huggybearswife

Latest Posts by huggybearswife

The curls omg

19.04.25 | Luke Hughes

He’s so hot! I need him

since the season is over, being a boyfriend is his full-time job now

Don’t make pookie talk after losses😭

Twins!

Canucks @ Stars | April 8, 2025

Meow

I actually dropped to the floor and went to grab my inhaler.

So baby girl

Luke Hughes | POST-RAW 3.31.25

Cutie

GAWD DAMN HE IS SO FINEEEEEEEEEEEE

Ofc my husband is my best friend

I love my big blue eyes

*sigh* brown contacts aren't enough

Quinn's beautiful smile 🥰🥰🥰

(Postgame. Vancouver Canucks @ Calgary Flames, Mar 12, 2025)

Hes so smug lmao

Quinn is so devious. I love him.

My lukey boy!!!

Boyfriend so hard they co-ordinate outfits

Princess

need to kiss quinn bad, wherever he is rn lol

understandable. i mean look at him. very kissable

Cutie patootie

smiley smitty sunday

Smash

🥰

i will be your father figure / put your tiny hand in mine / i will be your preacher teacher, anything you have in mind / i will be the one who loves you, til the end of time | sidney crosby⁸⁷

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 11.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you needed a job, sidney crosby needed a nanny. it was supposed to be simple—watch the kids, keep your head down, and finish your phd. but nothing about sidney was simple, and the longer you stayed, the harder it became to ignore the way your heart betrayed you every time he did something so dad-like it hurt.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | age gap (reader is 22, sid is 36), single dad!sid, mentions of divorce, deadbeat mom, daddy issues storyline thats a big part of the plot (hence the title), mild angst, pining, tensionnnnn, sid being an unaware dilf, reader being so down bad it’s pathetic, teasing, banter, alcohol consumption, soft moments, so much tension it’s physically painful

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this was supposed to be slutty but then it turned into mutual emotional damage with a side of yearning. and i know this is a reader insert but the backstory is very needed in this plotline.

and there will probably be a part 2, not sure yet. i had too much fun writing sid as the most dad-like man to ever exist, and reader being so in denial about the way he’s literally perfect. if you like slow burn and suffering, this one’s for u<3

Sidney Crosby was used to chaos.

It came with the territory—fifteen years in the NHL, two kids, and an ex-wife who made divorce court feel like a seven-game series with no overtime winner. He could handle pressure. Thrived under it, even. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for single parenthood.

It had been a year since the ink dried on the divorce papers, and yet, somehow, things still felt unsettled. He had the kids most of the time, which was exactly what he wanted, but balancing their schedules with his own? That was a whole different challenge. There were early morning skates, team meetings, and road trips stacked against school drop-offs, bedtime stories, and the occasional existential meltdown over why six-year-old Jack’s favorite dinosaur didn’t have enough fossils to be officially classified.

Then there was Olivia—eight going on seventeen—who had mastered the art of an unimpressed stare long before she ever learned to tie her skates. She adored her dad, but she was sharp, a little skeptical, and old enough to remember how bad things had gotten with her mom before Sidney finally walked away.

Samantha, his ex-wife, had been—how to put it lightly—a mistake. The kind of mistake that came with an expensive wedding, two kids, and a prenup she’d tried (and failed) to contest. They had been young, and Sidney, for all his talent and discipline on the ice, had been naïve. He thought love meant pushing through anything. She thought love meant power, control, and a lifestyle she wasn’t willing to give up. When she realized Sidney wasn’t going to let her spend her way through his contract extension, things got nasty. Fast.

The custody battle had been brutal, but in the end, the courts sided with stability—and stability had always been Sidney. Still, Samantha had just enough visitation to make things difficult. She’d cancel last minute, show up late, make promises she had no intention of keeping. Olivia was starting to see through it. Jack, not so much. He still ran to the door whenever she said she’d come.

Sidney hated that part the most.

Which was why, after months of barely holding it together, he finally admitted he needed help. Not from family, not from teammates, but from someone neutral. Someone who wouldn’t look at him like he was some tragic, overworked martyr but would actually help him fix things.

So, for the first time in his life, Sidney Crosby hired a nanny.

And that’s where you came in.

The nanny search had been a last-resort kind of thing. The idea of bringing a stranger into his home, into his kids' lives, felt unnatural. Sidney wasn’t used to outsourcing his responsibilities. He was the guy who showed up. Always. But showing up wasn’t enough when he was running on fumes, barely holding together the pieces of his carefully managed life.

His teammates had suggested things. “Get a chef, man.” “Hire a personal assistant.” “You need a live-in nanny, like, yesterday.” But it wasn’t that simple. He didn’t want someone cooking quinoa bowls and pretending to know his kids. He wanted someone real. Someone who wouldn’t just clock in and out but who could meet Olivia’s sharp eyes without flinching and actually listen to Jack’s endless dinosaur facts.

The search had been exhausting. Too many candidates who looked at him with stars in their eyes, seeing Sidney Crosby instead of a dad desperate for help. Too many who were stiff, impersonal, or, worst of all, the kind who called his kids “adorable” but clearly had no patience for a high-energy six-year-old and an eight-year-old who had mastered sarcasm young.

Then, there was you.

You weren’t what he expected.

At twenty-two, you were younger than most applicants, but you had this quiet confidence about you, the kind that made Olivia’s skeptical stare turn curious instead of dismissive. You didn’t treat Jack like a little kid; you took his dinosaur knowledge seriously, even challenging some of his facts, which instantly won you favor. And you didn’t treat Sidney like some hockey superstar or a pitiful single dad in over his head. You were professional, sure, but also… normal. Like this was just a job you wanted to do well, not some golden opportunity to get close to a famous athlete.

The fact that you were a Ph.D. student at the University of Pittsburgh was the kicker. You weren’t looking to nanny forever. You had a life, goals, things outside of this. That made him trust you more. You were busy, too. Just in a different way.

He hired you after the second interview.

It was supposed to be temporary—help through the season, maybe reassess in the summer. But Sidney had a feeling, deep down, that once you settled in, things wouldn’t feel temporary at all.

The first week was awkward.

Not because you were bad at the job—you were great. But because Sidney wasn’t used to sharing control. He still found himself hovering when you helped Jack with breakfast, stepping in when Olivia needed help with her math homework, even though you clearly had it handled. It took effort for him to step back, to let you take the reins on little things, to not micromanage every second of his kids' lives.

Jack took to you immediately, eager to show you his dinosaur books, his Lego collection, and every single one of his hockey cards. He followed you around the house like a shadow, peppering you with questions about your classes, your favorite color, whether or not you believed in aliens.

Olivia was harder.

She didn’t dislike you, but she watched. She observed. She wasn’t mean—just cautious. She’d been through enough to know that adults came and went, that some were worth trusting and some weren’t. It wasn’t personal. It was just… how she protected herself.

You handled it well. You didn’t force yourself into her space. You let her warm up on her own terms, and slowly, bit by bit, she did.

The first real breakthrough came one night when Sidney was stuck late at practice. You were helping Olivia with her homework, and she sighed, erasing the same math problem for the third time.

“I’m just not good at this,” she mumbled, frustration evident in her voice.

You didn’t brush it off or tell her she was wrong. Instead, you nodded thoughtfully. “Math was hard for me too, you know. I used to get so mad at it.”

Olivia blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. And now I’m doing a Ph.D., and I still get mad at math sometimes.”

That made her smile—just a small one, but it was something.

By the time Sidney got home, Olivia had finished her homework without a meltdown, and Jack was half-asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket you’d thrown over him.

It wasn’t some life-changing moment, but for Sidney, it was proof. Proof that he’d made the right choice. That maybe, for the first time in a long time, things were finally settling into place.

And he wasn’t sure why that scared him so much.

You needed the job more than you let on.

On the surface, it looked like a side gig—something to help pay the bills while you worked on your Ph.D. at the University of Pittsburgh. People assumed you were just another overachiever balancing too much at once, trying to make things work. And sure, that was part of it. But the real reason? The one you didn’t talk about?

You were broke.

Like, dangerously close to losing your apartment, eating ramen five nights a week, debating whether coffee was an essential expense broke.

Grad school wasn’t cheap, and while you had scholarships covering tuition, the rest—rent, books, food, transportation—was on you. You’d been juggling part-time jobs for months, tutoring undergrads, working late shifts at a bookstore, even considering barista work despite your well-documented inability to make a decent latte. Nothing paid enough, and nothing gave you the flexibility you needed for research, teaching assistant duties, and the mountain of work that came with your dissertation.

You were drowning.

Then, you saw the listing for the nanny job.

At first, you almost dismissed it. You weren’t a professional nanny. Sure, you had experience—you’d babysat all through high school and undergrad, worked summer camps, and even helped raise your younger siblings when your mom had to work long hours—but would Sidney Crosby, the Sidney Crosby, really hire someone like you?

But the pay was good. Really good. And the hours? Surprisingly flexible.

You could make it work.

So, you applied.

And then somehow, impossibly, you got the job.

Why were you so good with kids? Because you got them. You knew what it was like to be a kid who needed someone to show up.

Growing up, your home life had been… complicated. Not bad, not in a way people whispered about, but hard. Your mom was a single parent, working two, sometimes three jobs just to keep things afloat. Your dad wasn’t in the picture—he left when you were young, and you stopped waiting for him to come back a long time ago. That left you as the oldest, the one who had to step up. You packed lunches, helped with homework, figured out how to soothe scraped knees and temper tantrums. You learned early how to be patient, how to listen, how to read between the lines of what kids said and what they actually meant.

You didn’t resent it. If anything, it made you better. It made you someone people trusted. Someone kids trusted.

So, when Olivia was wary of you, keeping her distance, you understood. You’d been that kid, too.

And when Jack rambled on about dinosaurs for twenty minutes straight, you didn’t just nod along distractedly—you engaged. You asked questions. Challenged his theories. Because you knew what it felt like to be small in a world that didn’t always take you seriously.

You weren’t just good with kids. You were exactly what they needed.

And maybe, deep down, this job was exactly what you needed too.

--

The grocery store had become a thing.

At first, you weren’t sure if Sidney had ever actually taken Olivia and Jack shopping himself or if food just magically appeared in the house whenever they needed it. But by the second week, you realized it was a necessary trip—Jack burned through snacks like a full-grown athlete, and Olivia had opinions about what was in the fridge.

So, you made it part of your weekly routine. A little adventure, something to break up the monotony of school, homework, and structured schedules.

And a month into the job?

You actually liked it.

You liked the way Jack made even the most boring errand feel like an expedition, weaving through the aisles like he was navigating a jungle, determined to find the best cereal. You liked how Olivia, who had been so reserved at first, had started easing into the role of The Responsible One, rolling her eyes at her brother but subtly making sure he didn’t wander too far.

You liked them. A lot.

That day, the three of you were deep in the snack aisle when it happened.

“I don’t get it,” Jack announced, dragging his fingers along the shelves as he scanned for his favorite granola bars. “Why don’t they have dinosaur-shaped ones? That would be way cooler.”

“You should write a letter to the company,” you suggested, nudging the cart forward. “Start a petition.”

Jack lit up like you’d just handed him a million dollars. “Wait, could I do that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Whoa.” He nodded, like you’d just unlocked an entirely new part of his brain.

Olivia, walking slightly ahead, snorted. “You’re creating a monster,” she muttered. But there was no bite in it—just mild amusement.

You were about to respond when Olivia suddenly stopped in the middle of the aisle, staring at something on a display shelf near the end.

You followed her gaze.

Vinyl records.

More specifically, a Taylor Swift vinyl.

“Wait.” You slowed the cart. “You have a record player?”

She blinked, as if realizing she had reacted to something without thinking. But then, after a beat, she nodded. “Yeah. My uncle got me one for my birthday.”

“That’s actually really cool.” You stepped closer, reading the label. Red (Taylor’s Version). “Good choice.”

Olivia hesitated, her fingers hovering over the edge of the plastic wrapping. “…do you like her?”

You let out a scoff that was so deeply offended that she actually cracked a small smile. “Do I like her? Olivia. I have been a Swiftie since I was, like, twelve. I have been through it. The ‘Speak Now’ era? Devastating. ‘Reputation’? Life-changing.”

Her eyes narrowed, like she was assessing if you were for real. “You know about the eras?”

You gasped dramatically. “Olivia, I could write a thesis on the eras. I could teach a course.”

Something shifted in her then—something subtle, but important.

Because for the first time since you’d started this job, she wasn’t speaking to you like an adult. She wasn’t guarded, cautious, or testing you. She was just an eight-year-old girl standing in a grocery store, holding a Taylor Swift album, grinning.

“…What’s your favorite album?” she asked, like this was the real test.

You tapped your chin, playing it up. “That’s a huge question. I think I have to go with ‘Folklore,’ but ‘1989’ is a classic.”

She nodded approvingly, and then, a little quieter, admitted, “I like ‘Red’ the most.”

You nudged the album in her hands. “Then I think we should probably get this, don’t you?”

Her grip tightened, like she hadn’t actually expected you to agree. “Dad would say no.”

“Well, I’m not Dad.” You leaned in conspiratorially. “And I think this qualifies as an essential purchase.”

Olivia bit her lip, fighting back a smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Jack groaned from behind you. “This is boring. Can we go back to the dinosaurs?”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed the vinyl off the shelf, placing it in the cart with a decisive thunk. “Nope. We’re having a moment, Jack. You’ll live.”

And for the rest of the trip, Olivia didn’t walk ahead.

She walked beside you. Talking. Smiling. Just being a kid.

And maybe, for the first time, you felt like you weren’t just the nanny. You were part of something.

Dinner that night was a little different.

Usually, mealtimes were at the table—Sidney liked structure, and you could tell he wanted to keep some sense of normalcy for the kids. But tonight? Olivia had a request.

“Can we eat in the living room?” she asked, her voice a little hesitant, like she expected the automatic no that probably came most of the time. “Just this once? We can watch The Eras Tour while we eat.”

Sidney, fresh off practice and visibly exhausted, had raised a brow. “The what?”

You gasped. “Sidney. The Eras Tour. The concert film. The biggest cultural event of our time.”

He gave you a blank look. “You’re joking.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jack, already seated at the table, piped up. “What’s an era?”

“A long time,” Olivia mumbled, shoving a piece of chicken onto her fork.

“In Taylor Swift terms,” you corrected, “it’s a concept. A legacy. A lifestyle.”

Sidney pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, sure. Living room it is.”

And so, you all sat around the coffee table, plates balanced in laps, watching as Taylor Swift took over the screen.

Jack had fought hard against sleep.

For the first hour of The Eras Tour, he’d fidgeted through every ballad, perking up only when the stadium lights on screen exploded into color. He’d even tried to pretend he cared—asking Olivia questions about why Taylor Swift had so many different outfits and whether she was richer than their dad (Olivia had assured him that she absolutely was). But by the time Taylor launched into Enchanted, his little head had started dipping against Sidney’s arm.

He barely made it through Reputation before sleep won.

Now, he was completely out, his face smushed against a couch pillow, his legs tangled in the throw blanket Olivia had draped over him earlier. His mouth was parted just slightly, deep breaths pulling him further into whatever dream world he’d sunk into. You doubted a freight train could wake him at this point.

Sidney sighed, shifting slightly. “I should put him to bed.” His voice was quiet, careful not to disturb his son.

You nodded, tucking your legs under you on the couch. Olivia was still curled up in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes fixed on the screen. She’d barely moved all night, utterly absorbed in the concert. Even now, as All Too Well (10 Minute Version) started playing, she just stared, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the couch cushion beside her.

Sidney stood slowly, careful not to jostle Jack too much as he scooped him up. The six-year-old barely stirred, just tucked his face further into his dad’s chest with a sleepy murmur.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Sidney murmured, heading toward the stairs.

Olivia didn’t respond.

You watched her for a moment, waiting for her to comment on how Jack always passed out first, or maybe some sarcastic remark about how you and Sidney were so uncultured when it came to Taylor Swift. But she stayed quiet, eyes still locked on the screen, a little crease forming between her brows.

Something in her posture had shifted.

She looked… small.

Not in the literal sense—Olivia had always carried herself like she was older than eight, like she’d already learned not to expect much from the world. But now, curled into herself like that, her expression unusually unreadable, she actually looked her age.

A kid trying really hard to hold something in.

You adjusted the blanket over your lap, keeping your voice light. “Okay, we made it to Red. Pretty legendary.”

Olivia didn’t respond at first. She kept watching, but there was something distant in her eyes, like she wasn’t really seeing it. Then, quietly, she said, “I don’t see my mom.”

It was so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

You stilled, glancing at her. She wasn’t looking at you—her gaze was still fixed on Taylor, like if she focused hard enough, maybe she wouldn’t feel the weight of what she’d just admitted.

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your voice even. “Yeah?”

She swallowed. “She’s… busy. She says she has to work a lot. That it’s important.” Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the couch cushion. “I think she just doesn’t want to see us.”

Your chest ached at the quiet finality in her voice, the way she said it like she had already made peace with it. Eight years old, and she spoke like someone who had long since stopped hoping for something different.

You didn’t say anything right away. You knew better than to rush into a response, to give some generic reassurance like Oh, I’m sure that’s not true!—because Olivia wasn’t a kid who believed in sugarcoating. She wouldn’t take comfort in some empty promise.

So, instead, you let the silence settle. Let her lead.

A beat passed. Then, finally, she exhaled. “She moved to New York last year. Said there were better job opportunities there.”

You nodded slowly. “That must’ve been really hard.”

She shrugged, but it was too forced to be nonchalant. “She wasn’t around much before that, anyway.” A pause. Then, with a small, bitter smile: “Jack doesn’t even notice. I mean, I don’t think he remembers what it was like before. He was little when they got divorced.”

You stayed quiet, giving her space to keep talking.

She hesitated, then hugged her knees closer to her chest. “It’s different for me.” Her voice dipped lower. “I remember everything. The fighting. The way they stopped talking to each other unless they had to.” She bit her lip. “The way Dad tried to hide it from us.”

Your throat tightened.

She finally glanced at you, her expression carefully measured. “It wasn’t like, some big thing. No one threw plates or anything.” She exhaled through her nose, like she was frustrated with herself for even explaining. “But it was worse, in a way. It was like… watching something fall apart really, really slowly. Like, at first, you think maybe they can fix it, but then one day you just know they won’t.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “That’s… a lot to deal with, Olivia.”

She let out a humorless little laugh. “Yeah. I guess.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter: “Dad never talks about it.”

You stayed quiet, sensing that she wasn’t finished.

“He just… acts like it’s fine. Like it’s normal that she doesn’t come to our games, or our school stuff. Like it’s normal that she only calls on birthdays.” Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her pajama pants. “And I know he’s not fine. I know he hates it. But he just—he doesn’t say anything.”

Your heart ached for her.

For Sidney, too.

Because it made sense, didn’t it? Of course he wouldn’t talk about it. Sidney Crosby had spent his entire life being the person everyone leaned on. The one who took the pressure, the expectations, and carried them. He didn’t complain. He didn’t show when he was struggling.

But Olivia saw.

She wasn’t a kid who needed things spelled out for her. She noticed when her dad got that faraway look in his eyes during Jack’s hockey practices, like he wished things were different. She noticed the way he never said anything bad about their mother, even when she deserved it. She noticed how hard he worked to make sure they were okay, even if it meant pretending he was.

And Olivia? She was just like him. Carrying everything on her little shoulders.

She turned her gaze back to the screen, where Taylor was singing about a love slipping through her fingers. “I don’t think he ever wanted us to know how much it hurt.”

Your heart broke at the way she said it—so certain, so resigned. Like it was just the way things had to be.

You took a breath, choosing your words carefully. “You know… just because someone doesn’t talk about something doesn’t mean they don’t want to.” You hesitated. “Maybe he just doesn’t know how.”

She was quiet for a long time.

Then, finally, she nodded. Just once. She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to.

Instead, she shifted slightly, leaning the tiniest bit closer—not quite touching, but close enough that if either of you moved even an inch, your shoulders would brush.

And you stayed like that.

Silent. Together. Letting All Too Well play in the background, filling the spaces between the words she wasn’t quite ready to say yet.

The house was quiet when Olivia finally went upstairs for bed, leaving you alone in the dim glow of the TV. The Eras Tour had ended, but neither you nor Sidney had moved to turn it off yet. The screen sat idle, a soft instrumental playing as the credits rolled, filling the otherwise silent space.

You let out a slow breath and rubbed your hands over your face. Tonight had been… a lot.

Olivia opening up had been unexpected, and it left this tight, aching feeling in your chest. You could still hear her voice—quiet but firm, steady in that way that only kids who had to grow up too fast could be. And even though she hadn’t said it outright, you knew she was waiting for someone to prove her wrong. To prove to her that not all parents disappeared, that love didn’t always have an expiration date.

And Sidney?

God. It hurt to think about him.

The way he carried everything on his own, the way he tried so damn hard to keep it together for them. You had seen that kind of quiet suffering before.

And maybe that was why you had always been so shy around him.

It was ridiculous, really. You were 22 years old—you shouldn’t be acting like some nervous teenager around your boss. But Sidney Crosby was just… intimidating in a way you couldn’t quite put into words.

It wasn’t just that he was him—the legend, the hockey star, the man whose face had been on cereal boxes when you were growing up. It was the fact that he was so much more than that.

He was a dad who knew the exact way Jack liked his peanut butter sandwiches cut. A man who kissed his daughter’s forehead before leaving for practice like it was second nature. A person who had been burned by love but still got up every day and did his best for the two little people who needed him most.

And he was—

Well, handsome.

It was stupid. So, so stupid. But every time he walked into a room, your stomach did this ridiculous little flip, and it wasn’t fair that someone could make a hoodie and sweatpants look that good. It wasn’t fair that he had the kind of presence that made you hyper-aware of yourself—of the way you spoke, of the way your cheeks got hot when he so much as looked at you.

It was just a stupid crush. A stupid, completely inappropriate crush.

You exhaled, shaking the thought away, and stood up, stretching.

Time to go home.

--

It had been through everything with you—your old, beat-up Ford.

You’d had it since you were sixteen, bought secondhand with money you had scraped together from summer jobs. It had seen late-night study sessions, spontaneous road trips, and more break-downs than you could count. You knew it inside and out—the little rattle it made when you hit a certain speed, the way you had to jiggle the key just right to get the engine to turn over.

And tonight?

Tonight, it had chosen violence.

You turned the key. Nothing.

No roar of the engine, no reluctant chugging, not even a weak attempt at life. Just silence.

You tried again.

Click.

You almost screamed.

Instead, you let your forehead drop against the steering wheel, inhaling sharply through your nose.

Not tonight. Not after everything. You were already emotionally drained, already exhausted, and this? This was just the cherry on top.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, already opening the Uber app, because absolutely not. You were not dealing with this right now. You’d handle it in the morning. Right now, you just needed to—

A knock on your window made you jump.

Your heart leapt into your throat, and for a split second, you thought you were about to be murdered in Sidney Crosby’s driveway. But then you turned, and there he was, standing outside in the glow of the porch light, his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.

“Car trouble?” His voice was muffled through the glass, but even in the dim light, you could see the way his brows were drawn together in concern.

You rolled the window down halfway, feeling absurdly embarrassed. “Yeah, it—” You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. “It’s old. It does this sometimes.”

Sidney didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped back, hands on his hips, assessing the car like it was a problem he could solve if he stared at it hard enough.

Then, before you could stop him, he was crouching down to peer under the car like some kind of mechanic dad.

Your stupid, traitorous heart clenched. “Sid—”

“Pop the hood,” he said, already moving to the front.

You blinked. “What?”

He shot you a look. “Pop the hood.”

And because you were too flustered to argue, you did.

He lifted it with ease, leaning in to inspect the engine, muttering something under his breath. You sat there, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, watching as he fiddled with something like this was normal.

Like it was normal that he was being so fatherly and competent and stupidly attractive about it. Like it was normal that this whole situation was making your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite name.

Eventually, he let out a sigh and shut the hood, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “It’s not starting tonight.”

You groaned. “Yeah, I got that part.”

He quirked a brow. “You calling a tow?”

You shook your head, holding up your phone. “Uber.”

Sidney frowned.

And not just any frown. It was that dad frown, the one you’d seen him give Jack when he suggested eating four popsicles in a row. The one that brooked no argument.

“Yeah, no,” he said flatly. “You’re not getting in an Uber this late.”

Your stomach flipped. “Sidney, it’s—”

“I’ve got a guest room.” He shrugged, like it was the most obvious solution in the world. “Sleep here tonight. We’ll deal with your car in the morning.”

You stared at him. “I don’t want to impose—”

“You’re not.” He tilted his head, giving you a look that was way too soft for your heart to handle. “C’mon. We’ll make a night of it.”

You exhaled sharply, but… you didn’t argue.

Because for the first time in a long time, someone was looking out for you. Someone was saying, Hey, you don’t have to handle everything alone.

And maybe that was why, as you followed Sidney back inside, something in your chest cracked open just a little bit wider.

Sidney made a beeline for the fridge as soon as you stepped inside, moving through the kitchen like he’d done it a thousand times before—which, obviously, he had, considering it was his kitchen. But there was something oddly comforting about watching him in his own space, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, posture loose, movements easy.

The whole house was quiet now, Olivia and Jack fast asleep upstairs, and the silence felt heavier in the absence of the kids’ usual chatter.

Sidney pulled open the fridge door, scanning its contents before reaching inside and pulling out a bottle of beer. He twisted the cap off with practiced ease, taking a long sip before glancing over at you.

“You want one?” he asked.

For half a second, you actually thought about it—not because you particularly wanted a beer (you weren’t even sure if you were in the mood to drink anything), but just because the idea of having one with Sidney Crosby was somehow hilarious.

But before you could even open your mouth, he snorted and shook his head, muttering, “Never mind. You’re probably too young.”

You froze.

Your entire body stilled. And then, slowly, you blinked at him, because what.

You let out an incredulous laugh, eyebrows practically hitting your hairline. “Wait—what?”

Sidney just shrugged, taking another sip of his beer like he hadn’t just personally attacked you. “You’re, what, twenty?”

Your jaw dropped.

Your actual jaw dropped open.

“I’m twenty-two,” you said, voice high with offense, like that extra two years would suddenly make him view you as a fully grown adult.

Sidney didn’t even look remotely phased. If anything, his lips twitched, like he was amused by your reaction. “Yeah, exactly.”

You gasped. “Sidney.”

“What?” He gave you an actual, real-life smirk, eyes flickering with amusement. “That’s barely legal drinking age.”

“Barely legal drinking age? Oh my God—” You threw your hands up. “I am a grown woman.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Uh-huh.”

“I am, and I’ll have you know that I have been drinking—” You cut yourself off so fast you almost choked.

Sidney raised an eyebrow, watching you flounder like it was his favorite pastime. “Yeah?”

You scowled. “Legally. I’ve been drinking legally. For over a year.”

“Wow. Over a year?” He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, that really changes everything.”

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, but it lacked any real bite because he looked so damn entertained, and you hated that it made your stomach flip.

Sidney shook his head, still smirking, and then—just to drive the nail further into your coffin—he reached into the fridge, grabbed a carton of orange juice, and poured some into a glass. Then he slid it across the counter toward you with a straight face.

“There you go, kid.”

You gaped at him.

“Are you serious?”

Sidney grinned, taking another sip of his beer. “Yup.”

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

Because up until now, you had been convinced you were at least in the friend zone—which sucked, but you could deal with it.

But this? This was worse.

This was the daughter zone.

You weren’t just a kid to him—you were, like, some innocent, helpless little thing who needed to be protected from beer. Like you were Jack, asking if he could stay up past bedtime.

And your stupid, idiotic crush went into a full-blown meltdown over it. Because what the hell were you supposed to do with that?

How were you supposed to deal with the way he teased you so effortlessly? The way his voice dipped into something softer, just for a second, like he genuinely thought you were too young to be dealing with broken-down cars and late-night beer?

It was horrible.

And it was attractive as hell. Which was stupid.

You crossed your arms over your chest, staring him down. “You know, I could drink you under the table.”

Sidney snorted. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

He smirked again, smirked, and you almost threw your juice at him. “I don’t know, kid. You might need a nap halfway through.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re just mad because I’m young and full of life.”

That made him laugh, a low, warm sound that sent actual, real shivers down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he said dryly. “I’m jealous.”

“You should be.” You lifted your juice in a mock toast. “I’m in my prime.”

Sidney just shook his head, utterly unbothered, before taking another sip of his beer.

And you, unfortunately, had to stand there and grapple with the fact that you were completely screwed.

You stared at the glass of orange juice sitting in front of you.

Then you stared at Sidney, who was still smirking like this was the funniest thing in the world.

Then back at the juice.

Because the worst part—the absolute cherry on top of this entire humiliating situation—was that you actually liked orange juice.

Like, a lot.

And you were thirsty, damn it.

So, after a long, dramatic pause, you picked up the glass and took a sip, maintaining perfect eye contact with Sidney just to prove a point.

You hadn’t even set the glass back down before he burst out laughing.

“Oh, that’s too good,” he said, shaking his head. “You were so offended, and you’re drinking it anyway.”

You scowled. “I like orange juice, Sidney. I’m not gonna let you win out of spite.”

He was grinning, and it was so unfair, because no man should look that attractive while actively mocking you. “I don’t know,” he teased. “You were pretty worked up about it. You sure you don’t wanna—what was it?—drink me under the table?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I walked right into that one.”

“You did.” His voice was filled with way too much amusement, and when you peeked up at him, he was still smirking around his beer bottle, entirely too pleased with himself.

You squinted at him, watching as he took another sip, posture loose and obnoxiously relaxed, like he wasn’t single-handedly ruining your life with his casual teasing.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you accused.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “I am.”

The audacity.

You exhaled sharply, picking up your juice again. “You know, you can laugh all you want, but this is actually good.” You took another sip, lifting your eyebrows in mock challenge.

Sidney snorted. “Yeah, it’s juice. Of course it’s good.”

You pointed a finger at him. “Exactly.”

“I just think it’s funny,” he said, like he wasn’t actively enjoying this. “You got so defensive about being an adult, and then you went and drank the juice.”

“Oh, my God.” You groaned. “I am an adult, okay? I just also happen to enjoy a refreshing glass of orange juice.”

“Uh-huh.” He looked entirely unconvinced.

You narrowed your eyes. “You know what? This is why your daughter is in her Taylor Swift phase.”

Sidney actually winced, like you had physically struck him, and it was so satisfying that you almost cheered.

“Oh, that’s low,” he said, shaking his head.

You grinned. “It’s the truth. Olivia is at the age where she’s realizing you’re old and lame.”

He sighed dramatically. “First the juice, and now this. You’re just determined to ruin my night, huh?”

You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “I would never.”

He laughed at that—really laughed, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and you felt that traitorous flutter in your chest again.

It was so unfair.

Because this was nice.

The teasing, the banter, the way he was actually joking with you instead of just treating you like the kids’ nanny. And maybe that was why your stupid crush decided to fully combust in that moment.

Because you weren’t even in the friend zone. You were in the daughter zone, and somehow that was infinitely worse, and yet here you were—still crushing, still falling harder just because he poured you some stupid juice and laughed at you.

It was pathetic.

And, honestly?

It was so predictable, daddy issues and all.

Sidney took the last sip of his beer, setting the empty bottle on the counter with a soft clink. He stretched his arms over his head, his t-shirt lifting just slightly at the hem, revealing a hint of toned stomach before he let them drop back down.

“All right,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion. “You should get some sleep.”

You braced yourself for the inevitable teasing, the inevitable kid comment—but it never came.

Instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you, the exhaustion in his face softening into something gentler. It wasn’t because you were young or because he thought you couldn’t handle staying up late—it was just late, and he cared enough to tell you to rest.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because it wasn’t patronizing.

It was just him being him—Sidney Crosby, good father, good man, genuinely good person.

And all you could do was nod.

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat as you pushed away from the counter. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… I’ll head up.”

He gave you a small, tired smile. “Guest room’s all yours.”

You murmured a quiet “thanks” before grabbing your phone and heading toward the stairs, but you could still feel him watching you as you left the room.

That should’ve been the end of it.

You should’ve gone up to the guest room, crawled into bed, and fallen asleep immediately. Instead, you lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling like a complete idiot.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t even in a normal crush way—it wasn’t about his arms, or his voice, or how frustratingly handsome he was when he smirked.

No.

It was the fatherly stuff that got you.

The way he so easily checked out your car without hesitation, like it was second nature to take care of things for you. The way he poured you a damn juice because he thought beer wasn’t for you. The way he tucked Olivia in, the way he held Jack so effortlessly, the way he made them feel safe even when their world had been shaken apart.

He was a good dad. No, he was the best dad.

And his ex-wife?

She didn’t deserve him.

Not even a little bit.

You hadn’t even met her, but from the little Olivia had told you, she barely even tried. She had two amazing kids who would’ve done anything for her, who had wanted to see her, and she had just… not shown up.

Meanwhile, Sidney had stepped up and been everything.

Everything a father should be. Everything a partner should’ve been. And she had thrown him away. It made your stomach churn just thinking about it.

You turned onto your side, pressing your face into the pillow and groaning softly. Because, God, this was so predictable.

So cliché. Daddy issues and all, falling for the single dad who made you feel safe for the first time in years.

You wanted to cringe at yourself. But mostly? Mostly, you just wanted to sleep.

And with Sidney Crosby on your mind, that felt damn near impossible.

--

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee.

For a second, you forgot where you were, the unfamiliar ceiling throwing you off, the bed too soft, the blankets too crisp. But then it all rushed back—the broken-down car, the teasing, the orange juice, the way Sidney had looked at you right before you’d gone upstairs.

You groaned into your pillow.

It was too early to be thinking about him like that.

Forcing yourself to sit up, you ran a hand through your hair and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. The time read 7:12 AM, which meant the kids were probably already up, and Sidney—being the actual superhuman that he was—was definitely awake.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before padding out of the room and heading downstairs.

The house was warm with the early-morning light, and you heard Jack’s little voice before you even made it to the kitchen.

“I want pancakes!”

You grinned to yourself.

“Yeah?” Sidney’s voice, still rough with sleep. “Well, I want to win another Cup, but we don’t always get what we want.”

You had to bite back a laugh.

“But, Dad—”

“Relax, buddy. I’m making them.”

Jack cheered, and when you stepped into the kitchen, you were greeted with the sight of Sidney at the stove, flipping pancakes like he did this every morning. Which, you guessed, he probably did. He was still in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair a little messy from sleep, a mug of coffee sitting on the counter next to him.

Olivia was at the table, flipping through a book, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, and Jack was bouncing on his toes near the counter, waiting for his pancakes like his life depended on it.

Sidney glanced up, spotting you.

“Morning, kid.”

You glared. “Don’t start.”

He smirked, then nodded toward the coffee pot. “There’s fresh coffee.”

You muttered a quiet “thanks” before making a beeline for it, pouring yourself a mug and taking a sip like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“So, did you sleep okay?” Sidney asked, flipping another pancake.

You leaned against the counter, watching as Jack tried to sneak a chocolate chip from the bag Sidney had been using for the pancakes. “Yeah, thanks for letting me stay. Sorry for the whole, you know, car dying situation.”

Sidney shrugged. “Not your fault.”

“Still.”

Olivia looked up from her book, but then she squinted at you. “Wait. Did you sleep in the guest room?”

You frowned. “Uh… yeah?”

Olivia made a face. “Oh. You should’ve taken Dad’s bed.”

You choked on your coffee.

Sidney snorted. “Olivia.”

“What?” she said, looking genuinely confused. “It’s the comfortable one.”

Sidney shook his head, flipping the last pancake. “You guys eat up. I gotta go get ready for practice.”

Jack cheered again, immediately diving into his stack of pancakes, and Olivia, still unbothered, turned back to her book.

Sidney slid a plate across the counter toward you. “Eat.”

You sighed, but sat down, knowing better than to argue.

And as you watched him move around the kitchen—calm, collected, fatherly as ever—you felt that same ache in your chest from the night before.

Because this wasn’t your life.

But for some reason, you wished it was.

Sidney slid a plate of pancakes in front of you like it was nothing—like it was completely normal for him to just make breakfast and look after everyone while simultaneously being the most attractive and responsible man alive.

And then, because apparently he wasn’t done ruining you, he leaned against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and—so casually it nearly short-circuited your brain—said, “So here’s the plan for today.”

You blinked. A plan?

Like, he had been thinking about this? About you?

Your stupid car? Your life?

You took a sip of coffee to cover how flustered you felt. “Oh?”

Sidney nodded, all business, like he had been mentally scheduling everything since last night. “I’m taking you to the mechanic after we drop the kids off.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going. “I already know what’s wrong with it. It’s just the alternator.”

You blinked. “How—?”

Sidney shrugged. “Checked it out last night.”

You stared at him. Because—of course he had. Of course, while you had been spiraling about how he was the best dad ever, he had been outside, under the hood of your car, figuring out what was wrong like it was second nature.

He took another sip of his coffee, completely unbothered, while your entire soul left your body.

“And I’m coming with you,” he continued. “Because mechanics like to take advantage of girls.”

Your brain short-circuited again.

You narrowed your eyes. “I am not a girl.”

Sidney smirked. “Yeah? Tell that to the guy who tried to charge my sister two hundred bucks for an oil change last year.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“…Two hundred?”

Sidney gave you a knowing look.

You sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered.

But inside?

Inside, you were melting.

Because who even thought like that? Who went out of their way to protect people like that? To make sure you wouldn’t get scammed? To check out your car and figure out the problem so nobody could lie to you about it?

Your chest ached, and you hated yourself a little for it.

You were so weak.

And you scorned yourself for it.

Because this was exactly why you had promised yourself you’d never be like this. Never feel like this.

But, God, Sidney made it so difficult.

Maybe that was because, deep down, you had always wanted someone like this.

Someone who just took care of things.

Someone who thought ahead, who made plans, who didn’t wait for you to ask for help before stepping in and making sure you were okay.

You had never really had that before.

You had been the eldest daughter, raised by a single mother who had been doing her best but had never really had time to be the kind of parent who worried about things like broken cars and alternators and mechanics overcharging people.

No, that had been you.

You had been the one making sure your little brother had packed a lunch for school, the one who had learned how to fix things when they broke because there wasn’t anyone else to do it. You had been the one answering the door for debt collectors, the one figuring things out, the one making the grocery lists and making sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

And you had been good at it.

You still were.

But sometimes—sometimes you had wished there had been someone to help. Someone to just… think of things before you had to think of them. And maybe that was why Sidney made your chest ache the way he did.

Because you had never had that before, and now here he was—being exactly that person. Not just for his kids, but for you. And maybe he didn’t even realize he was doing it, but it didn’t matter.

Because it was so easy for him. And it made you feel safe in a way that made your stomach twist.

Because you had spent your whole life not needing anyone. And yet—somehow—Sidney Crosby was making you want to lean in.

Just a little.

--

The school drop-off was quick. Jack practically launched himself out of the car, already halfway to the front doors before Olivia had even finished unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Bye, Liv,” you said.

She turned to you, and—much to your utter shock—she gave you a small smile. “Bye.”

You almost froze in place.

But before you could fully process what had just happened, she was out of the car, disappearing into the school without a second glance.

You turned to Sidney, eyes wide. “Did you see that?”

He smirked. “Yeah. She likes you.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. And you hated how much that meant to you.

Sidney pulled away from the curb, effortlessly maneuvering through morning traffic. “Alright, next stop—the mechanic.”

You sighed, slumping back against the seat. “Do you, like… do this for all your nannies?”

Sidney glanced at you, amused. “What?”

“Just—” You gestured vaguely. “Fix their cars? Make plans for them? Tell them they’re getting scammed before it even happens?”

He snorted. “Not really, no.”

You frowned. “Then why me?”

He shrugged, eyes on the road. “Dunno. You’re just… good with the kids. They like you.”

You swallowed. Because that meant something. It meant a lot.

And you weren’t sure what to do with that.

The moment Sidney pulled into the mechanic’s lot, you knew you were in good hands. Not because of the mechanic—no, he barely looked up from whatever he was doing.

It was Sidney.

He had that calm, composed, but don’t-mess-with-me energy that commanded a room without trying. He stepped out of the car with purpose, shutting the door with just the right amount of force. Not aggressive, but firm enough to say, I am not to be taken advantage of.

You followed, feeling like a little duckling trailing behind him like some kind of displaced housewife.

The mechanic—Joe, according to the nametag on his greasy coveralls—finally looked up, taking one glance at your car and letting out a low whistle. “What do we got here?”

Sidney didn’t even blink. “Alternator’s shot.”

Joe nodded, rubbing his hands on a rag. “Yeah? Let’s take a look.”

You rocked on your heels as Joe popped the hood, shining a flashlight over the engine. “Yep, that’ll do it. You’re looking at about… probably $1,100, give or take. Labor’s the killer, y’know how it is.”

You almost choked.

Sidney, however, remained unbothered. “That’s funny. ‘Cause I checked it last night, and it’s just the alternator. You and I both know that’s, what—two, maybe three hundred?”

Joe’s smile tightened. Sidney did not budge.

You watched, absolutely fascinated, as Sidney leaned against the counter, completely at ease, like he had all the time in the world. “So,” he continued, slow and deliberate, “you wanna try again? Or should I take my business somewhere else?”

Your jaw dropped.

Joe sighed, rubbing his temples. “Lemme—” He gestured vaguely toward the back. “Lemme check with my guys.”

Sidney nodded, all patient and controlled, but the minute Joe disappeared, you turned to him, shocked. “How—how did you do that?”

Sidney smirked. “Men don’t like getting called out for their bullshit.”

You blinked. “So, you just… intimidate people into lowering prices?”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “It’s not intimidation. It’s just knowing when someone’s trying to screw you over.”

You stared at him. Because, damn.

You knew Sidney was good at hockey. That he was kind. That he was an amazing dad. But this? This was something else entirely.

This was a guy who stood up for people. This was a guy who protected people without them even having to ask.

And God, did it make your stomach flip.

When Joe came back, he was begrudgingly willing to do it for $150.

Which was insane. Which was basically magic.

You wanted to high-five Sidney or something, but before you could, Joe sighed, glancing between the two of you. “You guys wanna wait inside? Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

You nodded, but then—Joe’s gaze softened, and he smiled. A knowing smile.

“You’re lucky your husband knows his stuff,” he said.

Your heart stopped. Sidney did not correct him.

You swore time froze for a second.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your brain trying so hard to form words, but all you could do was glance up at Sidney—who looked completely unbothered.

Like… he wasn’t rushing to fix it. Like he wasn’t that pressed about the misunderstanding. Like it wasn’t even worth correcting.

Joe didn’t wait for a response—he just gestured toward the small waiting area, already moving toward your car.

And you?

You were still standing there, trying not to let your brain explode. Because what the hell was that?

What the hell was Sidney Crosby not correcting that for? What did that mean? Were you reading too much into it? Or—

“C’mon,” Sidney said, oblivious to your inner crisis, nodding toward the waiting area.

And because you couldn’t exactly just stand there, you followed.

But your heart was still doing things. And you really, really wished it wouldn’t.

After settling your car situation (which still felt like a miracle thanks to Sidney’s intervention), you felt compelled to repay him somehow.

“Let me take you to lunch,” you said as he drove, eyes focused on the road. “As a thank-you. My treat.”

Sidney gave you a side glance, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Your treat?”

“Yes.” You crossed your arms. “I have a job, you know.”

“I know,” he said, smirking. “I just don’t think I’ve ever been taken out to lunch by my nanny before.”

Your stomach flipped, but you rolled your eyes to cover it up. “Well, there’s a first for everything. Do you have practice today?”

“Not till later.”

“Perfect,” you said. “Lunch it is.”

You ended up at a casual bar-slash-lunch spot, the kind of place that had burgers, wings, and good beer on tap. It was easy, relaxed—which was exactly what you needed after the whole morning of watching Sidney Crosby do battle with a mechanic.

The conversation was effortless.

Somewhere between ordering your drinks and the food arriving, you fell into a rhythm of casual banter—mostly about Olivia and Jack.

“Jack’s convinced he’s going to the Olympics,” you said, stirring your straw in your drink. “Like, now. At six years old.”

Sidney smirked, shaking his head. “Kid’s got big dreams.”

You snorted. “Yeah, but have you seen him skate? He’s like a baby giraffe out there.”

Sidney laughed, and it was so genuine, so real, that you felt it in your chest. “He’ll figure it out.”

You nodded. “Yeah. He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.”

Sidney took a sip of his drink, leaning back in the booth. “And Olivia?”

You hesitated, but the smile stayed on your face. “She’s… coming around.”

Sidney’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “She actually smiled at me today. And—don’t freak out—but I think she has like, a crush on a boy in her class now.”

Sidney groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God help me.”

You laughed. “Hey, at least she’s acting like a kid again.”

That seemed to strike a chord with him, because the laughter in his eyes faded just a little, replaced by something deeper. A comfortable silence settled over you both. The kind that didn’t feel awkward or forced—just… nice.

And then, quietly, Sidney said, “I really appreciate you, you know.”

Your heart stuttered.

He wasn’t looking at you. He was picking at the label on his beer bottle, like he was trying to find the right words.

“I mean it,” he continued. “What you do… what you’ve done for Olivia and Jack—it’s more than I could’ve asked for.”

You swallowed. “Sid…”

“She was really struggling,” he said, voice low but steady. “After the divorce. I mean, Jack was too, but Olivia…” He exhaled, finally looking up at you. “She’s always been the serious one. The one who takes everything in. And when the divorce happened, it was like… she stopped being a kid. She thought she had to be the responsible one. She thought she had to hold everything together.”

You nodded, because you understood that. More than you cared to admit.

Sidney shook his head, eyes flickering with something heavy. “I didn’t know how to help her. I tried. But…”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, and your chest ached at the sight of it.

Because here he was—Sidney Crosby, the guy who had everything together, the guy who fought tooth and nail for his kids—and yet, in that moment, he looked so lost. Like he still didn’t know if he was doing it right.

You reached for your drink, just to have something to do with your hands. “You’re a good dad, Sidney.”

He let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t know about that.”

“You are,” you insisted. “You fought for them. You fight for them. And Olivia—she sees that. She might not always say it, but she does.”

Sidney studied you, something unreadable in his expression.

“You’re the first person to get her to act like a kid again,” he finally said. “That means more to me than you know.”

And just like that, your heart broke open.

Because you knew what it felt like to carry weight that wasn’t yours to carry. You knew what it felt like to be the one who had to be strong. And Olivia—God, Olivia—she had been right there, drowning in it, until you’d somehow managed to pull her back to the surface.

The server came by with your food, breaking the moment, and Sidney cleared his throat, straightening up.

But the words hung between you, unspoken but there. And you? You felt completely unraveled.

For a moment, you just sat there, stirring the ice in your drink, thinking about everything he’d said. About Olivia. About how much she’d been hurting.

You inhaled, slow and careful. “I get it, you know.”

Sidney looked up from his plate, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You hesitated, organizing your thoughts. “I get what Olivia’s feeling. I get why she tried to be the responsible one.” You picked at the napkin in your lap, voice quieter now. “Because I did the same thing.”

Sidney didn’t say anything, but he put his drink down. He was listening.

“My mom had me young,” you started. “She wasn’t even out of college yet. And my dad… well.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “He wasn’t interested in the whole family thing.”

Sidney’s jaw tightened.

“He left when I was four,” you continued, eyes flickering up to his. “And I guess, in some ways, I don’t even remember what it was like when he was around. But I remember what it was like after. I remember how my mom had to work two jobs. How tired she always was. How—” You swallowed. “How I felt like I had to make up for him leaving.”

Sidney’s expression softened, his brows knitting together like he was piecing you together in real-time.

“I started helping out more. Taking care of things that weren’t really my responsibility. By the time my little brothers was born, I was basically their second parent.” You let out a breathy laugh. “I mean, I was nine and I was making school lunches. I was helping with homework. I was doing all these things because I thought it would make things easier for my mom. I thought if I could just be good enough, she wouldn’t miss him. We wouldn’t miss him.”

Sidney’s hand flexed against the table.

“But the thing is…” You shrugged, forcing a small smile. “It never really worked. Because I was still just a kid. And sometimes kids need someone to tell them it’s okay to be a kid.”

Sidney exhaled, like something was clicking into place.

“That’s why I see so much of myself in Olivia,” you admitted, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to hold everything together. To feel like you have to be the adult when things fall apart.” You looked at Sidney then, your voice quieter, but steady. “And I think that’s why I care about her so much.”

Sidney’s brows drew together slightly, his beer resting untouched on the table between you. His eyes, deep and thoughtful, didn’t waver. He was listening—really listening.

You took a slow breath, letting the moment settle before continuing.

“The thing is, I know it’s not true,” you said. “I know she doesn’t have to be that way. That she’s just a kid, and she should be able to be a kid.” You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “But when you feel like everything around you is out of control, stepping up feels like the only option. Even if it’s not fair. Even if it’s not right.”

Sidney said nothing, but something shifted in his expression.

So you went on, voice careful, deliberate.

“I think… I think she’s starting to see that she doesn’t have to be the one holding everything together anymore.” You offered a small, knowing smile. “That she has someone who will do that for her. And that’s because of you, Sidney.”

His jaw tensed, but he still didn’t speak.

You could see it—the self-doubt, the way he carried the weight of the divorce like a failing on his part. He didn’t have to say it out loud for you to know he wondered, late at night, if he was enough. If he was doing enough.

And you couldn’t stand it.

“You’re a good dad,” you told him, voice firm.

His throat worked as he swallowed, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know about that.”

“You should,” you said, unwavering. “You should know. Because you are.”

He scoffed under his breath, running a hand over his jaw. “You don’t see me at two in the morning, staring at the ceiling wondering if I’m screwing this all up.”

“Sid,” you said, gentler now. “You love them. You show up for them. You fight for them. Do you know how many kids don’t get that?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he stayed quiet.

You hesitated for only a second before you said, “I didn’t.”

Sidney’s gaze snapped back to you.

You kept your voice light—too light. “Dad used to call sometimes. When I was little. But it got less and less over the years. By the time I was Olivia’s age, I stopped expecting it. I stopped waiting.”

Sidney hadn’t touched his beer. Hadn’t moved an inch. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped loosely together on the table, but his expression was unreadable.

You cleared your throat. “That’s why I know Olivia’s lucky. Even if she doesn’t always feel like it right now. Even if it’s been hard, and things are messy, and divorce sucks—she’s got you. You’re there. You’re trying. And she knows it.”

Sidney exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, well. I wish that was enough.”

“But it is,” you insisted, leaning forward slightly. “That’s what I’m saying. You being there? That’s everything.”

Sidney’s gaze lifted to yours, and for the first time all night, there was something unguarded in his expression.

“I mean it,” you said, quieter now. “She doesn’t have to wonder if you’re going to come home. She doesn’t have to hold her breath every time the phone rings, hoping it’s you and being disappointed when it’s not. She doesn’t have to think she has to earn your love, Sid. She just has it.”

His jaw clenched.

“She’s lucky,” you finished. “Even if she doesn’t fully see it yet.”

For a long time, Sidney didn’t say anything. He just watched you.

And then, finally, he shook his head, voice low and steady.

“Your father,” he said, “is the lowest kind of man there is.”

Your breath caught.

“To walk away from his kids?” Sidney’s voice was rougher now, edged with something deep and unapologetic. “To leave you and your mom on your own? That’s… that’s not a man. That’s a coward.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t used to people saying it like that. You weren’t used to people saying anything at all about it, really. It had always been just one of those things—something people knew but never directly acknowledged.

But Sidney wasn’t mincing words.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he continued, voice quieter but still firm. “Neither of you did.”

Your hands felt a little shaky, so you pressed them together in your lap. And suddenly, it hit you.

This wasn’t just about your dad. This was about Sidney, too.

Because as much as you had lived your life wondering what you had done to make your father leave, Sidney was here—right here—terrified that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he gave, it might never be enough. That he might still lose his kids in some way.

So this time, when you spoke, your voice was softer. More sure.

“You’re nothing like him.”

Sidney looked at you.

“You’re a good dad,” you repeated. “You’re the kind of dad kids deserve.”

Something in his expression changed.

It was small, barely perceptible, but it was there—a flicker of something unspoken, something that settled between you like an understanding neither of you fully grasped yet.

And it wasn’t bad.

Not at all. But it was different.

Sidney exhaled deeply, finally leaning back against the booth. His hand scrubbed over his jaw like he was trying to find the right words, something you’d noticed he did whenever he was thinking hard about something. The air between you felt heavier now, weighted down by the conversation, by everything you’d laid out between each other.

Finally, he looked back at you.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still sure. “Really. I—” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, a humorless little chuckle leaving his lips. “I needed that.”

His fingers tapped against the glass of his beer, and then, suddenly, his expression twisted.

“Oh—shit, I mean—” He winced, shaking his head quickly. “Not, like—not that your story is a good thing or—Jesus.” He huffed out an exasperated breath, looking genuinely horrified at his own words. “I just meant—”

You laughed. Hard.

The immediate, sincere panic on his face only made it funnier.

“Sid, relax,” you grinned, covering your mouth as you shook your head. “I know what you meant.”

Sidney groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, well, that makes one of us.”

That only made you laugh harder.

He watched you for a moment, exhaling slowly, before finally shaking his head. “I’m gonna be honest. I don’t think I’ve embarrassed myself this much since the last time I fell in practice and took out, like, three guys on the way down.”

Your grin widened. “Wow. That bad, huh?”

“Oh, worse,” he said, pointing at you with his beer bottle before taking another sip. “Way worse.”

You shrugged, resting your chin on your palm. “I don’t know. I thought it was kinda endearing.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You would.”

You shot him a smug look. “I do.”

He let out another soft chuckle, shaking his head. Then, after a moment, he looked back up at you, something more serious in his gaze.

“No, but really,” he said, voice lower, more steady this time. “Thank you.”

And that time, there was no fumbling. No awkward backtracking. Just genuine gratitude.

You felt your chest tighten slightly, the warmth of his words settling somewhere deep in your ribs.

Before you could find a way to respond, though, you realized something.

Sidney was still looking at you.

But not the same way he usually did.

His gaze was heavier now, slower, his expression just slightly more relaxed than it had been all night. His fingers absentmindedly traced the condensation on his beer bottle, and his eyes, dark and warm and a little unreadable, stayed locked on you in a way that sent a sudden rush of heat up your spine.

Oh.

You swallowed, your brain short-circuiting.

Because the way he was looking at you? You knew that look.

The lazy, half-lidded gaze, the way his lips were just slightly parted, how he lingered a beat longer than necessary on your face before his eyes flickered ever so briefly down, then back up—

Yeah. You knew that look.

And oh, you were in trouble.

Your stomach flipped, your skin going hot all over, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Are you okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

Sidney blinked, like he was suddenly remembering himself. Then, he cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, this time with a little more certainty. Then, as if sensing the shift, he smirked. “Why? You worried about me?”

You scoffed, but your heartbeat was still too fast. “Not even a little.”

He hummed, taking another slow sip of his beer, and damn it, his eyes were still on you.

And it wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t obvious, or aggressive, or even something you thought he was aware of doing.

But it was… different.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t imagining it this time.

Bf looks so cozy

hi huggy🧍🏻‍♂️

I need him

i’m sorry you lost but.

ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴇʀɪғғ

Authors Note | Cowboy!Quinn headcanons for my Homegrown AU.

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who only refers to and addresses you as 'Darlin’ wherever, whenever as he honestly believes it’s what suits you best. He’s been in love with you since the day he met you and to him, you’re precious, his world and he wants everyone to know that. 

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who was given the nickname 'Sheriff' purely because he's the oldest brother with the responsibility of looking out for his siblings.

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who’s always cooking and will insist on cooking no matter what. It’s definitely a love language, wanting to ensure you’re fed with something made of love. He doesn’t think it’s a chore, he loves it, especially when you’re wrapping your arms around his middle while he’s the chef. Even if he’s visiting your family, he’ll gravitate to the kitchen and offer a hand, which your parents always refuse but he’s so charming they allow him in the end. However, if he comes home and you’re cooking for him, he’s not going to complain in the slightest, but he will refuse to let you clean up after.

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who claims to not be a dancer yet will take any opportunity to dance with you if the right songs come on. Unlike Jack, he’s not much of a line dancer (unless he’s with his friends and a few beers deep) but slow dancing at home is his kryptonite. He’s taking you by the waist in the kitchen, pulling you to his chest and slowly swaying to the music, softly whispering sweet nothings in your ear and cherishing the moment with his whole heart.

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who surprises you with flowers just because he can. He’s turning up at your door with some form of bouquet, whether it’s from the local market on his way through or wildflowers that reminded him of you, he’s going to present them. On occasions, he’ll bring your mother a bouquet too, which only makes him adored even more.

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who never raises his voice with you no matter what. He’s a rational guy with a level-head, he can keep his cool well and he doesn’t think raising his voice will solve problems. He also never wants to see or make you cry, preferring to gently talk things through. 

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who doesn’t need to try to impress you when he’s bucking hay bales. You’re impressed with him anyway, how he can make it look so easy, how the veins in his arms become more prominent. You can’t help but enjoy watching him and being his water girl. 

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who is the family mechanic. He teaches his brothers everything they need to know about their trucks, he always responds to your SOS when you’re breaking down and he loves every moment of getting his hands dirty. You think it’s hot, but he’ll never understand the appeal of the sweat and grease. 

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who teaches you how to play baseball, standing behind you closely, arms wrapping around yours and guiding your positioning, your swing, your hip rotation. He finds it endearing teaching you so you can join him and the others, but sometimes your mind wanders at his breath on your neck and voice husky in your ear.

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who is always thinking of you during rodeos, knowing his lover is in the crowd, cheering him on just gives him that extra boost of confidence when he’s out there. 

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who’s a huge napper. He’s an extremely hard worker and will not rest but every now and then, he allows himself a couple of hours to lie down. His favourite naps are the ones with you curled up in his chest and you’re both out cold. He can sleep anywhere as long as his hat’s covering his eyes and has one rule: don’t wake him up unless absolutely necessary, he’s a grumpy riser.

▸ Cowboy!Quinn who keeps a love note you wrote for him in the brim of his hat. Every now and then when he’s not feeling his best, he’ll read it and his heart swells in his chest again, a smile on his face and suddenly, he feels better.

nhl wags | @bunbunbl0gs @rowdyluv (To be added to taglists, just comment or ask via ‘pass me the puck!’) [Masterlist] [Requests CLOSED]

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MEOW

🙏🏽

i need to be sidney crosbys controversially young gf… maybe something for that… heh

my new fav concept, hope you enjoy!

It started with whispers.

The kind that curled around the edges of locker rooms and crept into post-game interviews, barely concealed behind tight-lipped smirks and knowing glances. The kind that made headlines in tabloids next to blurry photos of a dinner reservation that should have been private. The kind that weren’t unexpected, not when a 37-year-old hockey legend started dating a 21-year-old who had no business being in his world.

Sidney Crosby was used to the noise. He’d spent two decades as the face of a franchise, his every move dissected and debated. But this? This was different. This was personal.

And you—well, you were the subject of speculation, fascination, and, in some corners, outright disapproval. The girl too young, too fresh, too much of a contrast to the quiet, calculated, carefully managed existence Sidney had built. The age gap was undeniable, a 16-year stretch that gave people ammunition, as if they hadn’t already decided what they thought about you.

It didn’t help that you weren’t some seasoned socialite or a familiar name in hockey circles. You weren’t a sports reporter or a PR darling, not a longtime fixture at games. No, you were something worse in the eyes of his critics—young, new, and entirely yours.

They didn’t know about the late-night conversations, the ones where Sidney’s usual reserve cracked open just enough for you to slip inside. They didn’t see the way he softened when you spoke, or how he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every version of you—the excited, the sleepy, the frustrated, the amused.

They didn’t know that you never sought him out, that he was the one who lingered after your first meeting, the one who texted first, the one who—despite all logic, despite knowing exactly what kind of reaction this would spark—had made it clear he wanted you.

But they knew enough to talk.

"She’s barely old enough to drink."

"What could they possibly have in common?"

"Sid’s having a mid-life crisis."

The comments should have been easy to ignore. Sidney wasn’t the type to entertain gossip, and you’d never cared about the opinions of people who didn’t know you. But still, the weight of it settled into your bones some days, making you wonder if you were an anomaly in his otherwise perfectly controlled life.

Because he was Sidney Crosby—captain, legend, a man whose legacy had been cemented long before you were even in high school. And you? You were just the girl people assumed was temporary.

And maybe that’s what made it all the more exhilarating.

The funniest part? You and Sidney actually found the whole thing hilarious.

The first time you showed him a comment under some sports gossip post—"She’s basically a child. This is so embarrassing for him."—he just blinked at you, unimpressed.

"Didn’t realize I should be embarrassed for enjoying my life," he said dryly, barely looking up from his coffee.

You snorted. "Yeah, well, you should probably start wearing knee braces to dinner so people know how frail you are."

From then on, it became a running joke.

Like when you posted a dimly lit photo of your hand wrapped around a wine glass at a fancy steakhouse, the edge of Sidney’s plate barely in frame, and captioned it: Dinner with my old man 🤍

Or when you caught a candid of him rubbing his temple after a long day and added it to your Instagram story with the text: He’s got a headache from all the whippersnappers in his life.

Or, your personal favorite, when you recorded him tying his skates before practice, zoomed in on his face as he focused, and added: D1 Grandpa Energy.

The chirps were constant, and he took them all in stride. In fact, he played along—leaned into it, even.

"Think I should start stretching before we go out?" he mused one evening as you got ready for dinner. "Maybe bring a heating pad?"

You grinned at him in the mirror. "I already put Icy Hot in your bag. Just in case you pull something walking to the table."

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the twitch of his lips.

Despite the internet losing its collective mind, the reality of your relationship was effortless. Sidney was steady, calm, and deeply private. You, on the other hand, were unbothered, playful, and just reckless enough to make things interesting. You balanced each other out in a way that worked, even if people didn’t understand it.

You loved how Sidney never treated you like you were some silly, naive kid. He respected you—your thoughts, your humor, your way of seeing the world. And you, in turn, loved teasing the hell out of him, keeping him on his toes in a way no one else really dared.

Like the time you went with him to a team dinner, and while everyone was talking hockey, you casually turned to him and went, "Tell me again what it was like growing up without color TV?"

The table went silent for a beat before someone—probably Letang—burst out laughing. Sid just gave you that look, equal parts unimpressed and amused, before shaking his head.

"She’s funny, huh?" he muttered, reaching for his drink.

"A regular comedian," you quipped, clinking your glass against his.

That was the thing—no matter how much outside noise tried to define your relationship, the two of you had already decided what it was.

It was simple. You liked each other.

Sidney didn’t buy you expensive things to impress you. Sure, he could, but he knew that wasn’t why you were here. Instead, he showed up in little ways—the way he always made sure to order your fries extra crispy because that’s how you liked them, or how he’d automatically pull you closer when cameras were around, just to make sure you didn’t get overwhelmed.

And you? You made sure he laughed. Really laughed. The kind of laugh that shook his shoulders and made his eyes crinkle, the kind of laugh he rarely let people see.

You were good together. You fit, even if people couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

And honestly? That just made it more fun.

It was nearly midnight, and the two of you were on the couch, deep in a heated argument over absolutely nothing.

"I'm just saying, people who don’t let the cereal sit in the milk for at least thirty seconds before eating it are a danger to society," you declared, pointing your spoon at him.

Sidney, reclined against the cushions in his sweatpants and a faded Team Canada hoodie, exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "That’s ridiculous. You want it soggy?"

"Not soggy, perfectly saturated," you corrected, scooping another spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from your bowl. "It enhances the experience."

Sid shook his head, glancing down at his own bowl—practically dry because, of course, he barely let the milk touch his cereal before shoveling it into his mouth like some kind of barbarian. "There’s no way you actually believe this."

"I do," you said, dramatic as ever, settling further into your spot next to him. "This is a hill I will die on."

Sid sighed, took another bite, and then, without missing a beat, shot back, "Guess you’d better hope I go first then."

You gasped, shoving his shoulder. "Did you just—"

He fought back a smirk, chewing methodically like he didn’t just say something that made your jaw drop. "You’re too young to be making retirement home decisions, anyway," he added, extra casual.

"Wow," you scoffed, setting your bowl down. "Big words for someone whose lower back cracks every time he stands up."

He snorted, finally breaking into that slow, warm smile that made your stomach flip.

It was moments like this that made you realize why, despite the comments and the noise, this relationship worked.

You weren’t intimidated by him. Not by his reputation, not by the weight of who he was. You poked fun at the untouchable Sidney Crosby the way most people wouldn’t dare, but you never disrespected him. You met him as a person, not as a legacy.

And Sid—Sid liked that.

He liked how quick you were, how you made fun of him without ever making him feel small. How you never treated him like some god on skates but also never downplayed how much he meant to people. It was a balance no one had quite figured out before you.

He let out a deep breath, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the ends of your hair.

"You done bullying me for the night?" he asked, amused.

You hummed, considering. "Depends. You gonna admit my cereal method is better?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then no."

He chuckled, shaking his head before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. You melted into his side like it was second nature, warm and easy.

The whole world could talk. The whole world could speculate. But in here, in this quiet moment between bowls of cereal and bad jokes, you fit like you were always meant to.

McDrai “always find their time together”.

Tweet of the day!

he looks like a wet cat. i want need him.

Cutie patootie

Quinn's smiling. Nothing else matters.

(They showed it again! Now I have a better video.)

(Detroit Red Wings @ Vancouver Canucks, Feb 2, 2025)

🥳🥉

Luke getting hit by a puck in practice 😭

I'm so fucked. Wtf. Sir, it's 8am. What the fuck do you want me to do?

Arrival in Dallas. Jan 30, 2025

Jack and luke hiding in the back

Can barley see them