elle 🍉

23 argumentative antithetical dream girl she/they | 📚: 17/25

[snoopysavs]

safe here; a manning

welcome to my first arch fic! this is 1.3k words of arch comforting reader who gets her period unexpectedly. i had an itch and wanted to write something to spark inspiration! not super long but hopefully sweet and fluffy <3 bare with me as i work on perfecting his characterization in my writing😊 divider from @kthice

Opening your eyes to darkness should have been your first warning. After blinking several times, you realized that something was terribly wrong. It was clearly the middle of the night, and you were awake for some reason. As you raised your arms above your head to stretch, you began to realize what had woken you up. An involuntary groan alerted you of your back and stomach pain. An undeniable, impossible not to notice, a sticky, warm feeling between your thighs. Your heart sank, knowing immediately what had happened. You're laying in Arch's childhood room, visiting New Orleans, meeting his family for the first time, and you got your period.

Your heart sank to your toes, head spinning with ideas to try to fix this catastrophe. All of that was suspended when you felt Arch's arms outstretch towards you, attempting to pull you back into his arms. Not wanting him anywhere near you in this moment, you jumped out of bed without even thinking, leaving Arch startled and suddenly awake. He mumbled to himself, trying to figure out what had happened, before opening his eyes and seeing you, cowering in on yourself, arms wrapped around your stomach protectively, looking at the floor.

"Baby, what's the matter, come back to bed," Arch muttered out, awake but not fully processing what was going on. Before you could respond, he rolled over to turn the lamp on and discovered what had gotten you out of bed at this hour.

A large patch of angry, crimson red covered Arch's light grey sheets, surely leaving a stain. When he looked back up at you, he noticed the same crimson red spotting on the front of your sleep shorts. You shifted back and forth on your feet, shrinking in on yourself. "Oh no, my love, are you okay?" Arch asked, quickly rising from the bed. You took a step back, not wanting him to touch you, as though you're contagious. "Arch, I'm so sorry. Please, just let me change the sheets. I'll clean everything up, and then I'll go get a hotel or something. I'm so sorry," you murmured, shaky hands fumbling with the edge of the sheets.

"A hotel? Sweetheart, you got your period, you didn't blow the house up. It's okay, it happens. I'm sorry that it snuck up on you. Why are you saying sorry? You have no reason to feel bad," Arch comforted, unsure of why you felt so upset. "Arch, I ruined your bed. Please, I can't stay here,"

"You can and you will stay here. I love you, it's my job to take care of you and support you. I don't know who taught you that you can't have your period without getting in trouble but that's not how this works with me. Why don't we get you in the shower, clean off your legs and soothe your muscles. I can shower with you or I can leave you be and I can change the sheets. Which do you prefer, angel?" Arch took another step towards you, you finally allowing him into your space. He put one large hand on your cheek, holding your face in his hand like a delicacy. "I'll go on my own. Thank you, baby." Arch kissed your cheek softly, grabbing your towel, a fresh pair of shorts and one of his oversized shirts and placed the items into your hands.

"Go wash up, baby, you're okay. You're safe here. I love you." Arch placed a few more soft kisses on your face, sending you on your way. He quickly stripped the soiled sheets and tip toed down the stairs and into the laundry room. He covered the stain in stain remover, quickly shoving the sheets into the washing machine, turning it on.

When he turned around to head back upstairs, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest, seeing his mom standing near the doorway. "Archie, what are you doing?" Ellen asked, eyes adjusting to the lights. "Mom, Y/N had an accident. She got her period unexpectedly. She's really upset and embarrassed. Please, pretend like you didn't see this. She's mortified and I barely got her to calm down as it is. She was so embarrassed that she wanted to spend the night at a hotel." His mom frowned upon hearing this. She had only just met you, but she knew how much you meant to Arch, and the last thing she wanted was for you to feel embarrassed about a bodily function.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. Do you need anything? Does she need anything?” His mom asked, rubbing a hand up and down his forearm softly. "No, mama, but thank you. I'm gonna go check in with her, I think I heard the shower turn off. Mom, can you do me a favor? Please, pretend like this didn't happen. The last thing I want is for her to feel uncomfortable. In the morning, if she needs a woman's help, I'll send her to you and May. But for now, just pretend like you slept through the night, okay?" Arch asked. "Of course, sweetheart, goodnight, I love you." Arch repeated the sentiment to his mom.

When he went downstairs in the morning, the sheets were folded neatly in the closet, the washer and dryer shut off, no evidence of the conversation existing.

When Arch returned upstairs, he found you dressed in the clothes he had left out for you, skin glowy from washing your face and moisturizing. "Hi sweetness," he said, walking towards you and wrapping you in his arms. "Feeling better?" He asked, rubbing your back softly. "Much better, thank you. I love you," you murmured into his chest, exhaling deeply. "I appreciate you helping me and not making me feel embarrassed." You kissed his chest softly, nuzzling into his soft t shirt. "Baby, you have nothing to feel embarrassed about. This is natural, it happens. I feel bad that you weren't ready and felt uncomfortable. You're allowed to 'mess up' here, I'm never gonna make you feel embarrassed. I love you,"

Arch kissed the top of your head softly, relishing in the close contact, a stark contrast to earlier in the night when you wouldn't let him come near you. "Why don't we go to bed, hmm? Settle in for the night. Do you need anything? I can set a towel down on the bed if that would make you feel more comfortable, but it doesn't bother me in the slightest if there's nothing." He looked at you with nothing but admiration in his eyes, further reassuring you that he wasn't upset with you, that you were okay.

"I should be good baby, but thank you. You stocked up the right pads here, I shouldn't have any issues. You're so sweet, even stocking up your home. I love you, thank you for everything." He leaned in to kiss you softly, no extra energy surrounding the kiss, just pure love and comfort.

Arch peeled back the covers for you, allowing you to climb in and then climbing in behind you. He pulled you into his arms as soon as he climbed in, kissing your head softly. "Goodnight angel, I love you more than you'll ever know," was what you heard last, wrapping you up in his strong arms, knowing you were safe.

And when you woke up to Arch's mom preparing you a steaming plate of pancakes, feeling surrounded in comfort in his childhood home, Arch felt his heart warm at the comfort his mom showed, but never letting go or exposing what she had talked to Arch about. Arch’s heart warmed, placing a soft kiss to your forehead, hoping you would always feel as safe and as comforted with him as you did in that moment.

tagging my dear friend @angiiewritess thank you for always supporting me🫶🏻

[pluvial-lake]

Reader who has a real job and actual bills. Reader who prioritizes her own peace over his feelings. Reader who has hobbies that don’t revolve around a man. Reader who actually has a life outside of him. Reader who says “no” and means it. Reader who isn't easily impressed. Reader who’s petty. Reader who has trust issues. Reader who chooses her girls every single time. Reader who has a body count and isn't ashamed of it. Reader who is exhausted by male fragility. Reader who holds grudges. Reader who’s a mess. Reader who’s mentally ill. Reader who makes mistakes. Reader who’s manipulative. Reader who’s selfish. Reader who’s morally gray. Reader who’s awful. Reader who genuinely doesn’t give a fuck.

[snoopysavs]

this is so joey <3

[snoopysavs]

just got done watching brand new day it was AMAZINGGGGGG

[snoopysavs]

august theme!!! starting my second year as a high school special ed english teacher next week!!💝

[angiiewritess]

wicked games ; sweet poison - arch manning series.

description -> some losses determine bigger wins, and in this case it's the beginning of an era neither of you saw coming...

(tags and warnings; enemies to lovers trope, mentions of anxiety, small mentions of insecurities, small argument if you squint, mature language, flashback in italics, slight proofread, lmk if missed any!)

manning's navigation | sweet poison series index | two

word count; 6,000 words

angie's notes; drama, drama, drama,,, what else is new 😼😼

there was no reason to be here. arch knew that. his priorities should’ve been set on his upcoming first game. as the official starting quarterback. yet here he was chasing an adrenaline he knew well to leave alone. because it meant nothing, though everything.

he didn’t like where things stood. he didn’t know how to bring up the subject without you running away.

instead of being at the infamous parties his brother and other close friends threw, he was in the middle of dirty and west sixth street. some fans recognized him and the team; of course they would, because he stood out, which would lead to a media frenzy. but that was a problem for the morning. 

despite the chaos outside, the bar you were at had a more subtle and quiet vibe. he quickly understood why this was your favorite spot. everyone in their groups was drowning in their own conversations, enjoying their drinks. others sat at the bar, on their phones or what seemed to be on a date. everyone had their own thing. 

you sat with your friends in the corner near a pool table. there was a wine glass in your hand, not a cocktail like your other friends. he quickly understood he was underdressed; he and the small group he had practically gaslighted into coming with him. the grey pants and simple white tee he wore weren’t enough. 

you had on a short strapless black dress, a tall heel, making you taller than normal, hair styled and sat effortlessly, your skin glowing even under the dark lighting. arch and his friends sat on the opposite side of the room. arch took the seat where he had a clear view of you. 

everyone ordered a drink except him. he wasn’t up for it even after his friends attempted to let loose. michael remained quiet, knowing arch’s exact plans for picking this post tonight. 

“you like her, don’t you?” michael smirked at him, looking in your direction where you hadn’t noticed them. you were laughing at something your friends said, the obvious tiredness radiating off your body but pushing yourself to have a good time. it was like you. arch knew that very well. 

“i don’t. we’re just partners; that’s all,” arch disagreed, way too quickly, his eyes falling on you where you spoke to your guy friend, giving him a long hug. that same irritation burned through him, confusing him more and more as days passed. that same irritation when he saw you and michael talking. 

“then why are we here? look at us; we don’t fit here. these are her spots,” michael dug deeper, wanting the truth because he knew arch would never admit it. he knew his best friend well enough, and after the random bombarding questions, wanting to know the truth, michael was soon flipping the script on him. 

“we’re here to have a good time before our season starts. there’s no funny business,” arch explained, his jaw tightening, not realizing his head moved to catch a better look at you, your back now facing him. he couldn’t believe that after being here for almost an hour, you hadn’t noticed him. it was that, or you were purposely ignoring him. 

he despised that you were being distant. he hated that you weren’t sending your normal updates for upcoming project dates. he hated that it wasn’t something he could control or handle. most of all, he hated that you were going through something, his gut telling him that it was the guy you were with in the hallway, the reason for your sudden cold, distant behavior.  

arch wouldn’t push you to tell him; he would wait however long it took for you to come to him. with the pure truth. 

“when are you going to be honest with yourself? with the people around you that there’s history with both of you?” michael pushed further, watching arch hesitate, letting his stubbornness speak for him. 

“it’s no one’s business. just mine and hers,” arch stated, unsettled. he didn’t want anyone to know. he could’ve spoken the truth way long ago, but he didn’t. out of respect for himself, and mainly you. his eyes shut, thinking of that encounter that left both of you in this rivalry state. 

“you’re wrong again. everyone can tell something happened. and you know that the longer you continue to hold it in, not speak on it, is going to eat you alive,” michael tried to ease the tension, arch chugging his beer in one go. 

“fuck, okay. something did happen, but we can’t do none os us can do anything about it. we both said and did things we didn’t mean, or maybe we did. it’s whatever now. we’re just partners; that’s all we could ever be,” arch admitted hurriedly, hating that michael got his way into telling him the truth.

“i hope both of you one day realize there’s more than just “partners” here. and i hope you realize it soon before other people take advantage of something that perhaps could be yours,” michael stated, arch’s heart dropping when he saw you kissing the guy from earlier. 

he looked away, scratching his temple, out of words while michael laughed. had they not been in public, arch would've tackled him. he looked at you discreetly once again, your hands holding the guy's face, eyes closed but not fully enjoying it, which made it easier to bear.  

who was he kidding? this made the apprehension worse in his head, his insides churning watching you softly kiss the guy twice before stepping away. he was supposed to dislike you for everything you’d done. he was supposed to feel the resentment. 

so how could he feel and explain the small ache in his heart, watching you with someone else, when deep down he wished it was him? 

“don’t get any ideas of going up there; she’s just having fun, like she’s entitled to,” michael said, taking a sip of his beer. he knew very well it was costing arch everything to not walk right up. “i wasn’t going to,” arch lied, his fist clenching and unclenching, trying to tame the sudden rise of his pulse.

he couldn’t do a single thing without looking crazy. he couldn’t say anything without being too harsh or undermining. he couldn’t do a single thing because you and him weren’t anything. just partners…

there are faint memories of your early childhood before the first day of school. 

you remember begging to sleep in your first-day-of-school outfit in elementary. growing up, that slowly changed. in middle school, you recalled you and your friends planning what to wear, begging each other to wear shorts or dress. and high school, where it simply didn’t matter anymore unless you felt like dressing cute. 

now in college, it seemed to be a new routine. planning your outfits for the week, the exact shirts, pants, or dress, boots or casual shoes you’d wear. you didn’t feel like you if you didn’t properly get ready for the day. if you hadn’t, you would feel lazy and useless. 

thanks to starting your internship right before the summer ended, this didn’t seem to be an issue going into the first week of junior year in university. you had some classes in person and the rest online, giving you the perfect schedule to manage school, the internship, and your job. 

you were still recovering from the past weekend. the drinks you had felt stronger than usual. causing you to have a raging hangover that lasted until tuesday. despite it all, you didn’t regret it. girls' night was well needed, and it was fun to hang out right before the chaos began. 

arch was still there. of course he was. though this time, it felt different. since the encounter with alex at his training facility. he was more communicative and asked questions that had no motives or led to dead ends, or simply just irked you for no given reason. 

you placed a good amount of space, not knowing how exactly to deal with the sudden personality change. one day he could be the most expressive and nicest person, and the next it seemed like hating you was his personal mission. 

you wanted this internship to go as smoothly as possible. ever since that night, which seemed like a forbidden subject between you both, the tension had yet to be cleared. this didn’t need to be harder than it already was, let alone when none of you could properly communicate without being in each other's throats. 

for your sake, keeping distance was the safest option for now. until you spoke with him to clear the air. 

arch spotted you from a mile away during his evening run. you had wired headphones on, an oversized cardigan with shorts, a slick bun, and your makeup glowy per usual, sitting outside on your computer, clearly busy. 

he approached you, not fully but close enough where you glanced up and looked away, thinking he wouldn’t notice you. “hi,” arch said, looking around, controlling his breathing, not wanting to sound like a mess. 

“hi?” you said, confused, removing a headphone, giving him a dazed look. arch lifted his shirt, wiping away the sweat formed on his forehead, giving you a view of his abs and happy trail. 

you looked away, not knowing why your mind betrayed you in that exact moment. there was no reason to look this hot when on a run, but he managed to pull that off. “what are you doing?” he said casually, too carefully. 

“i’m planning my month. i needed to add important deadlines now that the semester started,” you explained, glancing back up when it felt safe. “where are you headed?” you said carefully, arch sitting in the seat in front of you. 

out of all places, this is where you’d run into each other. this would be your luck and karma after making it your task to ignore him entirely. 

“just wanted to get some cardio in, nowhere specific, just somewhere open and… free,” arch said, watching as you ordered him a bottled water. “i would offer you some of my coffee, but i doubt the texas quarterback likes this amount of sugar,” you joked, thanking the waiter. 

“meh, you’re wrong. i have the biggest sweet tooth,” arch replied, not refusing the water brought to him. he still had a long way to go; this was just a quick trip and distraction. “i don’t want to sound rude, but why are you here?” you chuckled nervously, tapping the pen against your planner. 

“i can’t be here?” he sassed, your eyes rolling back. 

“i didn’t say that. i’m just curious; that’s all,” you said. 

“it’s fate. i was running by and saw you, so here we are,” arch shrugged. you eyed him, confused, being careful with how you spoke, not wanting to cause a scene. “hmm,” you nodded, “something tells me that's not all.” 

“what else could there be?” arch said with a tiny smirk, resisting the urge to smack it away. 

“well, first you text me nonchalantly after you saw me at the club, you go ghost on me, and now you’re here. as if nothing happened,” arch listened, knowing deep down how puzzled the scene was and looked. 

“the only one ignoring people here is you,” arch defied. he was trying to make this work, and like you, he didn’t know how to approach the scene without making one. you scoffed, stuttering to find a proper response because you were being put on the spot. 

“i am not. i just simply don’t keep up with your life,” you argued. he let out a humorous laugh before speaking again, “well, that could be farther from the truth… isn’t that what your internship is about? to know about me. to ask questions. to follow me around. to be close to me all season?” 

“that’s different. i do that because it’s my responsibility. i don’t do it for fun or out of interest,” you fought back. “why were you there saturday?” he heard your question, remaining quiet because he’d never admit what he felt.

“is it forbidden for me to be there? to have a good time?” he says, watching the irritation spread throughout you. “arch, i can’t understand you. one second we're okay, and then the next you’re bombarding me with questions you demand to have answers to! stop changing the subject.” 

“it’s not relevant anymore. i saw you and that was all; what else do you want me to say?” arch opposed back, leaning forward with brows pulled in. to be honest with me. to apologize for calling me a traitor, you thought. 

you sighed deeply, putting your headphones back in, out of touch with the conversation that would lead either two ways. he clearly wasn’t ready to move on from that subject. he wasn’t being mature enough to have a simple conversation you were allowed to have. 

all you wanted was peace and to be free from his torment of the constant accusations for something you weren’t a part of. 

“i don’t want to be rude, but there's a bunch of stuff i need to get finished. i’ll see you after the game,” you said, opening your screen back up, silently wishing him to leave before you crashed out.  

“y/n…” 

“arch, it’s better this way. remember? because i’m incapable of taking into consideration others' feelings,” you recalled those words from that night, seeing his eyes flutter, then standing up. 

“have it your way.”

if looks could kill, arch would be the first one six feet under the ground. the first game hadn’t gone as every anticipated. everyone figured it would end at least in a tie. but it hadn’t. many lost opportunities. the defense rocky. avoidable mistakes to end the game 14-7. 

it was shocking to everyone. including you. your eyes couldn’t pan away from the screen, seeing his face full of sadness and dissatisfaction, knowing he was blaming himself for what occurred. 

it didn’t help with the commentators who spoke so lowly and unsatisfied about him the entire game, muting the tv because you couldn’t stand their words anymore. 

your fingers itched to send him a message, to encourage him that he did better than most people would have, to keep his head up high, but you went against it. he didn’t say or do anything, simply stood on the field taking it all in, before walking around and thanking the fans. 

“well, that was something,” your best friend said, disappointed. “can’t blame him though, and he shouldn’t either. it’s his first game under so much scrutiny and high hopes just for this to occur, poor guy,” she said. 

“the media is going to eat him alive,” you mumbled, watching as she gave you a look. social media wasn’t the best idea to check right now, but you knew everyone, and you meant everyone was talking about this, the good and bad. 

“what does this mean? for his team, for him, for you?”

“it doesn’t mean anything to me; i’m just here to learn and report. as for him, it's about dealing with the consequences and how to properly move forward. he has to say the right thing to please and convince them,” you shrugged, opening the bottle of wine, pouring into your glass and your best friend's. 

“them as his fans?” 

“the fans. the board. the nfl. the staff. everyone but himself.”

“he looked very sad,” she said after a few seconds of silence. you looked away, running your finger over the rim of the glass, unsure what to say because even yourself found trouble forming the proper words. if you felt like this, you didn’t want to think of what he was dealing with. 

“all we can hope for is that he doesn’t give up and listen to everyone who’s praying on his downfall. it’s more than okay to make mistakes and learn from them. he’s got a long way to go, and he shouldn’t let this game define his whole career,” you spoke, opening your phone, seeing new messages from people you didn’t know. 

despite having that page blocked, the one that seemed to know everything, people still found their ways into your account to leave unnecessary comments or dm’s. you didn’t care much for them because it’s people you’ll never meet, saying stuff to make themselves feel better. 

you debated the idea of texting him again, drafting out a message, deleting and creating more typos than usual, before hovering over the button. even not being on the best terms, part of you still cared for his feelings because you knew what it was like. you would push the drama away for one second of normalcy. 

y/n 

don’t listen to the noise. 

you did great despite the result. 

don’t beat yourself for it. 

loses are keys to future wins. 

it was completely forgotten. the apartment smelled like rich food, music playing in the background as you made dinner and cleaned up the mess from earlier. one bottle of wine had been finished, and the second one was halfway done, playing a game of cards to entertain. 

you didn’t know when, but arch had replied, not seeing his message until the next morning, when both of you fell asleep on the couch after having too much wine.  

arch 

thank you. 

it means a lot. 

deleted message ** 

deleted message ** 

i’ll see you later this week 

“get up, we’re going on a boat day,” your best friend, who was also your roommate, woke you up. “it’s monday. let me sleep,” you groaned, annoyed that your sleep was interrupted. sunday following the loss, you worked all day. your feet and back ached from being slammed back to back at work. all you wanted was to rest.

“no can do. i’m not going without you,” she argued, watching as you slowly fell back to sleep, “y/n, i’m being serious!”

“i am too! i want to sleep. either you go alone, or you don’t go at all,” you explained, covering yourself with the sheet, which she quickly ripped off. “you owe me, remember?” your eyes, barely opened, managed to throw a glare at her. 

“you’re doing this now… before i have any coffee in me?” 

“if i have to, i will,” she nodded, rubbing your shoulder, comforting. “it’s monday! who decides to have a boat day on a monday?” you argued, covering your face, growing more and more agitated. 

“apparently our friends. it’s also not just monday, its labor day,” she joked, watching as you leaned up, giving her another disgruntled look. “what time do we have to be there by?” you said, rubbing your eyes. 

“at 11 a.m., so chop, chop, we have places to be,” she said, standing up, handing you a cold water, which you didn’t refuse. “just so you know, i hate you right now,” you yelled, slowly getting out of bed. 

you thought the summer had ended a while back, but it was farther from the truth. anyone from the south knew that summer lasted up until that first chilly morning in the fall. you picked out a dodger blue bikini, with denim washed shorts and a white coverup. kept your hair up and away from your face, applying loads of sunscreen and a small layer of makeup. 

your bag had an extra pair of clothes and a bikini in case something happened, a towel, more sunscreen and tanning oil, your wallet with keys, a book you recently bought, snacks because it’d be a long day without proper food. 

“we’re going to the lake, not the military,” your friend teased, causing a small giggle out of you. “you never know what can go wrong,” you said, packing your charger and camera just incase. “i like to be overpacked rather than unprepared,” she said, listening, watching as you packed a small first aid kit. 

“really?” she pointed to your overfilled bag. 

“yes, really. now let’s go before i change my mind.

the boat was large, with plenty of room to fit a big group. the two of you arrived just before 11, passing nearby to pick up a catering order of cannes and drinks. you said hi to everyone and introduced yourself to new friends who you clicked with almost immediately. 

one thing about you is that you took any opportunity to be a kid once again seriously. the random spasm of energy came out of nowhere. you swam. you surfed. participated in a stressful game of beer pong with michael and ryan, which you won, a game of volleyball, and paddle boarded. 

you were deep in conversation with your friends when you saw him arrive. he coincidentally had the same color of swim trunks on, his hair wet, the life jacket clung tightly as he parked the jetski, his skin slightly red due to the sun.  

he didn’t need to search the space; arch knew where to find you as soon as he set foot onto the boat. he laughed inwardly at the irony of the two of you matching. he said hi to everyone, opening a beer and falling into a conversation before heading your way. 

nervous didn’t come close to what he felt. he was eager to clear this unwanted tension.

you cleared your throat upon seeing his muscled frame step foot onto the boat, dabbing up his friends. your best friend turned to you, wiggling her eyebrows at you, watching her eyes widen as you felt a familiar presence press behind you. 

“evening, ladies. how are we doing?” arch spoke, but looked at you. everyone replied, asking him about the trip and game while you stayed silent, a hurried switch in the air making it hard to focus. your eyes traced back up to his, where he met yours, offering a small smile. 

“can we talk?” he asked, his hand wrapped gently around your wrist, pulling you toward him. 

he wasn’t asking, more so telling, yet you followed, telling your friends you’d be right back. the boat was still on the water, but near a dock to which arch helped you get down, grabbing your drink and his beer, his towel hanging around his neck. 

“so… how are you? since you know, the game?” you asked, taking a seat at the very end, the faint music barely reaching where the two of you were. he groaned as he took the seat next to you, a tiny sad smile playing onto his lips. 

“honestly, that whole night i felt like shit. but like you’ve said, i won't allow this to define who i am. because i know i can do this. i know how far i’ve come, and won’t let one game determine the player i am,” arch ranted, seeing how you nodded, listening attentively. 

“and you? how are you dealing with the new schedule? is there room where you’re able to argue with me?” the tone in his voice was playful, sharing a small laugh between the two of you. 

“i have all the time in the world for that,” you joked, dipping your feet into the lake water. “so far so good? it’s only the beginning, so i can’t say much. right now it’s mainly work and school, and our situation,” you quoted, taking a sip of your drink. 

“situation? that's what this is?” arch scoffed, looking down where you giggled, shrugging your shoulders. “well, what would you call it? you’ve said to me and others i’m not your friend, i’m your ‘partner’. one second the water is calm, and then it switches to a storm,” he observed you describe. 

“well, we should do something about that…” your eyes filled with hope, a wave of despair spreading throughout you. you let out a shaky breath, “are you just saying that to actually fix things or just because?” 

“i want to fix this because we both deserve a fresh start since that night…” he said in desperation. “you also deserve an apology for the way i spoke to you, or have been; it’s not fair… and i’m not proud of it,” he said. 

“oh! don’t act so innocent now! you did this. you’re purposely trying to ruin me for an ounce of attention!” arch yelled, watching as you flinched at his tone. the folder in your hands felt useless. why were you going to stand there and convince him, when he had already made this mind about you?

“arch, please! i didn’t do anything! someone is setting you up. i would never betray your trust or look for an ounce of attention i don't want! i’m not like those-” 

“no, you’re not like them. you’re worse, and i never want to speak to you again. i let you into my life; despite our differences, we made it work because i cared and trusted you. what you’ve done is unforgivable,” arch spat out, seeing tears brim your waterline. 

“don’t cry. it isn’t going to fix the damage you’ve done, let alone make me forgive you… you deserve to live with the guilt and remorse for the rest of your life,” his words, plus alex’s, sunk deep within your chest. it seemed like he thought so lowly of you, even when you didn’t commit any mistake. 

“get the hell out of my life.” 

“please, arch…” you pleaded, your hands shaking, wishing you had enough strength to hand him the folder with proof you didn’t do anything. 

“leave before this gets messier…”

you bite the inside of your cheek, playing with your rings, looking for a train of thought. “you were given a reason to be upset, just like any other person; they would’ve reacted the same,” you rasped, a hand rubbing your forearms seeking comfort. 

“it still doesn’t count. had it been roles reversed, you saying all those words to me, it would’ve affected me. so i’m sorry, i’m truly sorry,” arch spoke with sincerity, scooting closer, itching to hold you. 

“i’m sorry too; i haven’t been the nicest person, probably spoke behind your back and silently wanted to wish bad, but it’s only because i was upset,” you said, looking out into the distance where the lake moved slowly, with no urgency. 

“i don’t blame you… it’s been a heck of a ride since then,” arch joked, no longer hearing the commotion coming from the boat. he was enjoying this far too well, and it felt too good to be true. 

that same sensation returned to his insides, that scary feeling where not even himself could control what would occur next. the one that made some people turn into different people. the one that grasped into a knot in his core and wouldn’t undo unless heartbreak occurred. 

he was still conscious of your past. of what you did. but he was willing to let that go because it didn’t matter. it didn’t matter, and the last thing he needed on his plate was more trouble. 

“i never thought we’d get here, honestly… you had so much hatred pent up inside that the idea of this, of us reconciling, felt impossible,” you said truthfully. arch stared with so much compassion; he wondered and forgot how and why he ever detested you. 

“i never hated you…” 

“it seemed like it.” 

“i could never hate you, no matter how much i try,” arch admits, surprising both of you. “don’t say stuff you don’t mean… i hate when people lie or say stuff for their self-satisfaction,” you stated with a scared laugh. 

he was opening up after so long; this all felt so new and almost unsettling. his blue eyes, now a shade of gray, stared into yours. “i’m not a liar; it’s just how i feel and won’t be afraid to say it,” he remarked. 

“it’s going to take some time to believe you… but if we want our partnership to work, this is a start. no more fight, no more arguments, no more hurtful words, a fresh start?” you said, extending your hand, to which he shook, agreeing to your terms. 

“i give you my word, as long as you don’t shut me out, especially if you’re going through something. i need the communication; i need the reassurance, or it will make me go insane,” arch says carefully, reading the expression on your face. hesitant but understanding. 

“if we’re given a good reason to argue, like why you use wired headphones instead of wireless, i will take that opportunity,” he joked, hearing a small gasp fall from your lips. “okay, mr. “i don’t wear earphones or headphones’, and then was seen with the biggest pair of all,” you remarked, hearing his laugh grow louder.  

“people’s opinions can change,” he shrugged, taking another drink of his beer. “if only our friends knew how simple this conversation went,” you said, kicking your feet in the water, “my friends were going above and beyond with ideas on how we could rectify our problem.”

“tell me what your friends said,” arch insisted, taking a sip of his beer, glancing down at you, your skin covered in goosebumps. you shook your head, covering your face, embarrassed, “it’s stupid really. they say stuff they don’t mean.” 

“c’mon, don’t be like that. just tell me, it can’t be that bad,” he chuckled, leaving over and hitting your shoulder. “we just promised we would be… more honest and open. this is that time,” he says, seeing your flustered state. whatever it was, it clearly still stuck close enough to make you hesitate. 

“don’t laugh,” you groaned, setting your drink down next to you. it was way too warm, not pleasant to drink or enjoy. it was way too sweet and bitter. he extended his pinky, as a look of astonishment crossed through you. “i pinky swear i won’t.” 

“okay, fine. " i’ll tell you,” you gave in, linking your smaller pinky with his, accepting his promise, though you wouldn’t blame him for what your friends were about to put you and him through. it was clear that the alcohol and the remaining bliss of his first game remained in the air. yet that was the least of your worries

“depends, if it is silly i may laugh,” he teased. 

“it was after your red bull shoot, where you yelled at me for being too serious,” you quoted, seeing his face flash with regret, wanting to interrupt but remaining quiet. “we went out for an event some days after, and while we caught up, the topic of you came up,” you continued. 

“you talk about me, angel?” 

“shut up, don’t call me that.” 

​“no promises; continue what you were saying,” you let you continue, watching as you sighed deeply, clearly struggling to get the words out. 

“well, they asked about you and how our ‘situation’ was going,” you said, motioning with your hands. “they gave me a piece of advice that could be further from the truth,” you giggled, feeling as he placed his dry towel over your shoulders. 

“what was it?” he asked curiously, way too intrigued for your liking. 

​“they said we should have a good old round of angry sex to relieve our tension,” you blurted out with no remorse or regret. he looked stunned, choking on his beer. “i know, i had the same reaction,” you laughed, bringing your legs to your chest.

“angry sex, huh? do you think that would’ve fixed our crisis?” he asked, watching as your face flushed with embarrassment. “no… i think it would’ve made things worse than what they were at…” you spoke honestly, seeing his gaze shift from your eyes to your lips. 

“how come?” 

“i don’t have to explain the obvious… we both know what that would mean and lead to,” your brow raised, not oblivious to what he wanted to make you do. “and given our old circumstances… this- what just happened would never ensue,” you continued. 

“good point,” he stuttered, still stuck on the fact you thought about him in that sense. he was a guilty man too; he wouldn’t deny the obvious that you were drop-dead stunning. that filthy and unnecessary images flashed through his head upon hearing your friend’s advice. 

it was a wicked game that both of you were unaware of.

“so we're cool?” 

“don’t say cool, that’s cringe,” you said, laughing, covering your face. 

“are we okay?” arch asked, still laughing, fixing the towel he placed over your shoulders, ensuring it was keeping you warm. 

“yes, we are.”   

saturday games at dkr were a one-of-a-kind experience. used to sitting and cheering from the stands, being on the field and having access felt wrong and strange in so many ways. yet the camera around your neck and the small notebook in your hand reminded you why you were there. 

it was the first game of the few this season. arch had a troubling start against sjsu, but quickly changed the game in the second half, making key throws and passes that led to back-to-back touchdowns. 

during the opposing team’s offense turn, he found you behind the teams bench, quickly saying hello since he hadn’t seen or spoken with you since the lake day. “what are you doing after?” he spoke loudly, his helmet halfway on. 

“me and the girls are going out,” you answered, covering your face from the blazing sun, “but it won’t be until later since i’m assigned to the press conference and then needing to turn in this report.” 

“booked and busy,” he said, nodding, his eyes roaming your figure. “how come?” you asked, moving when a sudden rush of people ran past you to get footage of the game. it was chaotic; not only was there a football game being played, but the behind-the-scenes were just as cluttered. 

“just asking… if you and the girls are down, the team and i will be near west sixth, celebrating the win,” he stated cockily. “you’re very confident about that win, given you were struggling not too long ago? what if san jose manages to do something?” you shut it down, seeing him shake his head, disagreeing. 

“they won’t because i will win this game.”

“yeah yeahs whatever! that won’t happen if you’re here while your offense is waiting on you,” he turns confused, seeing ryan wave him down to hurry up. he lets out a small curse, running off before glancing back toward you. “think about it, okay? i hope to see you there.” 

just as he said, arch and his team managed to win 38-7, the stadium roaring with victory as the cannons went off. the press conference didn’t take as long as you expected, but long enough that your feet began to ache due to standing up all day. 

you got home just before five thirty, taking a well-needed power nap before getting ready to go out. in that instance, you hated agreeing to plans because getting ready seemed like the biggest procrastination yet. 

your friends had come over to pregame just when you were finishing your hair, wearing something that wouldn’t have you drawing in the heat. september was here, but it wasn’t chilly enough to pull out those long-sleeved tops or jackets. 

arch 

so…

what's the verdict, angel?

y/n 

stop that.

the girls and i will meet you guys there after we barhop, xx

how are you feeling?

arch 

good now :)) 

be careful and let me know when you’re otw 

you smiled, shutting off your phone, getting dressed, and fixing last-minute details. you reached your phone again when a new set of messages came through. but this time it wasn’t your friends or arch; it was alex. your hands began to shake, a deep knot forming in your throat, as your whole body felt like cold jelly. 

(***)-***-****

don’t get too comfortable 

and don’t think about forgetting about me. 

if you go out with him tonight, i’ll leak our little video

pick your poison, y/n

it was a series of wicked games. 

© angiiewritess ; feedback is highly appreciated!! whether it's an anon, comment, like, or reblog <33

taglist ; @slutfordpr !! lmk if you want to be added <33

[motorsportbarbie13]

something to lose - part four - sc87

pairing -> sidney crosby x singlemom!reader

word count -> 7.4k

summary -> after ten years of raising your little boy alone in pittsburgh, you've has built a solid, steady life—and an mile high wall around your heart. but when local legend sidney crosby unexpectedly walks into your little bookstore, his quiet consistency slowly dismantles every defense you have. just as you begin to believe in a future you never thought possible, a bitter ghost from your past threatens to tear your world apart, forcing you to choose: run from the fear of abandonment, or trust the man who will stop at nothing to protect the family he’s chosen.

warnings -> anxiety. abandonment. single parenting. slight age gap? but it never really comes up. slow burn.

msb yaps -> the feedback i've gotten on this series has been amazing. genuinely. i am so happy STL is getting so much love because this series is so very dear to me, being a single mom myself. i've drawn a lot from my own experiences and feelings to write this and i hope i do the story that's been living in my head for years justice. if you want to be added to the tag list, lmk! divider is from @pxrce-lain

series master list | main master list | lets yap

Ever since the day Sidney had showed up to fix the broken gate, you’d developed a bad habit of looking up every time the front door chimed, a small flare of hope sparking in your chest. You’d never admit it to anyone, but every single time the bell sounded, you’d been hoping it was him. 

By the end of the week though, you'd finally forced yourself to stop because for whatever reason, Sidney hadn't come back.

The quiet magic of that early morning he’d spent with you had begun to fade in the harsh light of reality. You’d started to question if you’d somehow exaggerated the entire dynamic in your head. Maybe you’d created the entire scenario out of thin air, somehow hoping that someone like Sidney, a larger than life athlete would be interested in you, a single mom who wasn’t anything special. 

It made the most sense really, if you thought about it. Sidney had seen a shiny new toy when he’d stumbled into your store that morning on an errand for Anna. Unfortunately for you, all shiny things eventually lost their appeal. He was probably just moving on with his life and you couldn’t fault him for that. You knew your life was complicated and you never faulted anyone for deciding you were too much.

Besides, Sidney was a busy guy and probably had a girl waiting for him in every city. 

You had finally accepted it, letting yourself get completely distracted by the mounting pile of orders that needed to get packed up before the UPS guy came by that afternoon. It as mind-numbing work, the packing and labeling something you could have probably done in your sleep. Your fingers were aching from closing dozens of cardboard boxes and there was a pile of orders all packed up and ready to be shipped out at your feet. 

For the first time in a week, you feel like you finally have your head on straight. 

Any then, the door chimes. 

You look up out of habit but this time, it’s not just some random customer or the UPS guy. 

Sidney is standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he looked towards the side of the store where you were standing behind the cash register.

You blink a few times, caught off guard by the version of Sidney who had just walked into your store. This wasn’t the casual, low-key Sidney that lived in hoodies and sweats that you were used to seeing. The man that had just walked through the door was Sidney Crosby, the NHL legend.

He was wearing a charcoal grey wool coat over a richly colored navy suit, a crisp white dress shirt with a maroon tie around his neck. The only thing that even resembled the Sidney you were used to was the knit Penguins beanie that was clutched in his hands. 

The entire outfit was so well tailored and fit him so sinfully well that your brain malfunctioned for a full ten seconds as your mouth went completely dry. 

A customer that had been browsing in the new releases section turned towards the chiming door, blinked, and then did a double-take that almost gave them whiplash. 

Sidney, however, doesn’t look anywhere but right at you. 

A slightly self-conscious smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth when he notices you staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He starts towards you, his dress shoes tapping against the hardwood floor, his stride confident as you struggle to force your brain into functioning again. 

You had just managed to convince yourself that you’d made the entire thing up in your head and here he comes, walking right back into your store like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi.” He says quietly, leaning his forearms against the wooden counter. 

The fabric of his suit jacket stretches across his back and you mentally have to force yourself to remember how speech actually worked. 

“Hi.” You manage finally, setting the packing tape down on the counter before it slips from your suddenly clammy hands.

Clearing your throat, you desperately try to regain your composure as you take in the sight of him. You wanted to sound casual, to not let him know how much the radio silence the past week had actually hurt. You weren't quite sure if you were entitled to that quiet, stinging feeling that sat in your chest when you thought about it.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.” 

It was supposed to come across as light hearted teasing but there was a sharp edge in your voice that you couldn’t quite manage to mask. 

Sidney’s smirk vanishes instantly.

The playful confidence you were used to seeing from him was replaced by a look of genuine regret that made your stomach churn. He straightened up slightly, looking right into your eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” He said softly, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “Seriously, I’m really sorry. I wanted to come by sooner but this week has been chaos. We’ve got our first long road trip of the season starting tomorrow night and two of our d-men are injured so we had to call up some younger guys from the AHL and it’s just been…” 

You shake your head, suddenly feeling silly for thinking you had any claim over his time. “It’s fine, Sid. I was just giving you a hard time. I know how much the team relies on you, they should come first.” 

Sidney frowns, “It’s not fine. I'm really sorry you spent all week thinking that. There’s not a chance in hell that I could forget about you, okay?” 

For some reason, instead of holding a grudge and keeping your defenses up, you gently allow him back in. Sidney seemed genuinely apologetic and you didn't quite have the strength to stay mad at him.

"Yeah, okay." You reply, taking Sidney's apology at face value.

Clearing your throat, you desperately try to regain your footing again under the weight of his gaze. You gesture to the wool coat he’s got on and the suit underneath. “Well, you're certainly dressed for an apology but I can’t imagine you wear your Sunday best for a quick jaunt to a bookstore. What’s the occasion?” 

Sidney lets out a low laugh, relief flashing across his face as the tension between you breaks. “Coach likes us to dress up when we travel. It’s not required but growing up, it was always ‘look good, play good’ and that kind of stuck with me. I'm going straight to the airport from here.” 

“Of course, the road trip.” You nod, finally putting two and two together. “Which begs the question, Crosby…if you have a plane to catch, what are you doing here?” 

Sidney leans in a bit closer, his gaze dropping down to your hands before flicking back up. “Well, I ran into a bit of a crisis that only you can help with.” 

“Oh, is that so?” You lift a brow. 

“I finished The Nightingale last night. Amazing book, by the way. Don’t tell anyone, but I may have shed a tear or two over the last few chapters.” 

“Your secret is safe with me.” You can’t help the giggle, the image of the stoic man in front of you getting all emotional over a book was something that you hadn’t expected.  

Sidney narrows his eyes at you but continues, “I realized that I have a five hour flight ahead of me and nothing to read. I thought maybe my favorite bookworm could come in clutch for me again and give me another recommendation. I am desperate, clearly.” 

A slow, knowing smile breaks across your face as you cross your arms over your chest. “Sidney, the airport is in the opposite direction and I know for a fact there are at least three bookstores between your place and the airport that you could have stopped in at. You drove half an hour out of your way to buy a twenty dollar paperback from me?”

“I’m loyal to a fault, okay? Cut me some slack." He replies smoothly, though you don’t miss the way a subtle flush of color flashes across his cheeks. “Your recommendations are just that good.” 

“Uh huh, sure.” 

You step out from behind the cash wrap and walk over to the historical fiction section, very aware of the way Sidney follows a step behind you. The faint scent of his cologne cuts right through the vanilla and cinnamon candle you had burning behind the counter. It's a woodsy leather scent that sears itself into your memory as 'Sidney'.

You scan the shelf, your fingers trailing over the spines before pulling down a book with a striking red and gold cover.

“Lucky for you, I just finished this one last week. It’s one of her most recent ones and had me up sobbing at 2 in the morning over the last five chapters. It’s called The Women and it’s about a group of nurses serving in the Vietnam War. Broke me out of a three month reading slump like that.” 

You turn around to hand it to him but Sidney is standing much closer than you expected. You have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze, the sharply tailored lines of his suit making him look even more imposing than he usually did. 

For a moment, you just blink up at him. 

Sidney's fingers brush yours, gently catching the edge of the cover as he holds eye contact with you. The playful energy that usually sparks between you two shifts into something thick and loaded. He looks at the book that is half in his hands, half in yours before dragging his gaze back up to meet yours. 

“I have a confession.” The way his voice has gone husky and deep sends a shiver down your spine. 

“You do?”  

“I’m not actually here for the book. I mean, it sounds great and I’ll take it because I do need something to read but that’s…” Sidney clears his throat, a sheepish smile flickering at the corner of his lips. “That’s not why I’m here.” 

“No?" You seem to have lost all ability to speak in full and complete sentences with him so close to you. 

“No.” He says quietly, as if he’s afraid he might spook you if he speaks any louder. Taking a small breath, his thumb traces the edge of the books spine, dragging right over your fingers. “Truth is, I wanted to see you before I left. I wanted to tell you that…” Sidney huffs a laugh, “You make me so nervous, YN. You know that?” 

“You drove twenty minutes out of your way to tell me that I make you nervous?” You try but can’t keep the laughter out of your voice. 

Sidney shakes his head as he laughs at himself again. “No. Give me a second to get this out, looking at you makes it hard for me to form a complete sentence, okay?” 

You roll your lips together, suppressing a grin, and nod.

“I wanted to see you before I left and tell you that for the first time in my career I’m not looking forward to a long road trip because I have someone at home who I’m going to miss…”  

The words hang in the space between your bodies, honest and thickYour breath catches, fingers still trapped beneath his on the cover of the book. The entire universe seems to shrink down to the few inches of space separating the two of you, the hum of the store fading into the background. 

Someone at home. 

You. 

You were his someone at home.  

“Sid…” You murmur, your own heart hammering an erratic rhythm against your ribs.

You didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t know if you should warn him to slow down or beg him keep going but the look in his eyes silenced you before the words could even form. 

Sidney doesn’t move for one very long moment. And then, his thumb swipes once deliberately over the back of your knuckles before he finally takes the full weight of the hardcover from your hand. 

“I really should go.” The reluctance in his voice has your chest aching. “We’ve got to be on the plane by two and it’s going to take me at least 45 minutes to get to that side of town. If I’m late, Coach will make me sit in the back with the rookies.” 

A breathless laugh tumbles from your lips, the sudden break in tension cutting through the fog in your brain. “Right. Yes. Of course, we wouldn’t want you sent to the back of the plane because of a historical fiction novel, now would we?” 

You move towards the front of the store first, desperately trying to find your footing again. But as Sidney steps up beside you to head towards the door, your eyes catch on the collar of his wool coat. His tie had was slightly askew, caught awkwardly beneath the lapel of his coat and suit jacket. 

Before you could second guess yourself, you reached out. 

“Wait.” You breathe. 

Sindey freezes, his eyes falling to where your slender fingers brushed at the crisp white cotton of his dress shirt. The heat of his chest radiated straight through the fabric as you gently pulled the silk tie free from the lapel. Your knuckles scrape lightly against the sharp line of his collarbone and you watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. Focusing entirely on smoothing the tie down, you tug it so it’s straight against the buttons of his shirt. 

Both of you know it’s a desperate excuse to touch him just one last time before he leaves for 2 weeks.

Neither of you say it out loud. 

“There.” Quietly, your hand lingers against his chest, fingers splayed wide for a second too long before reluctantly dropping them to your side. “Can’t have the captain looking disheveled on the flight, now can we?” 

A slow smile breaks across Sidney’s face, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he held eye contact with you for as long as he could manage. 

“I’ll text you when we land in Vancouver tonight, okay?” 

“Okay.” You reply, leaning against the doorframe as Sidney takes one step out onto the sidewalk. “Have a safe flight.” 

Sidney gives you one last, lingering look before turning towards his truck. You watch as he walks away, smiling when he turns his head one last time to give you a wink. 

Just twenty minutes ago, you had successfully convinced yourself that you were just a temporary distraction for him, a shiny new toy that Sidney had already forgotten about. 

As you turn back to the quiet store, your fingers tracing the front cover of a book that sat on one of the display tables, your cheeks were still burning with a crimson flush. You realize something when you reach the cash wrap that has your heart hammering against your chest all over again. 

Sidney Crosby hadn’t forgotten about you. 

And there was no way you’d ever forget about him either. 

The hotel room door clicked shut, cutting off the chatter of his teammates in the hallway but Sidney’s mind refused to quiet down. 

Dropping his bag by the door, he unbuttoned the top buttons of his dress shirt and pulled his tie free, tossing it onto the desk. It was almost midnight in Seattle, half way through their first roadtrip of the year and he was feeling every single mile deep in his bones. 

He knows he should go over post-game film or attempt to go to sleep - the team had an early flight to San Jose in the morning to play the Sharks the day after. Sidney needed to make sure his focus stayed on the road-trip. The points they got here in the beginning of the season always mattered when the playoffs were looming in late March. 

Instead, Sidney finds himself distracted. Glancing at the bedside clock, he does some quick math in his head. Nearly midnight here meant it was almost three in the morning in Pittsburgh which meant you were probably already fast asleep. 

He’d managed to call you that morning, taking advantage of the fact that one of your part-time employees had the opening shift so you wouldn’t be busy. But finding pockets of time to call you had been difficult with how grueling the team’s roadtrips were and even though there was still seven days left until they had a flight home back to the east coast, Sidney was already over it. 

He just wanted to hear your voice. 

The intensity of it caught him completely off guard. He was a man who built his life around routine and control, yet his feelings for you were the one thing he couldn’t seem to manage to get a hold of. It made him feel like he was 18 years old again, lovesick and anxious because of some silly crush. 

Only Sidney knew his feelings for you weren’t just some silly juvenile crush. 

He collapsed on his bed, still fully clothed, and pulls out his phone. Sidney stares at your name on the screen, a heavy pang of guilt churning in his stomach. 

The way you had called him out the last time he’d seen you had been bothering him ever since. He knew you had meant it to be a lighthearted joke but he’d seen the flash of real hurt and genuine doubt in your eyes. 

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see how you survived on routine and consistency, there was no other choice when you were raising a 10 year old boy on your own while trying to run a business. You didn’t just hand out your trust and Sidney knew that. You protected your world and Cooper fiercely because life had taught you that people disappear when things get complicated. 

And what had he done? He’d accidentally played right into your insecurities, leaving you thinking that he wasn’t interested anymore. 

Sidney had genuinely been buried alive by the team’s schedule. The start of a season was always a whirlwind of activity that took a few weeks to get back into. 

If he was being completely honest with himself though, that wasn’t the whole truth. Part of him had deliberately stayed away because he was terrified of crowding you. He’d wanted to respect your boundaries, to give you space to breathe so you wouldn’t feel pressured by the sudden reality of his presence in your life. 

Except in his valiant attempt to be respectful, he’d managed to do the exact opposite. Sidney had stupidly triggered every single one of your defenses. He’d made you think that he was just playing a game, that he was someone who was just going to drift in and out of your life whenever it suited him. 

The thought that he could've ruined everything before it had even started, that he’d made you feel small or disposable, made his stomach churn. 

Sidney wasn’t going to make the mistake again. He couldn’t afford to. If there was one thing that he’d figured out during these late nights alone in a hotel room it was how you were already important to him. He wanted to see where things went with you but he also knew he had to be careful. 

Looking at the clock, he cursed under his breath. It was far too late to just call you out of the blue. The last thing Sidney wanted to do was wake you up if you were already asleep, which he knew you probably were. 

As a compromise, Sidney open up your text thread and types out a quick text instead: 

Sidney: Just got back to the hotel. You’re probably asleep (or at least you should be…) but I wanted to say good night. I’m half-way through The Women and have had to fake an allergy attack twice already because I kept tearing up. My reputation isn’t going to survive this book. 

Sidney: Miss you. ❤️

Setting the phone on the bedside table, Sidney moves towards the tiny fridge on the other side of the room to get a bottle of water. He didn’t even have the cap unscrewed before his phone buzzed against the wood. He lunged for it like a teenager, a stupid thrill squeezing his heart when he saw your name light up the screen. 

You: Not asleep. Coop had a nightmare about an hour ago and I haven’t been able to drift back off. I’m always right about books, Crosby. RIP your reputation though, sorry about that 🤗

You: Missing you too. ❤️

Kicking off his dress shoes, Sidney sat down at the edge of the bed, a smile stretching across his face as the tension eased out of his shoulders. 

He stared at those three little words that came after your first response. His chest did something complicated when he reads it a second time. You missed him too. It felt like a victory, getting that kind of attention from you when Sidney knew how spread thin you already were. 

Sidney: Poor buddy. Is he okay now? 

You: he's out cold, just needed a few songs to get back to sleep. It’s just taking me a little bit longer to unwind. 

Sidney: Same here. Post-game adrenaline is doing the same to me now. It’ll be a while before I manage to finally fall asleep. 

He stared at the bubbles appearing and disappearing on the screen, the distance between Seattle and Pittsburgh suddenly feeling entirely too far for text messages to be enough. He didn’t just want to read your words on a screen. Sidney wanted to see the expression in your eyes shift when he made you smile, the way you rolled your eyes at his dumb jokes, he wanted to hear you laugh even if it was tired at the edges. 

Sidney: Since we're both awake, we could FaceTime or is it too late? It's been a while since I've seen that pretty smile of yours.

Your response came a few seconds later. 

You: flatterer 🤭 Give me two minutes to make sure I don’t look like the creature from the black lagoon. 

True to your word, exactly two minutes later, his phone lights up with an incoming FaceTime call, which he accepts instantly. 

The screen flickers to life, revealing the warm lighting of your living room. You were leaning back against the couch cushions, wearing an oversized gray crewneck. Your hair was pulled back in a messy, loose topknot and Sidney felt his heart trip when you smiled at him.

You looked soft and unguarded and so very pretty, it stole the breath from his lungs. 

“Hey.” You say quietly, pulling a blanket up to your chin as you snuggled deeper into the cushions. “Look at you, still in your dress shirt.” 

“Hey, you." Sidney murmurs. “Haven’t quite made it to the pajamas stage yet. I just got back to the room and collapsed on the bed. You don’t look like the creature from the black lagoon, by the way. Not even close.” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Crosby. How’s the road trip? Coop was mad I wouldn’t let him stay up and watch the game against Seattle tonight but we caught the first period. You looked good out there.” 

“It’s fine. Road trips are mostly arenas, busses, hotels, rinse and repeat.” He says, scanning your face, taking in the quiet calm of your house.

He takes a deep breath, the heavy weight of how he’d hurt you last week pressing on his sternum.

“Can…can we talk about something?” 

A tiny frown appeared on your face, your brow knitting together. “Of course. Is everything okay?” 

Sidney shifts his weight, leaning further back against the headboard. “Yeah, everything is fine. It’s just that I keep thinking about how you spent a week thinking I was avoiding you. I want to figure out how to show up for you without being too much. I know you’ve had to build a pretty high wall to protect you and Coop. If I’m going to be in your life, I want to know how to respect that.” 

“Oh my God, Sid, no. It’s totally fine.” You blurt out, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush, a wave of heated embarrassment hitting you straight in the chest. You shift on the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Seriously, it’s totally fine. I shouldn’t have said anything. You don’t have any obligation to see me, or call me, or anything at all. I probably came off as weirdly clingy and entitled to your time. You don’t owe me a single thing.” 

You would have been the happiest person on the planet if a hole had opened up right in your living room and swallowed you whole. 

Sidney knew you wanted to just forget everything, he could see it in the way you were looking everywhere but at him. Your cheeks were a bright crimson and you shrunk back into the couch as if making yourself small enough would protect you from the way you thought he’d react. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” He asks softly. 

You blink, caught off guard by his question. 

“Doing what?” 

“You keep assuming that I’m coming around out of some weird obligation.” He says, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Or that I’m just trying to be ‘friendly’. Do you really think I drove halfway across the city in a suit before a five hour flight just to be polite?” He shook his head, a line forming between his brow. “I don’t understand why you keep treating this like youre some kind of chore for me.” 

Sidney’s bluntness had you swallowing any response you may have been able to come up with. You wanted to tell him the truth - tell him why you were trying to keep him an arms length away, kept bracing for the other shoe to drop. You wanted to tell him that the second things got heavy or inconvenient or real, people always found a way to drift out of your life and you were so fucking scared to get ahead of yourself this time. You couldn’t let yourself believe a man like Sidney would actually want you, because if you believed it and you were wrong, the fall would break you. 

All of that felt too heavy to confess over a late night phone call when he was thousands of miles away.

So, you just press your lips together, keeping that wall firmly in place and stay quiet. 

Sidney watches the subtle shift in your expression, reading your silence for exactly what it was. The frustration in his eyes melts away, replaced with an honest intensity that you’d seen from him before. 

He saw right through your evasion. 

“Look at me.” Sidney says softly, but firmly enough to make your breath catch. 

Slowly, you looked up, your eyes meeting his through the screen of your phone. He had shifted against the headboard while you’d been looking away and was now leaning forward so his face filled the frame, the distance between you stripped away by the look in his eyes. 

“I’m not doing this to be polite.” He says after a moment, the rasp in his voice vibrating straight to your chest. “I’m doing this because I can’t stop thinking about you. When I’m on the ice, when I’m working out,” Sidney shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose, “When I’m trying to sleep. It’s all the time. So please, stop trying to give me an out here. I don’t want one.” 

You let out a ragged breath, your forehead dropping onto your knees for a moment to buy you some time to process his words before looking back up at him. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, your voice wobbling at the edges as tears sting at the back of your eyes. “It’s just…it’s hard for me to believe that. My brain doesn’t know how to process someone just…staying.” 

Sidney’s expression softens, the intensity in his hazel eyes turning gentle. “Talk to me then. Tell me why, help me understand.” 

You swallow down the massive lump in your throat, staring at the screen as you decide to let him in just the tiniest bit.  

“When I got pregnant with Cooper at the end of my freshman year, his dad completely panicked.” You start, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. The history between you and Coopers father was a familiar wound by now, but telling someone new about it, someone like Sidney, always brought fresh pain to the surface. 

“The second that pregnancy test came back positive, the second it wasn’t just fun and games anymore, he checked out. He didn’t want the responsibility, told me to ‘take care of it’ or else he was going to leave.” 

You pause, briefly going back to that conversation in your head, your gaze going distant. Sidney sits there, holding his breath, letting you have the space you need to tell your story. 

“Obviously I didn't, so he signed his rights away before Coop was even born. A lawyer friend of my dad had all the paperwork drawn up and everything. He transferred schools to someplace in Texas and I never saw him again.” 

Sidney’s jaw clenches visibly through the screen, a sharp flash of protective anger crossing his features. He doesn’t say anything still and you continue. 

“So, from day one, it’s just been the two of us. Yeah, my parents help and they’re invaluable but at the end of the day, it’s me and Coop. Everything I do, every single choice I make, is about keeping Cooper’s world steady. I can handle people drifting in and out of my life, I’m used to that. But I refuse to let someone do that to him. I can’t let him get attached to someone who’s just going to disappear when the reality of my life gets too heavy for them to handle.” 

You took a deep breath and looked right at Sidney, exposing the deepest fear you had. “So, when you disappeared for a week, my brain just went straight to what it’s always known. I told myself that you had realized a single mom with a kid and a business was too much baggage and you were just letting it fade. Which is totally fine, that’s your prerogative but it still hurt.” 

Sidney’s heart ached over the quiet battle you’d been fighting that week he’d backed off.

The pieces of the puzzle were finally clicking into place for him - why you’d been sort of sharp with him that afternoon before his flight, why you survived on consistency and exactly how high the stakes were for you. Getting a glimpse into your past didn’t make him want to pull back though. It made him want to drop everything and get on the next flight back to Pittsburgh just to hold you.

He rubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw, taking a slow breath to give him time to rein in the intensity of what he was feeling before he put it into words. 

“I want you to listen to me, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

He waits until your eyes were back on his, ensuring that you were listening before he continued. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He says softly, each word deliberately and carefully chosen. “I know how high the stakes are for you and I know I have to earn your trust. I’m not asking you to let me in all the way overnight and I’m sure as fuck not going to push you into anything before you’re ready.” 

He paused for a moment, a small, self-conscious grin tugging at the corner of his lips that had your stomach swooping. 

“We move at your pace, okay? You want slow, we’ll go slow. I can be patient. I can give you whatever you need but I want you to know right now that the reality of your life isn’t baggage to me. It wont scare me off and it’s not too heavy.” Sidney leans back, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s a big ask but I want you to trust me when I say I’m in this, okay? I’m not going to disappear when things get complicated and I’ll keep telling you that for as long as it takes for you to believe it.” 

You stare at him through the glowing screen of your phone, heart racing underneath the heavy weight of your own past. Hearing Sidney say those things so confidently felt like someone had finally stepped into the storm with you and pulled you under their umbrella. 

“I don’t know how to do this, Sid.” You confess quietly, your voice small. “I don’t know how to just take the leap and trust that you’re not going to change your mind. I know you mean well and believe what you’re saying and I don’t mean this in a negative way, but I’m scared.” 

“You don’t have to do it all at once.” He replies, his expression soft. “You just have to let me show up. That’s it. Every time I show up, you take one small step towards letting me prove to you that I mean what I say. Okay?” 

You swallowed hard, a slow sense of relief beginning to unfurl in your chest. “Okay.” 

A comfortable, easy silence settled between you after that, the tension and previously unspoken heavy fears fizzling away like the clouds disappearing after a storm blows through. 

Sidney leans his head back against the headboard, the tense lines in his shoulders finally loosening. “So…” He starts, the playful glint in his expression returning, “Since we’re laying all of our cards on the table tonight, when exactly does Kristin Hannah stop breaking my damn heart in The Women because I’m on chapter twenty right now and I’m fearing for my life.” 

A breathless laugh escapes you, the sudden shift away from the heavy subjects you’d spent all evening thinking about lightening your mood instantly. “Oh, honey, you’re not even close to the worst of it. You’re going to need an entire box of tissues for the last three chapters.” 

“You’re the worst.” He grumbles, though the fond smile on his face gives him away. “I’m supposed to be a big, tough hockey player, YN. I can’t be getting all emotional on the plane.” 

Your reply is interrupted by a massive, whole body yawn that catches you completely off guard. Throwing your hands up to cover your mouth, your shoulders shake from the force of the exhaustion that suddenly hits.

On the other side of the screen, Sidney lets you a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you try - and fail - to recover your dignity. 

“I am so sor-.” You mumble, cheeks flushing pink as you blink away the tears. 

“Don’t apologize” Sidney interrupts, shaking his head. “It’s past 3 in the morning there, you should be asleep anyway. I think it’s time you go to bed.” 

“Are we okay?” You ask quietly, the question slipping out before you could stop it. 

Sidney’s expression goes soft again, a small smile hitching at the corner of his mouth, “We’re more than okay. You get some rest, okay? I’ll text you in the morning.” 

“Okay.” You breathe, pulling yourself up off the couch and making your way upstairs towards your room. “Goodnight, Sid.” 

“Goodnight.” He murmurs, voice warm in your ear just before you disconnect the call. 

Setting the phone face down on your nightstand, you slip under the covers and pull them up to your chin, sinking into the cool quiet of your bedroom. For the first time in almost ten years, the silence that washes over you doesn’t feel lonely. 

It felt like hope. 

The bell above the bookstore door chimed at 9:15 the next morning, right in the middle of your morning inventory check. You’d only been open for fifteen minutes and looked up from the counter expecting to see an early customer wandering in, only to find a young kid with a baseball hat holding a paper bag in one hand and a takeout coffee cup in the other. 

“I’ve got a delivery for a YN?” 

“I didn’t order anything.” You say, a frown tipping down at the corner of your mouth. 

“Some guy called it in, said to make sure the croissants were fresh.” The kid sets the cup and the bag on the counter in front of you, sliding a small card across the wood before heading back out into the bright morning sunshine. 

Picking up the card, you slip your finger under the envelope flap as your heart does a tap-dance against your ribcage. 

“Because I know you get busy on Saturday mornings and always forget to eat. -Sid” 

A helpless smile tugs at your lips as you reach for the cup, giving it a sniff. The writing on the side tells you Sidney remembered your order: apple crisp latte with oat milk and an extra shot with sweet cream cold foam. Inside the bag were two fresh almond croissants that were still warm from the oven - the same almond croissants he’d brought you that first morning he’d stopped in. 

For the rest of the morning, you sipped on the latte and tried very hard to convince yourself that a man sending you breakfast while he was three timezones away was just a friendly, polite gesture. A fact that was very hard to believe after the conversation you two had had the night before. It was just taking you a little bit of extra time to accept it. 

Sometime after noon, the brass bell over the front door chimed again. 

Just like this morning, it wasn’t a customer stopping in to peruse the latest new releases. 

This time, the florist that had opened her shop three doors down last month was walking towards you with a giant grin on her face and a stunning arrangement of golden yellow sunflowers, crimson and peach roses, and eucalyptus tied together with a giant white bow wrapped in brown Kraft paper. 

“Someone has an admirer with very good taste in floral arrangements.” The florist says with a knowing grin as she sets the bouquet down in front of you. “Guy called in this morning and was very specific with what he wanted.” 

“First it was coffee and croissants, now it’s flowers?” Maya sidles up to the counter with a giant glass vase she’d pulled out of the back room. “Spill boss! Who’s sending you all these treats?” 

You flush, reaching for the card tucked inside the blooms. 

To give you something as pretty as you are to look at. -Sid

“He was also very, very specific with what he wanted on the card too.” The florist says, winking at Maya as she starts back towards the front door. “Someone is very smitten with you, my love.” 

You roll your eyes, watching the older woman walk back down the sidewalk before turning back to stare at the note.

After your talk last night, after Sidney asking to let him show up for you and then following through the very next day had the concrete walls around your heart crumbling so fast you could practically hear the stones cracking. 

By early evening, the shop had quieted down. Your mother had just taken Cooper to get settled for the night so you were on your own for the last handful of hours before you closed up at 7. You were at the register unboxing the last of the half a dozen shipments that had come in today when a UPS driver pushes through the front door.

The guy sets down a medium-sized brown shipping box on the counter in front of you with a thud. 

He pushes a handheld scanning device, asking you to sign for the special delivery. Without a second look back, the guy starts back out the door and after a few moments, you’re left in the quiet of your store again. 

“What did you do now, Crosby?” You whisper, slicing through the packing tape at the top of the box with a pair of scissors. 

Pulling open the cardboard flaps, the first thing you find on top is a sealed envelope with your name written on the front. Underneath it was sat a buttery-soft, vintage looking Disneyland crewneck sweater with Mickey on the front.

Underneath the sweater was a black display card holding four limited-edition, park-exclusive Disneyland pins, including one of Mickey playing hockey and three sealed boxes of churro flavored toffee that you could only get inside the parks. 

Tears stung at the back of your eyes. 

Your mind flashed to a phone call with Sidney earlier in the week when you’d found out he was playing in Anaheim next. You’d mentioned off-handedly how you and Cooper always took a trip to Disney World every year for his birthday but that you’d never been able to pull off a trip out to Disneyland in California. 

Your fingers shook slightly as you opened the card. 

I know you guys go to Disney World all the time but since you haven’t made it out to California yet, I thought I’d send you a little west coast Disney magic to you. I hope the crewneck fits. See you soon. - Sid

“Oh, Sidney.” You sigh, swiping at the tear that tracked down your cheek. 

An hour and a half later, the store was locked up, the lights switched off, and you were sitting in the drivers seat of your SUV in the parking lot. The Disneyland crewneck is already pulled over your t-shirt - slightly oversized in the best way, smelling of clean cotton, and stupidly warm. The box of pins rested safely in the passenger seat next to your purse and the boxes of toffee. 

You stared at your phone in your hands for a long moment before hitting Sidney’s contact. 

It rings twice before the bluetooth in your car clicks through and his voice fills the quiet inside of your car. 

“Hey, you.” Sidney sounded tired, his voice rough but warmly affectionate. "Did the last box make it to you before you closed up for the night?” 

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you start the engine. “Sidney Crosby, you are completely out of control.” 

His low, rumbly chuckle vibrates through your chest. “That’s the weirdest sounding thank you I’ve ever heard.” 

“Thank you.” You sigh, your voice softening as you pull out of the parking lot and onto the street. “Seriously though, Sid. The pastries and the flowers and the stuff from Disney? How did you even get that stuff here? You were only in Anaheim for like, 48 hours!” 

“I asked one of the social media admins to go get everything after morning skate yesterday. I only had to promise I'd do an extra four TikTok's with her this month in return. I had our equipment manager ship it overnight to the store.” He says like what he had done was completely normal. 

“Coop is going to die when he sees the hockey player Mickey pin." Your fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel, a warm wave of affection tightening in your throat. “You didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“I wanted to.” Sidney says simply. “You spend all of your time taking care of everyone else. You take care of Cooper, the store, you manage everything on your own and never ask for any help. It felt good to know that I was taking care of you, even for just the day.” 

“You’re going to spoil me.” 

Sidney chuckles, “That’s kind of the point.” 

You stop at a red light, squeezing your eyes shut against the tears that threaten to spill over at the honesty in his voice. 

“I’m wearing the sweater right now.” You confess, pressing the gas pedal as the light turns green. 

There was a brief pause before Sidney replies, his voice going low and smokey on the other end, “How’d I do with the fit?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

“Good.” You could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Hey, I’ve got to go. We’re boarding our flight to Vegas but after that game tomorrow, we’ll be home.” 

“Finally.” You breathe. 

“I’ll text you when we land.” The background noise picks up as you hear the Russian accent of someone that sounds a lot like Geno. 

“Have a safe flight, Sid.” You say, your chest aching with a terrifyingly sweet warmth that you’ve never felt before. “I’ll see you soon.” 

yourpersonalinsta posted 3 stories!

tag list: @wonderfullyhiddensaga @destinyg237 @kitnootkat @dandelionwrites8 @louisianalady @buckybluebarnes @sticks-n-pucks @nox410 @whosmev @raynetargaryan2 @cutie-snoopy @sticks-n-pucks @renegadebirch @dreaming-starlet @icedupbaby @misszkr @jinxiie @cevans-winchester @albonoracers @internetmultifandomfangirl @2-glam @esw1012 @ashleywinchester78 @laughsandlivia @nikfigueiredo @spooky-librarian-ghost @sinfully-yoursss @julianna-at-the-rink @skatingiswalkingincursive

[snoopysavs]

the way sid is so sweet and reassuring and immediately follows through ugh im so obsessed with him and this series!!!!

[angiiewritess]

if i SPEAKKKK,,, i’ll get my phone taken away,,, again,,,

[squad-3]

LOL

[wannabehockeygf]

pls dad clayton being woken up the morning of his bday by reader and their toddler in bed, so sweet and cozy

ovulating

the morning light is barely creeping through the curtains when you hear the soft thud of little feet padding down the hallway. you're already awake, have been for about ten minutes, lying on your side watching clayton sleep. he's on his stomach, one arm slung off the edge of the bed, face half-smooshed into the pillow, brunette hair fanned out everywhere. his back rises and falls slowly, the muscles along his spine shifting with each breath, and you can see the faint scratch marks you left there two nights ago. he looks so peaceful, mouth slightly parted, lashes dark against his cheeks. you could stare at him for hours, you have before.

then the bedroom door creaks open, and a tiny head pokes through the gap. your daughter, a ball of pure chaotic sunshine, is clutching a stuffed bunny that's almost as big as she is. her hair is a disaster, these wild little curls sticking up every which way because she refuses to keep a bonnet on. she's wearing footie pajamas with little dinosaurs on them, and her cheeks are pink from sleep. she spots you first, gives you this enormous gummy grin—she's got eight teeth, bottom four and top four, and they're the cutest things you've ever seen—and then her eyes dart to clayton's sleeping form. she puts a finger to her lips. you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing because she learned that from him, the little conspirator.

you sit up slowly, mouth the word "ready?" and she bounces on her toes, bunny trailing on the floor. you've been prepping her for this all week. every night at bath time, you'd practice. "what do we say to daddy on his birthday?" and she'd shriek "hap birt" and splash water everywhere. you've also been trying to teach her to hold up fingers, but she mostly just holds up all of them and shoves them in her mouth.

you nod, and your daughter barrels toward the bed with the uncoordinated enthusiasm only a toddler can muster. she reaches the mattress and can't quite climb up on her own, so you scoop her under the arms and lift her onto the bed. she immediately face-plants into the comforter, giggling, little legs kicking. you hoist her up and position her right next to clayton's head. she's practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on her knees, looking at you for the signal.

"okay, go," you whisper.

she slaps both palms flat on clayton's cheek and shrieks, "hap birt daddy!" at a volume that could wake the entire neighborhood.

clayton jolts like he's been electrocuted. his eyes fly open, disoriented, and he makes this confused groggy noise that's somewhere between a grunt and a yawn. your daughter is already climbing onto his back, pulling herself up using his shoulder like a little mountaineer. she grabs a fistful of his hair and repeats herself louder. "hap birt! hap birt daddy!" she's bouncing on his back now, using his spine like a trampoline.

clayton blinks, turns his head, and the second he sees her little face looming over him, hair wild, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, this enormous smile breaks across his face. not a polite morning smile. the real one, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and digs that right-cheek dimple in deep. he rolls onto his side carefully so she tumbles into the space between you both, and she squeals when he catches her mid-roll, pulling her against his chest. "good morning, bug," he mumbles, voice still rough and scratchy from sleep. he kisses the top of her head, this slow lingering press of his lips against her crazy curls, and she squirms happily.

"happy birthday, baby," you say, leaning over to kiss his actual mouth. he catches the back of your neck, pulls you in deeper than necessary, and your daughter goes "ew" because she's recently decided that kissing is gross unless it's on her own terms. you pull apart laughing, and clayton's eyes are still half-closed, but they're warm and soft and looking at you like you hung the moon.

"how old are you, daddy?" you prompt, nudging your daughter.

she stares at you blankly, fascinated, then holds up her hand with all fingers splayed. "two!" she announces proudly.

"close," clayton laughs, sitting up against the headboard. he pulls her into his lap, and she immediately starts poking at the scratches on his chest, fascinated. "twenty-eight, bug. daddy's twenty-eight." he looks at you over the top of her head, eyebrows raised. "twenty-eight," he repeats, quieter, like he's letting it sink in.

"old," your daughter says very seriously.

you burst out laughing, falling back against the pillows. clayton's jaw drops in mock offense, and he tickles her sides until she's shrieking and wriggling, kicking her little dinosaur feet in the air. "oh, i'm old?" he says, gasping. "that's what we're doing on daddy's birthday? calling him old?" he flips her onto her back and blows a raspberry on her belly, and the sound of her laughter fills the whole room—this breathless, hiccupping, squealy giggle that makes your chest ache with how much you love both of them. she's grabbing his ears now, his nose, trying to stuff her bunny into his mouth. "bunny birt too," she informs him solemnly, shoving the stuffed animal against his lips.

"oh, is it bunny's birthday too?" he asks, playing along, giving the bunny a little kiss. "well, happy birthday, bunny. you want pancakes, bug? daddy wants pancakes."

"panny," she agrees immediately, because she will never turn down food. she sits up in his lap, patting his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together so his lips puff out. "hap birt, daddy," she says one more time, softer now, leaning in to give him the most clumsy, open-mouthed toddler kiss right on the tip of his nose. drool and all.

clayton's face does something complicated. he goes still, pulls her tight against his chest, and presses his mouth to her hair. his eyes squeeze shut, and you can see the emotion rolling through him—this overwhelming rush of gratitude and disbelief, like he can't believe this is his life. you reach over and rest your hand on his arm, thumb rubbing slow circles. "best birthday yet?" you ask softly.

he opens his eyes, looks at you, then down at the tiny human drooling on his chest, then back at you. the smile he gives you is devastating—soft and real and so full of love it makes your throat tighten. "every birthday since i met you has been the best one," he says, and your daughter interrupts by slapping both hands on his face again and yelling "panny!" at maximum volume.

he laughs, this full-bodied thing that shakes his whole chest, and lifts her up, blowing another raspberry on her belly before standing her on the mattress. she wobbles, holding onto his hands, bouncing. "okay, okay, pancakes," he concedes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. he stands, scoops her onto his hip, and reaches down to offer you his hand. you take it, and he pulls you up against him, kissing your forehead. your daughter immediately tries to push your face away from hers, claiming clayton's chest as her territory. "mine daddy," she says, shoving her little palm against your cheek.

"oh, i'm sorry," you say, stepping back with your hands up. "i didn't realize he was yours."

"mine," she repeats firmly, wrapping both arms around clayton's neck and pressing her face into his shoulder.

"she's got a point," he says, squeezing your hip with his free hand. "i am pretty great." you swat his chest, and he catches your hand, brings it to his lips. "twenty-eight," he murmurs against your knuckles. "and i've got everything i ever wanted."

[cattyb2]

the special guest | fraser minten

Pairing: fraser minten x kindergarten teacher!reader

Prompt: every friday your students get a surprise guest to come in and read to them. this week it just so happens to be your boyfriend

A/N: did I write this immediately and accidentally not do something I was supposed to do for work? Yes I did, do I regret it? Not one bit.

requested!

A guest reader was easily the most exciting part of your kindergarten classes week. Each Friday afternoon, you bring in somebody, a parent, an older sibling, the principal, someone to read a book of the guests choosing to the class.

And each week, your kids hedged their bets on who they think it is. However, it wasn’t until Wednesday that you worried about having to cancel this week. The grandparent of one of your kids emailed you the kindest and most apologetic email you have ever received. Stating that their husband is unwell and cannot be left alone. You had responded back immediately, wishing them nothing but the best.

That evening however you expressed your concern to Fraser, how awful you felt for the family, and how you have no one to cover for this Friday. And as your boyfriend sat on the couch, he smiled.

“What?” You ask, furrowing your brows at the look he had.

“I don’t have practice this Friday.” He says, and you freeze and look to him. “Do you think they’d want me to be the surprise guest?” He asks, and right there in your kitchen, you melt.

“I think it would be chaos, they are obsessed with you.” You state, walking over to him and throwing yourself into his lap. “They ask about you everyday.”

“Then count me in, Miss Y/L/N.” He says, before placing his lips firmly against yours.

Now, with ten minutes before Fraser is supposed to show up, your students are in an uproar. There’s voices overlapping with who they think the special guest will be.

“Hey everyone!” You announce, and they all instantly look to you. Their wide eyes full of excitement. “Let’s all remember our rules, okay?” You state, and they all nod their heads. “We stay seated on the carpet, we do not talk over one another, and we raise our hands if we have something to share, okay?”

“Yes!” And “Okay!” Are shouted as 20 kindergarteners rush to their spots on the forest themed carpet that sits in front of the reading chair in the corner of your classroom.

You smile as you watch them all sit down, some of them looking to the door and refusing to look away, others whispering to each other on who they think it is.

“I’m going to go meet our guest and bring them in. Remember, when you see them, we use our inside voices!” You announce, standing in the open doorway of your classroom.

You wait for only a minute, one eye on your students, one eye catching Fraser walking down the hallway with a visitors badge around his neck and the book he picked out to bring.

Your smile widens, and so does his. He’s wearing his glasses, his hair perfectly wind swept, his cheeks a little red from the late fall weather, and the non descriptive black sweatshirt covers his body. Needless to say, he looks good.

“Hey.” He says, his smile wide as he stops just before the doorway, your students not yet able to see him. He takes you in, and his smile turns to a loving smirk. “You look really good, sweetheart.” He says, and you look down to your outfit. Your knit sweater with Woodstock and Snoopy on display, your dark jeans, and your brown boots.

“Don’t make me blush in front of my kids.” You scold, and he smiles. “Are you ready?” You ask, an eyebrow raising as you look to him.

“Yeah.” He says, and you can tell he’s excited.

So you step into your classroom, immediately stepping off to the side as Fraser enters the door. Screams and voices immediately overlap each other. And you snap out of girlfriend mode and fall back into kindergarten teacher mode.

“Hey, hey!” You announce, 20 pairs of eyes looking over to you. “I know we’re excited but we need to be respectful of other classes!” You say with a smile, and they all nod, still talking over one another, still bouncing excitedly as Fraser makes his way to the chair.

“Hi everyone.” He says, laughing at the greeting he’s receiving.

You smile as you hear the voices of the kids you’ve grown to adore over the few months. Things like,

“IT’S HIM!”

“YOU PLAY HOCKEY.”

“MY DAD LOVES YOU.”

And it always takes you a moment to realize that to these children Fraser is a celebrity. He’s a professional sports player. He’s not just your boyfriend. He’s not the guy who brings you flowers every Sunday, he’s not the guy who refuses to let you drive and who loads every song you love onto his phone. To them, he’s a hockey player, to them he’s a guy they see on the TV.

So for a few moments, you let them talk over each other, you let them have that pure and raw excitement. And by the look on Fraser’s face, you can tell he’s soaking up every second of it.

“Wow, you all know who I am?” He asks, and they all nod, going back in to yelling about seeing him play.

You laugh as you step next to Fraser, clapping your hands a few times to gather their attention.

“Alright everyone!” You announce. “I know this is so exciting, and I promise we can have some question time at the end. But let’s make sure that we let our special guest read his book to you guys.”

The little voices all seem to quiet down at that, your kids getting comfortable as they all sit, some still whispering back and forth.

“He’s in her picture.” You hear the voice of Noah, one of your more energetic kids whisper.

You bite back a laugh, as you look to Fraser.

“Take it away.” You say with a bright smile, settling down in your chair at your desk.

His gaze snaps from you to the kids, and then down to the book as he clears his throat and reads the title.

“It’s about bears because you’re a bear!” Noah yells, so excited that he couldn’t contain himself. Your eyes move over to him and he claps a hand over his mouth, before giggling and saying, “Sorry Miss Y/L/N, I forgot to raise my hand.”

You smile at him and say thank you, before nodding back at Fraser.

“That’s correct, I am a bear, which is why I picked this book today.” Fraser says, his smile warm and his voice soft.

And as he starts to read, you lean back, taking it all in. You’re sitting in your chair at your dream job, with the man you’re hopelessly in love with reading to the kids that give your life so much of its meaning.

As Fraser reads, holding the book up so everyone can see the pictures, you can’t stop smiling. He changes his voice with characters, he smiles and points to the drawings as your kids laugh and laugh.

And every so often, Fraser would look to you. Not for reassurance, not because he was nervous. But because no matter what Fraser does or is doing, he just can’t help but watch you. Each time he does look to you, he notes the permanent smile on your lips, the gleam of joy in your eyes, and he notes how at home you seem here. Your classroom designed in a forest theme, greens and browns covering empty spaces, even the rug the kids all sit on have everything from squirrels to foxes to bears.

This was your life, the life you had built outside of him. And he was so happy to be a part of it.

By the time Fraser read the last line of the book, applause ripped through the room. And you clap and laugh as well as you watch how happy your kids are.

“Thank you.” Fraser says, chuckling slightly. “You guys are a great audience.”

“Miss Y/L/N can we have question time now?” One of your kids asks, and you laugh but nod your head.

A few hands shoot up, and a few kids shout out their answers.

“Remember to raise your hand if you have a question for our special guest.” You kindly remind them, and they listen.

Almost every hand shoots up in the air, and Fraser laughs brightly.

As Fraser calls on them one at a time, you can’t help but bite the inside of your cheek at some of their comments.

“How fast can you skate?”

“Do you ever get hurt?”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“What’s your favorite food?”

Fraser answers them each.

“I think I can skate pretty fast, but it took me a long time to be able to do that.”

“Yes, but we wear lots of padding so if I fall I can get right back up.”

“I love any movie with a bear it in.” This answer got a million giggles out of them.

“Have you ever slept at the hockey rink?” Charlie asks from the carpet, and you silently laugh as Fraser’s smile widens.

“No, I can’t say I have. I bet that would be pretty cold.” Fraser responds, and Charlie nods seriously.

“My Dad takes me to some of your games, it’s very cold in there.” Charlie says, and Fraser smiles at the boy.

You let them continue with your questions, more about hockey, some about whatever random fact they want to know about him.

And as you look to the clock, you realize that pick up time is in fifteen minutes.

You clap twice, gaining their attention back from Fraser.

“Alright everyone!” You say, standing up. “Can we all give Fraser a big thank you for coming in and reading to you guys today?”

“THANK YOU FRASER!” Was shouted out into the room, and he responds with a warm “you’re welcome.” As you start excusing kids to their cubbies.

You watch them all as they clear off their tables, and start putting on their coats.

“You’re so good with them.” Fraser says.

“Years of practice.” You say, and Fraser shakes his head.

“Maybe.” He pauses before continuing. “But I think you’re just born to do this.” He says, and his words hit something deep within you.

“Frase.” You say, but then one of your kids comes running up to you, her zipper stuck on her pink puffy coat.

“Miss Y/L/N, could you help me?” She asks, and you immediately drop down on one knee, speaking with her as you help her with her jacket.

Fraser just watches, his heart racing in his chest. He takes you in more, the way your voice is pure happiness as you speak with your students, and the way you’ve decorated your room to become a welcoming and happy place.

“Mr. Fraser?” A little voice says, and Fraser looks down, seeing one of the more quiet students approach him.

Out of instinct Fraser crouches down, listening as the student talks to him.

“Thank you for coming in today.” The boy says, and Fraser remembers his name from you saying it once before.

“Thank you for having me, Jackson.” Fraser states.

“I think you’re really cool.” He says, put he’s so shy that as he says it he looks down at his small shoes.

“I think you’re even cooler.” Fraser says, and Jackson’s eyes light up as he looks at Fraser.

But before they could say anything more, parents started to come in for pick up. Their kids running up to them and pointing at Fraser. Some parents went wide eyed, recognizing him immediately. Some shook his hand, some told him he’s a good player, and some just smiled at him.

Lily was the last student of yours to leave the classroom, and she all but drags her mom over to you and Fraser.

The woman greets Fraser, and then turns to you to speak about something. Lily however, takes this time to bat her eyes at Fraser as she asks, “Are you going to marry Miss Y/L/N?”

You and her mom freeze immediately, and Fraser lets his shock show for only a second as Lily’s mom scolds her for the question.

But Fraser can’t help himself but laugh a little as he once again crouches down and says, “I’d be pretty lucky to do that wouldn’t I?”

Lily nods, giggling.

“Well I’ll tell you a secret.” Fraser says, and you swear you stop breathing for a moment. “I really really want to.”

Lily explodes with excitement, and her mom apologizes again and again for her daughter’s question. You only wave your hand and say it’s no big deal, and wave goodbye as Lily takes her Mom’s hand and leaves the classroom for the weekend.

You walk over to close the door of your classroom, before turning back to your boyfriend.

You take him in, and as he opens his mouth to say something you close the gap between you two and give him a gentle kiss.

He smiles as you pull away, and he rests his forehead against yours.

“Thank you.” You say, closing your eyes for a moment before he leans down to kiss you again.

“For what?”

“Coming, reading, answering all those questions.” You say with a laugh. “Just… thank you.”

But Fraser was more in awe of you than your words.

“You’re amazing with them.” He says, studying the way your eyes shine.

“I love you.” You whisper, and Fraser kisses you once more.

“I love you too.” He says as he pulls back, helping you close down your classroom for the weekend.

Once you throw your scarf around your neck, Fraser takes your tote bag before you even have the chance to grab it yourself.

Miss Y/L/N is stitched onto the side, and Fraser then notices how many places in the classroom have your name on it.

So as you walk over to him, ready to drive home, Fraser finds himself grabbing hold of you. He dips you down, and you let out a shocked yelp

“What are you doing?” You say, laughing as he’s still dipping you in the aisle between tables.

“Just practicing.” He says, chuckling as well. “But sweetheart?” He says, and you stop laughing, but your smile remains on your face.

“Yeah?”

“I’d stop buying things with your last name printed on them for a while.”

Your eyes widen as you stare into his.

“Fraser.”

“Just a thought.” He says smugly. “I wouldn’t want you to spend the money just to have to replace it all.”

“Fraser Minten!” You exclaim, and he laughs as you both walk hand in hand out of your classroom, never happier.

[hockeyrpfmicrofics]

wow, i can't believe it's already august. we're 60 days out from the regular season's start and i think it's the perfect time to introduce our first prompt!

drumroll, please!

"welcome" || 716 words maximum

do some welcoming, welcome someone home, give someone a warm welcome, welcome someone into your life, welcome someone with open arms. you're free to interpret this prompt however you'd like! submissions should be hockey rpf-centric, 3rd pov. it should have a title, a rating, and any applicable cws. the body of the fic should not exceed 716 words when pasted into wordcounter.net.

[kniesonice]

From The Sea, With Love ╰┈➤ EJ6

summary: summer always feels more musical and intimate at the beach house, surrounded by your husband, daughter and your unborn son. list no.03, smut prompt no.51: "come here" said softly — not urgently. just wanting them close again.

[word count] 3.0k

warnings: NSFW! pre-established relationship | reader and erik are parents | children obviously | pregnant! reader | kissing | smut | p in v intercourse | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

paring: dad!erik johnson x mom!reader

authors note: yall don’t even know how heavy I fuck with EJ. like that’s dada. this stems from a request I got from my wet n wild summer event! this is also unedited:)

the beach is almost impossibly quiet. not empty in a lonely sort of way—but rather in the way that makes the whole world feel like it's waiting for the day to begin.

the sun has only just begun climbing over the horizon, painting the sky with watercolor streaks of peach, lavender, and pale gold—you've been awake since before it came up. the tide rolls lazily against the shore, each wave curling softly before dissolving into white foam that kisses the sand and slips away again.

a cool breeze dances through the dunes behind you, carrying the unmistakable scent of saltwater and sunscreen from yesterday that still lingers in beach towels draped over the deck railing of your beach house. as soon as you fell pregnant with your daughter, erik had purchased the house along the coast—claiming it to be an earlier push present, despite you only being a few months along. but you had just laughed, kissed him through a smile because you're so happy.

as you walk by the water now, broken shells under your bare feet, you think back to that day. it feels like forever ago, especially when a tiny squeal erupts from a few feet in front of you—the baby who was once growing inside you, now toddling beside erik. her chubby fingers squeezing the life out of his forefinger.

erik walks slower than he normally would. not because he's tired—because after a year with your babygirl, and countless years of an athletes schedule, he's used to early mornings—but because every few steps, your daughter finds something that absolutely must be investigated.

a seashell, or a feather. a patch of seaweed that looks suspiciously like 'monster hair.' she gasps and squeals at each new discovery, her tiny rosebud mouth falling into a perfect little o before she looks up at erik with wide, blue eyes—matching her dads.

"dada," she says.

"what you find this time baby?"

your daughter crouches, well, more like squats with all the grace of a baby still figuring out how knees work—and plucks a smooth white shell from the sand. she thrusts it skyward, all gummy smile and squinty, "pretty!"

"it is pretty." he squats down as well, although more stable than your baby. his hand hovers behind her tiny back automatically, ready to catch her if she falls. "you wanna bring it home?"

she nods, "for mama."

your heart melts, and erik's does too because you're his two favourite girls. "oh," he notes softly. "mama's going to love that one."

she nods once more, completely satisfied with herself, before toddling back toward you with determined little steps. when she's close, her tiny hands smack your thighs, broken piece of shell scratching your sun kissed skin.

"'s yours."

you fake surprise, "oh my! it is?" your daughter giggles, and you grin widens, "thank you, sweetheart." crouching down to her level, you brush wind blown curls from her bear head before pressing a kiss against the tip of her tiny, button nose.

she scrunches her face and dissolves into giggles—and oh, those giggles. the most joyful, belly laughs that never fail at making you tear up. because you made her. she's real and she's here and you just love her so much.

slowly, erik makes his way towards you, a look of nothing but pure affection in his gaze. his two girls—the one year old in her patterned, frilly bikini. leg and arm rolls on full display. sand on her diapered bum from falling over all up the beach. and you. you. hair blowing in the morning breeze, sunshine yellow bikini straps peeking out from your slinky coverup, and then, the round of your belly, full and glowing.

another baby on the way, this time, a boy. you're almost 7 months along, and erik thinks you've never looked more beautiful. but yet, he thinks that every new morning when he wakes up to the sight of you.

when he gets close enough, you look up and your eyes meet. you send him knowing smile, and erik can't help but mirror it. "so spoiled," he murmurs, though the smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

you just laugh, slipping your fingers into his free hand as he extends it out towards you, helping you out of that godforsaken squatting position. your daughter once again claims his free hand, index finger nestled into her small, sandy palm.

the three of you continue along the shoreline, ocean lapping gently at your ankles every now and then. behind you, footprints stretch across the wet sand in an uneven line—yours, erik's, and a trail of impossibly tiny prints accompanying them.

when another wave, stronger and bigger as the tide slowly begins to come in, rushes towards the shore. it splashes your ankles, finds your daughters tiny toes before she can step away or ask her dad for uppies. and when it does—she lets out the brightest, surprised squeal you've ever heard.

she hops backward so dramatically that she nearly lands on her bottom. thankfully, erik catches her before gravity has the chance.

"silly girl, it's okay." your husband soothes her as a small pout begins to take over her face, a small gathering of tears threatening at her waterline. the sudden rush of water, and almost tumbling, giving her a little fright.

she throws both little arms around his neck, murmuring, "dadda."

he looks at you over the top of her sandy blonde head—because your daughter is his perfect double—one eyebrow raised. one big hand braces on her back, he rubs soothing circles into the nylon of her one piece.

you step closer, hand covering the back of his. the climbing sun hits the diamond of your ring, sparkling between you. "let's head back for some breakfast. baby's hungry." you then gesture towards the bump under your coverup, and erik adjusts your daughter so he is able to rub your belly. slow. grateful. happy.

he squeezes your daughter, not hard—never hard—just to get her attention. and it works, because she pulls her blonde head out from his tanned neck, peering at her dad like a puppy.

"you hungry baby?" erik asks, "we're gunna go back. wash the sand off your legs and have some yummy food. does that sound good?"

she nods, that familiar gummy smile making its slow return at the mention of food.

the walk back feels slower somehow. not because the beach house is far away, but because mornings like these always seem to ask you to linger.

the breeze grows warmer with every passing minute, carrying away the coolness that had settled over the shoreline before sunrise. sand clings stubbornly to damp ankles and the hem of your cover up, while your daughter babbles endlessly from erik’s arms in a language only she understands. every few words are punctuated by enthusiastic pointing—at gulls circling overhead, at a passing dog farther down the beach, at absolutely nothing in particular.

he hums along as though every babbled sentence makes perfect sense. to him, maybe it does.

by the time the house comes into view, sunlight has spilled across the weathered deck, warming the wooden steps and making the white railings glow. the sliding doors stand open, letting the ocean breeze weave effortlessly through the rooms. somewhere inside, the coffee maker has already finished brewing, filling the house with the comforting smell of fresh coffee that somehow mingles perfectly with the salt air.

shoes are kicked off by the door. seashells—your special shell—are carefully placed into the little glass bowl your daughter insists is her "treasure bowl," despite forgetting about it almost immediately afterward.

your husband disappears briefly to rinse sandy feet beneath the outdoor shower before carrying your daughter inside wrapped in one of the oversized beach towels that practically swallows her whole. she peeks out from the hood, cheeks pink from the morning air, curls damp and sticking every which way. the cutest sight you’ve seen, and you immediately smother her in tickly kisses.

breakfast is simple—fresh fruit cut into tiny pieces. toast. yogurt that somehow ends up decorating more of your daughter's face than actually making it into her mouth. she proudly feeds erik half a strawberry she'd already taken several bites from, and he accepts it without hesitation.

“mhmmm,” he hums, animated, and you shake your head, laughing into your water.

"you’re unbelievable."

he only shrugs, chewing dramatically.

an hour or so later, the house has settled into that hazy summer quiet. the windows remain open, curtains billowing lazily with each breeze rolling in from the ocean. somewhere outside, waves continue their endless conversation with the shore while cicadas begin humming beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun.

the excitement of the beach has worn off, and your daughter is visibly wearing down—replaced with sleepy blinks and tiny yawns she stubbornly tries to hide. she pokes absentmindedly at pieces of a baby puzzle before climbing into erik’s lap on the couch without a word, resting her cheek against his chest.

he catches your eye from across the table, and your nod—wordlessly deciding its nap time. after a quick bath, of course. so, warm water washes away the last traces of sand tucked between tiny toes and behind little knees. your daughter splashes just enough to soak the floor, giggling every time erik dramatically pretends she's created a tidal wave.

when she's finally lifted out, she's all soft pink cheeks and sleepy eyes, wrapped snugly in a fluffy towel reserved specifically for bath time. the familiar scent of baby shampoo fills the hallway as you carry her toward her room—clean, warm, safe.

she barely protests while you wrestle her into a fresh diaper and soft cotton pajamas decorated with little whales. your husband dims the curtains while you rock her gently against your shoulder, your hand absentmindedly smoothing damp curls from her forehead.

her little head grows heavier with every minute, and your nuzzle the crown of it as she falls asleep. you can catch whiffs of orange scented baby shampoo. and sunshine. and the faintest trace of saltwater that even the bath couldn't quite erase. and you continue to breathe her in like you always do—like somehow you'll forget if you don't memorize this exact moment.

erik presses a kiss against the top of her head before leaning down to kiss your temple. "so little," he whispers.

you don’t respond, because you don’t need to.

by the time she's lowered into her crib, she's properly asleep, ready for her hour long afternoon snooze with ken tiny fist curled beside her flushed cheek.

without speaking, the two of you slip quietly out of the nursery, easing the door closed until it clicks.

the house feels impossibly still afterward. only the distant crash of waves and the rhythmic ceiling fan turning overhead fill the silence. you wander into the kitchen together. he tops off your water before pouring himself another coffee.

leaning against the island, you absently tub your growing belly while watching him move around the space that has become your favorite place in the world. your home. your family. your life. a life after years of hockey and trade rumours and constantly being away from one another.

but in this moment, in your summer bubble, all of that seems worth it.

when erik catches you staring, the corner of his mouth lifts. "what?"

you simply shake your head. “come here,” you tell him softly—not urgently. just wanting him to be closer.

with a half knowing grin, he crosses the room and steps between your knees where you sit perched on one of the stools. his hands find your hips automatically, thumbs brushing slow circles through the thin fabric of the cover-up you still haven’t managed to change out of.

he kisses you softly in greeting, then once again after he’s already pulled away— because he can never have enough of you. one of his hands drifts lower, spanning carefully across the curve of your stomach, where your son gives one lazy kick beneath his palm.

a quiet laugh escapes him, "think he's awake."

"I think he wants attention."

"like his sister.”

you raise a brow, "like his father."

he grins, unable to argue before leaning back in for another kiss. it starts soft, like the last two, unhurried. the kind that only exists after years together. he tastes faintly of coffee. you like the peaches you’d consumed during breakfast.

that kiss turns into another, then another one—longer, lazy, dirty. you keep going like teenagers, making out in the kitchen until you’re both smiling into it.

erik brushes a strand of still-damp hair from bath time behind your ear, eyes lingering on your face with the same expression he'd worn on the beach that morning. like he still can’t quite believe this is his life. his wife. his babies. his everything.

“let me make you feel good honey,” he murmurs only for you to hear, kissing the sensitive spot below your ear afterwards. the feeling makes your belly swoop, heart fluttering with anticipation.

your fingers curl around the front of his shirt as he begins leading you toward the hallway, all the way to your bedroom. the door closes gently behind you, muffling the sound of the ocean beyond the open windows.

he brings you to the bed, lays you down against the pillows so that you’re comfortable despite the pull of your growing belly. your knees, previously bent, automatically part, making room for erik to crawl on the mattress to settle between.

leaning down, more kisses or exchanged. slow yet needy. tongues moving together in a rhythm they’ve been entangled in for years. since you were both baby faced and clueless, sitting beside him on draft day with your hand tucked tightly with his.

the hand he’d been caressing your hip with slowly inches between your thighs, slipping down to where you’re most sensitive. the most needy. your lisp part, heavy breathes mingling together. damp foreheads brushing.

your lips part as erik nudges your bikini bottoms to the side, exposing your already soaked folds and throbbing mound. everything achy and wet and begging for him. pregnancy always has you like this—horny and always prepped for your sexy, caring husband. god, you love him so much you could cry right now.

“need you,” you whine, lisp brushing his with every syllable. and of course, erik is already half heard beneath his trunks. has been ever since he woke up this morning and saw your naked chest this morning. nipples flushed and hard. breast swell with new milk for the your unborn son.

his baby. his seed, keeping you full and plugged with love and the creation of new life.

your hands fumble to tug erik out of his bottoms, small hand wrapping around his length. the weight of him in your palm hot and heavy and familiar. he watches through half lidded eyes as you guide the head to your entrance, notching the pink tip against your quivering hole.

erik curses, low and desperate as his most sensitive area comes in contact with yours. the slick that has been pooling there immediately lubricating the tip, preparing him for sliding completely inside.

and he does, slowly yet sure. the exact pace that has you gasping, back arching as high up as possible. wanting to feel more. feel him deeper. need him deeper. when his balls, heavy and full, plap against your ass, do you both shudder. letting out matching, satisfied groans

your manicured nails dig into the muscles of his broad shoulders, finding solace there. “please,” you beg, walls already beginning to clamp down around him. “I need it so bad, erik. please.”

he begins fucking you then. practiced, shallow strokes that have you seeing stars and holding your breath. desperately trying to hold onto every little moment. every time his tip hits your fluttering cervix. every time he grinds into you, fingers flexing on your thigh to keep himself from loosing it, and his pelvis stimulates your clit. when his free hand reaches up, takes your swollen tits out of your bikini, fiddles with your borderline painful nipples until you’re crying with it.

“so fucking pretty for me,” erik grunts, one thumb still at the peak of your breast. hard length still rolling in and out of you like it belongs there. you think it truly does. his gaze drops down, “so pretty and full. stuffed with our baby boy. god, you’re a fucking dream like this.”

you whine, scratching at his back while he feverishly rocks into you. the mattress springs beneath you begin to creak with it, mixing with the background noise of the ocean waves rolling.

his blue eyes flick back up to yours, something undeniably fond in your matching gazes. “I love you so much,” he moans, both of your reaching that edge of climaxing. erik swears, drops his forehead to yours again, thrusts becoming slightly frantic, “my pretty wife.”

“oh erik,” you mewl, “i’m cumming.” and just as you do, your husband follows suit, pumping you full of his creamy, sweet seed. the very same seed that has given you both a family—a beautiful, growing family—and the feeling, and knowledge, of that has you in complete euphoria.

just as you seemingly catch your breath, you can hear the familiar call for mama down the hall, behind the closed door from your daughter.

you and erik share a look, laughing breathlessly into one another. in a blink of an eye, erik slips out of you, careful of the sensitivity of your body, and tucks himself back into his shorts. you know he’s going to get your little girl and bring her for a cuddle, because he’s a sucker for her. and for you.

for his family.

so you adjust yourself once he slips out, tuck yourself back into your bathing suit with a smile and a wild heartbeat, and your son kicking gently from all the adrenaline. before you know it, your entire world are waking through the bedroom door, matching gummy smiles on both of their flushed faces.

[snoopysavs]

YALL WE GOT 30 MINUTES OF COLSTON PODCAST !!!!!!!!! on the “raw dog” podcast by the wieners circle 😭😭😭

[neverinadream]

Kells using his captain voice on his kids when they’re misbehaving and his wife would be like OH that’s a turn on

pairing: clayton keller x fem!reader

word count: 1k+

warnings: dad!clayton, a tiny bit suggestive

a/n: not so sure about this one, but enjoy

the house is much louder than you anticipated it to be, coming home from a long day, your feet and back hurting, your inbox already filling up with more emails, because your boss - a childless and single sixty-something year old dickhead - was foreign to the concept of a night off. “one quiet night,” you say beneath your breath, forehead pressing against the glass panel as you close the front door, “that's all i ask for.” quickly, you remove your boots, nudging them in line next to two tiny sets of sneakers, haphazardly kicked off at the door - you'll tidy them up later when all the kids had gone to bed - hang up your coat and bag, and take a deep breath, before setting out in search of the commotion.

in the kitchen, marlowe, your oldest, sits at the counter, still dressed in her soccer uniform, math homework in front of her unfinished, her legs too short to reach the stool's foot ledge, so they dangle and swing back and forth aimlessly. she has her hands pressed tight to the sides of her head, covering her ears, in an attempt to drown out flynn’s crying and holly's shouting. “shut up, already,” she grumbles beneath her breath, keeping one hand stuck to her head, and grabbing her pencil with the other. you dip and kiss the top of her head, and she jerks back, surprised. “you're home,” she perks up, “thank god; dad's three seconds away from doing one of his captain speeches.”

you snort, shaking your head. “what's happened now?” you empty your travel cup into the sink, the coffee clayton filled it up with this morning quickly forgotten about, left to go to waste in your car.

marlowe shrugs, “don't know.” she bites her tongue between her teeth, the cogs turning behind her eyes as she struggles with the equation on the page. the answer was seventy one, but you were going to give her the chance to work it out, before stepping in to help. she'll only grumble and make a comment about being able to do it if you don't. “dad was helping me with my homework and then flynn came in crying.”

your lips twitch. “your dad was helping you with your math homework?”

she looks up over the top of her glasses, frowning, “he's not that bad at math.”

“you say that now, but just wait until you're in high school.” holly's shouting suddenly gets louder, and you both look up at the kitchen door. “i think your dad is losing.”

“i'm surprised he hasn't given into her already,” marlowe mumbles, scribbling down the correct answer onto her work sheet. “she has him wrapped around her finger.”

“we both know if any of you has your dad wrapped around their finger, it's you,” you give her a quick but tight squeeze, laughing as she squirms and wriggles out of your grasp. she turns her head down, but you know she's smiling.

flynn comes charging across the play room, fat tears streaming down his chubby cheeks, loud cries breaking the air, the three year old's arms flying around your thigh. “she hurt me!” he blubbers, smushing his face into your leg.

“no, i didn't!” holly shouts, her face red, with a harsh scowl carved across her face.

lifting flynn onto your hip, his crying quickly quietens, just soft sniffles as he tucks his face into your shoulder, his thumb sucked into his mouth.

“they're my toys!” holly crosses her arms, one foot stomping against the carpet, her head tilted so she can glare up at her dad. “mine! not his, mine!”

“they're not just yours, okay, we've talked about this already,” clayton says, his voice calm but still carrying an air of authority. that controlled demeanour flips your stomach, and you try your best to ignore the slow ache that builds at the base of your spine. now really wasn't the time. holly stomps her foot again, but clayton doesn't flinch, he's dealt with stubborn teammates, a fussy six year old wasn't going to be a problem for him. “apologise to your brother-”

“-no!”

“fine,” he holds his hands up, standing to his feet, his eyes still focused on your middle child, “you don't want to apologise to your brother, that's fine, but until you do, they'll be no toys-” holly's little mouth drops open. “-or ice cream after dinner, and you can say goodbye to your birthday party.” he raises his eyebrows, both hands resting on his hips, that soft subtle twitch of his lips that happens when he knows he's winning. “still don't feel like apologising to your brother?”

“that's not fair!” she cries, tears rolling down her cheeks. “you can't do that!” she swings around, turning to face you, cheeks wet, skin blotchy with frustration and anger, ready to pull you into her disagreement like she had done a bunch of other times before. “tell him, tell daddy, he can't do that!” she throws one tiny arm out, her finger pointing at clayton's leg. “it wasn't my fault, he started it.”

“no,” flynn blubbers, his hand balling your shirt up tight in his fist, “she hit me,” he points to his arm with his other hand, “here.”

“just apologise, holly,” you adjust flynn on your hip, he was definitely too big now to be carried around, but he wasn't going to let you go.

“well?” clayton hummed.

holly quickly gives in, like she always does, mumbling, “sorry.”

“what do you say, bud? do you forgive your sister?” flynn nods silently, wriggling out of your arms, running straight to his older sister to hug her. she hugs him back, and the two go back to playing like their little dispute had never happened.

“she gets more stubborn everyday,” clayton chuckles, kissing your cheek.

“couldn't possibly know who she gets that from,” you shrug, sneaking your arm around his waist, lips subtly brushing his jaw, laughing under your breath as he murmurs something about knowing exactly where she gets it from, “captain's voice, huh?”

he grins, “it works.”

you sink your fingers into the back of his hair, drawing him closer, pressing your lips to ear, whispering, “and not just on the kids.” his grin widens as you pull back, turning away from him, feigning innocence as you glanced back over your shoulder. “so, what's for dinner?”

[motorsportbarbie13]

something to lose - part three - sc87

pairing -> sidney crosby x singlemom!reader

word count -> 6.4k

summary -> after ten years of raising your little boy alone in pittsburgh, you've has built a solid, steady life—and an mile high wall around your heart. but when local legend sidney crosby unexpectedly walks into your little bookstore, his quiet consistency slowly dismantles every defense you have. just as you begin to believe in a future you never thought possible, a bitter ghost from your past threatens to tear your world apart, forcing you to choose: run from the fear of abandonment, or trust the man who will stop at nothing to protect the family he’s chosen.

warnings -> anxiety. abandonment. single parenting. slight age gap? but it never really comes up. slow burn.

msb yaps -> the feedback i've gotten on this series has been amazing. genuinely. i am so happy STL is getting so much love because this series is so very dear to me, being a single mom myself. i've drawn a lot from my own experiences and feelings to write this and i hope i do the story that's been living in my head for years justice. if you want to be added to the tag list, lmk! divider is from @pxrce-lain

series master list | main master list | lets yap

Saturday mornings were your favorite time of the week. It was a long standing tradition that either your mom or dad would come over before Cooper was even out of bed, allowing you to head to the store for a handful of blissfully quiet hours.

Some Saturdays you did inventory or focused on getting online orders shipped out. Sometimes, you bought breakfast on your way in and just sat in the silence for two hours staring at the wall. It depended on what you had going on the previous week and how productive you wanted to be. 

After Anna had stopped by the store and dropped her honesty bomb on you during the impromptu tea time a few days ago, her words continued to haunt you. You’d spent a stupid amount of time since that morning trying to build a fortress around your heart and talk your way out of thinking that Anna may have had a point. 

You had convinced yourself that the time you’d spent talking to Sidney had been a fluke. A cosmic glitch. A little slice of calm that you didn’t really deserve and meant nothing.

Sidney was a polite, well-raised Canadian boy who happened to find himself stuck in the lobby of a community ice rink with you as the only person available to talk to. It was simply Canadian hospitality, neighborly even. You’d spent so much time repeating that to yourself since Anna had paid you a visit that you’d convinced yourself there had been nothing there between you and Sidney. 

There was absolutely and unequivocally not a single romantic spark to the entire interaction. 

It was impossible. 

Except, somewhere along the line, your heart had refused to accept the finality of your own arguments, replaying the way Sidney had looked at you every time you had a spare moment of quiet since that night. 

The entire business was incredibly inconvenient and hampering your productivity. 

It was barely seven in the morning on a crisp Saturday, two full hours before the weekend rush would descend on the store and you had already been awake for what felt like ages. Saturdays were the lifeblood of Pine & Page and you always tried to squeeze the most out of these quiet hours you had to yourself. 

You were currently hunkered down behind the counter, surrounded by a sea of crumpled packing paper and half-packed shipping boxes that needed to be out by the end of the day while simultaneously planning that week’s content for your socials in your head. 

While you worked, you were doing whatever it took to not think about anything other than what was directly in front of you. If felt like you were slightly out of control, very messy, and entirely ignoring the reality of what was happening in your own personal life. 

It was making you anxious. 

Through the large front window, the morning sun was just starting to crest over the brick buildings across the street casting long shadows across the empty sidewalk. Pausing for a moment after getting an order bound for Oregon packed up, you stretch your neck until it gave a satisfying pop while glancing outside. 

A familiar looking black SUV pulls up to the curb just outside the front door while you watch.

Your heart stops beating for a moment, your breath catching in the back of your throat. 

You watched frozen to your spot as Sidney stepped out into the chilly morning air. He was dressed like he’d just come from or was on his way to the gym in a dark green hoodie and sweats, his baseball hat pulled low over his forehead. He moved with an uncharacteristic hesitation, something that you weren’t used to seeing. 

Normally, Sidney carried himself with the such confidence that it was hard to look away. It was almost amusing to watch the way he tugged at the hem of his hoodie twice before leaning back into the car to retrieve a brown paper bag and two cups of coffee.

After shutting the drivers side door behind him, he stood in the middle of the sidewalk for a moment, as if he was wrestling with what to do next. His brow furrowed as he looked down at the two cups in his hands, shaking his head like he was completely second guessing his entire existence. 

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. 

Sidney Crosby was nervous. 

The realization hit you like a shove to the sternum.

Sidney wasn’t walking towards the door with his usual confidence of a man who owned the city that had adopted him more than twenty years ago. He was standing outside your door early on a Saturday morning with a cautious sort of vulnerability that made your chest squeeze. He didn’t want to come on too strong or overwhelm the woman who he knew already carried the weight of her world on her shoulders. 

Before you could talk yourself into hiding in the back room and ignoring the man who was standing outside your front door, Sidney looked up. His eyes locked onto yours through the glass, relief washing over his face when he realized you were watching him. His mouth curved into an incredibly endearing, if not slightly unsure, grin that had the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults. 

Lifting the coffee cups, he asked you a silent, hopeful question. 

Your brain finally snapped back into gear as he took a tentative step towards the front door. You pushed one of the shipping boxes out of the way, stepping out from behind the counter with your heart hammering in your throat.

What in the world was he doing here this early? What could he possibly with a girl covered in dust while still wearing yesterday’s mascara?

Turning the heavy deadbolt, you pull the door open wide enough to let the crisp morning air - and Sidney - inside. 

The bell chimes softly above his head, the melodic sound breaking the early morning silence. 

“Hi.” Sidney says softly, that unsure smile still fixed in place. 

“Hi.” You manage, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe as you try (and fail) to look like someone who hadn’t just spent the last hour and a half trying to talk herself out of the embarrassing crush she had on the man standing in front of you. “You’re up early.” 

“Had an early training session with Tanger and a few of the other guys.” He lies with a shrug as he follows you deeper into the store.

I…” He clears his throat and it takes every ounce of control in you not to smirk at how nervous Sidney is. “I remembered you were saying how busy weekends could get and how much you liked being here early in the morning to get things done so I thought maybe you’d be in need of some breakfast. If you’ve already eaten though, I can -” 

“I haven’t.” You interrupt quickly, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “If whatever is in that bag tastes as good as it smells, you will officially be my favorite person today.” 

“Canelle is my favorite bakery in the entire city, their almond croissants could spark a revolution.” Sidney lets out a quiet laugh, his shoulders dropping a bit as he follows you back to the cash wrap. 

He reaches into the bag to pull out a massive sugar-dusted bear claw and an almond croissant that smelled like it had just come out of the oven. 

Handing you one of the cups of coffee, he gives you a sheepish grin. “I didn’t know how you like your coffee so I had them make whatever was the most popular. The girl at the counter said that the apple crisp latte was their best selling drink last month.” 

“I am as basic as they come so anything apple flavored in the fall is perfect.” You joke, bringing the cup to your lips and taking a tentative sip. 

The taste of cinnamon and apples dance across your tongue and before you can stop it, you let out a low groan, completely missing the way the tips of Sidney’s ears go pink at the sound. 

“Oh, this is good.” You murmur, gaze flicking up to meet his. “Thank you.” 

Sidney clears his throat before pulling up one of the wooden chairs and settling down across the table from you. 

“So,” He starts, wrapping his hands around his own cup and nodding towards the laptop that was sitting open between you. “What’s the project this morning? You looked very focused on whatever is on that screen when I first pulled up. 

“Just planning out this week’s content for the store.” You say, taking another sip of coffee. “I like to have everything planned before we open so I can focus on the people in the store. Once I have an outline, I can sift through the content I haven’t used yet and start editing.” 

Sidney tilts his head, eyes never leaving your face as he watches you intently. “Anna said you’ve got a pretty big following online.” 

“I’ve been building it out for a few years now.” You explain, grinning as you look over at the notebook that sat next to your laptop, opened to the planning page you’d started in on this morning. “I love the storytelling part of it and people really love the behind the scenes stuff - new releases, special editions, author visits, that kind of stuff. Surprisingly, the day in the life videos do amazing, which I always struggle to understand because why are so many people interested in my morning routine?” 

“I think you’re underselling yourself, YN.” Sidney says, looking at you like he can see right through that wall of protection you’ve put into place around your heart. “Watching the way you juggle Cooper and the store and do it all with a smile? How could people not love that?” 

You look down at the coffee cup in your hand, suddenly finding the cardboard sleeve incredibly interesting. The sincerity in his voice was a lot to handle at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. You’re so used to being the strong one, the one who just puts her head down and deals with whatever needs to be dealt with that having Sidney validate your daily struggle makes something in your chest ache. 

“Well,” You clear your throat, offering up a small laugh as you wrap your hands tighter around your cup, “It’s mostly just a lot of caffeine and hoping I don’t forget to sign a permission slip or top up his lunch money. I have a sneaking suspicion that those videos are only popular because people want to see if I’ll finally trip over the stack of boxes while recording.” 

“I doubt that.” Sidney says quietly. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the counter so he’s just a little bit closer into your space. “Anna told me how much work you put into the online side of things, even after a full day running the store. And watching you talk about it now…” He shrugs. “It’s impressive what you’ve built here and you should be proud of that.” 

Your throat works as you struggle to swallow around the lump of emotion that has formed there. This kind of quiet acknowledgement made your skin feel too tight. 

“There’s really nothing special about what I do around here.” 

“C’mon, YN.” Sidney leans forward, reaching out to swipe a finger across the back of your hand. “We both know that’s not true.”

His touch sets every nerve ending in your body on fire.

The air stills between you and for one long, heavy moment you’re completely lost for words. 

“I uh…I have some online orders I need to pull before we open.” 

Sidney sees your redirection for exactly what it is and decides to allow you to retreat back into safer territory. In the short time he’d known you, it had become evident that you weren’t used to being the center of someone’s full attention. He’d back off for the time being, not wanting to drive you away.

“Come on, a few of these orders are big and I could use your muscles to help carry the heavy ones.” You say, the words coming out a bit too light and breezy to actually sound like anything other than a desperate attempt to steer the conversation back to safer waters. 

“So now you’re just using me for free physical labor?” He teases, following you towards the back of the store. 

“You said it, not me.” You say with a shrug but Sidney is relieved to see the small smile that peeks out when you think he’s not looking. 

There’s a quiet rhythm to the way you move around the store and Sidney finds himself mesmerized by simply watching your confidence creep back into your posture. You don’t even have to look at the shelves to find what you’re searching for; your fingers just glide across the spines, pulling out a hardcover here and a thick paperback there, handing them back to Sidney who follows you across the store like a puppy. 

Sidney takes a slow, steady breath as he watches the way your body stretches up as you reach for a book that is near the top of a shelf, the silver of skin that peeks out from under your sweater making his mouth water. The entire scene feels intimate in a way that he hadn’t been expecting, being allowed into your space before the rest of the world wakes up. For 20 years, Sidney’s life had been entirely public - arenas, locker rooms, hotel lobbies. But right here, standing in a small bookstore that smelled of old paper and vanilla, the noise of the rest of his life completely vanishes. 

“We’ve spent a lot of time talking about me this morning.” You say, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you wander towards the history section near the back of the store. “It’s your turn to be interrogated, Crosby. What was the last book you read and why’d you pick it up?” 

Sidney lets out a low chuckle, his shoulders relaxing as he shifts the stack of books in his hands and follows after you. 

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m really boring.” He admits, palming at the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “I’m kind of a history nerd. Most of what I pick up is boring non-fiction stuff. Biographies, wars, stuff like that. World War 2 is usually my go to.” 

You pause, the book you’d just pulled off the wall balanced against your hip as you turn to look at him. There’s a bright spark flaring in your eyes that sends Sidney’s pulse quickening. “World War 2 history? Really?” 

“Yeah.” He mutters, his cheeks warming under your gaze. “I don’t know, I guess I like reading about how people handled that kind of massive pressure, how strategy worked under stress. I just finished this biography on General Patton about a month ago. I certainly don’t read as much as I should but I’ve been trying to branch out. Break out of the textbook stuff, you know?” 

You set the stack of books down on a nearby table, a wicked smile spreading across your face that makes Sidney’s chest hurt. “Oh I love getting a non-fiction nerd into reading a good fiction novel.” 

“Don’t get too excited.” He teases, leaning a shoulder against the fireplace, his eyes staying locked on you as you march towards the section of books tucked into the corner of the room. “I’m a tough sell when it comes to fiction.” 

“I’m insulted you’re questioning my book matching skills.” You shoot back playfully. 

“Apologies for doubting you.” Sidney holds his hands up in mock surrender but joins you at the shelf you’re studying. 

“Okay,” You say, more to yourself than anything else as your eyes scan the shelf. “The most obvious bridge is going to be getting you into historical fiction, but it can’t be a fluffy romance story. We need something with substance while having pacing that will keep you interested.” 

Your hand hovers over the shelf, index finger tracing a line of hardcovers at eye level.

Sidney doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move, he just watches you work. It’s impressive, watching the way your entire expression focuses onto the spines in front of you. His breath catches when he watches you bite down on your bottom lip, still concentrated fully on the shelf in front of you. 

“Here, this is the one.” You say softly, pulling out a thick paperback with a gorgeous midnight blue cover dotted with golden stars. Turning around, you hold it out to him like it’s a prized possession. “The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. She is probably my favorite historical fiction author of all time.”

Sidney takes the book from your outstretched hands and turns it over, scanning the back cover as you watch. When your fingers brush against his, a sharp jolt of electricity sparks straight up his arm and he watches your breath catch in your throat as you feel it too.

“It’s about two sisters in France during the German occupation. One is a teacher who is being forced to house a German soldier and the other joins the French Resistance. I think I’ve read it at least three times, maybe four. I cry every single time.” 

Sidney looks from the book in his hands up to the sincerity in your face. He didn’t care if the book was over a thousand pages long, the way your eyes lit up when you handed it to him meant that he was going to read every single word. 

“If I read it, do I get to come back and discuss the plot points with the expert?” He asks, voice low and husky. 

“Well,” You grin, looking up at him through your lashes. “Talking about the book with someone after you read it is half the fun. I honestly think it should be a requirement. Consider it payback for you crashing my quiet morning.” 

“I’ll take detailed notes then.” He replies, enjoying the way your cheeks flush pink.

The conversation flows surprisingly easy as the time slips by.

It starts with your affection for Kristin Hannah’s historical novels but quickly morphs into a comfortable back-and-forth that feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You find yourself telling stories that you’ve collected over the years while running the store and you listen raptly as Sidney tells you about living with Mario Lemiux and his family after being drafted at eighteen and the dog named Sam they somehow convinced him to adopt when he was still a rookie. 

Both of you lose track of time entirely.

You forget about the online orders waiting to be packaged up and shipped out. Sidney forgets about the game film he's supposed to be studying.

The early morning hazy light shifts from a cool blue to a bright golden yellow, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors of your store as the minutes tick by completely unseen. 

At some point, you're not even entirely sure when, you both end up sitting in the back corner of the store in two overstuffed armchairs you thrifted from an estate sale a few months after opening Pine & Page.

It feels safe in a way that you’d never experienced before. But more than that, being with Sidney feels incredibly and terrifyingly easy. 

You're in the middle of laughing at a story he's telling you about a prank war he'd gotten into with Marc-Andre Fluery that had gotten slightly out of hand when the store's front door suddenly flies open.

"Mom! Mom! Look at what Grandma and I found at a garage sale this morning! The guy said it was vintage!"

Cooper's high-pitched voice echos through the store, followed immediately by the frantic thud of his sneakers against the wood floor.

Sidney blinks, his head snapping up towards the front of the store as the spell breaks, his posture shifting instantly as his spine goes ramrod straight. You practically leap out of the chair, taking a few steps towards the front of the store, your cheeks burning with a sudden heat as your brain struggles to claw itself way back to reality.

"Cooper! How many times do I have to tell you not to run in the store!" Your mothers voice calls out from the entryway, her tone a mixture of exasperation and affection as she struggles with the door. "You are going to knock over a display one of these days and then your mother is going to make us both mop the floors for a month!"

Cooper doesn't listen.

He scampers towards the back corner of the store where you and Sidney were tucked away chatting, holding up a black and yellow lunchbox. The moment he sees you and Sidney sitting together, he freezes dead in his tracks.

His eyes go so wide they resemble dinner plates as they dart between you and Sidney like he's trying to figure out a particularly hard math problem.

"Sid?" Cooper squeaks, his hands dropping to his side, the metal lunch box clattering against his knee. "What are you doing here?"

Before you can even form a coherent thought, your mother comes into view right behind Cooper. She's holding two cups of coffee and a paper bag from the bakery down the street in the her hands. She completely freezes the moment she spots you and Sidney.

In a fraction of a second, you watch her entire demeanor change. Her expression shifts from frustrated exasperation to something akin to a fox that had just stumbled into a hen house with a broken latch and sleeping farmer.

Her eyes dart from Sidney’s broad shoulders to the two cups of coffee sitting intimately close on the table between you, and then finally to back up to your face. 

You could almost hear her vibrate with excitement. 

“Well.” Your mother drawls, her eyes sparking with a terrifyingly knowing smirk that sends your stomach twisting. “Good morning…” 

You close your eyes for one agonizing second, praying with every fiber of your being that somehow, a sinkhole would suddenly open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You would have gladly traded whatever was going on in this moment for falling to a dark abyss because you knew the moment Sidney walked out that door and your mother got you alone, you were in for a FBI level interrogation. 

“Hi, Mrs. YLN,” Sidney says smoothly, standing up and taking a step forward, offering your mother a polite smile and his hand before turning his attention onto Cooper. “Morning, buddy. I was just uhh…I had an early work out this morning and thought I’d drop off some breakfast for YN. She mentioned how busy the weekends get the last time I saw her so…” 

“Oh, did she?” Your mother replies with a saccharine sweetness of feigned innocence. She sets the coffees down on a table with deliberate slowness, her gaze lingering on the way Sidney kept stealing glances at you, trying to gauge your reaction to the entire scene. “How incredibly thoughtful of you, Sidney. She does get so busy at times it’s a miracle she finds time to eat!” 

“Mother, please.” You mutter, your cheeks burning so hot you were fairly certain they could pass for sunburnt. “We were just…I mean, Sid was just helping me pull some online orders. And talking books. The Nightingale.” 

Beside you, Sidney huffs a quiet laugh. 

Risking a glance at him, you see how he’s looking over at you with a barely concealed smirk and amusement flaring in his eyes. He was clearly finding your embarrassment and panic hilariously endearing. Which made you want to punch him.

You were usually so confident and self-assured, running your entire life with ruthless efficiency that seeing you turn in to a stuttering, red-cheeked mess because of him was the best outcome Sidney could’ve ever hoped for when he’d decided to surprise you with a visit this morning. 

Cooper, ever the innocent 10 year old boy and completely oblivious to the tension thrumming between the adults in the room, takes three giant steps forward and practically shoves the yellow and black metal lunchbox right into Sidney’s face. 

“Sid, look! Grandma took me to the flea market this morning and this one guy had this vintage Penguins lunchbox from the 1990s! It still has the thermos inside!” Cooper exclaims, the glee of his early morning find lighting up his face. “Do you think Mario Lemieux has one of these?” 

“Cooper, don’t shove things in people’s faces, bud.” You scold, grabbing at his shoulder to pull him off of the Penguins captain. 

“No, it’s fine.” Sidney chuckles, taking the lunchbox out of Cooper’s grasp to examine it up close. A grin splits his face when he opens it up to look at the included thermos. The way he’s indulging Cooper makes your chest ache. “Coop, this is such a cool find! It’s in great shape. And you know what, I think I saw at least three of these in Mario’s house when I lived with him. I’m pretty sure he’s even got one in his office.” 

Cooper’s eyes go even wider. “You lived with Mario Lemieux?” 

Sidney nods, “When I first got into the league. You’ve got a great piece of Pittsburgh history here, bro.” 

“Told you this was cool, Mom!” Cooper looks at you with a triumphant look on his face. 

Your mother, meanwhile, was watching Sidney interact with Cooper like she’d just won the lottery. Crossing her arms slowly, a knowing smirk flashes across her face as she looks over at you. “He’s a keeper.” Her expression practically screams at you. “And you are going to tell me everything.” 

You give your mom a tight, pleading smile that you hope conveys ‘please just stop talking before I die of embarrassment’ before turning back to Sidney.

His attention is fully back on you now and it only takes one look at the amusement still dancing in his eyes to tell you that he didn’t miss a single bit of the silent conversation passing between you and your mom. 

Fantastic. 

“Well.” Sidney says, clearing his throat as he taps the copy of The Nightingale against the table beside him. “I should probably get out of your hair and let you guys get ready for the morning rush. I need to get home and start my reading homework.” 

“You don’t have to rush off, Sidney!” Your mother chimes in, the glee in her voice barely contained. “I can watch the front of the store while you two…visit.” 

You were going to go to jail for homicide before lunch.

“No, it’s okay, Mrs. YLN. I really should get going.” Sidney smiles, turning his gaze back onto you. The intensity from when you two had been alone earlier flashes in his eyes for just a second, private and meant only for you. “Thanks for the recommendation, YN.” 

“Anytime.” You murmur, your heart doing a foolish little dance in your chest at the way he’s looking at you. “Let me know what you think about the ending.” 

“I will.” He promises. 

Sidney gives Cooper a fist bump and gives your mom one last polite goodbye before walking towards the door. The bell jingles merrily as he steps out onto the sidewalk, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him. 

For three entire seconds, the entire store is dead silent. 

And then, your mother slowly turns her head, a slow, predatory grin spreading across her face. 

“So…” She starts, “You have exactly five minutes before you open. Start talking.” 

pine-and-pagebooks posted!

pine-and-pagebooks i recently had someone come in to the store who was convinced he only liked non-fiction historical books, which is all fine and good but i got him to try out some kristin hannah (who, as we all know, is my favorite historical fiction author) and LET ME TELL YOU, I got a text a few night later saying The Nightengale was one of the best books he'd ever read. That'll teach him to doubt my book recommending skills! user11 your account was how i was introduced to her in the the first place and now i've read almost everything she's ever published! >>>pine-and-pagebooks ahh! love that for you! user098 what i would give to read the nightingale for the first time all over again! >>>pine-and-pagebooks i know, right? super jealous of him in that moment!! user121 you need to have him read the four winds next!! >>>pine-and-pagebooks oh, i have a TBR list made just for for him that is 87 miles long already.

A few days later, the quiet hum of a midweek afternoon was interrupted by the jingle of that front door bell, followed by a metallic clank that certainly didn’t sound like it belonged in your bookstore. 

You were behind the counter ringing up Mrs. Block, one of your most dedicated regulars who possessed an insatiable appetite for both cozy mysteries and neighborhood gossip. 

“I’m just saying dear, if you don’t get the new Richard Osman in soon, I might have to-” Mrs. Block froze mid-sentence, her jaw dropping open slightly when she turned her head towards the front door. 

You turn your head, following her line of sight. 

Sidney. 

The words you were about to say die in your throat.

He looked slightly disheveled but still handsome as ever dressed in a black Penguins hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, dark wash jeans, and a backwards facing hat that you knew was hiding messy post-practice hair.

It wasn’t the outfit that made your jaw drop right alongside Mrs. Block’s though. It was the giant, bright red tool box he was carrying that caught your attention.

When he realizes you both were staring at him, he simply offers up an unbothered smile, as if him being in your store on a random Wednesday afternoon looking like Bob The Builder was completely normal. 

“Hi.” He says, lifting his free hand to casually wave at both you and Mrs. Block. 

Your favorite neighborhood gossip lets out a high-pitched, choked little gasp, knuckles turning white as she gripped her purse. Her eyes dart from Sidney’s face, to the toolbox, to you, before returning back to Sidney, her brain clearly short-circuiting as she realizes the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins was standing in her favorite store looking like a construction worker and waving at her like this was all normal. 

“Sidney!” You breathe, your face flushing a bright pink as you scurry out from behind the cash wrap to meet him. “What…what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be napping or something? You have a game tonight!” 

"You know my game schedule, YN?" He teases.

You narrow your eyes at him, not bothering to take the bait.

“Game’s not until seven.” He says simply, setting the toolbox down on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sidney looks around the store before his eyes settle back on you, all warm and knowing. “I had a few hours to kill after morning skate. I remembered you complaining about that little door at the end of the counter because it kept getting stuck on Saturday.” 

“And you just happened to have that giant toolbox in the back of your truck?” You lift a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Sidney runs a hand through his hair, chuckling weakly, “Uh…yeah. You don’t carry around a giant toolbox in the trunk of your car?” 

“No, Sidney, I do not.” You smirk. 

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I do, isn’t it? How else is that gate going to be fixed?” 

"You're ridiculous."

Despite the lighthearted banter, a nervous flutter starts up in your chest, hot and fast. You weren’t used to this. You didn’t do this. For years, you had been the one to handle everything. Your parents were there for emergencies, but they had lives of their own. You were the one who ran the store, who fixed the leaks, who kissed Cooper’s scraped knees and wiped his tears. 

Having a man - having Sidney Crosby - deliberately remember a passing complaint you’d made, drive over after what you knew was a grueling morning skate, and show up with a toolbox just to make your day a little easier felt dangerously like something you could get used to. 

You stared at him, suddenly stared that you were misreading the affectionate look in his eye. Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, you scolded yourself frantically. He’s just being nice. He’s a helpful guy. That’s it. 

“Sid, really, you don’t have to do this.” You say softly, stepping a little closer so your voice wouldn’t carry as you tug at the hem of your sweater. “I can hire a handyman. Or get my dad to do it, he’s been saying that there are a few things he wants to fix around here for a while. I don’t want to take up your afternoon with a silly gate latch.” 

“Your dad is a busy person-"

"My dad is retired." You point out.

"And you don’t need to hire a handyman when I’m right here.” Sidney ignores your interruption, a stubborn sort of amusement flaring in his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Please let me help?” 

His question sounded like he was talking about more than just a gate. 

“I watched you hip check that gate three times in twenty minutes Saturday morning because it kept getting stuck.” He presses when you don’t reply. “One of these days, you’re going to trip over it and hurt yourself. You don’t want me to have that on my conscience, now do you?” 

“Low blow, Crosby.” You mutter but there’s another hint of a smile on your face. 

For a moment, you both just stand there in a silent stand off. Sidney with the toolbox at his feet and his arms crossed over his chest looking like an immovable force of nature, expression expectant like he knew you wouldn’t deny him. 

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

Sidney shakes his head, smug grin kicking up as he bends down to open the toolbox. “Nope. Now, let me get to work or else I really am going to miss my pre-game nap and that would be a tragedy.” 

You stand there, completely helpless with a warm blush crawling up your face as you watch him set to work. The sharp clank of tools echoed through the quiet store as Sidney completely ignored both you and Mrs. Block standing there, openly staring at him. 

Heaving a sigh, you shake your head as you turn to where Mrs. Block is still standing looking like she couldn’t wait to hit the neighborhood hair salon for a good gossip session. 

“Oh! Don’t you mind me!” She says brightly when she notices you staring. “I’m just…checking the copyright page on this book! Take your time dear, no rush here!” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, your eyes fluttering closed. When you open them, you swear you see Sidney grinning like an idiot at the hinge he was currently working on. 

It takes another fifteen minutes for Mrs. Block to finally run out of excuses to linger. After inspecting three more tables that held books that you knew she wasn’t remotely interested in, she shoots you a knowing grin before allowing her gaze to dart over to Sidney’s broad back one last time before she finally stepped out onto the sidewalk. 

The heavy wooden door clicks shut and suddenly, the store is plunged into a peaceful sort of quiet. 

You stand off to the side, holding your breath as Sidney slowly packs up his tools. He had actually finished fixing the gate about ten minutes ago, but he’d been meticulously testing the new screws in the hinges and organizing his screwdrivers, clearly dragging his feet until you two were finally alone. 

“Well.” He says, standing up and brushing his hands over the front of his jeans. He reaches down and gently pushes the door, sending it swinging open and shut smoothly before clicking perfectly back into the new latch without a single hiccup. “I think we’re good to go.” 

You step forward, pushing the gate open yourself. It felt sturdier than it had in years. “Oh my God. It’s perfect. It doesn’t even wiggle!” Looking up at him, the nervous flutter in your chest turns into something warm and affectionate. “Thank you, Sid. Really. You didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“I told you.” He says, stepping a little closer into your space. “I didn’t want you tripping and hurting yourself.” 

Sidney glances down at his watch, a flicker of reluctance crossing his features. “I should probably get going. There’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich calling my name and I’m a little superstitious about my game day routine.” 

“Right, of course!” You reply quickly, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment that flares in your chest. “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of your game day going off the rails.” 

Sidney lingers for a moment, his toolbox still sitting on the ground by his feet. “Are you…” He clears his throat, carding a nervous hand through his messy hair. “Are you going to watch the game tonight?” 

 You let out a soft laugh, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Of course I am. I don’t think Cooper would let me do anything else with our evening, even if I wanted to. But…” Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you watch Sidney’s eyes flare with a heat that has your chest clenching. “I think I’d watch even if he didn’t want to.” 

A slow smile spreads across Sidney’s face. 

Before he has a chance to change his mind, Sidney takes a half-step, closing the last bit of distance left between you. He reaches out a hand slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When you don’t, his knuckles brush against your cheek as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

You swallow thickly, praying your knees don’t give out. 

His fingers linger on your skin for a fraction of a second, warm and sparking with heat, sending a shiver straight down your spine. Sidney ducks his head just a fraction, his eyes dropping to your mouth for a long moment before flickering back up to meet yours. 

“Good.” He says, his voice thick and husky as he drags a finger along the edge of your jawline before pulling his hand back. “I’ll skate better knowing you’re watching.” 

Picking up his toolbox, Sidney gives you one last look that leaves your lungs feeling starved for air before walking towards the door. 

The bell jingles above his head, leaving you standing frozen in the empty store, your hand slowly rising to trace the spot on your cheek where his fingers had just been. 

Since the day Cooper had been born, you’d kept the gates to your heart locked up tightly. But looking at the empty doorway that Sidney had just walked through, you realized that he hadn’t even tried to break them down - you had just let him walk right on in. 

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