Omg hiii!! I am in more need of Sid stories so might as well request one could you do a Sid x reader where it’s before a show and he wants some help with the face paint and the reader she helps him and it’s just a cute soft fluffy moment between them
yes yes yes! love this! I’ve wanted to write more Sid but I can’t seem to think of any scenarios! Please write if you have some ideas so my light bulb can start working again hehe. a/n; my favourite Sid mask is honestly his gray chapter mask. it’s so awesome, almost cyborg like, and with the metal plate it’s just become my favourite!
“paint me like one of your french girls?”
-
The hum of anticipation buzzed through the backstage area, where the familiar stench of rotting masks, sweat and metal filled the air.
It was the usual chaos before a Slipknot show, with crew members rushing about and the distant sound of drums being tested on stage. You’d poked your head out minutes earlier to get a look at the filled venue. The unbelievable crowd was a sea of smiles, some old, some young. But they all had one thing in common; they’d come to see fucking Slipknot. You could still hear the audience humming from the backstage room and it never ceased to amaze you, how far the band had gotten.
But amidst the frenzy, you were with Sid, tucked away in a quiet corner, away from the madness.
Safe to say, Sid wasn’t feeling it today.
He was sat crouching down, fiddling with some cables from his turntable. He was a genius at music, but he was your own personal and private handyman. The man could fix just about anything. Cars, tractors, motorcycles; he’d even managed to fix your damaged laptop once. There wasn’t a thing the man couldn’t do. But, there he sat, cursing under his breath in frustration. Somebody had messed with his turntable setup and he was forced to take matters into his own hands, seeing as the tech was sick. He knew how to, that wasn’t the problem. But he was fed up and annoyed that he had to deal with technical issues that could’ve easily been avoided.
Sid was wearing his black suit. The one with the red accents and patchwork.
You watched him intensely. His mask was on the floor next to him. You couldn’t see his face because his back was facing you, but you could feel the frustration reeking from him.
“Fifteen minutes, people!” A staff member yelled. “Fuck,” Sid hissed. You bit your cheek and took a step forward.
“Anything I can do?” You asked carefully. He could tell you to piss off, and you wouldn’t take it personally. But he didn’t. Sid turned around and forced a smile on his lips.
“Can you actually find my paint? I think it’s in my black bag,” Sid said. You nodded and swiftly, you made your way to his black travel bag, which he brought everywhere. You fished around and found the black paint. On your way back to Sid, a victorious ‘yes!’ was to be heard.
When returning, Sid was standing up, mask in hand and smiling at you, the frustrated look, long gone.
“Figured it out?” You asked him. He nodded and opened his arms. You met his embrace and wrapped your arms around him, letting his fold over you.
“Yeah. I’m punching Rick for leaving me to deal with that, the next time I see him,” Sid said, referring to his tech. “Wasn’t he like, really sick?” You asked, chuckling. Sid shrugged, “Probably too much Taco Bell.”
You grinned at his joke and shook your head. “Don’t be rude. The man just likes his burritos.”
Sid pulled you in for a kiss, his taller frame bending down to reach your lips.
“Paint me like one of your French girls?” Sid asked. Silence fell over the two of you before you both erupted in laughter. “No, seriously. In the last two shows, the paint has looked like shit. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It’s just black paint,” Sid said and shook his head.
“Sit down,” you said and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him softly towards a chair. He sat down on the chair and you plumped down right on top of him as if his lap was your own, personal seat. It was.
“I think you should do three layers,” you said and opened the container of black face paint. You dipped your index finger into the creamy mixture and wiped it over Sid’s chin. “My patience is non-existent,” he responded.
“I know,” you scoffed with wide eyes, having experienced his impatience well over a hundred times before. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
"Hold still," you murmured, your voice soft, almost teasing.
He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. "I'm trying, but it's hard when you're this close, ya know?"
You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you didn’t let it distract you. Moving to his eyes, you gently brushed the paint around them, filling in the gaps his mask left exposed. His eyes never left yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze, but it didn’t make you nervous. It was like he was grounding you, making you feel steady even when your heart was racing.
"All done," you finally said and leant back to admire your work.
Sid grinned, his teeth gleaming under the new layer of paint. "Thanks, babe," he said, his voice a mix of gratitude and something softer, something just for you.
He leant forward and captured your lips in a quick, tender kiss, his hand gently cupping your cheek. It was a small gesture, but it was full of the unspoken connection you shared, a moment of calm before the storm that is a Slipknot show.
When he pulled back, his mask was back in his hand, ready to be put on. "You wanna do the honours?" he asked, holding it out to you.
You took the mask from him, carefully pulling it over his head. As you secured it in place, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride, knowing you're the one who helped him transform into the wild, enigmatic Sid Wilson the crowd was about to see.
Sid was everything you wanted. He was crazy when he wanted to be, but he was also beautifully kind, calm and sympathetic. You wanted to hide him away to be yours forever and always.
"Go kill it out there," you whispered, your hand lingering on his chest for just a moment.
Sid gave you a nod, the intensity in his eyes now fully masked by the terrifying persona he wore on stage. But before he headed out, he leaned in close, his voice low and full of affection. "I'll be thinking of you, Y/N."
And with that, he was off, disappearing into the chaos, ready to give the performance his fans were waiting to witness. But even as the crowd roared and the music started to pulse through the walls, all you could think about was the warmth of that kiss and the softness behind the mask, a softness only you got to see.
