms over his head while he goes headlong into all the costumes you could put together with the shit in your own closet.

“So no bagged stuff! You could pull off a Nancy Downs or a Sidney.”

“Will you go as Stu?”

Eddie stands like he’s upset with you, arms crossed and voice dropping low for a moment. “You know damn well I’d have to go as Billy. Plus,” he flits his hand beside his face, “like I said I already have my costume.”

“You won’t tell me?” You don’t even fake your pout. “I need help with an idea! Come on!”

“It’s a surprise!” He shakes your shoulder and when you don’t stand he hauls you up by your hand so you can finally run errands for the day. “Look, when we’re done at the store I’ll help you dig through your shit and piece something together.”

By store he really meant every shop in town with a Halloween section and only a quick run into a grocery store for mac and cheese. One of your last stops is at a Party City where you’re staring at the wall of masks feeling a little dejected. Halloweens haven’t felt fun in a while and this one was shaping up to be just as disappointing. You’re eying one of those big articulated scarecrow masks when Eddie comes bounding up to you with a clutch of cellophane in his hands.

“I figured it out.” Is all he says before practically skipping back the way he came, right into the latex and spirit gum section.

“Ed I don’t want to do a whole thing, especially if I can’t wear it at work.”

“No this is easy shit, it goes on like a temporary tattoo.” He holds one of the thin packs up against your face before shaking his head and tossing it back on a hook. Another one he’s been clutching skims your cheek and his eyes light up. “No this is perfect.”

“You gonna let me in on this little secret?” You crane your neck to see what he has. “Is that a pentagram?”

“Do you still have that cheer skirt?”

You think you might know what he’s getting at. “The black and red one?”

He nods his head and picks up a packet of ‘fresh’ colored blood.

“Yeah.” And with that he’s off down the aisle again, beelining for the color coded tailgating section.

“If they have them in stock—hell yeah.” He holds up a red and a black pompom. “Cookin’ with fire now.” His grin is infectious.

“You know I don’t have any costume contacts, right?”

Eddie’s ‘pshh’ is so self assured. “With this it won’t matter.” He points at the pentagram transfer. “See? I told you I’d figure it out.”

In the small bathroom at work you feel only slightly ridiculous.

It’d been a few Halloween’s ago that you’d worn this skirt and now it’s a little more snug, sits a little higher on your thigh and hugs your stomach a little tighter. The cropped tee doesn’t leave much to the imagination and the thigh highs feel a little like overkill.

It’s cute, objectively. You know it but you still spend a little too much time staring at the back of yourself as best you can, making sure your whole ass isn’t out on display. A soft knock on the door reminds you of your faithful coworker waiting on you to finish up so they can run off to their own plans.

“Sorry, one sec!” You shove your work clothes into your tote bag and give yourself one last hard stare. “You’re gonna be fine.” You say with some finality to your reflection, black press on nail tapping on the glass.

Outside Eddie sits in his truck, idling next to your car and you take your sweet time strolling over to him. His eyes glint in his side view while the rest of his face stays obscured and you wonder just what costume he’s put on, right until you catch the tilt of his head and you see what sits there. Your pace quickens and you have to hold the hem of your skirt down when you all but run across the parking lot, stopping at his open window to stare at him wildly.

“Oh no, you did not.”

He most certainly did.

The cigarette clenched between his fangs glows in the dark cab, shimmering lips pulling into a smile around the filter. “Do what?” He asks like he has no idea what’s on his body. The run of chains around his neck clink and catch the light of the street lamps. From under his curls the tips of pointed prosthetics peak out, gold rings pierced through the latex. The matte red body paint lays in a thin layer on his face and just barely down his neck, his chest on full display under his barely buttoned black shirt.

“Not the Bard.” His hands glint with more rings than normal, jeweled gold he’d picked up at last year’s Ren Faire. You catch the black claws stuck to his nails and he laughs at your shocked expression.

“What’s wrong with my Bard?”

You gesture wildly at his whole being and you haven’t even started to look up at the horns on his head. Long red ones that curl against his crown, gold chains dripping off the curves. Painted bands shimmer just like the gold on his lips and you almost open your mouth to cancel your plans.

Eddie clicks his tongue at you like he’s read your mind. “Hop in quick, it’s like a 45 minute drive.”

You huff, hands still anchored on the window while you gawk at him. His make up is perfect, his clothes thrown on too easily. There’s a smokey scent that lingers, something not from his cigarette, and you wonder if he got into your perfume oils; Incense and wood fire swirling around him. He taps your knuckles to get them off his door and when you go to walk around the bed of the truck he just whistles at you, nodding his head towards the hood.

“No no, give me a little preview.”

You almost don’t give in. The doubt is trying its hardest to claw up your back but you ignore it and let the headlights cast your shadow on the building. Eddie’s delighted laughter rolls from his open window and when you get into the truck his hand finds the exposed swath of thigh above the socks.

“Told you it’d come together.” A firm squeeze and a straying pinky when you twist around to set your bag in the backseat, the soft pads of his fingers grazing higher under the hem of your skirt.

“You like it?” You sound a little unsure, like he wasn’t the one to lay the outfit out for you to give your seal of approval. It isn’t like you need his constant validation but it feels nice to let him ogle you every once in a while.

“If I didn’t have promises to keep I’d be taking you straight home.” He leans in toward you, careful of all his pieces and face paint, lips close but just out of reach.

“The quicker we get out there, the quicker we can get home.” You try to bridge the distance but Eddie pulls back, another sharp grin aimed at you.

“You should finish your makeup before we get there.” He taps the glove box before leaning back into his seat. “I saved you something for the ride over.”

He keeps his hand in place the whole way to Steve’s. Even when you pull out the joint he rolled for you, in the fun striped papers you’d shown him weeks ago. You relax and try to get your eyeliner done first before you’re too high to care and when you’ve finally put your bag away Eddie becomes your sole focus.

His hand might stay firmly planted but yours don’t. It starts off easy enough, plucking at his necklaces and pendants, letting them fall back on each other and clink. A twist of a ring on his free hand and pulling at the bracelet warmed by his wrist. You run a light finger along his pointed ear and you don’t miss the slight shiver that runs down his neck.

His neck.

You drop that hand and trail the tip of your fake nail over his skin to pull up goosebumps, carefully avoiding smudging any paint. He lets you drop a peck or two but he’s serious about not messing up his makeup, “at least not yet.”

Since you’ve been denied a treat, you pull lightly at his collar so you can nibble on his shoulder. Fingers trailing down the wide open valley of buttons, your other hand dancing across his lap to scratch at the seam of his jeans.

“You’re terrible.” He admonishes you but it’s all for show, if he was serious about you taking your hands off him he wouldn’t have grinned at you like that.

Halfway out of your seat and draped over the center console is how you spend the last half of your drive, an earring between your teeth while you distract him just enough to swerve a few times.

The lake house emerges along the horizon suddenly, almost like you’d been distracted by the button on Eddie’s jeans. The gravel crunches under the tires down the long drive and orange, green and purple string lights help direct you to the actual house.

Steve’s family’s lake house is a mimic of a rustic cabin, one big peaked roof and a massive back deck that wraps around the side. It looks like someone pulled a giant A-frame directly up out of the ground, Halloween decor and all. You stare up at it surrounded by trees, the big windows flashing intermittently with light, music thumping dully out into the sleeping nature.

“Whoa.” Actually you loose all focus of what’s in Eddie’s pants as you finally grasp the size of the property and the crowd outside.

“See? Could have missed all this if we’d just gone home.” Eddie parks and unbuckles himself so he can twist around carefully for the bag in the back. “Now sit still, I gotta put your pentagram on.”

That pulls your attention back to him, especially when he sets a water bottle down first. He peels the transfer apart and you watch him silently, lulled by a full work day and the haze of weed. He’s right, it does go on like a temporary tattoo and when a drip of water falls between your breast you giggle.

“Making a mess already?” You hold the edges of your cut up collar away so you don’t get it stuck and Eddie just shakes his head.

“Are you gonna be like this all night?”

“Do you want me to be?”

Eddie’s hand is flat against your chest to hold the prosthetic in place so you know he feels the uptick of your heartbeat. It’s close and cozy in this cab, close enough that you can see the corner of his mouth twitch and the crinkle of his light crows feet. His eyes drop from your chest to your cleavage and you lean in a little more, push your arms in a little tighter.

“Can I have a kiss?” Whispered just between you two. “Since I’ve been so good tonight.”

He hums, lips pursed, and checks on your pentagram instead. The paper lifts and his hand moves away and you follow him, lips leading to the golden shimmer you’ve been eyeing. It’s quick but it’s what you wanted, just a little more of his attention on you.

He huffs when you pull away. “See this is why I wanted to wait.” His thumb rubs against your chin and he pulls it back to show you the smear of red. “Now you’re marked.”

You think if you can crawl into his lap right now he might abandon this deal tonight. He looks at you from under hooded eyes, eyes that linger on your bare skin. There’s a moment when he takes a deep breath you think you can maybe break him with a well placed purr of his name but—

“Eddie!” The rap of knuckles on the window makes you jump and with it the spell breaks. Robin is waving at the two of you, grinning wide and unknowing of what she’s done. “You guys look great!” Her voice is muffled by the glass so Eddie opens the door and starts his personality up for the show.

You figure out that Robin has gone as Weird Barbie and you love it, especially because she’s obviously a few Malibu and Pineapple’s deep and she keeps you slung close while she directs you and Eddie around.

“Jon and Nance are Beetlejuice and Lydia.” She points in a vague direction of the house where you see neither of them. “Lucas and Max couldn’t make it because they’re doing the ‘parent thing’ obviously.” Her air quotes almost make her spill her drink and Eddie takes it from her with a sigh.

“It’s not even midnight yet, Rob.”

“Hush! I don’t actually know what the hell Dustin is, I think it’s a chemical compound.” She says out of the side of her mouth, gesturing at Eddie to give her a sip from her solo cup. “Will is an amazing Orville Peck, he made his own mask! The fringe is so long!”

You laugh at her pointing at meaningless areas, no one being where she thinks they are.

“And where’s our host?” Eddie asks, scanning the heads outside.

“Oh he’s been so lame. You know, he slapped a name tag on an hour before the party and called it his costume?” Robin looks so disappointed. “I offered to make him a Ken three months ago and he acted like I’d insulted him.”

“Well what’s he wearing? I’d rather him not blow up my phone.”

“Black hat, backwards like an asshole. Red sweater.” Robin drops you off at the doorway into the cabin and snatches her drink back from Eddie. “Name tag says ‘God’.” She leaves you with a heavy eye roll before slipping into the masses.

A quick schmooze around the open downstairs and you’re finally left to your own devices, drink secured in your hand.

“Now don’t go running off without me, okay?” Eddie puts a stern finger in your face and you snap your jaws at it. He ignores you. “I’m serious, meet me up in the loft.” He points the same finger upwards and you nod wordlessly. “Hopefully this shouldn’t take too long and we can go hang out on the dock.”

You frown. “It’s kind of cold out.”

“Oh no.” Eddie waves his hands at you, feigning being distraught. “I guess we’ll have to cuddle, oh no!”

You flip him off as he walks away and he blows you a kiss and immediately you begin timing him to see how long it will actually take him.

You don’t recognize anyone here. Maybe a few people from Stacy’s, some of the line cooks and waitstaff, but no one you can start a conversation with that wouldn’t end up feeling awkward. There’s the obvious close friends of Eddie’s but even they aren’t as known to you and even so, you’ve spotted them chatting with other people already. You sip on your drink and you sigh and resign yourself to waiting it out.

Leaning on the bannister of the loft you look down and spot Eddie animatedly telling someone something, his jewelry sparkling in the flashing lights. His voice carries sometimes, even in a party like this and you watch him with amusement. It doesn’t take long to loose him though and you pull your phone out to distract you, just before a flash of maroon catches your eye and you turn to find Steve looking surprised with two cups in his hands.

“I was trying to sneak up on you, how did you know?”

“I bet you’re one of those guys who doesn’t say ‘behind’ at work, aren’t you?”

“Oh no, I learned my lesson there.” He sets the drinks on the bannister and pulls up his sleeve to show you a silvery scar near his elbow. “That’s where I took a parring knife around a corner, I don’t fuck around in there anymore.” He laughs.

“Was it Eddie?” You ask like you already know the answer but Steve shakes his head hard.

“No, some other dude but Ed did yell at him for walking around with a knife held out in front of him. ‘What are you trying to do, shiv him?’” He puts on a face that you correctly guess is an imitation of an angry Eddie.

“Aw, did he look out for you?” You reach out and pinch Steve’s cheek and he swats you away, his ears flushing a bright red.

“Speaking of, where is he? He has my weed.”

“I don’t know, I lost him in the masses.” You gesture at the crowd below just as the music and lights change, making it darker and harder to make out a detail.

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed. My high is wearing off and there are too many people I don’t know here.” You finish off your drink and Steve is holding up one of his cups to replace it. You raise an eyebrow in question and he just swings it at you so you’ll take it.

“I saw you up here, thought I’d bring you a drink. Didn’t know how long you’d been here.”

Something about his expensive smile always makes you want to giggle. You know that he’s aware of his charms but even then you can’t help how easy he makes it. The flattery is always there, especially if Eddie is around, and if you didn’t know any better you might have the sneaking suspicion he was flirting.

“All by my lonesome?” You shake your new drink at him and he rolls his eyes.

“Not like that, I brought two in case Ed was up here.”

He’s always flirting actually, you think it might just be an integral cog of his makeup at this point. You’ve seen the way it slips into the most innocuous conversations with Eddie, though he’s always trying to banter.

You drop the sly accusatory look and shrug. “Good luck. I was told to stay put till he came back.”

“Or, and hear me out, we could go find him together.” He says it like it’s the best idea he’s ever had and honestly? You look around at the sparsely populated loft and check the time on your phone, noticing you’ve already wasted half an hour doing nothing.

“I’m in.”

An hour of wandering and you haven’t run into Eddie again. He didn’t ditch you, far from it. You know your blood covered boobs and incredibly short skirt wouldn’t leave his mind but you do know he how he loves to talk. Someone must have gotten him on a kick and he’s been passed around through groups, his storytelling making bursts of laughter float up from different corners of the party.

“Did he really tell you stay upstairs?” Steve asks, shouldering through a group with a short wave.

“Yeah, but he looses track of time at parties. You know how he is.” You’re a few drinks deep now so any annoyance has burned off, especially since Steve has been nice enough to walk around with you. The view from behind while you followed wasn’t bad either. It makes you smirk and you hide that in your drink, your wandering gaze following his long legs.

One more inside lap before you both stop at the kitchen island covered in bottles to top up and Steve finally calls it.

“Wanna go sit outside?” He nods his head towards the back deck. “Quieter.” He heads for the wall of windows where people filter out to sit by the water. You weren’t kidding earlier when you said it was chilly and you really hadn’t thought to bring a sweater with you for some reason. Steve notices you hesitate though and seemingly understands. On his way to the door he lifts the seat of a bench up and pulls out a blanket.

Water laps at the deck softly and the chatter dies down finally, the music a distant thump and you feel a little sober taking in the fresh air. Steve holds up the corners of the blanket for you and when you don’t immediately move in he shakes it at you.

“I’m not gonna bite.”

“Aw, really?” It slips out before you can catch it. To Steve’s credit he takes it in stride, barely breaking a grin when you finally snatch the blanket from him. He digs around in his front pocket for a moment and pulls out a crumpled pack of Marlboros. There’s one already tucked behind his ear and you’re about to remind him when he holds up a slim joint.

“I know this is a sad offering, but you want?”

As if on cue there’s a peal of laughter followed by a big splash and you step closer to Steve on the dock to get away from the rippling water. “Jesus, please.”

He eyebrows twitch up and he points lazily at the name tag. “Actually it’s God, but same-same.”

He pulls two Adirondack chairs together and you slide back into one remembering to keep your knees together so you don’t accidentally flash Steve. He holds the joint out to you with his lighter and you gasp theatrically.

“And a gentleman at that!”

It takes a few strikes to get the beat up bic to light and you can feel Steve staring. At first you think he’s judging your lack of finesse but when you go to hand him his lighter his eyes snap up from your legs, a tight smile flashed at you before he holds his hand out to take the joint back. He keeps the conversation light, he tells you about what this lake house used to look like and how much his parents sunk into it to remodel it. He makes small talk seem fun when he frosts his words in charm and you remember the last night he’d been particularly plucky with you.

“I.D.?”

“Steve it’s me.”

“Can’t trust it, gotta see I.D.” He shrugs and holds out his hand and gestures at you when you don’t make a move for your wallet. There’s not even a hint of a smile on his face and you wonder if maybe he’d gotten in trouble for giving you so many free extra pours.

“Okay, okay fine here.” Behind you Eddie is deep in conversation with Jeff about switching a shift and hasn’t noticed the third degree yet. When you finally get the plastic slipped out of your wallet Steve snatches it and leans back with it held up close to his face. He studies it like he’s never seen you or an I.D. before and he keeps flicking his eyes back and forth between it and your face.

A nervous grin breaks out of you when the situation isn’t changing. “Steve? Did I do-“

“There it is.”

“What?” You laugh through your confusion.

“I just needed to see that smile.” Steve hands your card back and slides your drink across the counter with an easy grin.

The high is returning and with it the questions that slip easily from your brain and straight out of your mouth. “Can I ask you something?”

It takes Steve a moment to tear his eyes away from the surface of the lake where it reflects the string lights. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Remember a few weeks ago when you did the thing with my I.D.?”

His eyebrows scrunch together hard when he tries to piece together what you’re saying. “Your I.D.? Did I loose it?”

You flap your hand at him to try to get him to remember. “No no, the smile thing.”

“Oh!” It dawns on him, his glassy eyes widening. “You like that? That’s one of my better ones.” He seems proud of himself for a pick up line.

“Were you just trying to piss Eddie off or do you just flirt with everyone?”

“Honestly?” Steve scratches his chin lightly, staring back off into the lake’s glassy surface. “I really like messing with Ed. He trusts you so I like to push his buttons.” He shrugs. “Also I do flirt with a lot of people, it gets me good tips.” His laugh makes his eyes crinkle and it makes you think of Eddie.

You take a break to find the bathroom, and to scan for your boyfriend, and when you come up without him you grab two beers from the massive cooler and head back outside. Steve seems a little more alert than when you left him and he points to a space under the deck where two people are cloaked in shadow.

“See that?”

You lean your hip into Steve’s shoulder to balance yourself as you squint, two things becoming harder to do especially together. It isn’t until a wig gets tugged off and both of you gasp, finally realizing that Robin has found a different Barbie. She tugs at Robin, hauling her towards the boathouse and Steve starts laughing.

“Should we help her or…?”

“Nah, she’ll find me in the morning.” Steve sighs and runs his hand up the back of your thigh.

Hm?

You run that feeling through your cotton stuffed brain again. The back of your thigh, the part that is so very bare and just under the hem of your skirt is hot, skin sticky where a palm sits now. It’s wide and a little rough and his fingers give a quick squeeze to the fat there and then proceeds to sit still. You move slowly, your head dropping down to stare at Steve’s easy posture.

“Steven?” You ask slowly.

“Hmm?” He looks up at you with not even a twinkle in his eye. If he were to move his thumb just the slightest bit up he’d be grazing the cuff of your ass and you wonder if he can even feel the sudden heat rolling off you.

“What’s that you got there?” You don’t break eye contact with him.

“Something soft.”

The giggle escapes before you realize it and something in Steve’s features shifts into what looks like pride. You don’t forget where you are so much as you take the bait and turn towards him, leaning down so you’re close to his face and can see the light dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“I think,” you whisper and cast an exaggerated look around, “you’re tying to get a rise out of someone.”

“Oh?” His cheeks flush, just a tinge of pink that catches your eye.

Steve’s head goes back with a tug of his backwards cap.

“Harrington.” Eddie makes his grand reappearance, seemingly stepping from the shadows to stare down at Steve who stares up in dumbstruck awe.

You’d noticed horns approaching when you’d leaned down and maybe it was the combination of liquor and weed but something bold had taken over, especially when you knew you had Eddie coming to swoop in.

“Finally finished your rounds? I’ve been waiting.” Steve asks your boyfriend, who keeps the bill of the baseball hat between his knuckles.

“You finally finished feeling up my girl? I’m waiting.”

You don’t expect that, the warmth in his tone. The little chuckle, the joking grin. Something about Eddie taking this on the chin makes you pay attention.

“Oh what’s a thigh between friends, huh?”

You can hear the edge in Steve’s voice now, the push to Eddie’s pull. That palm stays firmly planted on you while the two men stare at each other. It’s like they’re speaking in silent code, cats flicking their ears to get their point across. Eddie seems to give in first with a small shrug, letting go of Steve’s hat though his head remains lolled back to stare at the red demon above him.

“Is this imposter bothering you?” Eddie gestures at the peeling name tag stuck to Steve’s sweater and you think about it, honestly.

Where you are right now, is it bothering you?

The hand cradling the back of your thigh, is that bothering you?

The way Eddie seems to be reading your mind, his eyes bouncing between your own and the smile you just realized is warming up your face, does that bother you?

“No.”

This feels like earlier in the night. A heavy hand anchoring you to the moment. A little buzz from your warm high. You’re listening to Eddie smooth talk Steve but all you want is something tactile. Eddie crouches down so he’s eye level with Steve and they lean into each other to conspire, you’d know that look on his face anywhere. It’s one he’s shot you over countless drinks and through crowds and at dinner with friends. He’s got his mind set on something.

He’s too far away though for you to absently run your fingers through his hair so you grab the next best thing. The fringe sticking out from under Steve’s hat is so soft when you rub it between your fingers. Little flips of sun bleached brunette that curl up under the brim and around your finger, twirling between your press ons.

“How is your hair so soft?”

Eddie tilts his head just as Steve slowly turns to look at you with a confused smile. “I spend a lot of money on conditioner.”

“What’s it made of, spun silk?” You drag your nails up the back of his head and he shivers.

Eddie looks downright gleeful. “I told you.”

“Told him what?” Distracted by Steve letting his head fall into your palm you miss Eddie shooting his friend a look.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks suddenly. “You still wanna head out?”

“No.” You scratch Steve’s scalp and watch him melt down into the lounge chair. “This is fun.” His hand finally sides down to wrap around your thigh, holding you against him.

“Well Steve has told me something very interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s got a little surprise I think you might enjoy.”

“Oh?” You grab a handful of hair and give Steve a light tug. “Did you bring me a gift?”

“It’s for all of us, actually.”

2 am and the party continues outside the heavy door to Steve’s bedroom. No one blinks an eye when you pull Eddie through the doorway minutes after Steve disappears in there. Not even a knock when Eddie kicks it closed and spins you around to face him.

“You sure about this?” He asks quietly, walking you backwards into the room.

“Absolutely.” You grin, nodding at him.

“Positive?” He holds your gaze to make sure you know he’s serious. Your hands clamp around his face and you pull him in close.

“Yes Eddie.”

Steve’s solid chest bumps into your back, the sweetness of his cologne bursting around you.

“You got it?” Eddie looks past you to ask Steve.

Steve huffs. “Yeah I got it.” He moves around behind you, digging something out of his pocket and his knuckles drag over your ass before his hand appears around you with a little twisted bag between his fingers. “You wanna do the honors?”

“Oh please, it’s your party.” Eddie plays with the hem of your skirt but he watches Steve untwist the bag. Eddie gives you a peck when he catches you trying to turn your head, pulls at your hips to make you face Steve and that self assured grin is present when Eddie holds you still.

“You ever done this before?” Steve asks when he holds up the baggie, eyes dropping to your lips.

“Uh, once. Didn’t really like it.” You watch him work while Eddie stands behind you and runs his hands right up under your skirt. He laughs into your neck and his breath slides under the ripped up collar of your t-shirt. “I don’t think I was with the right people.” You stare at Steve while he dips his index finger into the powder.

“You’ve never done this together?”

“Nope.” Eddie answers for you, his face peeking into your periphery. “Strictly a weed and liquor household, like god intended.” His laugh sends a zap through you, slowed and tingly against your current high. “Isn’t that right baby?” His hand sneaks up under your jaw where his fingers press into your cheeks making your lips purse and part slightly. When Steve’s fingertip grazes your bottom lip you open wider and both men laugh.

“Eager.” Steve says before his finger pushes past your lips and rubs down the side of your gums. The taste is an immediate bitter tang followed by the salt of his skin and you grunt quietly, closing your lips around him. “You’re telling me she’s not a natural at this?” Steve looks past you to Eddie, ignoring you tonguing his finger.

“Not with coke, but she’s real good with things in her mouth, aren’t you?” Eddie’s hand runs down the front of your throat and you hum in agreement. Steve’s finger pops out of your mouth and dips back into the powder, swirling around while he watches from half lidded eyes Eddie kissing along the back of your neck.

“One more.” He promises with a smile and when his finger dips into your mouth again you start to feel the tingle along your gums, something that dances up along your cheeks and zips through your hairline. It fights against the sluggish feeling of the weed and lights up a part of your brain that was trying its best to stay focused through the liquor. Steve is eyeing Eddie while the latter pushes up your shirt, an exchange again made through glances. Steve barely gets his finger out before his mouth is on you, his tongue pushing past your lips to chase your new high.

He’s so warm everywhere. His lips against yours and his chest pressing in and his hands that go right for your jaw those long fingers in the strands at the nape of your neck that give you a shiver up your spine and Eddie must feel those goosebumps when they sprout, they appear so fast and right under his lips and—

“Hey,” Eddie says, turning your head to the side “take a breath.” He breaks your kiss and you whine at the missing warmth of Steve’s soft mouth. “Yeah I know.” He soothes, running a thumb down your cheek. “You still gotta breathe.”

You roll your eyes and take a deep, dramatic breath to show him you still can. Beside you Steve sniffs off the back of his hand before he attaches himself to the side of your neck. His tongue trails over your pulse and Eddie holds your gaze and your chin before he leans in to kiss you.

The coke makes you less hazy, takes the soft edge of the weed and brings it into focus. The feel of Steve’s lips moving up your neck and Eddie’s fingers around your chin. His tongue in your mouth and his other hand slowly tugging up your skirt and Steve’s big palms running up your sides. You can hear the thump of the music outside that feels like it’s trying to keep up with your heartbeat.

There’s a hand pulling at your shirt, pulling it over your head and a hand running up the side of your neck and you hold onto the front of their shirts. You have the distinct feeling of floating while you get pulled and pushed and somewhere in the flurry of caresses you whine into Eddie’s kiss.

A break of lips on your skin and Steve’s shirt hits the floor and then your skirt is getting pushed down to meet them. The strappy set you’d picked out last minute, with all its crisscrossing bands over your hips and across your chest, form a rude arrow between your tits to guide their eyes.

Eddie stares and runs a fingertip under one of the bands to snap it. “Special occasion?”

You don’t answer him, too busy trying to get at his buttons to get his shirt off too. Those tattoos sing at you to be seen and you want to see the starkness of Eddie against Steve’s sun kissed shoulders.

Behind you Steve slides a hand up over your bra and the other down your spine, his lips on the back of your neck. It takes you a second to realize he’s trying to get you to the bed but Eddie notices and changes his stance. He knows how to move you around when he wants and he grabs you around the ribs to give you a push. It’s like all your other games now especially when Eddie starts to follow you back as you shimmy towards the pillows.

The clink of a belt buckle reminds you that Steve is still here. He holds out the baggie to Eddie. “Before you loose track.”

You notice it then, the lack of inebriation in Eddie. Sure he’d been a little toasted from the drive but while he made his rounds it seems like you and Steve were the only ones drinking.

“Actually, come here.” Eddie takes the coke but stops crawling toward you, instead sitting up on his knees and motioning for Steve. “Let me try something.”

Steve can’t get out of his jeans fast enough. He almost trips in his eagerness and Eddie uses it to his advantage. Steve’s flipped on his back with a laugh and all you can do is watch, fascinated with whatever Eddie has planned.

“Do you remember that time we all came up to see you play in college? Like all of us, I think it was the game you tore your shoulder.” Eddie looks down at Steve getting comfortable and throwing his arms out to the side. “That party the night before? What was that girls name?”

“Becca.” Steve says, shifting his gaze to look at you. “Stupid college fling.”

You nod wordlessly and start trying to unhook your bra without moving much. Eddie laughs and holds the baggie open so he can dip his finger in.

“Ah, Becca. She broke up with you the night before a championship game dude. That was cold.” Eddie acts like he’s swirling candy through sugar the way he twirls his finger around but the way you and Steve watch him it might as well be. “Remember how like, no one could find you in the morning? They thought you had gone off and drank yourself stupid over a girl, but where were you again?”

Steve just laughs but you want to know, you want to be in on the joke. Like most times it feels like Eddie hears your thoughts and he turns those big eyes full of mirth to you.

“He was actually passed out in the back of my van, naked.” Eddie gestures at Steve wearing only his boxers and smiling up at him. “This kind of reminded me of that.”

Eddie hovers over Steve, finger ghosting over his lips. “Open.” Steve’s grin splits and Eddie’s claw disappears behind white teeth. Dark ringed eyes flick up to find you where you’ve gone still against the pillows. He looks unbelievably wicked in this room, the gold shimmer on his lips barely mused from kissing you. He must have tossed the small fangs earlier but his mouth still poises danger while Steve sucks on his finger.

You finally find the momentum to drive off the pillows and over to the two of them just as Eddie follows his finger in with his lips. Steve lets a soft moan escape before Eddie covers his mouth with his own, gold staining pink.

You drop your shoulders mid crawl to stretch your hand into Steve’s hair again. You run it through the roots while you stare at them kissing, Steve groaning in the back of his throat when you pull.

“Like that?” You whisper so you don’t break their spell and Steve nods as he looks for something to hang on to. His fingers catch on your bicep and in Eddie’s hair and he’s anchored, hips rolling up into nothing while you tug on the crown of his head.

There’s a little bit of time that seems to slip away from you. One moment you’re watching Eddie take Steve apart and the next he’s moved you again, his arm slung around your middle to pull you flush against his chest, your underwear clutched in his fist, your thoughts soft

Steve watches Eddie’s tattooed hand slide gently around the front of your neck and he knows he’s in trouble. It’s both of you really, not just Eddie, driving him insane. He tilts your head back onto his shoulder and smiles down at you with what Steve thinks is pure adoration. When Eddie shifts his attention to Steve there’s a swooping low in his abdomen at the thought of being let in on whatever this is.

“Wanna help me out?” Eddie tilts his head toward you and that’s when Steve realizes that both you and him are fully naked. Clothes shed in the fast moments between kisses and yet Eddie still has his jeans on. Steve could break out his machismo here, could challenge this and let it be over quick and fast and typical or he could let the reigns go for a night. He thinks about letting himself not be in charge as Eddie moves above him while nudging you forward, knees straddling his hips and before he knows it he’s almost fucking you.

“That feel good baby?” Eddie’s teeth glint in the low light when he bites lightly at your cheek and leaves another mark of red and gold. You laugh breathily and nod your head, pushing your hips down just a little and the head of Steve’s cock pushes in. Both of you gasp and Steve thinks he feels a tear escape. The immediate wet surrounding him and the little display Eddie is putting on above him goes right to his balls and for a moment he thinks he won’t last past this. Eddie’s other hand trails down your stomach, fingers seeking further and further until they reach your bush and the gold rings distract Steve for just a second before they sink into your folds.

You crumple and slide down his cock further and Steve is trying to be respectful, as respectful as he can be, but he’s testing his own limits. A swift buck of his hips and he’d be home.

“I think you should give Steve a break, he looks like he’s loosing brain cells.” Eddie keeps you pressed to him, head lolled back and mouth open and panting, hips searching out his teasing fingers on your clit. “C’mon, give it up for Stevie.” He fake pouts at you and then turns it on Steve.

“Fuck you Ed-“ He’s cut off by the fall of your hips now seated flush against him. Everything about you is warm and wet and soft and amplified. His hands fist into the sheets beside him in an attempt to keep them to himself for the first time tonight, an attempt that Eddie calls out.

“You can touch her Steve, she isn’t gonna break.” He demonstrates this by digging his fingers in a little around your neck and you squeeze around Steve in response. “You want him to touch you, right?”

“Please.”

“Oh, she’s asking so nicely.”

Steve tries to think back to the first time he ever made a passing comment about you and wishes he could kick himself. He’d gone into this night with one other threesome under his belt, some half met happenstance from ten years ago. It’d been sloppy and messy and he’d bent the two girls around to his will but this? He’s unprepared. Any and all of his personal history with Eddie should have given him some kind of clue, but the two of you really are nothing but a flashing red light of trouble.

Your knees dig into his sides while one hand ghosts over his abdomen, looking for purchase. Eddie still holds you close but keeps his eyes on Steve, a suggestion in his gaze.

“Go ahead.” Eddie purrs and Steve finds himself lost in more than just his high. If he didn’t know any better he’d be convinced of his friend’s true nature, a pest of a demon hellbent on driving Steve certifiably insane. However he finds his hands running hot over your thighs and up your sides, over your stomach and under the swell of your breast. Anywhere he can run his hands over the soft skin you’d kept barely hidden all night, skin that he’d been staring at.

Eddie chuckles when Steve finds a nipple, a fierce pinch to it making you gasp and roll your hips and Steve can’t help himself anymore. He grips and thrusts up to punch a sharp moan out of you. Eddie’s fingers stay buried in your cunt and splayed across your throat to keep you pinned to his chest. Steve’s immediate fast pace makes you bounce and he’s transfixed when Eddie sneaks a finger into your hanging mouth to hold your jaw open.

“You should hear her.” He drops a kiss to the corner of your mouth before letting go, lowering you to lay on Steve’s chest. A whine comes from you, a deep sound that pitches up when Steve shifts to hold you in place. He already sits so deep but when he winds his arm around your neck to hold you close you gasp. You can feel Eddie move on the bed, can feel his hand run over your ass, can feel the brush of his suddenly freed cock along your inner thigh. Steve adjust you so your cheek is flat against him and pulls at your hip to spread you open for Eddie.

“Fuck now isn’t that a pretty sight?” His thumb is rough against such sensitive skin when he glides it around your cunt. You try to move your hips as much as you can but the angle you’re at only affords you short rolls of your hips.

“Oh you can do better than that for Steve, can’t you?” Eddie teases and you whine into Steve’s chest.

“He’s being mean isn’t he?” Steve whispers to you. They both laugh at your groan but Steve shushes you, palm rubbing over the back of your neck where he holds you down. “I’ll be the nice one then, huh?”

Struck dumb by the feeling of Eddie pushing forward ever so slightly, all you can do is nod. He tilts your chin up to hold your gaze, his pupils blown out wide and dark and you wonder if yours look just as big.

“Can I—“ Cut off by the feeling of something cold dripping on your ass you almost sit up out of Steve’s grip before Eddie giggles a quiet apology and tosses a little bottle of lube over the side of the bed.

“What do you want?”

“Coke.” The zing is fading and you want to feel it again. The race of goosebumps across your bared flesh. The tingle over your scalp as Steve’s finger glides along your teeth.

Eddie laughs and reaches over to grab the bag and hand it to Steve, tasking him with your request. Still held in place, Steve brings his finger, wet now and dipped in white again, back to your mouth. His finger rubs your gums again and the head of his cock nudging deep and the feel of Eddie’s pressing where Steve already is and you don’t know how much more full you can get. It’s a stretch just with Steve but the insistent pressure from Eddie, the feel of his cockhead popping in makes your breath catch. He’s being careful, just so careful but that need to feel everything and move and moan takes over again and Eddie puts a heavy hand on your back.

“Breathe, baby.”

Instead you whine, held between two solid bodies that keep you still, that stroke your spine and run rough fingers into your hair to keep you from spinning out.

“That’s a pretty sound.” Steve says lowly and out of the corner of your eye you watch him hold his hand up to Eddie who sucks that same finger into his mouth.

The thought is brought to the forefront of your mind quickly, the image so clear and grounding, of Eddie sucking your purple strap. It stops the other spinning thoughts and that initial head rush fades. Against Steve’s chest you mumble about Eddie’s pretty sounds, dazedly watching Steve’s long finger pop out from between those gold lips.

“What was that?” Steve sounds a little breathless.

“Eddie makes pretty sounds too.” The images shuffle in your brain. “When I fuck him he whines and it’s like he’s about to cry or something it’s almost too much.” Behind you Eddie laughs and thrust his hips and you choke on your words, his cock pushing further in and stretching you more. Steve’s laugh turns into a hiss and the hand on your neck clamps down when Eddie’s cock rubs against his.

“Keep talking.” Eddie is breathless but still the only one not blissed out. “You gonna tell him how good I look sucking dick?” He rocks his hips forward gently and ghosts a palm over your lower back. “Steve already knows about that, don’t you big guy?” Eddie teases before leaning over you to catch Steve’s eye. The smear of gold on his bottom lip drives Eddie crazy and the laugh turned stuttered moan when he drives deeper into you makes him wish he had more than just two hands.

“Or maybe Steve can tell you about when I’d drive out for those big parties.”

You like it when Eddie’s gets mouthy. When he starts sparring to get the upper hand. You’re smiling into Steve’s chest with just the barest glimpses of Eddie above you. He rocks in and out of the corner of your vision and under your ear you can hear the rumble of Steve trying his best to keep it together.

“Remember almost getting caught in the frat your freshman year? What a bunch of dumbasses.” Eddie’s laugh has an edge to it now and your chest swells with some kind of pride that he’s finally starting to falter.

“Yeah…b-because you c-couldn’t shut up.” Steve finally speaks, his hips starting to falter the slow rhythm he’d been keeping up. “It’s why we had to mo-ve to the van.”

Eddie’s hand appears when he lays his whole body on you so he can reach for Steve’s hair to give it a tug. The change in angle and Steve’s moans cancel out any quip you were trying to cobble together, a calm instead seeping in as the coil low in your abdomen begins to tighten. Eddie runs his mouth but you can’t pay attention to him with the way him and Steve seem to work in tandem for a blissful moment.

It’s too much and it’s not enough and you pant and whine and scratch at Steve’s chest. There’s no more rhythm then, just the snapping of their hips against you while they race to their own ends. Steve grips you hard before he slams his hips up one last time and stills, a long groan from deep in his chest your only warning before he cums. It’s a chain reaction of Steve going boneless and Eddie cursing behind you, picking up pace and bullying that tender spot enough to make you seize up. It sneaks up on you so fast, makes you loose your breath for a moment. A leg shaking orgasm, your fingers wound tightly enough in Steve’s hair to make him hiss, all you can hear is the guttural groan coming from you and Eddie’s praise. It tumbles out of his mouth with little sense and you know he’s done in when his thumbs rub tight, fast circles on your hip before he stills.

Hearing and speech aren’t really a thing for you yet but you do grunt in appreciation when Steve seems to come to some of his senses and reaches up to pull the stupid horns off of Eddie’s head that’s resting between your shoulder blades.

“Thanks.” Eddie’s breath fans over your sweaty skin and he makes no attempt at moving yet. Someone has fingers in your hair, you can’t tell, and Eddie is rubbing his face against you and giving you little kisses along your shoulder. Steve’s breathing is finally calming down and in turn it makes you even out too, realizing how sticky you are everywhere.

“I hate to break this up,” Your voice is scratchy and small coming from between them, “but I need to go to the bathroom.”

You stumble back into the room, falling down into the bedding and Eddie slithers up from where he was sitting at the foot of the bed to leave a trail of kisses all the way up. He winds himself between your legs and drapes them over his hips and continues to leave kisses up your stomach and over the peeling prosthetic on your chest. He dots your neck and cheeks and all around your mouth before he finally gives you a real kiss. He makes you giggle with his doting and when he tries to put your underwear back on for you but the straps outwit him. Instead he tugs on the sheet beneath you and tucks in around you, leaving your clothes on the floor for later.

“Do you need anything?” He says it quietly, thinking Steve is dozing beside you. “Other than water I mean.”

You’re tired and achey and still high from various things and all you can think to ask for is: “Crackers.”

“In bed?” Eddie gives you an unbelieving look but when you just grin sleepily at him he shrugs. “I won’t kick you out.” He gets up slowly and kicks stuff around on the floor to find his own shirt when the shifting of bed springs grabs his attention. Steve is seemingly trying to sneak out of the bed without saying anything, keeping his back to the two of you while he toes his underwear over to himself.

Eddie waits for some kind for acknowledgement but when it doesn’t come he clears his throat lightly. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He says it like he’s surprised that you and Eddie are still there. “I’m gonna get out of your hair…I gotta make sure no one set anything on fire and like, find Rob…” He looks around for his pants and won’t meet Eddie’s eyes.

“I’m just going to get water, you don’t have to leave. It’s your room anyways.”

“Well I’m not kicking you guys out.”

“Steve.” You don’t mean to admonish him but that’s what happens. With the sheet tucked up around your chest you pull on the slack to show the other side of the bed. “Get back in here.”

He doesn’t move, just sighs deeply and reaches for his cigarettes.

“I’m serious.”

Eddie watches you point at the empty spot with some finality and he almost tells Steve it’s in his best interest to listen to you.

“I just—“

“It’s cold. I’m cold. Get back in the bed.” You slap the pillow. “Please.”

Steve does look at Eddie then with concern and all Eddie can do is chuckle. “I’d get back in there unless you like spit in your iced lattes for the next however long.” He leaves for the promised water and Steve sits on the edge of the bed and acts like you’re making him go to the dentist.

“Hey, if you want to leave you can, I was trying to be funny.”

“I didn’t want to intrude.” Steve sighs and throws himself back onto the pillow. “You guys were having a moment.”

You pull a confused face. “Do I need to remind you what we were just doing?”

“No.” Steve laughs.

“Because I can’t give you graphic detail but I can tell you that I got pretzeled up pretty good.” You reach over to rub a hand over his chest, running your fingers through the dark curls. Eddie sneaks back in and you notice the music isn’t at the level it was when you came in here.

Around the blinds is a light blue border bleeding in and you would really like to bury your head under the covers and keep petting Steve. Eddie makes you drink water though before anyone can get comfortable, even bullies Steve into finishing his. Eddie does his normal and climbs into bed to immediately lay half on your back, his arm flung over to mess with Steve until he relents and tilts his head over so Eddie can twirl a strand around.

Tucked between the two of them you’re almost asleep when you remember something from the heat of it all and you shake with silent laughter.

“What?” Eddie asks and Steve gives you a half awake eyebrow raise.

“You know he’s a tiefling right?”

That wakes Steve up a little. “What?”

“Yeah, his tiefling bard. You called him a demon earlier and it made me laugh.”

Steve sighs and ignores your sleep talk and you try to expound but the heavy, comforting weight of Eddie and Steve’s warm chest under your palm cut you off before you even realize you’ve fallen asleep.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson x Reader #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington Fic #Steve Harrington x Reader #Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington x Reader #My Work #My Fic

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angelsuecult · 7 months ago

Text

strangers in the night | s. crosby

warnings: none? Maybe the age gap but its not crazy

summary: you and sidney first meet at a bar in the summer but where can it go from here

request description: older sid x younger reader (not controversial), dancing around lingering tension

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: hi guys, a little late but another for you to chew on. so here is part one of a request i got, part one is build up to their actual story. idk i just wanted to give u guys a little bit more of a story with this one.

___

It wasn’t Sid’s first choice of bar–not by a long shot. He wasn't even sure why he’d let his buddies drag him out tonight. Training had been brutal, the kind of day that left his body aching and his mind spinning in desperate need of rest. But there he was, slouched into a creaky wooden chair, a pint of beer in front of him, trying his best to tune out the off-kay rendition of some popular song wailing from the karaoke stage across the room.

The place wasn’t packed, but it was loud. Groups were scattered around mismatched tables, most laughing and belting out songs as if auditioning for American Idol. Sid’s friends seemed just as unimpressed as he was, though they made a decent effort to mask it.

“Who chooses a bar on karaoke night?” one of them muttered, tipping back his drink.

“Apparently, we do,” Sid replied dryly, taking a sip of his beer and letting his gaze drift lazily across the room. He caught glimpses of people crowded near the karaoke section—bright lights, a DJ with headphones slightly askew, a group of people huddled around the stage. It was another story. He tried his best to ignore the off-key renditions of pop songs that echoed through the dimly lit bar, but it was hard to drown out the sound entirely. The occasional burst of laughter or particularly passionate singers pierced through their conversation.

“Didn’t think karaoke was your scene, Sid,” one of his buddies teased, smirking as clinked his class against Sidney’s bottle.

“Not exactly,” Sidney said, shaking his head. “But I’m here for you guys, not the music.”

“You're a good man.”

Sid smiled faintly but was already feeling the itch to move. The atmosphere, the noise–it was all a little too much. He excused himself almost as quickly as they sat down, murmuring something about needing to find the restroom.

Navigating the dimly lit space was a task in itself. The bar seemed like it hadn’t been renovated since the late ’90s, with its sticky floors and peeling paint. The closer he got to the karaoke stage, the louder the music seemed to vibrate through the air. He ducked past a group of people holding neon-colored cocktails and nearly collided with someone walking in the opposite direction. He wove his way through the people and the tables, keeping his head down to avoid the stage’s flashing lights. The music only grew louder as he neared the karaoke section, each note pounding in his skull. He focused on weaving through the crowd, not looking up until–

“Whoa, sorry–”

Sidney’s shoulder bumped into someone, and he instinctively reached out to steady you, his hand brushing your arm. He looked up ready to apologize, but the words caught in his throat.

“Oh, no, it's fine!” you said, smiling up at him. Your voice was warm, tinged with laughter, and it sent a spark straight through him. You smelled faintly of something sweet–vanilla, maybe?--and for a second, all Sidney could do was stand there, frozen in your presence.

What the hell just happened?

“Uh, yeah,” he finally managed, stepping aside to let you pass. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” you shrugged, already moving on. You disappeared into the crowd before he could even think to say more.

Sidney stood there for a moment, rooted to the sport. He felt ridiculous. One accidental run-in, and he was already hooked? It was such a brief interaction that Sid didn’t have time to really take you in—just a fleeting impression of soft features, bright eyes, and a warm energy that lingered after you’d disappeared into the crowd. He shook his head, muttering to himself as he continued to the restroom. Get a grip, Crosby.

But when he came out, the music had shifted. The crowd near the stage was buzzing with energy, cheering louder than before. When he glanced toward the source, his breath caught in his throat once more.

There you were.

You were on the small stage now, mic in hand, with a friend by your side. Laughing as the opening notes of a cheesy pop song played. You swayed slightly, clearly tips but making everyone around you smile. Your friend gestured dramatically toward the crowd, and you laughed again, your head tilting back as if you didn't have a care in the world. He'd usually roll his eyes, but somehow, you made it impossible to hate. You weren’t singing to impress. You weren’t holding back either. You were just…you.

The way you moved, the way you gestured for your friends to join in, the way your voice, slightly off-key but full of energy, filled the room—Sid couldn’t breathe. You commanded the stage effortlessly, even if you were just there for fun.

“Sid, are you coming back?” One of his friends called from the table, but he barely registered it.

For the first time all night, the music didn’t annoy him. He wanted it to last forever because it meant he could keep watching you.

Your outfit was simple—shorts and a t-shirt, nothing flashy—but on you, it might as well have been runway-worthy. Your hair fell in perfect disarray, catching the light as you turned. You looked like someone who belonged in the center of a room, not because you demanded attention, but because you simply had it.

The way you grinned when your friends cheered, the way you twirled the mic cord absentmindedly, the way you swayed in time to the music—Sidney couldn’t take his eyes off you.

The crowd was eating it up, cheering and singing along. Even people not in your group were clapping in time with the beat. You spun once, your laughter ringing out, and Sid found himself smiling without meaning to. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had caught his attention like this, Sid’s lips parted, as if he might say something—though he didn’t even know what. Not that it mattered. You didn’t notice him at all, too caught up in the whirlwind of your friends and the high of your performance.

When your song ended, you laughed into the mic, thanking the crowd with a mock bow. Your voice was still in his ears as you handed the mic back, disappearing into the crowd again, and Sid realized something unsettling.

He didn’t even know your name, and yet, he wanted to know everything about you.

Suddenly, karaoke didn’t seem so bad.

“Hey, Sid, you good?” one of his friends called as he returned to the table, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yeah,” Sid replied, shaking his head as if to clear it. But even as he sat back in his seat, he couldn’t stop glancing over at you, watching the way you lit up every corner of the room you entered.

He tried to focus on the conversation at his table, but it was useless. His mind kept drifting back to you—your laugh, the way your cheeks flushed from the heat and the drinks, the effortless way you’d captured everyone’s attention, including his. He didn’t even know you, and yet it felt like you’d already become the most significant part of his night.

Sidney tried to shake the thought of you as the night wore on, but it was proving harder than he’d expected. His friends, thankfully oblivious to the turmoil in his head, pulled him into a game of pool. They laughed and traded jabs, and for a while, he managed to focus on not making a fool of himself on the table. But every now and then, his eyes drifted toward the karaoke section of the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He didn’t see you again for a while, and he hated how disappointed that made him feel.

“Alright, Sid, this one’s for the win,” one of his friends challenged as Sidney lined up his shot. The stakes weren’t high—just drinks for the table—but somehow, the pressure still felt real. He missed the shot by a hair, the cue ball bouncing off the edge.

“Damn it,” he muttered as his friends erupted into laughter.

“Looks like you’re up, barkeep,” one teased, clapping him on the back.

Sidney rolled his eyes but didn't argue. “Yeah, yeah. What's everyone drinking?”

A deal was a deal. With an exaggerated groan, Sidney made his way toward the bar. His focus was on the task at hand until, halfway there, he saw you again.

You were leaning over the bar, animated, your laughter carrying over the buzz of the room. The young bartender leaned toward you, shaking his head in mock exasperation as you gestured towards him.

Sidney slowed without realizing it, caught off guard by the sight of you again. You were lit from the warm glow of the bar lights, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you spoke.

It took him a second to snap out of it. He forced himself to move forward, moving to the bar but keeping a bit of distance, not wanting to interrupt.

“I’m telling you,” you insisted, pointing at the bartender, “your wife sent me over here. She said she needs another round. Are you really going to say no to her?”

“My wife?” the bartender shot back, folding his arms.

You tilted your head, feigning disappointment. “Yes, your wife,” you teased, gesturing vaguely toward a group of people behind you. “She’s over there. And what am I supposed to tell her, huh? That her beloved husband denied her? She’s going to be heartbroken.”

The bartender rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You’re out of your mind.”

Sidney’s chest tightened at the word wife. The idea hit him like a sucker punch, a wave of irrational disappointment. Of course, you were married. Why wouldn’t you be? You’re too much of a catch.

But then the bartender groaned, shaking his head. “You’re full of it. I don’t even have a wife!”

You gasped in mock indignation, placing a hand over your chest. “Are you saying I’m lying? That’s a bold accusation, my friend.”

But then the bartender motioned toward Sidney with a nod, cutting through his spiraling thoughts.

“Ask him. You think she’s my wife?” the bartender teased, smirking.

You laughed so hard you nearly doubled over, and Sidney’s chest burned at how effortlessly the sound tugged at him. “Oh, God, no! Please!”

Sidney blinked, relief washing over him so fast it left him a little lightheaded. Not his wife?

The bartender rolled his eyes, motioning toward Sidney. “You’re lucky I’m working. Otherwise, I’d throw you out for spreading rumors. Ask him if he’d believe a word you’re saying.”

Sidney froze as both of you glanced his way. You smiled, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

“Oh, please,” you laughed, turning back to the bartender. “If I were married to you, you’d probably throw yourself out of the house. There’s no way you’d survive me.”

Sidney couldn’t help it—he laughed. It was quiet, almost under his breath, but enough to catch your attention. Your eyes flicked to him again, and this time, they lingered.

Sidney watched as the bartender filled the order. You drummed your fingers on the bar and hummed under your breath, completely at ease. The bartender sighed dramatically, throwing up his hands. “Fine. One more round. But if she kills you, it’s not on me.”

You grinned triumphantly. “That’s the spirit.”

When he returned with a tray loaded with drinks, you thanked him with a beaming smile, carefully arranging the glasses. Sidney watched as you handled it like it was nothing, balancing the tray with practiced ease.

“You’re a saint,” you said, carefully arranging the drinks on the tray like you were setting the table for a fancy dinner.

“Yeah, yeah,” the bartender said, wiping the counter. “Tell my ‘wife’ she’s cut off for the night.”

You laughed, “I’ll let her know. But don’t expect her to listen.”

As you balanced the tray, you caught Sidney’s gaze. He realized too late that he’d been staring, but if you noticed, you didn’t let on. Instead, you motioned to the platter and said, “You know, you could probably convince him to give you one of these bad boys. Just drop the word ‘wife,’ and he’ll fold like a lawn chair.”

Sidney couldn’t help but smile, your humor so disarming it made him forget himself.

“Is that the secret?” he asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

You nodded solemnly. “Works like a charm. Just make sure to bat your lashes for good measure.”

The bartender, overhearing, groaned. “Don’t encourage him. I don’t need two of you on my case.”

As you started to walk away, you paused one more time, looking back at him. “And if you’re nice to him,” you said, nodding toward the bartender, “he might let you order one of these bad boys. They’re worth it.”

Sidney smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You gave him a quick wink before disappearing into the crowd again, leaving him standing there, his chest tight and his heart racing.

The bartender turned to Sidney, raising a brow. “You want the usual or whatever she’s on?”

Sidney chuckled, finally snapping out of it. “Just the usual,” he replied.

Sidney lingered at the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with his friends’ drinks. He couldn’t help himself. The more he thought about you—the way you laughed, how you seemed to carry the energy of the room with you—the more he wanted to know. He wasn’t usually like this. Sidney Crosby wasn’t the type to get lost in someone he hadn’t even spoken to properly. But you weren’t just anyone.

The bartender returned, setting the tray of drinks down in front of him. “Here you go, man,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Sid said, but he hesitated before picking up the tray. His curiosity got the better of him. “So, uh… congrats on the marriage.”

The bartender looked confused for a moment before chuckling. “Oh, no. Not yet. Next summer.”

Sidney nodded, pretending to be casual even though his heart raced. “Who’s the lucky one?”

The bartender smirked and motioned toward the group you’d come from earlier. “That one, over there. The brunette in the green dress.”

Sidney followed his gaze and spotted a woman chatting animatedly with some friends. Relief washed over him. Not you. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much, but he couldn’t deny it was a weight off his chest.

“Oh,” Sid said, trying to sound polite. “That’s great. She seems nice.”

“She is,” the bartender said with a grin. “Keeps me in check. She’s the brains behind this whole place, honestly. I’d probably run it into the ground without her.”

Sid chuckled, then took a shot in the dark. “So, uh, what about her friend? The one you were just arguing with?”

The bartender glanced at him, amused. “Y/N? She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

Y/N. The name hit him like a punch to the gut. Of course, it was perfect. Why wouldn’t it be? It sounded as magnetic as you seemed to be. He repeated it silently, letting it settle.

“She’s something,” Sid admitted, keeping his tone light. “You’ve known her long?”

The bartender leaned against the counter, clearly happy to talk. “Oh yeah, she’s part of the crew. All 25, all college grads, all trying to figure life out.” He nodded toward the group again. “That’s her circle. They’re like family.”

Sidney glanced over, pretending to scan the crowd. “You own this place?”

“Yeah,” the bartender said proudly. “Got it a couple years ago. It was a dive back then, but my fiancée and I spruced it up. She’s the business brains—has a degree and everything. Y/N helps too, though. She’s great at coming up with ways to get people in here. Karaoke night? Totally her idea. I just go along with it, but it works.”

Sidney smiled, genuinely interested now. “It’s a nice setup. I noticed the corkboard by the pool table—lots of events.”

“Her and my fiancée,” the bartender said with a laugh. “They’re like a force of nature. Always cooking up something. Y/n’s got a knack for drawing people in. She’s pretty good at it. Makes my life easier. I’m just here to pour the drinks.”

Sidney nodded, amused and impressed. He was starting to picture you more clearly: vibrant, creative, the kind of person who could walk into a room and change the energy without even trying. “Y/n, huh?” Sid repeated, more to himself than to the bartender.

“Yep,” the bartender said, nodding toward the corner of the room where you’d disappeared earlier. “That’s her. And if you think she’s a handful sober, you should see her after a couple of margaritas.”

Sidney hesitated for a moment before asking, “So… what does she do?”

“She’s between jobs right now, but she’s got something lined up. Big opportunity, actually. She’s moving to Pittsburgh soon.”

That caught Sidney off guard. “Moving?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” the bartender said, wiping down the counter. “Got a job with one of the sports teams.”

Pittsburgh. Small world. Sidney’s heart raced. Maybe it was fate, or maybe he was just desperate to believe it. “What team?”

“Pretty sure it’s the baseball team,” the bartender said. “The Pirates, right?”

Sidney’s shoulders sagged, but only slightly. Baseball wasn’t hockey, and The Pirates were not the Penguins but it wasn’t the end of the world, either. “Yeah, The Pirates”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” the bartender confirmed. “She’s always been into sports—something with fan engagement, marketing or something like that. She’ll kill it, no doubt. She’s great with people. Always has been. We’re gonna miss her though. She’s kind of the glue that keeps everyone together.”

Sidney nodded slowly, his mind already racing. Pittsburgh wasn’t exactly a stone’s throw away, but it wasn’t impossible, either. And the Pirates… maybe he’d start going to more baseball games. It felt like fate didn't it? A city he already knew so well.

“Small world,” Sid said, almost to himself.

The bartender laughed. “Yeah, man. Who knows? Maybe you’ll run into her again.”

Sidney raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Why not?” the bartender said with a shrug. “It’s Pittsburgh. Not like it’s New York.”

Sid smiled but didn’t say anything. The idea of running into you again—at a baseball game, maybe, or just around town—settled into his chest like a quiet hope.

“You a baseball fan?” the bartender asked, pulling Sid out of his thoughts.

“Not exactly,” Sid admitted. “But Pittsburgh’s a small world. Maybe I’ll catch a game sometime.”

The bartender grinned. “You should. And hey, I’ve gotta say—I’m a fan. Didn’t want to bug you earlier, but it felt wrong not to say it.”

Sidney’s lips twitched into a modest smile. “I appreciate that. And, uh, thanks for not making a big deal out of it.”

“You got it,” the bartender said. “We get a decent amount of sports guys in here, but it’s not every day we have someone like you around.”

Sidney nodded, trying not to let the conversation linger on him. “It’s a nice spot,” he said, gesturing to the bar.

“Thanks,” the bartender said, he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Anyway, you let me know if you need anything else. Drinks are on me tonight.”

Sidney smiled, grateful but distracted. “Thanks. Means a lot.”

As he carried the tray of drinks back to his friends, he couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting you tonight was just the beginning. Pittsburgh suddenly seemed a lot smaller, and a lot more promising.

He didn’t know what it was about you, but Sidney Crosby had a feeling he wasn’t done with you.

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