ellie

zip up my fly - m.list - alex honnold

angel m.list - fraser minten

roommates - jim halpert

breathe m.list. - roommates: macklin celebrini x will smith x reader

earrings m.list - jannik sinner

best guess m.list - sidney crosby

you and mack try to make will come only by sucking on his nipples + you're both straddling each of his thighs + feminization

macklin celebrini x will smith hockey x reader smut

inspired by this photo:

nsfw mdni

will squirmed beneath the weight of you and mack, one of you straddling one of his thighs while he was pressed into the pillows against the headboard. he had been pinned down like this for what felt like hours, will lost track of the time… and his mind, consumed by the feeling of both of your plush lips roaming his neck, chest, nipples, everywhere. except for his dick. 

“please,” he had to think about it for a solid while before gasping it against mack’s lips.

“please what baby?” you murmured against his nipple.

will breathed and tried to collect his thoughts, and when he opened his mouth again, mack’s teeth lightly pulled on will’s other nipple, while you licked  and sucked around the other one and will’s words disappeared into a high, moan he’d prefer to pretend sounded lower. 

“y’just laying here all pretty for us, isn’t he pretty, mack?” will felt his face heat up. 

“so pretty,” mack didn’t bother to part his lips away from will nipple to answer.

“letting us take care of you, like our very own pillow princess.” will moaned embarrasingly, cursing him to blush even more. his dick absolutely jumped at the deprecating nickname. mack brushed the curls that were damp with sweat out of will’s face and over his ear. will leaned into his touch so much, he chased it when mack withdrew his hand. fuck. it inflated mack’s already massive head even more. 

the cold chain on his chest contrasted with the way his body felt ignited with heat. your hand that was on his shoulder reached up to grasp his chin, forcing him to hold eye contact with you. and then you ducked down to lick the silver cross, and he could feel your tongue on the sides of it pressed against his clavicle. “fuck,” will breathed, in awe of you. you were flushed, and when you leaned up to press  a chaste kiss to his cheek, he could feel your pillowy tits  pressed up against him.  

mack's hips started moving in a slow rhythm, grinding along will's thigh starting from his knee where mack was perched. his boxers were damp with pre, and it was so wet will could feel the tip of mack's dick catch along the ridges of his thigh as he grinded on.

will was completely overwhelmed by the way the two of you were touching– groping him all over. your smaller hands traced the muscles on his shoulders and around his navel. mack’s larger, more calloused hand gripped will’s waist, his thumb digging into the ridges on his stomach, his other hand massaging the inside of will’s thigh. 

“make that sound again,” mack whispered against his neck, will could feel his warm breath scattering across his skin. 

“do something to make me–” will’s huff was cut off when mack bit down on his neck. and mack did– will moaned embarrassingly loud again. 

will’s eyes flew opened again when he felt your wet cunt press down on his thigh. you were soaked. which helped the glide of your clit against the ridges of his thigh. he flexed it and gave you a little bounce. you moaned around his nipple. mack turned down to drop a glob of spit down onto will’s thigh as though you needed any more slick to be able to chase your own pleasure against him. but you and will still watched the glob of spit drop down from mack’s pink, swollen lips. 

it was overwhelming, the feeling of two warm mouths at the same time, mack was breathing harder, every breath released onto will’s nipple made him shiver. yours were more kitten licks and you also sucked what will wass ure were going to be hickies into his pec. mack was more… sloppy? he pressed his tongue flat and ran it up will’s pec. and then he went back to sucking and biting. it was like mack was making out with his nipple. oh wow. yeah. he could almost come just like this. 

he whined and panted  at the ceiling before looking down at you and mack to inquire why you 2 had stopped. when he looked down, your eyes were large and glassy, looking back at his, you were still grinding down on him just now with one of mack’s hand around your hip to quide your rhythm.

mack’s other hand began massaging will’s inner thighs again, and he said, “yeah. you could.” what? 

“yeah smitty,” you breathed, “be a good boy f’us and come with just us sucking your tits, huh.” no. will opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off when the two of you took his nipple into your mouths again. your tongue swirling around the bud like you would when you went down on him. 

his hips bucked up for more friction, anything, to grind against anyone. mack’s hand came up to pin his hips into the mattress. his plush lips started at the skin around will’s nipple then he would suck in, swirl his tongue around, release and start again. occasionally stopping to breathe or to bite. 

mack was helping you ride will’s thigh to the same rhythm as he was making out with wills pec with. will probably let out strings of please, please what he didn’t know. his dick pulsed against yours and mack’s thighs with the need for release, but he felt too good to end it. 

 hand that wasn’t the one steadying yourself onto your shoulder started massaging the soft skin below his belly button and he felt his eyes roll back. 

“bet you like all the attention,” mack panted, and will could feel his words around his nipple, “you’re like a fucking puck bunny, smitty.” will opened his eyes so he could see you and mack painted with his own come.

masterlist

situationship: coach!andy murray x reader

brat tamer whisperer!andy

andy wears cufflinks with reader's initials engraved on them

a zoom call with a pr representative from a jewelry brand in late 2024

“okay, so we’ll send over the necklace, tear drop earrings, and the bracelets?” audrey from the jewelry brand read throught the notebook out loud on the zoom call with carol, your stylist, svetlana, your manager, and you. audrey was met with collective agreements. “oh, can we send some pieces for your date as well?”

svetlana muted her laptop and turned to you next to her, and asked, “date?”

you looked towards andy, sitting on the other couch in your hotel room, reading some boring psychology book. he looked up. you raised your eyebrows. he nodded and looked back down to his book. 

you unmuted and said, “that would be great.”

“do we know what the date is wearing?” audrey asked while shuffling papers. 

“can we have andy wear his dark blue us open suit to compliment your dress?” carol replied, without missing a beat.

“sure,” you replied. without checking with andy. 

“does he have any preferences? we have quite the extensive men’s line.”

you perked up and smiled brightly. “what about a choker, or a bird-shaped brooch, or clip-on earrings?”

“i’m not wearing clip-on earrings,” andy yelled from the couch. you rolled your eyes.

“so you’re okay with the choker and bird-shaped brooch?” 

andy glared at you over the frames of his glasses that had slipped down. his ‘what-do-you-think’ glare. 

audrey cleared her throat. “we have some… more subtle pieces, like cufflinks… we have a pair from our most recent collection… was that andy murray?”

“yes, that was andy murray, and i think the cufflinks he would actually wear,” svetlana shot you a pointed look.

you shot andy a pout. he pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“we can have the cufflinks engraved.”

your pout disappeared into a smile. you made eye contact with andy. “can we get my initials on them? one on each?” his eyebrows both raised. 

australian open gala, 2025

“c’mere,” andy softly called out to you at the other side of the closet. he held out his wrist to you, holding a cuff link with his other hand. you took his wrist, slipped the cuff link into his cuff, snapped it on, and kissed the palm of his hand, not breaking eye contact, and repeated on the other side. you watched any’s pupils slowly dilate to the size of pennies.

“help me put on the necklace,” you handed it to him, pulled your hair up and turned around. andy took an indulgent moment to let himself appreciate your backless, strappy dress. and after fumbling with the little clip and ignoring your giggles, he managed to snap it on and he kissed your bare shoulder.

throughout the night, andy kept his hand stroking up and down your bare waist and lower back, the tips of his fingers grazing the inside of the edge of the silky fabric. 

"'cause you are my best guess at the future"

sidney spends valentines day with his down bad4down bad situationship that is definitely NOT a situationship

references this

sidney crosby x pwhl rookie!reader

february 2024

sid frowned as he looked through the florists’ catalogue on his laptop. it was going to be your first valentines day together in 2 weeks and he didn’t know if you would want flowers. it didn’t seem practical to give you a gift that you’d have to care for before inevitably throwing away. he scrolled past differently arranged bouquets, flowers wrapped in paper, flowers in boxes, hydrangeas– were hard to take care of, and then he scrolled past a mushroom log. he scrolled back up and clicked on the photo. he read the description, “shiitake logs… produces multiple harvests… sustainable… just mist twice every other day… lasts up to 8 years,” he added it to his cart and checked out. 

you didn’t know if you and sid were going to be doing valentines day. it seemed like an established couple thing. and you didn’t know what the two of you were. it’s not like it was a big issue. the two of you frequently commuted from toronto and pittsburgh… spoke to each other before bed during roadies… had toothbrushes and drawers at each other’s places… but there just hasn’t been the ‘what are we’ conversation yet… and if it ain’t broke… 

so anyway you were brainstorming valentines gifts sid would like… without knowing if the two of  you would have plans… whatever. you remembered telling him that you have never been with a guy who had pocket squares one morning in pittsburgh when he was getting ready for a game and suiting up. he re-folded the one he had been holding and tucked in back into his pocket square drawer. he had a pocket square drawer. you crawled out of his bed, reached for the same one, folded it the way he liked it, and tucked it into his pocket. so now you were on etsy looking for embroidered pocket squares. ooh, one of them had a matching tie clip. 

“i dont have a game next thursday, so i’ll drive up and we’ll have friday until sunday together, you have a match on monday” sid murmured. you could feel his chest vibrating with what he was saying from where  you were laying on it.

“sure,” you replied, tracing lines on his stomach. his very taught stomach. 

“12th to the 15th, yeah?”

your eyes opened wide. “sounds good.”

you started giggling before you finished tearing off the wrapping paper. it was a mushroom log. of course sid would gift you a mushroom log for valentine’s day. you tore off the rest of the paper and held it up to see it better. “i love it!” you turned it around to inspect  it closer, there were several tiny sprouts. “how did you think to get it?”

“i’ve never seen you like flowers…” sid scratched the back of his neck, which was pink. his ears and neck had been pink since he woke up that morning in your bed. “and i didn’t think you’d like having to take care of them… and they’d die eventually anyways… the mushroom log will last up to 8 years.”

you reached over to hold his cheeks and to pull him into a kiss. the terrarium still in your lap. “you’re so thoughtful.” when you pulled back, sid broke out in a bashful smile. “let’s name each one,” you held the terrarium up higher so that you could both see them. and pointed to a small one, “i’ll name this one geno, what do you think?”

“here’s another one,” sid handed you a larger box he pulled from behind the couch. 

“two gifts? you spoil me,” murmured while ripping the wrapping paper off of this package. inside was a box, and when you lifted the lid, you gasped and pulled out a pair of pristine ccm vector u+ pro skates. you wore them once growing up, they were your favorite skates, and you were devastated– absolutely devastated when they were discontinued. “how did you get these?” you gasp-giggled. you dropped them back into the box and lunged at sid to hug him and pressed a fat kiss to his stubbly cheek. 

“i remembered you saying something about the best skates ever.”

“i mentioned them, like, once, months ago.”

“yeah.”

sid opened a small package, pushed aside some pink tissue paper, and pulled out a… pocket square. sid looked up at you and smiled. he remembered the pocket square incident a couple weeks ago. it was white, felt like soft cotton, and had a white embroidered trim along the curvy edges. he felt over it and caught a little embroidered text. he squinted to get a better look and held it up to the sunlight to read it better. “sidney patrick crosby, i declare that you are my  valentine,” he read the little loopy cursive out loud. then he giggled what his equivalent of a giggle was and leaned down to kiss you. “you’re quite pushy, huh?”

“you have one more gift,” you said, perky, as you sat up and pulled his hand to follow you. you pushed past the door to your closet, pulled open 4 drawers, stepped back, and sid realized that he was looking at… a scaled-down replica of how he laid out his own wardrobe in pittsburgh. he bent over to get a closer look. in the top right were 2 pocket squares folded in the way he usually did, next to a box of cufflinks. in the one next to it were several pairs of his boxers, socks, and pajamas, folded. the one below, on the bottom left, were his dress pants and slacks, in the one next to it were his scarves and beanies. his dress shirts and suits were hanging  above them. next to your long dresses. sid engulfed you in a hug.

masterlist

i. how they meet

sidney crosby x pwhl rookie!reader

early may, 2023

sidney was usually the first and last person on the ice. everywhere. in pens games, international tournaments, and even here, in the cole harbour place, his childhood rink. it was one of his rituals. one of the parts of his routine that made the world keep spinning. and his head feeling level.

so when he reached the gate of the rink, he was taken aback. was he late? he looked down at his watch. 6:27. nope. he was never late. but you were skating around the ice while stickhandling. it looked like a warm-up routine. wow. with little turns and tricks that figure skaters did. your rotations reminded him of mitch marner’s turns. your hair whipped after you and you flew by him in a bright red flash. then you abruptly turned back around. and in a blink you were stopped in front of him at the gate. 

“hi,” you broke out in an easy smile. 

“hi.” it was a university of wisconsin practice jersey. and you were also small. like a head shorter than him. he had never seen such a short hockey player. 

you didn’t stop smiling, and introduced yourself.

“i’m sid,” you blinked. oh. he didn’t need to introduce himself. he stuck out his hand. you cocked your head to the side, still smiling, and you shook it.

you moved to the side to give him more space to get into the rink, “you’re here pretty early,” you tossed over your shoulder as you started skating. you motioned for him to come with you. 

sid fell into pace next to you. “i’m usually the first to hit the ice.” you turned to him. he didn’t realize that he was already searching your face. you were slightly flushed from the movements and the cold, a pinkish red dusting… well, blotching your cheeks and the tip of your nose. when you smiled, your cheeks pushed up the bottom of your eyes. 

“did i interrupt your ritual?” you both turned a corner without looking ahead, in sync, “will it count if we go back to the locker room and then i’ll let you come back on the ice first?” it startled a chuckle out of sid, and you giggled. 

“no, it’s ruined, you’ll have to make it up to me another way,” sid answered, you giggled in response. 

“do you have different superstitions for different rinks or is it just the one you practice constantly?” sid was surprised with the genuine curiosity in your question. it wasn’t often that the comments he received about his routines weren’t in jest. 

“well, for this rink, where i grew up playing in, i tap the swing gate twice before getting on the ice.”

“you grew up playing here?” sid nodded, smiling, reminded of his fond childhood memories. “so did i!” you smiled even wider, with a sparkle in your eye. sid slowed down, and  you matched his pace. your dark hair had slight waves to it. and it smelled like vanilla maybe? something sweet and warm. 

“yeah?”

“whenever i skate here, i avoid the third cubby on the far wall in the locker room, it has bad energy.” you told sid in complete confidence. he couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him. “seriously, when i used it, i sprained my ankle in 1st grade, busted my jaw in 6th grade, had to get a metal plate put in here like charlie mcavoy,” you traced your chin and jaw to demonstrate, “and then i broke my clavicle in 10th grade, you can hear it click when i do this, c’mere,” you rolled your right shoulder and sid leaned in. oh yeah, that was a click. okay he was suddenly really close to you. he backed up. he looked down to observe the way you skated. you had a deep, aggressive forward lean and a steep head to toe rocker. kind of like natemac. interesting. sid realized that you had been checking out the way he skated as well, your line of vision tracing his movements. he could see the blades of his skates reflected in your dark eyes.

“which neighborhood did you live in?”

“colby village,”

“oh! you ever go to the lake there?”

you laughed, a bright, alive sound, “i think i spent more time by that lake than i did in a classroom during high school!” sid chuckled as well. 

“my dad used to take my brother and i out there to fish, no matter what time of year it was,” even thinking of the lake made the memories come rushing back to him, “some times, we’d freeze our asses off.”

you cooed, “aww, that’s sweet.”

“what about you? what do you remember about it?”

“we used to have parties there, on the beach,” oh. “and then we’d go skinny dipping,” okay. “the cold water also helped us sober up before we went home.” uh huh. sid nodded. “i like your story more, it’s sweeter.”

“i’m going to be thinking about that the next time i fish there with my dad,” sid chuckled. literally. 

a flash of your number stitched onto your sleeve caught his eye. 71. sid slowed down, and you slowed down with him. your eyes widened slightly, searching his face. his eyebrows were probably scrunched. sid quickly un-scrunched them. “your number.” he explained.

“it’s been my number since timbits, i grew up a pens fan here,” you smirked, cheeky. of course. sid was suddenly aware of his age again. “my family’s from russia, my dad played in the superleague,” oh. that made sense. “and geno’s kind of awesome.” cheeky, indeed.

“he absolutely is,” sid smiled. geno was going to have a field day knowing there are professional players out there who chose their number because of him. and sid would crack the joke that he was old enough to have kids who grew up watching him– them. god. “your dad played?”

you nodded and smiled. “yeah, he was a defenseman in moscow.” okay. so your dad was a massive former hockey player. “i kind of lost the genetic lottery here.” you shrugged, referring to your height.

“you’re like, really fast.”

“yeah?”

sid nodded, earnestly. 

“so where are you playing now?”

“i got drafted to toronto in the spring so i’ll be moving there soon.”

you must be like, 20, 21? sid almost missed a turn. you grabbed his arm to pull him with you, sparing him from crashing into the boards. 

“oh. well good luck there. blayre turnbull is a fantastic captain. and a good friend of mine.”

“yeah?”

“i invited her and some of the other sceptres to my training camp here.”

“in july, she invited me as well.”

“that’s nice… i guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” sid looked ahead on the ice, avoiding eye contact. he could feel you studying him. 

“can you teach me how you face off?” he turned back towards you. “i struggle to focus when i’m bent down there, i’m better at chasing the puck after the face off.”

“sure, what about a game of 1v1 while we’re at it.” it wasn’t a part of sid’s training schedule for that day. but skating in circles for 30 minutes wasn’t either.

you both ended up getting lunch at the rink that day as well. it was just the two of you. 

and then sid helped you work on scoring until the little children started filing in after school. you cooed at them and helped them stand up when they slipped. and then the two of you walked out of the rink together. 

you started walking towards the exit and sid calls after you, “are you walking?”

“yeah”

“let me drive you, your bag looks heavy.”

you shrugged, adjusting the straps of your massive equipment bag. sid thought the bag was about your size. “i’ve walked home from this rink like every day since i started playing hockey.”

“please.”

you smiled and murmured a ‘thank you’ as you gave him your equipment bag to fit into the back seat. 

and then sid just kept running into you at the rink. and then driving you home or wherever you happened to have plans for in the evenings. to the city, even, a couple times. sometimes you’d both stop by the grocery store together. sid learned that you ate yogurt and protein powder for your breakfast and dinner whenever you were home for it. baffled, sid asked, “what are you doing after this?”

“going home and making myself dinner.”

“yogurt. for dinner?”

“with protein powder.”

“but what about nutrition? this is how people get scurvy.”

“we had the spinach lasagna for lunch today at the rink.”

“have dinner with me,” it slipped out before sid could think too hard about it. “we’ll go somewhere with real food.”

without missing a beat, you replied, “yeah?” and smiled up at him with a mysterious twinkle in your eyes. 

“my favorite little italian place growing up,” sid smiled back. why not? it was just dinner. he couldn’t let you go home and have yogurt. 

masterlist

it's not about earrings

situationship!jannik sinner x wta player!reader headcannons - sfw and nsfw

the two of you started sharing rooms on tour so often, both of your respective coaches, physios, and other team personnel started knocking on both of your doors looking for one of you. 

when he has to wake up before you because he has an earlier match, he leaves a cheeky note on the hotel paper pad and leaves it on his pillow for you to wake up to. 

when you wake up earlier, you get back from the bathroom after getting ready to see that jannik, in his sleep, has migrated to clinging on to your pillow for dear life.

if he’s awake, he’ll stay in bed to watch you, ask you questions about your day, and while you’re changing, he wolf-whistles.

in the middle of the night, jannik moves closer and closer to you. when you wake up, his head is in the crook of your neck, his curls in your face, and his head on your pillow.  

he uses your fancy sunscreen

and your fancy shampoo. “coniglietto (little bunny), my hair feels amazing.”

and when his skin is ashy in the winter, your fancy lotion. this man is lathering himself with your cle de peau lotion.

he’s taller than you, and that does something for him. size kink hehe.

but like in a domestic bliss way, he reaches the top cabinets, rests his head above yours when you’re brushing your teeth, calls you coniglietto (little bunny). when he sleeps, he’ll hold you like his personal jellycat. 

the way you look up at him on your knees and your fingernails scraping his thighs makes him dizzy. 

he pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail and tucks your stray hair behind your ears.

he walked by an agent provocateur one day and spotted a headband of bunny ears with a white lacey set. he kept on walking. home. forgetting about what he was supposed to be doing that day. and ordered the set online. * cough * bunny tail butt plug * cough *

he watched his mail like a hawk for weeks. and when it arrived, he unfolded the cardboard to see a baby pink box with black ribbon. he quickly covered the box with the cardboard again. looked around his empty kitchen. you were going to be practicing for the next hour. okay. he carefully disposed of the cardboard and invoice. and the box sat in the back of his closet for weeks. he glared at it every time he reached for his shorts. 

on the couch. you could hear him breathing before he started talking. “soo” “yes?” “nothing” “jannik, what?” “it’s nothing” … his knee bounced. you didn’t push further. he’d break eventually … “um” you looked up expectantly … “i got you something.” your face lit up. he didn’t move from the sofa. “jannik.” he sighed, got up, retrieved the box from his closet. he hesitated when he got back to the couch, holding the massive pink box behind him. you raised your eyebrow, recognizing the color. “did you get me something or did you get you something?” you grinned playfully. he sat down, and set the box on your lap. his ears, neck, and face were alarmingly red. you pulled off the ribbon, lifted the box, unwrapped the tissue, and giggled, “coniglietto, aww,” and held the lacey ass-less thong up to the light to examine it closer. 

you don’t realize that you’re living together in his apartment in monaco when you wake up one day, in your pajamas, pulled on your robe, walked out to his living room, and saw him doing the laundry, drying both of your clothes.

he’s too cheap to use his dryer. it’s a waste of electricity. 

the next day, they dried, and he put them in an drawers in his massive walk-in closet without saying anything. he separated your undergarments, socks, pants, tops, and hung your dresses next to his dress shirts. your clothes are all folded nicer than his own clothes.

“baby whats that soft white fabric you wear?” “what?” “the one with the lines and the shapes and the small holes” “pointelle?” “your pajamas.” “pointelle.” “yes, how do you say it?” you pronounce it slower and he repeats after you, getting used to the feel in his mouth. “let’s go shopping to get you more pointelle.”

he’s such a bad sexter. when you’re apart, he’ll call you at night, panting. 

he’s lost all 9 of his matches that lasted over 3 hours and 50 minutes long. you challenged him to last longer than that while you teased him.

you bought a jellycat fox bag charm and you clip it to your tennis bag before matches, to your purse for a day out, and on your backpack while you’re traveling. 

you take him on a karting date, you win, and he pouts on the drive home.

he buys the f1 and fifa video games every year they’re released and you’re both insanely competitive over it.

bets and wagers are placed. “if i win, you’ll put on the bunny set tonight.”

he looves it when you sit in his box. as the only active tennis player among his team and family, you’re the calmest one there. 

you have quick athlete reactions and you’re also really loud for someone so small, so when he hits an impressive shot, wins a set, or wins the match, he’ll hear your “forza” first. 

once, you had a match scheduled before his, so he didn’t know when yours was going to end, and during one of his later sets, he hears you. the broadcast caught him looking at his box, squinting, searching for you. 

he puts on his low key darth sinner™ outfit, a  dark hoodie and dark shorts, to watch your matches. it does absolutely nothing. the broadcast still cuts to him. 

yeti likes you more than she likes jannik. jannik is jealous. and pouty. 

when you’re at events together, his arm does not leave your lower back. and because it’s soo big, it can span from your lower waist to the top of your ass when he stretches it.

he can smell your perfume before he sees you. literally like a fox. his nose will perk up. 

he flexes his hands when he knows you’re watching.

not really a dirty talk enthusiast, but he’ll slip in little smug comments like “you like that, huh” “feeling good baby?” when you’re too overwhelmed to reply. 

you were staying over in his apartment one morning, and when you walked into his bathroom, there was a baby pink toothbrush sharing a cup with his blue one. “jannik?” you called out, holding the toothbrush, “i had extra” “no, you bought extra.” “okay i bought extra.”

coach!andy murray x reader

brat tamer whisperer!andy

ii. somehow andy had acquired a notebook

us open, 2024

somehow andy had acquired a notebook. 2 days ago, after he debriefed your first round match with you, you told him that it was really helpful and that you would keep the notes in mind for your practice. and smiled at him. after a 30 minute debate. and brad loosely suggested that he could watch a practice session of yours if he wanted to. you smiled and nodded. and what was andy going to do, not take notes? he had spent his entire… life… taking notes while watching tennis. so when he walked by the barnes and noble on his way to the stadium from his hotel and went in. maybe this could be him teetering himself off of tennis. instead of going cold-turkey.

so there he was, sitting court side with a little notebook and a pen from the hotel. watching your practice. you had spent 15 minutes discussing your forehand with gilbert. andy made a little note on the blank page to watch out for it the next match you played. you were insisting that you were not taking it too quickly, brad insisted that you were. 

“we’re running out of time,” gilbert yelled, exasperated “andy, what do you think?”

somewhere along the way, andy had become more and more involved. he watched all of your matches. regularly attended your practices. you had noticed his little notebook immediately. and made him share what he had written. you would spend the time walking back to the hotel you both stayed in and then over dinner with your team discussing (debating) aspects of your game.

gilbert told andy that he was simultaneously surprised yet unsurprised that you had made it to the round of 16, the 4th round. your match would be against jasmine paolini, the 5th seed in 2 days. paolini was ranked higher than your 30th seed and led the head-to-head 4-2; however, you won your last meeting in toronto. andy remembered watching paolini at the olympics.

halfway through the practice, mid-argument with you about where to move to prepare to receive paolini’s cross-court. you wanted to try a new return. gilbert wanted to continue the one you had been working on. “why don’t you think this through with andy?” gilbert yelled. it was less a proposition and more a que for andy to get onto the court. they traded places. 

“what do you think paolini will do when you move to the baseline?” andy asked. you stood straighter, thinking through your answer. andy had argued with you enough for the past week for you to know that he would press further if you answered with ‘because’. he let you take your time.

“i’ve moved towards the net the past few times we’ve played against each other.”

“and did it work?”

“it did. but she’ll see it coming this match.”

“okay, so you think she’ll anticipate your return, so you want to add variety to your returns,” andy clarified, “you didn’t want to try something different for the sake of trying something different.”

“yeah,” you nodded. “i want to hit a steeper cross-court shot than hers and have it graze the lines instead of in the middle of the court. from where i’m standing she’ll anticipate a return in the middle of the court, so she’ll have to run further back. she might miss the return.”

andy nodded. that was the response he was looking for. he knew you had it in you. it just took you time to be able to understand your instincts. andy had time. 

“we’ll try it your new way and then we’ll touch back on the old return so polish it, yeah?”

“okay,” you began to move into position. 

when you got to the court in the evening for another practice, you walked up to andy first. and asked how your net game could improve and if he could feed you drop shots

andy’s back thanked him for sitting in your box next for your match instead of standing in the back of the stadium. paolini took the first set, 7-5, you won the second, 6-4, and was on your 7th match point at 5-3, advantage-40. you served wide, but paolini still got it, she swang a steep cross-court backhand. andy sat forward. you shifted backwards and swing a cross-court forehand that crossed paolini’s shoulder bounced off her baseline to the left. paolini didn’t get there fast enough. you won the point. the match. you looked towards andy in your box and flashed a bright smile. andy nodded, clapping. it worked. 

when you walked into the tunnel, andy found himself about to congratulate you first. until you crushed his bones in a hug that almost threw him off his feet. he patted your back. and then he said, “you were right.” 

“told you.”

when you sat down for your press conference, gilbert turned to andy at the back of the press hall. “i love this one, but she’s really making me consider retirement,” andy smiled and nodded, yeah, he could see that. “i’d ask you how you’re liking it but you’re still here… which tells me all i need to know,” gilbert gave him a pointed look. fair. “why don’t you join us for the rest of the tournament, see how it feels to coach professionally? you could be my intern.” gilbert sighed. “i’ve been scouting replacements, she’s a good kid. i don’t want her to leave new york without a coach … it’s like getting a stallion as your first pet… but i think you’d appreciate the challenge, no?”

gilbert was asking him to coach you.

andy’s neck snapped (ouch) towards him.

coach!andy murray x reader

brat tamer whisperer!andy

i. a meet-cute that jostles andy's nervous system

us open, 2024

andy thought he’d appreciate retirement more. golf had turned… repetitive. and peace and quiet become… too quiet. maybe his nervous system isn’t used to it. 

he snapped back into focus when you walked back into position behind the baseline. he remembered hearing about you when you were on tour. something something of a fluctuating career. a breakout roland garros victory a couple years ago, 2, maybe. andy remembered thinking that you would stable out as you matured in your game. as he sits in the stadium, he realizes that his assumption was incorrect. very incorrect. you were facing a qualifier in your first round, a german player, eva lys. you lost the first set 6-3, got up 4-1 in the second set, let it slip to 4-4, and started playing like there was a fire lit under your ass. you were up 30-love, receiving and hit a spectacular cross-court slice. 40-love. lys served. you got into position, pivoting and angling your racket. you were going for another slice. a baffling tactical decision.

andy instinctively muttered, “...no…”

standing beside him in the back of the stadium was novak djokovic… due to an order of events andy absolutely did not expect to occur to him. “what?” novak asked. 

“wrong shot. it’s her 4th slice in a row.”

you sliced. and after a 12-shot rally, you won the point anyway. that andy didn’t realize that he was counting. with a stunning backhand down the line. 

he blinked. “maybe not

you took that set, 6-4.

you executed a sliding retrieval for a steep ball near the net with a lateral slide and a wrist extension, a sharp play by lys, a better return by you, the ball bounced off the center of your racket. the ball swiped the inner white line. you raised your fist in celebration …and then you crashed into the net. and then you bent over the net. your dropped your racket and your arms reached out to break your fall. lys rushed over to help you regain your footing. the two of you looked at each other. you broke first, bursting into high giggles that echoed in the stadium, pulling everyone, the spectators, and lys into laughter with you. 

and then you took the next set, 7-5. andy had lost count of the questions he'd accumulated. the first one was ‘why is your game working?’

you celebrated your victory by shooting your box a cheeky look and shaking lys’ hand. you both had quite a few enthusiastic words to exchange at the net. 

andy stretched knees and back. he looked down at his watch. your match lasted 2 hours and 12 minutes. and he stood up for all of it. the tightness suddenly hit him. well, his body certainly don’t miss playing. but he thinks he misses analyzing the game, reading the opponent, and planning the next move. too bad he’s abysmal at chess. 

“you want to know why I invited you here?” novak asked.

“why?” andy genuinely didn’t know. 

“because i knew you’d come.” novak sounded really smug. “because i knew you would miss grand slams.”

andy sighed. and grunted. he hated when novak did this. it’s like he had a third eye for everything anyone didn’t want him to know. andy had told him this once, exasperated. he had simply laughed in response and told him it was the same ‘black magic’ that still kept him in good shape.

andy hated to admit it, but novak was right. this match. your match was fascinating. to try to understand what shot you were going for and more importantly, why you were going for it. how your processes of thought had reached the conclusions. 

“this one is interesting, no? the way she plays.”

“sometimes, i can’t understand why she goes for the shots she does.”

“c’mon,” novak said as he started walking away.

andy hadn’t thought of his former coach, brad gilbert in years. 15 maybe. but there they were, shaking hands. shouldn’t novak be playing mind games on his actual opponents, not a former one?

“brad, tell us about your player.” novak said with a bright smile.

gilbert grunted your name. yes. andy does remember you. “she’s a fantastic player. true. raw talent.” he slightly pushed his fist to prove his point, “it’s just that she’s on her own wavelength, there’s a learning curve to understanding the shots she sees. a never-ending curve.” 

“well,” novak clapped andy’s shoulder. “we have a couple questions, don’t you, andy?” 

“because you were bored?” andy repeated your answer to his question. “you sliced four times in a row because you were bored?”

“yes.”

“but how did you know lys wouldn’t anticipate your movements?”

“but she didn’t.”

“what did she do that made you think that.”

“because i kept my toes pointed to another direction.”

“what?”

“she kept looking down whenever i moved. so i pivoted with my heels first. she thought i was going in a different direction.”

“that makes sense.” andy blinked. “you were subconsciously noticing a pattern in her line of vision and you responded to it accordingly while simultaneously choosing your next shot.”

“yeah.”

“you weren’t bored.”

“i guess i wasn’t completely bored.”

andy’s neck craned to meet you at eye level as he discussed your match with you. it turned into a debrief. you still looked up at him, with wide eyes and your puffy lips were in a slight pout. a post-game flush blotched your cheeks. andy looked back up to your eyes. you looked back up to his. 

“why did you run over to the other end of the court for the backhand down the line– a stellar shot, by the way.”

brat tamer whisperer!andy, age gap

table of contents

i. a meet-cute that jostles andy's nervous system

ii. somehow andy had acquired a notebook

andy wears cufflinks with reader's initials engraved on them

it's not about earrings

ii. lunch

somewhere between you getting lost while finding your way to one of the three restaurants of the country club in which you held a membership at and the third round of mimosas at 4 pm, you and jannik had hit it off …well. 

jannik chose to not think about what this… lunch was. it was lunch. and he would look back at the menu. even though he already knew what he wanted.

jannik hadn’t taken the time to properly… be with you without the practice agenda in the way or while he was occupied with the thoughts of hitting patterns and shifting to the middle of the baseline. now, as he was sitting across you in the dining hall, it seemed like too much time with nothing to do but stare at you. not that he minded, of course. you alternated twitching the right and left corners of your mouth while you perused the menu. you were beautiful, not that he hadn’t noticed before, he just had time to think about it now. your lips were reddish with a pink twinge. not as red as tomatoes. like strawberries. your cupid’s bow curved with two pointy peaks. right below the tip of your perky nose. the sunlight that filtered in from the window next to the table highlighted its curve. it had been twitching during practice the past few weeks. you must be allergic to pollen or something. your short dress was held on your delicate shoulders with thin straps that occasionally fell down your shoulder. you’d have to pull them up. jannik wandered what the fabric felt like. if it was soft. or if it was cold. and if he would ever find out. he traced your eyes as they flitted across the pages. they snapped up. to his. fuck. he was caught. now his entire face was strawberry red. you now matched. 

“what are you thinking of having?” you asked, ignoring jannik’s embarrassment. 

“i uh…” jannik scratched the back of his neck, afraid what he will say next will sound strange, “i always order the same thing here, the penne pomodoro.” your eyes flickered up. 

“just here or …everywhere?”

“anywhere with an italian menu.”

“what if the menu doesn’t have a penne pomodoro.”

“the chef will still make it.” “how do you know that?”

“because i’m jannik sinner,” he replied with exaggerated smugness. you both immediately broke into a fit of giggles. after you had both calmed down, jannik asked you what you wanted to order.

“i play this game.” jannik watched you intently as you closed your eyes. flipped to a random page. wagged your finger in the air. dropped it on the glossy page. and opened your eyes. “i landed on a scallop fajita.” you thought for a moment. “interesting, i’ve never tried one.”

“that’s it?” jannik asked, confused. 

“chance makes lunch more interesting,” you smiled and raised both your eyebrows.

a server came by and asked, “can i take your orders?” jannik motioned for you to go first, “i’ll have a scallop fajita, please, thanks,” you smiled. 

“could the chef please make a penne pomodoro?” jannik asked.

“you must be jannik,” the server smiled. you made eye contact with jannik and suppressed a giggle.

“i am, nice to meet  you,” jannik introduced you and you smiled, “what’s your name?”

“i’m julian, and can i get you both any drinks?”

jannik looked over to you to see that you had perked up. like a full body perk up. with a bright, mischievous smile.jannik has come to learn that it’s your ‘trouble’ smile. your “i’m going to try this trick shot” and “i’ll slice 4 times in a row” smile. you mouthed to jannik, “mimosas?” jannik slowly and slightly shook his head. you nodded. jannik let out a low laugh, but still shook his head. and you giggled, but still nodded. the both of you continued your stare-off until jannik relented. “can we please have 2 mimosas?”

“oh my god, you didn’t!” you giggled, too loudly for a country club dining hall.

“my brother marc recorded it on his ancient ipad, i think i could get you some evidence,” jannik heard himself laugh back. 

“for some reason i absolutely believe that you would be the kind of person to ski trick shots off your roof but i would love to watch it,” you smiled brightly, with a faint blush from all your giggling …and the drinks.

“ooh, that looks interesting,” jannik followed your line of vision to see a server walking around with a dish in a hot plate that was smoking. 

“is that your scallop fajita?” the server was walking towards their direction. with a plate of pasta in their other hand. 

“probably not”  the server got even closer. you paused. and the two of you made eye contact. “i’m not sure what a fajita looks like.” you both started smiling at each other.

julian set a sensible, non-smoking penne pomodoro in front of jannik and the hot plate down in front of you. and then you and jannik burst out in giggles, thanking julian in between breaths. 

“i don’t think my childhood would even compare to whatever trouble you got up to,” jannik giggled. like actually giggled. the sound was foreign to his ears. 

“mm, i had a phase where i was obsessed with racing.”

“formula 1?”

“i still watch, you?”

“every race.”

“i used to have a group of friends who would find free highways or mountain roads to rae our cars on.”

“what?”

“c’mere, you have to try the fajita,” you pushed salt and pepper shakers to the side of the table to make room. jannik hesitated for a second. then he looked at you. and decided to take a page out of your book and that he wasn’t going to play his lunch safe. 

“i’ve never tried this here.”

“i’m just saying, would you rather have verstappen in the rocketship or a driver like mazepin?”

“i’d rather have mazepin win at least one race instead of verstappen winning all of them!” 

jannik’s cheeks hurt from laughing. and they also felt warm. maybe from the what, 3 mimosas?

“i’m sorry, but we’re closing for the next hour to clean up before dinner,” julian stopped by the table to pick up two empty champagne flutes. 

“looks like we’re moving the party,” you smiled and got up. jannik followed the flow of your dress. 

it didn’t occur to him that it was already mid-afternoon. you both stopped at the entryway. and jannik realized that he wasn’t ready to leave yet. “i’m only like a 15 minute walk from here, do you want to come over and watch me beat you at f1 25?” the invitation came out before he could think about it. 

“watch you beat me? not a chance sinner.”

“can we schedule another practice?” jannik asked, mid-practice. “sure,” simone called out from the sidelines. if he didn’t get this scheduled, jannik would spend the rest of the practice thinking about it instead of the next ball. darren continued to feed him balls. 

jannik sat on the bench for a water break. simone glanced at darren. darren glanced back. simone cleared his throat. “you know,” he said casually, “there are other things the two of you could do besides practice.”

jannik took another sip of water. “i know.”

silence settled over the court.

“i know you're wondering how lunch went,” jannik said eventually, still looking out at the baseline instead of at either of them. neither coach answered. “it went well.” the corner of his mouth twitched. darren noticed it first. simone noticed darren noticing it. they both looked back down at their notebooks. another practice it was.

it's not about earrings

i. how it started

wimbledon, 2023

darren ran into marat safin in the breakfast buffet line one morning at the hotel in london. 

“so how has your coaching been?” he asked as they moved through the coffee line. marat mentioned your name. darren remembered hearing about you. a real up-and-coming player. aggressive. unpredictable. kind of annoying. hmm…

“we’re working on shortening her points.”

“jannik’s trying to add more variety at the net.”

they exchanged a look. 

jannik’s eyebrows had a little line in the middle that simone thought he could fit a little coffee stirrer in between as he walked off the court and to the players bench. a good sign. simone looked to you to gauge how you felt. you were pouting slightly, with flushed cheeks. he thought you looked like his daughter when she refused to go to bed. cute. he made eye contact with darren and then marat. “we’ll talk to jannik and debrief with you after, yeah?”

“so,” simone started, “from our side, it looked like a great match, she really challenged your rhythm, among other aspects of the game, but how was the practice on your side?”

jannik sat across simone and darren in the bench of the locker room. he had his deep thought™ face on. “she’s weird.” his eyebrow line appeared again. “...doesn’t hit the ball where she’s supposed to.” he looked up again, “what did you two think?”

“it was a productive practice…”

“what did you think of jannik?” marat asked as he sat down next to you on the couch in your hotel room. your physio, katerina settled next to you as well. 

“he plays all the shots too early…” you were still pouting. marat was endeared to it at this point, he had been coaching you for so long. every now and then he remembers that you’re kind of still a kid. “i felt like i couldn’t breathe.”

jannik couldn’t stop thinking about you. how you would return a weird shot he received from an opponent. even during practices with darren and simone. 

darren fed jannik balls, recreating a pattern carlos likes. jannik huffed in frustration. and the heat. climate change is really becoming an issue. he missed. again. he asked darren to reat the last few volleys. this time, jannik stepped back to the middle of the baseline to return. it felt foreign to him. he won the point. darren looked up and squinted at him. 

“...she did this,” jannik yelled across the court, anticipating what darren would ask him. darren paused.

“what?”

jannik yelled out your name to clarify, “she… when she pulled me wide she didn’t recover crosscour… she recovered inside… and i had nowhere to go.”

darren looked up to simone at the edge of the court.

“jannik’s taking notes,” simone smiled at marat the next day, meeting in the coffee line at another hotel. 

“she’s finding that jannik is pushing her,” marat returned the smile, “won’t shut up about him.”

“tell me about it.”

“same court tomorrow?”

“is 12 okay?”

when simone relayed the plans to jannik, he nodded.

“you seem pleased.”

“i need another go,” jannik answered, borderline menacingly, while blowing the coffee  steam of his lavazza espresso cup. 

behind his sunglasses, marat looked jannik up and down, sizing the kid up. he held himself up well. a little lanky. polite. seemed to carry a conversation well. the two of you seemed to be getting along well. exchanging a couple more words after this practice. 

“have you been hearing as much about jannik as i have been about yours?” darren came up next to him and murmured. marat chuckled. all he’s heard the last few days were “jannik hit a powershot of a backhand down the line…”, “jannik kept an incredibly constant rhythm…”, and “jannik…”.

some motions and a conversation on the court caught their attention and they looked over to see you and jannik re-enacting a point. 

"when you stood that close on second serve..." you yelled across the court, "i thought you were bluffing." jannik shook his head and smiled. marat raised his eyebrow. 

"no. i never bluff," he yelled back. this ginger’s got game. “why’d you slice there?”

“i got bored.”

“you got bored?”

“it worked.”

“it did.”

“they’re coaching each other,” simone observed. 

“i’ll look at our schedule to see when we can schedule another practice if your camp is still interested,” marat looked back to simone and darren. 

“will she mind if we pass her number to jannik?” darren asked. marat and simone both looked at him. “to make their scheduling easier, of course.” the three of them shared a look. marat pretended to think about it. he couldn’t make it seem like your phone number could be passed out to any player. 

“i’ll ask her and get back to you,” he answered, playing a poker face. you were going to flip out when he told you about it that evening. 

jannik leaned against the doorframe to simone’s room. simone had a feeling he knew what jannik was going to ask. “...can you schedule another practice?”

“ask for her number and schedule it yourself,” simone responded with a look. he neglected to mention that marat had already passed him your number. but he wants jannik to man up a little and as you yourself. jannik started to breathe harder. simone decided to let him simmer for 20 minutes before saying something. without looking up, he said, “we already have, wednesday at 11, court 12.” he suppressed a smile. 

“oh.” simone snuck a glance. jannik was smiling to himself and nodding. he really thought it was his idea, huh. 

mid-post-practice debrief, darren, simone, and marat looked up from where they stood at the edge of the court to a giggle escape you from the player’s bench. was jannik blushing or was it just the heat? darren couldn’t tell. but he was smiling, and so were you. interesting. he turned to marat. “can i send you marat’s schedule and put your camp in touch with the rest of ours? it seems like the practices will be continuing long-term.”

“i think they will be as well,” marat nodded, darren could never read him. “we can continue to schedule practices when they return to monaco.”

monaco, 2023 

during the summer break, marat was close to changing his title on linkedin to be ‘carrier pigeon’ after scheduling 2 more practices for you and jannik, corresponding between darren and simone. it was like scheduling play dates. for two adult (kind of), professional tennis players. 

“soo…” you started, still leaning on your back on the couch at the monte-carlo tennis club. marat recognized that voice. something’s coming. although lately… “is jannik free for the next few days?”

“why?” marat played coy. he wasn’t going to spoon-feed you. you had to learn to go after what you wanted. who you wanted. 

“nothing,” you had propped yourself up to your elbows, staring at marat. he turned to look at you and raise his eyebrow.

“you could ask him… you know… with this metal brick called a phone…” you flopped back down and sighed dramatically. “it’s practically glued to your hand.”

“can you just ask simone?" marat rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. these days, he should stop coddling you. 

at the other side of the building, simone yelled, “jannik, are you free tomorrow?”

“you tell me,” jannik answered, still on the elliptical. “you schedule my life.” simone rolled his eyes. internally, of course. apparently, he schedules jannik’s dates as well.

“i’ll say you’re free at 12,” simone yelled aloud as he typed it into his phone. 

“who is asking?”

“who else?” simone observed jannik physically perk up. his back straightened. 

“what for?”

“simone asks what for,” you abruptly sat up. marat rolled his eyes. again. 

“..lunch” it took you 3 minutes to think of that.

“ok,” marat typed your response put his phone away to re-focus on the practice notes he was typing up on his laptop. 

“wait,” marat took a deep breath. “say ‘to talk about tennis’.” you watched marat type the message into his phone. 

“why?”

“because.” you flopped back onto the sofa. teenagers these days.

“lunch,” simone read out as soon as the message came in. jannik’s neck snapped in his direction so fast he almost called alejandro, his physio. darren wolf whistled from somewhere in the gym. jannik’s face turned pomodoro-red. he kept silent.

“what are you going to respond with, lover boy?” darren asked, chuckling. 

“to talk about tennis,” simone rushed to read the next message that came in. jannik turned back. simone exchanged a look with darren. 

“why don’t you continue figuring out the logistics with her yourself?” darren asked. damage control.

“do you have her number?” jannik asked, in what he thought was a clippy, rhetorical answer. simone and darren exchanged a look. darren nodded. simone quickly handed jannik his phone. he took it with a little too much force. darren read out your number. 2 minutes later, jannik stopped typing. he stared down at his phone, still moving on the elliptical with his legs. the only sound left in the room was the elliptical and the air conditioner. 30 seconds later, his phone buzzed. and he typed some more. jannik put his phone down and smiled. 

“so?” simone didn’t realize he was holding his breath. 

“we’re eating here at 12 tomorrow.” 

as they were packing up for the day, jannik straightened, looked at darren, and asked, “you already had her number?” simone and darren exchanged a look in silence. jannik waited for an answer, looking in between them, expectantly.

“why?”

“to schedule practices,” simone answered first. he was the one to tell jannik to reach out, after all. 

“you’ve had her number…”

“for months,” it was darren’s turn. 

“and you could’ve just…” jannik gestured to himself, “...given it to me?”

“we didn’t know you wanted it,” simone played dumb.

 “so you’ve been keeping it… for months… until now… when i just asked?” “exactly, you asked.”

sid clears a drawer for reader in his closet

sidney crosby x pwhl rookie!reader

sid and reader are down bad4down bad ...but it's still casual, right?

sid drove up to toronto pretty regularly and you drove down to pittsburgh pretty regularly. it would make sense that the two of you would leave personal effects over at each other’s places. like clothes. the clothes you were wearing the day before were scattered around his living room and bedroom floor. you slept past 3 alarms at 4 am and had to rush off and drive back for morning skate. sid had the day off after his own morning skate. and his laundry basket was almost full. he didn’t mind tossing your clothes in there too. and then they came out of the dryer. he could bring them with him for his drive up to toronto in the mid morning. or he could clear out a drawer for you. he didn’t need a drawer dedicated for his pocket squares …not anymore. not since…

you giggled. sid wanted to memorize that sound and replay it in his mind for the rest of his life. he turned around admire the sunset shining on your bed head, bare shoulders, thighs, and legs, wherever the duvet wasn’t covering you. you were laying on your stomach, propped up on your elbows facing the foot of the bed, watching him get ready for his game. it was a rare morning where the two of you could wake up together when the sun was still up. you had evening practice. so you wouldn’t be here when he returned for the game. 

“what’s so funny?” he turned around from his pocket square drawer where he was picking one out to match  his suit, with an unbuttoned dress shirt draped on. your eyes raked down his chest and sid felt his stomach flutter. it felt good to still be admired after all these years. he’s still got it. 

“i’ve never dated someone who owned pocket squares,” you smiled dreamily, still half-awake. and now sid feels old again. he looked down at the blue and yellow paisley one he chose. and turned around to tuck it neatly back into the drawer. fuck, he's old.

“no,” you whined, “it’s okay, i like them.”

“i’ve never really used them, they were mostly for decoration.” he shrugged and pulled out his tie drawer to pick one out. 

he heard the mattress squeak and the pads of your socks– his socks across the hardwood floor. your hand felt up his bicep to his neck for his attention. he turned towards you and rested his hand around your waist. your naked waist. okay. sid breathed.

you pulled out his pocket square drawer again, took out the paisley pocket square, folded it the way he liked it, tucked it into the front pocket of the suit he was halfway into, kissed his cheek, and he watched the swing of your hips and your ass when you climbed back into his bed. 

they could share a drawer with his cuff links. he carefully shifted the folded pocket squares into the other drawer.

sidney dug around his laundry basket for the collection of your clothes. a silky slip, which he folded up and set into the drawer, a pair of silkier underwear, which were also folded up and put into the drawer, then a pair of socks that, you guessed it, were also folded–  like how he folded his own socks, except yours were smaller and set into the drawer. the next article of clothing he found was a thin cardigan. sid usually hung his own cardigans up. so he walked to their section of his closet and hung yours at the edge to separate yours from his. 

why would this be weird? you’d been cycling through absent-mindedly leaving clothes here and then wearing them the next few times you came over anyways. this was just a more tidy solution …sid told himself. you had no problem with making yourself comfortable at his place anyways. 

the next evening.

you knew it would be tight to spend the night at his place then drive back the next day for your afternoon practice and evening match. but here you were at ppg paints arena anyways. sid mentioned something about his car in the shop again and that he caught a ride in with geno. you checked the time on your phone. 10:30. you sent a text to tell him that you were in the parking building. 

sid never mentioned when you pulled things that may or may not have been insane to do in a casual relationship. like driving the 4 and a ½ hours down to pittsburgh whenever you felt like it even when you had game the day after. or when you kept the clothes he left over at your place to wear when he wasn’t there and also when he was there. and when you gave him the key to your apartment. but like. you could never estimate what time you would leave the rink and get back to your place. and you didn’t want to make him wait in your dingy apartment lobby. not that he would complain. but it made sense. it was practical. sid is a practical guy. 

15 minutes later, sid walked out the employee’s exit with kris patting his back. he made a bee line to your dingy honda. 

“hey, thanks for picking me up,”  he greeted you with a kiss. 

you walked out of the shower with sid behind you. you stopped in the middle of his closet. you didn’t bring an overnight bag. you had driven directly from the rink. as if he could read your mind– but he probably noticed you didn’t have your duffle with you because he’s sid– he said, “i’ll show you your drawer.”

sidney crosby x pwhl rookie!reader

poor sid navigates his first situationship

sid tossed around in his bed 4 times before getting up to put on pants and to get into his car. and now he was here. in toronto. at 2 am. in your apartment’s lobby. that’s about all the planning he had done.

you punched your pillow to push yourself off your bed. you had a grueling match against the frost and every muscle in your body protested as you reached for your apartment door. whoever was buzzing your apartment was going to end up with a bruise on their cheekbone that matched yours.

“what are you doing here?” you emerged from the elevator door– slightly limping. your hair a mess. in a– his worn penguins t shirt.

“i uh…” what was he doing here? not thinking. that’s what he’s doing. “i couldn’t sleep.” 

you rubbed your eyes. 

“you seemed pretty dinged up. i uh.. watched the match.”

table of contents

i. how they met

these fragments are ordered chronologically and reference each other

sid clears a drawer for reader in his closet

valentines day

it's not about earrings

ratatouille

“jannik, baby." jannik perked up. he recognized that voice. you wanted something. he put down his espresso– in a little lavazza cup, obviously. your socks padding against the hard wood floors got louder until he felt your hands feeling up his neck, hair, cheeks, shoulders, and down to his pecs. 

“yes, amor?” he scooched his chair back so that you could plop yourself onto his lap like there weren’t 8 other chairs at the dining table and 4 more at the kitchen island. jannik didn’t mind, of course. he helped scoop you on and greeted you with a kiss on your cheek. 

“hear me out,” jannik sucked in a breath. here goes. “so you know just how much i love your hair,” you started running through his hair and lightly scratched the back of his ears just the way he liked it. he couldn’t remember at all why an exasperated feeling was creeping up on him. “remember when we watched ratatouille?” 

“...uh, on the plane to rome?” he answered into the crook of your neck, “you wouldn’t stop calling me the dorky chef whenever i cooked,” he booped the tip of your perky nose, it was adorable “it was a whole phase.”

“well you make really good pasta,” you said in a sing-song voice. “your mum called to ask if we wanted to join your family christmas party for halloween, after the us open,” you pulled away and smiled. jannik was glad you were able to integrate into one of the biggest aspects in his life–  his family, so well. 

“sounds great,” he smiled, matching yours. the sunlight from the open sliding doors to the yard showered over your bare shoulder, arms, and hair in an ethereal glow. jannik reminds himself to not take slow days with you for granted– between the tennis calendar and his PR commitments, days like these were rare. 

“so i’ve been thinking about our costume,” he pressed a kiss onto your shoulder. 

“it’s august”

“i know,” you said like it was completely normal. “wouldn’t it be cute if you wore a white hat and a white chef’s costume with the buttons,” jannik breathed in, entertaining your clear excitement with a smile of his own, “and i would wear mouse ears,”  your fingers trailed down his neck and around his abs in an effort to convince him, “...and a cute little dress” you smiled up at him coyly, eyes darting between his lips, nose, and eyes.

2 weeks later, a series of packages arrived to his door. he opened one, expecting to be his next kit from nike …to find a tall chef’s hat. mamma mia. 

halloween

“are you going to cook or will she?” jannik’s cousin’s toddler– little hugo asked and wobbled up to where you were both standing in the kitchen. jannik hoisted him up to his hip and you pressed your finger into his squishy cheek. hugo continued,  “in the movie, the mouse pulls the chef’s hair to cook.”

you smiled playfully and pulled on one of jannik’s curls. “start chopping, chef.”