i am always open for requests but just know that I have a tight school schedule. therefore, I might not always answer them fast enough. you can request whoever you like!!
I usually write reader as a female but you can always request for reader to be male or nonbinary!
side note!
english is not my first language. therefore I ask of you to be kind and if you see any mistakes let me know!
jack never argues with his girl. on the rare occasion that he does, he never ever raises his voice at her. on the other hand, she'll yell and scream while fighting. from the beginning, he's known about the small temper that she can get when something really sets her off. a bad trait passed down to her from her father. so he lets her get as loud as she needs/wants to. once she finally takes a deep breath and stops, he'll just give her that look that says, "you done?" and maybe he'll let her get her frustrations out even more in bed.
literally pumped this out in just over an hour after having no motivation to write all day. i don’t know what possessed me but i am grateful.
— ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Pope Cody with a girlfriend who is constantly doting on him and doing little things for him and being oh so considerate that he literally doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Until you, he’s never been in a relationship where his needs are met, let alone even acknowledged. He honestly didn’t even know he was supposed to be treated this way. It never even occurred to him that his girl was supposed to worry over him.
But you? God, do you worry. Maybe too much, he thinks.
Your first Summer together, you spend a lot of days in Smurf’s backyard with Pope, enjoying the sunshine and taking dips in the pool.
You’re very diligent about your sunscreen, making sure to reapply every 90 minutes per the bottles instructions.
While he doesn’t say anything, Pope’s glad for it. He doesn’t want you to burn that soft skin of yours.
But you don’t just apply it on yourself, no. After making sure you’re thoroughly lathered up, you turn to your boyfriend.
“Here Andrew, your turn,” you say, handing him the bottle of sunscreen. You’re so casual about it, giving him something he didn’t even have to ask for, not even batting an eye.
“It’s okay, I don’t need any.”
You whip your head toward him at that.
“Yes, you do,” you say, matter of fact. Like there’s no room for argument. “I don’t want you getting burned.”
Without another word, you pop off the top of the bottle and squirt some of the white liquid into your hands, rubbing them together before starting to spread the cream up and down one of Pope’s arms.
The idea that you care about him enough to make sure he’s protected from the sun hits him entirely out of left field, causing him to flinch at the unexpected touch.
To him, it makes no sense. You’re really willing to do that for him? Make sure every inch of his body is coated in SPF just so he doesn’t get a measly sunburn? Christ, he’s never even cared about his skin as much as you do right now.
And it doesn’t just stop there. Midday, when the sun is high in the sky and blazing down violently on the two of you, making you both sticky with sweat, you gulp from your large thermos of water and pass it over to Pope without a word.
“Why am I holding this?” He asks so innocently, truly unsure of the answer.
“Drink it.”
“Why?”
“It’s hot out, you need to hydrate.”
He looks at you dumbly, puppy dog eyes shining in the sunlight. “But it’s yours.”
“No, it’s ours. I brought the big bottle so we could share.”
Pope’s heart swells at that. God, what were you doing to him?
Shyly, he takes a few gulps from the bottle and hands it back to you.
You smile, satisfied, and set the water back into your bag, away from the burning sun.
Later, after you’ve both had enough of lounging outside, you make your way indoors and settle on the sofa.
Pope flicks through the TV channels, looking for something he thinks you’d like. He hesitates for a moment when he passes by the National Geographic channel. They’re showing a documentary about sharks that he’d been wanting to watch.
But he’s got you cuddled up next to him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, legs kicked up over his lap, and you wouldn’t be interested in watching that.
So he flicks through a few more channels, finally settling on a romcom, a genre he knows for a fact that you enjoy. The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, your fingers still twirling in his hair.
“Andrew,” you say, more of a statement than a question.
Pope turns his head to look at you, but your eyes are still on the TV. “Yes?”
“Go back to that shark thing.”
He blinks. “Why?”
“Just go back, please.”
He obliges, looking back to the screen so he can scroll back a few channels.
“What about it?” He questions as he searches your face for answers, using the hand not holding the remote to absentmindedly draw small circles on the plush skin of your thigh.
“I wanna watch it,” you state, eyes glued to the great white that swims across the screen.
Pope’s brows furrow in confusion. “No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You’re only saying that because you saw me hesitate to change the channel. Don’t do that. You get to pick the show,” he grumbles.
You can feel that his eyes are still on you, but you don’t turn your gaze toward him. “I am picking. This is what I pick.”
“C’mon, be serious. I know you’d rather watch the chick flick—”
“Shhhh,” you interrupt. “I’m trying to watch this, Andrew.”
He knows you’re lying. Knows you’re not as interested in the documentary as he is. But the fact that you’d do this for him, watch something you’re only mildly interested in simply because he wants to, and make it seem like it was your idea in the first place, has a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Okay, sorry,” he responds, a blush creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
“It’s okay,” you say, laying your head against his shoulder and placing your free hand on his chest.
Pope drops the remote on the couch cushion next to him and places his hand overtop yours, interlocking your fingers.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“For what?”
“For being so good to me. I don’t deserve it.”
You lift your head to face him, and he regrets his words as soon as he sees the look on your face. You look like he tore your heart right out of your chest.
“Everything I do for you is because I love you. Because you’re so good to me. Because nobody has ever cared for me the way you do. Don’t ever tell me that you don’t deserve that.”
You scold him like he’s just told you something awful. He realizes then that in your eyes, he did.
“I’m sorry, I just— I’ve never had someone do for me the things you do. I don’t know what to do with myself,” he admits, quietly.
Your heart shatters at that. Knowing that the sweetest man you’ve ever known hasn’t felt true, unconditional love. Love without strings, expectations, or requirements. Love that doesn’t need to be earned.
“Don’t apologize. I’m new at this too. We’ll figure it out together, okay?” you say, squeezing his hand.
“Yeah, okay,” he breathes, squeezing your hand back in response.
“Okay, good. Now shut up and let me watch this documentary. We missed all the good stuff.”
— ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
he deserved someone who loved him with no conditions I’m Sickkkk
Three Stanley Cups. Two Olympic gold medals. Two Hart Trophies. A Conn Smythe. More awards and accolades than he can count.
But standing at the end of a flower-lined aisle on the waterfront in Cole Harbour, watching you walk toward him in a white dress with the ocean as your backdrop, he realizes that none of those achievements come close to this moment.
You’re beautiful. Devastatingly, impossibly beautiful. Your dress is simple and elegant, flowing in the late summer breeze, and you’re carrying a bouquet of white roses and greenery. Your hair is half-up, half-down, with small flowers woven through it, and you’re smiling at him like he’s the only person in the world.
Your father is walking you down the aisle, and Sidney can see him blinking back tears. Hell, Sidney is blinking back tears. He’s pretty sure half the guests are crying already and you haven’t even reached him yet.
The chairs are set up on the lawn overlooking the water. The arch where Sidney is standing is covered in white flowers and greenery, and the whole scene is so perfect it doesn’t feel real.
But then you’re there, standing in front of him, and your father is placing your hand in his.
“Take care of her,” your father says quietly, his voice thick.
“Always,” Sidney promises.
Your father nods, kisses your cheek, and steps back. And then it’s just you and Sidney, standing together, facing the officiant as the ceremony begins.
Sidney barely hears the opening remarks. He’s too focused on you, on the way you’re looking at him, on the fact that in a few minutes you’re going to be his wife.
His wife.
Dr. Crosby.
The mother of his children — though only he knows that last part might already be true.
“Sidney and Y/N have chosen to write their own vows,” the officiant says, and Sidney’s attention snaps back to the moment. “Sidney, would you like to begin?”
He nods, pulling the folded paper from his pocket with shaking hands. He’d written and rewritten these vows a dozen times, trying to find the words to express what you mean to him.
“Y/N,” he starts, and his voice cracks slightly. He clears his throat and tries again. “Y/N. I’m not great at speeches. You know this. You’ve sat through enough of my awkward press conferences to know that I’m better at doing things than talking about them.”
A ripple of laughter goes through the crowd, and you smile at him, your eyes shining.
“But I need to try to tell you what you mean to me,” he continues. “You came into my life at a charity gala two years ago and immediately challenged me on my hockey statistics. Most people don’t do that. Most people tell me I’m great and leave it at that. But you looked at my Corsi percentage and told me I was wrong about my defensive zone coverage.”
More laughter. You’re biting your lip, trying not to cry.
“And I fell in love with you right then,” Sidney admits. “Because you weren’t intimidated by me. You weren’t impressed by the trophies or the championships. You just saw me — Sidney, not Sidney Crosby the hockey player — and you treated me like a person worth arguing with.”
He pauses, looking down at his notes, then back up at you.
“You’re the smartest person I know. Watching you earn your PhD, watching you defend your dissertation, seeing how hard you work and how brilliant you are … it’s humbling. You could have anyone, and somehow you chose me.”
“Best decision I ever made,” you whisper, and he has to stop to compose himself.
“You make me better,” he says. “You keep me grounded when my head gets too big. You call me out when I’m being stubborn. You support my career but you also have your own career, your own goals, your own life. You’re my partner in every sense of the word.”
He folds the paper, deciding to speak from the heart for the rest.
“I promise to support your dreams the way you support mine. I promise to make you laugh, even when you’re frustrated with me. I promise to always be honest with you, even when it’s hard. I promise to be your teammate, your best friend, your safe place to land.”
He takes a breath.
“And I promise to love you for the rest of my life. Every day. Every moment. For better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health. You’re it for me. You’re everything. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life showing you that.”
You’re crying now, tears streaming down your face, and Sidney wants to wipe them away but the officiant is already turning to you.
“Y/N?” She prompts gently.
You take a shaky breath, reaching into your bouquet where you’ve apparently tucked your own notes.
“Sidney,” you start, your voice wavering. “When I met you two years ago, I thought you were cocky and arrogant and way too confident about your defensive zone coverage.”
Sidney laughs, and so does everyone else.
“I was fully prepared to dislike you,” you continue. “But then you actually listened to my arguments. You asked me questions about my research. You treated me like an equal, not like some fan trying to get your attention. And by the end of the night, I was completely gone for you.”
You wipe your eyes with one hand, still holding the bouquet with the other.
“You’ve supported me through four years of my PhD. You read every draft of my dissertation, even the boring parts about methodology. You came to every defense, every presentation, every milestone. You celebrated my successes like they were your own.”
Your voice breaks and you have to pause.
“You make me feel seen,” you say quietly. “You make me feel valued. Not despite my career, but because of it. You’re proud of me, and that means everything.”
Sidney squeezes your hands, his own eyes burning.
“I promise to be your biggest fan, just like you’re mine. I promise to keep calling you out when you’re being stubborn, because someone has to. I promise to make our house a home, wherever that is. I promise to be your partner, your equal, your teammate.”
You look directly into his eyes.
“And I promise to love you for the rest of my life. Through every season, every game, every challenge. You’re my person, Sidney. You’re my home. And I can’t wait to build a life with you.”
There’s not a dry eye in the crowd. Sidney can hear his mother sobbing, and he’s pretty sure Geno is crying too.
The officiant goes through the rest of the ceremony — the rings, the pronouncement, the “you may kiss the bride” — and then Sidney is kissing you, dipping you back dramatically while everyone cheers and applauds.
“Hi, wife,” he murmurs against your lips.
“Hi, husband,” you say back, and the words send a thrill through him.
The recessional is a blur of hugs and congratulations. Your mother is crying, his mother is crying, your father is shaking his hand and pulling him into a hug, Kris is making jokes about Sidney finally settling down.
Photos take forever — you and Sidney, the wedding party, family photos, candids on the beach. The photographer keeps making you pose and re-pose, but Sidney doesn’t care because he gets to keep holding you, keeps getting to call you his wife.
“Mrs. Crosby,” he says during a quiet moment while the photographer is adjusting equipment. “Dr. Crosby.”
“I like the sound of that,” you admit.
“Me too,” he says, kissing you again.
The reception is at a venue overlooking the water — a luxury glass structure that’s been filled with so many flowers it looks like a garden. White roses, peonies, hydrangeas, greenery cascading from the ceiling and wrapping around the columns. String lights everywhere, creating a warm glow as the sun starts to set.
“This is incredible,” you breathe as you enter.
“You’re incredible,” Sidney counters. “This is just decoration.”
Dinner is a blur of toasts and laughter. Your maid of honor tells embarrassing stories from grad school. Nate, as best man, tells stories about Sidney that make everyone laugh and Sidney groan. Geno gives a toast that’s mostly in Russian but still somehow makes everyone cry.
Sidney toasts you, keeping it short because he already said everything he needed to in his vows, but he can’t resist adding “To my wife, Dr. Crosby. The smartest, most beautiful, most patient woman I know. Thank you for putting up with me.”
The first dance is to a song you both chose together, something slow and romantic. Sidney holds you close, swaying gently, acutely aware that this is the first of many dances you’ll share as husband and wife.
“Happy?” He asks quietly.
“So happy,” you confirm. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”
“Not perfect,” he corrects. “But I’m yours.”
“Same thing,” you say, and kiss him.
The party continues late into the evening. Dancing, cake cutting, more toasts. Sidney dances with his mother, you dance with your father. There’s a moment where all of Sidney’s teammates lift him up and parade him around the dance floor while you laugh so hard you’re crying.
But eventually, late in the evening, you lean close to Sidney and whisper, “Can we go home?”
“Absolutely,” he says, because he’s been waiting all day to get you alone.
You make your excuses, say your goodbyes, and slip out to the car. The drive back to the house is quiet, your hand in his, both of you too content and overwhelmed to need words.
When you pull into the driveway, Sidney parks and comes around to open your door.
“What are you doing?” You ask, laughing.
“Carrying my wife over the threshold,” he says, scooping you up. “It’s tradition.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you’re smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck.
He carries you to the front door, managing to unlock it one-handed, and steps inside. But instead of putting you down, he just holds you, standing in the foyer of the house you’ve shared for over a year.
“We’re married,” he says, still processing it.
“We are,” you confirm. “I’m your wife.”
“My wife,” he repeats, and then he’s kissing you again, deep and thorough, and you’re laughing against his mouth.
“Put me down,” you say. “I have something for you.”
“What kind of something?” He asks, setting you on your feet.
“A wedding gift,” you say, and there’s something in your voice that makes his heart skip. “Wait here.”
You disappear upstairs, leaving Sidney standing in the foyer in his tuxedo, wondering what you’re up to. You’re gone for maybe two minutes before you come back down, holding something small in your hands.
“Close your eyes,” you instruct.
“What-”
“Just close them,” you insist.
He does, holding out his hands. You place something in them — something small and plastic.
“Okay,” you say quietly. “Open.”
He opens his eyes and looks down.
It’s a pregnancy test. And there are very clearly two pink lines.
Sidney’s brain short-circuits.
“Is this-” His voice comes out strangled. “Is this real?”
“Very real,” you confirm, and you’re crying again, happy tears this time. “I took it this morning. And then three more to be sure. I’m pregnant, Sidney. We’re having a baby.”
Something absolutely feral takes over Sidney’s brain. He sets the test down carefully on the entry table, and then he’s on you, kissing you desperately, his hands everywhere.
“You’re pregnant,” he says against your mouth. “You’re actually pregnant.”
“I am,” you gasp. “I’m carrying your baby. You knocked me up just like you promised.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands moving to your stomach. It’s still flat, no visible sign yet, but knowing that his baby is in there, growing-
“Bedroom,” he says roughly. “Right now.”
“Sidney-”
“I need to-” He can’t even articulate what he needs. He just knows he needs to get you upstairs, needs to worship you, needs to show you exactly what this means to him.
You seem to understand, nodding, and he practically drags you up the stairs. Once in the bedroom, his hands find the zipper of your wedding dress.
“Careful,” you warn. “This dress was expensive.”
“I’ll buy you ten more,” he says, but he’s careful as he lowers the zipper and helps you step out of it. You hang it carefully on a hanger while Sidney strips off his tuxedo jacket, his bow tie, his vest.
When you turn back to him, you’re in white lace lingerie, and he realizes you planned this. You knew you were going to tell him tonight. You wore this for him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says. “My wife. My pregnant wife.”
“Not very pregnant yet,” you point out. “Maybe four weeks? Five? It’s early.”
“Don’t care,” he says, closing the distance between you. “You’re pregnant. You’re carrying my baby. That’s all that matters.”
His hand splays across your stomach again, reverent. “There’s a baby in here. Our baby. Part of me, part of you.”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Your baby. The one you put in me.”
“Fuck,” he groans. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” You challenge. “It’s true. You bred me. You knocked me up. You got me pregnant.”
He’s kissing you again, walking you backward toward the bed. You go willingly, and soon you’re on your back with Sidney hovering over you.
“I can’t believe this is real,” he says, his hands tracing over your body. “Can’t believe you’re mine. Can’t believe we’re married. Can’t believe you’re pregnant.”
“Believe it,” you say, reaching for his belt. “Your wife is pregnant with your baby. And she needs you.”
“What does she need?” He asks, even though he knows.
“Needs her husband to fuck her,” you say bluntly. “Needs you to show her what it means that she’s carrying your child.”
Sidney groans, making quick work of the rest of his clothes. You remove your bra and panties while he strips, and then you’re both naked, pressed together.
“You’re already pregnant,” he says, his hand moving between your legs and finding you wet. “Already carrying my baby. But I’m going to fuck you anyway. Going to fill you up even more. Going to make sure you know exactly who you belong to.”
“Yours,” you moan as his fingers work you. “Always yours.”
“My wife,” he says. “My pregnant wife. Mother of my children.”
He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against you. “Ready?”
“Please,” you beg. “Please, husband. Need you inside me.”
The word ’husband’ sends a thrill through him. He pushes inside slowly, savoring the feeling of your body accepting him.
“God,” he groans. “You feel so perfect.”
“So do you,” you gasp. “So deep.”
He starts to move, slow and deep, one hand braced beside your head, the other on your stomach.
“There’s a baby in here,” he marvels. “Our baby. Growing inside you because I bred you.”
“Yes,” you moan. “You knocked me up. Got me pregnant. Made me yours.”
“Already were mine,” he counters, his pace increasing. “But now everyone’s going to know. Going to see you get round with my baby. Going to know I fucked you so well you got pregnant.”
“Everyone’s going to know,” you agree breathlessly. “Going to see me pregnant and know what you did to me.”
“What we did,” he corrects. “You begged for it. Begged me to breed you. Stopped taking your pills because you wanted my baby.”
“Wanted it so much,” you confess. “Wanted to give you everything. Wanted to be pregnant with your child.”
He adjusts the angle, hitting deeper, and you cry out.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Take it. Take my cock. You’re so good at it. So perfect for me.”
His hand moves from your stomach to your breast, cupping it. “These are going to get bigger. Fuller. You’re going to be so sensitive when you’re pregnant.”
“Can’t wait,” you gasp. “Want you to see me change. Want you to watch your baby grow in me.”
“I’m going to worship every change,” he promises. “Every pound, every curve, every new thing your body does. You’re growing my baby. Nothing is more beautiful than that.”
“Sidney,” you moan, and he can tell you’re getting close.
“What do you need, wife?”
“Need to come,” you gasp. “Need you to make me come.”
His hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit. “Come for me then. Come on your husband’s cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”
“Keep talking,” you beg. “Tell me about the baby. Tell me about being pregnant.”
“You’re going to be so beautiful pregnant,” he says, his fingers working faster. “So round and glowing. Everyone’s going to see you and know you’re mine. Know I knocked you up. Know you’re carrying my baby.”
“Yes,” you sob. “Want that-”
“Going to take such good care of you,” he continues. “Going to worship you every day. Going to fuck you whenever you want, keep you satisfied, make sure you know how perfect you are.”
“Close,” you gasp. “So close-”
“Come for me,” he commands. “Come for your husband. Show me how good it feels to be pregnant with my baby.”
You fall apart with a scream, your whole body trembling, and Sidney follows immediately after, burying himself deep and filling you up.
“Mine,” he groans. “All mine. My wife. My baby. Everything.”
He collapses beside you, both of you breathing hard, and immediately pulls you against his chest.
“That was intense,” you say after a moment.
“You told me you’re pregnant on our wedding night,” he points out. “What did you expect?”
“Exactly that,” you admit, laughing. “I know you, remember?”
His hand finds your stomach again, splaying across it protectively. “I can’t believe it. We’re having a baby.”
“We are,” you confirm. “In about eight months, give or take.”
“Eight months,” he repeats. “That’s … that’s soon.”
“That’s why I told you now,” you say. “We have our honeymoon, and then we need to start preparing. Nursery, baby things, all of it.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “Together.”
“Together,” you agree.
There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, and then Sidney says, “When did you know?”
“I suspected a few days ago,” you admit. “I was tired, and my breasts were sore, and I just had a feeling. So I took a test yesterday morning. And then three more this morning because I couldn’t believe it.”
“And you didn’t tell me,” he says.
“I wanted to tell you tonight,” you explain. “On our wedding night. I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It is perfect,” he assures you. “This whole day has been perfect. You’re perfect.”
“I love you,” you say softly.
“I love you too,” he says. “Both of you.”
His hand is still on your stomach, and you cover it with your own.
“We’re going to be parents,” you say, and he can hear the wonder in your voice.
“We are,” he confirms. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
“You’re going to be an amazing father,” you counter.
“I’m going to try,” he promises. “I’m going to do everything I can to be a good dad.”
“You will be,” you say with certainty. “I know you will.”
Sidney holds you close, one hand on your stomach, the other stroking your hair, and thinks about the future. About doctor’s appointments and ultrasounds and picking out names. About building a nursery and reading parenting books and feeling the baby kick for the first time. About holding his child, seeing your features and his combined into a whole new person.
“Sidney?” You murmur.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. For everything. For loving me, for marrying me, for giving me this.”
“Thank you,” he counters. “For choosing me. For building a life with me. For giving me a family.”
You turn in his arms, facing him. “We really did it. We got married, and I’m pregnant, and we’re starting our lives together.”
“We did,” he agrees. “And I can’t wait for all of it. Every moment.”
“Even the middle-of-the-night feedings and the diaper changes?” You tease.
“Especially those,” he says seriously. “Because it means I get to be a dad. I get to raise a child with you. There’s nothing I want more.”
You kiss him, soft and sweet. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Dr. Crosby,” he says. “Now and forever.”
“Now and forever,” you repeat.
And as Sidney holds his wife — his pregnant wife — in their bed on their wedding night, he realizes that this is what winning really feels like.
Not trophies or championships or individual awards.
This. You. Your baby growing inside you. A lifetime of moments just like this one.
The thing about Sidney Crosby is that he knows what winning looks like.
summary: anais crosby has a secret and its name is gavin mckenna
an: baby’s first kind of relationship!!
across the universe series
anais and ophelia’s version
January 17th, 2026
Anais kept checking her phone for the time. She had told her parents that she was going to join her friend, Maeve, and her cousins to visit Maeve’s brother at Penn State. The Penguins were set to play against the Blue Jackets and instead of going to the game with her family, she traveled to State College.
“I just saw the cutest boy. Now I’m sad. I might never see him again.” Maeve said as the two girls walked around campus.
“I thought you were talking with that guy you met in Connecticut during winter break?” Anais asked.
“Turns out he’s a liar and he’s been talking with some girl. I asked him several times if he was single or in some kind of relationship or talking with someone and he straight up lies to me!”
The girls ended up on a bench. Maeve had become annoyed at the fact that her brother and cousins were still somewhere on campus. The group had agreed to meet at the bench so they could go get something to eat, but the plans were beginning to fail. And now Maeve needed to go to the bathroom.
“Just go. I’ll be fine here.” Anais assured her.
“Okay but what if you go missing? I come back and suddenly you’re gone and now I have to face your parents and your scary sister.” Maeve started pacing around to keep herself distracted. “Just come with me.”
“Maeve, go before you literally pee yourself. I won’t get kidnapped.” Right as Anais finished talking, Maeve started to run towards the nearest building.
“Text me if my stupid family arrives!”
Anais laughed as she saw her friend disappear into the building in search of a bathroom. She started scrolling on her instagram feed, answering some DMs or liking photos. She could hear people talking and laughing all around her so she really wasn’t alone.
Anais continued being on her phone until a group of students were passing by. Most of them were loud. Just as they passed by in front of Anais, one of them pushed another causing their water bottle to spill over the concrete, some of it splashing onto Anais’ legs. A bag of chips had also been spilled.
“Nice going, Gav.” She heard one of the boys laugh as the group started to walk away.
Anais used her skirt to dry the water from her legs. She didn’t realize that the one who dropped his water had stayed behind the clean up his mess.
“I’m sorry about my friends. They’re jerks.” He said to her as he picked up the chips.
“Oh it’s okay. . . I mean it’s not okay that they pushed you and you have to clean this up and left you.” she realized she started rambling like usual. Anais quickly stopped talking. She really wish Maeve was back from the bathroom.
He chuckled at her behavior. “Like I said, they’re jerks,” he picked up the final piece of trash and placed it in the trash can beside the bench. Instead of joking his friends, he sat on the other end of the bench. “You waiting for someone?”
Anais nodded. “Uh. . . my friend went to the bathroom. We were waiting for her brother and her cousins. We’re just visiting right now.”
He nodded. “So you’re not from around here?”
She shook her head. “No, I live in Pittsburgh.”
He snapped his finger then pointed it at her. “So you are who I think you are.”
Anais raised an eyebrow at him. “And who do you think I am?”
“Anais Crosby.”
For a second, Anais forgot who her parents were. She was about to walk away from him because how would he know her name? Creepy. But she soon realized she was still in Pennsylvania and most of the state knew of Sidney Crosby.
“Would you be hurt if I say that I don’t know your name?” Anais asked. He then slid closer to her.
“No, not at all. I’m Gavin.” he held out his hand for her to shake. She gladly accepted his handshake.
“You wouldn’t happen to be the same Gavin that everyone is talking about that is going to be the number one draft pick?” Anais guessed. She then relaxed her shoulders and turned her attention towards Gavin.
“So we both know each other.” Gavin smiled lightly.
“Well, it’s impossible to escape your name. It’s nice to finally put a face on a name.” Suddenly, Anais was hoping Maeve and her family would take a little longer getting back.
—
January 31st, 2026
The next time Anais heard Gavin’s name, it was from her own sisters mouth. They were sat in their usual seats at PPG Paints Arena. Warmups had just started. Anais was sitting in her seat, looking down at the ice where fans were standing at the glass watching the players.
“Damn, Gavin McKenna got arrested.” Ophelia said while she scrolled through her phone. That caught Anais off guard. What happened?
Anais looked at her sister and took Ophelia’s phone from her. She saw several tweets saying that Gavin had gotten in a fight. “When did this happen?”
“Today. . . Can I have my phone back?” Ophelia slowly reached for her phone, but Anais slapped her hand away.
“What happened?” Anais continued scrolling. She found out that Gavin got into a fight with another guy, that was all. No details had been released yet.
“I don’t know, but there’s a tweet that say some guy made a comment about Gavin’s mom and Gavin punched him. I don’t know,” Ophelia finally got her phone back after Anais. “You’re acting a little weird, Ani.”
Anais leaned back in her seat. “You’re acting weird. Stop staring at me.”
After the game ended in a victory for the Penguins, Anais stayed in the family room waiting with Ophelia for her dad to join them. Ever since Ophelia had told her about Gavin, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Was he okay? She kept staring at her phone. Her fingers hovered over keyboard, debating whether to send a message to Gavin. Only thing was that she didn’t have his personal phone, they only texted through Instagram DMs.
“Ani? Anais!” The youngest Crosby girl nudged her older sister’s leg with hers. “Did you listen to anything I said?”
Anais sat up in her seat. She put away her phone immediately in her back pocket. “What?”
“I was talking about everything I’m going to eat in Italy. I don’t want to eat just pasta.” Ophelia continued talking. She kept going on about what food she was going to eat while Anais kept thinking about Gavin. She was in deep.
—
February 14th, 2026
Italy
Anais was seated in a restaurant with her family. It was her baby brother’s birthday and everyone was celebrating. Thankfully Sidney didn’t have a game that day.
The birthday candle in Finn’s little dessert had long been blown out by Sidney because Finn had tried to eat it instead. Now Finn sat in Vivien’s lap, happily eating a small slice of cake.
Ophelia was showing her family pictures she’d taken that day. Sidney was talking to one of his teammates.
Anais looked at her phone. She lost count of how many times she’d look at that thing. There was nothing. No notifications. No messages. She especially didn’t have a message that said ‘happy valentine’s day’. Nothing.
She locked her phone, set it down but then picked it up again. She opened instagram and went to her messages. The last thing he’d sent was from weeks ago. It was a picture of a dog he’d seen on campus.
The last time they saw each other was the day before he got arrested. Every sports account had posted about it.
Anais thought about texting him. She’d thought about it a lot. But what did you even say? Hey, sorry you got arrested? That seemed insane. And then every day that passed made it weirder because now it had been two weeks.
Two whole weeks and today was Valentine’s Day. She looked at her phone again. Still nothing. Anais thought about texting him first. Maybe she should wait. Maybe he was going to text first. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he didn’t want to talk.
Maybe—
“Baby?” She looked up. Vivien was watching her, Finn still sat in her lap. A little smear of icing was on his cheek. “You okay?”
Anais blinked. “Yeah.”
Vivien kept looking at her. She lowered her voice. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Anais nodded.
“You seem quiet.” Vivien said.
“I’m okay.” Still, Vivien wasn’t convinced. Anais could tell.
Mothers had this weird thing where they looked at you for two seconds and somehow knew everything.
“I’m fine,” Anais said again.
Vivien’s hand reached over and squeezed her knee under the table. “Okay.”
Anais smiled, giving a little nod to her mother. Vivien smiled back then she turned back toward Finn. But every few seconds, she looked at Anais again.
Anais looked at her phone. Then locked it, the unlocked it and locked it again.
Vivien looked over again. “You really okay?”
Anais laughed softly. “Mom.”
“What?” Vivien asked innocently.
“I’m fine.”
Vivien hummed. “Okay,” She kept a close eye on her daughter. “You can tell me if something’s wrong.”
Anais nodded again. “I know.”
“Okay.” Silence. Then Vivien speaks again. “Did you have a fight with one of your friends?”
Anais blinked. “No.” She picked up her glass of iced water and started drinking.
“Oh,” Vivien said. “Did you have a fight with your sister?”
Anais almost snorted out her water. “Mom, she’s right here.”
Ophelia looked up from her camera roll. “What did I do?”
Vivien chuckled. “Nothing.” Vivien looked at Anais again. Somehow she was still convinced something was bothering her girl.
“I promise I’m okay.” Anais squeezed her mother’s hand.
Vivien studied her face, then sighed. “Okay.” She went back to talking to her sister in law.
Anais looked down at her phone. Her thumb hovered over Instagram. Her stomach twisted. Should she text him? Would that be weird?Maybe. Probably. Would waiting be less weird?
She didn’t know what to do in this relationship. Was it even a relationship? Gavin never asked her out officially. But then she remembered all the times they kissed and held hands or she would make the attempt to attend one of his games.
Everything suddenly weird, she’d never done this before. Anais has had crushes on boys before, but she never attempted to have a relationship. She was always too shy or scared.
Her thumb hovered over his messages.
She typed: happy valentine’s day :)
She stared at it then deleted it. She locked her phone. A second later, she unlocked it again.
Across from her, Vivien noticed. The older woman didn’t say anything this time. She just watched. Then she reached over again and gently squeezed Anais’s knee.
Anais smiled back, a little sadly this time. Somehow that made Vivien even less convinced that everything was okay.
—
February 25th, 2026
Pittsburgh
Anais was in her room when she got Gavin’s message. Her first thought was that he had gotten hacked and somehow the hacker messaged her. But that wasn’t the case. Gavin had texted saying how sorry her was about ignoring her and how he’s been busy lately. He then asked if he could call her.
She immediately texted yes. Seconds later, Gavin sent his number.
Sorry I didn’t ask for you number when we met. I got nervous and forgot.
Anais tossed her phone when she read the message. She loudly gasped when she heard her phone hit the floor. He was nervous? HE WAS NERVOUS! Her heart started beating faster.
Then Gavin sent was another message.
if you still want to talk lol
She grabbed a pillow and pressed it against her face. Anais took a deep breath then let out a scream.
She grabbed her phone from the floor and sat back down on her bed. Another notification popped up.
sorry if this is weird
She immediately sat up. Why would it be weird? Is it weird for him? Maybe she made it weird? Millions of thoughts were clouding her mind.
She typed then deleted and typed again only to delete once more. Finally she sent a simple:
it’s not weird :)
Shit. Was the smiley face too weird?
She then typed his phone number into her phone and hit the call button. After several rings, he answered.
“Hi.” He simply said.
Anais grinned. “Hi.”
“You can hang up if this is weird.” Gavin declared.
“No!” Anais raised her voice a little. She then cleared her throat. “No. I mean it’s fine. Unless you want to hang up. I get it.” she said again, quieter.
He laughed. She could hear him smiling, which somehow made everything worse. Or maybe it was better, she wasn’t sure.
“How was Italy?” He asked.
Finally! A question. Something she could answer.
“It was amazing. My dad won silver and the games were really fun and there were so many people and we watched a lot of hockey and—”
He interrupted. “No.”
She stopped. “No?”
“I meant . . . what did you do?” He clarified. “I know your dad won silver.”
“Oh.” She said.
“I saw it on TV. I mean it was great to see your dad at the Olympics again, but I want to hear what you did.”
“Oh,” She said again. Nobody had asked her that. Not really. Everyone had asked about her dad or Team Canada or the medal. “I don’t know.”
He laughed softly. “You don’t know?”
“I mean—” She smiled. “I did stuff.”
“What stuff?”
She thought about it for a second then laughed. “I was such a tourist.”
“Yeah? What does that mean?” He grinned x
“I bought postcards. I bought a keychain too,” she recalled all the purchases she made. “And I had gelato every single day.”
“Every day?”
“Every day,” She confirmed. “Oh! And we went to churches.”
“Churches?” He questioned.
Anais nodded even though there was no way Gavin could know she did. “My grandpa from my mom side is Catholic so he, my mom and I visited them. They’re pretty.”
“I’m sure they are,” Gavin said. “It sounds like you had fun.”
She smiled. “I did.”
A comfortable silence formed between them. Anais even had to mute herself because she let out a squeal. Then Gavin spoke again.
“I missed talking to you.”
She froze. What was she supposed to say in this moment? Technically she also missed talking to him. But would it be too weird if she admitted too? Maybe it was too early to admit such a thing. She truly didn’t know what to do.
“Really?” She immediately regretted her response.
“Yeah. You’re easy to talk to.”
Okay. . . What does that mean? She thought to herself. She started to panic a little.
She’d spent two weeks wondering. Wondering if he was mad, if he’d forgotten about her, if she should text him. Now she was sitting on her bed talking to him like nothing had happened.
—
Anais spent most of her weekends out and Vivien had noticed. Before Gavin happened, she would either stay home on the weekends or if her friends weren’t busy, she would hang out with them. Now, she was going out every weekend.
To where? State college mostly, but sometimes she stayed in the city and Gavin would come visit. It was always somewhere where they knew they wouldn’t be seen that much. It wasn’t that Gavin didn’t want to be seen with Anais. He just wanted it to be nice and peaceful when they were together.
It was in mid March when Gavin and her were spotted by some hockey fans in State college. The picture made its way to hockey twitter a couple days later. Suddenly Anais wanted the ground to swallow her.
Ophelia found out about her sister’s secret relationship from twitter, though she didn’t mention it to either of her parents. She just told Anais that she needed her sweater back after she realized Anais had worn her sweater to Penn State games.
Eventually, Anais and Gavin met up for the last time a few days after the pictures were posted. They were back in the bench at the Penn State campus. The bench looked exactly the same, which felt unfair. Everything else had changed.
Anais sat on one side, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Gavin sat beside her. Not too close, but not too far. Neither of them had said much.
“I think maybe this is for the best.” Anais looked at the ground as she said it.
“Oh.”
She nodded. “Yeah,” She cleared her throat. “I just . . . I don’t know. I guess maybe this is just one of those things. Like when you meet someone and you really like them and they really like you but the timing’s weird.” She sighed.
Gavin nodded, understanding what she meant.
“And you never really. . .” She stopped.
“What?” He looked up at her.
She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “We never really became anything.”
“I guess not.” Gavin said.
She smiled a little. “I kept wondering what we were. Like, a lot.”
“You did?” He suddenly felt extremely guilty.
“Yeah. But it’s okay, I kind of accepted it. That you were never going to ask, I mean.”
Of course she’d been overthinking and of course he hadn’t realized.
Then he said quietly, “Maybe in the future,” She looked at him with a sad smile. “We could see each other again.”
Part of her wanted to say yes, Part of her wanted to believe it.
“I don’t think so.”
He blinked. “No?”
She shook her head. “I mean . . . maybe,” She shrugged. “But probably not. I thought I was ready for a relationship, but I’m not. And I realized that you have a lot going on. The draft, hockey, school.“
“Yeah, that was kind of stupid to ask. I’m sorry.” Gavin said quietly.
She sighed. “I think maybe people come into your life for a reason,” He listened carefully to her words. “And sometimes they’re there for a long time.”
She smiled a little.
“And sometimes they’re just there for a little bit and that’s okay,” She looked so sure of herself and also not sure at all. “I think you’re supposed to be one of those people.”
She could tell he was a little hurt that she had said no, but was accepting it.
“You were nice to me,” He let out a small chuckle a little. He could remember all the times she would mention how nice he was, especially to her. “And I liked you.”
She looked a little embarrassed immediately. “I mean—”
“I know what you meant.” Gavin finally spoke.
She laughed. “Okay,” she nudged his shoe with hers. “And I’m glad I met you. Even if it was because you spilled water on me.”
He laughed. “I liked you too,” He nudged her foot back. I’m glad I met you too.”
She looked at him one last time. For a long moment, neither of them moved. They sat on the bench in a comfortable silence, thinking about what could’ve been.
Sid being the best husband ever is so real. Whatever Sid does he just has to include his wife! Like sid helping viv with the cup in 09 so she can also drink from it!
an: streets are saying sid’s actual name is sidney ‘I love my wife final boss’ crosby. here a blurb with wife guy sid (even though him and viv technically got married in 2017, this man introduces viv as his wife since FOREVER)
across the universe blurbs masterlist
—
June 2009
“Look at her. . . oh my girl,” Steve Grant gave his granddaughter a kiss on her cheek. He had flown in from Pasadena to Pittsburgh for playoffs. Now that the Penguins had secured the cup, the celebrations had started. Sidney and Vivien were just about to leave their apartment to go to Mario Lemieux’s house. Steve offered to stay back in their apartment to look after his granddaughter so they could celebrate without worrying. Vivien had put Anais in a Penguins onesie. “Such an adorable sight you are.” Steve tickled Anais’ side, cashing the eight month old to squeal.
“She hasn’t taken her nap yet and she loves the pink teddy bear. It has to be the pink one, she doesn’t like the others.” Vivien explained as she made sure Anais’ bottles were where they needed to be.
“Sweetheart, stop worrying. I’ve taken care of my own granddaughter before. We’re going to be more thank okay. Isn’t that right, Ani?” Steve’s heart practically melted when Anais wrapped her tiny hand around his pointed finger.
“I know. Still, I worry because Ani loves to keep her parents on their toes and mommy is afraid she’ll do the same to grandpa and all he will say is ‘my back!’ and we definitely don’t want grandpa to get hurt.” Vivien ran a hand through Anais’ hair. The little girl found comfort in her mother’s touch.
“Yeah well this old man is still kicking. You and Sid have nothing to worry about. Go have fun. You deserve it.” Steve kissed his daughter’s temple.
Sidney walked into the living room with Penguins blanket that had Anais’ name printed on the corner. “We’ll be back later. Thank Steve.” He handed the blanket over to his father-in-law.
“Thank as much as time you want. Ani and I will be watching ‘I Love Lucy’ reruns.” Steve carried the baby back to the pull out couch and sat comfortably with Anais.
“Raising another sitcom lover?” Sidney chuckled as he and Vivien made their way to the front door.
“She is half Grant after all.”
—
It was clear to everyone that both Sidney and Vivien were not sober. I mean who would be? The Penguins had just won the cup! They were having the time of their lives. Vivien couldn’t even remember how many drinks she had. What she could remember was Sidney holding the Stanley Cup so Vivien could drink from it. At first, she didn’t want to. She thought about all the other lips that had touched the rim of the cup, but after a little convincing from Geno, she happily drank beer from the Stanley Cup. How many people could say that?
“That’s my girl.” Sidney placed the cup down and watched as Vivien was handed a towel to clean herself since beer had spilled down her mouth.
“I’m going to have the biggest headache later,” Vivien laughed. She excused herself and walked into Mario’s house so she could make a phone call. Sidney was practically attached to her so he followed her into the cozy home. He placed his hands on her hips, leaning close to place a sweet kiss on her neck. It caused Vivien to giggle and try to push him off, but he just kept trying to kiss her. “Did you forget this isn’t our house?”
“I just want to show my wife some love and affection.” Sidney let her go as she took out her cellphone from her purse that she left in the living room.
“Take a shot every time you’ve called me your wife today and you’d be dead.” Vivien began to make her call, smirking at Sidney. It was true. Sidney had called Vivien his wife all afternoon and he wasn’t planning on stopping.
“Yeah, well it sounds really nice to call you my wife.” He sat on the couch and pulled her onto his lap.
“Careful. Keep saying it and I might start answering to it,” She grinned, holding up the phone to her ear. Before Sidney could reply, Steve answered the phone. “Dad? Hi. How’s Ani? Is she giving you a hard time?” Vivien spoke into the phone. Still in Sidney’s lap, she felt him snake his arms around her waist, holding her close to him.
“Everything is okay over here, Vivi. She and I are reading a story. She loves when I read the little prince.” Steve replied.
“Yeah, she adores that story. Okay, we’ll let me know if you need us to come home.” Vivien said.
“Vivi, you and Sid don’t have to worry. Just come back to Ani and i in one piece.”
The phone call ended. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The music from the backyard drifted in through the open doors. They could hear laughter and screaming. Sidney relaxed into the sofa, closing his eyes for a few seconds. Then he opened them.
“I think you like it.” He turned his attention to Vivien.
“What?”
He leaned in towards her. “I think you like it when I call you my wife.”
She blushed at his words. “Stop it.” She playfully hit his arm.
“Admit it . . . my beautiful wife.” Sidney closed the gap between them to kiss Vivien’s soft lips. He could taste the cherry lipgloss.
She couldn’t help it. Vivien smiled into the kiss. Sidney pulled back a bit to see her smile. “There it is.” His grin widened.
“Oh, shut up.” She gently shoved his face away with her palm. Sidney laughed, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
They looked at each other for a moment. She then reached up and fixed a piece of hair that stuck out. He didn’t move. Outside, cheers erupted. They could hear people ask for Sidney, wondering where he was.
“I think they’re looking for you.” Vivien said.
“I’m busy. They’ll understand.” He replied.
“Doing what?”
Sidney’s lips formed into a smirk. “Talking to my wife.”
aerion making out with his shy girl in the castle halls so much that the guards start subtlety complaining to maekar while trying so hard to avoid being accused of treason !! #ineedtgatcookiesobaf
aerion loves to make out in semi-public ⊹ ࣪ ˖
the corridors were not, by any stretch of the imagination, a place for trysts. they are cold, drafty, and perpetually echoing with the footsteps of guards and servants. yet, it had become aerion's favorite place in the red keep.
at any moment, at any time, he had you pressed against the stone wall, his body a warm, solid shield from the castle's chill. his lips were soft, his tongue coaxing, and he tasted of the lemon cake you had shared at supper.
your hands, which had been nervously twisting in the fabric of your gown, now rested tentatively on his chest.
you were melting into him, your shyness burning away under the intensity of his affection. a soft sigh escaped your lips, and he swallowed it with a gentle hum of approval.
"you taste sweeter than the wine," he murmured against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes, usually so sharp and arrogant, were soft and hazy in the torchlight. "i could taste you forever."
you buried your face in the crook of his neck. "aerion, someone will see."
"that is no concern of mine, nor should it be yours," he whispered, his hand moving to the small of your back, pressing you even closer. "let them see how much i adore my wife."
down the hall, two kingsguard stood as still as the stone statues they guarded. this was the fourth time this week they had been forced to witness their prince's...devotion.
ser gerold cleared his throat, a low, discreet sound. "my prince," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "the hour grows late. your father requested your presence after supper."
aerion didn't even turn his head. "he can wait," he said, his voice muffled by your hair as he pressed a kiss to your temple. "i am occupied with matters of state."
the other guard shifted his weight, the leather of his boots groaning softly. he caught gerold's eye and gave a minuscule, almost imperceptible shake of his head. don't push it. they both remembered what happened to the last guard who had complained too loudly about the prince's "distractions." a reassignment to the night's watch was a fate worse than death for most.
later that night, when the castle was finally quiet, ser gerold found himself standing before prince maekar in his solar. the prince was poring over maps, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"your grace," gerold began, choosing his words with the care of a man walking on eggshells. "i bring a report. a... logistical concern, regarding the prince's... security detail."
maekar didn't look up. "spit it out, ser gerold. i haven't got all night for you to dance around the issue."
"it is... well, it is the corridors, your grace. prince aerion has developed a fondness for... lingering. in the halls. with the princess." gerold paused, sweating under his armor. "it makes it difficult to maintain a secure perimeter. the constant... stopping. it creates blind spots. and the guards, they do not wish to witness such... private moments, for fear of disrespecting the princess, or... of being accused of treasonous thoughts."
maekar finally lifted his head, a flicker of something- amusement? annoyance?- in his dark eyes. he stared at the knight for a long moment.
"so my son is so besotted with his wife that he forgets his duty, and your men are so flustered by a kiss that they fear for their heads?" maekar's voice was dry. "gods save us all from love and fools." he waved a dismissive hand. "tell your men to look at the floor. and tell my son that if he must behave like a love-struck squire, to do it behind a closed door. now get out."
hey idk if uve seen the trend in tiktok where people get their parents to read out brain rot and they try not to laugh but imagine the crosby girls doing thst to sid and viv
CHRONICALLY ONLINE PT.2
summary: more tiktok trends with the crosby girls!
an: i love making these <3
across the universe series
anais and ophelia’s version
“Making my mom read our vocal stims”
Anais set up her camera against her cup of strawberry lemonade. Vivien held a paper with words written by the girls on it. The girls had told her they wanted to make a tiktok with her reading off some of their vocal stims. Anais took a drink from her water bottle, Ophelia did the same.
“Do I read them now?” Vivien asked, looking back at her daughters. Anais nodded since she had water in her mouth already. “Okay. Mama, a girl behind you. What?”
Vivien could hear Anais and Ophelia breathing hard. She looked back and saw the girls trying to hold the water in their mouth. She went back to her list, grabbing a pen that was near her and crossed off the sentence.
“One, two. . . Oh! I know this one!” Vivien was excited that she recognized one of the sentences. “One, two, one, two, three. Release them!” She sort of sang along. She remembered Ophelia saying the phrase often.
Speaking of Ophelia, she was the first to break. Once she heard her mother say the words, she spat out her water. Anais looked away to prevent herself from spitting out her water.
“Oh my god, is it that funny?” Vivien handed her daughter a paper towel.
“You said it like the video! I didn’t know you knew that!”
Eventually the girls regained their composure and continued the video. “I got like hella money.” Vivien said. She could hear water being spilled and laughter.
“I need a break,” Anais wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh my god.”
“Wait, I want to say this one. Can I say it?” Vivien showed Anais the sentence she wanted to say.
“Yes! Please say it!” Anais encouraged.
Ophelia was drinking from her water when Vivien spoke again. “Madame Morrible, mm flips it around Wicked Witch!” Ophelia spit out her water, laughing loudly as Anais and Vivien joined in.
“Time out, please.” Ophelia laughed through the pain. She grabbed a paper towel and wiped her mouth.
anais.gc HELPPPP
comments
bruinsruins PLS SHE WAS SO EXCITED TO SAY MADAME MORRIBLE
sidgenolover i love that viv was crossing them off the list 😭
crosbysgoldengoal do more tiktoks with vivien!!
anais.gc ofc!! vivien loves doing tiktoks with us :)
macksupreme “I got like hella money” DID SHE LIE???
—
“Goodnight”
Ophelia and her best friend, Kelly, were in her room. Kelly was sleeping over at the Crosby household. The teenage girls were scrolling on their tiktok when Ophelia thought about an idea that she had been wanting to do. She had seen countless videos of people calling their friends or family just to say goodnight. She also saw that some NHL players took part in the trend. So Kelly filmed Ophelia as the girl scrolled through her contact list. She decided to start with the obvious choice: her parents.
Her parents were in their room watching a movie so she expected them to answer. After several rings, Sidney answered.
“Yeah? Are you okay?” Sidney asked. He found it a little strange that Ophelia was calling him at this hour. She usually settled on texting him.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanted to call you to say goodnight so . . . goodnight.” Ophelia pressed the mute button because she couldn’t contain her giggles.
“Did i forget to say goodnight to you and Kelly? I’m sorry. Goodnight, Phee. Goodnight Kelly. Is Kelly there or did she go to sleep?”
Ophelia unmuted the call. “No, she’s here.”
“Goodnight, Sid.” Kelly quickly said.
“Is mom awake? I want to say goodnight to her too.” Ophelia continued the conversation.
“No, she’s asleep right now. But I’ll let her know you and Kelly said goodnight. Bye, mouse. I love you.” Finally, Sidney ended the call.
Kelly continued filming. “He’s so polite. I hate him actually.” She laughed.
“He’s such a dad,” Ophelia grinned. She continued scrolling through her contacts. She couldn’t call Anais because she was already asleep. She then settled on calling her godfather, Geno. “I don’t know if he’s going to answer though.”
But in the end, Geno answered Ophelia’s call. He always did.
“Phee! What’s wrong?” Like Sidney, Geno assumed Ophelia needed help with something.
“Nothing. I just called to say goodnight.” Ophelia once again muted the call to hide her laughter.
“Ah, okay. Goodnight. I will see you later. Have a good sleep.” Geno replied.
“You too, wherever you are. Bye, love you,” Ophelia ended the call and smiled. “I love that guy. He’s the best.”
Her next call was to Nate, but he didn’t answer. Ophelia continued with her dad’s teammates and Finn’s godfather, Kris. Thankfully, he did answer.
“Hello?” Kris answered. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking though. I just wanted to call to say goodnight.” Ophelia muted the call again.
“Why does everyone think you’re not okay?” Kelly laughed.
“They care about me!” Ophelia cried out dramatically.
“Thank you Phee. Goodnight. Wait, Alex is here and he wants to say goodnight too.” There was a small pause before Alex Letang’s voice was heard.
“Goodnight, mouse!” Alex practically yelled into the phone. Ever since Alex found out treat Ophelia’s childhood nickname was mouse, he used it any chance he could.
She unmuted the call yet again. “Goodnight, you little gremlin!”
The video then cut to Ophelia showing the camera her phone screen which showed a text from Nate. The girl looked like she wanted to cry, but held her tears in.
“Read it out loud. Wait, I’m going to cry too.” Kelly commented.
Ophelia turned her phone so she could read the text Nate had sent her. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer the phone. I had it on silent. If you like, I can call you back right now, just let me know. If you can’t then I’ll talk to you soon. Goodnight and love you, mouse. Take care.” She read the message.
“I think I need a tissue.” Kelly ended the video.
opheliamaec I LOVE MY UNCLES! I LOVE MY DAD! I LOVE MY MOM EVEN THOUGH SHE FELL ASLEEP!
comments
avscup god made men and sent natemac as an apology
thebigthreepens pls everyone thinking you need help is hilarious
opheliamaec SOBBING 😭
viviensoscar nate’s text 😭
bedsyvibes not only did sid say goodnight to you but he said goodnight to your friend and i love that
kellymurph_ he’s actually my adopted dad and he’s legally required to say goodnight to me
opheliamaec sid has too many adoptive kids tbh
—
“Wait those are my stats!”
Anais was having lunch in downtown Pittsburgh with her parents and Finn. Her best friend, Alison, had also joined. Ophelia had declined the invitation. She decided to spend the afternoon at a friend’s house so Anais invited her best friend. Lunch was like any other. Vivien mentioned how she was working on the script for several projects, Sidney talked about the upcoming draft and the prospects and Finn babbled on and on.
As lunch went on, Anais started discreetly recording. She had been wanting to do a trend she had seen where people told their athlete dad that their friend was talking to a boy that played the same sport and they wanted to know if their stats were good. In reality, it was the dad’s stats.
“Hey, dad? So Ali is talking to this guy and he plays hockey.” Anais told Sidney, who looked like a concerned parent.
“Is he nice to you?” Sidney asked Alison. Over the years, both Sidney and Vivien had become a second parents to all of their daughters’ friends. Alison was practically a Crosby since she was eleven.
“Yeah, he’s nice.” Alison nodded, laughing lightly at the question since ‘he’ didn’t exist.
“He plays college hockey and we were wondering if he was any good. I think he might be drafted this year, right? I think his whole friend group plays hockey.” Anais turned to her friend, who played along.
“What college?” Vivien asked. Baby Finn was getting irritated from being in his stroller so Vivien unbuckled his seatbelt and took him out.
Anais slightly panicked. She didn’t think of that so she said the first thing that came into her head. “Penn state.”
“This isn’t about . . .” Sidney trailed off. Of course he knew about Anais’ sort of fling with the projected number one NHL draft pick. Anais was very open with her parents when she finally came clean about her time with him.
“No, oh my god. No!” Anais immediately denied.
“We’re just making sure.” Vivien said, bouncing Finn on her leg.
“I mean thank you? Anyway! Can we tell you guys his stats and dad can say if he’s good or not?” Anais asked. Alison handed over her phone so Anais could read off the stats. All these years of being friends with Anais Crosby and Alison still didn’t understand the numbers or the letters so she gave Anais the honor of reading the stats. Sidney nodded and waited for Anais to start. “Okay so for this past season, he scored twenty nine goals and forty five assists.” Anais read.
Sidney was taking this very seriously. “How many games played?”
“Oh. He played all thirty four games.” Anais replied.
“Is he any good?” Alison asked.
“Thirty four games and he scored twenty seven goals?” Sidney repeated.
“Twenty nine.” Anais clarified.
“Twenty nine. Okay. That’s impressive. I might have to tell Kyle to find this kid.” Sidney teased.
He then went on a nearly two minute rant about college hockey and the draft. Anais and Alison probably stopped listening halfway, but Vivien kept listening to her husband talk about hockey like she had a thousand times before. Anais found it cute.
“So he’s good?” Alison asked.
“He’s not bad.” Sidney answered.
“That’s a win for me. I’ll take it,” Alison laughed. “Wait, his brother also played hockey. I think he played in that league you were in years ago.”
“Rimouski?” Vivien guessed.
“Yes! Can I tell you his stats?” Alison wanted to see how long it took Sidney to realize that these were his stats.
“Sure.”
So Alison quickly pulled up his Rimouski stats. “Okay so he played fifty nine games, scored fifty four goals and eighty one assists and had one hundred thirty five points.”
As Sidney thought about it, Vivien instantly knew what was happening. She recognized those numbers anywhere. Even though she knew the girls were reading his stats from 2003, she let them continue.
“He’s retired?” Sidney asked.
“No, the old man is still playing. I don’t know where he’s currently playing but it’s not in the NHL.” Anais explained.
“Fifty nine games and fifty four goals. . . can you believe it?” Sidney turned towards his wife.
“Yeah I can. They’re your numbers, Sid.” She finally came clean.
“What?” Sidney wondered.
Alison and Anais instantly bursted out laughing. They couldn’t hold their laughter any longer. How Vivien knew? They had no clue.
“They’re reading your stats from Rimouski and this past season.” Vivien continued.
“Those are mine?” Sidney asked the girls.
“Yes. How the hell do you know that?” Anais questioned her mom.
“Baby, I was there. I remember every single number from every season.”
anais.gc nothing gets past vivien
comments
alisunmills vivien is an icon
opheliamaec she is the moment
willsbananabread “baby i was there” no you don’t understand i’m obsessed
wonderwoll gavin mckenna kind of mentioned?
mintensmint pls don’t get me started. thank god ani and him aren’t together anymore
flyersftw you’re on a nickname basis with sidney crosby’s daughter now?
mintensmint yes that’s literally my close personal friend ani
anais.gc omg hi bestie
radioheadloser dad is just casually sidney crosby
durdenfilms mom is just casually vivien grant
ilovetimmysupreme nepo baby final boss
opheliamaec hire security. i’m serious.
anais.gc OOPHELIAA PLS STOP
bruinsruins sid asking “is he nice to you?” awww such a dad!!
—
“ASMR with Ophelia”
Ophelia was in her parent’s office where some of their awards they’ve won over the years were. The house empty. Sidney was at a practice, Anais was at out with her friends and Vivien was outside with Finn and their dog, Fred. It was the perfect opportunity for Ophelia to film so ASMR.
Her video started off with her tapping her nails on Vivien’s Oscar. It was the only one that was in her shared office, the other two were in Halifax and her childhood home in Pasadena where her brother, Michael, lived in. “Here’s Oscar. He’s missing his brothers. So sad.” Ophelia whispered as she kept tapping. Next to the Oscar on the shelf was Sidney’s two Emmys.
Ophelia tapped on the gold award. She still found it funny that her dad, a hockey player, won two Emmys before her mom, a film and tv director.
“I’m currently taking name suggestions. Also ignore my nail polish, it’s ugly I know but I’m a bit lazy to repaint them.” Ophelia tapped, her chipped black nail polish on full display.
Further down the shelf were three pucks with tape around them. They each had some of Sidney’s hand writing. Ophelia picked one up so she could show the camera the writing on it. It read: my first goal as your dad 10/18/2008
“This is my sister’s puck. Mine is this one,” Ophelia showed the puck that belonged to her. Hers was the same message but slightly different date. 10/13/2010. “And this is my brothers.” She showed Finn’s puck which looked newer compared to the others. 2/22/2025.
“I’m moving on because if I stare at these pucks any longer, I’m so going to start crying.” Ophelia put down the pucks and ended her video.
opheliamaec first asmr video :) be nice or i’m cursing your entire bloodline
comments
stevienicksfan36 alright who’s nepo baby is this?
jasontoddxcrowbar pls make more
buckysleftarm WAIT YOUR MOM MADE GONE GIRL??
opheliamaec and perks of being a wallflower :)
moonytoasts the pucks?? hello?? is your dad a hockey player?
bedardsz isn’t it obvious?
oheliamaec hey no being mean in my comments :( but yes he is! he gave my siblings and i those pucks and we have a picture of him and us holding the pucks.
flyersftw do asmr on his silver medal
—
“ASMR with Ophelia part 2”
Ophelia replied to a comment about her dad’s silver medal. Of course it came from a Flyers fan. She was filming in her parents’ walk in closet, seated on the floor.
“I’m in my parents closet because my mom and brother are inside the house and this is currently the quietest room. Um . . I didn’t find his silver medal, but I found both golds.” She held up the golden medal and proudly showed them off.
She then started tapping away. First she tapped on the 2010 medal. Ophelia was so concentrated that she didn’t notice her brother crawling into the room. The baby boy reached for his sister with his tiny hand and smiled when he realized that he spooked her.
“What are you doing? Yes, I’m talking to you. What are you doing?” She spoke in a soft voice to her brother.
She kept Finn out of sight of her camera then proceeded with her video. She gave Finn the 2010 medal to play with while she had the 2014 medal. After some more light tapping and whispers, she ended her video.
opheliamaec asmr with finneas 😛
comments
penspowerplay if you don’t make it as a hockey player, you have a bright future as an asmrtist
sidgenolover FINN AWW
avscup ophelia i’m going to need you to make an asmr account
summary: it’s sidney’s first father’s day as a dad of three
an: a little father’s day fic because it’s been a while lol
across the universe series
June 15th, 2025
“Does he always look like that when he’s asleep?”
“I don’t know, i’ve never noticed.”
Sidney could hear the whispers of his teenage daughters. He slowly began to open his eyes to see Anais and Ophelia looking down at him. He reached over to Vivien’s side of the bed only to find her spot cold and empty.
“Hey, dad. Happy Father’s Day.” Anais said as Ophelia blew a party horn.
Sidney rubbed his tired eyes. “What time is it?” He sat up in his bed.
“Time for Father’s Day hugs and kisses followed by Father’s Day breakfast then Father’s Day . . . something. I don’t know I didn’t think that far.” Ophelia explained.
“Seems like a very fatherly day,” Sidney smiled at the sound of him getting to spend another day with his family. “Where’s your mom?”
“She’s with Finn downstairs. He woke up at four thirty and didn’t go back to sleep until seven.” Anais replied. Sidney looked at the clock on his bedside table. 8:05 AM.
“Why didn’t she wake me? She’s downstairs?” Sidney started to get up from the bed and tried to walk towards the door when he felt someone jump on his back. “Girls, come on.”
“Dad, do you realize what day it is?” Ophelia asked as Anais clung to his back.
“Father’s Day.” Sidney said.
“Yeah but it’s your seventeenth Father’s Day and it’s your first as a dad of three. I consider this a huge milestone. So as the first born, you’re very much obligated to carry me to the kitchen. I’m pretty sure it’s a rule now.” Anais declared.
“Yeah but how is that fair to me? I’m the second born!” Ophelia protested. Sidney adjusted his grip on Anais and walked down the hall towards the stairs. Behind them, Ophelia kept going on about how it was unfair to her.
“You’re the middle child now, Phee, no one cares about the middle child.” Anais stuck her tongue out to her younger sister.
“Hey, your mom is the middle child in her family and I care about her,” Sidney looked back at his daughters. Ophelia gave him a look as if to say ‘go on, what else?’. “And I love her and cherish her and respect her. Did i mention I love her?”
“Ha! See?” Anais continued her teasing.
“I’m just kidding. I care about you a lot, Phee. You’re my favorite middle child.” Sidney ruffled Ophelia’s hair.
“Thanks old man. I’m so telling mom you said that.” Ophelia ran downstairs to where her mom and brother were.
When Sidney and Anais reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes landed on his wife and son. Vivien was still in her pajamas and messy loose braids. Finn was also in his sleepwear. His mother stood in front of the doors that lead to the backyard. She was pointing at a couple squirrels that darted across their porch. The boy was fascinated by the wild life.
“Look, baby! How many squirrels? One, two, three! Say hi.” Vivien pointed at the group of squirrels then tried to use Finn’s hand to wave at the creatures.
On the kitchen table we’re Sidney’s Father’s Day gifts that Vivien and the girls got him. There were also a couple balloons floating around and cards on the table. Finally, Vivien looked over to her husband, who was still carrying their sixteen almost seventeen year old daughter on his back.
“Careful. Don’t want Finn to get jealous,” Vivien watched as Sidney and Anais walked closer to her. “Happy Father’s Day, baby.” She kissed his lips when Sidney stood next to her.
Anais gagged from her spot causing her to finally let go of her dad. “I’m sickened by that. Please no more kids! Three is enough!”
“How rude of you to not include dad’s other kid,” Ophelia mentioned as she made herself a bowl of cereal. Her family looked at her as if she was crazy. “Macklin? Hello?”
“Oh!” Everyone said when they realized.
“Oh by the way, Mack texted you. He said happy father’s day dad but then he texted again saying it autocorrected and he really meant to say happy father’s day man. Now he’s just spamming your phone apologizing for calling you dad.” Ophelia took Sidney’s phone out of her back pocket and tossed it to her dad. She took her bowl of cereal and saw at the dinner table.
“Cool, we have another sibling.” Anais said content with the idea.
Ophelia laughed to herself when she heard her sister say those words. “You do realize what that means, right?”
“What?” Anais wondered.
“Macklin is older than you,” Ophelia watched the realization hit Anais. “Welcome to the middle child club, loser!”
The older Crosby girl grabbed the roll of paper towels on the table and threw it at her sister. Soon, the Crosby girls were chasing each other around the living room, dodging pillows and ignoring their parents telling them to stop fighting. As Vivien let out a frustrated sigh, Sidney couldn’t help but smile at the scene.
“Why are you smiling like that? Sid, the girls are going to kill each other!”
“Because this is my favorite thing ever,” Sidney said while the girls continued hitting each other with the couch pillows. “The cards, the girls always fighting, the breakfast. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
Vivien’s face immediately softened. He looked so happy, like there was nowhere else on earth he’d rather be. “I love you so much.” She said and kissed him.
Finn made a small noise. He extended his small arms towards his father. Sidney took the baby from Vivien’s arms and held Finn close. After twenty one years together, more than fifteen years raising daughters and one new baby later, this was still his favorite kind of morning.
your mother runs a criminal empire and you're a part of it. it's a good thing you don't accidentally get pregnant with a cops baby! (haha, oops)
warnings: canon typical stuff, pregnancy, sammy gets mean sometimes, smut, obviously inspired by animal kingdom, but they're not the codys! loosely set s4
8.8k (oops)
your thumb taps against the steering wheel as you wait. he'll be here. he has to be here. it's part of his route, you're sure of it.
their route, your mothers turf. a dangerous combination.
god, it's so fucking hot in your car. the los angeles heat is beating down on you, nearly taking your ability to function. but this is serious. no distractions.
the police car rounds the corner. two men in blue uniform and sunglasses. one blonde and one with these lovely dark curls. you knew how they felt between your fingers, want to feel them again.
but that's just impossible.
you look at them, but they're entirely unaware of you. you pull down your sun visor and look in the mirror. "we can do this," you say, hands in your lap because you can't bring yourself to touch your stomach. "we can do this."
without anymore hesitation, you climb out of your car. this is a terrible idea, the little voice in the back of your head tells you. maybe you should listen to it, get back in your car, drive to a clinic and forget it ever happened.
but you can't.
you catch their eye as you walk in front of the police car, too close to just be passing. at least, you think they're looking at you behind their sunglasses. the blonde's expression says nothing, but the brunette?
sammy. you know him. met him only once but, holy shit, did he rock your world. a night you've been trying to forget but you just can't.
fuck him and his magic penis.
he rolls down your window as you approach. you can't tell if he recognises you, or if you're just another face without a name he vaguely remembers.
but then he pulls down his sunglasses and you see the surprise in his eyes. written on the rest of his face, too. oh yeah, he remembers you. he swallows thickly and his partner looks at him. "can i help you, ma'am?"
just like that, it gets so hard to breathe. your tongue darts out to lick your dry lips. "can i talk to you, officer?" you ask him, eyes darting to his partner. "in private."
and his partner goes to say something, but sammy stops him. "i got this," he says and climbs out of the car.
you hold your breath as you lead sammy away from the police car. further into the park, where his partner couldn't see you. a little wooden picnic table by the pond, where old men used to sit and feed ducks.
but, today, it's just you and sammy.
"what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks as he sits opposite you.
your breath is shaking, tears gathering on y our waterline. "i don't know how to tell you this," you whisper, your head falling into your hands.
immediately, sammy stands up. his walks around the table and places his hand on your back. "woah, woah," he says, pulling you against his chest. you want to push him away, can't let the world see you like this, see you beside a cop. "you're okay-"
"-i'm pregnant."
you have to blurt it out. it's the only way you were every gonna be able to say it. it's so quick, it's like you almost didn't say it at all. but those two life changing words left your lips.
sammy is still. his hand is no longer moving against your back and he's no longer holding you tight.
you're breathing hard as you move away from his touch. "come on, sammy, say something," you beg.
he clears his throat, his mouth twitching to his side. "how do you know it's mine?"
and your face hardens. it's not a face he's meant to see, one reserved for the assholes your mother commands. and now it's pointed towards the father of your future child (it's too early for you to get excited, you've decided. if you'll ever get excited). "it's yours," you say and stand up. "no need to be an asshole about it."
you want to say more. you want to push on his shoulders, to fight with him about this. you want more of a reaction than just that. and sammy wants to say something, too. at least, you think so. you think so by the way he's staring at you as you step over the seat of the picnic table.
but you spot him on the other side of the pond, your breath catching in your throat. tall, hands in his pockets, face set like he's dangerous. because he is.
you turn to sammy quickly. "shout at me," you hiss. "pretend i'm in trouble for something."
but sammy's brows are furrowed. "huh?"
"just do it, sammy, c'mon."
as it turns out, sammy bryant is a scary fucker when he's shouting. you don't even know what he's saying when he gets into your face. he brings his hand up and you flinch, but it's just to point in the opposite direction.
"get out of here," he shouts. "don't let me catch you round here again." he brings his hand down and drops something onto the table. a little white card. you pick it up quickly, shove your hands into your pocket and walk away with attitude. attitude that isn't real. attitude sammy doesn't understand.
you climb back into your car and pull the white card out of your pocket.
officer samuel bryant.
his phone number sat beneath it. like a lifeline, like your way out. a way out you're not brave enough to take.
you drive away from the scene, peeling out of the park parking lot in a way that should have gotten you stopped and arrested for reckless driving. but the two officers in the park don't light you up, instead letting you go.
you manage to get home without being stopped. home, that's where you're safest (not really). at least at home you won't get caught talking to a cop.
nobody bothers you when you walk into your house. your brothers must be walking and your mother is off somewhere else. you don't know and you don't care. you just want to throw yourself into bed and forget about everything.
and you do. for an hour, at least. an hour of rare peace in your home. you bask in it, lying in your bed like you're trying to nap. you're so close to drifting off, of dreaming of a life where this isn't so goddamn hard.
but the front door opens and it's loud from there. everybody seems to come in at once. your mother and your brothers (and whoever is following your mother around like a dog these days).
you place your pillow over your head like that would protect you from the sound. it doesn't, not when your mom knocks and throws open the door. "come to the kitchen," she says and leaves.
you take a moment to father yourself. sucking in a breath, as if that'll help protect you from the sheer chaos that follows your brothers.
slowly, you head out to the kitchen. your stomach is rolling with a mix of anxiety. everything makes you anxious nowadays. ever since you took the test and it came back positive.
she knows. she knows i'm pregnant. she knows i slept with a cop. she knows im pregnant with a cops baby. she knows and she's gonna kill me.
"you have a good day today, baby?" your mom asks as you lean against the kitchen table, bracing your forearms. baby. all because you were the youngest child, the unexpected child. baby. you fucking hate it.
you breathe deeply and try to paint a smile on your face. you're fine. just show them you're fine. "yeah," you say and sit down. jake, your oldest brother comes to stand behind you, his hands on your chair. it's almost protective in his stance, but jake's always been protective over you. he's your older brother, after all.
your mom raises her eyebrows at you. it almost seems impossible with the level of work she's had done. work done because you and your brothers are the ones going out and getting money for her. "really?" she asks and pulls her phone from the pocket of her leather jacket. "because alrez says he saw you with a cop."
your stomach lurches as alrez steps forward. alrez, your mother's new lap dog. the man you saw across the pond while you spoke to sammy.
your mother opens her phone and slides it across the table.
you stop yourself from releasing a relieved breath. "yeah," you answer and swipe through the pictures of sammy in your face, his spit flying as he shouted. "yeah. he and his partner were in melrose park. i was just telling them to get lost."
your mother pushes away from the table. she steps around it, uses her hand to push jake out of the way, and smooths down your hair. "thank you, baby," she says and kisses the top of your head. "that was a good thing you did."
you smile at her and stand up. smiling although you feel so goddamn sick. "wake me up for dinner?" you ask and your mother nods, letting you go.
***
sammy bryant hasn't stopped thinking about you. you, pregnant with his baby. he's not in the place to have another kid, barely has the room for him and nate. and now, because one one reckless one night stand with a girl he can't understand, he's gonna be a dad again.
don't get me wrong, sammy bryant loves being a dad. he loves nate, loves taking care of him and providing for him. yeah, it wasn't the traditional family he'd always dreamed of, the white picket fence, the swing set in the yard, the wife calling for him to come inside when he's out playing with the kids. the dog chasing the kids as they learn to ride their bikes for the first time.
but sammy doesn't get any of that. he gets his kid a couple days a week, but that's about it. and he loves that. he feels selfish for wanting anything more than that.
you were a distraction from that want. you weren't supposed to be anything more than that.
sammy swallows as he stares into nate's bedroom.
he was old enough to pick what colour he wanted in his room, sammy thought. no longer robins egg blue, but some horrible neon green. sammy managed to compromise with his toddler, the two of them deciding on a shade called willow tree.
so now he stands here, ready to paint the nursery, to turn it into a big boys room. but now he needs a nursery, doesn't he? that's if you decide to keep the baby. he knows nothing about you, nothing but your name.
you'd caught his attention in the bar that night. there was nothing particularly remarkable about you, per se. but, fuck, sammy couldn't take his eyes off of you. drinking at the bar, laughing with your friend with your head tossed back.
he couldn't help but approach you. and he's nervous because he hasn't done this in so long. after his marriage fell apart he had a baby to take care of. of course he doesn't know how to flirt.
sammy doesn't remember what he said to you. but it has you laughing at him, beckoning him towards you with just a finger. he sits himself beside you and you take a swig of his drink. a few words with the bartender and he has another placed in front of him like you know the place.
you don't. he remembers you telling him that. but you know the owner. he's close enough to be family, apparently. you asked about him and sammy tells you... everything. almost everything. not his job, that always scares girls away. more so than the crazy ex wife and the baby he loves so much.
a few drinks later and you had his hand, taking him away from the bar. "c'mon," you said, leading him out of the bar.
sammy took you in, the way your hips swayed with every step. "where're we going?" he asked you as the cool night air hits him. it felt like it should bring clarity. but all he could think about is you.
"back to your place, handsome."
sammy didn't need telling twice. he lead you back to his place, back to his bed. he climbed on top of you, his hips thrusting against yours before either of you were undressed. it was sweetly pathetic and you love it.
sammy was moaning your name before you'd even really touched him. but you got your hands on him, lifting his shirt from his body, and there was no going back. sammy pulled your jeans down. he rid himself of his underwear and climbed back on top of you.
you were skin to skin after that. his body against yours, his cock throbbing against you. and when he entered you? fuck. he was so much bigger than you expected him to be. heavy, reaching places you didn't know where possible.
he had claw marks on his back for days after you. and, honestly, he didn't stop thinking about you. didn't stop thinking about the way you cried out when he made you cum, when he came inside of you. couldn't stop thinking about the way your legs tightened around his waist, about the way your fingers felt as they ran through his hair as you laid beside him.
you guys just talked after that. nonsense, until he finally came clean about his career.
you bolted after that.
and now he stands here, not quite ready to paint the nursery. just in case he needs it again.
but he can't figure you out. you bolted after the most incredible sex of his life, only for you to find him again, to tell him your pregnant, and then to have him scream in your face.
but he wants to figure you out.
so sammy backs away from the nursery. he'll figure something else out for nates room, something a little better than a painted nursery.
***
morning sickness is kicking your ass.
actually, it's not the morning sickness. it's running to the bathroom without either of your brothers seeing. you should be at your own apartment, handling it all without anybody knowing. but this is the week your mother gets paranoid and keeps you all by her side.
so you're in the bathroom of the house you grew up in, trying to keep quiet as you throw up into the toilet bowl. it's disgusting, only making you throw up some more.
you wipe your mouth and slump against the cabinet beneath the sink. your chest is heaving, your hand resting on your stomach. "you're a little asshole, you know?" you whisper and shut your eyes.
just a little rest, that's all you need. just to gather yourself before you brush your teeth and head downstairs.
it should be so easy. but the bile begins raising in your throat.
"baby? you in there?" your brother, hunter, shouts.
he begins opening the door before you can reply. you throw yourself at it, pushing it closed as the vomit spills from your lips. it's fucking disgusting, gets everywhere, only makes you vomit more. you scramble for the toilet, at least saving yourself from some damage.
the door opens slowly. hunter stands there, staring at the mess you've made in the bathroom. "jesus, baby," he whispers and steps over a patch of vomit to get to you. "what the fuck is going on?"
you're crying before you stop yourself. hunter crouches down beside you and pulls you against him, ignoring the mess of vomit covering you. "you can't tell mom," you manage between sobs. "she'll kill me."
hunter understands it then. he looks around at the mess you've made, at you. "i won't tell her," he says and stands up, pulling you up with him. "do you at least know who the father is?"
you nod your head. he starts the shower.
"am i gonna like who it is?"
you shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself.
"fuck, baby," he whispers and looks around. he's not talking about the bathroom. "shower. i'll take care of this after," he says.
from the outside, your family looks normal. your mother runs a legitimate business, you and your brothers work for her. but she's taught you guys all the skills she knows. that woman is fucking rich because of you.
Hunter should be dealing with his dealers right now. people who move his drugs for him. jake is normally with your mother, planning the next big job. and Tyler, your third and final brother, runs a business so legit even cops go in for a drink.
yeah, he sometimes joins in with the crime, too.
hunter cleans up the bathroom after you've showered. jake and your mother are nowhere to be found when you enter the kitchen. you pull a glass of oj from the fridge, unable to stomach much else.
every breath you suck in is shaky as you let your mind run. fuck, all hell is gonna break loose when you start showing. she'll kick you out or kill you, you're not sure.
jake follows your mother down the stairs. his eyes meet yours and it's almost like he knows. but he doesn't. he can't.
"baby, you got rounds to make," your mother says and pulls several wads of cash from her bag. they're carefully counted, equal amounts. you know exactly who to give it to, exactly what route to take to avoid detection.
you take the money from her and dump it in your bag. grabbing your jacket, you head out without saying another word.
rounds are an easy job. they come with a risk, though. if you weren't Hunter, jake and tyler's sister, you'd never be able to complete them. you'd be beaten, robbed and left for dead, no doubt.
the neighbourhood is seedier than you're used to. but this is where mina operates, selling on the valuables you guys still for your mother. the money goes straight back to her, and you later pay mina her usual fee.
there are a couple others like that. the guys that keep your mom's warehouse safe, her informant. you give them equal amounts of money and move on quickly.
you've been doing this for years, slipping under police detection.
until today.
the car is going so fast, you think he's gonna hit something. but Sammy slams on the brakes and the car halts on the pavement, blocking your path.
he gets out of the car and stands in front of you, his chest heaving like he's angry.
"you shouldn't be here, Sammy," you hiss, eyes darting around. "you're gonna get me in trouble."
"oh yeah?" Sammy challenges. there's no flirty edge to it. "with who?"
your lip disappears between your teeth. "i can't tell you."
he stares down at you, but he doesn't challenge it. his eyes drift to your stomach, but there isn't anything there to see. not yet.
"we need to talk about our baby-"
your hand covers his mouth, shutting him up. "not here!" you hiss, looking around again.
Sammy clenches his jaw and looks to the side. "okay," he concedes. "come to my place tonight."
"okay," you say quickly, trying to get him away from you.
Sammy looks like he wants to say more. you're glad when he doesn't, backing away from you. he gets in his car and drives off, leaving you to your rounds.
***
you keep your word to officer samuel bryant and head to his place late last night. you shouldn't be sneaking out of the house at your age, but you do, well aware your mother can see you on the cameras.
but you don't care. you'll think of an excuse in the morning. as long as none of your brothers come pick you up, you're fine.
even walking through the streets of Los Angeles at night, you're invincible. nobody dares touch you, not with the power your name holds. shoving your hands into your pockets, you keep going until you get to his place.
sammy bryant. officer sammy bryant. you shouldn't be here. you shouldn't be with. as you stand at his front door, waiting for him to pull it open, you realise how vulnerable you are.
he's drinking a beer when he pulls open the door. "come on in," he says, his voice tired.
you follow him in and shut the door behind you. resting against it, you breathe out. but the windows are open and you can still be seen. in a cops house!
you approach him quickly, leaning against the kitchen counter like there's nothing wrong. "can we go upstairs?" you ask him, trying not to let your eyes search like prey all too aware of the watching predator.
sammy raises his eyebrows at you. "it's not that kind of visit," he says.
you're glaring at the floor. "no shit," you spit, wrapping your arms around yourself.
sammy chews the inside of his cheek. he takes all of you in, the way you hold yourself, the way you keep looking at the windows. the way you look so fucking vulnerable.
he puts his beer down and offers you his hand. you stare at it before you take it. unsure, the opposite to how you were the last time you were in his house. you hesitate and place your hand in his, lacing your fingers through his.
sammy pulls you through his house. up the stairs, past the nursery with the pots of green paint in the doorway. you pause then, staring inside. sammy lets you. he doesn't pull you away as your eyes roam the book shelves with the animal bookends or the moon shaped rug on the carpet.
"is this..."
he shakes his head. "it's my son's bedroom," sammy explains. "I was gonna paint it and redecorate it for him now he's getting older, but now i don't know if i should."
you say nothing. for a moment, sammy thinks you're gonna start tearing up. but you don't. just just suck in a shaky breath and pull him towards his bedroom.
you sit down on his bed and sammy stands before you. it feels like that day in the park all over again, like you have to tell him all over again. and you want to. you open your mouth, the words ready to spill from your lips.
i'm pregnant. but he already knows that.
you pull your knees up to your chest. "do you like being a dad?" you ask him, your feet moving on his duvet.
sammy nods and leans against his wardrobe. "yeah," he says, not looking at you. "yeah, it's the best thing ever."
"that's good," you say.
he pushes away from the wardrobe and comes to sit beside you on the bed. he breathes in, close enough to touch but not touching you. "have you decided what you're gonna do?"
what're you're gonna do.
are you gonna keep the baby or not? this cop's baby?
"it would be safer if i didn't," you tell him.
he furrows his brows. "why?"
"i can't tell you."
it's a nothing answer, certainly not enough for officer sammy bryant. not for the man that's out on the streets every day, not for the man that used to be a gang detective. he knows what it means to be unsafe.
you finally look at him. cheeks wet with tears while sammy stares blankly. like he doesn't quite know how to process the lack of information you've given him.
"i want the baby," you tell him. "there's so much I gotta figure out, but I don't want to give her up."
sammy's eyebrows quirk. "her?" he asks, letting himself smile. "you think we're having a girl?" he shuffles closer, his fingers playing with your hair.
"yeah," you confirm. "I do."
sammy pulls you against him. a squeal leaves your lips as he leans back, pulling you on top of him. his hands are holding your hips, giving you no chance of escape. you wouldn't want to, anyway. for a moment, it all feels real. like you're a real couple, having a baby you've been trying for together.
not just a drunken mistake.
but you are just a drunken mistake. it dawns on you then that you know little about each other than the way his body feels on top of yours, the way his cock feels inside of you.
"we hardly know each other," you say, gently pushing on his shoulder.
but sammy doesn't let you get away. he keeps his arms around you, keeps you laying against him. "we can get to know each other," he says.
you shake your head. "trust me, sammy, there's nothing you want to know about me."
the look he gives you is so damn sad. it has you turning away from him, but the only place to look without straining your neck is in his shoulder. "don't hide from me, honey," he whispers and kisses the side of your head.
you climb off of him and wrap your arms around yourself. "i should get home," you say suddenly, your thumbs brushing against your sides.
there's a moment where sammy looks at you, dejected. like he wanted this to be more than just figuring stuff out. even then, you didn't really figure anything out. you just admitted you want his baby and that's it.
"if you wanna stay i'll take the couch," sammy tells you but you shake your head.
"no, i need to go," you say, shoving your hands into your pockets to find your keys. "but we can talk another time, okay? i just..." and you can't take the look on his face, the utter sadness. "i just gotta get home."
(yeah he's sad. another woman that doesn't want to have a baby with him. he hardly knows you, can't figure you out, but he knows he likes you. he can't begin to understand why, but he does.)
sammy reaches for his car keys on the night stand. "i'll drive you," he offers.
immediately, you're telling him no. "trust me, sammy, it's better if you don't." you say, unable to offer him more of an explanation. "but-" without asking, you reach into the front pocket of his trousers and pull out his phone. sammy takes it from you to tap in his password, but he quickly passes it back.
you add your number to his phone and abandon it on the nightstand. "text me, okay?" you say and begin walking backwards. "i'll see you soon, i promise!"
all sammy can do is accept your promise. he lets you go, walks you to the front door and watches as you head to your car.
you're thinking about him as you drive home, about how you should've stayed. but you park outside your mother's house, pulling out your phone as you head in side.
unknown number: made it home?
you: we arrived in one piece.
as he begins typing something else, you change his contact name.
officer bryant: we
officer bryant: you and baby?
you: me and baby
you tiptoe through the house. it's so dark and so quiet, but you're smarter than to think anybody is asleep. nobody exits their room to confront you as you head towards your bedroom.
***
a hand falls onto your shoulder. you look away from your cereal, looking up at your brother. "what?" you question, your face blank.
tyler slips into the seat beside you and it suddenly feels all serious. fuck, he knows. he looks at you, turns to your mother (paused in the doorway, watching the exchange).
"i need you to come do a shift with me tonight, baby," he says and turns towards your mother. "got a cop party and i'm down a waitress."
your mother tries to raise her eyebrows, but her face doesn't move, permanently frozen by botox. "cop party, huh?" she asks, like she doesn't know how popular your brother's bar is with cops. "you think that's a good idea for our baby?"
you look between them. at the way tyler is staring your mother down, the one most ready to challenge her. he'd challenge her, but he'd always fly back to the nest, back to her safety.
a cop party. at the bar where you met officer sammy bryant. your heartbeat quickens. if this situation was in any way romantic, it would be fluttering. but you don't get that luxury.
"it's fine, mom," you say and pick your cereal bowl up, running it over to the sink. "i'll do the shift, could use the cash." you pour away your milk and wash up your bowl.
she tries to furrow her brows at you. "you saying I don't pay you enough?" she questions.
you shake your head and turn away from her. "always handy to have extra cash," you say and head towards your room.
working a shift at tyler's bar is probably the only legal work you do. you don't mind it, don't mind running drinks over to waiting tables. and, if anybody gets too handsy with you, your brother is there to scare them into leaving.
it's the same bar where you met officer sammy bryant. a cop party. you're suddenly excited and terrified all at once.
your mother keeps you busy throughout the day. scouting out locations for jobs mostly. she has you doing that, watching for police, security, anybody that can cause issue for you, until tyler pulls you off the job.
you're in his bar, carrying a tray of drinks to the table in the corner. no sign of the cop party just yet, but you spend your night looking out.
turns out, the cop party has nothing to do with sammy bryant. you try not to visible deflate, trying not to make how you're really feeling all that obvious. you get on serving drinks and clearing tables.
he's not even part of the cop party. but sammy bryant steps into the bar. he looks around for a moment, but all you can do is take him in. take in his shirt. a plain one, just like the one he was wearing when you came to his house those weeks ago. his jacket that looks vintage and warm. jeans that are hugging his thighs like they're fitting his muscles a little too snug.
"take this to table twelve," you say, shoving a tray of drinks into the hands of the nearest waitress.
you stride across the floor towards sammy. his eyes widen when he spots you, his smile revealing his adorably crooked teeth.
as soon as you get to him, you reach for his hand. "how the hell did you find me in here?" you hiss over the overwhelming sounds of music and chatter.
sammy let's you pull him outside. out into the cool, Los Angeles air. just like that, you're slightly jealous of his jacket. but you don't react to the cold as goosebumps appear on your skin.
sammy leans against the wall, all cool and collected. he pulls you in, hands on your hips, and whispers in your ear. "you know Tyler Dunn owns this place, right?" he asks. you feel the bile rising. "my departments been watching this place for weeks."
you push his shoulder and he just smiles like it's exactly what he wants. "sammy, you need to stop," you say desperately. "it's a legitimate business! tyler's doing nothing wrong!"
sammy furrows his brows. "he's part of the Dunn family," he tells you like he needs to walk you through it. "do you know what that means?"
"yes, I know what it means!" you bite and look around. you can't be caught like this, this cop touching you so lovingly. "get out of here, sammy."
he shakes his head. "c'mon, sweetheart. let's get out of here."
"I can't."
sammy gets that look on his face, like he's reliving something horrible. he opens his mouth to say something, to make a wild assumption that would have had you laying a slap to his cheek.
instead, you kiss him. it works, shutting him up. sammy let's his eyes fall shut as you lean against him. your hands find his hair, making a mess of his curls. his hands roam, slipping from your hips, over your ass and down to your thighs. he hooks one leg over his hip, pressing himself against you.
fuck, you want to. you want to rub yourself against him until your shuddering through an orgasm and he's making a mess in his pants.
but you can't. you pull away from him, your fingers still in his hair. "I'll come to yours after my shift," you whisper and kiss his lips again.
sammy still has his eyes closed as he leans forward to press his forehead against your own. "okay," he agrees. "but let me come pick you up."
your lip finds it's way between your teeth and you glance towards the door. "okay," you finally agree. "but I'll text you first."
"deal," sammy agrees. you hold out your pinky and, for a moment, sammy looks at it. he looks into your eyes and links his pinky around yours like he knows you need it.
***
just like you said you would, you text sammy when you finish the shift. sammy texts you back immediately, and you wait down the block, just so nobody can see you.
it's feels colder than it should be for summer in LA. you keep your arms wrapped around yourself as you wait.
but you don't have to wait for long. sammy pulls up to the curb and leans over to push open the passenger door. "get in, sweetheart," he says.
you look around before you get into his car. if sammy notices it, he doesn't say anything. but he does take off his jacket and pass it to you.
"thank you for this, sammy," you say and pull the door shut.
he pulls away from the curb. "don't mention it," he says and begins driving you to his house. "can't let the mother of my kid walk home at night."
your cheeks grow hot when he says it. but he's right. you're the mother of his child. you're pregnant and it's his.
"i didn't know you worked at tyler dunn's bar," he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
"i don't," you reply quickly. just drop it, please!
but sammy breathes in deeply. "how'd you know tyler dunn?" he asks, hitting the turn signal before he turns down the street. his street.
the lie easily tumbles from your lips. "I used to work in there," you tell him, your nails drumming against the door panel. "saw tyler in the store and he asked me to cover one of the waitresses."
sammy nods like it makes sense. immediately, you feel like you're going to vomit. a stupid lie that came so easily to you.
the short rest of the drive is spent listening to the radio. sammy has it low as he pulls onto his driveway and kills the engine.
you get out before he has the chance to pull open your door for your. he offers you his hand and leads you towards his house, keys at the ready.
"sammy," you begin, fingers slipping between his. he pushes the key into the lock. "can I stay tonight?"
"of course you can, honey," he says and pushes open the door. "I'll take the couch."
but you shake your head, following him over to said couch. "I think we can both sleep in the bed," you tell him, sitting down to pull off your shoes.
sammy is grinning. crooked teeth on display as he tries to tidy up a bit. but he doesn't need to tidy up. everything looks fine. "sleeping's probably the tamest thing we've done," he says and sits beside you.
you tuck your hands into your lap. it's not exactly awkward as sammy moves towards the kitchen, but you're quiet, sorting through what you want to say. not exactly ready to tell him who your family is, not when he's part of the team running surveillance your brother.
this situation is a giant fucking mess. a web you don't know how to untangle.
sammy puts a piece of toast in front of you. "figured you'd be hungry," he says and sits beside you, his arm stretching across the back of the sofa.
you pick at it. but you sit back and stare at the pictures on the wall in front of you. the little boy in sammy's arms, the way he can't stop grinning at the little boy. his son. the one he has with someone else. the one he has a room for upstairs, the one he already loves so damn much.
"what are we doing here, sammy?"
he stares at you.
"i mean, you've got a kid. you've got a family." you stand and move over to the pictures on the wall. "you hardly know me, sammy. and i can't tell you the things you want to know."
sammy stands with you. he looks at the picture of him and nate on the wall. it's beside a picture of him and a blue eyed man. nate moretta.
"i had a baby with someone i'd known for years," sammy begins. "she cheated on me and i didn't know if nate was mine. but he is and i'm so fuckin' happy." he takes the picture from the wall, his thumb brushing against the frame again and again.
"you've known me a couple weeks, sammy," you whisper. "I wouldn't say you actually know me."
and sammy smiles. that smile that shows off his crooked teeth. his son has his face, you realise, so many shared similarities coming to light the more you look at them.
"we got time to talk," sammy says, taking your hand to lead you back to the couch. "i'm an open book."
***
there's a body behind you when you wake up.
he's not what wakes you up, snoring lightly with his arm around you. you'd been the one to insist he climb into the bed beside you, both of you sitting stiffly until you eventually fell asleep.
your phone is going crazy on the nightstand. it's got hardly any charge when you pick it up, the letters JD bold on the screen.
JD. jake dunn.
you swipe your finger across the screen and press it to your ear. "what the hell do you want?" you bark, your voice raspy.
sammy stirs beside you. your fingers find his hair, as if that'll keep him asleep.
"get home now." that's all jake says. he hangs up the phone but you take a moment to lay there, sammy beside you. his shirt is on your body, incredibly comfortable for an impromptu night.
he shuffles closer and presses his lips to your shoulder. a groan leaves his lips and he rolls onto his back, his hand onto his stomach. "morning," he whispers, his eyes not yet open.
you sit up and pull your knees towards your chest. "i gotta go," you tell him and pull the blanket from your body.
sammy sits up with you. he's still half asleep as you gather up your things from his floor. "already?" he asks, wiping his hand over his face. "i thought we could have breakfast together."
you pull on your own clothes, the same clothes you wore last night. "sorry, officer bryant." you let yourself smile as you say it. "i'll text you, okay?"
reluctantly, he nods. "okay," he says and stands up. "i'll drive you."
"no!"
sammy pauses, his eyebrows raised.
"you're not driving me, sammy."
he holds his hands up. "fine," he says and pulled the duvet over his bed. but he stops, sucks in a deep breath and stares at you. "do me a favour, sweetheart," he says.
you watch him for a reply.
"stay away from tyler dunn and his family."
your lip trembles. "fine," you spit, but there's no way you could mean it. "but you gotta stay away from them too."
"i'll do what i can, sweetheart."
***
your mother has you all gathered around the dining room table. she'd already chewed you out for not coming home the night before, her paranoia making her crazy.
"one of you has been keeping secrets from me," she says, hand on her hip as she looks at you and your brothers. she leans against jake's chair, like she doesn't believe it could possibly be him.
you feel so damn sick. even more so when hunter looks at you, giving away your guilt.
your mother pushes away from jake's chair. she circles the table like a sharp, watching you and tyler and hunter so closely. "while you've been here, alrez went through your apartments."
she holds her hand out. like the loyal lap dog he is, alrez strides over and places something in her hand. a clear plastic bag with something in it.
"one of you is pregnant."
she throws the plastic bag with the positive pregnancy test inside of it onto the table. all eyes turn to you.
fuck. your eyes are wide. there's a burning behind them as you try to stop yourself from crying, staring down at the test you'd taken before your mother moved you in with her.
"baby?" your mother calls in a voice that's almost sweet, like she hadn't flayed you open and exposed you to the world.
she moves quickly, playing the part of the concerned parent. you're not sure who it's for. but she reaches you, wraps her arms around you and rocks you gently. "it's okay, baby," she whispers and kisses the top of your head. "we'll take care of it."
your breath shakes as you struggle to find he words. but the sobs stop you. your mother smooths your hair down and whispers sweet words you're sure she doesn't mean. "do you know who the father is?" she asks.
"she does," hunter says when you can't speak. you could kill him.
your mother only glances at him. but her attention is back on you. "do you wanna keep it?"
they're staring at you again. waiting for your answer. you know the answer, the answer that is so easy when sammy is around. the answer you don't want to give to your mother. as soon as you say it, your baby is in danger.
"yes."
she nods as she pulls away. "okay baby," she says, moving back to the head of the table. "that's okay. we can get around it."
everything is bad. everything is terrible. you need to get back to sammy.
the stern look returns to your mother's face as she leans against jake's chair and places her hand on her hip. "i'm gonna tighten my leash around here," she says. "nobody leaves without my permission. no more slip ups."
your brothers nod like that's the most obvious solution. it's like when you were teenagers, your mother having complete and utter control over the four of you.
tyler purses his lips. "i'll need baby's help at the bar," he says and stands up. "one of my waitresses just quit so i need her."
your mother nods, giving her permission.
"and i got deliveries to make," hunter says, grabbing his bag from beside the chair.
all three of you look at jake. he shrugs his shoulders and pushes his chair out. "i've got stuff to do here, anyway," he says.
tyler places his hand on your shoulder. "c'mon," he says. "we got delivery."
delivery. you've never helped him with delivery. tyler's never needed help with delivery before. but your mom calls you name, stopping you. "you know who the father is."
you can't move.
"you don't have to tell me who it is right now, but I will find out," she says, dismissing you.
you swallow down the next wave of tears and leave through the back door. through the garage and out to where tyler waits in his car. you climb into the passenger seat and click the buckle into place.
"figured you're already feeling claustrophobic," he says as he pulls out of the driveway.
you glance into the rear view mirror. the little white subaru that's been parked on your driveway for the last for weeks sits behind you. trying to keep a distance but not really succeeding.
"she's got alrez following us," you whisper.
"i think he's following you," tyler replies. he takes a left, one that doesn't lead to the bar. another and another and another. a full circle until alrez is no longer behind you. "that guy, the one that came into the bar last night," he begins, continuing on to the bar. "he's the dad, isn't he?"
your throat tightens. "you can't tell mom. ty, please," you beg, holding onto the seat belt like it's a lifeline. "she can't know."
"i won't tell her," he says, pulling around the back of the bar. he kills the engine and sorts through his keys until he finds the little brass one for the back door of the bar. "if you tell me why i recognise the guy."
the back room of the bar always stinks of weed. that's hunter and tyler, in the early hours of the morning, when the bar is closed and the rest of the world is asleep. you wonder if the police is watching then, if it's just not a big enough crime to arrest them on.
"it's complicated."
"not an answer, baby," tyler says as he flips on the lights. the bar comes to life.
you sit on the little couch in the back office. you suck in a shaking breath. "fuck," you say and grab the lumpy cushion. there's a tin of candies behind it, a tin that definitely doesn't contain candies. "all i've done since i find out is cry, i swear."
"pregnancy will do that to you," tyler says, like he knows what he's talking about.
you stare at him. "you got a girl pregnant, didn't you?" god, you hardly remembered that.
"moved to canada before she had the baby," tyler finishes the story. "so, who's the guy?"
the undercover car seems obvious when you look through the window. two plainclothes officers sitting in the car, watching the two of you.
"he's been to the bar a couple times," you say, picking at the loose threads in the cushion. "with the cops."
tyler stops. "you're kidding. you gotta be kidding, baby." he looks out of the window, like he knows the place is being watches. "you're not having a cops baby."
"he's a good man."
tyler grabs your shoulders. "does he know who you are?" spit flies into your face as tyler shakes you slightly. "does he know you're a dunn?"
"no!" you insist, pushing him away. "i haven't told him anything!"
tyler lets out a breath and steps away from you. he moves over to the monitor, where the camera feed back to him. "tyler," you call as he goes through the different feeds. "if i wanted to run, would you help me?"
"yeah," he says quickly, like he's not really listening to you. "hold up, i got someone at the door."
he pushes away from the monitors, grabs the candy tin from beside you, and heads through the bar.
"i didn't think you were doing this anymore!" you call after him. "i thought this was hunter's thing now!"
"it is," tyler says and pulls open the door.
he does his deal while you sit there. liquor delivery should be any moment, and the bar can go back to being a legitimate business.
"hey, what the-"
you're on your feet, rushing towards the door.
"dealing again, tyler?"
you know that voice.
"i guess hunter's too busy murdering detectives. nate moretta. that name mean anything to you?"
tyler shakes his head.
"well it should." sammy gets close enough to hiss it in his ear. "because your brother killed him."
he doesn't see you, not at first. you want to be able to appreciate how good he looks in his uniform, but he's got your brother against the wall, cuffing him.
his partner, the blonde, spots you first. "sammy," he says and sammy let's go of your brother.
he doesn't react at first, just staring. he turns to his partner. "you got this?" he asks and his partner takes over.
"sammy," you say as he strides towards you. he looks so big and strong in his uniform, his every step like his muscles are just too heavy.
"come on," he says, grasping your arm. it's harsher than you've felt it before, squeezing your upper arm.
sammy drags you through the back office and outside. he doesn't look at anything else tyler might have stashed in there, any other evidence of the crimes your mother made him commit.
he pulls you out the back door, pulling it shut behind you. "I thought i told you to stay away from the dunn family," he says, his voice harsher than you've heard him before. "you told me you would."
"it's more complicated than that," you say, leaning against the wall.
"how?" he paces, pushing his fingers through his hair. "how is it complicated? i asked you to stay away from the dunns and-and i what? arrest you just for being here?"
you hold out your hands, wrists together. "arrest me, officer bryant."
immediately, his face softens. "sweetheart, no," he says, stepping towards you. "i'm not gonna arrest you." he's close enough now that you can reach out and touch him. so you do, bringing him in close. "but you gotta tell me what's going on."
you look back towards the bar. "sammy, they'll kill me." your voice doesn't waver as you say it. it's terrifying how damn sure you are of yourself. "they'll kill me or hurt the baby or..."
your hand is over your stomach when sammy grabs it. he places it over his chest. if it wasn't for his kevlar vests, you'd be able to feel his beating heart. "i'm not gonna let them hurt you."
sammy pulls you against his chest. he pets your head, holds you against his shoulder. "i-" your breath catches in your throat. you pull away from him to cough, but sammy wont let you go. "they're my family," you finally say. "I'm a dunn."
he doesn't push you away, doesn't stop petting your hair. he doesn't say anything. "sammy." you don't want the spell to break, don't want him to stop touching you.
"you're baby dunn," he says slowly.
"yeah," you confirm.
he sucks in a breath, his mouth pulling to the side. he closes his eyes and kisses the top of your head. "it's okay," he whispers finally. "i can protect you."
"they know, sammy," you tell him, holding onto his uniform. "and tyler knows she's yours."
she.
"haven't started showing yet, honey."
you laugh weakly. but your face falls just as quickly. "i need you to make it look like you're arresting me," you tell him, turning in his arms with your hands behind your back. "do what you gotta do. just make it look like you're arresting me."
he sucks in a sharp breath. sammy grabs his cuffs and places them around your wrists. he gives the chain linking them a tug. "think we can put these back on later?" he whispers, pressing you against the wall.
you turn, your eyebrows raised. but you're not crying, going so far as to look mildly amused.
sammy starts shouting before he walks you back into the building. "finally got the elusive baby dunn!" he shouts, loud enough for tyler and his partner to hear.
sammy marches you forward. he's not pushing, just holding you at arms length. "let him go, man," he says to his partner. "we got what we really want."
his partner uncuffs your brother. he doesn't question it, just let's sammy do what he needs to do.
"officers, she hasn't done anything!" tyler insists, following the officers out of the bar. "you can't arrest her!"
sammy stops. "you got something you want to confess to, tyler?" he asks and tyler backs up.
he gets you in the back and drives away before his partner says anything. "what're we doing?" he asks, glancing back at you.
sammy looks in the rear view mirror. "that is baby dunn," he says slowly. "probably the only member of the dunn family we can't arrest," he says and hands his partner the key. "uncuff her."
"if we can't arrest her, why is she here?" he asks, uncuffing you.
sammy glances at you again as you rub your wrists. "because she's pregnant with my kid."
You thought you’d have to convince Sid to like your baby names, but turns out his list is just as hippie as yours
cw: lightly insinuated age gap, very fluffy, anxious reader, & this being the product of Gigi rewriting it 4 times
✧˖°.˚ ˚.° ˖ ✧ ✧˖°.˚ ˚.° ˖ ✧ ✧˖°.˚ ˚.° ˖ ✧
Everybody assumed that being pregnant would make you emotional about the big things:
~ the first kick
~the first ultrasound
~finding out the gender
But unfortunately not a single person warned you that you'd nearly cry because of a list of names. Especially not a list that belonged to your husband. Because if there was one thing you thought you knew about Sidney Crosby, it was that he liked tradition. Not in a boring way. Just in a... Sidney way. The man drove sensible cars, folded laundry immediately after it came out of the dryer, and still wrote grocery lists on actual paper. He called his grandmother every Sunday. He wore the same lucky hoodie for years. He still thought getting to the airport three hours early was "cutting it close despite record levels of successful travel experience. Traditional. Steady. Predictable. Wonderful.
Which was why you'd been quietly preparing yourself for the baby name conversation for months. You were six months pregnant now, the nursery half-finished upstairs and tiny clothes slowly taking over every available surface in the house. Sidney had embraced every single one of your baby purchases. Every single one. The knitted duck booties. The cloud-shaped nightlights that dimmed and illuminated on Bluetooth timers just so your baby wouldn’t have to get used to the big light right after waking up or before going to sleep when your hands were too full rocking them to turn down the dial manually near the switch. There were the tiny overalls that were objectively impractical but made you want to cry because they were so small. The 0-3 month Wellington boots because that’s when the baby wouldn’t be experiencing their first spring despite having no functioning ability to actually walk in them. The stuffed goose you'd bought purely because its face looked ridiculous and it looked kind enough in the boutique store for you to pout already thinking about teaching baby Crosby how to make friends. Every time you'd come home carrying another bag, Sidney would just smile and ask where you wanted it. You'd always interpreted that the same way. Sidney lets me have whatever I want. Which was sweet, but absolutely not mutually exclusive to agreeing with you. Because in your head, there was a difference between letting your pregnant wife buy a stuffed bunny and actually wanting your child named something unconventional.
You'd spent months carefully constructing a strategy. Ease him into it. Start with names that weren't too unusual. Work your way up. Don't immediately hit him with the ones you actually loved. You were absolutely convinced he'd want something like William, or James, or maybe even Richie if he was having a particularly well going about day. Something dignified, something that sounded like it came with a trust fund and a bath robe with their initials on it for every age. Meanwhile your own list looked significantly less conservative. Nothing crazy. Just softer names. Warmer names. Names that sounded like sunshine and wildflowers and storybooks. The sort of names you assumed Sidney would need convincing on. Which was why you hadn't actually shown him the full list yet. You'd only dropped hints. Tested the waters. Started reading candle labels aloud for him in stores just to see what he was more inclined to want in your home. Gathering data was a good way to put it. Like a scientist. A very hormonal scientist who was lowkey more petrified of getting her heart broken over something so important. Which is partly why you’d withheld this long in the first place.
Today, however, your carefully constructed plan completely exploded entirely by accident. It started because Sidney had left his notebook on the kitchen counter. Normally you wouldn't go through it. Not because it was special, but because it wasn’t unusually to just be there. Sidney loved his notebooks. Like genuinely, you got into fabric decorating a few years ago, and he carried around the leather-cased notebook you gold-foiled your anniversary on every day until it ran out. But even then, he keeps it in the top drawer of his desk like a prized possession. There were hockey notes, training schedules, random reminders. The man wrote everything down. Said actually putting it on paper helped it feel more real to remember. But you'd been looking for a pen. A simple pen. And when you opened the notebook, thinking it was empty paper— You froze. Because written across the top of the page was: BABY NAMES. You blinked. Then immediately felt guilty despite the fact the two of you always shared everything. Which probably came from hiding this one particular topic. The guilt was quickly followed by curiosity, which led immediately to you deciding curiosity was stronger than guilt. Just this once. It really would be informative to look. You lowered yourself onto a stool. And started reading. The first name made you stop.
Sunny
You stared. Sunny? You looked around the empty kitchen, making sure your perception wasn't warping anywhere else. Then back to the page. Sunny Crosby. You read it again. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe he'd heard it somewhere. Maybe— Your eyes dropped lower.
Birdie Sunny
Goldie Holden
Dove Phoenix
Poppy Archer
Honey Wren
You stopped breathing. Birdie. Birdie! Your husband: Sidney Crosby. Captain Serious. Mr. Traditional. Had written Birdie Crosby on a list. You flipped the page. There were more... so many more.
Hope Levi
Iris Ever
Hazel Fox
Marigold Cedar
You actually covered your mouth. "Oh, my God." Because not only were these names unconventional. They were somehow significantly more hippy than yours. Your list suddenly looked conservative. You'd been preparing arguments, research, and cute nicknames. Meanwhile, Sidney had apparently been sitting around inventing woodland fairies. The moment may as well have been directly added to your core memories because finding out your husband's list of names he wanted to bring into the house, having been essentially what yours was before you told yourself you needed to turn it down, sent enough emotions through your body that it more or less made you feel like you were glowing in the best way. Surprise after all these years. He still surprised you after all these years.
Your eyes found little notes scribbled beside some names.
River - feels peaceful.
Sunny - impossible to be sad saying this.
Birdie - adorable.
Willow - sounds kind.
You genuinely felt your heart squeeze. There was something devastatingly sweet about seeing how he'd thought about them. Not whether they sounded professional. Not whether they'd look good on a business card, just how they felt.How kind they sounded. How happy they sounded. Your vision blurred. Pregnancy hormones were dangerous. You sniffed. Then sniffed again. Then suddenly started crying. Not dramatic crying. Just quiet emotional tears. Because somehow this ridiculous man had managed to surprise you again. You'd assumed he was tolerating your dreams. Supporting them because he loved you. Meanwhile he'd apparently been dreaming right alongside you. Maybe even further. The front door opened. "Hey sweetheart?"
You heard hockey gear hit the floor. Then footsteps. Then: "...why are you crying?" You looked up. Sidney froze halfway into the kitchen. Immediate panic. The kind he always got whenever you cried. His eyes dropped to your face. Then the notebook. Then your face again. Then the notebook. His expression changed. "Oh." You pointed accusingly. "What is this?"
His ears turned pink immediately, you almost had to suppress awing at him and it made you wonder if Baby Crosby would inherit his adorable sense of Canadian accountability. Which told you everything. "Oh no," you said. "You're embarrassed."
"I'm not embarrassed."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You wrote Birdie." His face somehow became even redder.
"Oh my God."
"No it's so adorable, you wrote Birdie."
Sidney rubbed the back of his neck. "It is cute."
You laughed through your tears. The poor man looked trapped. Like he'd been caught doing something illegal. Instead of secretly liking adorable baby names. "I thought you wanted traditional names."
Now he looked confused. "What?"
"Traditional names."
"Why?"
You stared. "Because you're you." That apparently wasn't enough of an explanation because now he looked even more confused. "What does that mean?"
"You know."
"No." "You fold fitted sheets."
"That's not related."
"It absolutely is." He laughed, actually laughed. Then walk over and gently took the notebook from your hands. You watched him flip through the pages gently as if the paper itself was as delicate as the sentiment. Still blushing, adorable.
"How long have you had this?"
It was impossible to say the question didn't land with how it caused Sidney's entire face to change. It wasn't dramatic—just a tiny hesitation, a brief glance away—but after years together she knew exactly what it meant. Vulnerability. Immediate, undeniable rawness to the room. Your eyes narrowed. "Sidney."
"I don't know."
"That's a lie.”
"It's not a lie."
"You know exactly how long." He sighed through his nose, already losing the battle. "Maybe..." Another pause. "Maybe since the first ultrasound."
You stared at him. The first ultrasound had been almost four months ago. Four months. Four months of him carrying this notebook around. Four months of not knowing the gender. Four months of secretly adding names and little notes and star ratings. Four months of quietly imagining a tiny person that didn't even exist in the world yet.
"Sidney." Your voice came out much smaller than she'd intended. "The *first* ultrasound?"
His ears immediately started turning pink. "Yeah."
You looked down at the page again. Suddenly all the different handwriting made sense. Some names were darker, some lighter, some squeezed into margins, some crossed out and rewritten. This wasn't a random list he'd made one evening. It was months of collecting little pieces of their future. Months of seeing a name somewhere and thinking about their baby. Months of dreaming. Your throat tightened painfully. "You've been carrying this around for four months?"
He shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the table. "Sometimes I'd hear one and write it down."
–You could have cried right there.
While you had been assuming she cared more, assuming you were the one obsessing over tiny clothes and nursery decorations and baby names, whilst he hyperfocused on your safety mainly but also very intensely focused on stroller safety and air purifiers, Sidney had apparently been doing his own version in secret. Quietly. Patiently. Like he did everything. You reached for the notebook again, turning another page and finding even older entries. Some had dates beside them. Actual dates.
"You *dated* them?"
Sidney looked caught. "Maybe."
"You made a timeline?"
"Maybe."
Your eyes immediately filled with tears. "Oh, that's devastating."
"Why?"
"Because you're so excited." His expression softened instantly, the embarrassed smile slipping into something gentler. Something honest. "Yeah," he admitted quietly, looking down at the list. "I really am."
And somehow that was the sentence that finally broke you, because he said it so simply. No jokes. No teasing. Just the truth. Four months of secret lists and scribbled notes and names that sounded like they belonged in a storybook, and all of it because he was already completely in love with someone he hadn't even met yet.
"You had Birdie locked away for months?" He groaned. "Can we stop talking about Birdie?" "No."
"Please."
"Never." He dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. You could feel him smiling, wide, obnoxious, surrounded in his own love, smiling, and suddenly it was nothing to do with the notebook still trapped in his hands anymore.
"You thought I'd hate your names?" he asked quietly.
You nodded. "A little."
His head lifted immediately. "What?"
You shrugged. "Not hate."
"But?"
"I don't know." He watches you mumble as she picks at the sleeve of his shirt. "I just thought maybe you'd have a baseline."
"A baseline?" Sidney's eyebrows raise like that was borderline painful to believe.
"You know.. like normal names."
"Normal names?" The amusement in his voice was getting unbearable. You point directly back at the notebook which is still face up lying there like a moral presentation. "You named a child Ocean."
"It was a possibility."
"A possibility?"
"Yeah."
"You wrote three stars beside it." His laugh echoed through the kitchen. Loud. Uncontrolled. Your favorite version to watch when his eyes crinkle and he smiles wide. "You counted the stars?"
"Obviously."
He sat beside you.One hand immediately finding your stomach. Instinctively protective as ever in a way that had no way of being suppressed for a man as attentive as Sid. "You really thought I was secretly hoping for William?"
You looked away like maybe he got it a little too on the head in a way that shouldn’t have been so surprising for a man that studied you like art. The grin on his face grew. "Sweetheart." That tone. The soft one. The one that always melted you. The next things he says however could have been offensive given he was using it in reason. Even if he garnishes his amusement in genuine warmth.
"You bought our baby a blueberry pie pillow because it had a face on it."
"Okay?"
"You decorated the nursery around ducks."
"They're cute." "You cried over tiny overalls."
"They were emotional overalls."
"They were denim. They were tiny and Carhartt Sidney."
He laughed again, then squeezed your knee. "I never thought you'd pick names I didn't like."
Your chest tightens as it all seems to sink in again. The realization wobbles from your lip as you speak.
"Really?"
"Really."
The answer came immediately. Certain, like it wasn't even a question. In a way that made every other option feel like it was trespassing through your mind instead of being valuable like you had thought. He looked down at your stomach. At the baby. At the future. Then back at you. "I like the things you like."
Your eyes immediately filled again. It really would just be easier to make friends with it at this point.. "Oh no."
"What?"
"Don't say sweet things."
He grinned. "Why? I’m your husband."
"Because I'll cry."
"You already are crying."
"Exactly." His thumb brushed away a tear. Gentle, patient. The way he always handled you. Especially lately. Pregnancy had somehow made him even softer. Which seemed impossible. "I just thought," you admitted quietly, "that maybe you were going along with all the baby stuff because you wanted me to be happy."
His expression immediately softened, the teasing disappearing quicker than it came. And suddenly he looked almost heartbroken. "Baby." Just that one word. Baby. You already knew. "I am going along with it because you make me happy."
Your face crumpled immediately. "Oh, that's awful."
He laughed, full and homly. "That's not awful."
"It made me emotional."
"Everything makes you emotional."
"That's mean."
"It's true." He replies, but based on the smile on his face, you'd have to take it in stride as a compliment. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek. Then finally re-rested his hand over yours on your stomach. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think our kid's gonna have a weird name."
You snorted. "A weird name?”
"A little."
"You wrote Cedar."
"I stand by Cedar."
"You wrote Fox."
"I still like Fox." And unfortunately that one makes you nod, looking down at you lap like you’re starting to finally, deep in your bones, accept the truth. You were both on the same weird page and there was no longer any safety in ignoring it. Because his opinion mattered more than anyone else’s to you and now it was sealed, his solidarity was real.
"You wrote Ocean." His grin widened. "Okay Ocean might've been ambitious."
"Ambitious?"
"Too much?"
"Sidney."
"What, I grew up by the ocean that makes it sentimental" And to be fair, you couldn’t fight it. Not something that cute. So instead you just lean into his shoulder. The familiar haven you found beneath your temple times on end. Disciplined muscle, structure, safety. Warm, comfortable, home.
His hand leaves your stomach for just a millisecond to tap the page with complete sincerity. "Plus, the first baby's name matters," you peek one eye open to see his theatrics. "All baby names matter."
"No, but the first one especially. It sets the vibe."
You immediately feel a giggle making its way up your throat. "Sets the vibe?"
"Yeah." He gestured vaguely with both hands, clearly believing this was a completely normal statement. "People hear the oldest kid's name, and they get a feel for the family”
“If you got to set the vibe, you'd start playing Phil Collins and dim the lights."
Sidney's hands fly in your direction as if you'd accidentally supported his argument perfectly. "Phil Collins named his daughter Lily."
You blink out of sheer knowledge that this is the way this conversation is going. He's fully committing himself to this reference now. "You know that?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it's a nice name." This is hilariously unbelievable– you think, his own mother probably wouldn't believe this is happening if you told her. Well, the act of him researching something connected to something in his life absolutely, but not this subject, never in a million years.
"You searched for Phil Collins' children?"
"I didn't search—" He stopped when he saw your expression and then immediately folded after getting a sense, aka your glare, that he was in too deep to hesitate now. "Okay, maybe I looked up a few celebrity baby names."
You couldn't help but shift to face him more, laughing so hard your bump tightened, but she wasn't passing up front row seats to this event, even though she was the only other one besides the dog here. "You are unbelievable." Sidney, meanwhile, looked entirely pleased with himself. "Lily Collins is successful!"
"That's not how baby names work."
"I think it helps." And god, unfortunately that was as handsome of an answer as you could expect him to counter you on. Because reminded you of how sweet he was. Despite his career he was still built deep down on being genuinely optimistic.
"You think being named Lily got her acting jobs?"
"I'm saying it's a strong start."
Sid counters because your entire relationship was supported by banter and honesty, and now he just had another jury member to persuade, the fact that they're in your womb manages to dampen the conviction none at all. You try to contain yourself but every tear that falls from laughing out runs you at this point.
"So your strategy for naming our child is apparently woodland fairy meets Phil Collins?"
"I think that's a reasonable middle ground."
The fact that he sounded genuinely serious only made your laugh harder while Sidney sat there nodding thoughtfully, as though he'd just delivered a groundbreaking parenting philosophy. And maybe he had with how the notebook was still resting between you. Full of evidence that he'd been imagining this baby just as much as you had. Maybe more. You looked down at the page again. At the scribbled names. The little notes beside them. At the stars, underlines, and crossed-out ideas, months of dreaming, months of excitement. Months of him quietly building a future in his head. Probably years now that you can think with a little more clarity. Your future. Together. Like you’d always had been since day one. And suddenly one name caught your eye again. Birdie. You smiled teasing and coy but also true in a way that happened to run through your blood now. "Birdie's cute."
Sidney groaned so loudly that you nearly fell off the stool laughing. But when you looked up, he was smiling too and somehow that made your heart melt even more.
"I still have to show you my list by the way" you poke just to seal the deal, but it doesn't really work because he's already taking your hand and saying, "I've already read it three times, but lead the way, honey!" “You did what-?” “You linked me to the note!” “You saw that? You never look at your notes app!” He just kisses the side of your head, “I see everything you send me, sweetheart.” So maybe it wasn't so bad.
✧˖°.˚ ˚.° ˖ ✧ ✧˖°.˚ ˚.° ˖ ✧ ✧˖°.˚ ˚.° ˖ ✧
author's note: hi lovies! Like I said, I re-wrote this 4 times to the point that I can't actually focus on whether this is good or not because I keep replaying the same words. i will definitely dive more into fluffy sid and preg!reader another time i just had to get this out before i scrapped it. i really hope you liked it tho, thank you for reading xx
PLOT! the five times Egg realizes his father was in love with his aunt and the one time he realized how truly doomed they were.
pairing: maekar targaryen x reader
word count: around 5.4k
a/n: NO TARGCEST. this is the first time i wrote in a while, so might not be my best (i also wrote the first part and the ending first and then got lazy writing the middle)
SOME LOVES ARE LOUD ENOUGH TO SHAKE KINGDOMS. Others live and die in stolen glances, in half-finished sentences, in the spaces between what is felt and what is never allowed to be spoken.
The first time Egg realized his father was in love with his aunt, it came to him as most truths did in his childhood: carelessly and from the mouth of someone who should have known better.
The afternoon was hot, with the sun beating down hard on Egg's back, slicking it with hot droplets of sweat. It felt unbearable. Dust was also clinging to the air, to his skin and to the back of his throat.
He thought that squiring would be something finer than this. Something worthy of the stories and songs. Instead it was just weight. It was sweat. It was the sour, lingering scent of wine that followed Daeron everywhere he went.
"Seven save me," Daeron muttered, swaying as Egg struggled with the fastening at his shoulder. "Did they give me a squire or a stableboy?"
"I can do it," Egg said eagerly.
"You always can," Daeron replied, listing his cup. "And yet..."
He did not finish his thought. Egg bit down on his tongue and tried again. His fingers slipped. Until by chance or pure stubbornness, the buckle caught.
Egg stepped back and looked up at his perfect work, waiting for some well deserved praise. But recieved nothing. Egg groaned and looked up ready to complain to Daeron but the older boy was no longer looking at him.
His gaze had gone elsewhere, beyond the yard, beyond the garden hedges, fixed on something Egg could not yet see.
"What is it?" Egg asked, rising onto his toes, as though the height might grant him some assistance with the high hedge. It did not.
Daeron did not answer at once. He drank what remained in his cup, slow and unhurried.
"Have you ever noticed the way Father behaves around her?"
Egg frowned. "Around who?" (the boy was now jumping up and down to try and gain some view beyond the hedges).
"Our aunt. (Y/N)"
Egg blinked. "No?"
Daeron hummed softly. "It's nothing. Less than nothing."
Egg wracked his brain trying to come up with some possible answer to what Daeron was insinuating. "Does Father have some problem with her?"
Egg was worried then because you as well as your family were meant to come to Summerhall before coming with them to Ashford for a tourney.
"Quite the opposite." Daeron turned to Egg and wiggled his brows. Egg frowned, knowing what that meant. "That doesn't mean anything."
"No, it doesn't."
"She's married. To Prince Baelor."
Daeron hummed.
"Father wouldn't-" Egg stopped, the rest of the thought refusing to settle into something. "He loved Mother."
At that, something in Daeron's experession shifted.
"He did."
The words hung there, unfinished. Egg waited for more but none came. "She's our aunt."
"And he's our father."
Egg shook his head. "You're wrong."
"Perhaps." Daeron set his empty cup aside and crouched slightly, bringing himself nearer to Egg's height. "Just watch him. You'll see it, or maybe you won't. These sort of things aren't meant to be seen at all."
He straightened, clapping a hand against Egg's shoulder. "Come on. I'll need another drink before I pretened to be a knight again."
Egg followed, though more slowly. He told himself there was nothing. Daeron was just drunk and imagining things.
The second time Egg noticed, no one said a word at all.
It happened in the Great Hall, in the lull between courses, when the noise softened just enough to hear the quieter things. The scrapes of a cup against the table, the half whispers of conversations and all that. The portion of the night where everyone was relaxed.
Egg had not meant to watch. He told himself he wasn't. But Daeron's voice had settled somewhere in the back of his mind and it was impossible to ignore it. So he took Daeron's words to heart. Watch him.
So he did. Egg watched his father from his place at the dinner table next to Aemon (who had his head buried in some large textbook. Egg was slightly concered over his brother's potential future neck problems).
His father sat at the end of the high table by his brother and Egg's uncle. His posture was straight and his expression was carved hard. He spoke when spoken to, nodded whe required and drank very little. There was little to nothing strange about it.
Until, his Aunt (Y/N) laughed.
It was not loud, nothing that would turn heads or draw attention to it. (Y/N)'s laugh was a lovely one and a familiar one to Egg. (The laugh came from a joke that Matarys told her but Egg did not hear what it was. From what he knew of his cousin, Egg didn't think it was a funny joke and his aunt was just being polite).
But Egg saw it. The way his father had stilled. Not entirely or in a dramatic way. But it was as if the statue had been shooken. A breath that was being held onto for a second too long.
Egg frowned. His father did not turn, did not look, his gaze remained fix on Baelor as the two were in a conversation. Maekar did not speak right away. Baelor carried on, asking a question that was answered by some lesser lord sitting next to Maekar. His paused moment slipped past, unoticed by all except for Egg.
It meant nothing, Egg told himself. Less than nothing.
People paused all the time. People lost their places. It was not uncommon. Afterall some people just get lost in their thoughts. It was not-
His father's hand tightened slightly around his cup. So slight it might have been imagined. Egg watched however, as he took a measured drink and set it back down with too much attention than it required.
Still, he did not look. Not at you. Egg found his gaze looking upon you instead. Looking radiant in the red silks that were probably made in Dorne. You had now reached your hand over to your husbands to get his attention, and leaned in to speak with a soft smile.
Prince Baelor and Princess (Y/N). Future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They looked right. They looked happy. The very pitcture of what Egg thought a loving marriage would look lile. As though the world had placed them exactly where they were meant to be. Egg was content knowing they loved each other.
So Egg went back to his food and started to shift his peas from his plate to Aemon's instead. Content to pretend that he was overanalyzing his father's behaviour.
The third time Egg noticed, it was close enough to touch.
It happened in the gardens, where the air was softer and world felt far away from the Seven Kingdoms. Egg had not meant to follow. At the time it had felt like nothing at all. He was just wandering paths he knew well, doing his best to avoid the maesters and his lessons.
That was until he saw them. He stopped before he could be seen and hid behind a tree.
They stood beneath the shade of an overgrown arbor, where the light filtered through in fragments painting them in gold. It was rather close. Not close enough to be indecent or improper. Just, closer than what was necessary.
(Y/N) was speaking, though it was too soft that the words could not reach Egg. Instead he had to settle on watching the shape of them. As (Y/N) was speaking his father did not interrupt, did not look away. Just gazed at your face.
From the looks of it, you had finished speaking and there was a moment of silence between the two of you. Then, your hand had lifted.
It wasn't anything dramatic. Just brushing your hand against his sleeve. It should have been nothing because it was nothing. But again, his father had stilled. The way his breath seemed to catch, the way his hand at his side tightened just slightly.
He did not pull away, did not reach back, did not move at all. The two of you stood there, closer than what one would expect, with your hand on his arm. To Egg, it looked like a different sort of painting. One he had not seen at the dinner the other night.
Then you stepped back and distance returned. Whatever had just been there, slipped neatly back into place.
His father inclined his said, said something Egg could not hear but it was probably something drab (his father was a rather blunt speaker). Whatever it was, it resulted in a smiling (Y/N). Your smile was smaller and softer and gone quicker than normal.
And then it was all over again.
Egg did not move from where he stood, though he knew he should. He felt as if he was intruding on something. His thoughts felt tangled. Nothing had occured.
With that, he took a step back and starting walking back into the castle.
The fourth time Egg noticed, it nearly did not remain theirs alone.
It was not meant to be a moment at all. That was what made it dangerous.
The corridors were quieter at that hour, the castle settling into itself as the evening wore on. Voices dulled behind closed doors. Footsteps softened. Even the torches seemed to burn lower, their light unsteady against the stone. Everyone was preparing for bed.
Egg had been sent on some errand he no longer remembered.
It did not matter. He would forget it entirely, later.
What he would remember, what would stay, was this:
The turn of a corner. The sound of a voice, too low to make out. And the way he stopped before he understood why.
This time, from behind a corridor, Egg saw them at the far end of the passage, half-shadowed, as though the castle itself meant to keep their secret.
They were close. Too close. Much closer than before in the garden.
Once again you were speaking. Or not. Even in the dimmed hallway, Egg could see you were loosing your composure. The normal picture perfect you seemed frazzle in the dark corridor. Words were spilling out quick but quietly. As if it was something that had been held back for too long.
Egg could not hear them, only feel the shape of them in the air, sharp and unsteady. (He was thinking to himself that he should really work on his sneaking abilities so he could somehow find himself closer so he could properly eavesdrop).
His father said nothing. He only watched you. Not as a prince might. Not as a brother should. As though the rest of the world had fallen away.
Egg’s breath caught, though he did not know why. He should not have been there. He knew that. And yet he did not move.
You stopped speaking. The silence that followed was not empty. It pressed in, taut, waiting.
His father took a step forward. It was small, measured and hesitant. Enough to close what little distance remained between you.
Egg felt it then, that strange, tightening awareness, like a thread pulled too thin. Something was about to happen. Something that could not be undone.
Your hand lifted, hesitant, uncertain, as though you had not meant to do it at all. His father’s followed. Not touching. Never touching.
But close enough that the space between them felt like something real. Something fragile. Something one breath away from breaking.
And for a moment, the two of you didn't move.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. And the spell shattered. Your hand dropped at once. His father stepped back just as quickly, the distance snapping into place as though it had never been crossed at all.
By the time the servants turned the corner, there was nothing to see.
It was just a prince standing where he ought to stand. A lady composed, untouched. Silence, neat and proper, where something else had been moments before.
Egg pressed himself back against the wall, heart beating too fast for something he did not understand.
No one noticed. No one said a word. And yet, Egg knew.
That it had almost—
He swallowed, the thought slipping from him before it could take shape.
It had been nothing.
A step taken. A hand lifted. A moment that came too close to becoming something more.
The fifth time Egg noticed, nothing threatened to happen at all.
There was no interruption waiting in the wings. No footsteps. No tension poised to break. Only certainty.
It happened in a corridor (the same one as before) and he was not meant to linger in, though he had long since stopped believing that mattered. The castle had begun to feel less like a place one moved through, and more like something that simply contained him.
He heard your voice first. And then his father’s.
Egg stopped before he saw you.
You stood facing one another, not hidden, not secret, simply… there. As though there had never been anything to conceal.
Your hands were folded neatly before you, composed and contorlled. The opposite of what you looked like the previous night he had seen the pair of you.
“I leave with Baelor at first light,” you said. Your voice did not tremble. It did not need to.
His father nodded once. “I know.”
No hesitation. No question. Only acknowledgment.
Egg watched the way you held his gaze for a moment longer than was necessary. Not lingering. Not resisting. Just, steady.
“As it should be,” you added quietly.
It was not said like a comfort. It was said like a truth that had already been lived. His father’s expression did not change. But something in him did.
Not outward. Not visible in any way that would matter to anyone else. Only Egg saw it.
The smallest tightening at the corner of his mouth. The faintest pause in his breathing. As though something had been set down carefully, something heavy, something once held too close.
“You will be well,” he said. It was not a wish. It was a fact he had chosen to believe.
You gave a small nod. “As will you.”
And that was all.
No step forward. No reach. No fracture in the space between you. Only distance, held deliberately in place. As if it had always belonged there.
You turned first.
Not away from him in avoidance, but toward what was waiting for you beyond the corridor. Beyond the castle. Beyond this moment entirely.
Duty, already ahead of you.
His father did not watch you leave. Not when it mattered. Not when it might have changed anything.
He simply stood there until your footsteps faded completely, until even the echo had gone soft enough to disappear.
Then he turned away as well.
Egg remained where he was. Not because he was unseen. But because there was nothing left to witness.
Only something he finally understood in full:
Not all loves ended in ruin. Some ended in choice. And in that choice, quiet, certain, unspoken they had already lost each other long before either of them ever reached for anything at all.
The one and probably last time Egg understood how truly doomed they were, it was at Ashford Meadow.
Some loves are loud enough to shake kingdoms.
Others live and die in stolen glances, in half-finished sentences, in the spaces between what is felt and what is never allowed to be spoken.
The tourney had turned the world bright again.
Colour returned in banners and gowns, in the gleam of armor beneath the sun, in laughter that carried too far across the fields as though nothing in the world had ever been wrong.
For a moment, Egg believed in that brightness.
He had never seen so much life. Never felt so far from the boy he was meant to be. He had lost Daeron somewhere in a tavern’s chaos and shaved his head in reckless relief, as though shedding identity might make him freer. He had even met a hedge knight, Ser Duncan, before the crowd swallowed him whole.
Then the royal family arrived. And everything began, quietly, to fall into place.
Egg hid among skirts and passing legs as he watched them take their places. His aunt stood near the pavilion.
The wind caught at her dress, lifting it in soft, unsteady motion, and for a moment she looked less like a princess and more like something imagined, something almost too gentle for the weight of her name.
She smiled more easily now. Baelor lived. And so she could, too.
He stood beside her with easy warmth, speaking to those who approached them, his hand resting at the small of her back as though it had always belonged there.
She laughed at something he said, turning toward him, bright and unburdened.
It should have been enough. It was enough.
And still... Egg knew, somewhere deep and unspoken, that in another life, in another shape of the world, it might have been his father standing there instead.
Behind them, Maekar stood at a careful distance, speaking with a lord he was not truly listening to. His attention kept returning, again and again, to where it should not.
There was no grief in it. No rupture. No visible wound.
Only something quieter. Something held too tightly to be named.
Their eyes met once. His father’s. Hers.
It lasted no more than a heartbeat. And yet Egg felt it as something entire. A silence stretched between them, thin, precise, almost reverent.
Until Baelor spoke her name.
She turned. And the moment was gone. The world continued exactly as it should have. But Egg did not move. He watched.
Later, Baelor was called away. And Maekar stepped into his place beside her. It looked like nothing. It was nothing.
A conversation between in-laws. A passing exchange. A courtesy sustained by courtly habit.
But Egg saw too closely now. The ease that should not have been ease. The closeness that should not have existed at all. A handmaiden passed. Words were spoken too quietly to catch.
And then, Maekar offered his arm. She took it with no hesitation. It was a simple thing.
And yet the way her fingers settled there, the way his arm did not move away, the way neither of them corrected the distance. It felt like recognition. Like something remembered instead of chosen.
Too familiar to be coincidence. Too natural to be allowed. A blush rose faintly at his father’s neck. Gone as quickly as it came.
And for a moment, it felt almost right.
Until Valarr came running, bright and alive, breaking everything open again. The spell did not shatter. It simply… dispersed. Like smoke.
The world ended at Ashford Meadow.
It did not, of course.
The sun still rose over Ashford, pale and indifferent. The wind still moved through the fields, stirring banners that now hung heavy and dark. People still spoke, still walked, still breathed.
But something had ended all the same.
Baelor died.
The bells had tolled for what felt like hours, their sound low and unrelenting, echoing through the castle and out across the tourney grounds. Even now, standing among his family, Egg swore he could still hear them, like something lodged deep inside his chest.
They had chosen to burn him at Ashford. Egg wasn’t sure why that made it worse, but it did.
This place had been bright, only days ago. Full of laughter and colour and life. He could still remember it, the banners snapping in the wind, the roar of the crowd, the way everything had seemed so large and full of promise.
Now everything felt hollow.
Egg stood stiffly beside his father, his hands clasped too tightly in front of him. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he could.
His thoughts wouldn’t stop circling back. If only he hadn’t left Daeron. If only he had stayed. If only—The pyre crackled. Egg forced himself to look.
Flames climbed steadily, consuming what remained of Baelor’s body. The heat pressed against his face, sharp and unbearable, and still he couldn’t look away.
His gaze shifted. His aunt stood closest to the fire. She did not weep. She did not speak.
She stood as though carved from stone, her face pale, her expression empty in a way that frightened him more than tears ever could.
Valarr stood before her, shaking. Egg could see it even from where he stood. The way his cousin’s shoulders trembled, the way his head bowed forward as though the weight of it all might crush him.
Her hand rested gently in his hair. Not moving. Just there.
Behind them, Kiera stood still and silent, her presence quiet, almost ghostlike.
Egg swallowed hard. He had heard what happened. Everyone had.
Whispers had spread quickly, slipping through corridors and between servants like smoke.
They said she had been the first to reach him. That she hadn’t believed it. That she had demanded a maester, again and again, as though saying it enough times might undo what had already been done.
They said she had knelt beside his body, hands pressed to him, begging the Seven to give him back.
That she hadn’t seemed to notice the blood. That it had soaked into her sleeves, her hands, her skin.
Egg squeezed his eyes shut briefly.
They said Ser Duncan had tried to pull her away. That she had fought him. That she had screamed. Not words, just sound. Raw and broken.
And then his father came.
Maekar had been the one to pull her back. They said she had struck him. That her fists had hit his chest, over and over, as though he were something she could break. That she had cried into him like the world was ending.
Egg opened his eyes. He looked up at his father now.
Maekar stood beside him, unmoving. Rigid. Every line of him held tight, controlled, as though he had locked something inside himself and thrown away the key. Every line of him held tight, controlled, as though he had locked something inside himself and thrown away the key.
Egg wanted to say something. Go to her.
He didn’t know if he would have said the words aloud or not. He only knew the thought pressed against his throat, desperate and insistent.
Go to her. She shouldn’t be alone. Not now. Not like this.
But Maekar did not move.
He stood where he was meant to stand. He did what was expected of him. Nothing more.
Egg felt something twist inside him.
But he had learned, by now, where to look.
So he looked closer.
He saw the way his father’s hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles pale beneath the skin. He saw the tension in his shoulders, in his jaw, in the stillness that was not calm but restraint stretched too thin.
And then it happened. Briefly.
So brief Egg might have missed it, if he hadn’t been watching.
His aunt lifted her head, just slightly. As though something had pulled her attention away from the flames. Her gaze crossed the distance between them. And found his father.
Maekar looked at her. Not as a prince. Not as a brother. Just as a man.
Everything was there. Egg felt it, even from where he stood.
Grief, sharp and consuming.
Longing, familiar, aching, unrelenting.
Regret, heavy, suffocating, endless.
All of it, laid bare in a single look that lasted no more than a heartbeat. It was too much. Too intimate.
Her gaze dropped. Maekar’s jaw tightened. And just like that… It was gone.
The fire crackled. The wind shifted. The world went on.
And whatever might have been… didn’t.
Egg shouldn’t have followed her. He knew that.
Even so, he slipped from the hall, keeping to the edges where torchlight thinned and attention softened. He was careful, quiet and was left unseen.
He told himself he would stop at the doorway. He didn’t.
The hall was dim when she entered, curtains drawn heavy against the day. It felt smaller than it had before. Quieter in a way that pressed at the ribs.
She moved slowly, like each step had to be chosen in advance. Egg lingered just beyond the threshold, half-hidden in the corridor’s shadow.
She crossed to the high table to Baelor’s seat and sat down. For a long moment she did nothing at all. Then, carefully, she lifted her hands. Baelor’s rings caught what little light remained.
Egg’s throat tightened before he could name why. She turned one of them between her fingers. Over and over. Not fidgeting, holding on.
As though stillness might undo something. The door opened again. Egg went rigid. His father stepped inside.
There was a pause in him that Egg did not recognize. Not fear, exactly. Not hesitation either. Something closer to awareness. As though the room had become uncertain ground.
As though he was not sure he was allowed to cross it.
She did not look up. Did not acknowledge him. Did not move. For a moment, he only stood there. Then he crossed the room and sat beside her. Not close. Never close.
Silence gathered between them, dense and unyielding.
“I do not know where to begin,” Maekar said at last.
His voice was quieter than Egg had ever heard it.
She let out a breath that almost broke on its way out. “I do not know either.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words felt too small the moment they left him.
They stayed anyway. Unanswered.
“You know,” she said after a while, still looking at the ring, “my mother once told me not to love anyone more than my children.”
Maekar did not speak.
“I loved my children,” she continued. “And I loved my husband.”
Something in him shifted at that, barely visible, but real.
“And I loved you.”
The silence that followed did not feel empty. It felt held.
Carefully. Like something fragile that neither of them trusted to fall.
“(Y/N),” Maekar said at last, roughened, “there are no words—”
“You know,” she cut in, not unkindly, but with something steadier beneath it, “in a way, I wish you had meant to kill him.”
The air changed.
Maekar’s head turned slightly, as if the words had weight enough to move him. “How could you say that?”
“It would make things simpler,” she said. “For me. As selfish as that sounds.”
He did not answer. There was nothing to answer. A long pause. Then—
“Do you remember,” she asked, quieter now, “when Baelor and I were betrothed?”
A breath left Maekar that might once have been laughter. It wasn’t now. “Of course I do.”
A faint sound from her. Almost agreement. Almost nothing.
“You said you would burn your entire house down before you let it happen.”
His mouth tightened at the memory, something old and unguarded passing through him and gone again before it could settle.
“I was young,” he said.
“We were all young,” she replied.
Silence returned, softer this time. Less sharp. No less heavy.
Then she moved.
Slowly, she took one of the rings from her hand. Turned it once between her fingers. Twice.
And placed it in his palm.
“Here.”
Maekar looked down at it.
“I cannot take this,” he said. “He was your husband.”
“And he was your brother.”
That landed cleanly. Without argument. Maekar closed his fingers around the ring anyway. Not tightly.
Egg stepped back before either of them could notice him there, retreating into the corridor as quietly as he had come. He did not run. He did not linger.
Some things, he understood, were not meant to be seen all at once. Or spoken.
He understood then that some things were never meant to be spoken. Just simply known and lived with.
content: Aerion has learned his father’s name, and refuses to call his father anything but it. Baelor thinks it’s his punishment.
words: 1.4k
cw: targcest (sorta? idrk you're both of their wives and youre just one big happy/dysfunctional family), Aerion is a little shit from birth
author’s note: this was inspired by the fact that my boyfriend called his father by name until he was 10
prequel to what would you do without me?
more dragon princes’ wife content
It had been decided by the three of you that the next child would be Baelor’s. He was next in line to the throne and needed a spade from his own seed. It made the most sense, but then he went away for a little over a fortnight leaving you and Maekar alone.
The pair of you sat in the silence of your solar, staring at each other, “Well you have to tell him,” he insisted.
“Why do I have to tell him?” you countered.
“Because it's your fault.”
When Baelor finally came across you he found Maekar on his back as you repeatedly beat him with a pillow as hard as you could. You forced the man to tell him, and like you would have guessed he did not act angry in the slightest a wide grin spread across his face before hugging you both.
Nine moons later you had Aerion. He favored Maekar with pale skin, violet eyes, and the silver hair of a Targayen. Without a shadow of a doubt it was obvious whose seed created and it was proven further when he developed his own little personality.
From the moment he entered the world he was…spirited. He knew what he wanted and 90% of the time it was just your affection. He had to fall asleep in your arms every night before you had to transfer him into the crib without alerting him, and if he woke up you had to start from the beginning.
Now after you had just celebrated his first name he had begun to say some words the first being ‘Mama’ just like his two elder brothers. Next was ‘Papa’ which was the title Baelor had selected when Valarr was still in the womb. Maekar had decided on ‘father’ even as you tried to persuade him otherwise, even after it was the last one Valarr and Daeron both learned to say and now Aerion.
The boy didn't even try to say it. When the large man would crouch down in front of his insisting (demanding) for him to say it he would only blink at him, before calling out a proud ‘Mama!’
The three boys played on the floor together as you three finished eating dinner. “I think you should pick something easier for him to say,” you suggested, watching the two older boys trying to include Aerion the best they could. “You could be…?”
“Kepa,” Baelor supplied.
Maekar grunted rolling his eyes, which caused a chain reaction as it always did. You rolled your eyes at him scoffing as you glared slightly, “You do not always need to be so stubborn, Maekar!”
He opened his mouth to argue, but instead a small “Maeka!”
All your heads snapped over to Aerion, who grinned at you three proudly waiting for your reaction. You let out a loud laugh kneeling over, causing the young boy to clap his hands clearly sensing your enjoyment in this situation.
Baelor pressed his hand into his mouth trying to muffle the laugh that escaped. Maekar turned glaring at his elder brother before turning it to you, he hissed your name trying to quiet you, but it did nothing to silence you.
After a few moments you finally composed yourself, standing to your feet you moved to kneel in front of your youngest, “Maekar,” you said.
“Maeka!”
Maekar’s frown deepened, “Sevens fucks,” he muttered taking a drink of his wine.
“He’s a boy he doesn't know any better,” Baelor tried.
“You’re only saying that, because he fucking isnt calling you by your name!”
“It's actually quite impressive that he can say your name. Oh my smart boy,” you cooed rubbing Aerion’s head causing him to grin at you.
“Who’s Maekar?” Valarr asked.
You turned pointing to the silver haired man who glowered at the young boy, who was completely unphased. He nodded as if he was deep in thought, before going back to his toys handing Daeron one of the wooden dragons.
“Maeka! Maeka! Maeka!” Aerion chanted, pulling himself to his feet as he stumbled over to his father.
You watched the man’s face soften slightly, the anger being replaced by the pride of his son as he thought over your words, “He will grow out of right?” reaching down to pull the boy onto his lap.
“Definitely,” you assured him.
Aerion calling Maekar did not end as quickly as you thought it was. You were now pregnant with Baelor’s seed for the second time as the year was slowly coming to an end. Aerion who just celebrated his second name day continued to call the man by his first name, much to all his persuasion techniques and commanding him to stop.
Baelor found the situation very funny, even swearing up and down that this was Maekar’s karma. Aerion was a little Maekar, through and through, you could see parts of yourself in the boy, but mainly you looked at him and saw him.
You didn't continue to tease him about it anymore and even tried to get Aerion to call him anything other than his name, but he was dead set in his ways. You could see even if Maekar would never admit it that it hurt him. That he felt he favored Baelor over himself, and that was a wound that filled him deeply as he had been feeling that way his whole life.
“Where is papa and Maeka?” he questioned as he toddled beside you following the two elder boys down the hall.
“They’re in the solar waiting for us to eat,” you told him gently.
His small hand clutched around the small black and crimson dragon in his hand, tugging you slightly wanting to keep up with the older two, but not wanting to let go of your hand. “Mama I want to go fishin’,” he told you.
“Who would you like to go with you?” you questioned.
“Mama,” was all he replied, causing you to laugh.
You stopped letting the two older boys continue on. He whined slightly trying to tug you, but stopped noticing you kneeling down to his height.
“You know who’s a really good fisher?” you asked, he shook his head slightly in response his violet eyes wide watching you with curiosity. “Your father, Maekar, is a really good fisher and I am sure he would love to take you if you asked,” you told him.
“Just me?” he questioned.
“Just you.”
He grinned as you continued back down the hall toward the solar, Aerion burst in first going straight to Maekar. The man didn't turn at first until he felt the small tug on his arm glancing down at his son.
“Mama says you take me fishing.”
You chuckled slightly, as Baelor stood pulling your chair out for you to slide in. “Aerion would like you to take him fishing on the morrow. Just you and him he insisted,” you told him.
His lips turned upward slightly, not fully a smile, but close enough. “You will half to behave,” he told him, his voice gruff, but lacking any real bite.
He nodded moving toward his seat next to you. Maekar stared at his plate for a minute, clearly pleased and then he felt a hand wrap around his own. He turned looking to you as you gave his larger hand a squeeze, casting him a small smile. He leaned over pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Thank you,” he whispered.
Maekar carried Aerion back, his head resting on his shoulder. They had spent the last few hours fishing together, and the boy of two did quite well for his age, and Maekar did quite well for a man with little patience.
Your smiling face was the first thing that greeted them when they entered the keep. “There’s my handsome fishermen,” you greeted. You turned looking to the boy who was practically passed out on his father, "I'll take him to go lay down.”
Aerion stirred slightly realizing why you were here as he reached out to you, “Thank him for taking you,” you prompted reaching up to take the boy.
“Thank you, father,” he mumbled tiredly as he now curled into your embrace, taking him off to the nursery for his nap.
Maekar stood frozen watching your retreating form with a small smile, a sense of pride filled him. He stood there for a few moments until he noticed he was standing in the hallway by himself. His usual stern expression filled his face as he went off to smugly tell Baelor that he was now the boy’s favorite.
Aerion continued to call Maekar by his name until he was seven.
dragon princes' wife taglist (I tagged everyone interested in a part two if you do not want to be tagged next time lmk): @carnationworld @saltycomicsparentingfish @thorins-queen-of-erebor @starkleila @ky-3102 @glaciuswduo @shadowmoonlight0604
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"i'd be willing and able
if you're willing, i'm able"
warnings: language.
summary: it'll all work out.
request: yes
song: willing and able - noah kahan
word count: 11.7k
a/n: final part of this one!!! unless.... ;)
previous part | part one
~
Sidney left your parents' house and went straight to his own parents' house because he felt like crying and he felt like he needed to tell someone. Someone who would understand, or at least try to. He needed to tell someone about the fact that he was a father. That he had this little boy named Beau who didn't need him, who'd been doing just fine without him for years, but Sidney needed him. Needed to know him, needed to be part of his life, needed to make up for all the time he'd lost.
It was late. Nearly ten at night, and he'd just been at his parents' house for dinner a few hours ago and now he was back, pulling into the driveway again, and he could see the confusion on his mom's face through the front window as she spotted his car.
She met him at the door before he could even knock. "Sid? Is everything okay?"
His dad appeared behind her. "What's wrong?"
Sidney walked past them into the house, into the living room where he'd grown up, where he'd spent countless hours as a kid dreaming about the NHL. The walls were covered in photos. Him at different ages, holding hockey sticks, wearing team jerseys. Him with his parents, with his sister, with friends. A timeline of his life, carefully documented and displayed but there were four years missing now. Four years of a little boy who was learning to skate and play hockey and grow up without him.
"I need to ask you something," Sidney said, turning to face his parents. His voice was shaking. He couldn't make it stop. "About the draft. The week of the draft. The time between leaving here and going to Ottawa. All of it."
His parents exchanged a glance.
"Okay," his mom said slowly, coming to sit on the couch. "What do you want to know?"
"My phone," Sidney said. "I lost it. In Ottawa, or maybe before. I don't remember exactly when. Do you remember anything about that?"
His dad's jaw tightened just slightly. "You were always losing things back then. Your phone, your wallet, your keys. We had to buy you three new phones that year alone."
"But do you remember that specific time? During the draft?"
"Sidney, what is this about?" his mom asked, and she sounded almost afraid.
"She was pregnant," he said, and his voice didn’t even try to be steady. "During the draft. She texted me to tell me she was pregnant, and someone responded. Someone with my phone told her to get rid of it. Told her I didn't want the baby. I have a son," Sidney continued, and the tears were coming now. "I have a three year old son named Beau, and I only just found out tonight. And she thinks I told her to get rid him. She thinks I abandoned her."
His parents got this guilty look on their faces. Simultaneously, like they'd rehearsed it. And in that moment, Sidney knew. He knew that everyone who was supposed to love him and support him had done the exact opposite.
"Oh my God," he breathed, taking a step back. "You knew."
"Sidney–" his mom started, reaching for him.
"You knew," he said again, louder this time. "You knew she was pregnant and you didn't tell me."
"We were trying to protect you," his dad said, standing up now. "You were eighteen years old. You had your entire future ahead of you."
"Who else?" Sidney demanded, his hands clenching into fists. "Who else knew? Who helped you do this?"
"Do what?" his dad said defensively. "We didn't do anything except make sure you didn't throw your life away for some girl."
"Who. Else." Sidney bit out each word separately, his voice shaking with rage.
His mom's voice was gentle when she answered, which somehow made it worse. "Mario. And Pat."
Sidney felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Mario, the man who'd taken him under his wing and into his family when he'd arrived in Pittsburgh overwhelmed. The man who'd let Sidney live in his house, who'd treated him like family, who'd taught him what it meant to be a professional. And Pat. His agent, the man who was supposed to have Sidney's best interests at heart, who was supposed to advocate for him, protect him. They'd all known.
"I can't believe this," Sidney said, and his voice sounded fake even to his own ears. "I can't fucking believe this."
"We did what we thought was best," his mom said, and she was crying now too. "Sidney, you have to understand. You were so young, and this was such a huge opportunity, and we didn't want you to have regrets."
"Regrets?" Sidney repeated. "You think I'd regret my own child?"
"We thought you'd regret giving up hockey," his dad said firmly. "Giving up everything you'd worked for your entire life. For a girl you'd known for three years."
"A girl?" Sidney's voice rose. "A girl? She's not just a girl. She was everything to me. She IS everything to me."
"You were eighteen," his dad said, his own voice getting louder. "You didn't know what you were saying when you talked about a future with her."
"I knew exactly what I was saying!"
"You were a child!"
"And what was she?" Sidney shot back. "She was eighteen too. Just a kid. But you forced a decision on her. Made her think I didn't want our baby. Made her go through that pregnancy alone. Made her raise our son by herself while I was off playing a stupid fucking kids game."
"We gave you a chance at your dreams," his mom said, her voice pleading now. "Sidney, look at everything you've accomplished. Would you have any of that if you'd stayed here to play house with your high school girlfriend?"
Playing house. Like what you'd gone through, what you'd survived, was some kind of game. Some childish fantasy.
"You don't get it," Sidney said, shaking his head. "You don't understand what you took from me."
"We took nothing from you," his dad said. "We gave you everything. We sacrificed everything so you could have this career. We gave up our lives for your dreams."
"And I never asked you to!" Sidney shouted. "I never asked for any of that!"
"You didn't have to ask. You're our son. We wanted you to have the best."
"The best?" Sidney laughed bitterly. "The best would've been knowing I had a child. The best would've been getting to make my own choices about my own life. The best would've been you trusting me enough to tell me the truth."
"She was a girl you knew for three years," his dad responded, his face red now. "Three years, Sidney. Hockey existed for you before her and it exists after her. She was never really an important factor in your life."
"How can you say that?" Sidney yelled. "How can you possibly think you know what was important to me?"
"Because I know you. You lived and breathed hockey from the time you started walking. You slept with your stick, you practiced until your hands bled, you sacrificed everything for this sport. And we were supposed to let you throw it all away for a high school crush?"
"She wasn't a crush! I loved her!"
"You were eighteen," his dad repeated, like that explained everything. "You don't know the first thing about loving another person."
"And you do?" Sidney shot back. "Is this what love looks like?"
"We made a hard decision," his mom said, stepping between them. "We thought she'd move on, that you'd move on, that it would be better for everyone."
"Better for everyone?" Sidney stared at her in disbelief. "She had to raise our baby alone. Do you have any idea what that must have been like for her? How scared she must have been? How hurt?"
"We didn't know she'd keep it," his mom said quietly. "We thought–"
"You thought she'd get rid of it.”
"Son, you have to understand–"
"No, you have to understand," Sidney pointed at his dad, and his whole body trembling with rage and grief. "I have a three year old son who I know nothing about. I have a lifetime of firsts I'll never get back. I lost everything that mattered."
"You have hockey," his dad said. "You have the Cup. You have everything you ever dreamed of."
"What good is hockey if everything I ever loved was taken from me?" Sidney's voice broke. "What good is winning if I lost her? If I lost him?"
"You're romanticizing it," his dad said dismissively. "The truth is, you would've resented her eventually. Resented being tied down so young, resented missing out on your career. We saved you from making a mistake."
"She wasn't a mistake!" Sidney snapped. "My son isn't a mistake!"
"We didn't want you to risk your future for a girl," his mom said. "We didn't want you to wake up in ten years and hate us for not stopping you."
"How could you be so selfish?" Sidney accused. "How could you make that choice for me?"
"We're your parents," his dad said. "It's our job to protect you. Even from yourself."
"I didn't need protection! I needed support! I needed you to trust that I knew my own heart, my own mind!"
"You were a kid," his dad said again, and it made Sidney wanted to scream. "You didn't know what you wanted."
"I knew I wanted her. I've always known that."
"And look where that got you, standing here four years later, crying over some girl who's clearly moved on with her life. She's doing fine without you Sidney. She's raised that boy on her own. She doesn't need you."
That hurt him more than anything. Because his dad was right, in a way. You had moved on. You had Beau, you had your job, you had your independence. You'd survived something that would have broken most people, and you'd come out stronger.
But that didn't make what they'd done okay.
"It's so convenient, isn't it?" his dad continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "This girl just happens to get pregnant the moment you go first overall in the draft. The moment you're about to sign your first big contract."
"Don't you dare. She loved me. She would never–"
"You don't know what she would or wouldn't do," his dad interrupted. "You were just a kid. You both were. And kids make mistakes."
"I was just a kid," Sidney agreed, his voice shaking. "But so was she. Only she was a kid you manipulated and lied to. And I was a kid you trusted to sign multimillion dollar contracts. You can't have it both ways. Either I was old enough to make my own choices, or I wasn't."
His mom looked overwhelmed. "We were trying to do what was best–"
"For who? Not for me. Not for her. Not for Beau. So who? Who were you really protecting?"
They didn’t answer that question.
"You ruined my life," Sidney said finally. "You took everything from me. My son, the woman I love, four years I can never get back. And I'll never forgive you for that. Never."
"Sidney–" his mom reached for him again, but he stepped back. "We thought you'd thank us one day. We thought you'd understand."
"Understand what? That you cared more about my career than my happiness? That you valued hockey more than you valued me as a person?" Sidney shook his head. "I don't understand that. I never will."
His dad was still standing there, jaw clenched, refusing to back down. Refusing to admit that maybe, just maybe, they'd made a catastrophic mistake.
"You would've thrown everything away for her," his dad said finally. "You would've given up hockey, given up your dreams, stayed in this place. We couldn't let that happen."
"You're right," Sidney said, and his voice was eerily calm now. "I would have thrown away everything for her. My dreams, my career, all of it. I would've thrown it all away in a heartbeat if it meant being with her. If it meant being a father to my son. And you know what? It was the least you could do to let me make that choice. It was my choice to make. Not yours."
"We were your parents," his mom said desperately. "We knew better."
"You knew nothing," Sidney said. "You still know nothing. About me, about her, about what we could have had."
He turned to leave, needing to get out of this house before he said something he really regretted. Before he broke down completely.
"Where are you going?" his mom called after him.
"Away from you," Sidney said without turning around.
"Sidney, please. Can't we just talk about this?"
"There's nothing to talk about. You made your choice four years ago. Now I have to live with it."
He walked out the door, got in his car, and just drove. He had no destination in mind, no plan. He just needed to move, needed to do something with the energy that probably wouldn’t let him sleep.
Nothing had been resolved with his parents. Nothing was fixed, nothing was better. If anything, it was worse, because now he knew. Now he had names. People he'd trusted, people he'd loved, people who were supposed to have his back. And they'd all lied to him.
He wanted to go to you immediately. Wanted to drive straight to your parents' house, bang on the door, explain everything. He could apologize, could promise to spend the rest of his life making it up to you. Could meet his son properly, start building a relationship, start making up for lost time.
But it was late. You'd be asleep, Beau would be asleep, and showing up at your parents' house in the middle of the night would only make things worse. Would make you think he was unstable, dangerous even. So instead, he drove around. Visiting all of your old spots, the places that held memories of when things were good.
He drove past the rink where you'd first met, where you'd watched him practice and waited for him after games. It was dark now, locked up for the night, but he could see it so clearly in his mind. You in the stands cheering louder than anyone else.
He drove past the waterfront where you'd spent that perfect summer day before the draft, lying in the sand and talking about the future. You'd built sandcastles together, splashed in the water like kids, kissed as the sun set and painted the sky orange and pink.
He drove past the spot where you'd had your first date, where he'd been so nervous he'd barely been able to eat. You'd ordered a milkshake and let him have sips of it, and he'd thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.
He drove past your old high school, where he'd walked you to class and carried your books and kissed you against your locker when no one was looking.
Every street, every building, every corner held a memory. And now they all felt tainted, poisoned by the knowledge of what he'd lost. He didn't sleep. He blinked away tears when he thought too hard about something. About Beau's first birthday, which Sidney had missed. About his first Christmas, his first Halloween, his first day of daycare. About you, alone and pregnant and scared.
He got angry. And then he got sad. And then he got angry again. At himself for not trying harder to find you. For accepting your mom's rejection so easily, for moving on when he should have fought. For being so consumed by hockey that he'd convinced himself you'd stopped caring about him. And then sad again. Sad for the boy he'd been at eighteen, who'd loved you so completely and lost you so suddenly. Sad for the man he was now, who'd achieved everything he'd ever dreamed of career-wise and felt emptier than ever.
The cycle repeated, over and over, as the hours passed and the sky started to lighten with the first hints of dawn. By the time the sun came up, Sidney was exhausted.
He knew what he had to do. Because you were worth it. You'd always been worth it. And his son, that beautiful little boy he'd only glimpsed sleeping in the backseat of a car, was worth it too.
~
You didn't know where Sid went after that night.
That was the thing you hated most. Not that he left, because of course he left. He had been leaving in one way or another for almost four years, even when he hadn't known he was doing it. He'd left in Ottawa. He'd left when the texts came through. He'd left when your phone stopped ringing. He'd left in every memory you had of him because every memory now had an ending attached to it. A boy kissing you on your parents' porch, then a man sitting behind the wheel of his car, staring at your son in the rearview mirror like he'd just been shown the inside of his own heart.
But he asked for five minutes. Just five. It shouldn't have mattered. You should've been able to shrug it off, roll your eyes, tell yourself that was Sidney Crosby all over again. Good at saying the right thing. Bad at staying. Except he had looked so destroyed when he'd asked. He had said he needed five minutes. Just five. He had said it like five minutes was all he deserved, like he knew he couldn't ask for a lifetime when he hadn't earned even the smallest piece of your evening.
And then he never came back.
Your dad drove you and Beau back to Halifax the next morning. Your mom sat in the passenger seat, too quiet, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Beau slept for most of the ride. You sat in the back beside him because you couldn't bear the front seat. Because the front seat felt too much like Sid's car. Because if you stared through a windshield for too long, you'd see his hands on the steering wheel again.
Your parents didn't push. Your mom kept glancing at you like she wanted to say something and didn't trust herself not to make it worse. Your dad only asked if you wanted the radio on, and when you shook your head, he didn't ask again.
They knew. Of course they knew. They knew you had wanted him to come back. You hated that they knew it. You hated that your face had probably given you away. You hated that after four years of being strong, four years of building a spine out of anger, one night with Sidney Crosby had turned you back into the girl who used to wait by the phone.
You had waited until midnight before you stopped pretending you weren't waiting. Your parents' house had gone quiet. Beau was tucked up in the little room that used to be yours. Your mom had gone to bed. Your dad had fallen asleep in his recliner with the TV muted. And you had sat at the kitchen table, staring at the front door. You told yourself you weren't waiting for him. You were just awake. You were just thinking. You were just overwhelmed. You were just trying to make sense of a conversation that didn't make any fucking sense.
But every time headlights passed by the window you looked. Every time a car slowed down outside you almost got up. And every time it wasn't him, some humiliating little part of you broke again.
By two in the morning, you went upstairs and got into bed beside Beau because you couldn't stand being alone. He was sprawled out sideways, one sock missing, one hand tucked under his cheek. He smelled like campfire smoke and baby shampoo. You curled around him without waking him, placed your hand lightly on his stomach, and let the weight of him breathing keep you from falling apart completely.
"He didn't come back, baby," you breathed, so quietly that even you barely heard it.
Beau snuffled in his sleep and shifted closer to you.
You closed your eyes.
"Yeah," you said, your throat tight. "I know."
Life went back to normal because it had to. Monday still came. Groceries still needed buying. Laundry still piled up. Beau still needed breakfast, still needed baths, still needed to be reminded not to put crayons in the couch cushions. Rent was still due. Appointments still had to be kept.
You went back to Halifax and tried to make your body understand that nothing had changed. Except everything had. The landline never rang. Your mother never called with news. Your dad didn't show up with that look on his face. No unfamiliar car pulled up outside your apartment. No letter arrived. No message. Nothing.
Sidney vanished again. Only this time you couldn't even hate him properly because there was a terrible, terrible chance he had told the truth. That was what fucked with you most. Not the fact that he might have lied, but the fact that he might not have.
August began letting up into September. The air changed. The mornings grew cooler. The light got softer. The leaves had not quite turned yet, but they were thinking about it. You could feel it in the trees, in the way the wind moved through the street outside your apartment, in the way Beau started asking if he could wear his hoodie to daycare even though he'd get too warm by lunch.
On the first Saturday of September, you woke up at six in the morning for no reason.
You didn't have to work. You had traded shifts with Marcy at the salon because Beau's daycare was closed for some staff training thing, and you had decided that the two of you were going to have a lazy day at home. Pancakes, cartoons, maybe a walk to the park if the weather held. Nothing big. Just you and your boy, the way it had been for years.
You were already awake when the knock came. You froze under the blanket. For a second you thought you imagined it. It was early enough that the whole building still felt asleep, early enough that the hallway outside your apartment was quiet except for the occasional creak of old floors and someone taking their dog out.
Then it came again. Three soft knocks. You sat up slowly, pushing your hair out of your face. You were wearing an old oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, your legs bare, your feet cold against the floor when you slipped out of bed. You moved quietly, because Beau was still asleep and the last thing you wanted was for him to wake up before you knew who was at the door.
Your first thought was your parents.
It always was.
They had a habit of showing up too early with muffins or coffee or some bag of clothes your mom found on sale and couldn't resist buying for Beau. They also had a key, which made the knocking weird. Your parents didn't knock. They might tap once while already turning the lock, calling out your name like the apartment belonged to all of you collectively.
You walked to the living room and peeked through the small gap in the curtain. Your parents’ car was idling on the curb. Their usual spot. You could see two shapes in the front seats. Your mom in the passenger seat. Your dad behind the wheel.
But that made no sense. Why hadn't they just come up? Why knock?
You glanced toward Beau's room, then back at the door.
"Shit," you whispered.
You unlocked the door carefully, chain first, then deadbolt, then the little lock on the knob that always stuck if you turned it too fast.
It wasn't your parents. It was Sidney.
It was a version of Sidney you'd never met. A broken down version of him that should've never even existed.
Neither of you said anything at first. You held the door with one hand. He stood on the other side of it, looking at you like he'd walked through fire and you were the only thing left standing. Your first instinct was anger. He didn't come back. He asked for five minutes and disappeared for weeks. He left you waiting again. Your second instinct was to reach for him.
"Sidney," you said, and his name barely came out. "Are you okay?"
The question left your mouth before you could stop it. You almost wanted to take it back. Because who were you to ask him that now? Who was he to be standing there needing comfort from you after everything? You shouldn't have cared if he was okay. You shouldn't have noticed the way his hands were shaking. You shouldn't have wanted to smooth the frown out of his mouth with your thumb.
"No," he said. His voice was rough. "I'm not."
That was all it took.
You stepped forward and hugged him. There was no thought in it. Your body moved before your pride could stop it, before four years of hurt could stand in the doorway and tell you not to be stupid. You wrapped your arms around him as tightly as you possibly could and pressed your cheek to his chest.
Part of it was for him. Part of it was for you. Because he'd been gone. Because he'd come back. Because he smelled like Sid. Because he felt like Sid too. Because your body remembered him in ways your brain had tried to beat out of itself. Because four years should've changed everything, but somehow, somehow, your hands still knew where to go.
His arms closed around you hard. He held on like something in him had been waiting for permission to collapse and your arms were the only place he could do it. One hand spread wide between your shoulder blades. The other curled at the back of your sweatshirt, fist tight in the fabric. His head dropped until his face was buried near your hair, and then he made this sound.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
You closed your eyes. You didn't respond because he obviously knew something you didn't. Something more than what had been said in the car. Something that had taken him away from you after promising five minutes and brought him back looking like this. You didn't have the heart to ask. Not yet. Asking meant opening the door to answers, and answers changed things.
And you were so tired of things changing. So you just held him. He shook once in your arms and tried to hide it by pulling you closer. You knew that trick. You knew him. Even now, even after all of it, you knew him.
"Sid," you whispered.
He sucked in a breath.
"I tried," he said against your hair. "I tried to come back. I swear I tried. I just couldn't, I couldn't pull myself together. I couldn't be strong for you, and you needed me to be strong, and I couldn't even do that."
You didn't say anything.
Your hand moved on its own, sliding up his back once. Comforting him. You didn't know where you stood. Didn't know if you were allowed to touch him like this. Didn't know if he was allowed to need you like this. Still, when he trembled again, you held on tighter.
"My parents brought you?" you asked quietly.
He nodded, his face still tucked close. "Yeah."
"My mom?"
Sidney hesitated. You pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were wet. He looked away for a second, toward the hallway, toward anywhere that wasn't your face.
"Your dad," he said.
"My dad?"
Sidney nodded again. "He convinced your mom. She didn't want to. I don't blame her. I wouldn't have wanted to either. But he, uh..." Sidney's mouth twitched, not a smile, not even close. "He said if I was gonna show up looking like I crawled out of a ditch, I was gonna do it before Beau woke up and before you had enough time to slam the door in my face."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. It was almost nothing but Sidney heard it. His eyes snapped back to you, and for one second, there he was. Your Sid. The boy who used to act like getting a laugh out of you was better than scoring. The boy who'd grin so big if you gave him even the smallest piece of joy.
Then it vanished. His face fell again.
"I'm sorry," he said, like he couldn't stop saying it now that he'd started. "I know that doesn't mean anything. I know it's not enough. I know I keep saying it, and it's just words, and you deserved more than words. You deserved everything. You deserved me there. Beau deserved me there."
Your throat tightened. The hallway was cold around you. Too exposed. Too early. Too much of this belonged behind a closed door, somewhere private, somewhere your neighbors wouldn't stumble out in slippers and witness the last four years bleeding all over the floor.
"Come in," you said.
Sidney went still and you could see him trying not to look too hopeful.
"Are you sure?"
"No," you said honestly. "But come in."
He nodded once and stepped inside. You closed the door behind him as quietly as you could. The apartment felt different with him in it. Smaller. Or maybe fuller. He stood just inside the entryway, looking around with careful eyes. Just taking it in. The little shoes by the door. Beau's raincoat hanging on a low hook. The toy cars scattered near the couch. The folded blanket over the armchair. The life you'd made without him.
You watched him see it. You watched him hurt over it.
"He's still asleep," you said quietly, nodding toward the hallway.
Sidney looked toward it instantly.
"Beau?" he asked.
You nodded.
He swallowed again. "Okay."
"He usually wakes up around seven."
"Okay," he repeated.
"Do you want coffee?"
The question was absurd. It was so normal it almost made you laugh again. Sidney standing in your apartment after four years of grief, after finding out he had a son, after disappearing for weeks, and you were offering him coffee like he was one of your parents stopping by before work.
"Yeah," he said, voice soft. "Please."
You went to the kitchen because you needed something to do with your hands. Sidney followed only as far as the edge of the living room, like he didn't want to cross too far into your home without permission. That hurt too. His hesitation. The way he seemed to understand that everything here belonged to you and Beau, and he had not earned the right to move through it freely.
You poured him coffee in the only clean mug left in the cabinet, the one with a chipped handle and a faded print of a cartoon whale on it because Beau had picked it out at a thrift store and declared it your fancy cup. You didn't ask how he took it. You just poured it and called it good.
You could feel him watching you.
"You remembered," he said softly.
You didn't turn around.
"Don't make it a thing."
"Okay."
But his voice had cracked on the word. Damn him. Damn him for still being so easy to hurt. You carried the mug to him, and he took it with both hands. His fingers brushed yours. Barely. A ghost of a touch but you still felt it like an electric spark.
"Thank you," he said.
You nodded and wrapped both hands around your own mug. For a minute, neither of you spoke.
The silence was crowded. It had every version of you in it. Fifteen in a rink. Sixteen on your parents' porch. Seventeen in his bed, whispering futures you had no business believing in. Eighteen with a phone in your hand. Nineteen with a baby you didn't know how to love yet. Twenty, packing boxes for Halifax. Twenty one, watching him lift the Cup on television and hating him because it was easier than missing him. Twenty two, standing in your own apartment with Sidney Crosby drinking from your chipped whale mug while your son slept down the hall.
Finally, you said, "Where did you go?"
Sidney closed his eyes.
"I went to my parents' house."
You looked at him but he didn't open his eyes right away.
"That night?" you asked.
"Yeah."
"I thought you said five minutes."
"I did."
"Must've been a long five minutes."
"I know," he said. "I know. I fucked that up too."
"You didn't come back."
"I know."
"You dropped me off and asked me to wait, and then you didn't come back."
"I know."
"I would've waited," you said, and there it was, the thing you hadn't wanted to admit. Your voice went smaller. "That morning I waited."
"I know," he whispered. "That's why I couldn't."
That made you look back.
"What?"
"I knew you'd wait," he said. "I knew if I came back like that, if I showed up at your parents' door completely out of my mind, you'd try to take care of me. And I didn't want that to be the first thing I asked from you again."
Your grip tightened on your mug.
"Again?"
He nodded once.
"I already took so much. Even if I didn't know I was taking it, I did. I took four years by not knowing. I took your belief in me. I took..." He stopped and looked down, jaw clenching hard. "I took the version of us that should've existed. And when I found out, all I wanted was to come back to you and fall apart. I wanted you to make it better, and that's not fair. It wasn't fair to ask you for comfort when you were the one who'd been hurt."
You stared at him. There were things you wanted to say. That he was right. That he was wrong. That you had wanted him to come back anyway. That you hated him for not coming. That you hated how badly you'd wanted to comfort him. That you would've opened the door. That maybe some foolish part of you had been waiting to.
Instead, you said, "So what happened?"
Sidney took a shaky breath.
"My parents knew."
"What?"
"They knew," he said, and his voice went rough again. "My parents knew you were pregnant. They knew about the text. They knew."
"Who?"
Sidney shook his head once, eyes wet. "I don't know who physically typed it. Not for sure. I don't know if it was my dad or Pat or someone else, but they were all part of it. My parents. Mario. Pat. They all knew. They all kept it from me."
His parents, you could understand in a horrible, nightmare kind of way. You had imagined that before. You had imagined some adult stepping in, deciding you were inconvenient. But Mario? Pat? Men you didn’t even know, men who were part of Sidney's future, men who had looked at him and seen a franchise, a career, a machine that couldn't be slowed down by something as human as love.
You leaned back against the back of the sofa.
"Oh my God."
"I went there because I needed to ask about the draft," Sidney said. "About my phone. About what happened. And their faces, baby, they just..."
He stopped.
Baby.
You hadn't been anybody's baby in four years. Not like that. Your parents loved you, Beau loved you, your friends loved you, but nobody had held that word in their mouth with you in mind. Like you were something cherished. Something to come home to.
Sidney heard himself say it and you saw the panic move across his face.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't, I don't have the right to call you that."
He looked wrecked by the mistake. And the worst part was, you wanted him to say it again. You wanted it so badly it made you angry.
"Just keep talking," you said, because that was safer.
Sidney nodded, swallowing hard.
"Their faces gave it away," he continued. "They looked guilty. My mom tried to explain. My dad..." He huffed a bitter laugh and looked away. "My dad kept saying they were trying to protect me. That I was eighteen. That I had my whole future ahead of me. That they couldn't let me throw my life away for some girl."
Some girl. You had been reduced to that so many times in your own head but hearing it from him was different. Some girl. As if you hadn't loved him with everything your teenage heart had. As if you hadn't carried his child. As if you hadn't built a life out of what they left behind.
"I lost it," he said. "I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever been more angry in my life you know? I yelled at them. I said things..." He stopped, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I don't regret most of it."
"What did they say?"
He breathed out slowly.
"They said they thought you'd move on. They said they didn't know you'd keep the baby. They said they thought I'd thank them someday.”
"They thought I'd get rid of him?"
Sidney's face crumpled.
"Yeah," he whispered. "I think they did."
You remembered being eighteen in your bedroom, sitting on the floor with your back against the bed, one hand on your stomach because you didn't know what else to do with it. You remembered reading those words over and over until they stopped being sentences and became something carved into your bones. Take care of it. Don't contact me. We're done.
You remembered thinking Sidney hated you. You remembered thinking you had been stupid enough to love a boy who saw you as a problem. You remembered wanting your mother and not wanting your mother because she kept insisting it had to be a misunderstanding, and you couldn't survive believing that. You needed him to be cruel because cruelty meant you could hate him and keep moving.
But if it was a lie? If he hadn't known? If he would've come? What were you supposed to do with all those years?
Sidney set the mug down on your little table, untouched except for one sip.
"I don't expect you to believe me," he said.
His voice was so defeated that it pulled you back into the room. He stood there with his shoulders slightly hunched, hands empty now, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides like he needed something to hold and didn't dare reach for you.
"I wouldn't believe me," he said. "If I were you. I wouldn't. I know how convenient it sounds. I know it sounds like I'm trying to save my own ass. Like I'm blaming everyone else so you don't hate me anymore."
You didn't speak.
"But I didn't know," he said, and tears slid down his face again. "I swear I didn't know. I never got your text. I never told you to get rid of him. I never would've told you not to contact me. I never would've left you alone like that if I'd known."
He took one small step toward you and stopped himself almost immediately.
"I would've been there," he said. "You need to know that. Even if you never forgive me, even if you never want me in your life the way I want to be, you need to know I would've been there."
You looked down at the floor.
"I would've chosen you."
You closed your eyes.
"And I would've chosen Beau," he said. "I would've chosen both of you. Every time. I don't care what anyone says. I don't care what my dad thinks I would've done or what my agent thought was best for my career. You were always what was important. You were never some girl to me. You were never a distraction. You were..." He stopped, pressing the heel of his hand to his chest like his heart was actually breaking. "You were my whole fucking life. You still are, and I know I don't get to say that. I know that's not fair to you. But it's true."
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You wiped it quickly, angry with yourself. Sidney noticed anyway. He always noticed. His face twisted like your tears hurt him more than his own.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again.
You laughed shakily, wiping at your face. "You say that a lot now."
"I know."
"It's annoying."
"I know."
"And it makes me want to punch you a little."
"That's fair."
You looked at him. The tired eyes. That frown. The boy inside the man, still standing in front of you asking for something he didn't think he deserved. You searched his face for a lie. You wanted to find one. Part of you needed to find one because if he was lying, then nothing had to change.
But you knew him. Damn it, you knew him. You knew how he lied, which wasn't well. You knew how guilt sat on him. You knew how shame looked in his eyes. This wasn't that. This was grief. This was a man who had found out his life had been stolen from him and didn't know how to get it back without you.
"I hated you," you said.
"I know."
"No, you don't," you said, and now your tears were coming faster, too many to wipe away without looking pathetic. "You don't know what that felt like. You don't know what it was like to love you and hate you at the same time. To have your baby and see your face every time I looked at him. To sit there while he learned how to smile and think wow he smiles like Sidney. To watch him pick up a hockey stick before he could even say full sentences and think, of course of course he loves the one thing that took you from me."
Sidney's face crumbled. He took another step forward, then stopped again.
"You don't know how lonely I was," you said, voice shaking hard now. "You don't know how embarrassed I was. How stupid I felt. How everyone got to be proud of you while I was in hiding. You were on TV, and people were cheering for you, and I was trying to learn how to be a mother when I still wanted my mom every fucking day."
"I know," he whispered, then immediately shook his head. "No. I don't know. You're right. I don't know."
"I didn't love him right away," you said, and the confession tore out of you before you could stop it.
You covered your mouth for a second, horrified at yourself, but it was already out. The ugliest truth. The one you punished yourself for even now, even though Beau had no memory of those first months when you had moved through motherhood like a ghost.
"I mean, I took care of him," you said quickly, crying now. "I fed him. I changed him. I held him when he cried. I did everything I was supposed to do. But I was so angry, Sid. I was so angry and sad and tired and he was just this baby who needed me all the time and I couldn't stop thinking that I had ruined my life. And then I'd look at him and feel like the worst person alive because none of it was his fault."
You couldn't look at him, so you looked at the table, at the whale mug, at the tiny scratch in the wood where Beau had once tried to "fix" it with a toy screwdriver.
"It took me a year," you whispered. "It took me a year to feel like his mom and I have spent every day since then trying to make up for that first year. Every single day."
You wished you could take it back, and at the same time you felt lighter than you had in years. Sidney moved then. He came closer slowly, giving you every chance to step away. When you didn't, he stopped in front of you with barely any space between your bodies.
"I am so proud of you," he said.
"No."
"Yes."
"Don't."
"I am," he said, voice firm even through his tears. "I'm so fucking proud of you."
That made you cry harder.
"No, you don't get to say that."
"I know I don't," he said. "I'm saying it anyway because it's true. You were a kid. You were alone. You were hurt worse than you ever deserved and you still raised him. You became his whole world. You did that without me. You did that when you thought I didn't want either of you."
You shook your head, but he kept going.
"And maybe you didn't feel it right away. Maybe it took time. But you're his mom. You're his mama. I saw it that night in the car, the second he made a sound, your whole face changed. You love him so much it's like the world moves around it."
You covered your face with both hands and still a sob slipped out from your lips.
"Can I?" he asked.
You didn't answer because you knew you didn't have to. He just stepped in and wrapped his arms around you again. This time, you broke. You broke the way you should've broken four years ago, but couldn't because there had been too much to do and too many people watching and a baby who needed you to survive. You sobbed into his hoodie with your hands fisted against his chest, and Sidney held you like he wished he could crawl between you and every single thing that had ever hurt you.
"I'm sorry," he kept saying. "I'm sorry, baby. I would've been there. I swear I would've been there. You weren't alone because I wanted you alone. You weren't. You weren't."
You hated how much you needed to hear it from him. You hated that it helped. You hated that it didn't fix anything and still stitched something tiny together inside you.
"You didn't call," you cried.
"I tried."
"My mom told you not to."
"I know."
"And you stopped."
"I know," he said, voice breaking. "I know I should've tried harder. I should've driven home. I should've written. I should've asked more questions. I was hurt and so so so stupid an-and I thought you didn't want me but I should've fought for you anyway. I know that now."
You pressed your forehead harder into him.
"I thought you hated me."
"I never hated you."
"I thought you looked at my text and decided I wasn't worth it."
"No," he said fiercely. "No. Never."
"I would've never forced you to choose," you said, pulling back just enough to look at him. "You know that right? I would've been scared. I would've cried. I would've probably yelled at you and told you I couldn't do it alone. But I wouldn't have forced you to give anything up. I wouldn't have made you choose between hockey and us."
"I know."
"Do you? Because I really loved you, Sid. I loved you so much and I knew what hockey meant to you."
"I know."
"I would've figured it out with you," you said. "Whatever that looked like. Pittsburgh, Halifax, your parents, my parents, I don't know. We were kids, and it would've been hard and maybe we would've fucked it up a hundred different ways, but I wouldn't have trapped you. I wasn't trying to ruin you."
His eyes squeezed shut.
"I know," he said. "I know you weren't. You would've given me the choice even if it broke your heart and they couldn't even give you the chance."
You stared at him through tears.
"I wish you had the chance to ask me," he said. "I wish you had the chance to yell at me for real. I wish you had the chance to throw the test at my head and tell me to figure my shit out. I wish I had the chance to be scared with you. I wish I had been there for the appointments and the cravings and the mornings you felt sick. I wish I had been there when he was born."
His voice broke completely. You reached for him again, your hand coming up to his cheek. He froze under your touch. You nearly pulled away, but he turned his face into your palm so tenderly.
"I wish I saw him," he admitted. "When he was tiny. I wish I knew what he sounded like when he cried. I wish I knew how he slept. I wish I knew if he liked being rocked or if he hated it. I wish I knew his first word. I wish I knew what he looked like on Christmas morning. I wish I knew everything."
"He hated being swaddled," you said before you could think better of it.
Sidney opened his eyes.
You looked down at your hand on his face, then back at him.
"He'd scream," you said, voice thick. "Like, full red faced kinda thing. My mom kept saying babies liked being wrapped up, and Beau absolutely did not."
A laugh broke out of Sidney.
"He liked sleeping on my dad's chest," you said. "Only my dad's for a while. Which was annoying because my dad would get this smug little look on his face like he was the favorite."
Sidney smiled through tears.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Your mouth trembled. "His first word was mama. Kind of. He babbled it before, but on his birthday, he meant it."
Sidney's eyes filled again. You brushed a tear off his cheek with your thumb before you remembered you maybe shouldn't but neither of you moved away.
"He loves gummy bears," you said. "And he thinks thunder is clouds bowling. He calls graham crackers cracker things even though he knows the word graham now. He has this little blue blanket he says is magic, but only when he doesn't want to go to bed. He hates peas. He loves hockey, which is rude as hell of him."
Sidney laughed again, and this one sounded more real. You smiled at him.
"He uses anything as a stick," you continued. "Brooms. Wooden spoons. Wrapping paper tubes. My hairbrush once. I had to take that away because he was trying to shoot a sock into the laundry basket and almost took out a lamp."
"He sounds perfect.”
"He is," you said. "He's also a menace."
"That tracks."
You gave him a look.
He lifted one shoulder weakly. "What? I was a menace."
"You still are."
A small silence followed. Sidney's eyes moved over your face like he was trying to memorize the person you’d become.
"You look tired," he said.
You laughed under your breath. "Yeah, well."
"I hate that."
"I have a three year old. Tired is part of the job."
"I still hate it."
You looked at him and he looked back. There it was again. The way you could stand this close and not need to fill every second. The way his eyes still knew how to soften on you. The way your body still wanted to lean. It should've felt wrong after four years. It should've felt like touching a stranger. It didn't.
Sidney lifted his hand, then stopped himself halfway. You saw the hesitation. He wanted to touch your face. You knew he did. You knew because he used to do it all the time. Used to cup your jaw before kissing you. Used to tuck hair behind your ear when you were ranting. Used to brush his thumb over your cheek if you were crying, even when you claimed you weren't.
Now he didn't know if he was allowed. You hated that. You hated that he had to wonder. You hated that he was probably right to wonder.
"Sid," you said softly.
His hand dropped.
"Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize for every breath."
"Kind of feels like I do."
"That's exhausting."
"Yeah," he said, trying for a smile and failing. "It is."
You looked down at the front of his hoodie where your tears had darkened the fabric.
"You look like shit," you said.
"Thanks."
"No, I mean, genuinely. You look awful."
"I haven't slept much."
"Recently or ever?"
His mouth twitched. "Recently."
"Weeks?"
His face changed. Right. There was more. You stepped back slightly, not out of his reach, but enough to breathe.
"What happened after that night?"
Sidney rubbed both hands over his face and exhaled.
"A lot. Nothing. I don't know." He leaned back against the edge of the table, careful not to knock into Beau's coloring books. "I went to my parents' house. We fought. I left. I drove around all night."
"All night?"
"Yeah."
"Sidney."
"I know."
"That's stupid."
"I know."
"You could've gotten yourself killed."
His eyes softened at your tone, at the worry you couldn't quite hide.
"I didn't," he said gently.
"Not the point."
"I know."
You crossed your arms over your chest because your hands didn't know what to do without touching him.
"I thought I could come back in the morning," he said. "After I found out. I thought I could show up and tell you everything, and maybe..." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe I thought if I had the truth, I'd know what to do with it. But I didn't. I got to your parents' street, and I just sat there. I couldn't get out of the car."
You stared at him.
"You were there?"
He nodded.
"When?"
"Early. Before your dad drove you back."
"I didn't know."
"I know."
"Why didn't you come out?"
His jaw worked.
"Because I saw your dad loading the truck. I saw Beau in the backseat. I saw you come out and you looked..." He swallowed. "You looked like you'd survived me again. And I couldn't walk up to you and ask for more."
"So you just left?"
"Yeah."
"Then what?"
"I went back to Pittsburgh for a bit. Not really back. I don't know. I wasn't really anywhere. I didn't talk to my parents," he said. "My mom called. My dad called. I didn't answer. Mario called. Pat called. I didn't answer them either. Then I tried to talk to Mike."
"Mike?"
He nodded.
"What happened with Mike?"
Sidney rubbed a hand over his mouth. "He was pissed at me."
"Why?"
"Because he thought I knew and didn't care," Sidney said. "He didn't say anything to me at first because he was angry. He said he couldn't even look at me. And then after... after I found out, I went to him because I had no one left."
There was something so lonely in the way he said it. No one left. The town hero. The golden boy. The kid everyone wanted a piece of. And somehow, at twenty-two, he looked like an abandoned little boy in your apartment.
"I didn't mean to drag him into it."
"You didn't," Sidney said. "None of this is your fault."
He kept going, his voice quieter now.
"I told him I didn't know. He didn't believe me at first. I don't blame him. I barely sounded believable to myself. But I told him everything. The phone. Your mom's calls. My parents. The fight. And then I just..." He laughed weakly, embarrassed. "I broke down. Like, fully. On his couch. Which was humiliating."
"Sid."
"I know. Mike was good. He was mad, but he was good. He let me be a mess. Then he told me if I loved you, I had to stop thinking this could be fixed by one big speech."
You looked at Sidney, surprised.
He nodded, like he agreed.
"He said you weren't a game I could win. Beau wasn't something I could just show up and claim. He said I needed to understand that you had a life, and if I came into it, I had to come in on your terms. Not mine."
"Mike said that?"
"With more swearing."
"Yeah, that sounds right."
"He said I should go to your parents if I wanted any chance at seeing you without making you feel cornered. Because they knew your life. They knew Beau. They knew whether I should stay away."
"So you went?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"This morning."
You stared at him.
"My mom agreed to this?"
Sidney looked down.
"Not at first."
You imagined your mother, soft hearted but protective. Your mom who had cried with you. Your mom who had watched you disappear inside yourself during pregnancy. Your mom who had held Beau when you couldn't. Your mom who probably still had anger tucked away in places even she didn't like to visit.
"She told me I had no right," Sidney said. "She said I didn't get to blow back into your life because I was sad now. She said you were finally happy, and she wouldn't let me ruin it for you again."
Your eyes stung.
"Sounds like her."
"I told her she was right," he said. "Because she was."
"And my dad?"
"Your dad didn't say much at first. He just stared at me. I think he was trying to decide if he could hit me without upsetting your mom."
Despite everything, you laughed.
"He asked me one thing," he said.
"What?"
"He asked if I would've stayed."
"What did you say?"
Sidney's eyes held yours.
"I said yes."
Your lips parted.
"I said I would've stayed if you asked me to. I would've gone if you asked me to. I would've done whatever you and Beau needed. But if it had been up to me, I would've been wherever you were."
You looked away, blinking hard.
"He believed you?"
Sidney nodded slowly.
"I don't know why."
"I do," you whispered.
You cleared your throat, looking at your coffee mug because his eyes were too much.
"My dad's good at knowing when people are full of shit."
Sidney gave a broken little laugh.
"Yeah. He told me if I hurt you again, he'd make sure I regretted it for the rest of my life."
"That sounds like him too."
"He also told me I looked like hell and needed to stop standing on the porch before the neighbors saw."
You shook your head, but you were smiling through tears now.
"God."
"He convinced your mom to bring me," Sidney said. "Just this once. Those were his words. He said they'd drive me here, wait outside, and if you told me to leave, I'd leave and not show up again unless you asked."
You looked toward the window.
Your parents' car still lingered on the curb outside. Your dad was probably pretending not to stare at the building. Your mom was probably crying. Or furious. Or both.
"They're still outside?"
"Yeah."
"Did my dad tell you not to make this take all day?"
"He said I had until Beau woke up, then he was coming up himself."
You laughed again, a real laugh this time, even if it was soaked in tears. Sidney watched you with soft eyes.
"What?" you asked.
"Nothing."
"No, what?"
He shook his head. "I missed your laugh."
Your smile faded into something sadder.
"I missed yours too," you admitted.
Sidney looked down like he couldn't hold that and look at you at the same time
You rubbed your palms over your sweatshirt sleeves.
"What now?" you asked.
Sidney looked at you.
He didn't answer right away, and you appreciated that. You didn't want a perfect answer. Perfect answers were lies, most of the time. You wanted something honest. Something he had to think about.
"I don't know," he said finally.
You nodded, hating and loving that response.
"But I know what I want," he added.
"What do you want?"
His eyes stayed on yours.
"You," he said. "And Beau. I want to know him. I want him to know me. However slow you need. However small it has to start. Five minutes at a time if that's all you can give me."
Five minutes. But different now. Maybe different.
"And me?" you asked.
Sidney looked almost startled. Like he hadn't expected you to ask. Like wanting you was so obvious inside him that he forgot he needed to include you in it too.
"I want you every way I'm allowed to," he said.
His face flushed slightly, but he kept going.
"I love you. I never stopped. I tried. I tried so hard to make it quieter, to make it something I could live with, but it never went away. And I know that doesn't mean you owe me anything. I know loving you doesn't fix what happened. I know it doesn't change what you went through. But I do. I love you. I'm still in love with you, and I don't know what to do except tell you the truth."
"Sidney."
"I know," he said quickly. "I know. It's too much."
"It is."
"I know."
"It's not fair."
"I know."
"You don't get to just say that and make me feel things."
"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Stop saying sorry."
"Okay."
You covered your eyes with one hand.
"I hate this."
"I know."
"I lived my life thinking you left."
"I know."
"And now you're here."
"I'm here."
"And I still love you," you said, and the second the words left your mouth, you started crying again. “I still love you, and I'm so mad about it. I should be smarter than this. I should know better. I should protect myself better. But I saw you in that stupid car, and even when I wanted to kill you, I wanted to touch your face. And when you dropped me off, I waited. I waited like an idiot because some part of me is still that girl on the porch waiting for you to come back."
Sidney closed the space between you and this time, he did touch your face. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, thumbs hovering at first, then settling when you didn't pull away. His palms were warm.
"You're not an idiot," he said. "Don't call yourself that."
You laughed through tears. "That's what you focus on?"
"Yeah," he said. "Because you're not."
"You can't just defend me from myself."
"I can try."
"Still stubborn."
"Still you."
Your hands came up to his wrists you should've moved them away. You didn't.
"I don't know how to do this," you whispered.
"Me neither."
"I don't know how to let you in without being terrified."
"Then be terrified," he said. "I'll wait."
You searched his face. "Will you?"
"Yes."
"You didn't before."
"No," he said. "I didn't. And I'll spend the rest of my life wishing I had."
Your fingers tightened around his wrists.
"I don't want you making promises because you feel guilty."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm guilty," he said. "Of course I am. I feel guilty about things I didn't even know were happening because I still wasn't there. But that's not why I'm here."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I love you," he said. "Because I have a son. Because somebody else made a choice for us, and maybe we don't get those four years back, but we get to choose now. You get to choose. And if your choice is that I only know Beau from a distance for a while, then that's what I'll do. If your choice is that we go slow then I'll do that. If your choice is that you need to yell at me every day for the next year, I'll stand there and take it."
"I don't have that much free time."
"I'll work around your schedule."
"Idiot."
"Yeah," he whispered, and his thumb moved lightly over your cheek. "Your idiot, if you'll let me be."
You looked down, but he didn't let your face go.
"Sid."
"I know," he said. "Too much."
"No," you whispered. “I want things to work.”
Sidney's eyes widened slightly.
"I don't know what that means yet," you added quickly. "I don't know what we are. I don't know how this works with Beau, or your life, or my life, or your parents, or anything. I don't know."
"Okay."
"But I want it," you said. "I want to try. I hate that I want to try, but I do."
"Okay.”
"And you don't get to disappear again."
"Never."
"I mean it."
"I know."
"No, Sid, I mean it. If you freak out, you call. If you're scared, you say you're scared. If you don't know what to do, you say that. You don't drive around all night and vanish for weeks."
He nodded quickly, tears spilling again.
"I won't. I swear."
"You have to let me be mad."
"Yes."
"And sad."
"Yes."
"And weird."
That surprised a laugh out of him. "Weird?"
"Yes, weird. I'm probably gonna be weird as hell about this."
"Okay."
"And you have to be patient with Beau. He doesn't know you. He doesn't need some big emotional adult mess dropped on him."
"I know," Sidney said immediately. "I know. I want to do it right. Whatever right is."
"He has a good life. I know it's not the life he could've had, and I know you missed so much, but he is loved. He's happy. He's safe. I won't let anyone make him feel like he wasn't enough as he was."
"I would never," he said.
"I know."
And you did.
"You've done such a good job.”
Your eyes burned again.
"Don't make me cry more, Crosby. I'm tired."
His thumb brushed under your eye.
"Sorry."
You gave him a look. He pressed his lips together.
"Right. Not saying that."
You laughed softly. Sid's eyes dropped to your mouth. You saw it. You felt it.
The years between you seemed to pull taut, thinning until it was almost nothing. You remembered his first kiss. The nervousness of it. The way he'd missed slightly and bumped your nose and apologized three times while you laughed into his mouth. You remembered every goodbye kiss after games, every secret kiss in hallways, every lazy, half asleep kiss.
His gaze lifted back to your eyes. He didn't move. Didn't ask. Didn't take. Just waited. Your heart pounded.
"This is probably a bad idea," you whispered.
His voice was just as quiet. "Probably."
"We're emotional."
"Very."
"And sleep deprived."
"Me especially."
"And this doesn't fix anything."
"No."
"And if you kiss me and then everything hurts worse, I'm gonna be pissed."
A little smile touched his mouth.
"I can live with that."
You stared at him for one more second then you lifted onto your toes and kissed him. It was soft. Not hungry, not desperate, not the kind of kiss that tried to make four years disappear. It didn't erase anything. It didn't solve anything. It was just Sidney's mouth on yours.
He made a sound against your lips like he couldn't help it, and one of his hands slid from your cheek into your hair. Your fingers curled into his hoodie. He kissed you like you were something he thought he'd never be allowed to touch again. Like he was afraid of wanting too much. Like he loved you so much it scared him.
You pulled back first, barely. His forehead rested against yours. Both of you were breathing like you'd run somewhere.
"Hi," he said stupidly.
You laughed.
"Hi."
His thumb moved over your cheek.
"I missed you," he said.
You closed your eyes.
"I missed you too."
He exhaled shakily.
"Baby," he murmured, so quiet it was almost not sound at all.
Your eyes opened. He looked immediately terrified.
"I know," he said. "I know I shouldn't."
You shook your head. You didn't even know what you were saying no to. No, don't apologize. No, don't take it back. No, don't look at me like I'm made of glass. No, don't stop being the boy who loved me before the world got its hands on us.
"Say it again," you breathed.
He pulled you into him, one arm around your back, the other hand cradling the back of your head. His mouth pressed to your temple, lingering there.
"Baby," he said again, voice wrecked. "My girl. I should've been there. I should've been there to take care of you."
You buried your face in his chest, and for once, you let yourself be held like someone who didn't have to be strong every second.
"I haven’t been anybody’s baby in four years," you mumbled.
Sidney's arms tightened around you so hard you could barely breathe, but you didn't care.
"I know," he said. "I know. Never again, if you'll have me. You can be tired. You can be mad. You can fall apart. I've got you. I know I don't deserve to say that, but I've got you now."
You let the words move through you not believing them all the way yet but wanting to.
The two of you stood like that for a long time. Long enough for the coffee to go cold. Long enough for the early light to turn from gray to pale gold. Long enough for the ache to settle into something that wasn't peace exactly, but could maybe become it someday.
Sidney didn't push. You didn't pull away.
At some point, your breathing evened. At some point, his hand began moving slowly over your back, the way it used to when he was trying to calm you down. At some point, you realized you were doing the same to him, your fingers smoothing the fabric of his hoodie near his ribs.
summary: he’s sidney crosby; three time stanley cup winner, two time olympian gold medalist, and canada’s national treasure. you’re y/n l/n, seven time grammy winner, two time album of the year winner, and canada’s own pop princess. it's almost ridiculous how much of a power couple you would make. but it would never happen, right?
warnings: the timeline is allll over the place sorry, a lot of taylor swift music (sorry if u don't like her music) and some of the lyrics being changed slightly, all pictures taken from pinterest, use of y/n (a lot), no specific faceclaim for y/n that’s why im using all different pictures everytime lol
a/n: this is honestly just very self indulgent fun vibes
febuary 2026
youruser added to their story
march 2026
youruser
🎵 Endgame - y/n l/n
liked by tatemcrae, oliviarodrigo and others
youruser surprise!! my new single endgame is out now on all streaming platforms ! i’ve been having so much fun recording some new music for you guys in the last few days, so keep an eye out👀
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user1 NEW ALBUM???!!?!!
user2 who is this about hello👀
oliviarodrigo im obsessed liked by author ♥️
↪ user3 olivia being a y/n fangirl since the beginning🙏
user4 I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAMEEEE I WANNA BE YOUR FIRST PICK
↪ user5 I WANNA BE YOUR A TEAMMMM
tatemcrae so good😭 liked by author ♥️
april 2026
transcript of the featured video
*tate and y/n finish performing ‘running for the hills’, hugging as the crowd cheers. y/n picks up an acoustic guitar as tate leaves the stage*
y/n: how are we feeling tonight pittsburgh!
crowd *cheers*
y/n: for those of you who don’t know me, my name is y/n l/n. *she laughs as the crowd cheers*
y/n: im so so so excited to be here and so thankful that tate invited me on stage tonight to perform with her! if you guys are okay with it, there’s another song i'd like to perform for you tonight.
*the crowd cheers again*
y/n: *laughs* okay, good! *she starts strumming the guitar* because this is a very special song to me. this is going to be on the next album, and even though it's not going to be a single, i just couldn’t wait to share this one with you guys, so tate suggested i should just come on here and sing it acoustic for you guys. i hope you like it. this is called ‘wish list’.
*y/n performs ‘wish list’*
may 2026
youruser
🎵Elizabeth Taylor - y/n l/n
liked by mackcelebrini, zaralarsson and others
youruser my new single Elizabeth Taylor is yours today <3
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user1 she has outdone herself as always
user2 MACK IN THE LIKES
↪ user3 who’s mack
↪ user2 hockey player for the san jose sharks
user4 im loving the aesthetic for this new era/album
user5 wait this song sounds so familiar??
↪ user5 i think it sounds like 2026 SOTY
↪ user6 EXACTLYYYY
user7 i just know this album is going to be everything
youruser
🎵invisible string - Taylor Swift
liked by taylorswift, e.malkin71geno and others
youruser there’s no place like home :)
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user1 the soft launch hello??👀
user2 geno in the likes ???? wtf
↪ user3 no cause thats so random??
↪ user2 i feel like this means something liked by author ♥️
↪ user2 wait why did y/n like this?????
user4 who is that MAN
↪ user5 especially with the song choice
june 2026
youruser
🎵The Alchemy - y/n l/n
liked by zaralarsson, charles_leclerc and others
youruser im so excited to tell you that my brand new album ‘Hometown Hero’ will be yours august seventh <3 for now you can enjoy one more song off the album, The Alchemy, now streaming on all platforms
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user1 oh my god FINALLY
user2 claiming honey and so high school immediately
↪ user2 and slut! actually
↪ user2 and delicate
↪ user3 bro’s just claiming half the album atp😭
user4 what’s with all the sports references in this song
↪ user5 rumors have been saying shes dating a hockey player👀
user7 album of the year incoming
user8 i need this song injected in my veins immediately
user9 the title being hometown hero the sidney crosby rumours are starting to sound less ridiculous by the minute
user10 the way every song on this album so far has been a love song im so happy
user11 AUGUST 7TH U MEAN SIDNEY CROSBY’S BIRTHDAY??????
↪ user12 wait ur actually on to something
↪ user11 AND ALL THE HOCKEY REFS IN THE ALCHEMY TOO???!?!? I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG?!?!?!?!?
july 2026
youruser
liked by penguins, tatemcrae and others
youruser yall know i’m canada down
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user1 OH MY GODDDD
user2 literally canada’s royal couple HELLO
user3 that one girl on twitter who called this months ago is probably freaking out so bad rn
↪ user11 I AM NEVER GOING TO SHUT UP ABOUT THIS EVER
tatemcrae ♥️
↪ youruser ♥️
user4 am i the only person here who doesnt know this man lmao😭
↪ user5 yeah probably😭
↪ user6 how does one not know sidney crosby
user7 brb going back to listen to all the singles with the lens of now knowing theyre about sidney crosby
Summary: the one where he puts a ring on your finger
Series Masterlist
Sidney has been carrying a ring in his pocket for three days, and he’s starting to think it might burn a hole through his shorts.
The ring box is small, velvet, and currently residing in the right pocket of his linen pants while you’re six feet away, crouched down and cooing at a tabby cat on the cobblestone streets of Folegandros. This is the fourth cat you’ve befriended today — or maybe the fifth, he’s lost count — and watching you baby-talk to a stray while the Aegean Sea sparkles behind you is making his chest feel too tight.
“Sidney, look at her little face,” you call out, glancing back at him with that smile that made him buy the ring in the first place. “She’s so sweet. Do you think she’s hungry?”
“Probably,” he says, even though he has no idea. He’s been to a lot of places, done a lot of things, but Greek island cat behavior was never in his wheelhouse.
You’re already digging through your bag — the woven one you bought in Naxos two days ago — pulling out the bougatsa you’d grabbed at breakfast. You break off a piece and offer it to the cat, who sniffs it suspiciously before accepting.
“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her sun-warmed fur. “Such a pretty girl.”
Sidney pulls out his phone and takes a photo, adding it to the collection he’s been building all week. You feeding cats. You laughing at a local taverna. You in that white sundress that makes you look like you belong here, among the whitewashed buildings and endless blue. You looking at him like he hung the moon when he surprised you with this trip.
The plan had been simple: skip the tourist traps, rent a yacht, and island-hop through the Cyclades the way normal people can’t. Santorini and Mykonos were beautiful, sure, but they were also Instagram factories, full of influencers and cruise ship crowds. He wanted something real. Something authentic. Something that felt like it belonged to just the two of you.
So he’d hired a captain and a small crew, and for the past week, you’d been sailing from island to island — Naxos, Paros, Antiparos, Koufonisia, and now Folegandros. Small islands. Quiet islands. Islands where locals still outnumbered tourists, where you could walk through villages and actually hear church bells instead of club music.
And watching you fall in love with each one has been the best part of the trip.
You stand up, brushing off your dress, and loop your arm through his. “Thank you for this,” you say, like you have every day. “This whole trip. It’s perfect.”
“You’ve said that about every island,” he points out, amused.
“Because it’s true about every island,” you counter. “How did you even find these places? I’ve never heard of half of them.”
“Research,” he says, which is true. He’d spent weeks reading travel blogs, watching videos, messaging people who’d been to Greece. He’d wanted to get it right.
“Well, you nailed it,” you say, squeezing his arm. “This is the best vacation I’ve ever been on.”
The ring box feels heavier in his pocket.
Tonight, he thinks. It has to be tonight.
He’d been planning to propose since the beginning of the season. Had the ring custom-made six months ago by a jeweler in New York who specialized in unique pieces. Had it designed specifically for you — a blue diamond, because you’d once mentioned in passing that you loved how unusual they were, set in platinum with cathedral details that the jeweler had called “architectural“ and “distinctive.” The kind of ring you could wear every day but that would still make people stop and stare.
He’d been carrying it for three days, looking for the perfect moment, and somehow every moment had felt both perfect and not perfect enough. Sunset in Naxos? Too crowded. That quiet beach in Antiparos? Too isolated. The yacht deck under the stars? Too predictable.
But tonight. Tonight he has a plan.
“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently down the street. “We should get ready for dinner.”
“Where are we going again?” You ask.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, which makes you narrow your eyes suspiciously.
“You’ve been very mysterious about tonight,” you observe.
“Have I?” He asks innocently.
“Very,” you confirm. “Should I be worried?”
“Definitely not,” he assures you. “Just trust me.”
“I always trust you,” you say simply, and the ring box burns hotter.
Back on the yacht, you disappear into the cabin to get ready while Sidney checks in with the captain about timing. Dinner reservations are at seven-thirty — he’d made them weeks ago, calling the restaurant directly, explaining in broken English and hand gestures over video chat what he wanted. The owner, an elderly woman named Yiayia Eleni, had been delighted, conspiratorial, promising him the best table and complete discretion.
He showers and changes into the nice shirt he packed specifically for this — white linen, rolled sleeves, paired with his better shorts and the watch you got him for his birthday. He looks at himself in the mirror and takes a breath.
“You’ve played in the Olympics,” he tells his reflection. “You’ve won Stanley Cups. You can propose to your girlfriend.”
His reflection doesn’t look convinced.
When you emerge from the cabin twenty minutes later, his brain stops working entirely.
You’re wearing a dress he’s never seen before — soft blue, the color of the Aegean, with thin straps and a skirt that moves when you walk. Your hair is down, slightly wavy from the sea air, and you’re wearing the delicate gold necklace he bought you in Paros.
“Is this okay?” You ask, suddenly self-conscious. “You said nice restaurant, but I wasn’t sure how nice-”
“You’re perfect,” he interrupts. “You look perfect.”
You smile, pleased, and do a little spin. “I bought it in Naxos. I was saving it for a special occasion.”
“Good instinct,” he manages, and offers his arm.
The restaurant is a ten-minute walk from where the yacht is docked — a small, family-owned place right on the water with only six tables. Yiayia Eleni greets you at the door with enthusiastic cheek kisses and a flood of Greek that neither of you understand but that clearly means “welcome.”
She leads you to a table on the terrace, right at the edge where the stone meets the sea. It’s the best table, separated slightly from the others, with a view of the harbor and the sunset that’s just beginning to paint the sky pink and gold.
“Sidney, this is beautiful,” you breathe, sitting down. “How did you find this place?”
“I have my ways,” he says mysteriously.
Yiayia Eleni returns with wine — local, she explains in careful English, from her son’s vineyard on the island. She pours you each a glass, winks at Sidney in a way that suggests she knows exactly what’s happening tonight, and disappears back into the kitchen.
“She’s adorable,” you say, watching her go. “I love these family places. They have so much character.”
“Better than the tourist traps,” Sidney agrees.
“So much better,” you say. “I mean, I’m sure Santorini is beautiful, but this-” you gesture at the view, the quiet harbor, the locals walking past, “ — this feels real. Like we’re actually experiencing Greece, not just performing it for Instagram.”
“That’s what I was hoping for,” he admits.
You reach across the table and take his hand. “You did good, Crosby. This whole trip. It’s been incredible.”
“Yeah?” He asks, even though you’ve told him this every day.
“The best,” you confirm. “I don’t want it to end.”
“It doesn’t have to,” he says carefully. “We could come back. Make it a regular thing.”
“I’d like that,” you say, smiling. “Annual Greek island trip. I could get behind that tradition.”
The food arrives in waves — Greek salad, grilled octopus, fresh bread with olive oil, moussaka that Yiayia Eleni insists you try. Everything is perfect, simple and fresh and made with obvious care. You moan over the octopus, declare the moussaka life-changing, and insist on trying to learn the Greek words for “thank you” and “delicious.”
Sidney watches you charm Yiayia Eleni’s husband — Papou Pavlos — when he comes out to check on your meal, sees you light up when you successfully communicate that the food is incredible, and feels the ring box pressing against his leg like a heartbeat.
The sun is setting now, turning the sky into a masterpiece of orange and pink and purple. The other diners are focused on their own meals, their own conversations. Yiayia Eleni catches his eye from the doorway and gives him an encouraging nod.
It’s time.
“Hey,” he says, and his voice comes out rougher than intended.
You look up from your wine, smiling. “Hey yourself.”
“I want to tell you something,” he starts, and watches your expression shift from casual to attentive.
“Okay,” you say slowly. “Should I be worried? You look very serious suddenly.”
“Not worried,” he assures you. “Just give me a second. I’ve been planning what to say for weeks and now I’m blanking.”
“Planning what to say about what?” You ask, but there’s something in your eyes now, a dawning realization.
Sidney stands up, his chair scraping against the stone, and your eyes go wide.
“Sidney-” you start.
“Let me say this,” he interrupts gently, moving around the table. “Please. I need to say this.”
He drops to one knee beside your chair, and you make a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a sob.
“Oh my god,” you whisper.
“I had a whole speech planned,” he admits, pulling the ring box from his pocket. “I’ve been rehearsing it for days. But now I’m looking at you and I can’t remember any of it.”
“That’s okay,” you say, and your eyes are already shining with tears. “You don’t need a speech.”
“I do though,” he insists. “Because you need to understand—you need to know what you mean to me.”
He takes a breath, and the words start coming.
“I’ve been playing hockey since I was three years old,” he says. “My whole life has been about the game. About training and winning and being the best. And I love it. I love hockey. But you-” his voice catches. “You made me realize that there’s more to life than the game.”
You’re crying now, tears streaming down your face, but you’re smiling.
“You made me want things I didn’t think I wanted,” he continues. “A home that’s actually a home, not just a place I sleep between road trips. Lazy mornings and inside jokes and someone who calls me out when I’m being too intense about game film.”
You laugh through your tears. “You are too intense about game film.”
“I know,” he says, smiling. “And you’re the only person who can tell me that and make me actually listen.”
He opens the ring box, and your hand flies to your mouth.
“Oh my god,” you breathe. “Sidney, that’s-”
“I had it made for you,” he explains. “The blue diamond because you said you loved them. The cathedral setting because you’re always talking about architecture when we travel. I wanted it to be unique. Like you.”
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you whisper.
“This whole trip,” he continues, “watching you fall in love with these islands, seeing you feed every cat we encounter, listening to you try to learn Greek from the locals — I’ve been falling more in love with you every single day. Which I didn’t think was possible because I was already so gone for you.”
“Sid,” you say, your voice breaking.
“You’re brilliant and funny and kind,” he says. “You’re going to finish your PhD and do incredible things and change the world with your research. And I want to be there for all of it. I want to watch you defend your dissertation and get your first academic job and publish your first book. I want to support you the way you support me.”
“You already do,” you manage.
“I want to come home to you every night,” he continues. “I want to travel the world with you. I want to have babies with you — when you’re ready — and build a family. I want to grow old with you and still be feeding Greek cats when we’re seventy.”
You’re fully sobbing now, and so is Yiayia Eleni, who’s appeared in the doorway with a handkerchief.
“You’re my home,” Sidney says, and his own voice is unsteady now. “You’re my family. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed and everything I can’t imagine living without. And I know I’m older than you, and I’m gone a lot, and my life is complicated, but-”
“Sidney,” you interrupt, your hand on his face. “Ask me. Please just ask me.”
He takes a shaky breath. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” you say immediately, emphatically. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”
He barely gets the ring out of the box before you’re pulling him up, kissing him with tears streaming down both your faces. He manages to slip the ring onto your finger between kisses, and it fits perfectly — of course it does, he had your ring size memorized from that time you tried on rings at a vintage store in Pittsburgh.
When you finally pull back to look at it, you make a sound that’s pure joy.
“Sidney, this is—I can’t even-” You turn your hand, watching the blue diamond catch the last of the sunset. “How did you design this? It’s perfect. The cathedral setting, the way the band has these details — it’s like it was made specifically for me.”
“It was,” he confirms. “Every part of it. I wanted you to have something no one else has.”
“Mission accomplished,” you say, kissing him again. “I can’t believe you did this. Here, on this perfect trip, at this perfect restaurant-”
“I wanted it to be special,” he says.
“It’s perfect,” you assure him. “You’re perfect. This is perfect.”
Yiayia Eleni appears with champagne that Sidney definitely didn’t order but that she’s clearly been saving for this exact moment. She’s talking rapidly in Greek, gesturing at the ring, at you, at Sidney, and while you can’t understand the words, the meaning is clear: congratulations, how beautiful, how wonderful.
Papou Pavlos appears with a camera, insisting on taking photos. The other diners are applauding. Someone brings out baklava with a candle in it.
“Did you plan all this?” You ask, laughing through tears.
“I planned the proposal,” Sidney admits. “Yiayia Eleni planned the celebration.”
“I love her,” you declare, and Yiayia Eleni, understanding her name if not the words, beams and kisses both your cheeks.
You insist on taking photos of the ring against the sunset, the ring with the harbor in the background, the ring next to your wine glass. Sidney takes a photo of you wearing the ring, your smile brighter than any sunset, and knows he’s going to frame it.
“Call my parents,” you say suddenly. “And yours. We have to tell them.”
“Right now?” He asks, amused.
“Right now,” you insist. “They need to know. Your parents need to know they’re getting a daughter-in-law. My parents need to know they’re getting Sidney Crosby as a son-in-law, which they’re going to lose their minds about.”
“Your dad’s going to make daddy jokes,” Sidney realizes.
“Oh absolutely,” you confirm. “For the rest of your life. You’ve signed up for this.”
“Worth it,” he says, kissing you again.
You make the calls right there at the table, with the Aegean Sea behind you and the ring catching every light. Your mom cries. Your dad says “I knew it” and then makes exactly the joke Sidney predicted about calling him dad. Sidney’s mom cries too, and his dad gives him a gruff congratulations that sounds suspiciously emotional.
Your brother demands photos of the ring immediately and then sends back a string of all-caps messages about how Sidney BETTER TREAT HIS SISTER RIGHT OR ELSE.
“He’s twenty-one,” you point out, reading the messages. “What’s he going to do?”
“He plays college baseball,” Sidney says. “He could probably do some damage.”
“Fair point,” you concede.
By the time you finish making calls, the sky is fully dark, stars beginning to appear. Yiayia Eleni has brought out more wine, more baklava, and what looks like her entire extended family to congratulate you.
“This is the best day of my life,” you tell Sidney, your hand in his, the ring gleaming in the candlelight.
“Mine too,” he agrees.
“Better than winning the Stanley Cup?” You tease.
“So much better,” he says, and means it. “The Cup doesn’t kiss back.”
You laugh, that sound he loves, and lean your head on his shoulder. “What do we do now?”
“Now,” he says, “we finish our wine, eat more baklava than is advisable, and walk back to the yacht as an engaged couple.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we wake up and you’re still going to be my fiancée,” he says. “And I’m going to make you breakfast and probably stare at you wearing that ring for several hours.”
“Sounds perfect,” you say. “What about after this trip?”
“After this trip, we go home and you finish your PhD,” he says. “And we start planning a wedding. And we build our life together.”
“Our life,” you repeat, testing the words. “I like the sound of that.”
“Me too,” he says.
Yiayia Eleni insists on more photos — of you and Sidney, of the ring, of the whole family together. She makes you promise to send copies, to come back for your anniversary, to name your first daughter Eleni.
“She’s very invested in our future,” you observe as you finally say goodbye.
“She’s been planning this since I called to make the reservation,” Sidney admits. “I think she’s been shopping for your wedding gift.”
“I love her,” you say again. “I love this place. I love this island. I love that this is our story now — how you proposed on a quiet Greek island at a family restaurant while I was still sunburned from feeding cats all day.”
“That’s very on brand for us,” Sidney observes.
“It really is,” you agree.
The walk back to the yacht is quiet, your hand in his, the ring catching the moonlight. Other couples pass by, locals heading home from dinner, and Sidney realizes this is what he wants for the rest of his life. This. You. Quiet walks and shared moments and building something that matters more than hockey ever could.
On the yacht, you insist on modeling the ring in better lighting, taking more photos, sending them to your cohort group chat and watching the messages explode.
The yacht is anchored in the quiet harbor, the island lights twinkling on the shore. You lean against the railing and Sidney wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“I can’t believe I get to marry you,” you murmur.
“I can’t believe you said yes,” he counters.
“Of course I said yes,” you say, turning to face him. “You’re Sidney Crosby. You’re brilliant and kind and you make me laugh and you support my career and you planned this entire perfect trip just to propose to me in the most romantic way possible.”
“When you put it that way, I sound pretty good,” he says, smiling.
“You are pretty good,” you confirm. “Even if you are a dirty old man sometimes.”
“I’m your dirty old man now,” he points out.
“Fiancé,” you correct. “You’re my fiancé. My dirty old fiancé.”
“Even better,” he agrees.
You kiss him under the stars, wearing his ring, and Sidney thinks about how far they’ve come from that charity gala where you argued about hockey statistics. How you’ve gone from the girl who challenged him to the woman he can’t imagine living without.
“I love you,” he says against your lips.
“I love you too,” you say back. “Future husband.”
“Future wife,” he replies, and the words feel right in a way that makes his chest tight.
Later, in the cabin, you insist on sleeping with your left hand on his chest so you can see the ring even in the dark.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly.
“I’m engaged,” you counter. “I’m allowed to be ridiculous about my engagement ring.”
“Fair,” he concedes.
“Tell me again,” you say sleepily. “About the ring. How you designed it.”
“I worked with a jeweler in New York,” he explains, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. “Told him I wanted something unique. Something that represented you. He suggested the blue diamond because they’re rare and distinctive. The cathedral setting because of the structural elements, the way it frames the stone. We went through probably twenty designs before we found the right one.”
“It’s perfect,” you murmur. “I’m never taking it off.”
“You’re going to have to,” he points out. “For lab work. Research. When you’re washing dishes.”
“Okay, fine, sometimes I’ll take it off,” you concede. “But I’m going to hate every second of it.”
He laughs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t like it,” you correct. “I love it. Just like I love you.”
“Love you too,” he says. “Future Dr. Crosby.”
You make a happy sound. “I didn’t even think about that. I’m going to be Dr. Crosby. That sounds so official.”
“Very official,” he agrees. “Very impressive.”
“Your wife is going to be a doctor,” you say, testing the words. “How does that feel?”
“Like I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says honestly.
You shift to kiss him properly. “We both are. Lucky, I mean.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “We really are.”
You fall asleep like that, engaged and happy and planning a future that feels bigger and brighter than anything Sidney could have imagined.
The thing about Sidney Crosby is that he’s spent his whole life winning.
But this — you, with his ring on your finger, saying yes to forever — this is the biggest win of all.
pairing: robert "bobby" franklin x reader
author's note: sooo, i've been thinking of this au ever since i watched backrooms last week (who doesn't love some finn bennett) where bobby survives the backrooms and sort of attempts to built a "normal" life. also, he has a daughter in this, and you know what girly?? i want your daddy too. enjoy heheheh
warnings: language, some backrooms trauma
He goes by Robert now — only seems to make sense after practically scrubbing away everything Bobby.
Robert Franklin — that’s who he is now. Thirty-eight. Attorney-at-law (civil litigation, he’s getting promoted to Partner, crazy stuff). Married (met you at twenty-six through mutual friends, asked you to marry him just a year later). One kid (a little girl with his eyes and your smile — both you and her mean everything to him). Pays his taxes. Does the recycling. Lives in a good neighbourhood (the kind where nothing bad ever happens). Drives a nice car. The whole white picket fence package.
Anything to feel furthest away from that place and the stupid kid that he was.
He doesn’t touch cameras anymore, hasn’t held one since what happened. You’re the photographer and videographer in the family. Vacations, birthdays, cute moments of the little girl you both share — they’re all taken and filmed by you (Baby, come on. Just one more pic, pretty please? Look, sweetie, isn’t Daddy just sooo handsome with his birthday hat? Oh, yes he is!).
He hates confusing spaces with repetitive elements — multi-level car parks, hotel corridors. They seem to induce some sort of frenzied fear in him — cold sweat, clammy palms, dizzy spells, nausea, difficulty breathing — the whole works.
He remembers one time — after finally finding his car, having gone through multiple disorienting rounds of panic — just being unable to move for a long while, slumped against the steering wheel in the driver’s seat, throat closed up, thoughts racing about a hundred miles per hour. Kat. That thing. That place. Always, always that fucking place.
And just like that, he was Bobby again. Desperately begging them not to let go. Hands slick with his girlfriend’s blood. Heart hammering so violently in his chest that he’s sure it might just give out before he’s even made it halfway through running for his life.
A small Daddy … are you okay? was the only thing that had managed to cut through the noise.
It was supposed to be their special day out — their usual weekend thing, just the two of them. The plan was to catch some new Barbie movie, then get said Barbie at the toy store, and finish off with two scoops of ice-cream each afterwards.
The plan was not to have a complete fucking meltdown in front of his daughter.
He somehow pulled himself together, if only for her sake. Forced his voice into something gentle, steady — believable, like if he said it right enough he might even convince himself.
“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s just a little tired from looking for the car, that’s all.”
Managed a small, shaky smile, then leaned over to fasten her seatbelt and stroke her hair with unsteady fingers. Avoided meeting the wide, questioning eyes that always seemed so much like his own. Focused on the wedding band around his finger instead until the terror began to ebb.
He hadn’t even realised he’d been crying until he adjusted the rear view mirror and saw the mess.
He was a mess.
Still is, sometimes.
But when you’re around, it doesn’t feel so bad.
You seem to always know when he gets pulled into it all — a small squeeze of his hand and a soft All good, babe? Or a gentle You still here with us, hon? with your fingers in his hair. Sometimes, you reach for him before he even realises he’s drifting. Arms thrown carelessly around him, your body curled up close, forehead pressed against his cheek as his breathing slowly falls back into rhythm with yours.
He’s never told you about what happened exactly, but you seemed to have stitched together your own version of events through the little bits and pieces he’s let slip out over the years. You’ve never pressed for more. Never pried. You’ve only ever taken that which he’s been willing to give and chose to love him anyway. Somehow, you’ve always understood that if he could tell you, he would.
And he’ll always love you for that.
It’s probably strange. Hating cameras. Hating certain places. Lugging around fears he can’t properly explain.
The thing he hates most of all, though? Pirates. Or Sultans. Whatever the fuck it was supposed to be.
Some nights, he dreams of that thing. Dreams of the furniture store. Dreams of Kat.
He tries not to wake you when it happens — when he jolts awake with his heart lodged somewhere in his throat and his cheeks stained with tears. You always do anyway — curling into his side, nuzzling against him, softly reminding him to breathe.
Later, when the worst of it has passed, he holds you close beneath the covers and dwells on the way your fingers trace absent patterns along the long scar that cuts across his ribs — the one you’ve always known never to ask about, and for which he has never offered an explanation.
Other than the things that occasionally surface from the cracks, life is good.
Life is good when he pretends not to notice the men who follow him sometimes. When he pretends the box in the attic doesn't exist — the one containing Kat’s missing person poster and the tapes he kept from that place. When he pretends that he actually deserves the life he has now.
Life is good when he pretends Bobby Franklin died a long time ago.
He’s gotten very good at pretending. He does it for you. Does it for the little girl made from the best of you both. Does it for the family you’ve built together.
But sometimes — just sometimes, it feels like Bobby is still somewhere just beneath his skin.
