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residenthughes · 2 months

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coming home - connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader

word count: 11k

tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing

summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your feelings about your best friend.

notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time 😭 i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it 😇 this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333

(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! 😁💗⭐️)

Summer’s always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply can’t get enough. You wouldn’t admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.

#connor dewar x reader #connor dewar #connor dewar fic #cd24 #minnesota wild #toronto maple leafs #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #connor dewar fluff #dewey 2 #brandon duhaime #dewey 1 #dewey #residenthughes

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daily-kaylee · 2 years

Text

Welcome to Minnesota

summary: tyson’s trade to Minnesota was unexpected but lucky for him, there’s an old friend and a new face to welcome him to the team. tyson jost x fem reader x brandon duhaime

word count: 6k

warnings: this is pure smut, 18+ only (sorry to the young loves but pls dni) degradation, pain kink, spanking, spitting, choking, unprotected sex (don’t be dumb y’all), hair pulling, group activities, slight overstimulation. i think that covers all of it.

A/N it’s actually embarrassing the speed at which i was able to write this after watching tyson play one game. thank you jac (@bardownbitch) for putting up with me and my inability to be proud of anything i produce - love you bunches. also sorry to my mother who did not raise me to be such a whore, may she go to bed tonight still believing that i am holy and prudish.

There weren’t many things that felt better than a win at home. But the tight grip on your hips and hard press of Brandon’s body against yours was decent competition. Music reverberated throughout the club and your chest as Brandon’s lips sponged across your shoulder and up your neck; you tilted your head to give him more access, eyes slipping closed as your hand found his hair guiding him just under your ear. The heat of the dance floor encapsulated your bodies, skin dewy and breaths labored. A raucous cheer snapped you out of your trance and had your eyes gliding over to the table of boisterous hockey players, high off a win and tipsy from the endless stream of drinks sent their way.

“C’mon, your audience is calling.” You said, hand wrapping around his wrist as you began weaving your way through the mass of bodies.

Hoots and hollers erupted around you as you reached the table, Brandon slipping into the booth before pulling you into his lap, smiles gracing both of your faces.

A beer was placed into Brandon’s hand as you surveyed the table. Jordan across from you, with Matt next to him, Kirill and Ryan in the middle, and Connor next to you and Brandon; a few of the guys were mixed onto the dance floor girlfriends and random girls having pulled them there the minute the drinks began to hit, while most of the married couples had turned in early content to end their night before the early hours.

Cold condensation against the back of your arm pulled your attention back to the man behind you, he grinned cheekily before leaning in to speak into your ear. “I‘m sliding over! Gotta make room!” You nodded before he tightened the arm around your waist and moved the both of you further into the booth.

A body filled in the space you vacated and you turned your head. Unfamiliar eyes met yours as he settled into his seat, arm brushing against yours. “Sorry about that. Didn’t realize we were this close.” A crooked smile fell over his face naturally, pulling one onto your face as well.

“Josty, are you mackin’ on Duhaime’s girl?” Jordan bellowed.

Your head snapped to face him, “ ‘M not his girl Greenway. You’re well aware of that.”

“Could have fooled me.” Jordan teased. A chuckle sounded from behind you, Brandon’s body shaking as he pulled the bottle to his lips.

You rolled your eyes before focusing your attention back on the curly-haired man next to you. “You’re the new guy. Tyson, right?” He nodded, you stuck your hand out to him, “Y/n. Not Brandon’s girl, by the way.” A cheshire grin tugged at your lips, as Tyson shook your hand tentatively. “For a hockey player, you sure do have a weak handshake. I hope you don’t lay hits the same way you shake hands.”

A shoulder knocked into yours, “Ease up on him, yeah? Most people don’t shake hands when they meet people in a club.” A scoff left your lips at that, retort dying on your lips as Brandon’s hand found your thigh. “Besides, Josty doesn’t lay hits. At least not the Josty I knew.”

A laugh erupted from Tyson, and Brandon followed suit. You shifted in Brandon’s lap, sitting sideways to glare between the two of them. There was a history between the two of them, at least one before you had met Brandon, and you wanted to know more. “I’m feeling left out.” You pouted.

Tyson steadied his breathing, “We played junior hockey together way back when.”

“Practically lived together during the POE days. And if everyone didn’t love good ol’ Jost.” Brandon explained, a hand coming down on Tyson’s shoulder, shaking him lightly.

A blush dusted over Tyson’s cheek as he brushed Brandon off. “Nah, they just preferred me over you. Pardon me for not dropping gloves with everyone who looked at me wrong.”

“Not much has changed then.” You chimed in.

Brandon met your eyes, “And yet you never seem to complain when it does happen. In fact, if I remember correctly, didn't you say something about getting wet whenever I drop gloves?”

Eyes widening you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You squeeze your thighs together quickly, his words sending a jolt to your core, before clearing your throat. “In your dreams, B.” You turn to Tyson, trying to recover, “So you guys grew up together?” He swallowed before pulling his eyes up from your legs, nodding as he avoided your eyes. “What stories do you have?”

Tyson shook off the thought of you and launched into a story of Brandon as a teenager. You soon tuned his words out, instead focusing on taking all of him in. There was no point in denying it, Tyson was attractive. Brown hair untamed, curls falling onto his forehead, drawing you straight to his eyes. They were soft, open, and expressive, you were sure if you stared at them long enough they would start to spill everything he was feeling. You trailed your eyes down to his pouty lips. He was talking, but his tongue would appear for a fleeting second - run across his bottom lip, wet it in between words before disappearing again. It lit something inside you, heat pooling in your stomach the longer you watched him.

A buzzing from your phone shattered your concentration. You slipped it from your wristlet, Brandon’s name staring back at you; the message underneath it stopping your heart as you read it.

You should give him a proper welcome to the team.

You shot Brandon a questioning look, a smirk threatening to cross his face. There was no label to what was going on between you and Brandon, no promised exclusivity, or confessions of love. What had started as a friendship had mutated into friends with benefits after countless nights of drunken makeout sessions and a single game of strip poker. Now you found yourself falling into Brandon’s bed most nights, lewd words and compromising positions, and waking up the next morning to an empty house, a shoddy homemade breakfast sitting on the counter with a note reminding you to lock up when you left. It was a mutualistic situation, both of you sated by the end of the night, and the companionship that came along with it was a welcome extra.

But fucking one of his teammates - one of his childhood friends - was never something you’d considered doing. Until now. Until Tyson.

Another set of vibrations ran through your hand.

There’s that bathroom in the back corner. Get started, I’ll join later.

A shaky exhale left your body, shifting back against Brandon as the hand that had been resting on your thigh trailed along the seam of your jeans.

Tyson was finishing his story as you gripped Brandon’s wrist. You offered a laugh, hoping it was believable enough that Tyson wouldn’t pick up on the fact that you hadn’t listened to a word he said. “I need a drink,” you said. Tyson shuffled out of the booth quickly, standing at the edge as you moved out. You looked to the bar before looking back at Tyson, “come with me?” He nodded, and you reached out to grab his hand.

“Keep an eye on her, eh Jost?” Brandon called as you laced your fingers together and headed towards the bar. Sparing a glance back, Brandon had fallen easily into the conversation the rest of the table was having.

You found an empty spot at the bar, just big enough for one person, and slid into it, pulling Tyson behind you; his chest solid against your back, intertwined hands pressed between the two of you. The bartender spotted you quickly, walking to where you stood asking what they could get you. Under the guise of the loud music, you leaned forward, ass flush against Tyson’s front, and asked for a shot and a vodka cranberry before turning your head to Tyson and asking him what he wanted.

He stuttered cheeks tinted pink and floundering for words. You giggled before turning back around to the bartender and asking for two of each. As they walked away you straightened before letting go of Tyson's hand and turning around. “You okay Tys?”

He blinked slowly, clearing his throat before responding, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” You smiled up at him, and he looked around, eyes falling back to the table. “So what’s your story with Brandon? We knew each other as kids, how do you know each other?”

You waved your hand dismissively, “Mutual friends, house party that resulted in a shotgunning competition. You ask him and he won, but he also barely made it into the bathroom before hurling. Totally ruined my shoes, so now he’s forever indebted to me.”

A laugh escaped from him, cachinnation infectious that had you beaming with pride. He settled quickly as the other bar patrons eyed him. “Indebted to you forever? Sounds pretty serious.”

You cocked an eyebrow, “You don’t think he and I are together do you?” He hum noncommittally and now it was your turn to cackle. “Ew gross! Brandon’s just a friend Tyson.” He raised his hands in surrender, eyes crinkling as he tried not to laugh. “He’s got an extra room if you need it. Y’know, until you find a place and everything.”

“Are you offering up his apartment?” A teasing lit took over Tyson’s voice.

You nodded, “I am. He won’t mind. As long as you don’t interrupt when there's a sock on his door handle.” Tyson’s eyes flitted to something behind you, you turned your head to see the bartender setting your shots and drinks down on the bartop. You felt Tyson against you as he reached for the alcohol, handing you your shot downing it quickly as Tyson did the same. You set the shot glass on the counter before Tyson replaced it with the vodka cranberry.

“You say that as though you’ve had experience. What, you didn’t know the reason behind the sock?” He asked before bringing the drink to his lips.

You smirked, “No, I’m the reason for the sock.” He choked mid-sip, yanking the glass away and sputtering. You pressed yourself against him and reached around to pat his back, eyes locked on his as he attempted to catch his breath. “I told you he and I were friends, Tys. You didn’t ask me what kind of friends we were.”

He sucked in a long breath, stepping back from you, “Yeah but I didn’t expect that. So what? You guys are like, fucking each other?”

You let out a long sigh, “I’m so glad you’re pretty Tyson Jost.” He smiles shyly at that. “Yes, Tyson. Brandon and I are like, fucking each other. But that’s it. Best friends who fuck each other. You seem like the type to know about that, I’ll bet the girls loved you in Colorado.”

“If they did, they never let me know.” He shrugged.

You nodded solemnly before reaching out to squeeze his bicep, “What a shame.” You pushed forward again and leaned up, lips brushing against his ear. “Minnesota will treat you so much better.”

You felt him shiver before you let the napkin around your drink slip from your hands. You pulled away from him and looked down, sinking to your knees to pick it up. Tilting your head up you made eye contact with Tyson. You scooped the napkin up without breaking eye contact and wrapped a hand around the back of his thigh, and let your mouth fall into a pout.

Tyson’s eyes drifted closed, fingers twitching at his side as a low, guttural moan left his lips. A tingle ran through your body, wetness growing between your thighs at the sound. Your lips parted slightly, hand tightening around the back of his thigh before letting go and standing up quickly.

You reached for his hand again - eyes flickering to your table to see Brandon’s spot unoccupied - and began heading towards the bathroom in the more secluded part of the club. Tyson let go of your hand, opting for your hips instead, pulling you against him as you pushed your way through the crowd. Your steps faltered as you felt him through his pants.

Reaching the bathroom you gripped the handle before pushing against it. The door opened to an empty, singular bathroom, one that you and Brandon had become well acquainted with. You pulled Tyson in behind you before turning to face him, his eyes had darkened tremendously, and you observed his face for a second. The slamming of the door ricocheted through your bodies, a starting gun for the two of you as Tyson cupped the back of your neck and crashed his lips against yours.

It was a clash of teeth and lips, uncoordinated and needy. You backed him up against the door, pulling back with a smile as he let out a grunt; your hands fumbled with the lock, shaky and distracted as Tyson pushed your hair to the side and ran his lips over the skin there. Hearing the click of the lock, you moved your hands back to the boy in front of you gripping his shirt as his teeth scraped over your pulse point. “Tys.” You whimpered out, slick between your thighs growing with each mark he left on your neck.

A hand drifts from your back down, his fingertips leaving electric pulses in their wake and you feel your head start to cloud. You arch into him as his hand finds the waistband of your pants, fingers fumbling with the button as his lips find yours again. You feel the button pop, hear as he pulls the zipper down and your stomach jumps as he traces the waistband of your panties.

He pulls back slightly, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he lets out a shuttered breath. He pulls back more, looking straight into your eyes, hands leaving you as he asks “you really want this?” You nod frantically, surging forward in an attempt to get his lips back on yours but he’s reaching up and clutching your jaw. “Words baby. Give me words. Tell me what you want.”

A shiver runs up your spine as he releases your jaw, your tongue runs across your lip before you speak, “yes Tyson, I want this. Want you, please.”

He nods, reconnecting your lips as his hand pushes past your clothes, two fingers running across your slit, gathering your wetness as he smirks into the kiss. He runs his fingers through your wetness again, and your lips break from him to let out a moan. Lips brushing against yours he mumbles “all this for me?” You let out an airy noise of agreement.

A heavy knock breaks the two of you apart, an aggravated “fuck” leaving Tyson’s mouth. He leans back in to kiss you, content with ignoring whoever it is until Brandon’s voice is cutting through the air. “Jost. Y/n. Open up.”

“Do you want me to open the door?” Tyson whispers against your lips. “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

You giggle at the genuineness in his voice, “you can open it. This was all B’s idea.”

Tyson nudges you back, and unlocks the door before yanking it open just a bit, Brandon pushes past him “About fuckin’ time you two opened this thing. Thought I had missed out,” he pauses near the paper towel dispenser and looks over the two of you, “obviously you haven’t even started.” You open your mouth to protest but Brandon cuts you off “I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it Josty, but our girl is a slut. She likes bein’ manhandled, roughed up. She likes feeling used. You’ve always been a little too soft Tys, nothing personal, but let me show you how it’s done.”

Brandon stalks over to you in quick strides, a hand tangling in your hair as he pulls you to his lips. Pain prickles in your scalp, and radiates down your body, a loud cry leaving your lips as he winds his hand tighter through your hair. He rips away from you completely, hands moving to your pants, and pushing both your panties and pants down in one motion. His foot kicks out and knocks your feet apart as much as he can, and brings his fingers to run through your slit. He tuts, “you are soaked baby girl. Who got you this wet?”

He expects you to say his name, expects to hear it in a strangled cry, but what he doesn’t expect is for you to shift your eyes and call out Tyson’s name. The air stills, and you can feel the anger rolling off of Brandon in waves. You have both of them right where you want them, a sneer lighting up your face as you pull your eyes from Tyson and back to Brandon.

He lets out a dry laugh before he turns and pushes you against the sink. You feel him behind you, and a heavy hand comes to knead at your ass, he grips it tightly before letting go and repeating the action. “So Tyson did all this, yeah? Tyson got you all messy? So wet you soaked through your goddamn panties?” His hand lifts from you, and your nerves ignite with anticipation as you watch him through the mirror, voice stuck in your throat, you nod your head. A sharp sting lands on your cheek and you jolt, a cry crawls its way out of your throat as it radiates to your core. “Since Tyson got you to this point, I think Tyson can come over here and clean you up.”

He turns to face Tyson, flush-faced and hard, and motions for him to come over. Your chest heaves as he catches your eye in the mirror before running a finger over the welts Brandon’s hand left behind. His hand slides up your back and wraps in your hair, tugging just enough to pull a hum out of you. “Go ‘head Josty. Do whatever you wanna do to her since she’s a whore for you all of a sudden.” You bite back a smirk as Brandon steps back and Tyson steps between your thighs.

The habitual throbbing between your legs grew stronger as you saw Tyson start to sink to his knees, his breath fans across your heat as he settles on his knees and wraps his arms around your thighs.

You let out a loud sigh as Tyson’s tongue finds your slit. He barely applies pressure as he traces your slit down, finally running into your clit. You tense as he uses the tip of his tongue to trace it, before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking lightly. Fingers flexing as you reach for something to grasp on to you know you’re not going to last long, the coil in your stomach wound tight. He detaches and before you can protest, you feel a line of spit connect and roll down your cunt, a soft moan of Tyson’s name leaving your lips as he slips a finger through your folds before pressing it inside, his ring finger joining soon after.

He thrusts his fingers experimentally before bringing his thumb to your clit. “Tys - fuck. I think I’m gonna come.” He removes his thumb and replaces it with his lips quickly. He stiffens his tongue, brings the peak of it to move in figure eights, fingers moving in tandem. It’s when he switches to slow circles and a light suction that you realize how close you truly are. “Tyson, oh my god, keep going. Please - fuck.” Your breathing becomes labored, toes curling, noises coming more frequently.

He slides his fingers in and presses down, almost instantly finding that spot that makes you see stars, the quickest press before he slides out again. A cry withers on your lips as he sinks in and presses down again, longer this time but still he retreats too early. He sucks harshly on your bundle of nerves now, and your legs are tensing against him, a shallow attempt to get away from him, teetering on the brink waiting for one final press of his fingers.

But it never comes. Suddenly all his ministrations halt, he’s removed from your body completely. A sob wracks through your body, and you’re heaving yourself up on your forearms to look at him. However, the sight that greets you is unexpected. Tyson, still on his knees with his chin and lips glistening in the dingy bathroom lighting, and Brandon standing behind him, a hand tangled in his curls. “You didn’t think I’d let Josty make you come did you?” A malicious chuckle resonates throughout the four walls. You feel on fire, desperate, and needy.

You push your pride aside and start to beg, “Brandon please, just let me-”

“You’re being quite a greedy bitch you know that. Our friend Tyson comes all the way from Colorado, and you’re so needy you haven’t even given him his present. What kind of welcoming committee are you?” This time a whimper escapes Tyson’s throat. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Give Josty a proper Minnesota Wild welcome.”

A shaky exhale escapes you as you stand, legs wobbling and stumbling as you turn and move towards Tyson. Brandon tugs on his hair, a silent demand to stand up and Tyson follows compliantly. His eyes roll back as Brandon loosens his grip and runs his fingers through the curls and you feel your wetness spread further down your thighs; a filthy mix of Tyson’s spit and your denied orgasm. Brandon removes himself as you press against Tyson and moves to lean against the sink. You raise your lips to Tyson’s, tasting yourself across his tongue as it slips into your mouth, a gossamer moan passing between you two.

“This wasn’t mentioned during the trade deal.” Tyson watches as you pull away from him and start to unbutton his shirt, “Would’ve left Colorado earlier if I knew this was part of the deal.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes lidded and words heavy “‘s not. Just excited to have you in Minny.” Your fingers pull his shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants and finish the last few buttons before sliding past his pants and into the waistband of his boxers, fingers slipping in and wrapping around his base. Soft breaths leave the both of you simultaneously at the connection. Tyson grunts as you remove your hand, undo the button of his pants, and pull them down as you sink to your knees.

The release of a zipper sounds from behind you as you drag your lips over Tyson’s shaft, abs clenching as your tongue swipes lackadaisically over the tip. His hand falls to cup the back of your head as you sporadically press kisses against him; sloppily and drippy, a disarrayed devotion to his ecstasy.

His eyes flutter shut, a groan rattles his chest as you bring him to your lips and envelope his tip. Tongue flicking over the slit, gathering the pre cum that spills from him. You feel his fingers flex against your scalp as he tries to contain himself and you pull off of him with a soft pop. His hips chase the warmth of your mouth and you giggle, eyes flicking up to him. He watches as you gather spit in your mouth, parting your lips as it glides between them and onto his fat cock. Fingers move to collect it and spread it over him, a steady rhythm beginning easily, Your lips shift to the exposed skin of his hips, pulling it between your lips and bringing blood to the surface, a smattering of red and purple marks appearing quickly. He twitches against your hands and hisses as you scrape your teeth against him. A simper tugs across your face as he finally grips your hair and yanks you back, hand slowing and thumb coming to brush across the tip. You grind pathetically against nothing at the sting of the action.

A hand wraps around your throat and tilts your head up. Brandon glares down at you, “get up.”

Tyson releases you cooly, whimpering at the loss of warmth from your hand before inhaling deeply through his nose. Brandon watches as you stand, pulling your hips flush against his before rolling his own. You can feel him straining against his boxers, his pants having been pulled down at some point during your escapade with Tyson. “She’s acting coy all of a sudden. Usually, she’s choking on my dick by now.” His hand snakes between your thighs and catches your clit easily, it throbs as he circles it easily. “Think it must be you, Tyson. You make her shy.” His hand finds your throat again, “Feeling nervous now? Worried you can’t take him?” You clench at that, Tyson’s fist wrapping around himself.

His hand leaves your bundles of nerves and he moves to push his pants and boxers further down, freeing himself before gripping his dick. He guides it to your pussy, tracing your sopping lips, bumping into your clit, and hitching your breath in your throat.

Pleads cascade out of your mouth, “B, please. Fuck me, god-”

“Not god,” He slides against you again. “Just me.” A twisted look crossed his face. Tyson lets out a labored breath, pulling his eyes shut tight as your thumb dusts across his cheek. “Move your hand, Jost. Off. Get it off.” Brandon grunts, growing impatient as Tyson continues with frantic passes. An arm reaches around you, knocking into Tyson’s as his eyes snap open. He pauses his rhythm but keeps a tight grip around his base.

“Brandon please.” Your voice is fried, nerve endings popping the longer he ruts against you.

“I think you’re so dithery because you haven’t had another cock since I walked into the picture. Nervous you won’t make Josty feel good? Not sure you won’t be able to handle him, baby?” He shifts to grab both of your wrists in one hand, the other moving to line himself up, “Lemme help you out then.”

He rocks into you roughly, pushing against your walls and using his hold on your wrists to tip your upper body forward. A gasp leaves your lips as he bottoms out, mouth falling open and eyes flitting closed. “You must not be understanding, sweetheart.” Above you, he makes eye contact with Tyson, tipping his chin down before letting go of your wrists, hand finding purchase in your hair, tugging abruptly, eyes opening to be met with Tyson’s pulsing dick.

You whine as the two work in tandem, Brandon yanking your head up so Tyson can push through your lips. An exhale leaves your nose as Tyson nudges the back of your throat. He sucks in a breath, holding you in place for a minute before pulling out as Brandon did the same.

Their tips rest against your openings. You pant, awaiting their next moves, the tighten of Brandon’s hand your only warning before he’s slamming into you and pushing your head onto Tyson’s length. Your moan becomes a gag as Tyson bumps the back of your throat and slips down. Tyson lets out a choked moan as he feels your throat restrict around him.

You clench down around Brandon as his thick cock stretches you, his tip prods against your cervix with every stroke. You feel pressure at the apex of your thighs as you squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to come but not wanting to be finished yet. Brandon disentangles his hand from your hair and grips onto your hips, focusing on pressing into you deeper. Your hands fall to Tyson’s thighs, a measly attempt to gain some control of the situation, nails digging into the flesh.

Brandon’s grip falters on your hip as you clench down on him again. “You’re close aren’t you? That why you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vice?” He doesn’t wait for a response, he doesn’t need one, the way your pussy flutters around him at his words is enough of an answer. His right-hand smooths over your body, fingers tapping along to the dulled bass that’s playing throughout the club.

He finds your clit easily and flicks the tip of his thumb against it ruthlessly. Your body starts to shake, impending orgasm rushing upon you, fogging up your mind. A futile attempt at a warning bubbles in your throat and is muffled as Tyson surges forward. He clasps your jaw as the undercurrents twist their way around him.

Brandon’s hips began to move erratically, the hand on your hip moving to your ass and palming it. You teeter on the precipice, spring wound so tight it makes your stomach tense and head light. You’re waiting for the okay, waiting for Brandon to give you the go-ahead knowing better than to come without his permission. His harsh thrusts knock you deeper onto Tyson and he slips from your lips to give you a reprieve. You suck in a large breath, hand coasting up to Tyson’s hip, and give him a light squeeze, an appreciative gesture as Brandon continues mercilessly. “Come for me, y/n. Fuck, fuck come now.”

Your body responds immediately, his words barely hitting your ears before you’re clenching around him, white hot euphoria busting inside you and radiating through your veins. Your head falls into Tyson’s lower abdomen, eyes snapping shut as Brandon’s name rolls off your tongue in a steady chant. Your nails rake down Tyson’s hip, angry red scratches sending jolts of pain to his leaking dick.

The waves of your orgasm give way, aftershocks rolling through to your extremities as Brandon continues to thrust messily. He pushes as far as he can, head bruising against your spongy walls as he stills, and lets himself fall over the edge. Your cunt pulses around him as he spills inside you, warm spurts of cum coating your cervix. You tighten around him, used and raw but still begging for him to fill you fully. He gasps hotly, a breathy “fuck” leaving him as his cock stutters, hips jolting as he begins to get sensitive.

You take in a shallow breath and lift your head gingerly. Tyson’s head is tipped back, eyes closed and full lip gathered between his teeth. He looks serene, heaving chest and twitching length the only indication something is amiss. Brandon sits within you still, content with the warmth your cum mixtures and pussy provide him.

You pull yourself up - having finally caught your breath - and blow coolly on Tyson’s tip. “Please fucking do something.” Tyson’s voice cuts through the silence, cracking mid-sentence, lust breaking through his controlled facade.

Sparing him mercy, you wrap your lips back around him. Calculated bobbing of your head pulling a keen from his chest.

You sputter as you feel Brandon shift behind you. He holds onto your hips again, pulls out an inch before pressing back in. You shift forward, a weak attempt to get away from him as your cunt flutters, beginnings of overstimulation planting roots inside you.

He yanks your hips back, flush with his own, settling on rutting against you as his cum starts to drip out of you and down your thighs. You force yourself lower on Tyson, a welcomed distraction from the lewd squelching that’s coming from your thighs at Brandon’s conduct.

A muted noise vibrates around Tyson and his head tips back. He cups your face with both hands, pushing the hair away from your face, and as you make eye contact he twitches. Tears prick at your eyes as he slips in and out of your mouth, the desire to watch him come overwhelming your senses. You push your tongue over your bottom teeth and hollow your cheeks as tears spill over your cheeks. Tyson grunts as he pulls you all the way down on him, your nose brushes against his pubic bone and short, staccato thrusts keep you there.

He rips himself from your mouth and cocks your head up to look at you fully. A thin layer of sweat shines on his body, lips swollen from being pulled between his teeth and he lets out a breath before speaking lowly, “I’m gonna come, pretty girl, where do you want me?” He taps the head of his dick against your lips, “Here? Huh? You want me to come down your fuckin throat?” A moan ripples through you, nodding frenziedly.

He tugs unevenly, muscles jerking as he chases his high. “Beg it for him, baby. Show him how pretty you sound when your mouth isn’t stuffed with cock.”

“Tyson, I want your cum. Fuck, I need it. Please Tys, let me have it, I’ll be good, please. Fuck, fuck, fu-” He pulls you onto him right as he explodes. His cum splashes against your tongue as he bucks his hips, unintentionally gagging you. A strangled grunt of your name leaves his lips as he cups your head. His cock twitches, rubbing against the wet heat of your esophagus. Little bursts of cum fall on your tongue as you pull back on him, a soft smacking sound announcing your departure from him.

A shudder runs up his spine as you deposit open mouthed kisses along the vein that runs up the underside of him. He cards a hand through your hair, using the leverage to pull you off of him. Brandon wraps an arm around your waist, and lifts you to an upright position, slipping out of you slowly, a tight-lipped hiss sounding from him as the cold air hits his cum coated dick.

Your knees buckle and Tyson throws his arm out to grab you, even with the hold Brandon has on you. You sit pliant in their holds, Brandon shuffling most of your weight onto Tyson as he moves to pull his pants back on, and crouches behind you, two fingers trailing along your thigh to catch the cum that dribbled out of you. He collects it on his fingers before moving to pull your panties and pants back up your legs.

You expect his fingers to meet your lips as he stands up, but he’s extending his arm and pushing them into Tyson’s mouth. Your eyes roll back, profaned cunt tingling as you watch Tyson lap at Brandon’s fingers excitedly.

Brandon pulls his fingers from Tyson’s mouth, that same hand swatting your ass as he walks past you and towards the door. “See you out there in a few.” He tosses over his shoulder, before opening the door a crack and sliding out.

You respire, forehead resting on Tyson’s shoulder. You push yourself off of him and begin fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. You feel his chest shake with a quiet chuckle before he knocks your shaking hands away and finishes the buttons effortlessly. You move to fix your clothes as he does the same, and it’s silent between the two of you.

You’re running a hand through your hair in an attempt to detangle it when you catch Tyson’s eye through the mirror. A blissed out smile lighting up your face as heat crept up Tyson’s neck and licked at his cheeks. He tightens his belt and runs it through the loops before moving to the door.

Wiping the mascara from underneath your eyes and sweeping your hands through your hair one last time you nod, accepting your appearance before turning to the door and moving to it.

Tyson’s hand attaches to the door handle, but before he can twist it you’re stepping in front of him; body caught between him and the door. You meet his eyes before leaning up to attach your lips, a hand coming to tug the short curls at the nape of his neck. He grunts into the kiss, and you nip lightly at his bottom lip which chases you as you separate from him.

“Welcome to the Minnesota Wild, Tyson Jost.” You smile and pat his chest once, twice, three times before slipping out of the door.

#anyways im loving tyson on minnesota #tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost smut #brandon duhaime #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey fanfic #hockey smut #cw: smut

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