moonchild-cupcake

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.