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anonymooseforever007 · 1 year

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Whiskey Kisses

(John Shelby x Reader)

Summary: John and You have been dating a few months now, and one day he finally asks what he's wanted to for a bit. See, the whole while you've dated he can't remember a single time seeing you drink, even when at the Garrison. And when he asks, he learns about your own personal concerns and concocts a way to help you overcome your fears... Maybe he'll also get the kiss he's been waiting for....

A/N: Hi y'all! Aside from usual Peaky language and drinking I can't think of any TW's. I will say the plot follows a reader who doesn't really drink and has anxieties about it but nothing super strong I guess. I think I wrote based off my own anxieties about it lol😅 But yeah, this was written purely for the end scene and I've been trying to figure out how I wanted if for months b/c I've never written a scene like it! Enjoy❤️

WC- 5.2k

Main Masterlist

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You'd only been dating John Shelby for few months, but those months were some of the most brilliant you'd ever had.

For as rough around the edges as John was, he could be surprisingly thoughtful and romantic when he wanted to be. Of course he was still brash and had a tendency to run head first in to trouble as loud as train whistle, but his family had noticed how you seemed to bring a calm to him they hadn't seen since Martha passed. That didn't mean that you were exactly like the late Mrs.Shelby or that they consistently compared you to her in their heads. No, in fact the two of you were very different, but the somehow both of you have been the perfect for John in your own way. And Polly wouldn't say it aloud, but she often thought if Martha was still around you and her would have gotten on like a house fire even if John wasn't in the mix.

But enough of that for now back to to present! Almost.

You and John's relationship seems to run pretty smoothly, like two peas in a pod. Of course you occasionally disagreed, but so did all couples. Mostly it was over John doing something a little too brash and possible getting hurt. Even those agreements however didn't last long and usually within a few hours one would be at the others door to apologize or try and come to a different agreement.

And you two would regularly have dates together sometimes taking John's kid's along as well. In the beginning, they had joined the pair of you more regularly as a way to buffer the still slightly unsure nervousness you both held. It was easier to connect when you could claim to do things as group rather than one on one. At least that's the way it was for you in the beginning. John knew from the first day he met you he wouldn't have minded taking you anywhere alone for any type of date. But you seemed more at easy when you say the outings were also a way to play with his kids too, so he didn't say anything. He didn't mind either because being with you also seemed to bring a peace to his kids too and it seemed things in his house went more smoothly when you were around. Heck there were even a few times when you'd offered to take the kids out without him so he could spent time with his siblings. No he didn't mind letting you take the lead with how things went at all. Not when they seemed to work so well. Though there was one thing that hadn't happened yet he wished he could speed up...

Despite being together for a bit now you two hadn't actually kissed yet.

Yes, there were pecks on the cheeks and John always felt himself feeling particularly warmon nights you sat on his lap in the Garrison or on his couch with your lips pressed almost mindlessly against the side of his head while you listened to those around you talk. Those were the kisses where it was like all you wanted to do was feel him but your hands were already too busy trapped between his arms or rearranging his cards to your own liking. Then nothing compared to when the two of you did go on dates without the kids finally and he could make all the cheeky (sexual) comments he tried to avoid around the kids still. Those where the times he could pull you close and flirt quietly while lightly kissing your throat, smiling at the soft noises and giggles you made. And yes there had also been plenty of times when he'd walk up behind you wrapping his arms around you waist and press kisses into the back of your neck. These often happened when he was being told off by his brothers or aunt. It was as if he used the affection as away to hide behind you.

After all Polly loved you and even Tommy would admit he enjoyed your company too, so John knew he was less likely to get scolded in your presence. There were times when the Shelby family would come together, and hours later when the rest of them were still dancing and drinking, you and Tommy could be found sitting side by side watching them, rarely speaking except to make a comment on who was doing a dumb dance move for who would likely be fucking who that night. You'd go shopping on weekends with Ada and spent hours helping Finn learn to read since his teacher didn't seem to be any help. Even Arthur adored you. When the children wanted a story it was often the two of you switching back and forth between voices telling the tales. It was safe to say that the family quickly grew to love you as much as you loved them.

But John still wished you'd get to the good kissing part a bit sooner. Occasionally, there times you'd gotten very close later at night, as he dropped you off at your door or when he decided you'd had a "good spot to share" when playing hide and seek with the kids. But every time the pair of you'd been interrupted by one thing or another. One time you had been so close he could practically feel your breath on his lips, but then fucking Uncle Charlie literally grabbed John by the ear as he ran down the street towards an emergency at the stables, needing his help. John did actually try to yell at him that time, but a quick wack on the back of John's head was enough to remind him who he was talking to.

And don't get him wrong John didn't mind that you wanted to take things slower.... that much... usually.

...

Alright. John actually did mind a great deal. If he'd had his choice of pace you likely would have been married and up the duff a month ago, but again he's always been one to take life a little faster. But he also really liked you and decided for once to listen to his siblings advice to let you set the pace. And it wasn't that you didn't want to go faster with John either, but numerous past relationships had damped your spirits before and you were nervous to try again. And for as stubborn for his own desires as John was, for you, he guessed he could try. After all basically everything else was going great. And if was great he supposed he could wait.

That didn't mean he wouldn't push his luck at times though. And though he didn't just it yet this was one of those times.

See another thing you didn't do with John was drink. Sure he'd ask if you wanted anything and many days ended with you sitting on his lap in the Garrison, but you'd never seemed to have a drink of your own. Or at least one that wasn't water or soda. Arthur may not have admitted it but you were likely the reason there was always a case of two of orange fizzy soda in the back room. He claimed he liked to mix it with his gin for more flavour, but everyone knew that was bullshit.

Finally one day John decided to confront you about it. It was just the two of you walking down the street after meeting at a small sandwich shop for lunch. On your walk back to work he'd asked if you wanted to jump into the Garrison for a quick drink. After all John himself had no aversion to alcohol what so ever, and there was always an added bonus of showing you off. But you'd simply smiled and shook your head telling him you were alright, but if he wanted one you'd go in with him. And John usually wouldn't mind this agreement either, but today he came up with an idea that he needed to ask. May that would explain why you hadn't kissed him yet.

"Oi, Are you allergic to alcohol?"

"What?"

"Why don't you ever wanna get a drink with me ehh? You'll always come with me, but you never actually drink anything? Is it because ya allergic to it? Like if ya drink it your face is gonna swell or rash up?," He wanted to ask if that why you hadn't kissed him yet, but held back. Would the feeling of his lips on your literally kill you? Because that wouldn't do at all. John was sure by now he loved you, but giving up drink for you would definitely be a challenge.

Caught off guard by the sudden interrogation, you couldn't help but laugh. Then smiling nervously down at your shoes you scratched the back of your head thinking of what to say. It was quite for a few moments, John looking at you and you still looking down before you answered. And even though you had looked back up at him with a smile he could see the nervousness in you eyes as you spoke honestly.

"I ain't allergic to anything except pollen. I don't drink because I dispise the taste of most alcohols. I have yet to find one I've enjoyed throughly. I've come closest to wines at mine or my friends houses, but even those leave a taste in my mouth I'm not fond of," and Y/N took a pause to catch her breath before continuing, "Besides, no matter if you approve of alcohol or not, you have to admit it does fuck with the senses after a while. And I just haven't met any one I'm close enough with to go out to a bar to try new stuff with and not be too nervous to drink. You know how pubs are. You don't know half the people there. Someone will stab you in the back when you're sober. Think of all the things they can do when I can't run straight. And John. People LIKE me usually. I can't imagine how dangerous it would be if I was an ass. I probably wouldn't even be able to drink in my own house. Someone ma..."

"That's ahright love. I get your point. Can I ask another question though?" Many in Small Heath would find it surprising but, John Shelby did use his brain and logic sometimes. And now he thought he was able to pick out the real reason why Y/N didn't drink. "Is it because of the taste ya don't drink or because you're scared what may happen to ya if you do?"

".....I really haven't found one drink that I enjoy, but I guess you could say I'm too scared of what could happen to actively look for more. I don't know John. I mean, I promise I trust you and your family and all. And I really do think the Garrison is a nice pub, I just can't ever get it out of my head what could happen if I drink too much accidentally. Or if I get to much to get home right. I think I've read too many true crime stories in the paper," she finished with a joke trying to play off her fear again.

After all, most of the Shelby's drank whiskey like others drink water or tea. Hell, you'd even have talk with Tommy about his interest in opening a distillery one day. For someone who didn't drink alcohol you were fascinated with the process of how different types could be made. You'd once tried to make your own moonshine distillery when you were a teenager with your Grandad just to see how it would work. It almost did but then your nosey aunt found out and shut it down. But when it came to actually trying the concoctions you couldn't bring yourself to do more than a sip. It just never tasted like something you'd want in your mouth again. And considering your fears, you were fine with that. And most of your friends were fine with that too because it meant they have someone to drive whenever y'all went out.

John was quiet for a moment and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. You waited for his response slightly nervous because even when you knew deep down he'd be alright with it, if he wasn't it, wouldn't be the first time a man got pissy because you wouldn't drink with him. But those were the men you tried to avoid anyway, but they still sacred you, and John didn't seem like that at all. Then he looked up at you with a smile. Grabbing you hand and continuing down the street with you.

"Alrighty then love, I guess that's that. Thanks for telling me. And I promise to beat any man who tries to hurt ya or make fun of ya for it yeah?" John proudly boasted, pulling you closer to him with his arm around your waist.

So yes, maybe there was a small part of him that was slightly hurt that you weren't sure if you were comfortable enough drinking around him, but hearing your fears he could get over that. And as you said it wasn't him you were scared to drink with, rather it was in a place you couldn't control with strangers you didn't know. And since you didn't like what you couldn't control, you choose to stick with what you knew was safe. Even if safe mean water, orange sodas, and tea. Despite how he usually lived his life John wasn't gonna blame you for wanting a little safety in yours.

After dropping you back off at your work with a flirty comment and a kiss on the cheek, John headed back to the betting shop. But the whole time he went he couldn't get your words out of his head. So you were scared because you didn't trust the other people and were scared because you wanted to try new things in a place you knew was safe if something happened. Alrighty then love. John's smile grew as he made it to the door of the shop. He might just be on the way to fixing that.

"Oi ARTHUR! Give me your fuckin' keys to the pub fore ya head to London next weekend or I'm gonna tell Polly where you really lost your virginity! That's gonna be a really painful fuckin' ride for you if ya don't, ain't it!"

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It was almost two weeks after your conversation with John when you were going on a date again. A 'just the two of you' date as well, since Arthur had driven Polly down to London to see Ada. Tommy had been semi-blackmailed into watching the five youngest Shelbys that night. An event which would likely end with Finn leading a small rebellion of his nieces and nephews until whatever animal they stole from Charlie's yard would be allowed to sleep in the living room with them tonight. One that would also likely end in at least two small children crying because Tommy wouldn't let them cook the animal in the fire place for dinner, like they did when camping...again.

No, tonight would be just Y/N and John, and as you stood on his steps waiting for him to open the door you wondered what the night would hold. Usually John would take it upon himself to pick you up and drop you off. But tonight he'd asked if you could meet him at his home. And it was already so late, you knew you'd both had an early dinner so you were curious. Soon enough though John opened the door with a smile, holding out his hand to pull you inside.

"Right well don't you look fucking pretty eh love? All dressed up and here I'm am about to tell you we're staying in tonight."

"Oh? I thought you said you wanted to show me something?"

Pulling you further into the house John nodded as he lead you down the hallway stepping over toys to the living room.

"That's true yeah but what I wanna show you is here," John stopped just outside the room, but the door was closed so you couldn't see inside. Carefully grabbing both of you hands and facing you towards himself John continued, "Before I go on I want you to know that we absolutely don't gotta do none of this tonight or ever if you don't wanna. But I thought to myself what you said the other day about drinking and all that and thought maybe I could help yeah? So I just gotta ask: is that alright? Will you let me get you a drink, eh love?"

Even though you remembered the conversation from before, you were still slightly confused where he was going with it. After all, you said you didn't think you'd have a problem maybe trying a drink with him, you just were scared to around strangers in a pub, and there wasn't anything you'd liked so it nerves seemed to worth it to spend the money. But still you trusted him so you decide to try something new. With him.

"I think that may be alright John but I'm still a little confused. If you wanted me to have a drink with you shouldn't we have met at the Garrison and be in the Snug? I don't even think it's open tonight. I passed by it on the way here and it didn't even look open? I don't think it's even been closed on a Sunday before? Did something happen? Is Harry okay?"

John felt his chest warm at that. Before because you'd admitted you trusted him, and again because he adores how you noticed and wanted to make sure things were alright. Though he knew you truthfully didn't care much for his work, you still tried to keep track of everyone's well being, and if the other blinders didn't know you were absolutely off limits (thanks Polly) you'd of had at least three proposals already. He was also practically bouncing now because you'd said yes. In truth if you hadn't it would have been a lot of work to waste, so it was a good thing you'd trusted him.

"Don't worry your head Doll, everything's absolutely fucking golden. Harry's gotten the night off and the Garrison's locked because as far I'm concerned, the only place we're drinking tonight is," pulling his hands back from yours, John turned to open the double doors. He spun around arms with open with a grin on his face, revealing his plan, "Le Pub La Johnny!"

You couldn't help but laugh the absolutely awful French accent (and French) he'd attempted before your eyes widened as you took in the living room before you. Living room was barely what it could be called now, as about half of the tables and shelves in the room were covered in bottles of alcohol. There were groups of them sitting in books and even a few by the fire place in a box. Towards the far wall there was also a blank chalk board that looked suspiciously like the ones in the betting shop. Looking back towards the hallway once it made sense which all the kids toys were scattered along there. There wasn't room for them in the living space. You also noticed what looked to be a pitcher of water sat next to four empty glasses on the table, but given the rest of the drinks it could very well be pure vodka.

"John.... Did you rob a liquor store?"

"Nope! All this stuff is from the Garrison. See I figured if you didn't like drinking around people ya didn't know it may be better to do it round someone ya do. That being me. And since you said you were nervous about doing it at a pub, I set up shop here seeing as you've mention you like it here and it's like safe and whatnot. And because you don't know what ya like yet I just grabbed everything. You can try as little or as much as ya want of any of it. There's water on the table there if you wanna wash out you mouth. We've got beer, whiskey, and even a bottle of moonshine somewhere. There's no wine because no one buys it at the pub, but I grabbed the kids' old grape juice and we can pour some rum into it, it may taste the same. Just don't tell Solomons we used his shit...hell actually the juice may improve that crap. I also grabbed a board from the betting shop so you could like write out what you tried and do one of those little rating charts you like so much to organize it all. And I promise I'll only drink as much as ya tonight so you don't have to worry about me getting to much or doing anything. I mean I'd never do anything anyways, but ya know, tonight's a team job, eh Love. We're not gonna stop until we find your tipsy fix.... or until you're done with it all. What'd ya think?"

You stared at him for a moment before practically crashing into him as you tightly wrapped you arms around him, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. If you'd had a worse day you may have cried from the thoughtful act.

"John Shelby I think that this is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me. No one else has ever tried to do anything like this, most of them are fine with me not drinking because it means they can do whatever they want when we go out. But this is just...I... John Shelby you are fucking brilliant!"

"I suppose I am pretty fucking smart aren't I Love? There isn't just air in this thick skull of mine I promise."

Once again, John grabbed your hands pulling you over to the couch, the sound of your shoes and his bare feet (because he refused to wear shoes in his house) could be heard against the hard wood.

"So any idea where I should begin?"

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An hour and a half later you'd tried about twenty different bottles, but none of them warranted more than a sip or tip of the finger from you. John, bless his heart, had given up on his "team job" ideal after the seventh time you dipped the tip your finger in a glass only to scrunch you nose up and pour the drink into his own.

Quickly his glass had begun to fill up with the small capfuls you'd disregarded, and his glass was a mix of who knows what. There was German beer, Italian Negroni, American Bourbon, and even Scottish Whiskey. However, none of it seems to fit your desires. The board had quickly been filed up with ratings bases on the first taste of the drink to the after taste, how good it smelled, how much it cost (if you did happen like it), and even how pretty the color or bottle was.

There was no order to your choices, you just decided to choose what caught you eye. And each time John would start talking about you choice and giving his opinions on it. According to him the beer you thought tasted like "milky goat piss" was only for when you were celebrating with someone you didn't like, while the gin that wasn't sweet enough for you was better when mixed with lime juice. And let's not forget the rum.

Much to John's horror the only thing you'd come close to enjoying was the grape juice and rum concoction he'd mixed half as a joke, and half because he like destroying something Alfie made. But apparently the sweetness of the grape juice had been almost enough to cut out the after taste of the drink. You'd even gone as far to ask him to pour some more of it.

"What wrong Darling? Are we out of rum? Maybe we should call Alfie and see if he has more."

"Christ woman. If I didn't know better I'd say you were actually trying to kill me now. Are you sure ya ain't working for the enemy?"

"Unless you consider the enemy to be a 68 year old man who's pocket square always matches his wife's dress, I'd have to say no Johnny dear."

"Can never be too sure Love, maybe the matching clothing is a symbol for the organization of their devious plans or some stuff."

The big thing though, was even if you hadn't found a favorite drink you two were having fun. Over the course of time you'd move closer together on the couch and your legs were now draped over his, as your head leaned against his shoulder while he told a story about the time teenage Tommy got his ass beat by Pol for letting Ada try a sip of his beer. It wasn't physically the closest you'd ever been. No, that was probably the times when he'd corralled you into his small bed to rest against him "sleeping" in an effort to convince his youngest daughter that EVERYONE was ready for nap time and maybe they should all take a break from the four hour game of chase. But this time definitely felt more intimate than the others.

"Hey John what about that one? Can I try it," you'd questioned pointing to a clear bottle filled with a pretty red liquid. Reaching forward John grabbed the bottle.

"Oh I don't know if you'd like that one love. It's absinthe."

"Absinthe? But isn't that suppose to be green?"

"Yeah it's usually green or clear, but I think one or two fellas make it red. Suppose to be more flowery or some shit like that, but don't see the point of ruining a good drink by sticking a few flower petals in it."

Looking at the bottle you thought for a moment.

"John, I think I wanna try that one next. After all, I like flowers. Maybe it'll taste as pretty as they smell."

John down looked at you slightly hesitating for the time tonight, "Are you sure love? I really don't think you'd like this one. Maybe we could try mixing apple juice into the rum this time."

Sitting up you, kissed his shoulder once and pulled away from him, and gently taking the bottle from his warm hands. Then putting your glass on the table, you poured a small ounce out of the bottle and nodded firmly, reassuring yourself of your decision.

"Yep I think I'm sure. I've gone this whole night without taking a full sip of anything. And John you're right, nothing bad has happen yet so why not go for it. Besides it's just one sip right? Maybe I have been overthinking it this whole time and it really won't be that bad. I'll just throw it back and that will be that."

John was a bit stuck, because on one hand he was absolutely positive you'd hate the drink, but on the other he could see you seemed to finally be comfortable trying a drink. And since that was the whole point of tonight's date, he decided to put as much trust in you as you had him.

"Fucking go for it then pretty girl, you'll do great."

....Wrong

You did in-fact not do great. Not in the slightest.

As soon as you poured the red drink in your mouth you'd turn to him proudly and placed your empty cup upside down on the table like you'd seen him and his older brothers do before.

But only a split second after that your face changed and John could tell you regretted everything. Your nose scrunched up in way John found adorable and he could tell you hadn't swallowed it yet.

"If you don't like it Love you can spit it out."

"Uh umm!"

Stubbornly you shook your head wanting to be able to say you took one shot tonight, but you just couldn't. You should have listened to John probably, but it was too late now. John had bitten back his laughter now. Your arms were crossed and if you could open your mouth you probably would have stuck your tongue out at him.

"Love, it's really alright, I won't judge you, come on, you didn't make that face when you tried the the rum and Christ knows that stuff is bad."

"Uh umm!"

"Y/N if you spit it out right now I'll get the chocolate bourbon out."

Chocolate? And Alcohol? Why didn't he start with that? Deal.

Quickly you reached over to the table but then the awful happened and you accidentally knocked your glass across the table to the carpet on the other side. Wide eyed you turned to John. His glass was too full for anything else in it and there weren't any sinks close by. On top of that the Absinthe was really starting to burn your mouth and you were sure within a few minutes all your taste buds would be dead. John actually did laugh this time at your situation. After all he did warn you.

"Just spit it out love."

Narrowing you eyes and motioning to the lack of cups or sinks near by, you waved you arms in protest. You couldn't just spit it out in his floor after all! It didn't matter what else had been on there! Suddenly John had an idea.

"Love do you trust me?"

"Muuuu?"

"Do trust me?"

Nodding you head yes you weren't really paying attention, just looking for a place to spit out the drink. Luckily for the both you John had found one.

Reaching forward, John grabbed you and did the one thing he'd been waiting months to do.

He put his lips on yours.

Biting your bottom lip gently so you'd open your mouth more, he pulled you farther on him and leaned back on the couch. He was effectively drinking the absinthe from your mouth and as the shock wore off you found yourself enjoying the kiss and pushing it deeper, letting soft noises out of your mouth. When you did John only groaned and pulled you closer.

Moments passed as neither of you wanted to end the kiss and your hands moved upwards, one running along the back of his hair and the other tightly gripping his collar. One of his hands was holding one of your thighs while the other was running up and down the small of your back. You didn't know where he learned to kiss like this but it felt like something out of the romance novels you read as a teen that your aunt would have condemned you for buying. Everything felt warm and it wasn't just because of the minuscule amount of alcohol you'd had.

Eventually you both needed air and pulled your heads back from each other. Neither of you said anything for a while, only looking at the other's breathless face with smiles that began to grow.

"John?"

"Yeah Love?"

"Grab the rum and grape juice, we're doing that again."

#john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders imagine #john shelby #peaky blinders

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epilary · 10 months

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clark and lois investigating undercover (post reveal) | headcanons

masterlist | requests are open requested by anon

- lois is extremely specific about her undercover identity - clark's undercover identity is.. not so in-depth - "where was i born? in, ohio? yeah, cincinnati..." - lois finds it endearing - until a criminal asks him about some obscure pizza joint there

- she always steers the conversation away - clark can not for the life of him investigate undercover - they're asked what their worst crime was? lois answers - they're asked literally anything? lois is confident - clark instantly reverts back to his midwestern nature - they'll usually go undercover as a couple - romantically and as a couple of bank robbers - clark holds lois' hand a lot - both because it calms him and it's how he knows to show a romantic interest - which comes from martha and jonathan kent - she loves it (despite the slightly tight grasp) - clark will typically keep his body between lois and any criminals there - sometimes to hold lois back - lois keeps a recorder on her always - it'll sometimes catch conversations between the two - "clark, it'll be okay. besides, i have the strong superman on my side" - "if you're sure..." - "you're pretty cute when you're cautious" - "wait... wait really?" - it ends badly, like every time - only a few times have the two of them gotten out of it unscathed - but lois still convinces clark to do it every time - mostly cause he loves her so much

#my adventures with superman #clark kent #lois lane #clark and lois #lois x clark #clark x lois #maws #post reveal #superman #superman headcanons

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dinofromspac3 · 11 months

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Rules for Requests

Main Masterlist

I do not write smut, but I will write spice

please request through asks

be patient and be kind. I might take a while to get the fic out

leave as much or as little detail as you like, but fair warning if you leave so much detail that you’ve practically written it for me, I will be less likely to write it.

ask nicely, kind of goes along with be kind. I’m not taking orders, and if you act like it, I will ignore your request.

Thank you<3

Who I write for:

Fem/GN readers

Doctor Who:

Clara Oswald x Reader

Rose Tyler x Reader

Martha Jones x Reader

Donna Noble x Reader

Bill Potts x Reader (fem only)

The Doctor x Reader (platonic only because there’s not enough of these and there’s plenty of romantic fics out there)

The Master/Missy x Reader (platonic only)

If you think of any others just ask

Marvel:

Peter Parker x Reader

Kate Bishop x Reader

Yelena Belova x Reader (platonic only, ace queen)

Natasha Romanoff x Reader (platonic only)

Steve Rogers x Teen!Reader

Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader

Pretty much everyone x Teen!Reader

Again, if there’s any not listed, just ask.

Wizarding World:

(I’m partial to Hufflepuff!Readers)

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Neville Longbottom x Reader

Luna Lovegood x Reader

Newt Scamander x Reader

Again, just ask. I’ll add marauders when I’ve read all of All the Young Dudes fic on AO3

YouTubers:

Ethan Nestor x Reader

Markiplier x Reader (platonic only)

Jacksepticeye x Reader (platonic only)

Lord of the Rings/ The Hobbit:

Frodo Baggins x Reader

Samwise Gamgee x Reader

Merry Brandybuck x Reader (platonic only)

Pippin Took x Reader (platonic only)

Aragorn x Reader

Eowyn x Reader

Arwen x Reader

Legolas x Reader

Kili x Reader

Fili x Reader

Bilbo Baggins x Reader (platonic only)

Star Wars:

Padme Amidala x Reader

Anakin Skywalker x Reader (platonic only)

Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader

(Sorry I’ve only seen the prequels)

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elfboyeros · 4 months

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Favorite Subjects

Wanna Read More or start from the beginning: Hallows Academy Masterlist @karaboutmyart @jj-pines @lerenee

⚠️This chapter contains references to sexual assault/rape ⚠️

Within the dorm room of Amora and Loki, an alarm goes off. Loud and obnoxious Amora, groans out of her slumber, rolling closer to the wall as if she trying to get away from the sound, hugging her red octopus plushie closer to her chest. Before she fell back asleep, she could hear movement, damn, Loki gets up early.

After what felt like only a few minutes, Amora gets hit with something hard, “Jesus!” she yelled.

“Sorry, but I’ve been saying your name for the past five minutes,” Loki replied before Amora opened her eyes seeing a pillow in her head as she stood at the side of the bed.

“Lovely or my actual name?”

“Both,” Loki answered, “As your roommate, I am responsible for getting you up and off to your classes.”

“Are you just saying that because I am new?” Amora asked rubbing her eyes.

“Pretty much, it would be really odd if you were late for your classes, and I wasn’t because we are roommates.”

“You’ve got a point,” Amora groaned, finally sitting up as Loki left for the bathroom, “I guess.”

Stretching, before getting ready for the day wearing a light blush button-up top under a spaghetti stripped, dark rouge, ankle-length dress with a pair of Mary Janes.

“Well, don’t you look stunning,” Loki commented exiting the bathroom.

She wore a band t-shirt that had a pair of scissors to it, at some point, to make it shorter than the original, plain high-waisted gray jeans and a pair of worn olive green Chucks.

“You look nice too,” Amora mumbled, blushing and she ran a brush through her hair.

“They always have some kind of muffins or donuts in the commons if you are a person that enjoys eating breakfast,” Loki commented, gathering her things as Amora did the same.

“You say that like you’re not that type of person,” Amora replied.

Loki shrugged, as she opened the door, “My last few roommates didn’t like having breakfast,” she remarked, as Amora left their dorm room, “or maybe they just didn’t like having breakfast with me.”

They had only known each other for a weekend and Loki hadn’t done much talking about herself. No, she was spilling all kinds of information about the school, the classes they shared (which was most of them), the people to stay away from, and the one story about how the dean’s husband went missing, in addition to asking Amora questions about herself. However, the question of why she was here never came up.

Loki can be abrasive, yet she is obviously respectful, Amora had made a nonverbal line in the sand, the day they met, and Loki noticed somehow and respected her.

“Martha Wise,” Amora stated as she walked out of the Osmanthus hall with Loki.

“Huh?”

“You asked me which serial killer I was most interested in last night and my answer is Martha Wise,” Amora answered.

“And why is that?” Loki questioned.

Amora shrugged, “She poisoned 17 of her family members after they forced her to end a relationship, it seems oddly romantic in a way.”

“Mhm, romantic,” Loki muttered.

“Sorry if that’s weird.”

Loki shook her head, “Not at all, I asked you a question and you gave me an answer, a very interesting answer.”

Amora nodded, as they walked into the commons filled with peers all enjoying conversations with one another and muffins.

“LOKI!” The voice of Euphrasie yelled, grabbing Loki’s and Amora’s attention, they stood behind the common area’s kitchenette counter with the other dorm residents, muffins upon muffins in front of them.

The roommates made their way over to the sunny senior, “I saved you a chocolate muffin,” Euphrasie remarked quietly, before presenting Loki with the chocolate chip-filled muffin, “Don’t tell anyone I did that though, because I’ve been telling a bunch of people we were out.”

“Thanks, Euphrasie,” Loki muttered.

“We’ve got a ton of Banana Nut Muffins,” Euphrasie commented, looking at Amora, “Plus, cream cheese stuffed, blueberry, mix berry, strawberry, raspberry white chocolate aka my personal favorite, pumpkin spice, cherry, and maple ones.”

Amora thought for a moment before Euphrasie added, whispering, “If you want a banana nut muffin, I literally will bring a box full of them by your dorm later.”

“I don’t like bananas so I’ll pass,” The blonde teen replied, “Can I have a cream cheese-filled muffin, please.”

“Sure thing,” Euphrasie retorted before digging in a box in a chair behind them pulling about the muffin Amora wanted and giving it to her, “I’ll find someone else to give all the banana muffins, eventually.”

“Luther likes banana nut muffins,” Loki remarked opening her muffin of how it’s wrapped prison, “Then again, he will eat anything. He’ll take them if no one else wants them.”

“Sweet!” Euphrasie exclaimed, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Amora waved as she and Loki left for the exit.

“Do residents give out food like that every day?” Amora asked attempting to make conversation as they walked toward the main school building.

“It’s normal for treats to be out for anyone who wants a snack, but there are only a few times a semester,” Loki explained, “Although now that Euphrasie is the head RA this year, that might change.”

“She’s very involved,” Amora commented.

“I’ve been here for the past four years, and I’ve known Euphrasie for that whole time, she sees the world like a primary school playground. She must make friends with everyone, and if she doesn’t it’s a bad day.”

Amora giggled at the thought of Euphrasie pouting about not making a friend, and Amora’s laughter made Loki’s cheeks grow hot.

“You, okay?” Amora asked, seeing Loki’s cheeks a bright pink color as if she had just been hit with cold winter air.

Her pear-colored eyes were big and doe-like when they looked over at the British girl. Loki’s flushed face only became darker as Amora continued to glance over.

“I-I’m fine, lovely,” Loki’s voice cracked as she tried to recover and clear her throat “Don’t worry about it’s simple Rosacea.”

Amora looked at her a little confused before entering the main building. The halls filled with students as the two girls walked to their first class together. On one of the upper floors sat their classroom for their first lecture, an AP Gothic Literature class. The class is a smaller size, with three rows of long tables taking up the most space in the room, and only a few people sitting in the classroom with no teacher in sight.

“Oh my god, is that Loki Holloway early to a class,” a boy sitting in one of the chairs in the middle of the class exclaimed.

He has a darker complexion with a box fade, and he’s of the mystical variety given his elf-like ears. He wore a mask over his mouth and a skater-street-style of dress of very feminine colors.

“Oi’ I’m always on time,” Loki replied, making her way over to him while Amora followed.

“Last semester you were late to Mrs. Viloria’s class for half the year,” the girl beside the boy who had just spoken said in a monotone voice. She was white and a natural redhead, her hair large and curly. Wearing a purple jacket and a simple pair of jeans with her nose in a sketchbook

“People can change,” Loki replied, sitting down near them, “These two are Iphigenie and Odysseus.”

“Hi,” Amora commented before sitting down between Odysseus and Loki.

“You’re the American,” Odysseus remarked.

Amora let out a little sound, “I see I’ve been a hot topic.”

“Eurphrasie wasn’t kidding when she said you’ve been the only thing we’ve been talking about,” Loki retorted.

“We get a lot of American tourists but not a lot of American students, I thinks that's why we find you so interesting,” Odysseus explained.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Iphigenie commented, before focusing on her drawings.

“So, do you play D&D?” Odysseus questioned.

“Uh, no, sorry. My best friend is really into it, but I don’t play,” Amora replied. Odysseus nodded, “Well if you ever wanna give it a shot, I’m more than happy to go over the basics with you.”

Amora can tell even with the mask covering his lips he is smiling, “Thanks.”

The classroom soon filled with students, yet the instructor was nowhere in sight even passed the start time for class, there was no adult with the formal education to begin teaching.

“How long has it been Odis?” Loki questioned.

“Uh,” Odysseus sighed checking his watch, “13 minutes.”

“15 minutes and we get to leave,” Amora joked.

Loki chuckled, “Are you actually a troublemaker, lovely?”

“No, but I am willing to skip class if the tea—”

There is then the loud clicking sound of heels against the porcelain floor, making everyone shut up their little conversations, while, who they can only presume is their educator, enters the room. She had a fairer complexion, with white bangs and black hair, and wore a simple national colored bulse and dark striped wide-legged dress pants.

“My apologies, somehow I lost track of time this morning,” she clarified as she pulled out many things from her carry case.

Her voice was similar to Iphigenie, monotone yet more tired, “I’m Mrs. Helvetica Davidson, this is Gothic Literature,” the instructor remarked before beginning to pass out syllabi, “I’m sure you are aware you will be doing a lot of reading in this class there are digital copies on all of the reading material we will have in this class on the school’s Learning Portal.”

“Learning Portal?” Amora asked Loki quietly.

“I’ll show you later this afternoon,” Loki whispered back.

“I don’t like the normal “get to know you” questions, I rather cause violence,” Helvetica commented approaching her whiteboard. Her remark made the class confused, “Not actual violence obviously, just some debate violence,” she added as she began writing on the board.

“My husband and I often have mini-debates, and recently this one has come up.”

Helvetica moved away from the board showcasing what she wrote, ‘Cold showers are better than hot showers.’

“Discuss,” she ordered, before sitting down at her desk.

“Well… a cold shower does help you wake up in the morning,” Odysseus observed after a few minutes of silence.

“That’s assuming everyone takes a shower in the morning,” a student mentioned.

“Taking a hot shower right before bed is the best,” another student said.

“And the steam can help clear the sinus when you take a hot shower,” Amora uttered.

“You have to admit a nice cold shower does jolt you awake,” Loki alleged, “Ice cold water ensures I am awake better than any alarm!”

“You are insane,” Amora muttered.

“Everyone here acting like they take a shower every day,” one student huffed.

“You don’t?!” Another gasped.

“No that’s insane,” Loki joked making Amora giggle, before the class erupted in a loud debate about showering and personal hygiene.

Once class ended Loki walked with Amora to her next class, “Don’t forget we have a break after this class,” she said, stopping at the class door.

“Ya’ know it’s odd, in America we don’t get breaks in the middle of our class periods, I won’t know what to do with the extra 20 minutes,” Amora verbalized.

Loki smiled slightly, “Well you could spend it with me, I can show you one of my favorite places to hide on campus.”

“That sounds like a date,” Amora replied with a smile, making Loki blush a hot pink.

“I-I’m going to go to Algebra now!” Loki almost shouted before leaving Amora to enter her next class, Fashion Studies.

Loki must have bad Rosacea if her face is always red. Nevertheless, Amora looked around the room, seeing an open seat next to a blonde girl around her age, she was wearing a dark red coat dress, with her curls waterfalling down her shoulders.

“Can I sit here?” Amora asked.

The girl looked over at Amora almost turning up her nose in a way, “I guess,” she scoffed.

Amora sat down, getting out a folder for the class, “I’m Amora,” she remarked.

“Cassiopeia,” the girl in crimson sighed.

“Try and stay away from Cassiopeia… she’s will... if I’m an acquired taste, she’s not even tastable.”

Loki did say some things about Cassiopeia, but it’s not up to Loki who Amora does and doesn’t talk to, and who she does and does not get along with.

“Wait… you’re the American,” Cassiopeia gasped.

She said it like a slur, Amora giggled, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being known as ‘the American’ but yeah.”

“You killed someone. Didn’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“To be friendly with Loki you must have done something terrible to gain her favor,” Cassiopeia chuckled, “So did you kill someone, giving someone a good beating with your little hands?”

“I-I didn’t—”

“You-You? HA, you, an American, do not come to this school out of the blue for your last year of schooling,” Cassiopeia explained in her own twisted way, her voice is so light and soft, yet she speaks in such a way that makes her sound so intimidating.

Amora was left unable to speak, she only watched the classroom fill with students. All of them were seemingly more friendly than Cassiopeia who she sat beside.

“I bet you hurt someone!” Cassiopeia exclaimed softly, “I bet you have beaten the ever-loving crap out of so many people that your parents didn’t want to put up with you. HA, dressing all cutesy in pink doesn’t just magically make you a good person, like you think it does.”

It’s so childish, everything down to the words being said. So stupid and plain, movies and TV have made better bullies with more interesting insults!

And yet Cassiopeia’s words hurt all the same. Mostly because it’s true!

Amora’s lucky that it’s the first day, the amount of information she retained from her Fashion Studies teacher was far and in-between, which sucks when she saw she could take the class she was excited for.

“Amora?”

She looked down the almost clear hallway, Loki approached as she stood outside the classroom, she was just in.

“Amora, you okay?” The British girl asked.

“I… I met Cassiopeia…”

Loki formed a scowl on her face, as she looked at Amora who looked unbelievably dejected. The brunette grabbed the blonde’s wrist pulling her through the halls, before arriving at an old dark stairwell with a window looking out to the front of the main campus.

“No one is going to come here. We don’t have to talk, we can just stay here,” Loki mentioned, standing on the landing between the two set staircases, looking out the window and watching Helvetica greet someone on a motorcycle with a kiss in the parking lot.

The two girls fall silent for what feels like the first time since they met, there is a sense of comfort within the silence, yet the gloomy look on Amora makes Loki’s stomach turn as the blondie sat on the steps, her knees in her chest.

“If I tell you something,” Amora began, “will promise not to tell anyone?”

“Promise,” Loki replied quickly, “I may like to talk, but I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

Amora smiled at her joke before sighing, “Back in July… there was this pool party at this rich guy’s house, and Bellamy and I got invited. It wasn’t like a stereotypical party - I mean some people were drinking – but we weren’t. Everyone was outside, and Bellamy said she was going inside to get something to drink, and this guy Reese followed her.”

Loki cringed already putting the puzzle together as Amora attempted to make herself smaller, “I heard Bellamy scream, but even though it was loud outside I know my best friend! And he was on top of her and trying to pull off her swimsuit on the kitchen counters! And that’s my best friend! I grabbed the first thing I could find which was a knife and I… I stabbed him, and then I didn’t think that was enough so I punched him in the face a few times… then someone called the police because I stabbed Resse, which I mean I would have done the same thing if I saw someone stab a guy!”

Loki attempted to speak, yet Amora continued, “Cassiopeia was being a bully, and I mean it’s so stupid now! She didn’t even have good insults, she just scoffed and me being friendly with you basically, as if hanging around you makes me a heathen! But she called me a monster and say some crap that was too accurate and… it bothered me because I haven’t told anyone what happened that night!”

The brunette nodded before humming and saying, “Do you of the Gloucester Executioner?”

Amora moved her gaze from her shoes to Loki, who stared out the window with her lips in a thin line, “I think so, Sullivan Holloway, right? He murdered 35 people off and on for 26 years while he was a nurse, it was a big thing like 10 years ago because he was finally arrested.”

“He’s my dad.”

Silent again before Loki spoke up, “Everyone around here knows it, that’s why Cassiopeia says all that shit. I doubt if she knew you were hanging around me, she would been more friendly. She has her ass so far up her own ass that she thinks Lance Luther and I are all going to be crazed murderers. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing,” Amora scoffed, “You didn’t do anything.”

“I—”

“No, she’s stupid,” Amora replied, making Loki snicker, “Whether I am hanging around you or not shouldn’t matter, it’s not going to make me a horrible person if I’m friends with you.”

“I don’t know,” Loki chuckled, “It might, I could rub off on you.”

Amora giggled a little, “That will never happen, and you are an acquired taste I don’t wish to acquire, remember!”

“Right… Lovely~”

The nickname made the blondie blush in the darkness of the stairwell, “I’m sorry about your dad,” Amora sighed softly.

“I mean that’s why I want to get into psychology and criminal justice,” the brunette shrugged, referring to a past conversation they had the night before, “I want it an idea of why he did what he did, without having to ask him directly.”

Amora hummed, standing up from the stairs, “Thank you for listening… and sharing.”

“No problem… I have to go downstairs for Chemistry, but I’ll see you in Home Economics, okay?”

“Okay,” Amora replied with a slight smile.

There is a moment where they stare at one another, as if something is supposed to happen, yet nothing does and they go in opposite directions, to head to class. Amora to the 3rd floor for Trigonometry and Loki to the first for Chemistry.

She sat at a lab table close to a window with her larger brother, Luther, dressed in a retro gentleman style sitting to her right, and her nerdy brother, Lance, dressed in a more academic style sitting across from her with Odysseus sitting next to him. The teacher had already gone through all the first-day normalcy and allowed his students to chill before their next class. Leaving everyone to chit-chat with one another at their four-seat tables.

“Sis?” Lance asked as Loki stared out the window.

She didn’t respond, still staring out the window her chin resting in her hand as she was lost in thought.

“Loki,” Luther stated elbowing her in the side lightly.

“Huh? What!”

“What’s wrong?” Lance questioned.

“Nothing—”

“Liar,” Luther scoffed, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m worried about Amora,” she sighed.

“Worried how?” Lance asked.

“Cassiopeia was a bitch to her basically because of me,” Loki answered.

“Okay and?” Luther sighed, “Cassiopeia is a bitch to everyone.”

“But she’s being mean to Amora because she is roommates with me, because she is nice to me, and I don’t want to make her life even more horrible just because she’s roommates with me.” Loki exclaimed, “I like Amora, she’s… ha… lovely, I don’t want her to suffer because I exist.”

Loki also felt horrible about all the stuff that Amora told her, but it’s not her place to repeat that story to anyone even her brothers.

“If I can interject,” Odysseus remarked softly, “If Amora didn’t like being around you, she would have already done or said something to infer that.”

“She’s already not like your other roommates,” Luther commented.

Loki nodded, “I’m just worried about her…”

Luther scoffed, “Don’t fall in love too fast, menace.”

A soft pink blush appeared on her cheeks, “I think it’s too late for that.”

The day went on without issue, Amora went on to discover Iphigenie was in her Trigonometry, and even though they didn’t speak to each other that much as being in the class together, it was not that Amora wanted to do much talking. She met Cassiopeia’s twin sister Calliope in her Home Economics class (a class she also had with Euphrasie and Loki) she was much kinder, shyer, and quieter than her sister dispute looked a lot like her. The American girl went on to formally meet Luther and Lance at lunch then followed Loki and Lance to European History that they then had with Odysseus, who she then had Latin with.

Even though the day ended at two o'clock in the afternoon, it had been a long day and all Amora wanted to do was go back to her dorm room and hide in between the sheets of her bed.

When walking back into the dorm hall with Loki the two of them were stopped by Euphrasie.

“Hey, Loki, do you have an Ouija board?” they asked.

“No,” Loki replied, “Lance might, he likes collecting all kinds of board game stuff.”

“Okay, thanks!”

“Why do need an Ouija board?” Amora questioned her voice laced with a tired tone.

“I wanna get a bunch of us together and talk to the ghost on campus!” Euphrasie exclaimed extremely animated, “As soon as I find one we’re all getting together in the storage room and talking to the ghost!”

Loki and Amora watched their classmate run off to find an Ouija board before laughing, “That sounds interesting,” Amora commented as they started walking to their dorm

“Really?” Loki scoffed, “It sounds like a lame excuse to make us all get along.”

“But if there are actually ghosts, it would be cool to communicate with them,” Amora replied.

“So, I guess if we are going to the ghost club?” Loki asked.

“You don’t have to, but I am going whenever it happens,” Amora replied.

“Oh Lovely, if you’re going that gives me more of a reason to go,” Loki responded with a slight smirk.

5 notes · View notes

spacesnail3000 · 5 years

Text

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 3: Pretty as a Picture

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: Martha’s Vineyard is the #6 Best Romantic Getaway in the USA and the #1 Best Destination for Provoking your Childhood Friends.

Word Count: 3939

Warnings: Language, drinking, sexual themes/sexual tension, eventual smut

Masterlist / AO3

Steve awoke first the next morning shortly after the sun rose. After going to the bathroom and setting the coffee pot on, he peeked his head into Bucky’s bedroom to wake him up. The man in question was splayed out across the mattress, having kicked the duvet off in the middle of the night. He was only wearing a pair of boxers, snoring gently into his pillow.

“Buck,” Steve said, walking over to the bed. Steve was always softer in the morning, gentler, especially before his first cup of coffee. Not to mention, Bucky was always so precious in the morning—at least Steve thought so. He ran a hand through Bucky’s tangled hair and smiled when Bucky shifted around. “Bucky, time to wake up.”

“Noooo,” Bucky groaned.

“Yes,” Steve responded, “C’mon. There’s coffee on and then we’ll go get breakfast. Wakey-wakey.”

One ice blue eye opened to peek at the old-fashioned analogue alarm clock. “No,” Bucky said, closing his eyes again, “Too early.”

“It’s not too early—" Steve laughed, but Bucky cut him off by grabbing his arm and yanking him forward so Steve had to catch himself on the bed, almost hovering over Bucky now. Sleepy Bucky was stronger than Steve would give him credit for.

“No,” Bucky repeated, “No breakfast. Sleep. Come sleep.”

“Buck, we have to wake up.”

“No. Grab the blanket.”

Well, it was only seven in the morning. Steve reached down to grab the duvet, draping it over the both of them, and then let Bucky pull him onto his side. Bucky cuddled into Steve’s chest like some kind of macho koala bear and sighed happily.

Sleepy Bucky had always been a big cuddler. Steve liked Sleepy Bucky the best.

“You’re always so sweet in the mornings,” Steve said reverently, running a hand over Bucky’s back.

“’S’cuz you’re nice in the morning,” Bucky said, “’Nstead of bein’ an asshole.”

Steve chuckled good-naturedly. His defenses were down in the morning, not as inclined to bite back at an insult. “Never mind, you’re still a big jerk.”

“’m just tellin’ the truth.”

Steve knew he could be a hard-ass, but it came with the job. He couldn’t readily show his emotions to other people in the mob, and that led to him keeping his feelings in most of the time.

But times like these, when he could just be alone with Bucky—then he could be vulnerable. Only Bucky knew this side of him. Truthfully, he and Bucky had a very special relationship—they always had. Bucky knew Steve better than anybody. Steve cherished Bucky, adored him, although he would never admit it to anyone else.

Their relationship was not only emotional, but sexual as well—although they hadn’t been intimate since Steve started dating Peggy. But still, Steve knew Bucky was the only sure thing in his life, and he intended to keep it that way.

Bucky fell back asleep quickly, but Steve wasn’t so lucky. He rose with the sun and once he was awake, he was never able to get back to sleep. Instead, he laid with Bucky curled up against his side, watching the man who was more important in his life than words could say.

For about an hour, Steve let him sleep, but once the clock hit eight, he roused him again.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky grumbled finally, flopping onto his back and rubbing his eyes. “I’ll wake up. Meanie.”

Steve only chuckled and rolled out of bed, going into the hallway and then to Y/N’s door. He knocked gently. When he didn’t hear anything, he let himself inside.

She was usually a little more difficult to wake up.

He decided to try gentle first. He said her name, approaching her bed. “Hey, sweetie… Gotta wake up.” No response. Steve ran a hand over her hair, trying to rouse her. “Time to wake up.”

She whined and turned into her pillow.

“We need to go to breakfast and get groceries, sweetheart,” he tried again, “You need to wake up.”

“Please,” she whined, “Wanna sleep.”

“No, you had all night to sleep. Wake up now.”

Her eyes opened, blinking up at him sleepily. “Please?”

At least she was being sweet instead of annoying, Steve thought. He really couldn’t resist her when she used her manners. He kneeled down next to her bed and brushed his hand through her hair again. The least he could do is work with her. “C’mon, honey, what will it take to get you out of bed?”

She shrugged. “Nothin’. ‘M sleepy.” She turned her face to burrow back into the blankets.

Steve was about to get strict when Bucky saved the day.

“Wake up, doll,” he said, coming into the room, still only wearing his boxers, two cups of coffee in his hands. “Here, I’ve got your coffee just how you like it.”

When he held the cup in front of her face, she finally relented and sat up. Taking a small sip, she hummed contentedly. “Thank you, Bucky. You make it just right.”

“Plenty of cream and plenty of sugar, just like you, sweetheart.” He winked at her, and she blushed, averting her eyes from his bare chest.

“You drink coffee?” Steve asked, ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes glinted as he stared at her. Bucky handed the other cup of coffee to Steve—it was black, Steve’s preference.

“Uh—yeah. How do you think I got through all those AP classes these past few years?” she asked him. “Plus swim and dive, plus stud-co, plus chorus, plus honor society, plus—”

“You were in chorus?” he cut her off.

She rolled her eyes and took another drink. “Yeah, Steve, and you’d know that if you’d come to any of my school concerts last year.”

He looked away, sheepish, and then met her eyes again. “I’m sorry,” he told her, hoping she understood that he was being honest.

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I wasn’t good enough to get any solos or anything so you weren’t missing much. I just did it for college applications.”

“And, hey, it paid off,” Bucky said, “You got into NYU, didn’t you?”

She beamed, cheeks heating up again. Steve said, “We’re proud of you, you know.”

“Hush,” she muttered into her mug, shooing them away with her hand, not meeting their gaze.

Bucky grinned. “We’ll go out to breakfast and take you shopping to celebrate,” he offered, “You can get anything you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Too bad, we’re doing it. Now hurry up and get dressed.”

With that, they all parted to get ready. Steve and Bucky both showered after sharing the cup of coffee. Then they waited downstairs for thirty minutes, getting more impatient by the second, before she was walking down the stairs.

Steve had to keep his jaw from dropping. “What the hell is she wearing?” he growled lowly to Bucky, who elbowed him.

“Please don’t make a big deal about it,” Bucky muttered, grabbing onto his shoulder to try to ground Steve.

She was showing more skin than she would ever dare to show back in Brooklyn under the constant threat of her father. The light blue dress dipped into a V-neck and had tiny little spaghetti straps. The fluttery hem fell slightly above her knees, higher than any skirt or dress she usually would wear.

It was summery and sweet, and it made her look more grown up than Steve or Bucky had been anticipating.

“I’m ready!” she trilled, flouncing to a stop in front of them. “What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing the pained expression on Steve’s face.

“Your dress—”

“Steve,” Bucky pressed.

She frowned, looking down at it. “What’s wrong with it? I thought it was perfect.”

“It’s very nice, doll,” Bucky said, elbowing Steve again.

“It’s very… revealing,” Steve said, trying to choose his words carefully.

She sniffed. “Yeah, well. It’s hot outside.”

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky whispered to him, “She usually dresses like this on vacation, without her dad around.”

That was true. Steve knew this. Without her father with them to police her dress code, she always wore more revealing things when they vacationed. Bikinis, shorts, tank tops. Steve had never reacted like this in the past—but then he realized, she had really grown into her body in the past year or so.

Where there was once nothing, there was now soft feminine curves. Her breasts had grown more than Steve had realized, and he wondered when she started looking like a woman.

He felt conflicted. On one hand, he knew her father wouldn’t approve of the dress, and he was supposed to be keeping up her father’s rules while they were on vacation. That was his job.

On the other, the dress wasn’t really indecent by normal standards—it was just that they never usually saw so much of her legs and shoulders and décolletage. However, he had to admit that it suited her. And he found that he actually liked the dress (perhaps for nefarious reasons he wasn’t about to acknowledge). Certainly he didn’t want her to take the dress off.

Oh boy—now he was thinking about her without the dress and—

“Um—” he choked.

His face felt hot, and they were both were both looking at him like he had swallowed a bumble bee.

“It’s a nice dress,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

With that, he turned and left them, heading straight for the car.

She gave Bucky a questioning look, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “He’s crazy. Ignore him.”

He motioned for her to go in front of him, and she grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter and went. While they walked out to the car, he admired how the hem of the dress flickered around her thighs, occasionally exposing higher patches of skin.

Steve caught Bucky looking at her ass, but he didn’t say anything. When they got out of the car and walked into the diner, he definitely, 100% did not take a discreet glance, too.

They ordered a big spread of breakfast foods, all of them famished, and Steve jotted down a grocery list on a napkin while they ate. Y/N and Bucky played the game of who could eat the most pancakes, and the winner was Bucky—as usual.

Once they stopped by the market and got enough groceries to hold them over for a week at least, they went back into town and walked around a few boutiques.

“What do you think?” she asked, fingers fluttering around the pearl choker necklace wrapped around her throat. It was part of a set along with a pair of pearl earrings. Bucky had pointed out the earrings to her first, knowing she would like them—and she did, she loved them. Then she insisted she try on the necklace to see if it fit.

Bucky almost swallowed his tongue. “It—it’s—” he stuttered, before collecting himself. “It’s real nice, doll.” He hadn’t noticed the necklace before when he saw the earrings, but now it was all he could focus on.

She beamed at him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve said, approaching them with a scarf in his hands. “What do you think of this? I saw it and I thought of you.”

She took it from him, fingers running over the delicate white floral pattern adorning the sunshine yellow silk. “This is pretty,” she cooed, a small smile on her face. Steve’s eyes were flitting back and forth between the scarf in her hands and the choker on her neck.

“Not as pretty as you, doll,” Bucky said—more on instinct than anything else. Still, it made her blush, which he considered a win.

“I don’t have anything like it,” she nodded at the scarf, “I love it, Steve.”

He smiled at her before his eyes focused back on the pearls. “And that?” he gestured to her neck. His palms were a little sweaty.

She ran her fingers over the pearls, skimming along her skin. “Do you like it? Bucky showed it to me.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, then back at her. “I think you should get it.”

Soon, they were walking out of the shop with the scarf and the pearl jewelry set. As soon as they left the shop, she grinned at them both. “Thank you, Steve! Thank you Bucky!” she crooned, giving them both a kiss on the cheek.

For the rest of the day, she wore the delicate strand of pearls around her throat, tied her hair into a ponytail with the scarf, and she really did look as pretty as a picture. Steve wanted to tuck her away and never let her leave his sight.

The next day was blissfully sunny. Right after lunch, Steve had just gone upstairs for a shower, and then Y/N ran out into the backyard and said she was going swimming. After doing the dishes, Bucky walked out to the backyard and stopped dead at what he saw. There she was, sitting on one of the chaise lounge chairs, applying sunscreen to her legs. She was wearing a tiny little bikini that showed off—well—everything.

Jesus Christ, all Bucky could think was that if Obadiah knew about this, he would skin her alive.

He must have made some sort of noise, because she looked back at him, pushing her sunglasses onto the top of her head. “Hey, Buck! Wanna join me?”

“Uhh—”

“Go put on your trunks!”

His body was obeying her before his mind could catch up, and before he knew it, he had his swimming trunks on and was back outside, pulling up a chair next to her.

And then—“Can you get my back for me?”

“What?”

“I can’t reach my back,” she said, holding a bottle of sunscreen up to him. When he didn’t take it, she flourished it at him. “C’mon, Buck, I don’t wanna burn.”

Mentally slapping himself, he pulled his few remaining braincells together and jumped into motion. He only got so many chances to help pretty girls put on sun lotion—he sure as hell wasn’t going to pass it up now.

“Sure thing, doll,” he said, taking the bottle from her and sitting behind her on the chaise. He swept her hair away from her skin, his fingers brushing along her neck and shoulder. Pouring the lotion into his hands, he rubbed them together and placed his palms against her back.

As he massaged the sunscreen in, she swayed with his touch, and he realized there was something almost intimate about it that made his breath catch. The sun was beating down on them, and he was touching her slowly, sensually.

Bucky tried not to let his mind wander as his hands brushed along her shoulder blades and down her spine and to her lower back.

That was what Steve saw when he got out of the shower and started toweling off in front of the big window of his room. His window overlooked the backyard, providing him the perfect view of the two at the pool, he realized.

His mind didn’t know what to process first. There was Y/N, in the tiniest bikini he’d ever seen, breasts pushed together to reveal her enticing cleavage, stomach on display, long legs stretched out. Then there was Bucky, who was looking like a little treat himself in a tiny pair of pastel swim trunks that ended deliciously high on his muscular thighs. And there they were, Bucky’s hands splayed across her back, massaging suntan lotion into her skin.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes away from Bucky’s hands, working at her shoulders and neck, kneading into her lower back just above her bikini bottoms, long fingers wrapping around her sides and bringing sunscreen down to her hips.

And she was enjoying it, if the way her eyes fluttered closed and her head tipped back gave anything away. When his fingers brushed along her sides, meandering around to her front to graze along the dip of her pelvis, she bit her lip, knuckles white as her hands clutched her knees. Steve could see the way her chest rose and fell, and he wondered what kind of noises she was making.

Steve had a problem underneath his towel now. He wasn’t the only one, either. If Steve’s eyesight wasn’t failing, Bucky was faring no better, judging from the tent in his swim trunks.

No, Bucky was not faring better.

Her skin was so warm against his hands, and her breathing was getting heavier right along with his. She made these breathy little sighs and shivered when he hit certain sensitive spots on her back.

Finally, he paused his hands on her waist and leaned closer. “That good, doll?”

His breath drifted across the side of her neck, and she could feel the vibrations of his raspy voice in her ear. She could only nod in response, taking a moment to steady her breaths before leaning back in the lounge chair. After slipping her sunglasses back in place, she closed her eyes and tried to think of anything but Bucky’s rough hands on her back.

It proved to be a difficult task. Her skin was all lit up from his touch, her body was buzzing. She had never felt like this before, but she liked it when he touched her, and she craved more.

Almost immediately after she sat back, Bucky jumped in the pool. He swam laps to distract himself for almost a half hour until he calmed down enough—in other words, until his erection flagged.

Steve, on the other hand, had to go back to the bathroom and take care of himself before he could face either of them again.

She almost dozed off, laying there in the hot summer sun.

But then she heard Bucky getting out of the pool. Hidden behind her sunglasses, she opened her eyes to observe him. It almost happened in slow motion, and he looked practically pornographic. The way the water dripped down his toned muscles, the way he swept his soaked hair back and away from his face, the way his swimming trunks clung obscenely to his—

“Hey,” he was saying then, in front of her now, “Your face is kinda red. Did you remember to put sunscreen on it?”

“Um—uh—“ she stammered, “Yeah. I—maybe I need some more. Some more sunscreen.”

“Hey, I brought you guys some drinks!”

And then Steve was there, setting down two glasses of lemonade on the table between the chairs. He was wearing swim trunks now, too, but also a white t-shirt.

Good—she could only take so much.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Steve asked knowingly. He bit back a smirk, his eyes darting between Bucky’s chiseled torso, dripping wet still, and the way she was narrowly avoiding looking at Bucky’s chest, a blush covering her cheeks.

“Mm-hmm,” she muttered, taking a long drink of the lemonade.

“If you’re too hot, maybe you should take a dip,” Bucky suggested. “The water’s really nice.”

“Oh, I’m—I’m good. Yeah.”

And then Bucky looked back to Steve. The shared smirks on their faces said it all.

Waiting until she put down her glass, they swooped in, Bucky grabbing her ankles, Steve grabbing her waist.

“Hey!” she squeaked, “What’re you doing?” Neither of them answered, but as they marched with her towards the pool, she began thrashing around. “No!” she shrieked, “Put me down! Don’t—”

It was too late. They tossed her into the deep end and her body hit the water with a splash, silencing her shout. She sank all the way to the bottom before swimming back up, treading water as she glared at them, her sunglasses lost to the depths of the pool.

“That wasn’t funny,” she said in response to their raucous laughter. Bucky was almost crying with it.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Steve chuckled, “It was hilarious.”

“Come help me out, you big lug,” she snarked.

Steve only laughed, in too good of a mood for her insult to bother him. He crouched down and held out a hand to pull her out. When she took his hand, however, she braced her feet against the wall of the pool and tugged him back, using her feet as leverage to dive backwards and gain enough momentum to pull him in.

He fell on top of her in the water, and when they resurfaced, she was right there in front of him and laughing at the shocked look on his face.

“You think that’s funny, sweetheart?” he asked, using his best menacing voice.

But she had a knack for knowing when he was genuinely angry, so she only swam closer and got into his personal space. “Yup,” she said, smirking at him. “Pretty funny.” She booped at his nose, and he caught her wrist before she could pull away.

Then he grabbed her around the waist before looking up at Bucky. “Get in here and help me put her in her place, will ya?”

The rest of the day was spent in the pool, wrestling and splashing each other. After that, they laid out together in the sun until it set, Steve lit the fire pit, and they roasted marshmallows together until their hands were sticky.

The rest of the week was filled with similar days. They would spend their mornings in town, walking around, or walking Hermes along the beach. In the afternoons, they would play in the water at the pool or the beach, swimming together or just relaxing in the sun. Y/N and Bucky had daily competitions to see who could swim more laps the fastest—but she hadn’t been awarded a swimming scholarship for naught. Whenever she got too sassy, Steve would manage to wrestle her into the water until she was all giggles and no more snark.

They saw more of her body in that week than they had in the past fifteen years, from her tiny bikinis she’d wear to go swimming, to the flirty skirts and dresses she wore into town. Neither Steve or Bucky said anything—it’s not like her father was around to know, and they both quietly appreciated the view.

She asked Bucky or Steve to help her apply her sunscreen every day. Well, neither of them were about to turn her down. She seemed to enjoy the little massages far too much, as did the boys—this fact went undiscussed.

Between her revealing outfits and the sunscreen massages and wrestling with her in and out of the pool, both Steve and Bucky were getting more and more worked up. Peggy had been ignoring Steve all week because she was angry with him for the impromptu vacation to Martha’s Vineyard. And Bucky was—well, Bucky was used to getting laid on a more frequent basis.

When they had started this trip, starting anything with Y/N was considered overstepping in their relationship. Now, they were both fantasizing about it, even if it wasn’t an option on the table.

She had some sort of spell she caught them in. The duality of her innocence and sexiness enraptured them. Steve was upset with himself for wanting her, considering he was still dating Peggy, while Bucky was frustrated that she was so unattainable—at least, with Steve around.

Bucky didn’t want to hurt her or ruin their friendship, but if he was honest with himself, the only thing holding him back was Steve. If he was alone with her, and the moment felt right—like it had the night of her birthday—he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

She just didn’t know what was in store for her.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #dark!bucky barnes #stucky #stucky x reader #mcu #fanfiction #brooklyn’s sweetheart

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saiilorstars · 4 years

Text

The Beginning of Everything

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: Female OC x 10th Doctor

(OC Renata’s Face claim: Marjorie de Sousa) (Gabby’s face claim: Victoria Moroles)

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DISCLAIMER: This chapter’s plotline is from Doctor Who’s comic stories. Most of the dialogue is directly written from the comic. The plot is NOT mine.

Ch. 16: Between the Lies There is Truth

Chapter Summary: The Doctor takes Renata to a quaint town so they can have a talk about Renata’s past. Meanwhile, Donna and Gabby make their own trip to see an old friend.

Unlike Renata who preferred to go out and eat when she spilled a centuries-old secret, the Doctor chose to talk with Donna in the console room. He doubted Renata would be coming back anytime soon. Gabby was probably off in her own room too. It was just going to be him and Donna for the rest of the 'night'.

And starting to talk wasn't that hard, least not the part of how he and Martha ended up in 1913; the Family who was chasing him; the Chameleon arch; hiding amongst humans for 3 months. But then he got to the part where he'd met Renata. That's where it got harder.

Donna could tell it was too. He'd shifted away from her, his sentences became more like fragments with a few stutters here and there. "When did talking about Renata make you this nervous?" she ultimately asked just before he got to the part where he, as John Smith, was going in search of Renata in the nearby town with Matron Joan.

"I don't know!" he defensively said. "This wasn't me!"

"It kinda was," Donna made a face that pretty much told him he was being dramatic. "You sought her out, went looking for her in the town...all cos you wanted to see her."

"That's not true!"

"Yeah? Then what happened afterwards? Did you find her?"

"You know what, I think this story is done!"

"Oh no, spaceman!" Donna latched onto his arm before he would take off on her. "You started the story, now you finish it!" And by the hook she had on his arm, there was no getting out of it.

With a sigh, the Doctor answered in a very quiet tone, "Yes, I did. And she wasn't happy about it! Nearly shut the door in my face!"

Donna let go of his arm but only to laugh.

"It wasn't funny! She practically threw me out so I had to go looking for her in the town where there were no doors!" The Doctor then went on to explain how he'd been responsible for knocking poor Renata out in the town.

Donna may have laughed again and told him that definitely sounded like him. The dynamic between the two Time Lords may in fact be like that. The Doctor was very discouraged to continue, but Donna promised him she'd take him serious and listen from now on. So, he went on.

He told her about the journal John Smith had created, full with his actual memories. He told her about the dance he'd invited Renata to (and how she'd been practically forced to go along with it thanks to Matron Joan), the Family chasing after them, and finally the decision John had to make to save them all. Of course the ending was what got Donna.

She was completely serious then. "Doctor, you mean to tell me you fell in love with Renata?" her eyes were wide and blinking fast.

The Doctor, for his part, was fervently shaking his head. "I-I didn't - John Smith did! He fell in love with her, not me!"

Donna's eyes narrowed on the stammering Time Lord. "Then why are you so defensive about it?"

"I-I'm not!"

Donna raised one eyebrow at him.

"...am I?" the Doctor took a moment to think about things. He looked away from Donna but even when he tried to think about 1913, his mind refused. Each time he thought about it, he remembered everything he did. From the moment he met Renata to the last moment they shared.

But thankfully he had Donna to point out things for him. And she did.

"Doctor, you sought her out-"

"-he did, not me-"

"-you sketched her-"

"-lots of people do that-"

"-you asked her out on a date-"

"-well, I-"

"-and then you kissed her right before you saved the world," Donna finished with a very big smile, though there was a trace of amusement on it. "The 'go big or go home' thing took a whole other level with you. Kind of romantic, in your own alien way."

"Donna," the way the Doctor said her name was more like a plead than anything else. "I didn't...I did more harm than good, okay? And John Smith just going out there and falling in love with her was the worst mistake he ever did."

Donna folded her arms with purpose. "Doctor," she moved up to him with a hard look in her eyes, "Look me in the eyes and tell me that again. Tell me that you mean it."

The Doctor wanted to look away but he just couldn't. And it was frustrating! "I don't know! "You know what? It doesn't even matter! This isn't why I told you the story - it was to show you how I already screwed up, okay? That's what I always do - I screw up."

Donna's face softened once she realized the real point of the story. "You're guilty. You don't ask Renata questions that you want to because you're guilty about what happened in 1913. Whether it's about the deaths or her heart - hearts - you feel guilty."

The Doctor's shoulders slumped as his head hung. "With what face - what audacity - would I go and pry about her past? I can't, Donna. I just can't."

Donna rested a comforting hand on his arm. He wasn't alone in these crazy thoughts and she wanted him to know that. "I get that, I really do, but I also think you are entitled to some answers if she is living in your TARDIS."

"I stole her," he said with a sour smile. "I literally kidnapped her."

"But she still stayed, out of her own accord. She lives here because she wants to, Doctor."

The Doctor had wanted to believe that for a long time too, but there was always an inkling of doubt gnawing in the corner of his mind. Renata was so different from him, the polar opposite actually. Maybe one day she'd grow tired of the way their trips went or even himself and she'd...leave.

"Why don't you let the night pass and then tomorrow you and Renata can go out somewhere, just the two of you," Donna suggested after a few minutes of silence. "Gabby and I can take it easy here while you're out." Just as the Doctor shook his head, Donna added, "You know you want some answers, don't play stupid. Do what I'm suggesting and you'll get some answers."

"What if I push her too much?" there was a clear fear in the Doctor's eyes that made Donna sympathize with him. "And then she wants to leave?"

"She won't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because Renata is fair. If you deserve answers, then she'll give them to you." Donna seemed very sure of what she was saying. It almost let the Doctor to believe it too.

Truth was, he was still scared.

~0~

Renata hadn't slept that well. She'd tossed and turned in her bed, hoping that the world would take pity on her and let her sleep just for a few hours. This was one of the days she actually needed sleep and of course it happened on the day she'd royally screwed up. Just when she'd finally clambered onto some sleepy trance...someone knocked on her door.

That's all the sleep I'm getting, she concluded with a tired yawn. She got up from bed and sleepily walked to the door.

Of course the Doctor stood on the other side. Of course.

"Yeah?" she yawned and brought a hand up to her mouth in an attempt to cover it up.

The Doctor could tell she was incredibly tired. He'd waited as patiently as possible for a few hours of sleep to pass by before gathering courage to come up Renata's door. It didn't look like the waiting had been for anything since it was obvious she hadn't slept at all.

"Uh, I...morning?" As he said that, his expression showed even he was confused. Why would he say that? That's not what he wanted to say at all.

Renata pulled a hand over her hair. "Morning."

"We, um - well, I'd like to...have a word with you," the Doctor finally got it in one go, but now he had to anxiously waiting for Renata's reaction.

She looked nervous but not surprised. "Umm...let me just...let me get changed, okay? I'll meet you in the console room in a bit."

"Sounds good," he nodded. She quickly looked away from him and closed the door. Yeah, she definitely was avoiding him.

Inside her bedroom, Renata was beginning to panic all over again.

She went all over the room looking for something to wear, but the truth was she was making time to think of a good reason to tell the Doctor why she knew the name he had never spoken to her. After about fifteen minutes, Renata finally found the will to get dressed and leave her room. She came out in a button-up, three-quarter sleeve green blouse tucked under a long cream-colored skirt. She pressed down her long hair then took a deep breath before she started for the console room.

Of course the Doctor was nervously waiting for her there. Soon as he saw her coming in, he straightened his body but he might have shifted a few times as she came up to him.

"Where's Donna and Gabriella?" she asked first since, on her way to the room, she hadn't heard a noise. It was almost as if it was just them two again.

"They, uh...Donna asked to be dropped off at home for now," the Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. The request had come at a perfect moment since he wanted to talk with Renata and could do without the questions Gabby kept throwing his way. The girl was curious about Renata's behavior and she wanted answers.

"And Gabriella?" Renata feared for the young girl's attitude towards travelling now. After how she treated Gabby, Renata thought sje might want to leave now before things got worse.

"She's off with Donna. She's never been to England, actually," the Doctor offered Renata a small smile.

"I need to apologize to her," Renata sighed. "I am a terrible teacher."

"She was fine, honestly. You don't need to worry about her."

Renata nodded, but she didn't look very convinced. "So...where are we going, then?"

"Umm, I thought somewhere nice and calm might be good. I know you prefer that."

Renata's eyebrows raised together. "What did you have in mind?"

The Doctor just smiled. He preferred to show her.

~0~

He does listen, Renata concluded when the Doctor led her out of the TARDIS into a quaint town in France. It was far from the nearby city - which so happened to be Paris - but close for Renata to see the Eiffel Tower in the distance. As soon as she'd stepped out of the TARDIS, Renata was greeted with a peacefulness that she hadn't had in quite a while.

Not to mention the air smelled sweet. Somewhere, there was a bakery she was sure.

"1923 Sceux," the Doctor walked beside her along the short sidewalk. "Nice town, perfect for visitors just wanting to...talk." The smile on his face was soft and well-intentioned but it was still nerve-wracking for Renata. "And best of all, it is always nice and quiet here."

Renata raised her eyebrows in content. "I'm impressed. You do listen to me sometimes."

"I always listen. Sometimes you just happen to say things I disagree with."

"You mean like checking the environment before you leave the TARDIS?"

"Ah yes, that would be a big one. There's a sense of excitement when you go into the unknown."

"Not really," Renata shook her head, though there was a light smile on her face when she looked away. "Sometimes you can get into real trouble, which I'm sure you've already done before."

"Maybe so."

The Doctor led her towards a small shop on the edge of the street. Renata instantly knew this was the place responsible for the sweet smell in the air. Renata chose to sit in one of the tables outside the shop. She actually really loved the scenery and wanted to soak it up as much as she could.

"Do you like crepes?" the Doctor asked after taking a seat across the table. "They have really good crepes here."

"I've never had one," Renata made a face at the dessert.

The Doctor's mouth fell open in shock. "What!? You've never had a crepe before? How!?"

"Because it's a dessert and far too sweet for my liking," she raised one hand to wave. "I remember Joan liking them but they always had too many things in it."

"Oh, you have no idea what you're missing out on, Renata. You should have one."

"I'm curious, do either one of us have money to pay for what we want to eat here?"

There was a smug look on the Doctor's face when he reached into one of the inside pockets of his coat. He showed her (or rather waved) a couple bills in his hands. "I knew you would ask," he then said because he never carried money otherwise.

"Ah, so you really do know me," Renata looked away in embarrassment.

"Well, bits and pieces of what you tell me. But...I know there's more. You're 756, how could there not be, right?" Renata's face expressed a guilt the Doctor picked up on fast. "Oh I didn't mean you're obligated or anything, I just...I mean…"

"It's alright, Doctor," Renata cut into his panic moment. She knew he meant well - he always did. "You have questions and...I owe you some answers." It's just she didn't exactly want to give them. "Go ahead, ask away." Truth was...she was scared. She'd kept this lie going longer than she thought she'd be capable of and now telling him scared her even more. He would be angry with her, so angry. It would be a natural reaction but it was a reaction that, lately, had been keeping her up at night when she desperately wanted to sleep.

"I'm not going to pry into your past lives but...there are some things that just don't make sense," the Doctor admitted. "Specifically things around you and me. Like...how do you know so much about me?"

"Everyone knew who you were back on Gallifrey," Renata started with the technicalities of honesty. "You...did a lot of things that earned you a reputation."

"Yeah, but...certain...things about myself are things that only someone who actually knew me would know."

"Like?"

"Let's start with the fact you seemed to know, straightaway, that my inventions don't usually work. How would you know that?"

"I…" Renata knew she didn't have the right answer to that she didn't want to give away her real identity.

The Doctor waited a decent amount of time before he started coming up with his own ideas...that he shared out loud. "I mean, there's also the facts that you didn't want me around back in 1913 and it wasn't due to what I did to Gallifrey," - and just as Renata opened her mouth to retort, the Doctor added - "You told me that. You didn't even care what I did. That means you had something else against me." And the fact he still didn't know what it was, irked him. She had no reason to despise him like that if it wasn't for what he did in the war. He tried, often times, to convince himself that it really was the reason why she hated him in the beginning. But in the end, he knew that was a lie. There was something else about him that made her despise him and he wanted to know why. "And then there's the name…" his eyes seemed to bore into Renata's, making the Time Lady lose air suddenly. "A name that you shouldn't know. A name that only I, in this present world now, would ever know. Zuriah. How do you know that name?"

Renata swallowed hard. This was it. The pivotal moment that would change everything between them if she dared to answer with the truth. It was her chance to come clean; a chance to finally rid herself of the guilt she carried.

But it was also the moment she had feared for so long. Her stomach churned at the thought of his reaction, his fury. He would surely think she'd been playing him, making fun of him. All the things he told her so far about himself, some of them included things of Zuriah…

Tell him Renata.

Tell him right now!

Renata opened her mouth, bit it was incredibly dry.

Tell him and get it over with!

Do it!

Do i-

"I'm…" Renata swallowed hard, feeling something sharp at the end of her mouth. "I...knew her."

~0~

"How did you get us in here so easily?" Gabby quietly asked Donna despite being alone in an office...of UNIT. Without much struggle, Donna had gotten them into the UNIT headquarters. The place was high-tech and secure, which only led Gabby to be even more confused how they pretty much just walked in like nothing.

"Oh, we recently had a run-in with UNIT," Donna leaned against the desk behind her. "You know the ATMOS car incident?"

Gabby's eyes widened as she remembered the catastrophic event. "Yeah. Those were done by the aliens, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Donna folded her arms. "Big time. Well, the reason the Doctor and Renata even knew about it was because an old friend called them."

"An old friend? You mean, someone they know works in UNIT?" Gabby asked just a second before the office door opened.

Dr. Martha Jones walked in with a smile indicating her surprise to see Donna back. "I thought they were kidding when they said Donna Noble was requesting to see me…"

Donna smiled back at the woman. "I never kid."

"It's nice to see you again," Martha chuckled and hugged the woman. "What's it been for you? I hope not years. I'd be terribly offended."

"Nah, just 2 months."

"Good." Martha pulled away and turned her head in Gabby's direction. The young girl had been studying Martha since she'd walked in. "And this is…?"

"New companion - Renata's companion, actually," Donna gestured to Gabby who started to silently wave.

"Renata's companion?" Martha caught the words fast. Her eyes were wide, clearly stunned, but a smile slowly started making its way across Martha's face. She almost laughed even. "Really?"

"Yeah," Donna nodded then looked at Gabby. "Well, c'mon, talk! You can definitely talk!"

Gabby was well aware she was being weird again, but something about meeting a previous companion of the Doctor's and Renata's made her incredibly nervous. Donna told her they were visiting an old friend but...this woman seemed way put together. She was a doctor at UNIT. It was a bit intimidating. It meant that Renata and the Doctor made friends with important people.

"I'm Martha Jones," Martha took initiative and held out a hand to shake Gabby's.

"G-Gabby Gonzalez," the girl shook hands with Martha, but it was done in a trembling manner. "S-sorry. I-I'm sort of new and…"

"It's all still a wonder, huh?" Martha laughed, totally understanding it. She figured she must have worn Gabby's stunned face for at least the first two adventures she had with the Doctor. "Totally natural. But I'm really glad to know that Renata took on a companion. I never thought she would! You must be one hell of a girl to make her do that."

Gabby blushed. "I-I didn't think so, but..."

"You are," Martha told her again. She then moved around her desk to take a seat. "And I never thought you'd come visit me. Are Renata and the Doctor alright?" she asked in a tone that made Gabby wonder if something bad happened even before she arrived to the TARDIS. She looked at Donna and saw that the ginger had also gone a bit grim.

"They're moving on from Jenny," Donna assured Martha, "But now they're sort of having problems between them."

"Oh Donna, you have no idea how long that's been going on," Martha sighed. She presumed that Donna still didn't know about their past, so Martha would keep out the fact that Renata and the Doctor had been having problems before any of them were even born. "I assume neither of them know that you're here?"

"Yeah," nodded Donna. "I told the Doctor I was just visiting home while he and Renata went off somewhere else. Gabby hadn't seen England so the Doctor never asked."

"They're off together, then?" Martha raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile trying to spread across her face.

"Not in that sense," Donna gradually took a seat across and prompted Gabby to do the same. "Although now I'm starting to sense that type of vibe from them. I mean, I had before too but I didn't know whether to believe it or not."

"Alright, so to what do I owe this visit?"

"Honestly, we want to know more about Renata but...that Time Lady doesn't really talk, does she?"

Now Martha scrunched her face. "Yeah, not really. Took me a whole year to crack her shell but even then it was a struggle. Still is."

"We're not being nosy, we just want to know why Renata is the way she is," Donna said then glanced at Gabby. The girl would never say it so straight-forwards but she was thinking the same thing as Donna.

"It doesn't make sense," Gabby ultimately added. "There were some...things that happened to us on my first trip and...when I tried talking to Renata about them, specifically the things concerning her, she snapped. It was like I trespassed into a different world...one where I didn't belong."

Martha figured Gabby must have prodded (accidentally) into Renata's love life and elicited the wrath of the terrified, love-stricken Renata. God knew that was a side of Renata no one should have to deal with. "I'm sure Renata feels terrible about that," Martha said first. "And if she hasn't apologized then I'm sure she will in a matter of time."

"It's okay," Gabby sighed. "I don't want to anger Renata by saying the wrong words. She's my teacher but...I'd like to see her as a friend too."

"And we're in luck," Donna mused with a smirk on her face as she gestured to Martha, "Because Dr. Jones here is Renata's only friend up to date; she's the only one Renata actually confides in. Don't know how you got her to do that."

Martha playfully rolled her eyes. "It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, because you already have what we want."

"Listen, Renata is a...complicated woman. She's sort of like the Doctor: she has so many secrets because she's so old."

"She's 756," Donna remembered from her breakfast with Renata.

"She's 756!?" Gabby repeated in shock. "But she doesn't look like she'd be!" Anyone would say that Renata looked like a woman in her early thirties. Everything about her screamed elegance and classiness.

"The Doctor's 902," Martha said just to see Gabby's stunned reaction again. It was rather fun being on the other side of the conversation, especially since Gabby was much younger than her and Donna. "They're the type of aliens that don't show signs of age...except in the eyes. If you look closely into their eyes, you can see just how ancient they are."

"I...I never thought to do that," Gabby scrunched her face. "What kind of aliens are they? I've asked Renata but all she says is that she's a Time Lady. What's that even mean?"

"They're from a planet called Gallifrey, but they don't really like to talk about it," Martha explained, figuring she could help Renata by making Gabby avoid that topic altogether. "Their planet is gone. That subject is truly raw for them so...don't bring that up unless they do."

"Got it," Gabby dutifully said as if she were taking notes. And maybe she was...in her mind.

"They never really talk," Donna sighed. "I mean, I just got the Doctor to tell me about 1913 with Renata. You were there, huh, Martha? When that happened?" Martha solemnly nodded. "The Doctor's still very guilty about that, you know. It's why he allows Renata to keep her entire life bottled away from him."

"Well, Donna, she's not obligated to tell the Doctor anything about herself," Martha felt the need to point out.

"No," agreed Donna. "But there are some things that she should say. And I think she should probably start with why she hated the Doctor from the gecko. It was 1913 and Renata slammed the door in his face when he hadn't done anything to her." And the more Donna watched Martha uncomfortably shift in her chair, the more she suspected Martha knew a lot more about that incident than the poor Doctor did.

~ 0 ~

The Doctor was stunned; beyond stunned actually. Renata had just admitted to knowing the one person he had loved the most in his lives. "You...you knew Zuriah?"

Renata absolutely hated herself right now, despised herself. How could she have told him that type of lie!? When had her mind come up with that incredibly stupid answer!? She had the chance to come clean and she blew it.

Like always, she blew it.

"Y-yes…" she brought a hand to her warm forehead.

"What - and you never said!? Even when I told you her name!?" there was that hint of anger Renata feared. She could only imagine his reaction if she'd told him the straight truth.

"I-I panicked," she said. That wasn't a total lie. "You...you know how Zuriah was...what you and her...what you...were…"

"She told you," the Doctor stated, getting his confirmation from her lowered gaze. "She told you about us? How...I am very confused here. Zuriah never told anyone about us. She was embarrassed of us-"

"-no," Renata cut in sharply. She may be a liar and a terrible person but she would not allow him to ever think that about her. "She wasn't embarrassed of you. She was just aware that the relationship was a dangerous one. But she was never embarrassed of you."

The Doctor still didn't seem very convinced. "I just...I don't understand...how did you two…"

"We worked for foundations," Renata said, thinking it was the easiest (and logical) reason to give. If she was going to go with the lie then she might as well make it work. "She led her own foundation. Our paths ultimately crossed."

"And how did you two get so close enough that she would tell you about us?"

"We just clicked. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't think it would be important."

"It is," the Doctor nearly snapped. "Do you realize I have never met anyone else who knew about Zuriah? After things ended between us, it was like she disappeared. She made herself disappear."

"She regenerated," Renata bit her lip. If anything, this lie would at least allow her to divulge information that wouldn't give her up but would give some clarifications on things like these. "She regenerated a bit before she graduated. You can imagine that, after the way you two ended, she wouldn't want you to see her anymore."

"So her regeneration came as a blessing then," the Doctor shook his head with a sour smile on his face. "Right. Because I was always a nuisance."

"Don't say that," she scolded, but it just irritated him even more.

"I was! I loved Zuriah so much that I was willing to leave everything behind just for her. I asked her to run away with me, to get out of Gallifrey where it wouldn't matter if we were together...and you know what she said, right?" the sourness that covered the Doctor's face was so uncharacteristic of him, it pained Renata.

The blonde Time Lady gave a small nod of her head. Her face was guilt-ridden, but the Doctor didn't notice due to his own feelings. "She said no…" she whispered her answer.

"Yeah," the Doctor nodded. "Because, I guess, in the end...we were too different. She was a proper, high-class woman and I was just too...me."

"You were high class too," Renata pointed out.

"But I didn't act like one."

"Doctor-"

"-and I guess no matter how hard I tried making Zuriah live her best life, she just wasn't all the way convinced. And you know that. She had to have told you…"

Renata chewed on her lower lip until she felt the oozy blood on her tongue. "Doctor, just stop! If there is anything you need to be sure of is that Zuriah loved you so much! She was a scared, naive girl that should have said 'yes' but...her circumstances..." Renata couldn't say more, she just couldn't. If she started going into full details on why she had to say no to his proposition all those centuries ago, she would definitely break down. "Doctor, you have to believe me when I tell you that Zuriah loved you so much. You were always the love of her life."

~ 0 ~

"You know why Renata hated the Doctor so much, don't you?" Donna asked Martha. The UNIT employee nodded her head.

"I am so confused," Gabby admitted quietly. "I-I just got on board and suddenly there's so many secrets and backstories I-I don't know what to think or say."

"Gabby," Martha gave the young girl a kind smile, "I'm not going to lie, having Renata as your teacher is going to be a bit...complicated. She's a reclusive woman but it's not because she doesn't like you. She's just been a cautious woman all her lives that...it's become a part of her personality."

"Lives?" Gabby picked up on first. "And what do you mean she's been cautious?"

"Yeah, I'd like that explanation too actually," Donna pointed.

"It's those secrets," Martha told them both. "Renata's had them all her lives. She's learned to be cautious at a young age and she's just gotten used to it now."

"What kind of secrets could she have?" Gabby asked.

"She's 756," Martha reminded. "Her secrets may not be as dangerous as the Doctor's - because he's traveled so much - but Renata's secrets are very powerful too. They could hurt some...people...very badly."

"What - so she just carries them around like a burden?" Gabby frowned. "But that's...that's insane! She can't tell anyone!?"

Martha shook her head. "I'm afraid she chooses not to."

"But you know?"

Martha then nodded. "But I'm not the person that would alleviate those burdens."

"It's the Doctor," Donna deduced quickly. "I knew there was something going on between those two."

"Donna," Martha tilted her head, but the ginger shook her head.

"No! This just confirms one thing you know?"

Martha dreaded what Donna might come up with.

"Renata has feelings for the Doctor, doesn't she?"

Gabby's eyes were wide as could be. Was Donna really right!? She looked to Martha to see any indication of the answer…

~ 0 ~

"I never understood why Zuriah said no to me." There was a type of distance on the Doctor's face as he spoke. He was remembering the pure anger on Zuriah's face when she turned down his offer to run away. There were lots of tears in her eyes and her screams could have echoed in the building. "I mean, on some level I knew that I was, inherently, asking her to leave her family for me but...I thought she would say yes, because she loved me and...we wanted to be together above all."

Renata blinked fast to get rid of tears in her eyes. She remembered it too. The images had stayed so clear despite the centuries that passed by. She would never forget that night - it'd been the worst moment of her lives. "Family is important, Doctor. It was to her. But you know what? She loved you the most, she did it for you."

"For me?" the Doctor scoffed so harsh that Renata flinched in her seat. "She said 'no' to me...for me?"

There was one secret that she just couldn't bring herself to say, the very one that was the core reason she declined his proposition, but that one was just too painful. "I know it's terrible but trust me. Besides, there were more things in the play. If she had said yes, she would've broken an innocent man's hearts."

"But she broke mine instead," the Doctor said quietly. "She chose everything above me. But I can't fault her, can I? Because that would make me selfish. But sometimes...sometimes I think…" he sighed, "How would things have turned out if she had come with me? I would have...showed her the world. Anything she wanted, I would have given it to her. I would've told her each and every day how much I loved her. And who knows, maybe she would still be alive right now."

Renata's face softened. She couldn't help it now; her tears rolled down her cheeks. It was too late now to say the truth. She'd dug her own hole and now she would die in it. Still, her feelings pushed her to do one more thing.

She got up from her chair and moved to the Doctor's. She didn't pull up another seat but instead wrapped her arms around him for a tight hug. It was a surprise for the Doctor but he accepted it nonetheless. She always had such nice, soft, warm hugs. He'd be mad to turn one down.

~ 0 ~

"I cannot confirm nor deny that," Martha cleared her throat and pushed her desk chair forwards.

"Oh please," scoffed Donna. "You're Renata's best friend. She had to have told you that."

"Donna, it's not my secret to tell-"

"-yeah, but I know it now," Donna said with a straight-forwards face. "It makes sense. And I suppose it would make sense that doesn't want to outright tell the Doctor things about her life if it included her marriage and whatnot."

"Okay, hold on," Gabby spoke up and for the first time since they'd arrived at UNIT, she spoke not out of nervousness. "We're no one to pry into that possible love story. We only came here to figure out why Renata acted so reclusive and we got that, Donna. She just has a lot of secrets and, even though I wish we could help her...we can't force her. Least now we know to be a bit more understanding."

Martha slowly smiled at the girl. "You're going to do wonders for my Ren." Gabby took the compliment with a beam. "Would you ladies like to grab a cup of coffee before you head back?"

Gabby exchanged a glance with Donna then both nodded.

"Lead the way, Dr. Jones!"

~ 0 ~

When the Doctor and Renata finally returned for Donna and Gabby, the two women were back in Donna's home as if they'd never went in search of Martha.

"Oh, it smells kind of nice," Donna sniffed the air in the console room. "Like chocolatey…"

Renata raised a white box in her hands. "French crepe. I thought maybe you and Gabriella might like one. I tried one myself and I had to admit it was rather nice."

"Told you," the Doctor flashed her a smug smile from across the console. She rolled her eyes and looked at Donna again.

"So you two are fine, then?" the ginger asked the two aliens while slowly taking the box from Renata.

"Yeah," the Doctor was the one to answer. He gave Renata a smile that she returned. "Did us some good to be alone and talk."

Renata only wished she could have done more...but she was a full-blown coward. And one day, she was sure, it would come back to bite her. Still, it did seem to do some good talking. Least the Doctor didn't look at her with suspicion anymore. Of course now he felt free to mention Zuriah more often so that would be fun later on.

"Enjoy the crepe," the Doctor told Donna and Gabby. "They're the finest, if I say so myself."

"You probably do," Donna playfully rolled her eyes. "C'mon Gabby, let's have us a sweet snack!" She headed for the hallways, but just as Gabby was about to follow, Renata called her aside.

Needless to say Gabby was more than nervous as Renata brought her into the first door the hallway would give. "Look, I'm so sorry!" the girl blurted as soon as Renata closed the door behind her. "I shouldn't have asked so many questions about yourself! I'm really sorry! But please don't bring me back to Earth!"

"Oh Gabriella, I would never," Renata sighed. She was so responsible for screwing Gabby up so badly. "I'm the one who needs to apologize. I should have never yelled at you like that, much less threatened you like that. You should know that...that I have a very hard time getting along with people. I-I'm not that good at socializing. I don't get human social queues very well due to a lack of travelling."

"Oh," Gabby blinked. She'd learned from Martha that Renata did indeed have difficulty making friends, but she wasn't expecting Renata to confess that herself. The way Martha put it, Gabby shouldn't be expecting anything from Renata in terms of conversations.

"And you should know one more thing," Renata drew in a deep breath before confessing, "Everything I said back in the gallery - all the information I told you about the art work - wasn't coming from me. I sort of...read the Doctor's mind to know the information."

"Come again?" Gabby tilted her head. "You can read minds?"

"Not 'read minds' per say, but...we can sort of telepathically communicate and see into each other's minds. The Doctor, of course, knows all about that gallery since he was the one who visited it all the time, not me. He was the one who knew about the artwork and he...he let me see into his mind in order to make you believe that I knew the artwork." Renata sighed and awkwardly folded her arms over her chest. She was even shifting on her feet which truly surprised Gabby, because up until now she hadn't seen Renata be nervous. "The truth is, Gabriella, I can't be a teacher to you because I don't know anything. I haven't traveled much - in fact I only started a couple months ago. The Doctor should be your teacher. You should be his companion. I'm not apt for that job. I'm sorry." She couldn't face Gabby out of sheer embarrassment. Admitting you were useless wasn't something easy to do, but Renata felt she should at least do one good thing today and if it wasn't towards the Doctor then Gabby should be next.

"That's not true," Gabby's response drew Renata's gaze again. The girl didn't look very disappointed, or upset, by Renata's words. "You're wonderful. And, yeah you might not know everything but...no one does."

"The Doctor does," Renata smiled. "He'd be a great teacher."

"Okay," shrugged Gabby. "Then he could be our teacher, but I want to be your companion."

"Why?" there was an honest confusion in Renata's tone, and expression, that motivated Gabby to explain it thoroughly so that Renata wouldn't have a doubt in her mind.

"Because you're classy, you're proper and, you're an alien that still acts like...well, a human. I mean, you remind me of my Mom. You give stability and in a place like this-" Gabby gestured to the TARDIS, "-where everyday is danger and unpredictability, I really need someone to bring home back to me. And I don't mean home as my actual home on Earth but... you teaching me that my home can be anywhere. Because home isn't just where you live, it's where you feel nice and warm and...happy. And you give that to the Doctor and Donna. Plus, you see things differently than the Doctor. You're more...elegant, and you act in a way that makes me want to follow. I don't want to be you, but I'd like to be a better version of myself and I'd like my teacher to be you."

Gabby actually brought tears to Renata's eyes. "Oh Gabby," Renata pulled her into a tight hug, the action startling since Martha had warned Gabby that Renata also wasn't the touchy-type. "Thank you so much."

"Uh, no, thank you," Gabby patted Renata's back. These aliens were so strange. When they pulled apart, Gabby only had one more thing to say. "So, about what the alien said about your song…what did it mean it would end sooner?"

"I'm not sure-"

"-I think you do. Are we ever going to tell the Doctor about it?"

"No," Renata said without even a moment of thought. "I don't want him to know."

"But it sounds really important and...well, isn't that sort of a prediction about your...death? 'Your song will end sooner'. That's got to mean that you'll die earlier?"

"Gabby, it doesn't matter," Renata tried to be casual about it. "Because guess what? Even if I do die, my people are the type that when you die you just change faces and it's a done deal. I would just get a new body and move on. So we need to move on too." She offered a big smile as she headed for the door. "Now go and have that crepe with Donna. It's truly delicious. Couldn't get rid of the Doctor's smug face after I told him that. Go on."

Gabby nodded and walked out, but she wasn't able to let go of that topic like Renata wanted her to. Without even realizing, Renata had given Gabby one powerful reason not to let go. Renata had called her 'Gabby' instead of her full name. Renata vowed that she would never use nicknames in place of a person's name. She had to be nervous. She had to be scared. And why shouldn't Renata be scared?

Death was coming for her and earlier than previously thought.

#10th doctor #doctor who #ocapp #ocappreciation #dw imagines #10th doctor imagines #doctor who imagines #10th doctor imagine #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfics #10th doctor fanfics #10th doctor fics #tenth doctor fics #tenth doctor imagines #donna noble #gabby gonzalez #oc: Renata Cartwright #fic: the beginning of everything #noblecrescentedit

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ainstgirl · 6 years

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THE STRANGER AT THE BAR (2) - A REAL DATE

Summary: the reader works in a restaurant as a waitress, she has a pretty normal life until a stranger sits at the bar, they start talking and the spark goes off, both hide something, what will happen when the secrets come to light? I’m very bad with summaries, just give it a try.

Author’s Note: Some chapters will be longer than others, depending on what happens in each chapter.

Pairing(s): Chris Evans x Reader

PART 1

"what happened last night?" Mark sits on your sofa. "We went for a walk and we had an ice cream, nothing more" You sit next to him with your cup of coffee. "what are you 15?" Mark covers his face without believing it "Not a kiss or anything? I've covered your shift for nothing" He says taking your cup and taking a sip.

"What did you expect me to do with him? You know I need to meet the person before you know what..." You say blushing, Mark is very straightforward with sex while you are more shy in matters of love. "There is nothing wrong with having sex with someone you just met" Mark looks at you. "i know that, but I need to have a connection with them before you know..." you explain. "and you also need to have a good time Y/N" He gives you the cup of coffee "At least you're going to see him again?" "yes, tonight we have a real date as he calls it" You can't help but smile. "will he come here?" he says raising an eyebrow. "No, In the restaurant, I didn't want to give him my address, you know why" you say leaving the cup on the table. "and where are you going?" he asks. "I don't know" you didn't have his phone so you couldn't ask. "he treat you well last night I suppose, if you're going to go again with him, right?" he says with a worried tone. "Yes, he treat me well, don't worry" you say to reassure him. "I'm glad to hear that" he kisses you on the forehead "have a good time tonight, I'm late to pick up Martha, i'll see you tomorrow at work" "Don't make her wait, you know how angry she gets when you're late" you say. "i know..." He says winking at you before closing the door of your house.

You were nervous, you haven't had a date for a long time, when you arrived at Boston you didn't plan on going out with anyone but Mark insisted that you should go on dates but you didn't connect with anyone, but with Robert, it was different, you could see in his eyes that he was a good man.

You look in your closet without knowing what to wear, he usually goes informal but what if he wants to go to a elegant place? What should you wear? but then you realize that it doesn't matter how you dress, what matters is to be comfortable with what you wear, so you decide to wear jeans and a black shirt. It's how more comfortable you feel. When you park your car in front of the restaurant, your heart beats fast, it's been a long time since you felt nervous about a date. You were distracted texting Mark when someone knock the window of your car. "shit" you say trying to calm your heartbeat. "I'm sorry I scare you" Robert says seeing your reaction. "I just need a minute for my heart to start beating again" you say laughing. "I'm sorry, how are you?" he kisses you on the cheek. "good and you?" you can0t help but bite your lip, he looks good. "good, I was looking forward to see you" says Robert with a smile. "Where are we going to eat?" you ask him. "It's a surprise" he says opening the door of his car so that you can enter.

"Are you cold?" he asks you when he starts the car. "No, I'm fine, maybe some music?" you love listening to music in the car. "sure" When he turns on the music the first song that sounds is under the sea from the little mermaid. Robert turns off the radio quickly embarrassed, you can see how his cheeks turn red. "I...I don't know why that song came out ..." he says embarrassed. "I love that song" you say turning on the music again, and start singing the song, Robert stays looking at you with a big smile on his face until he starts singing too.

"If you are not a serial killer, why did you bring me to such a secluded place?" You say when you see the cabin. "It's one of my favorite places, wait until I turn on the lights" Robert takes your hand as he guides you down a small path "now you'll see" he connects a cable and the light is made, It's a cabin right in front of a lake, it has Christmas lights around.

"it's beautiful Robert" "It's my parents cabin" he says looking at you, and then you realize that he's still holding your hand, and how comfortable you felt. "Do you bring many girls here?" you say raising an eyebrow. "only the special ones" Robert winks at you making you laugh. "yeahh sure" "I thought that we could eat here, I think it's much better than an elegant restaurant, don’t you think?" He says taking some bags out of the trunk. "definitely" You say looking at the place, it's definitely much better. "I didn't know if you ate meat or not, so I brought a little of everything" Robert takes all the dishes out of the bags and leaves them on the terrace table overlooking the lake. "it's very thoughtful of you, This pasta looks amazing" The truth is that you were nervous for the date and you hadn't eaten anything all day and you were hungry. "let's eat before it gets cold, then I can show you around" He pushes the chair away so you can sit. "there's a lot of food here" You say seeing all the dishes. "I did not know what you liked and well, you know I have a big appetite" "yeah i know" You say remembering the other night "can I ask you a question?" you ask. "sure" he says filling his plate. "Why do you always wear a hat?" It's something that has always caught your attention, it doesn't matter if it's day or night, he always wear a hat. "i ... well It makes me feel more comfortable when I'm with people" he says. "I understand" you fill your plate "I thought you were wearing it because you didn't have hair" you add. "Would you mind if it was that?" he says looking you in the eyes. "No, I just would not want you to hide it, it's nothing to be ashamed of and have to hide it" you tell him the truth. "well" he says taking off his cap "As you can see, I'm not bald" He says leaving the hat on the table. "are you sure? I think you're missing a bit there..." you joke and he laughs "If you feel more comfortable you can put it on, I don't mind Robert" You say seriously this time. "I don't need it if i'm with you Y/N" Robert places his hand on top of yours. "The same thing happens to me, I'm very comfortable with you"

"This place must be beautiful in the daylight, be able to sunbathe on the lake, take a swim without anyone around, this place gives a lot of peace" You are sitting on the deck chairs watching the lake. "that's why I like it, in this place I feel that I can be myself without feeling the gaze of everyone on me" he explains. "Did you come a lot with your family when you were little?" "No, this was bought when we were older, but I have very good memories here with my nephews" he says smiling, probably remembering good times. "nephews? how many siblings do you have?" you ask. "well i have two sisters, Carla and Shanna and a little brother, Scott" "big family" "and you?" "no, I was an only child" you spend all night talking about everything, family, tastes of music, cinema. you don't want tonight to end.

"Do you work tomorrow?" He asks and you nod "I should take you home" "yeah, you should" you repeat. "I'll close the cabin and i'll take you to your car" You didn't want to leave, Robert is great, he's a good person, he makes you feel safe, he's hot, he's perfect, maybe too perfect. In the car you and Robert start to sing the songs, some were from Disney, some classics, pop, rock , he listens to everything apparently, your stomach hurts for laughing so much with the voices Robert uses to sing. "we are here" he says parking next to your car. "I had a great time tonight" "me too Y/N" He plays with his cap before continuing "Do you work on Thursday?" "No i'm free why?" "We could go to the cabin in the morning and swim" he was asking you on a date. "that sounds perfect" you can’t hide your smile. "good, Can I pick you up at your house so that I don't have to leave you in a parking lot after our date? It is not very romantic to say" he jokes. "Okay, I'll text you the address" you say goodbye by giving him a kiss on the cheek "good night Robert" "good night Y/N" this is the perfect time to kiss him, you know that but instead you decide to open the door of his car and get out, you want to hit yourself for it. you were about to open the door of your car when you hear Robert say your name. "Y/N, wait" he says approaching you. "what? did i forget something?" you ask confussed. "i just don't want to wait until thursday to do this" he says before kissing you. it takes a second for you to react. you get closer to him while you deepen the kiss.

"I'm glad you didn't wait" You say when you finally pull apart. He smiles before kissing you again. "I'll see you on thursday, let me know that you have arrived safely home" he kisses you one more time before you get into your car and you go home without being able to believe that he had kiss you.

Your legs were shaking when you closed the door of your house, and you couldn't take the smile off your face, it's been a long time since you feelt this way. You text Robert letting him know that you got home well, one minute later you receive a text from him "I'm glad you're already at home, thanks for tonight, good night" you're already looking forward to seeing him again.

MASTERLIST

Part 3 - A day in the lake

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #Ainstgirl

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sawyercidea · 6 years

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PSA: Because there’s just so much in this movie to dissect, this post will be in a state of perpetual editing. It’s basically my personal masterlist of interpretations and extractions from the film. This is primarily for my own organization and understanding, so it’ll be rambling and probably incoherent at times: fair warning. ( With an obvious leaning towards Veronica’s character because of who I am as a person ).

To jump in, we’ll start with my problematic fave: Shakespeare. To be kept brief because it’s fairly straightforward or bleeds into other areas of analysis. ( Also I can add more later, I’m getting the basics down now ).

MACBETH: This is the most blatant. Veronica’s character is Macbeth modernized, essentially. JD’s her Lady Macbeth, if less subtle and more coaxing in his ways of edging her into murder. The main difference is the motivation - Where Macbeth and wife sought power, Veronica and JD are more focused on the greater good of the whole rather than seeking anything major for themselves. ( In fact, Veronica actively avoids and has major anxieties over taking Heather’s position and what that might do to her ). Gender plays a major role in differences and further analysis, see that section for more. HAMLET: Hamlet’s indecisiveness and introspection are heavily seen in Veronica. Her diary entries, in my opinion, are modern extension of his soliloquies and monologues. Both are ‘haunted’ figures that struggle to make a number of major decisions and this procrastination to decide leaves their options limited and puts them in situations easily avoided. While I don’t think Waters used Hamlet as any kind of basis for the movie, the parallels are pretty undeniable. ( King Hamlet - Chandler, Claudius - Duke, McNamara - Gertrude, Ophelia - Martha, etc, etc. ). JD doesn’t particularly have a big part in the comparison ( maybe Hamlet’s ‘madness’ personified or the ghost pushing forward the idea of revenge? ). But both protagonists have a very similar internal back and forth and I apparently have a Type.

ROMEO & JULIET: Much less with this one, but Veronica and JD’s star crossed lovers trope is pretty blatant. The feud is in line with high school drama along with the theme of suicide, however the key feature of R&J in the movie would be the method of suicide. Poison is historically a woman’s method of death and a dagger would be a man’s, so where R&J flipped that trope, H.eathers reverted it again ( though both methods stem from JD ).

Next, I’ll keep brief. This section is for biblical allusions and for the time being I’ll keep it to the most obvious parallels and later on I’ll dig into the smaller details.

BIBLICAL: I mentioned it before in THIS post, but Veronica attempts to ‘punish’ herself twice in the same manner. Fire (or heat) to the center of her palm is a clear reference to Jesus’ nailed hands and his atonement for our sins. And, to add, as my friend @dinoperfecto pointed out, JD lighting his cigarette would be considered sacrilegious in and of itself. On a similar note, when JD goes to atone for his own crimes, he takes the same position as Christ on the cross and mirror JD’s actions from the car scene, Veronica lights her cigarette on that action. Also notable would be ‘our love is God’. The lines drawn from JD and Veronica to their being God or perhaps overpowering him are recurring. In a line from an early draft of the script, Veronica writes in her diary “It’s God versus my boyfriend, and God’s losing”. The teens all have their own relationships with the deity that are played out in their prayers during Heather’s funeral ( which is also just their general responses to life/death ). To track back to Hamlet, a common theme in the play is whether or not justice is man’s work or God’s, and I think that kind of plays a lot in Veronica’s inner conflict, as well. More soon, probably.

The last section is for the miscellaneous. This can stem from pop culture references and influences to societal context of the period to anything else.

CONTEXT: The movie is a direct response to the Reagan era. John Hughes films sugar coated how horrifying high school could be and teen suicide had reached the point of epidemic. A campaign to sway teens from offing themselves almost parodied the seriousness of the issue and glamorized it. ( TOPICAL, since the A.manda T.odd incident, suicide has been a hot button issue and depression and suicide are treated as romantically today as they were in the 80s ). Even with all this talk about teen suicide, the way the public treated real teenage issues as less serious or important was trivialized and written off despite it’s severity. Likewise, teen horrors were sensationalized and essentially turned into entertainment. ( See: Veronica’s nightmare and the 3D glasses ).

COLOR MOTIFS: To be written later on, pretty straightforward but I’ll go into it eventually. GENDER ROLES: Heather’s, boiled down, reads much more like a Tarantino or Kubrick thriller or action film. The roles and themes aren’t traditionally female filled. ( In fact, Veronica is often referenced as a female Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver or Narrator from Fight Club ). That all being said, the tactics used are fairly ‘feminine’ in nature. Croquet is often associated with west European court life - Scheming and backhanded while putting forward a friendly faced. The girls’ language is crass and traditionally masculine, but their shoulder pads are exaggerated. The movie very much toys with traditional expectations while also staying true to real life. More tbw.

#♔ iv. .°•.* ─ ❛ ɪ·ᴍ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ⇢ headcanons & character study.#long post //#suicide //

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 4 months

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MARTHA'S IS PRETTY ROMANTIC - CHAPTER TWO: JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

summary: a lot can happen over two days, but the stand-out event just had to be that time you went to that restaurant and discovered that you didn't really enjoy seeing tyson flirt with other people. also: who the fuck is jamie?

warnings: awkwardness, mentions of anxiety, swearing, alcohol consumption, meddling, sexual tension, jealousy (both parties), tyson kind of being a dick

word count: 9.9k

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Mat and Toni, respectively, were on a mission. Oddly enough, neither of them had actually discussed their missions, because neither one was aware of the other’s mission. Mat didn’t know what Toni had been chatting about with you, and Toni didn’t know what Mat had been talking about with Tyson on the boat the day before.

But they each had a plan.

Both involved leaving you and Tyson alone at any possible opportunity. Take now, for instance, Toni was completely set on wringing the truth out of Mat about you and Tyson – but only after she’d insisted that she and Mat have a wander around some shops by themselves. That way she could kill two birds with one stone: talk to Mat and leave you and Tyson alone. (She had every intention of talking to Mat after tea, but as soon as the door shut…)

It was how you found yourself sitting at the window of yet another cute cafe, Tyson’s hat askew on your head after he kept complaining about it itching his forehead (he’d patted you rather condescendingly on your cheek when he placed it on you), the man himself at the till ordering your breakfast. There was a gift shop opposite, and it had taken approximately three people to walk out, all bearing paper bags for the idea to come to you.

“A cappuccino with pancakes, milady.” The tray was placed in front of you, as was a glass bottle with am orchid poking out of the top, and you looked up to come face to face with a grinning Tyson, who, after sitting down opposite you, rubbed his hands excitedly, “Fuck me, I’m starving.”

Your eyes wearily scanned over the heads of people in the near vicinity, a little worried that some kid had overheard, but everyone seemed consumed in their own company – no children in sight. You sat up a little straighter.

Martha’s was pretty romantic, wasn’t it?

You swallowed, trying to clear your mind, and almost as soon as your eyes landed on the food in front of you, you felt your stomach rumble loudly, “Me too.”

Tyson nodded, mouth full of his own stack of pancakes, and you stifled a laugh at his impatience, taking a sip of the coffee.

It had been less awkward than you’d initially expected – waking up next to Tyson – considering the comments you’d so thoughtlessly said. He’d actually not even been in bed when you’d woken up, and it took you getting dressed and wandering downstairs to find him also dressed, sitting on the porch swing with a glass of juice as he watched the water peacefully.

(You would have gone back inside after finding him, had he not spotted you and patted the place next to him – but you decided the extra time with him couldn’t hurt. And anyway, you’d both mostly just sat in silence, not really having anything to say.)

It wasn’t until you’d finished eating your pancakes, both your cups of coffee half-empty that you started talking, his eyes instantly snapping to yours, “I think I’m going to get something for Mat and Toni as a thank you for letting me crash their vacation, d’you want in on it?”

Tyson nodded, “Sounds good. You got any ideas?”

You shook your head, “There’s a gift shop across the street, I thought we could start there?”

“That’s fine by me.”

You offered a small smile, wondering if you were imagining the tension as Tyson averted his eyes back out of the window.

And you also didn’t know if he noticed your lingering stares, or if he purposefully chose to ignore it altogether. In fact, you were sure you’d rather it be the former, but you weren’t exactly being subtle. It was always pretty easy to notice when someone had just looked away from you when you looked straight at them – and each time Tyson caught you, you could almost draw the look on his face as he pressed his lips together to muffle a smirk.

“You done?” Tyson leant forwards across the table, peering into your empty coffee mug.

“Yeah.” You nodded, grabbing your bag from the back of your chair, a little distracted by something as your eyes scanned every person sitting at the table.

There were flowers on each table, as well as a few candles, and above the door were more flowers, and everything seemed to be a shade of pastel. The entire cafe seemed…lovey. Ribbons were wrapped around the cakes, and when you thought about it, even your pancake had a heart drawn out in whipped cream.

You hadn’t noticed you weren’t paying full attention to your surroundings until Tyson’s hand shot out to move a chair out of your way, knuckles protecting your leg from an inevitable bruise.

“Are you okay?” He mumbled, and you met his eyes, nodding a little overwhelmed.

His eyes were flickering across your face, no trace of a smile on his lips as he opened his mouth again. You waited for him to say something, but instead he stayed put and silent. It wasn’t until he raised his brows, more out of concern than amusement, that you remembered he’d asked you a question and you hadn’t answered.

“I’m fine.” You said weakly, flashing a tight smile.

He clearly didn’t buy it, but he nodded and continued the winding journey around the tables to get to the door, you at his heels, where he held the door open for you.

It was almost a relief to see the pavement and breathe in non-baked-treat air. It seemed to calm your raging mind – from where that little thing had come from, you didn’t quite know, but it was weird.

It wasn’t until Tyson was stepping up next to you, a strange look on his face that you realised quite what it was.

It was panic.

What for?

You didn’t quite know.

“You sure you’re good?” He asked, “You look a bit shaken up.”

“I’m fine, I just didn’t realise how…cutesy everything was here.”

He tilted his head, “What do you mean?”

You swallowed, looking right to avoid his stare. It felt insignificant and a little embarrassing to be admitting it out loud, but this was Tyson.

You’d passed him neon dino undies last night.

“Martha’s is pretty romantic, you were right.” You mumbled, crossing your arms protectively.

His face didn’t waver one bit, and you were glad, “Thought you said you weren’t allergic to romance?”

Your shoulders shrugged before you could stop it, “I wouldn’t really know.”

Tyson swallowed, a little confused by your words. You still looked distracted, eyes bouncing everywhere, cheeks a little red. If he didn’t know better, he’d have assumed you were about to bolt back to the house, but you stayed cemented to the concrete beneath your shoes, completely unmoving.

And he was about to inquire as to what you meant by that, because his mind was running around pretty quickly.

You wouldn’t know if you were allergic to romance? He had some serious questions, and if his hunch was right, he was about to get pretty pissed with some specific people that you—

Your eyes had settled. They were still moving, but the motion was less hectic and stressed. He followed your gaze, mouth parting at what you were looking at. It was an elderly couple walking down the other side of the street, hands clasped together, and bright smiles plastered on their faces as they conversed with each other.

Oh.

“You…” He started, trailing off. If he was being honest, he wasn’t quite sure where to start that conversation, or if he should start it.

But he knew what you were trying to say.

You turned to him, brow raised and a sigh leaving your mouth, “The gift shop?”

He just nodded.

***

You and Tyson were the first ones back at the house, feet sore and legs a little achy, immediately seeking out the comfort of the soft sofa cushions, deep sighs of satisfaction released from your very souls. Neither of you said a word to each other as Tyson took one end of the sofa and you took the other, feet stretched and overlapping in the centre, eyes glued to the TV screen.

There were much better views to be had in the house alone; the porch swing you’d both sat at earlier was wonderful, but once you’d walked through the front door, all of that logic had just vanished the moment the sofa was in your eyeline. It was comfy – much too comfy to even consider the thought of having to haul yourself up and walk back outside.

By the time the front door opened and the sound of Mat and Toni’s voices travelled through the corridor, Tyson was asleep, head resting uncomfortably on his shoulder, and you were blinking sleepily, the bags by the side of the sofa just out of reach.

“Oh, they’re here–”

You widened your eyes, a finger pressed to your lips as you pointed at Tyson’s sleeping form. His arms were folded against his chest, and it took Mat to lean over his head to see his closed eyes for him to believe you. He pulled a shocked face, disappearing into the hall where Toni was lining up their own bags at the bottom of the stairs, and dragged her out into the living room to laugh at Tyson.

“He’s gonna be so sore when he wakes up.” Mat whispered, once again eyeing Tyson’s positioning, “What did you do to him?”

You shrugged, “Nothing, we just walked around all day. We actually got you guys something, but I’d wait until he wakes up first.”

Toni silently cooed, a hand over her heart as she rounded the sofa to get a look at Tyson, “How long has he been asleep?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“Can I get a photo of you two?” Toni asked, already pulling out her phone, and you hesitated, eyes drifting to the way Tyson’s curls seemed to hang over his eyes with the low angle of his head.

He looked kind of adorable, actually. It wasn’t until Toni was encouraging you to look at the camera that you realised it was the first time you’d actually seen him asleep – he’d woken up earlier than you in the morning, and you’d both slept back-to-back in bed, limbs almost hanging off the edges because you were both too conscious of accidentally touching each other.

In fact, now that you were thinking about it, you weren’t sure he even slept a full eight hours. You’d both gone to bed pretty late, and he’d woken up early – you thought at the time the puffy-eyes were because he’d only just woken up, but now you were looking at him so completely out of it, that it had you wondering if he actually got any sleep at all.

You smiled as best as you could, though after Toni had lowered her phone, it dropped instantly. Mat fidgeted from the doorway, bringing bags of groceries through into the kitchen and shooting you a questioning glance.

“Should we wake him up?” He asked, wandering back into the living room, something else hidden in his eyes. It felt like you were missing something, but you weren’t well-versed enough in the ‘looks’ of Mr Barzal to catch onto what he was trying to ask.

You shook your head, “I don’t know if he slept properly last night. He went to sleep after me and he’d been out of bed a while by the time I went downstairs.”

“When did you wake up?”

“Eight-ish.”

Mat nodded, swallowing, before nodding, “Leave him until we’ve done dinner.”

You agreed, your attention going back to the TV until Mat and Toni had left the room. Then you turned to Tyson, where his feet were by your head, him pressed into the back of the sofa and you on the edge. If you moved or got out, you weren’t sure if he’d wake up at the lack of warmth, or if he’d be disturbed by the sofa dipping.

So you decided to stay put until Mat and Toni started cooking. Then, and very carefully, you peeled yourself off the cushions, cringing everytime Tyson seemed to twitch or move in his sleep – which was more or less successful, especially when you dared to risk putting a cushion between his head and shoulder, attempting to alleviate the inevitable neck cramp he’d experience when he’d wake up later.

And even though none of you were trying to be quiet, pottering around in the kitchen or conversing (the TV was also still on), Tyson still didn’t wake up. In fact, he seemed to slip further from the arm of the sofa until he was laid horizontally on the cushions, rolling over at one point to face the back.

It would have been endearing if you weren’t so worried about him.

And even after all the food had been cooked, and even after you’d filled him a plate up, not even the smell could wake him up.

“You gonna wake him up? Yeah, thanks.” It was Mat, escaping quickly out of the back door and joining Toni on the patio, leaving you alone in the kitchen, your sole focus still glued on the curly haired brunette curled up.

For some reason you’d expected Tyson to snore.

You stood at the front of the sofa, arms crossed. Waking people up was always a tricky thing to do, especially because it was always strangers you had to rouse; people were fussy and mardy about being woken up, but some people were impossible.

And you had a feeling Tyson belonged in the latter group, with the way he’d slept through the noise and commotion.

“Tys?” You asked, rather awkwardly trying to avoid touching him.

Nothing.

You sighed, reaching down to his jean-clad knee and shaking it. When that didn’t work, you contemplated tickling his feet, but the risk of getting kicked in the face was a little off-putting, and then you found yourself poking his cheek. Judging by the warmth radiating off him, you gathered he was pretty snug.

You threw a cautious glance over your shoulder, checking to ensure no one was watching through the window into the back garden, before kneeling down in front of the sofa, by Tyson’s head, and – rather nervously – reaching a hand into his hair. If nothing else worked, head or back scratches were always a pretty good shot.

“Tyson?” You murmured, nails gently scratching his scalp (his hair was softer than you’d imagined), and getting caught in his curls.

It took you using your other hand to flick his earlobe for a sign of life: he hummed, rolling onto his back and simultaneously forcing your hands off him. His eyes were still shut, face half-screwed up, and you held back a small laugh at his sleepy state.

“Tys,” you started, voice soft, “dinner’s ready.”

He slowly blinked awake, eyes immediately squinting at the lights above, before yawning and rolling his head towards you and scratching the beginnings of his facial hair on his chin, clearly a little confused.

“What?” He mumbled, a crease between his brows as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Dinner. We’re eating outside.” You stood, pointing to the back door, where you knew he’d be able to see the outside lights from where he was laying.

“Already?” He asked, swinging his legs over the side and lifting his bare wrist up to his face, “What time is it?”

“Six.”

His eyes widened, and he stood up next to you, stretching and groaning at the relief in his joints. A rough palm cupped the side of his neck and he frowned at the dull ache, “How come no one woke me up?”

“We weren’t sure how much sleep you got.” You said, a little uncertain.

He nodded, though, but didn’t say anything else on the matter, “It takes a day or two for me to be able to sleep in a bed that’s not mine.”

You nodded, your gaze sympathetic as you led him to the back door, where Mat and Toni were sitting at the outside table opposite each other, drinks in hand and pasta bowls full, two empty seats next to them. When Tyson followed behind you, Mat cheered and Toni made a joke, but Tyson only shrugged, taking the seat opposite you, immediately digging into his food.

You snuck glances at him throughout the meal, noticing he had a little more colour than earlier – which wasn’t something you immediately noticed – and that the bags under his eyes looked less severe. Letting him sleep had clearly been the right idea.

“Right.” Mat clapped his hands together, before pointing to the conservatory behind Tyson and Toni, “Pool tournament anyone?”

You froze, mid-sip of your G&T, a pebble of dread settling in your stomach. Automatically, your eyes flickered to Tyson opposite, hoping he’d provide you with some reaction, but he was looking straight at Mat, a competitive gleam in his eye as he grinned, “I’m down. What’re the teams?”

And because you were still looking at Tyson over the top of your glass, admiring his almost childlike excitement, you missed the look Toni shared with Mat.

“Me and Tyson?” Toni spoke up, twirling with her earring as her attention focused on you.

In fact, after you’d swallowed another mouthful of your drink, all three pairs of eyes were on you, and you hastily turned to Mat, finding yourself nodding before you could even dare to protest.

You’d expected Mat to go with Toni considering their relationship and all, but you were probably in pretty secure hands if Mat was your teammate too (besides, you got the impression he’d probably be a little more honest with you than Tyson).

It was how you found yourself in the conservatory thirty-seven minutes later, holding a pool cue and dreading your turn.

You hadn’t played pool in ages, and your skill wasn’t that great then, so you’d prepared yourself for a game of failure and maybe a little embarrassment, but the alcohol would hopefully give you the confidence to embrace that fact.

Only, it seemed you didn’t have to worry too much about your ability, because everyone else was a little too inebriated to concentrate on hitting the ball accurately, and by the time it got to your turn, the only thing you couldn’t play off as the alcohol was actually holding the cue in your hands. You placed a hand on the table, mindful of the nearby balls, and lifted your palm onto your fingertips, slotting the cue between the crevice of your thumb and pointer finger.

Now for the aim: you looked down the cue, lining it up with the cue ball, which was also straight on and in line with a solid ball. If you slammed the cue ball into the solid ball, you’d knock it against the side and…more or less near a pocket.

In your peripherals you could hear Mat and Toni muttering to each other, shoulder to shoulder – clearly no love lost even despite the competition – and you inhaled, steadying your hands, before pulling the cue back and smacking the cue ball; only your angle was a little off, and the ball landed…just shy of the pocket.

You stood up, unable to help beaming to yourself. It wasn’t as bad as you’d initially predicted.

“Boom.” Mat stepped forward, knuckles bumping against yours in celebration.

“You can do the next one.” You mumbled, taking a step towards the shelf on the wall and drinking a mouthful of your drink.

When you turned back around, the first thing you saw was Tyson. He was standing on the opposite side of the table, both hands clasping his cue, and his eyes were trained on you. He caught your stare, pointedly glancing back at the table before mouthing ‘you’re going down, fucker’.

You stifled a grin, and if it were months earlier, you’d have probably teased back something along the lines of ‘on who, you?’, but this was now, and something had admittedly changed the entire dynamic of your friendship – probably for the worse, because as much as you tried to deny it, with all the odd tense moments, there was something beginning to nag at the back of your mind that nothing good could come of it, and you were downright petrified of even the thought of not having Tyson in your life.

So you stuck your middle fingers up at him in playful competitiveness, a dead serious look on your face, ‘in your fucking dreams’.

The smirk and adamant shake of his head in response did nothing to change the fact that you and Mat absolutely thrashed Tyson and Toni. So much so that Tyson pushed you into the pool after teasing him too much, though not before you could grab his shirt and pull him in after you.

You both went to bed with aching cheeks after that.

***

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you looked up at the owner of the shadow that had darkened the printed words in your book significantly – not that you needed to look at him; you would have recognised his voice through a fucking whisper – and faced an extremely familiar silhouette, blocking your strip of sun on the lounger. His chest was heaving a little and his entire upper body seemed to be glistening with sweat, even to the edge of his curls as they caught the sunlight, and he stood before you with his hands on his hips, looking undeniably and frustratingly attractive, “where were you this morning?”

You blinked, finding some semblance of safety and solace behind the dark lenses of your sunglasses, eyes secretly roaming…everywhere. You weren’t aware of the phenomenon of someone getting unbearably more attractive by the day, but you were absolutely certain the person standing in front of you was experiencing it in real-time.

Like the day before, you’d woken up by yourself in bed. The sting of disappointment was still there, but you’d managed to get yourself used to it; your expectations were lower and a part of you seemed to acknowledge the fact that his hockey schedule had his internal clock waking up about two hours earlier than you. According to Toni, the same went for Mat, too.

His broad shoulder shrugged, “I went to the gym with Mat and then we both went on a run for a bit. Why, d’you miss me?”

“I just haven’t seen you before ten in the morning, yet.” You excused, moving your hand to shield yourself from the onslaught of the sun – to say it was late morning and the back garden at the house Mat had rented was facing away from the sun, it wasn’t half blazing.

Tyson raised his brows, his cheeks still a little red from the exercise, “You mean you want to see me before ten?”

In truth, somehow you felt as though things between you and Tyson had eased a little – despite the fact this was the first time you were even interacting with the man since last night; something had just been sorted. It felt as though a squeaky joint had been oiled, though you felt partially that it was the buffer of one day separating you from the awkward comment you’d made about dressing him.

Nevertheless, you welcomed the previous ease with a smile and a fluttering heart. After all, he was standing in front of you perfectly tanned and sweaty and with a glorious smile on his face as he looked straight at you. There wasn’t really anything you could complain about.

“I mean,” you started, “I’d like to at least wake up with you in bed.”

He swallowed, “Oh, really?”

“It’d make me feel less like a lazy-ass.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No.” For some reason, you were gripped by a sense of boldness that had never really shown itself, “I bet you look cute in your PJ’s.”

Even in the ensuing silence you didn’t take your eyes off of him. It felt like a pointless exercise at this point.

Except, what he answered next seemed to just blow your mind into smithereens.

“I only wear boxers.”

The shorts he’d gone jogging in weren’t all that long compared to the usual sports attire you’d seen him in and the tease of imagining him in only boxers – like the night you’d made that god-awful comment – sent your mind spiralling and your cheeks heating in misplaced anticipation. You knew he looked good in boxers; anything that highlighted the bulk of his thighs and the muscles in his chest and abs seemed to do the job, and knowing that each night so far he’d been sleeping in so little couldn’t help but render you into speechlessness.

Still, you feigned indifference, “I stand by what I just said.”

“I wear a PJ-based outfit nearly everyday,” he excused, swiping a hand across his face, “I’m gonna go shower and then I’ll come back out. Where’s Mat and Toni?”

“Toni’s wandering around and Mat’s in the shower I think.”

“In that case, I’ll be back down soon.”

“‘Kay.”

And Tyson remained true to his promise, returning not even ten minutes later wearing a pair of swimming trunks and a smile as he plopped down on the empty bed next to you, a bottle of sunscreen in his hand. Your eyes remained loyally on the book in your hands, even as he began lathering himself in sunscreen, his skin almost shimmering in the glint of the sunlight.

At least, you didn’t look until his struggle became a little obvious.

“Do you think you could get my back? Please?” He asked, twisting from where he was sitting, the bottle still in his hand but within reachable distance.

In all honesty, you never even had the thought to say no. Why would you?

“Sure.” You tucked your bookmark into the crease of your book, placing it on the bed before swinging your legs over the side of the lounger, choosing to spray the suncream onto the palms of your hands first instead of straight onto his back.

It was no secret that Tyson, along with the general hockey population, had broad shoulders. It was hard to miss; sometimes the seams on his t-shirts stretched a little too much for comfort, or sometimes the seams just simply weren’t aligned with the angles and joints of his shoulders. It wasn’t something you hadn’t noticed before, but it was a whole other thing to experience when your hands were touching him.

He was warm, and his skin was deliciously soft.

It was actually the first time you’d ever touched him skin-to-skin, and he seemed to remember that fact entirely when he shivered, bending his head to his feet to hide the planes of his face from your suspicious eyes. Only, once you’d touched him, it seemed to leave an uncomfortable tingling in your palms.

“Hang on, I think I missed a spot.” You mumbled, squirting some more lotion into your hands.

The relief seemed to kick in when your hands were back on his skin once more, and the confusion of that realisation seemed to send your heart hammering so forcefully against your ribs that it was almost painful.

Tyson’s back was so covered in suncream by the end of it, you’d be shocked if he even got any tanning done in the first place.

He cleared his throat when you clicked the lid back on the bottle, but when he turned back around, there was a little extra something in his eyes when he looked at you. His eyes usually were softer with you, but there was something else hidden in the depths of the dark pools; something you couldn’t quite translate, because you’d never exactly seen that specific kind of look directed at you.

Ever.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the immediate and instantaneous flush of your cheeks as you ducked your head, tucking some hair behind your ear just to give your hands something else to do to distract yourself from the dissatisfaction at not touching him still.

You thought the idea of losing Tyson was the most terrifying thing you’d ever imagined, but it was nothing compared to the devastation you could experience if it meant you’d never be able to do…that.

And that seemed to send you spiralling a little.

Until, of course, he intervened.

“Do you want me to do your back?” He posed, an empty hand held out.

You nodded, swinging your legs over the other side of the lounger. If anything it gave you time to stall and reorganise your own face so that when you inevitably looked at him again, you’d at least appear somewhat normal.

This is what Tyson had meant when he’d told Mat your relationship was complicated.

His hands were like an antidote to the thoughts swirling in your mind, and for a brief moment, everything went silent. He took his time, hands even smoothing under the strap of your bikini, yet not straying into disrespectful territory. You wondered if he was having the same internal monologue as you, but even though you tried to ignore it, there was a small part of you wondering if this was something he had come to terms with a while ago – especially if he’d told that to Mat so long ago.

Nothing seemed to quieten your mind when, not even five minutes later, you turned back to your book. Your eyes were skimming pointlessly over the words, but nothing was quite registering, the main voice heard being the one in your mind, practically screaming mindless and senseless theories at you whilst Tyson laid peacefully next to you.

***

The rest of the day seemed to go by like someone had held in a fast-forward button: nothing but a blur of light and colours or a cacophony of sound. You knew nothing extensively productive had been done; mostly just relaxing by the beach and pool respectively, trying to recuperate the energy everyone had burnt and spent yesterday.

And naturally, after a full day of lounging around, you’d all pretty much agreed dinner out was the best way to go: you’d yet to go to a local restaurant, and no one could really be bothered actually cooking after the barbeque yesterday (there was also the washing up, and absolutely no one was willing to stick their hands in a scalding tub of water in this hot weather).

It took about ten minutes to decide on which restaurant to choose that’d cater to everyone’s tastes, and you were pretty glad at how it had turned out. The place wasn’t too busy, and by the time you’d all sat down at the table and already managed to work your way through two rounds of drinks, the role of ordering the next round had miraculously fallen to you.

It was how you found yourself leaning against a sticky bartop, forearms aching slightly at the pressure of leaning against the wood. The drinks you’d had so far hadn’t kicked in yet or provided you with some relief to get away from Tyson’s burning gaze and dim the sharp awareness you seemed to have developed in the last twenty-four hours, but even so, you didn’t notice the figure next to you until he’d shuffled close enough for you to smell his cologne and feel the material of his shirt against your bare upper arm.

“Woah.” You muttered, taking a sidestep to avoid getting shoved into.

Luckily, the guy didn’t follow your movements, but when you turned to see what had happened, he was wearing a friendly smile and holding his hand out for you to shake – not only was it a little creepy, probably trouble, but it was entirely inconvenient considering the fact that you could still feel Tyson’s searing stare on you from the other side of the room.

Your skin prickled with it, and you felt kind of glad you’d been told to get the next round because at least it was an excuse to get some fresh air without feeling so on edge all the time (and it wasn’t even like Tyson had done anything – that was all you, which made it all the more difficult to deal with).

“Sorry, I tried getting your attention but I don’t think you heard me.” The man explained politely, his hand still suspended between you both, “I’m Jamie.”

You tilted your head, taking him in. There was something about him that was vaguely familiar, like you’d either met him before or he just had one of those annoying faces that reminded you of someone you couldn’t put your finger on; he had thick blonde hair that curled under his ears and seemed to fall in layers on the top of his head, and very clear sea-green eyes. There was a rugged handsomeness about him, and whilst you pasted a polite smile on your face, you shook his hand.

And almost as soon as you made the move to do so, his face seemed to crumple as his brows furrowed and his lips parted – all attempts at possibly flirting flying right out of his head.

“Do I know you?”

“Have we met before?”

You spoke at the same time, both now wearing equal expressions of confusion, and unable to help laughing a little awkwardly, minds racing.

You introduced yourself, wondering if your name might ring a bell, but he shook his head, the creases on his forehead deepening.

“Nothing.” He said, “I do know you, though.”

It was a blunt thing to say to a stranger, and if it weren’t for the way your brain seemed to also be spinning you’d have probably run the opposite way, but you felt glued to the spot. It was like your brain wouldn’t let you move until you figured out just what significance Jamie had in your life.

“Where did you grow up?” He asked, tapping his fingers against the bartop, his eyes momentarily leaving you to flicker to the front of the line.

No one had budged: there was only one bartender, and apparently everyone ahead of you in the queue had also been designated to buy the next round and was ordering drinks for their groups, because each person was taking a while to be served.

“Minnesota.” You answered, “You?”

This was fucking weird.

“Fort Mac. College?”

“Penn State.”

“UBC.” He sighed, scratching the scruff on his chin and letting out a sound that was somewhere between a frustrated huff and a psychotic cackle.

It made you smile a little.

“Where do you live now, if you don’t mind me asking?” You asked, raising a brow.

He could be a friend’s ex? Or an old work colleague? A family friend? A neighbour?

Jamie swung his gaze back to you, and there was a flicker of something that seemed to click in your mind. A fragment of a memory – it was a split second of a frame of something, but the face in it was younger: his cheeks were a little fuller and he didn’t have any facial hair.

But before you could grasp onto it, the flicker of recognition seemed to dissipate completely, leaving you just as clueless as before.

“Fuck.” You groaned, “I thought I had it, then.”

Jamie laughed, it was a deep, gravelly sound that seemed to resonate in your bones, and from where you’d put your hand against your head in frustration, you turned to him.

He was actually quite pretty for a man. It was a realisation, sure, but with that also came the knowledge that when you thought that thought, you felt…nothing. There was nothing.

Oh no.

You swallowed, risking a glance back at your table to see Tyson chatting to Toni about something, and almost instantly the symptoms seemed to kick in: your hands got clammy and your pulse picked up. Your eyes caught Mat over all the customers, and he flashed a concerned thumbs up, clearly hinting at Jamie, and you offered a smile, repeating his action, before turning back to the man at hand.

You must really like Tyson.

Like a lot.

You cleared your throat, trying to distract yourself from the way your thoughts seemed to take a spiral down and remove you from your present being, but before you could even conjure up something to say, Jamie had gasped – as far as a man of his stature could do such a thing.

“I know.” He stuttered, pointing a finger at you with a wild look in his eyes, “I live in Vancouver right now, but you live in Buffalo, right?” He asked, talking quickly as though he was afraid he’d lose his train of thought mid sentence.

All you could do was nod.

“We met before at a hockey game in Vancouver, it was against Buffalo, and you were in the drinks line with a friend and you guys overheard me tell my buddy about something–”

Tyson felt off – only he knew the sole reason for the off-feeling and also knew what the off-feeling was: it didn’t take much guessing or analysing on his behalf. All he had to do was sneak a glance at you out of the corner of his eye (Toni was still talking to him, but every so often he felt like his eyes were just pulled in your general vicinity), and the reason for the prickle of his jealousy was staring right back at him.

There was a guy talking to you. Tyson wouldn’t have minded at all if it didn’t look like you two knew each other, or the fact that as the line grew shorter your conversation seemed to get more animated. You’d been laughing, the guy had been laughing, and Tyson wasn’t unaware of the fact that he was attractive.

No, that was a fact he was painfully aware of.

And he knew the whole jealous thing wasn’t necessarily a possessive spirit, because instead of feeling the need to walk over and interrupt, all he felt was a vague swell of panic that had been slowly building under his sternum and had spread out across his ribs. He felt his heart rate pick up and his mind disconnect itself from Toni’s conversation (she wa a little tipsier than everyone else, and Mat was involved in the conversation too, so he assumed Toni wouldn’t be able to pick up on his lack of presence), and he had to swallow the rising lump in his throat.

He’d never been affected by you like that before, and a part of him knew it was because whenever you two would see each other outside of hockey fixtures, it’d just be the two of you, which meant he was blissfully unaware of other people’s intentions with you. In fact, when he thought about it, he didn’t think he could ever remember feeling threatened by someone else that could hurt his chances with you – although at the time he hadn’t had any kind of hope that you’d reciprocated his buried feelings, so things were a little different.

Even so, he still wasn’t sure about how you felt, and he was far too much of a chicken to outright ask you.

Something drove against his shin under the table, pulling him out of his thoughts. He turned straight to Mat, who was shooting him a pointed glare and subtly nodding his head in Toni’s direction and Tyson had the horrid feeling as though he’d just been caught ignoring her.

He cleared his throat, turning to Toni with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Toni took a sip of her drink, trying to hide the knowing smile on her face. Tyson might have unintentionally not heard what she’d said, but one glance at his eyeline gave her all the answers she could ever need, and for that, she rather found Tyson getting distracted amusing (even if she repeatedly said his name to get his attention – Tyson could do little wrong in her eyes, ever).

“I was asking if you had any ideas on what we could do tomorrow?” Toni repeated gently.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Tyson was thinking, but his mind was blank. All he could picture was the word and Toni’s face as she waited patiently for an answer.

He cleared his throat, “I don’t know, what’re you guys thinking?”

“We were thinking we all do our own thing and then have a movie night?” Mat proposed, shrugging as he kept one arm over the back of your empty chair. And like there was some magnetic pull towards you, Tyson flickered his attention over to you.

He wished he hadn’t.

The guy was scribbling something down on a piece of paper, and you took it from him with a smile.

Tyson ducked his head, staring into the bottom of his empty beer glass, a little despondent, “Yeah, that sounds fine by me.” He mumbled, completely missing the shared look between Mat and Toni.

“You okay, Tys?” Mat asked, and though he was somewhat amused by his friend’s lovesick symptoms, he was equally as concerned for his quietness. Tyson wasn’t usually so silent; most of the time he was always engaged in some kind of enthusiastic conversation – and it was pretty rare that he wasn’t smiling.

He just nodded, changing the subject, “Why don’t you guys use those spa vouchers we got you for tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Toni hummed, looking at Mat, “That sounds like a nice idea.”

“Yeah, we can do that.” Mat agreed.

“Sorry it took so long, the queue was pretty slow.” You retook your seat, the previous conversation coming to an abrupt end – causing you to raise a curious brow.

Your eyes swept right over Mat and Toni, both of whom eagerly took their drinks off the tray muttering their thank you’s, and came to rest on Tyson. He took his drink all the same, but there was a weight and heaviness on his face – it looked like concentration with the way his mouth had twisted to one side, but he hadn’t even acknowledged your presence.

“Is everything okay?” You directed the question to the group, but your eyes slipped unintentionally to Tyson, who shrugged.

“Yeah, we were just talking about tomorrow. Mat and I are gonna use those spa vouchers you got us.” Toni explained, and you nodded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

And with that, the conversation started flowing again – but your attention was still somewhat tied to Tyson, who still hadn’t said anything.

You tried to get his attention by sneaking unsubtle glances at him in the hopes he’d look back, but it worked to no avail.

“I need the bathroom.” He excused himself quickly, not making eye contact with anyone at the table before he’d turned on his heel to make his way to the bathroom. There was a patterned divider screen paving the short corridor before his figure completely disappeared from view as the door shut behind him.

When you turned back to Toni and Mat, the question of whether he was alright or not died on your tongue at the way they were both looking at you.

“What?” You questioned, your hand immediately going to rest against the cool glass of your drink.

They were both looking at you with identical expressions of something on their faces, but you couldn’t quite place the meaning of it.

It was Mat who took the liberty of answering your question, “He saw you talking to that guy at the bar.”

Oh.

“So?”

Toni laughed softly, “So he got jealous.”

You felt yourself pull a face at her words, almost scoffing in disbelief, but no words came to mind.

“You two did look pretty cosy.” Toni continued, arching a brow in your direction as she elegantly took a sip of wine, peering at you over the top of her glass.

“We weren’t flirting.” You excused, shaking your head as your eyes went back to the divider near the bathroom.

“Josty didn’t know that.” Mat said, “But he did see you guys laughing–”

“And he saw the piece of paper he gave you.”

“There was a piece of paper?” Mat’s eyes widened, before he winced, “Ouch.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes, “His name is Jamie and we met a few months ago at a Buffalo-Vancouver game and he gave me his number, yeah, but it was because he mentioned his company had a position in his Buffalo office–”

“He offered you a job?” Mat tilted his head in your direction, shock clearly written across his features.

You shook your head, “He told me about a job; it pays better than my current one and it doesn’t involve a fifty-minute commute. I think I’d be pretty crazy not to consider it.”

They were both silent.

“So he really wasn’t flirting?” Mat double-checked, and you sighed, a little frustrated.

“He tried to, but I told him I wasn’t interested.”

“Why?” Toni shot back, interest in her eyes.

You huffed, and maybe if you weren’t already a little tipsy, you’d have said something about not knowing why, but the alcohol currently in your system as well as the sips you’d taken from your new round made you a little less self-conscious of being honest…at least to a certain extent, “Because he’s not my type.” You shrugged.

“And your type is what, exactly?”

And then you went silent. The hand clasped around your glass seemed to react before you could register what you were doing, but you raised the glass and took a mouthful.

Mat, however, seemed to have the opposite reaction. He slumped comfortably in his chair, a lazy smirk on his lips, “Your type is Tyson.”

And if you were being honest, the thing that stung you most wasn’t necessarily the truth: that perhaps the pinnacle of ‘your type’ was Tyson after all, but the fact that other people had caught on. You weren’t entirely aware your recent not-so-subtle crush on Tyson had been obvious – mostly considering it was a realisation that you’d come to within the last few days.

“Come on, you guys have liked each other for months–”

What. The. Fuck.

“What the fuck.” You breathed, unable to help the comment slip out of your mouth in shock, “No.”

Mat frowned, his brows knitting together as he shook his head in your direction, an adamant expression on his face as he seeked out Toni for reassurance, “Yes.”

You inhaled sharply, hand now pressed against the table, “No, I didn’t figure that out until literally two days ago. I’m only now realising that I’ve been crushing on him this entire time. Some fucking denial…”

Once more, a shroud of silence seemed to envelope the entire table. Mat remained frozen, crazy eyes fixated on you (not that you blamed him, you weren’t entirely sure you weren’t making this entire conversation up in your own head at this point), and Toni’s mouth had dropped in shock.

Then, something seemed to crawl across your skin. It was a prickle of foreboding, something that could have been easily mistaken for anxiety had you not had the displeasure of experiencing said emotion firsthad, but this kind was unfamiliar.

Again, like your body was trying to tell you something, your eyes circled back to the divide near the bathroom.

Something sour immediately seemed to collect in your stomach, and you swallowed harshly, tearing your eyes away from the scene with a curl of displeasure fogging your brain, “Looks like you were wrong on his behalf, though.”

In his defence, Tyson was ambushed. He was wholly and honestly ambushed right from the second he stepped out of the bathroom door. He hadn’t seen it coming; though who could? She’d been blocking his path back to the table completely and he couldn’t even say he’d ever seen her before, and the second she introduced herself with that sultry smile he knew what was about to happen. It was something that had happened numerous times before, and not something he could say was exactly convenient in that exact moment – especially if you were to look straight over, because from your seat he knew you had a pretty solid view of the doors, kind of like how he’d had a pretty solid view of the bar not even ten minutes ago.

Perhaps it was karma. Maybe it was a coincidence. Or maybe it was an opportunity to get back at you, to see just how you’d act when he sat back down at the table. If you were completely normal, he’d know for certain you weren’t even the slightest bit interested, but if you weren’t? Well, he’d definitely take note and then have to ask Mat how to proceed because he wasn’t that good at stuff like that.

Though, he tended to be good at it when you were involved, but that was riding on a major ‘if’.

It was why he (rather cruelly) entertained himself in the conversation with the lady clearly waiting for him. She was bold, he’d give her that, but she wasn’t you – could never be you.

“Are you liking Martha’s so far?” She asked, tilting her head seductively in his direction, and Tyson physically restrained himself from sneaking a glance in your direction.

“Yeah, it’s pretty incredible. Good views, and all. What about you, you having fun?” He couldn’t ever say he was good at talking to people he didn’t know, because if he did he was sure he’d be branded some kind of world-class liar, but he attempted it, at least for appearance’s sake.

“I mean,” She laughed, placing an unwanted hand on his bicep that he’d luckily kept covered with a blazer, “I could be having more fun, if you get my drift.” She raised an eyebrow, and to be polite, Tyson shuffled out of her grip subtly, and although she dropped her hand, the smirk on her face remained pretty steady.

He laughed a little awkwardly, something between a grimace and a smile on his face, “I do, but I’m taken.” He lied easily, this time momentarily making direct eye contact with you for a brief second. He couldn’t decide if his heart simply stuttered or actually stopped beating, but he swore when you looked away he’d never felt so aware of what he was doing.

He was being a dick just to get a reaction out of you.

“Oh.” The girl’s expression dropped and she took a respectful step back, “I apologise.”

“No need, I...” Tyson shrugged, trailing off pathetically.

Then she turned around, clearly able to focus on exactly who had stolen his attention for that brief moment, and when she looked back at Tyson there was a gleam of understanding on her face, “She’s beautiful.”

“I know.” There wasn’t even a debate about it, the words had just flown so freely out of his mouth that he couldn’t ever really imagine saying anything with such confidence in his entire life.

The girl flashed a soft smile, the kind that had Tyson wondering if she ever really had the true intention of really flirting with him, and simply wandered into the ladies bathroom next to him.

He remained rooted to the spot, his mind reeling. Really, he was flattered, but other women flirting with him had never felt so uncomfortable. He felt the awkward desire to apologise to you for some reason; it wasn’t as though there was anything tying him to you on any kind of level. There’d only been a few moments but not enough for him to hate it when it wasn’t you flirting with him. Surely?

He cleared his throat, hand over his chest as he looked up. Straight in your direction. The food had arrived, the plate in his empty place steaming, but it was the look on your face that had him moving. You’d bitten the inside of your cheek and there was a thoughtful, vacant look in your eyes – something was up.

Only, when he’d returned to his seat, you ignored his questioning glance and instead offered a tight, clearly irritated smile.

And something dropped in his stomach: it felt an awful lot like guilt.

***

Somewhere along the lines it was decided a walk back to the house would be a good way to end the night. Mat and Toni were walking ahead of you and Tyson, hands intertwined and hushed conversation flowing easily. It couldn't have been more opposite than yours and Tyson’s current situation.

There was at least an arm’s length between you both, and neither of you had spoken a single word since the restaurant.

It was awkward.

He had still given you his jacket, though – but even that went without words other than your concerned glance to his bare arms (he shrugged), and a muttered thank you.

You wanted to ask if he was okay, there was just something nagging you in the back of your mind, but you pushed it down. It wasn’t even fair of you to be a little pissed at him, but you were. In fact, you were more pissed at yourself. Perhaps if it hadn’t looked as though you were flirting with Jamie, Tyson wouldn’t have flirted with the gorgeous girl outside the bathroom.

Then again, you had learnt a lesson from tonight, so you’d chosen to take that presumption with a pinch of salt, because if you didn’t, you’d be a whole hypocrite.

You just needed a breather, and the only way you could process everything in your head and everything your body was telling you about the man next to you, was to process it in silence. In your own head and on your own terms.

Hopefully the processing wouldn’t last too long, though.

“Excuse me.” You stopped, twirling around at the sound of a soft, delicate voice. Your arms immediately uncrossed from against your chest, coming to rest at your sides as you flashed a polite smile at the elderly couple that had stopped you.

Your eyes automatically flickered down to their chained arms, and that slow sense of panic from yesterday began to tease at your insides again.

“Is everything alright?” You asked.

The sound of footsteps getting closer registered somewhere in the back of your mind, and your skin seemed to erupt in goosebumps when a subconscious part of your mind registered it was Tyson that had pressed himself closer to you. Again, he wasn’t touching you, but you could still feel his presence and warmth.

You’d never really been this in-tune with him before.

The man smiled back up at you, and you ignored the way his wife’s curious eyes slipped to Tyson behind you, “It is, but we’re just a little bit lost, and we were wondering if you could point us in the right direction?”

You nodded instantly, automatically turning to Tyson, who’d already read your mind and was pulling up maps on his phone, “Where do you need to be?”

The man – Eric – answered, and you nodded in understanding, curling your head to look down at Tyson’s phone. You felt your heart start to race at the closeness: he was still standing a little behind you, but he’d placed his phone in a position you could also see his screen, so all you had to do was turn your head a little to the right, his curls ticking the top of your head.

Neither one of you made a move to inch away.

“I’m really sorry if I’m overstepping here, but you two make a lovely couple.” The lady – Freda – said a little sheepishly.

The breath in your chest seemed to still, and you felt your mouth form a shape, but no sound came out. Luckily, Tyson seemed to take the lead, his media training and prep for keeping a straight face and calm demeanour (all of which you were failing ridiculously in) being used to–

“Thank you.”

You inhaled sharply, head snapping back to him in surprise. Of all things you’d expected him to say, a simple thank you was most definitely not on the cards – at all. In fact, you’d fully prepared for him to shoot it down with a smile, but here he was, accepting it with a smile.

And you misjudged exactly where he was, because in all the heart-stopping seconds you’d just experienced, it hadn’t even occurred to you that he’d also turned to face the couple. So when you turned back to him, chest aching with something that had recently come into fruition, you turned into him.

The proximity of your faces was so close that even with a small breath you could feel it fan across your cheeks. His nudged your cheek, and almost as though it was rehearsed, both of your gazes instantly went to the other’s mouth.

Before flicking back up to the eyes, and when you did, something seemed to crack. Or click. You couldn’t quite determine which, but there was a heavy vulnerability written there clear as day: he was just as taken aback by the sudden closeness as you were, though he seemed to have mastered the ability to hide the rest of his emotions pretty well.

As for you, you were sure he could see just about everything on your face.

Before the moment could be ruined, you took one daring look back at his lips, suddenly struck with the strength of the magnetism between you both. You felt compelled to kiss him then. The thought had the corner of your mouth twitching up fractionally and your breath hitching in your chest, because that idea wasn’t at all as petrifying as you thought it would be.

You wanted to kiss Tyson in a way that if you did, it’d just screw you both up.

He must have been on a similar wavelength, however, because his cheeks seemed to colour and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, almost testing you, a hungry glint in his eyes.

And then it was over as quickly as it had happened.

The couple got their directions and you and Tyson all but speed-walked home in the exact same situation as before the interruption: maintaining a safe distance and in an awkward silence, though this time for a slightly different reason.

“I’m going to bed.” You announced immediately after walking through the front door, needing to sit in silence in the dark for a while longer.

Tyson.

Your brain just seemed to scream his name, and although you knew exactly what it meant, it didn’t mean you weren’t a little intimidated by the prospect of it. Only, when he came upstairs twenty-minutes later, you were laid on your side facing the window, and he didn’t bother to be quiet, probably assuming you weren’t asleep anyway, and threw a piece of screwed up paper onto your bedside table with an audible, resigned sigh.

You felt him hesitate, and you cracked your eyes open a little to see him with his hands over his face before they fell down to his sides in resignation. There was a hardness to his jaw and he looked…devastated.

It wasn’t until he’d gone into the bathroom that you unfurled the piece of paper, nerves haywire at what exactly could have caused such a dramatic change in demeanour.

Fuck.

Jamie’s number.

You placed the paper back where he put it, anxiety crushing through your system when there was a muted sigh from inside the bathroom, followed by a muffled bang.

#tyson jost oneshot #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost x reader #nhl oneshot #nhl fic #nhl imagine #martha's is pretty romantic

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 3 months

Text

MARTHA'S IS PRETTY ROMANTIC - CHAPTER THREE: THE HEART WANTS WHAT THE HEART WANTS

summary: “If you haven’t understood by now that I like you as more than a friend, then I don’t even think I can help you to understand what’s going on.”

warnings: 18+ themes (not full smut), confrontation/arguments, awkwardness, swearing, angst, fluff, vague injury description

word count: 12k

previous part | series masterlist

For some reason, it was the thudding of a door shutting downstairs that seemed to wake you; judging from the golden light peeking through the gap in the curtains, you guessed it was still pretty early. With a sigh and a yawn, you reckoned it was probably Tyson heading out for his morning run.

Except, when you tentatively reached a hand across the mattress, eyes shutting all too easily as you were grasped tightly in the clutches of fatigue, there was an unexpected warmth radiating from quite close to where you were laid. Your hand halted its movement, eyes flying open as you twisted around in bed, nearly coming face to face with a sleeping Tyson, whose head was resting on the very edge of his own pillow, one of his arms tucked under yours.

You froze, heart stuttering and mind immediately recalling the conversation you’d had the day prior when you’d told him you’d at least like to wake up and have him in the bed at some point, awake or not, instead of facing an empty room and a severe lack of his presence.

Though, his presence now must mean that it was Mat and Toni that had left for breakfast.

You reached back to your side of the bed, tapping the screen of your phone. It was half-nine, which could mean a variety of things relating to Tyson: that he finally managed to get used to the foreign bed, or that he’d previously been setting alarms to get up earlier and continue his routine from back home.

Either way, you weren’t complaining, not when he looked so criminally soft. You turned on your back, phone remaining clutched in your hand, not able to turn your eyes away from him quite yet. His curls were crazier than you’d ever seen them, a combination of sleeping and going to bed with his hair wet meaning they weren’t in the same even pattern you were so used to seeing on a daily basis. There was a gentle crease in the middle of his forehead, as though he was concentrating on something in a dream. And, like he said, he’d neglected to wear a shirt: toned arms and a shoulder greeted you from where the sheet had failed to cover most of his torso, skin a little browner than it had been when you’d first arrived.

But before your brain could even contemplate thinking he looked quite handsome like that, something in your mind seemed to flicker at the reminder of the tense atmosphere from last night, and with that, you quickly hauled yourself out of bed, carefully trying not to disturb the covers too much, and crept downstairs.

He probably didn’t want to see you anyway.

And it was how Tyson found you half an hour later: curled under a blanket on the sofa, midway through a glass of juice and watching whatever was on TV.

You’d turned the volume down when he entered, still blinking away the last remnants of tiredness and sleep, his eyes immediately catching onto you as he wandered into the kitchen, acknowledging you with a tight smile.

It wasn’t genuine, if anything it was a little bit forced, and you knew you only had yourself to blame. Leaving Jamie’s number in Tyson’s jacket pocket wasn’t something that had felt detrimental when you’d done it at the time (you hadn’t wanted to lose it, and you never intended to forget it was there altogether), but now it just seemed to have completely reversed any and all progress the two of you had made.

If anything, this tenseness took you back to before you were friends. Awkward conversations and tiptoeing around each other because you weren’t quite comfortable in each other’s presence yet.

Only now, it was the complete opposite.

The silence remained until he took a seat in the armchair, as far away from you as he possibly could have gotten without entering another room, when he took a sip of his own glass, “Have Mat and Toni left already?”

His voice was thick, a little croaky and you had to fight with yourself to prevent a blush on your cheeks.

(You’d never admit it, but his morning voice was shockingly erotic.)

“Yeah.” You replied, swallowing harshly when he pulled his eyes from you and turned his attention to the TV as soon as it was clear you’d done talking. There was no lingering look, and with a stab of hurt and a little desperation rooted through a fear that he’d slip away and you’d lose him over a misunderstanding you weren’t quite sure how to correct without implying something else, it felt like he couldn’t even look at you, “Do you want to get brunch?”

Your voice felt frail and it didn’t take a genius to note the biting anxiety in your tone, because Tyson snapped his head towards you, his eyes softening fractionally at the expression on your face. He seemed to consider the offer for a moment, and with every moment that he didn’t answer, you felt the crack in your chest ache and widen, hope dwindling massively.

“Sure.” He sighed eventually.

The same tension that prompted prolonged and uncharacteristic silences seemed to infect the entirety of bruch. Neither of you said anything, choosing instead to shovel forkfuls of food into your mouths in an attempt to give a reason not to talk to each other.

It wasn’t until Tyson had silently led the both of you to walk back to the house along the beach that you decided to say something. It wasn’t anything pertaining to the matter of the both of you, but rather the almost concerned way he was eyeing his phone screen as he walked, fingers furiously tapping away at the keyboard.

Your arms were crossed against your chest, and the breeze from the shore was whipping your hair everywhere, and you reached for the hair tie in your jacket pocket, your motions distracting Tyson for a moment.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, not really holding out much hope for him to answer what with how quiet he’d been all morning thus far, but once you’d gestured at the phone in his hand, he nodded, a little sheepish.

“Yeah, I just–” He waved his phone half-heartedly, stopping in his tracks as he looked to you, “My mom wants a photo of us, and I’m trying to tell her–”

“It’s fine with me.” You interrupted, sticking your hands in your jacket pockets, trying and failing to not seem like you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to at least engage in a semi-normal dynamic.

“Are you sure?” He asked after a brief pause, eyes sincere but still clearly hesitating – as though he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do or not do. If you were more honest with yourself, you’d have no issue admitting that it broke your heart a little, but in that moment, you ignored those thoughts.

“I’m sure.” You nodded, turning back to the water, “Get the ocean in the background, quick, before someone walks through behind us.” You found your hand reaching out to grasp his forearm without even thinking too much about it, manoeuvring him to stand next to you whilst he cleared his throat.

You hadn’t even realised the magnitude of what you’d done until the tingling in your fingertips seemed to warm your entire hand, and your neck snapped in Tyson’s direction, who was staring at your flexing hand and not bothering to hide the sheer look of perplexity at your action.

You felt your cheeks redden, and you gestured to his phone, “Sorry.” Your apology was a little weak, and you knew Tyson could see right through your little white lie.

“It’s okay.” He shrugged, swallowing nervously, “Do I look good?”

You blinked, about to answer honestly (that’s what he wanted, right?), but he seemed to catch himself.

“Good enough for a selfie, that is.” He clarified, his own cheeks now splashing rouge.

And although things were tense and a little up in the air, you couldn’t help the smile that seemed to appear on your face at his stuttering. You nodded, reigning it in, “A little windswept and rosy-cheeked, but your mom’ll definitely find it more adorable than scruffy.” You paused, acknowledging the rather shy duck of his head, “What about me?”

His head zipped back up, eyes searching your face with meaningful intent (though Tyson did take the opportunity to just simply look at you without the danger of getting caught), “Yeah, you look good.” Your brows shot up in blatant shock, and almost as soon as he’d finished talking, you knew he’d immediately backpedal on himself, “For the photo.”

You nodded, teeth catching your bottom lip as you fought the irresistible urge to tease him or laugh or something…but one thing that had wrestled itself to the forefront of your mind was the desire to kiss him then. It was simple, if a little too simple: all you’d have had to do was lean a little bit closer.

But before you could even entertain that idea, reasons not to kiss him came flooding in, the main one being that right now, it would do way more harm than good.

It seemed Tyson wanted to get the photo taken as soon as humanly possible, because it was barely ten seconds later that he was shooting off the photo to his mom and the awkward, tense atmosphere had returned as you both walked side by side along the beach.

Your jaw was clenched the entire walk back, mind whirling and seemingly incapable of being quiet. His silent treatment was actually kind of pissing you off now. You’d sat and suffered through three hours of it, and although you knew he could be stubborn at the worst of times, he was pushing it.

You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye all day, holding your breath when you thought he was about to say something or look your way, but each time he’d shown signs of maybe doing that – of actually bringing it all up – he’d furrowed his brows as though to give himself a pep-talk or something, and turned the other way completely.

You’d have been fine with his silence if he hadn't been verging on ignoring you the entire morning – that was where you drew the line. But it was becoming clear with every time he caught himself acknowledging you, that he had absolutely no intention of ever talking about it.

And somewhere between the photo on the beach and making it back to the house, the door shutting behind you, your patience had dwindled almost dangerously low – teetering on snapping altogether. You followed him through the house, not sure if he knew you were on his heels – or once more, he was just simply choosing to ignore your presence.

You halted at the kitchen island, palms flat against the marble, watching him as he threw open the back door before his eyes slipped over you, no apparent shock written on his features.

He still said nothing as he made for the fridge, and you sighed when the door opened, blocking you from each other. Whether it was the breeze from the open door or the fridge that seemed to settle a chill over you, you couldn’t possibly have guessed because your attention was – as you were finding it a lot lately – stolen by Tyson.

“So,” you started, but he didn’t even acknowledge your voice this time, prompting a roll of your eyes and a rather stern, “Are you okay?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, peeling an orange straight into the bin, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me all morning–”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.” He insisted, looking up from his orange with a mildly offended look on his face.

“Okay,” You breathed, not necessarily agreeing with him, but rather switching the angle you’d go from, “Then you’ve been quiet all morning, and that’s not like you at all. Something’s up.”

He shut the bin, placing his unpeeled orange on the counter and mirroring your body language, his palms flat against the marble and elbows locked, “How would you know?”

You stared unblinkingly for a brief moment, a pause not too long but long enough for Tyson to raise an accusing eyebrow. Only, you weren’t quite sure what he was accusing you of, “Because I know you probably better than most people.”

He huffed a bitter laugh at your words, eliciting a frown to form on your face, and the sore lack of humour seemed to strike a nerve within you. It was so unlike him you couldn’t help but wonder what you’d done to offend him to this extent.

As far as you were aware, you hadn’t even done anything wrong because Tyson had never actually said or done anything to even suggest he liked you in the way you liked him, and because of that your apparent ‘flirting’ debacle with Jamie was completely fine. In fact, when you thought about it, it was Tyson who’d put an end to the flirting thing; Tyson who’d reacted to most of your flirty comments by shutting them down or turning them into a friend-thing, and whether he was choosing to ignore your comments or just downright oblivious to your advances, you were stuck.

“Don’t kid yourself.” He said, shaking his head and looking at the countertop, avoiding your eyes completely.

You sighed, frustration beginning to press at your temples and send your heart rate skyrocketing, “Fine, I don’t know you well, then.” You couldn’t disguise the disappointment in your voice, no matter how hard you tried, “Why have you been quiet all morning?”

He swallowed, gaze sharper and a little less soft than he usually was when he met your eyes, “I’m just tired.”

Well. There was nothing you could say to that, not when he was so clearly not telling you the truth, not when he was being so fucking stubborn you couldn’t even get through to him. He was pissed and it was clearly simmering under his skin, a little too volatile for you to be around him, but before you could walk away and leave him be, you knew you had to at least have the upperhand.

“Why–” He started, sighing before stopping to clench his jaw, “Why is it bothering you?”

“A few reasons.” You straightened, hands leaving the countertop to fold across your chest, “I don’t appreciate being ignored or lied to. You’ve been off since the restaurant last night, and instead of telling someone what’s wrong – because it’s so clear something is, even if you deny it – you’re bottling it up and, quite frankly, I feel like if I don’t at least ask you, you’ll just push me away, and I refuse to let you do that.”

He squinted his eyes, pulling a face and huffing in disbelief, “I’m not pushing you away.”

“Good.” You shrugged, “Because I refuse to lose you over some misunderstanding.”

He was silent, but he wasn’t looking away from you. If anything, his silence seemed to be some kind of admission – that you were right about something, and some of the tension seemed to ebb away. Slightly.

You swallowed, feeling your features soften as something seemed to prickle at the back of your mind. You felt nervous goosebumps rise on the back of your neck, and you knew if you didn’t bite the bullet now, then you’d probably not bring it up at all.

“Why did you tell Mat our relationship was complicated?”

The silence was almost palpable, and with a simple question, the tension seemed to return immediately and tenfold what it just was. Tyson seemed to react instantaneously, and at first – judging from the sudden flush of his cheeks and the way he was shaking his head, you’d expected him to deny, deny, deny, just like he’d done at every question you’d posed in his direction within the past three minutes or so.

His curls seemed to bounce slightly with his motions, and his lips parted in clear shock, “Mat shouldn’t have told you that.” Was all he settled for, a little sadly.

You inhaled sharply, feeling less hesitant when he didn’t seem to want to argue about it – after all, what was the point?

“It wasn’t Mat that told me, it was Toni.”

“Either way,” Tyson shrugged, “That was private.”

You blinked, “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He echoed, brows raised in silent incredulousness.

“Look, it doesn’t matter whether it was private or not right now. It wasn’t meant for me to hear about, fine, but I have, and I want to know why our relatio—why you think we’re complicated.”

Tyson pursed his lips, gesturing to you, “Why do you want to know? Why is it such a big deal that you care what I think about our relationship?”

You’d never known him to be so stubborn. It had never taken you this much effort to get him to answer a question truthfully – and it wasn’t even as if you were being unreasonable in your asking him.

“Because ever since I found out that’s what you think, things have been complicated, and things have gone so completely downhill that it’s scaring me–”

“Or maybe since you found out, you’re just overthinking everything.” He interrupted, arching a challenging brow in your direction.

“Am I though?” You asked, nerves, adrenalin and a rather dangerous combination of a ‘fuck it’ attitude coursing through every cell in your body, right from the tips of your toes to the ends of your hair, “Because it didn’t seem like there was much to overthink last night when you put Jamie’s number on my bedside table and then had a strop in the bathroom.”

Tyson didn’t waste a single second, “I didn’t strop.”

“What, then, did you stub your toe?” You quipped, now scowling in his direction, “And before you answer that, please bear in mind that I can tell exactly when you’re lying.”

He paused, staring unblinkingly straight at you, a hardness to his jaw and you could tell he was gearing himself up to be defensive, but it seemed your words had some sort of effect because he rolled his eyes and threw his head to the ceiling for a second, letting out a frustrated sigh. When he swung back to look in your direction, there was something a little raw written across the planes and creases in his face.

“Fine.” He announced, pulling a stool out at the island, orange segments long forgotten. He glanced pointedly at the stool opposite, but you shook your head. You had too much nervous energy to even consider sitting still. A lap around the entire island seemed like it should have done the trick, but to do that you’d be walking out on a rather important conversation.

He laced his hands together, forearms pressed tightly against the counter. You could almost imagine the cold seeping into the crevices of his skin, and knowing Tyson he’d probably find the cold soothing more than anything.

He took a rather shaky breath and a moment to compose himself before making direct eye contact with you. It was the way he looked at you that seemed to quieten the rushing in your head but did little to calm your pulse.

“I don’t like seeing you…” he hesitated, cheeks flushing, and although it looked like it took a great deal of effort to keep his eyes on you despite the difficulty of it, “flirt with other people.” He shook his head, as though he was a little ashamed by his words, “It hurts. And it really hurt when I found that guy's number folded up in my jacket pocket for me to find. I thought maybe you’d put it there on purpose…I don’t know.”

You inhaled, attempting to calm everything, “I know Jamie because we met in Vancouver at one of your games a while ago, and he did flirt…” Tyson’s shoulders slumped, “until he recognised me – not that I would have reciprocated it.”

“Then why do you have his number?”

“He told me about a job opportunity; he owns a firm, and we got talking about work and it turned out he had an opening for a job closer to where I lived and also paid more. So he gave me his number for when I needed details.”

“And you left it in my pocket because…”

This time it was your turn to be sheepish, “I didn’t want it to get crumpled in my bag when you gave me your jacket and then I forgot about it…because I was thinking about why you didn’t tell that lady we weren’t together.” You spoke hesitantly, voice trailing off.

“Oh, well,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “it was just easier than the truth.”

There was a pinprick of disappointment that started in your chest, but you refused to let it bleed into something more heartbreaking, “Which is?”

He suddenly appeared less unsure of himself at your question, “Fucking complicated, that’s what.”

You dropped your head into your hands, “But what about us was complicated when you told Mat that it was?”

“Are you pissed at me for saying that?” Was what left his mouth, a slight panicked expression on his face when you lifted your head out of your hands, shocked at where his mind had taken him.

“No, no. I’m not pissed at you, I’m just trying to understand.”

He nodded, swallowing, hands splayed against the marble, before he looked up at you, “If you haven’t understood by now that I like you as more than a friend, then I don’t even think I can help you to understand what’s going on.”

Time seemed to slow as your brain seemed to echo his words back at you, double speed: I like you as more than a friend.

That certainly hadn’t been what you’d expected to hear – not straight from his mouth and not so bluntly. Every time you’d ever approached a conversation about dating with Tyson, he seemed to clam up and give brief comments, perhaps a little embarrassed by the entire topic. Needless to say, what had just left his mouth, in full confidence, was a stark contrast to previous conversations.

And despite everything raging in your mind (Tyson’s admission definitely relating to around half of that), there was only one thing that seemed to jump to the forefront of your concern:

“You do?” The question left you before you could contain it, and you knew if Tyson hadn’t been so close already, barely an arms length away, he wouldn’t have heard it because you knew, without even catching onto the way he seemed to lean closer as though he almost missed it, that you were a little breathless.

Tyson caught his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment, and the brief pause almost had you wondering if he’d changed his mind already – if it weren’t for the way he was looking at you.

In theory, he wasn’t exactly looking at you any differently as to how he’d been looking at you for the past few months – you knew that now, but it only seemed to confuse you more: if he’d been looking at you this softly and with this kind of…adoration for so long, then you really must have been blind to it, exactly like he’d just said.

His eyes were wide, but almost with a kind of shy curiosity, like he was looking at something for the first time and trying to figure it out, and his head was tilted with amusement. There was a tentative smile on his face, as though he was truly unsure of how to proceed, and he just looked so homely in that moment, with the open back door providing an almost cinematic backdrop.

Somewhere, for you, the line had been blurred when it came to the complicated nature of your relationship, but it felt more like someone had drawn a charcoal line a long time ago and since blown off the dust without your knowledge, until you’d been presented with the issue, that to you, at the time, hadn’t been an issue.

Toni telling you what Tyson had said had changed everything – but you were sure you’d felt like this for a while, just unconsciously. A small part of you had been flattening any feelings you could have possibly had for the man in front of you purely just because you’d been terrified of what it could have meant.

Tyson was your cousin’s teammate, and probably your best friend, and for that to change, he then became something you could lose. And a world without Tyson…

Instead of actually answering your question, he raised a brow, “I thought you knew?”

You shook your head, “How could I have known?” You felt your voice raise a little, a hand going up to slap against the counter – it wasn’t aggressive by any means, nor was it particularly loud, but it didn’t stop Tyson frowning at the action, “I flirted and flirted and you gave me nothing. You stopped altogether, what did you expect me to do with that?”

“I–I thought you were joking, I…You meant all of that?” He spluttered, frowning in confusion, and if you hadn’t been frustrated by the obvious miscommunication issues, you’d have found it rather adorably endearing.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“So you didn’t know how I felt? How I feel about you?” He asked, a little sadly.

“How could I have known if you never said or did anything outside of the realm of friendship?”

He stared, mouth parted, “I thought you knew.” His voice was strained, telling of his own frustrations.

“If I had known I would have done something about it.”

That seemed to get his attention, and colour rushed to his cheeks, the tips of his ears even tinging another colour, “You–”

The front door slammed open with a resounding thud, and you both froze, words dying on your tongues as your heads snapped in the direction of the front room, anticipating Toni and Mat to come walking through the door. You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest, hands trembling a little, and you hurried to hide them behind your back, turning around to lean against the counter. You could feel Tyson’s eager gaze burning the side of your face.

Everything was about to change, now. But you’d take it one step at a time.

Maybe that’s why, when Mat and Toni walked into the room wearing identical expressions of ‘what’s gone on here?’ after so much as just glimpsing you and Tyson awkwardly making an active effort to avoid looking at each other, you made the excuse you’d left something behind in the brunch place you’d gone to, and instead left house and didn’t return until a few hours later (you’d texted the group chat and told everyone you’d gotten distracted so they didn’t send out a search party).

It also happened to be sheer luck that when you’d arrived back at the house, armed with some goodies and presents for your friends back home, you hadn’t so much as even seen Tyson in all the time it took you to run upstairs and shower before dinner.

You guessed it was karma for running away when it came to the promised movie night, Set It Up was queued up to be played, and Mat and Toni were sprawled out together on the one sofa with Tyson lounging in the remaining armchair.

He seemed to spot your appearance first, a bowl of leftovers on his lap as well as his own food in his hand, and even in the dimmed lights you could see the way he seemed to do a double-take when he saw you. He offered a shy, unsure smile in your direction, but before he could do anything else, it was Toni that was talking.

“Tyson, budge up.” She ordered, not even sparing you a glance, and you were kind of grateful she didn’t, because you knew that if she had looked at you she’d have been able to read something there and the last thing you wanted was to not be prioritising Tyson.

But…that armchair was incredibly small for two people, which meant that Toni had to have sensed something was a little off when she’d walked into the kitchen earlier.

She was still meddling.

“It’s fine, I can just grab a cushio–”

Words failed you when Tyson shook his head, picked up your bowl from his lap and slid to the floor in front of the chair without a word and mid-chew. He threw his head back, gesturing you to take the chair, but when he offered you your bowl, you hesitated.

He barely had time to show confusion before you’d tugged his wrist and patted the barely-there space next to you.

He blinked, the movie beginning to play in the background. You shot a careful look towards the sofa, but Mat and Toni both had their backs to you guys, and even if they didn’t, their eyes were fixed on the screen.

“Are you sure?” Tyson whispered, and even at the thought of ending up half-cuddled next to him to simply sit and watch a film and eat some food sent pleasant goosebumps erupting across your skin.

You were warm having just gotten out of the shower, but you felt your temperature rise a little in anticipation, “Yeah.”

He said nothing else, but heaved himself up off the floor, and you took the liberty of freeing the hand that had been holding your bowl before you stood up and gently pushed him to sit down before steeling yourself. You were nervous, it felt like there was a swarm of bees in your chest – but what else were you supposed to do? Let him sit on the floor and suffer? Have him sit on you? You didn’t fancy your chances getting squished by a hockey player.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling when he furrowed his brows, about to protest when he realised he was the one sitting and you were the one standing, until you sat down next to him – rather, half-sat on him, throwing the closest thigh to him over the top of one of his and settling back against his shoulder, still side-by-side.

You were both wearing joggers and a hoodie, but as soon as you settled against him, you seemed to feel about ten times more cosy than before: Tyson was warm, combatting the chills that had preceded your nerves, and despite the close nature, you were pleased to find out that he was a comfy pillow.

This was the most you’d ever touched each other.

That realisation seemed to dry your mouth and have a spoonful of food stopping mid-way to your mouth, even despite the rumbling protest from your stomach.

Tyson was watching you out of the corner of his eye, you could feel the intensity graze the side of your cheek, and you turned minutely to look at him, glad the dim lights provided the safe sanctuary for you to be able to blush in peace.

“Are you okay?” He looked concerned – probably a result of you immediately running away after your earlier conversation, but there was a lightness to his features that hadn’t been there in a while.

He looked more at ease, and that seemed to immediately eliminate any and all nerves you’d just been experiencing. You were in this thing together – whatever it was and whatever it will be, if anything ever comes of it – but at the base of it all, you were friends.

You nodded, “I’m fine. I just needed a breather.”

He didn’t say anything, but you could make out the dull shine of his eyes and subtle nod of acknowledgement.

“Are you okay?”

He tried a smile, pushing himself further back into the cushions of the sofa, making you slide further towards him, your shoulder blade firmly tucked against his shoulder, “Yeah.”

You paused for a moment, debating with yourself on whether or not to say the thing that had been bugging you since earlier, but you had Tyson’s attention, no one was watching you, and there was always a movie to turn to if something went askew, so you went for it, albeit a bit uncertainly, “I don’t like seeing you flirt with other people either, by the way.” You whispered faintly, before immediately turning back to the movie and shovelling in a mouthful of your dinner, a little too embarrassed to meet his eyes and gauge his reaction.

He’d frozen, though, that much you could make out from underneath you. And at first you thought he wasn’t going to say or do anything at all, but he leaned his head closer to your ear, “I told her I was taken,” there was a pregnant pause, and you held your breath, eyes still glued on the film playing, “by you.”

You pressed your lips together to hide a small smile, and turned to face him, noses bumping accidentally. You inhaled sharply, pulling away to put an unsuspicious amount of space between you both, “You seem to have a habit of pretending we’re together.”

He just smiled.

***

You hadn’t ever anticipated having to use the spare set of pyjamas you’d packed on this trip. Spare: not with the intention of using them to show anything off, per se, but spare in case you got toothpaste on anything. Your usual pyjamas weren’t exactly anything special; just a t-shirt/long pant combo because no matter where you were in the world, you always seemed to get cold in the night and long pants did the job better than shorts ever could.

Yet, you found yourself cleaning your teeth in a spare pair of buttoned up sleep shorts and an old lace-trimmed vest-top, both of which were too small in some places. They weren’t noticeably too small, but there was definitely more skin shown.

That being said, your intentions weren’t exactly to seduce Tyson right then (after all, he had seen you in a bikini), but to at least make him a little nervous.

And it seemed to do the trick, because he wandered into the room innocently after you’d finished brushing your teeth, again wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and displaying a torso that you could now appreciate in all its glory and not have to sneak glances at him, and promptly stopped after the door shut behind him, clearing his throat.

His eyes seemed to first stick to your face, to which you offered a friendly smile and continued to tidy clothes away and go about your nightly routine, but you could tell they didn’t remain on your face. They travelled down, first to your exposed shoulders, then to the ever-so-slightly strained floral pattern on your camisole top, down to the slither of skin exposed above your shorts, and then they travelled the length of your legs.

He was shameless about it too, and it reminded you so strongly of the day he’d picked you up to go to the team meal and eventually asked you about this very trip, that it had you wondering if that’s when things changed for him – because he was never the same after that. Until now.

Then, as if remembering himself, he blinked and backpedalled, a hand on the door handle, “I can sleep downstairs. I’d understand if you’re not comfortable sharing a bed after everything–”

You frowned, “You know I reciprocate your feelings, right?”

He grinned boyishly, nodding with some enthusiasm, “I do. But I don’t want to cross a line and make things more uncomfortable.”

You stared, lips parting.

You’d never had that before: someone that considerate.

“Don’t go.” Was all you could manage, before you turned back to where you’d been absentmindedly tidying the top of the chest of drawers.

He didn’t take much convincing, and instead stepped into the bathroom to clean his teeth.

When he walked back out, you were brushing your hair, and partly just to see his reaction (partly also to just say what you were thinking), you blurted, “You look nice.”

He stopped in the doorway, swallowing and noctable looking down at himself. When he met your eyes once more, he was pulling an odd face, though the red splotches on his chest were hard to miss (he blushed on his chest?), “I’ve looked like this the entire week.”

“I’m aware.”

He just launched himself onto the bed, groaning into his pillow.

***

Twenty-four hours later, nothing had changed, though that was mostly due to the fact that the boys had wandered off and you and Toni had decided to go shopping, but by the end of the day the only thing that had changed was that you had a new book courtesy of Tyson, and he had a Martha’s magnet to add to his souvenir collection, courtesy of you.

“Are you still awake?” The whisper was faint, barely more than a heavy breath, but you still heard it.

It was hard not to hear it when you were so attuned to him laying next to you, both of you on your backs and staring at the ceiling, pretending the silence wasn’t palpable. You’d been trying to get to sleep for the better part of an hour and a half, but there was something about knowing he was doing the same thing barely two feet from you that had your brain unable to shut up and actually focus on getting some much-needed sleep.

It wasn’t anything new that you hadn’t already felt with him, but it was new in the sense that you knew how he felt and he knew how you felt, but you hadn’t actually talked anymore about it since a couple of days ago, and it was eating you up inside.

You inhaled softly, trying to get some air into your lungs to calm the sudden spike of nerves that had sent your pulse skyrocketing at the mere sound of his voice. There was something so illicit about knowing you were free to do and say anything in the haven of the room, knowing neither Mat or Toni were at all aware of the new developments.

You hadn’t felt like that in years.

“Yeah.” You whispered back, resisting the urge to smile giddily when you felt him roll on his side to face you.

“Do, uh,” you could practically hear his own smile bleed through his words, and it spurred you on to copy him, packing your pillow down so you could see him a little clearer as you rolled onto your side. His mouth shut when you were face-to-face, but there was a stifled smirk through his pressed lips, before he continued, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The heaviness of your eyelids seemed to answer for you, “Not right now, I think I’m too tired.”

He hummed, and from the crack through the bathroom door, you could just make out the outline of a mass of curls and the vague shimmer of his eyes, “Can I just clear something up with you?”

“Sure.”

“Is it okay with you if I take you out on a date when we get home? I’d like to do this properly.”

“That’s fine with me,” you paused, “but what…are there rules to ‘doing this properly’?”

“Uh,” Tyson hesitated, and you could tell from the tone of his voice alone that he’d already thought about it – an unspoken admission that had your mouth drying and your pulse skyrocketing for a completely different reason, as adrenaline seemed to spike in your system, “That depends.”

You swallowed, noticing the thick blanket of tension that had dropped over the both of you. You knew Tyson could feel it too because he was fidgeting under the covers and his hands couldn’t seem to find one singular place to rest on top of the sheets. If you could see what he was doing, you’d guess he was clenching and unfurling his fist.

“On what?” You asked, feigning naivety.

He sucked in a shallow breath, “Whether that offer to help dress me still stands.”

There was a pregnant pause, and you didn’t dare to move a single muscle. Anticipation had rooted you to the spot, “Dress you?” You repeated, slowly.

You vaguely saw Tyson nod, “Or the other way around.”

“Preferably.” You muttered, “But…” You wanted to say you’d think about it, try to make yourself believe you could wait a little longer, but the restlessness settling in your bones – that had settled and accumulated over the last few weeks, months, maybe – seemed to speak for itself when what left your mouth were the words: “I think I need something to eat.”

And before Tyson could even say anything, you’d thrown the duvet back and started walking down the hallway, and down the stairs.

Usually when you couldn’t sleep and got hungry again you could ignore the feeling, but you had to get out of that bed with Tyson looking, quite literally, mouthwateringly pretty right in front of you before you did something you’d both regret, such as jumping his bones. Though, you could take some relief in the fact that he clearly was thinking along the same lines judging from his comments.

You’d barely been standing in front of the open fridge, the cold air soothing your scorching body, before you could hear another set of footsteps follow you in and an equally warm body come in to cage against your back – not touch, no, but one of his hands rested just above yours on the door handle, and his other brushed teasingly against the exposed skin on your side, not just sending a jolt of shock to the ends of your toes, but a promise of something more to come – before he reached past you and took an orange from the open bag.

“What do you feel like having?” He murmured into your ear, the gravel of his voice really doing nothing to ease the tension and mounting need that you’d tried to seek relief for.

At this moment in time, every effort seemed inexplicably futile, and Tyson was doing everything to ensure that.

There were a few things that floated through your mind, some more unsavoury than others, but the main thing you felt like having, other than food, was him. And judging from the cocky glint in his eye as he stuck his tongue against the wall of his cheek when you snuck a glance at him, you could tell he knew exactly what you were thinking.

You didn’t know whether starting this thing with him was going to be a blessing or a curse if he knew you so well already.

“Maybe a kiwi–”

“I’m allergic to kiwi.”

You rolled your eyes at his blatant, quick lie, “What a damn shame.” You tutted disappointingly, shaking your head.

You knew it was a test, to see what you were thinking, where he could possibly end up by the end of the night – if you ate it, he’d know you weren’t quite ready for anything, but if you chose to not eat it, well…Only: “I know you’re not allergic to kiwi, you’ve eaten it in front of me before. But nice try.”

You reached a hand inside the fridge, stepping into him a little – enough to feel the rigidity against your leg in his shorts, and hear the low groan he’d tried to hide – and pulling a kiwi from the fridge before ducking under his arm, relishing in the way his eyes were scrunched shut, a painful smile on his face.

He sauntered over to where the lightswitch was, flicking the lights on along the counter, and you blinked at the sudden brightness, cutting the kiwi in half and opening the drawer to take out a spoon. You looked straight at Tyson, marvelling the tanned, toned ridges of his torso. There were shadows in his collarbones, and his chest was splotched with red lesions that continued up to his cheeks. If you touched his cheeks, you’d know the skin would be burning, but your eyes found themselves travelling downwards to where his stomach was tensed, half-hard in his boxers.

He cleared his throat just as you’d spooned a mouthful of kiwi in, and your eyes flew up to meet his blown pupils and rather ravenous stare as he raised a brow in your direction, fingers working to unpeel his orange. You felt yourself blush, and if he noticed the way you adjusted how you were standing leant against the counter he didn’t say anything, but you couldn’t help noticing the way his tendons flexed or the way his fingers worked expertly to peel away the rind.

He met you at the island, standing directly opposite you, not in the last bit bothered by his rather straining issue or how, as you both stood silently, quite obviously not able to look at anything other than each other, you were getting more restless by the second as desire started to unfurl and lick at your insides.

“Are you okay?” You muttered, swallowing your last piece of kiwi and placing the bowl on the side.

He inhaled deeply, tongue swiping at his lower lip, chest puffing with air, “‘M frustrated.”

You licked the remaining kiwi juice off your fingers, delighting in the way he seemed to slow at your motions. His jaw clenched and, as though he couldn’t take looking at you again, he forced his attention back at the remaining segment of his orange, “Like…” you started, unable to help feeling a little amused at the current predicament, “Sexually, or?”

His eyes rolled to you, a look written on his face that was nothing short of screaming ‘are you fucking kidding me, right now?’, and chewed the remaining segment of orange, “No.”

You crossed your ankles, tailbone pressing into the countertop uncomfortably, but the pain seemed to distract you from your issue, “Pity, I could have helped you out.” You hid your hands behind you, almost trembling with the need to be touched by the man in front of you, but not quite wanting to give in yet.

Tyson huffed a bitter laugh, the sound going straight to your core, and before you could even blink he’d put himself next to you; this time he’d chosen to eliminate any space, the side of his body pressed tightly against yours from your shoulders to your shins. You couldn’t tell if the skin contact on the exposed areas was a relief or just downright torturous, because now you’d felt what it was like to be pressed against him, you didn’t know how long you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself.

Tyson was just downright addictive.

“I definitely underestimated how much of a tease you were gonna be.” He muttered, dipping his head a little lower so his nose was bumping against the side of your cheek.

Your breath hitched in your chest, and your eyes instantly zeroed in on his lips before looking back up at him, helpless to the effect he has on you, “That’s pretty bold coming from someone who hasn’t even kissed me ye—”

***

This is it.

There was a kind of ‘where do we go from here’ finality to the thought that had seemingly buried itself in your head last night – it was one of the last things you remembered before falling asleep, and it seemed it was the first that echoed through your mind the moment you woke.

That, and the delicious roughness of a warm palm sliding across the skin on your hip, fingers teasing gently and patiently at the elastic of your lace panties, like the owner was biding his time to wake you up gently.

What was one supposed to do after having the best sex of their life?

Even at the mere memory of it, goosebumps rose on your skin – Tyson clearly catching the change when he placed a delicate, warm kiss on your shoulder blade, the feel of his smile imprinted into your skin as he did so. The action seemed to cause some kind of visceral reaction within you, and despite waking up mere seconds earlier, you suddenly felt more awake than you had ever been in such a short space of time.

Even so, just to toy with him a little longer, you kept your eyes firmly shut, sighing through your nose and snuggling a little deeper into your pillow, trying your absolute hardest to ignore the sudden course of liquid desire that had flooded through your system and subsequently overridden any other habitual thought you tended to have in a morning.

Tyson’s hand froze on your hip, and you felt the mattress dip behind you, a shadow suddenly appearing over your shoulder as he manoeuvred himself around you in an insurmountable display of strength and control – the very display that left you no choice but to open your eyes and hide an almost shy smile in the fabric of your pillow.

His cheeks were a little flushed already, and his lips were redder than usual – another reminder of your early morning activities, and when he caught your eye he grinned mischievously, showing no sign of having only just woken up. His eyes were wide and not at all bleary, an observation that had you vaguely frowning as he slid himself from where he’d been nestled against your back, to laying in front of you.

“Did I wake you up?” He asked innocently, his hand almost instantly returning its place to rest against your hip, although this time with a little force behind his grip as he used the leverage to pull you closer, looping your leg over his hip. There wasn’t even a single hint of apology or remorse for him having woken you up, that much was clear from the twinkle of trouble that had taken up permanent residence in the depths of his eyes since he’d first kissed you.

What were you supposed to say, but the truth? He’d woken you up, that had been his intention, but you weren’t about to confess it was because of the way you now seemed to be in tune with every brief touch of his against your skin.

“Yes.” You mumbled, yawning.

You weren’t the slightest bit annoyed, either, a fact he seemed to pick up on.

“Sorry.” He shrugged, and you swallowed desperately when he seemed to unconsciously roll his hips up into yours, already half-hard. Almost instantly you seemed to arch into him a little, a hand automatically reaching out to steady yourself against his bulging bicep. His eyes seemed to hood at your reaction, “But the heart wants what the heart wants.”

You didn’t hold back on rolling your eyes, but there was something so enticing and equally as distracting with the way he was looking at you, and you knew, then and there, that you’d be an utter fool not to do anything but give into him when he looked that good this early in the morning . Especially not when you knew you could now freely shut him up in a way he made no complaints against.

Not when you knew you could have him completely at almost any moment now – almost, because Mat and Toni weren’t to know about the two of you, not yet, at least.

Morning breath be damned (you’d done infinitely worse things earlier), you proved your point twice in bed, a little hurried considering it was verging on the time Mat and Toni would start wandering around downstairs, and once more in the shower.

It was a miracle you’d remembered to remind him not to leave any marks that could be seen if you wore a bikini, because as soon as the both of you had rather bashfully left the room, not even a trace of awkwardness remaining but knowing you’d have to at least fake it for the other two, it became clear that Mat and Toni had decided today was a beach day.

More specifically, a soccer beach day.

And you’d never been more thankful that sunglasses could be a cheap invention, because you spent the entire walk over and setting up on the sand trying and failing not to A, blush every time you caught Tyson smirking at you, B, blush everytime Tyson got that insatiable hunger in his eyes (because that was a thing), and C, look directly at the points on Tyson that you knew were home to dark purple lesions, courtesy of aforementioned escapades (of which were hidden by his swimming trunks).

It was all rather thrilling, you thought. But knowing exactly what Tyson was capable of and the extent of the pleasure he could give you so easily, you were having a hard time not looking at him or wanting to drag him to the nearest private or secluded area to have your way with him.

The man was a fucking God – literally.

In fact, you thought you’d both managed to pull it all off thus far until Mat paused, standing up in front of one of the towels and looking rather confusedly between you and Tyson from where you sat opposite each other on parallel towels of your own.

“What?” You immediately asked, mind immediately shooting to him having guessed what had transpired, and Tyson seemed to think the same thing because he suddenly looked very grave, eyes darting between you and Mat with some caution.

“You guys look really tired.” Mat said, lifting his sunglasses onto his forehead and folding his arms across his chest.

You let out a relieved breath internally, tilting your head to look up at him and simultaneously relishing in the fact that Toni wasn’t actually close enough to cast an interrogating ear into this specific conversation. She’d inevitably prod and poke, and although you loved her, she’d most definitely wriggle out the truth somehow and that was the last thing you needed.

See, you and Tyson had an agreement: you could have sex with each other for the remainder of this vacation. When you’d get back home the ‘proper’ dating etiquette would immediately apply itself once more — that being you go on dates and so on.

Only, there was the only issue of the fact that you’d both agreed to that prior to having sex with each other.

And now? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to stop having sex with Tyson for the sake of just delaying the inevitable. To put it simply, he’d completely ruined you, and judging from the obscene sounds he’d made and the way he’d acted after that first time, he felt the same.

“Yeah,” you started, “We weren’t tired so we watched a movie really late.” You lied.

Mat nodded, “Did you guys go into the kitchen too? There was some stuff on the counter.”

“Yeah, we got hungry.” Tyson excused, playing nonchalant incredibly well.

“Cool.” Mat mumbled, inhaling deeply, “So what movie did you guys watch?”

“The Hangover.”

“The Amazing Spider-Man.”

Fuck.

Mat raised a brow in your direction, and you could feel the panic begin to rise—

“The Hangover and The Amazing Spider-Man.” Tyson intervened coolly, leaving you to just nod rather dumbly.

Mat nodded, seemingly accepting of the answer before walking a little way over to where Toni was sorting herself out. You waited until he was out of earshot before sharing a rather amused, yet bewildered look with Tyson, who – unlike you – was blessed in having his back to the two of them, and who also could only raise a teasing brow in your direction before fishing through your shared beach bag and pulling out a bottle of sunscreen.

Your mind instantly flashed back to the last time you’d ‘helped’ each other put on sunscreen, only this time there was an obvious relationship change – and clearly devious ulterior motives. Nevertheless, you patted the space on your towel, ensuring Mat and Toni were occupied on the other side of the umbrella.

So far, you hadn’t noticed any signs of them trying to push the two of you together either, but you rather supposed that was due to the weird vibes you’d been giving off the past few days with all the tension and whatnot. But if either of them noticed a slight change, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that they’d instantly resume their matchmaking.

It was why you breathed a little easier when they both stood up and made their way to the water, unintentionally giving the two of you some privacy.

“You’re gonna have to put it on your front yourself, though–”

His groan of protest interrupted your sentence, and you rolled your eyes fondly, standing up to greet him. Tyson is attractive, insanely so, that was something you weren’t immune to recognising even the first time you’d ever met him, but he just looked positively biteable, angelic and irresistible all in a way that had you lost for words when you ended up that close to him again.

“Hi.” he tilted his head adorably, smiling equally as endearingly.

He had a faded navy cap on his head, curls peeking out through the adjustable tag, and his hands were hung by his side, one clutching the bottle and the other tapping his fingers against the outside of his thigh. He was smiling with his whole body, crinkles by his eyes and chest puffed a little.

You could do nothing but reciprocate his infectious smile, your hand almost nervously going up to adjust his own cap on your head – a worn-in one that had rugged applique numbers on the front – before taking the blue bottle from him, doing nothing to avoid touching his hand at all. His palm was warm, and he had such a tight grip that you shot him an unimpressed glance and had to use both hands to pry his fingers away, but you knew he was revelling in the touch. In fact, somewhere between you successfully retrieving the sunscreen and popping the cap, he’d swivelled the hat on your head backwards, spinning around to let you spray his back and shoulders.

You did, taking your sweet, sweet time dragging your palms across his skin, relishing in the way he shivered when you ran a teasing hand beneath the band of his trunks, and the way he seemed to lean his head backwards when you massaged his shoulders.

“Can they see us?” He asked once he’d turned back around to face you, his eyes glued on where you presumed Toni and Mat were splashing in the shallows of the water.

You followed his eyes, turning to throw a casual glance over your shoulder. They could definitely see you guys, that was for certain, but their attention was solely on each other – so much so that even if they could see you , you knew they wouldn’t actually see you.

“They’re not watching us.” Was what you settled for, quirking a curious and rather suspicious brow in Tyson’s direction when a mischievous grin presented itself on his face, “I don’t like that look.”

He took the bottle of sunscreen out of your hand, maintaining slow and steady eye contact, the still cheeky look planted on his face, “It’s the only one I got.”

And before you could protest to what he was about to do – because that wasn’t too difficult when he aimed the bottle in your direction – he sprayed two shots of sunscreen across your chest, just above your bikini, and the sudden cold in the blazing sun immediately sent goosebumps prickling across your skin.

“They still not watching?”

You shook your head, “Don’t make it obvious, though.”

He grinned, throwing the bottle on the towel, before not-so-subtly smearing the product across your chest, simply using the application of sunscreen as an excuse to slip his hand inside the cup of your bikini–

“Fuck, Mat’s coming.” He rolled his eyes, ripping his hand out of your bikini with a disappointed huff before throwing himself on the towel on the floor in an attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t have, and you stifled a laugh.

“You guys nearly done? You want a quick game of soccer?” Mat asked, unzipping his backpack to pull out a soccer ball that he must have bought earlier, and you and Tyson shared a look.

Fifteen minutes later, your shins were stinging from sand exfoliation as a result of Tyson having tackled you rather brutally to the floor, and your cheeks were aching from grinning. The teams were the same as they had been for the pool game: Mat and you against Tyson and Toni – mostly to balance out skill, and also because there wasn’t really anything more fun than to trash talk the living daylights out of Toni and Tyson.

Though, it seemed Mat was holding back on tackling Toni, and putting all his effort into completely decking Tyson: the man had sand embedded in his curls and you knew if you so much as poked his cheek it’d transfer to your finger.

Having said that, Mat’s efforts weren’t exactly wasted – you were currently beating the other two by four goals (the infrastructure consisted of sunscreen bottles), and everything was going smoothly. There weren’t too many people on your stretch of the beach, and anyone who did happen to pass kept a safe distance. The tackles were fair and safe – or at least, they were until Mat landed a particularly hard one on Tyson and the latter’s foot got caught in the sand as his body fell the other way.

There was a groan as he fell to the floor, and all three of you still standing froze where you were, the ball slowly rolling to a stop. Mat was the first to move when he realised Tyson wasn’t moving – they were taught to stay still if they thought something was really wrong, and although he never said anything, it was clear he was thinking he’d just put his best friend out for the next few months.

The guilt was written all over his face, and it seeped into his actions: his hands were trembling and the questions rolling off his tongue were that of broken speech.

“Wha…ankle or…scale of…” It was as though he couldn’t decide what to ask for his overwhelming concern, and Toni tried to pull him away a little to give you some space to kneel down next to Tyson.

His hand was clutching his ankle and his face was screwed up in pain, and his chest was hitching with each breath for his pain, and even looking at him like that sent something heavy dropping in your stomach. It felt an awful lot like dread.

“Where does it hurt?” You rested a (what you hoped to be) comforting touch to his shoulder, fighting to keep the concern out of your own voice, incredibly aware that Mat and Toni were standing looking over your shoulder.

He inhaled sharply, managing to push himself up into a sitting position, his hand still clamped rather tightly around his ankle. It didn’t look so bad when it happened in the moment, but with the way he was acting, something had clearly gone very wrong. Perhaps weeks off in physio-wrong.

“Argh.” He clenched his jaw, lips pulled tightly together, “It’s my ankle. It’s not that bad I don’t think, but I think I might have sprained it–”

“Fuck.” Mat sighed behind you, and you turned to look at his pale face.

Before you could even attempt to tell him it wasn’t too bad, that sprains weren’t exactly career-ending, Tyson beat you to it.

“It’s nothing. It wasn’t your fault, you tackled me and I turned to avoid you and my foot got caught.”

You shot a look back at Tyson. Feet don’t really get caught in sand, do they? You tuned out of the conversation happening over your shoulders, and gently removed Tyson’s hand from his own ankle, trying to get a look for any possible swelling or bruising, but when he peeled his fingers away, all that you could see was sand and more sand.

Still, you didn’t say anything, not even when you could feel him trying to sneak a look at you out of the corner of his eye, not even when he used said ‘sprained’ ankle to stand up before accepting both yours and Mat’s shoulders to limp back over to the towels and bags.

There weren’t any ice packs in the cool bags, only ice cubes, and they would have been no good against bare skin.

Naturally, the next step to that was someone going back up to the house to grab an ice pack, only when you volunteered yourself, nearly everyone had protests.

Toni: No you should stay with him. I should go.

Mat: I should go, I’ll be quick and…well, it’s my fault so–

Tyson: Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll both just go.

Tyson’s excuse certainly got a suspicious look, only he seemed to shrug it off when he stuck his bottom lip out a little further and staged a ‘this is really bothering me’ glance to his ankle and after that both Toni and Mat both seemed to buy it.

You on the other hand? You arched an eyebrow but still hid your expression of disbelief under your cap.

His arm was heavy across your shoulders as you helped him climb the steps to the top path, and he kept grunting in pain every time he had to plant his injured foot on the floor.

“Do we need to go to the ER and get you checked out?” You asked, the weight of his entire body leant on your shoulder becoming a little too much because you’d learnt pretty quickly that hockey players were as heavy if not heavier than they looked.

You reached an arm further around his torso, planting your palm against his ribs, and whether it was that firmer touch or something else, he seemed to take some of the weight off your shoulder and twist his head to look behind him–

“What are you doing?”

“Can they see us?” He asked once again, suddenly a little lighter on his feet.

You frowned, turning around, only to be blocked from Mat and Toni’s view by a neat row of shops and cafes, “I don’t think so, no.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” He breathed, immediately stepping normally, the previous weight on your shoulder alleviated almost instantly as he tugged you closer, pressing a quick kiss to your temple and not minding the sand or the cap.

Only, his miraculously quick healing time seemed to have the completely opposite effect on you because you pulled away from him, still clutching his wrist and stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes fixed on his ankle in his sliders.

“So, you’re not–”

“No.” He shook his head, suddenly a little self-conscious, and because your head was ducked down and the brim of your cap was hiding your face, he completely missed the fond roll of your eyes and the rather impressed smile on your face, “Is…That’s okay, right? I just thought it might be nice to have an empty house. I mean, we don’t have to do anything, I just wanted to spend time with you without the other two.”

“You know you didn’t have to fake an injury to do that, right?”

The tension seemed to dissolve off his face when he saw you were more than amused at his antics, and all at once he pulled you back to him, a cheeky grin on his face, “I know, but if it was any other excuse I don’t think it would have worked so well.”

“Maybe.” You hummed, “Your acting skills were pretty good, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then, after a rather deep breath to fight through some of the nerves, “Y’know, I wouldn’t mind doing stuff when we get back in.”

“Yeah?” His tone was softer this time, as were his eyes.

“It’d be a shame if we didn’t capitalise on certain opportunities.”

***

Toni had figured something out almost as soon as she walked through the door. You didn’t know if you were trying too hard to be nonchalant or if it was something else, but the very second she walked through the door and set her eyes upon you from where you were tidying up the kitchen, she narrowed her eyes. And then you watched with bated breath as she scanned the entire room until she settled on Tyson, who, as previously planned, was laid on the couch with an ice pack on his ankle.

As far as you were aware, you were both fully presentable. The house didn’t smell of sex – the air fresheners took care of that perfectly well, but even so, you guys mostly stayed in your room; nothing wasn’t as it was before, which was why it was so unnerving to see her stalk right over to you.

“What’s up?” You asked slowly, your hands halting from where you were cleaning the counter.

She sidled right up to you, until her shoulder was pressed against yours, and she waited until Mat had gone upstairs before she did anything.

“So,” she started, loud enough for Tyson to turn where he was sitting to watch the two of you, “how come you two have never dated?”

The silence was loud.

You refused to look at Tyson. If you did, it would only give her leverage or something else that wouldn’t be good in any way whatsoever. Instead you looked straight at Toni, schooling your expression into one of confusion.

You’d talked about something similar with her before, but it hadn’t gone past ‘we’ve never hooked up’, and now? Well, that’s not true now, is it?

“Um…” You hesitated, well aware of Tyson’s eyes on the side of your face, “We’re just friends.”

She pulled a face, “Yeah. You guys like each other, though.”

“Of course we do, we’re friends.”

She paused, smiling, “You’re one of my best friends. I know when you’ve had sex.” At that she sent a rather pointed accusatory glare, laced completely with amusement, straight at the mop of curls and pair of eyes peering over the back of the couch, eagerly watching the entire interaction. At the sudden attention, his eyes widened and his brows disappeared under his hair.

“I…What?” Tyson asked, rather adorably.

“I’m sure it’s just the sun–”

“Well, you’ve always had a penchant for orbiting each other, I’ll give you that.”

And quite frankly, you couldn’t really remember much after that, other than the fact that Toni then left the room and somehow you’d migrated to the couch, ensuring to leave an appropriate gap between you and Tyson.

Though, if Toni had gone upstairs, then Mat probably knew, because even though Tyson was one of your closest friends, nothing really beat the extent to which you and Toni knew each other. Even though neither you or Tyson admitted anything, Toni knew.

And with that in mind, you shuffled the small gap across the cushions, head resting against the meat of Tyson’s shoulder from where he’d stretched his arm out. He seemed to freeze a little under your touch.

“Are you sure?”

You hummed, “Mat probably knows by now anyway.”

He moved his arm to curl around your shoulders, resting his head against yours. You tried to see if you could hear anything happening upstairs, maybe a loud exclamation from Mat, or the thumping of footsteps, but nothing happened. Or, if it did, you wouldn’t have been entirely surprised, because it was hard to hear anything apart from the rushing of blood in your ears and the faint echo of Toni’s earlier words.

She really phrased it quite nicely.

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. We fucking suck at keeping secrets.”

#tyson jost oneshot #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost fic #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey fic #martha's is pretty romantic

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 5 months

Text

MARTHA'S IS PRETTY ROMANTIC - CHAPTER ONE: COMPLICATED?

summary: the vacation at martha's kicks off in full swing, but one comment that apparently came from tyson's mouth not only sends your mind spinning, but throws your entire focus out of whack (+neon dinosaur undies)

warnings: swearing, sexual innuendos, overthinking, pining (i should also warn you this is gonna be a slow burn so buckle up), oblivious idiots

word count: 3.3k (she's a short one)

prologue | series masterlist | next part

“So…”

Even the tone of Toni’s voice indicated that she was setting up for girl talk, which, to be honest with her, had been banned within the last seven hours because the boys had both been with one of you nearly all the time, which meant having your little chats was literally impossible.

Until now: Mat and Tyson had both booked a water ski and water board session for the next hour, and neither you or Toni had really had any intention to do it with them, partly because you’d only stepped off a plane mere hours ago, but mostly because it was the first day, and the only thing on either of your minds was relaxing on the nearest stretch of beach, reading in the sun.

In theory, you should have seen her questioning coming from a mile away.

You sighed, turning your head away from your book as you placed it in the beach bag next to you. Toni had been sitting up on your left, applying suncream and every so often you could see her eyes flicker to the boat you both knew the boys to be on. You were pleasantly surprised it took her so long to begin the line of questioning, but you’d already exhausted the whole ‘oh my god, this place is beautiful’ conversation, and the beach you’d occupied wasn’t very busy either.

“So?” You repeated, adjusting your sunglasses so you could see Toni properly.

She rolled her eyes, smiling at your faux obliviousness, “You and Josty look pretty cosy.”

“In what way?”

Truthfully, you were curious as to what the two of you looked like from an outside perspective. Sure, Tyson was usually an affectionate person - with other people. But with you, it was like he was scared to touch you properly. Where he’d probably throw an arm around someone if he was standing with them, say, in an airport, like you were this morning, but with you he’d just stand next to you closely, his arm or front pressed to your back. He wouldn’t budge his hands - not even if it got busy and you had to make your way through a throng of people.

It was kind of weird, to be honest, because you guys flirted - there was an odd dynamic and hidden tension - but it would never surpass words. That was due to Josty being uncharacteristically non-touchy (unless it couldn’t be helped), and you, you guessed. You weren’t really too touchy with anyone, and it occurred to you, just then, that it was your penchant to keep yourself to yourself that threw Tyson off.

It was why you were a little curious as to what Toni had made of it all.

Toni hummed, hesitating almost, and you immediately knew that she’d picked up on something, “I don’t know, but it’s like you’re on each other’s wavelength mentally, but it’s not really backed up properly.” She paused, thinking, “You guys don’t touch each other. If you touched each other, there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind that you weren’t together, but…He looks at you like he’d let you break his heart, if that makes sense.”

It didn’t make sense, not at all, really.

You shrugged, “We’re just good friends.”

Toni froze, hand pressed to her forearm where she’d been rubbing her suncream in, and tilted her head, “No.” She said, a hint of defiance in her tone.

“Yes.”

“That’s not what Mat told me.”

There was a shoot of uncertainty that buried itself in your chest as it propelled you into a sitting position, your brows knitted together in both complete and utter befuddlement, and downright fear. Mat had to have gotten that from somewhere, “What did Mat tell you?”

Toni swallowed, clearly sensing something was amiss with your reaction, “He said that Tyson had told him it was complicated. I asked why but he said he didn’t know, I just assumed you guys were hooking up or keeping it quiet, that’s why it was weird you weren’t touching each other.”

You shook your head, “No, we…Tyson said it was complicated?” You clarified, a hand getting thrown out into the space between you.

A small smile crept onto Toni’s face, and you could understand why. If the roles were reversed, you’d have found the entire situation somewhat hilarious, of course you would: other people’s drama always was, but not yours.

If there was one thing that remained constant between you and Tyson, it was that you rarely had drama. Your relationship was pretty steady, it had been that way for years. Well, up until Buffalo happened. Then things got a bit weirder the more you saw each other on a weekly basis, and it started after a drunken night out and a bad game of Twister, and from then on something sort of just went a little more unsaid.

But this was a little extreme.

Toni nodded, “Apparently.” Then, in your silence, “Have you two ever hooked up?”

You shook your head, a perturbed expression still on your face.

“Almost hooked up?” This time Toni’s voice seemed to climb in pitch, an almost disbelieving tone etched in her own voice.

“Not that I’m aware of.” You shrugged, this time your eyes going out to take a quick glance at the sparkling waters in front of you.

You could make out their boat in and amongst other ones, a wakeboard and a figure attached to the back of it, a spray of water kicking up behind. You squinted your eyes; it was too tall to be Tyson – too pale.

Toni hummed thoughtfully, returning her attention back to applying her sunscreen. You were about to pick up your book again to try and distract yourself from what Tyson had told Mat (what part of your relationship was complicated?), when she spoke up again, a little quieter, “I still think he looks at you differently.”

You didn’t even bother asking how.

***

One of your favourite things about going on holiday was the getting ready for tea; a nice shower to clean your skin of sticky sunscreen and saltwater always provided such a relief, and getting changed into a pretty dress and putting on some light makeup fresh out of a shower was an experience completely unmatched in your day to day life. It might have also had something to do with the fact that you were in Martha’s Vineyard with Tyson, Mat and Toni, and although it had only been one day, it felt like the much-needed getaway from your working life.

A little escape every now and then couldn’t hurt, and the company certainly helped alleviate any tension.

You’d only just managed to put on your dress when there was a knock at the door.

Considering the fact that you could hear Mat singing along with the music from the house speakers, and you knew Toni had just gone downstairs to supervise, it meant that Tyson was the one knocking.

He’d not had the chance to shower and get dressed yet because you’d been using the shower, and when he slinked in, back-first, you couldn’t resist the amused smile on your face at his caution.

“You can turn around, I’m dressed.” You laughed softly, sitting on the stool of the vanity and eyeing him through the mirror.

He spun around, eyes bouncing from you to the towel folded neatly on the end of his side of the bed (his side because you had your bags and shit across your side), before his gaze returned back to you.

“Is it okay if I just take a quick shower?” He asked, already reaching for the towel.

“Sure, do you want me to leave—”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He brushed your question off and disappeared through the bathroom door.

It took a couple of seconds for your brain to really digest what he’d just said.

It’s fine.

It’s fine? Fine for what? Fine for you to see him in his naked glory, or fine that meant he trusted you wouldn’t look?

You hadn’t seen him grab his undies from his suitcase thrown under the bed, so he’d just wander out into your shared room in nothing but a towel, dripping wet, curls sopping and water droplets rolling down his chest? He expected you to be cool with that?

You couldn’t be cool with that. You’d seen him getting out of the ocean, sure, but a shower felt different. There was barely ten feet between you both in this room at all times, and the door was shut — claustrophobic. That’s what it felt like, imagining Tyson climbing out of the shower smelling of his shower gel had you feeling claustrophobic. Your skin was prickling and you felt your cheeks get hotter by the second.

Why was this bothering you so much?

You’d seen Tyson naked before, almost. He’d showered at yours and you’d gone into the bathroom with permission because he’d forgotten…he’d forgotten his underwear and his towel had slipped. He’d caught it easily, what with those hockey reflexes and all, but you’d seen the deep v-line, the happy trail and the beginnings of a short trim of pubic hair.

It hadn’t bothered you then, and the only thing that had changed remotely since that incident was that talk with Toni.

Tyson said it was complicated.

In what fucking way was your relationship complicated? Had you misread something? Missed signals? Given him the wrong idea? (There wasn’t a right idea, really.)

And if you weren’t careful, history was about to repeat itself because he’d just walked into the bathroom and got in the shower with only his towel and damp trunks and no underwear again. Only the idea to kick you out hadn’t occurred to him considering the fact that he’d shot your suggestion of leaving the room to give him some semblance of privacy down, and hadn’t given any hints as to how he’d actually get from a (wet from the shower) to b (dry and in clothes) when 60% of the steps needed for part b were under his bed.

Should you rush your makeup? You weren’t putting much on anyway, so you could make it quick if needs be.

Or should you start to pull out his suitcase even though that would be a complete violation of privacy?

You swallowed, blinking at your reflection in the vanity mirror and continuing your work. He was an adult, he could figure it out for himself.

You’d just sprayed some perfume when the telltale realisation seemed to strike.

“Fuck.” You could hear him groan, the sound ricocheting off the tiled walls.

You smiled a little.

“Um—” he started, voice raised above the noise of the fan, and you took a few steps away from the dresser to the bathroom door to hear him clearer, “are you still there?”

You furrowed your brows at the hesitancy in his voice, “Yes?”

There was a quiet pause for a moment, almost as though he was thinking about how to possibly go about manoeuvring his way around this little bump in the road, before:

“Please could you go into my suitcase and get me a pair of clean undies?” His voice sounded a little weaker, like it physically pained him to ask that of you, and because you’d anticipated what he’d need a little ahead of him asking it, you were already pulling the suitcase out from under his bed before he’d even finished asking his question.

“Yeah, where are they?” You shouted over your shoulder, cursing under your breath as you took in the chaotic and unorganised state of his suitcase. If you didn’t know better you’d have assumed he’d already rifled through there in panic mode because not a single thing was folded or placed in a manner that suggested related things were kept in one space, i.e. toiletries, underwear & socks etc.

No, it was all just one pile of bottles and cans and odd shoes and socks and crumpled undies that did have you wondering if they’d been picked straight from a packet or if he’d forgotten to do laundry and just fished them out of the basket in a mad dash. He probably had more caps than t-shirts, and his suitcase was barely a third full. In fact, the heaviest thing was a pair of weighted bracelets. What he’d need those for had you stumped because 1KG to Tyson, let alone any hockey player, was not enough to maintain their needed and current muscle mass whatsoever.

You were staring at the cacophony of random colour assortments (bless his soul) when his reply came through the crack in the door, “Anywhere, everywhere. Just take the nearest pair — huh,” you heard him chuckle softly to himself, “would you look at that? I’m a master rhymer.”

“You’re definitely something.” You mutter to yourself, pulling an amused face at the neon dinosaur undies you’d just dug out.

Those would do, you decided.

“How do you want me to do this?” You asked, pausing at the door.

You weren’t about to walk in on him naked (although your skin did prickle at the thought — goddamn claustrophobia!) and you certainly—

“For starters, you’re not gonna dress me.” Tyson breathed a laugh, finishing your internal dialogue rather well.

“All you have to do is ask.”

The silence was deafening.

You blamed the beachside margaritas. They’d probably gotten to your head (any buzz they created had worn off before the boys had even got back from their boat).

Fuck.

Tyson wasn’t saying anything. In fact, he’d gone so quiet on the other side of the door that you wondered if he was still breathing.

You should have taken the hint, honestly. The flirty thing had dwindled massively since after the team dinner when he’d asked you to come here in the first place, and you had absolutely no clue where all of that just came from. You hadn’t even been thinking the words, they’d just flown out of your mouth before you could catch them and now you felt like an idiot holding Tyson’s dinosaur undies in your hand—

You didn’t remember when your eyes closed, but they flew open when the door creaked in front of you. You almost felt too ashamed to even lift your eyes to look at his face when it peaked through the gap, some steam billowing out as soon as he did so.

But Tyson wasn’t smiling, which instantly struck you as odd and almost had you apologising on the spot.

If it weren’t for the look on his face. He’d always been pretty readable, he wore his heart on his sleeve most of the time, but now you couldn’t quite grasp what he was thinking. He was looking at you, but it felt like he was looking straight through you with the way his brows were slightly furrowed in consideration. He looked serious.

You started shaking your head, an apology on the tip of your tongue and cheeks aflame.

“I-I’ll keep that in mind.” He muttered softly, a smile threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth until he reached his hand through the gap in the door, eyes still boring into yours. Your cheeks still felt hot, and you doubted he’d not notice considering the fact that there was barely five inches between you both, and his hand flexed.

Somehow, and with a lot of effort, you managed to string a couple of words together through the thick haze of your embarrassment, “You do that.”

You placed his scrunched up undies in his waiting palm, and before you could say anything to incriminate yourself further, you turned your back, ears pricking when you heard the sound of the door shut behind you. You’d made it three steps to the bed when it occurred to you that what Tyson had told Mat might actually be true.

Only, there was barely another second to dwell too much on it before Tyson was strolling back into the bedroom, wearing only his neon dino undies and a distracting lack of anything else.

Your brain seemed to lag slightly when it took in his slightly damp hair and defined chest. And shoulders. And arms. And your mouth only seemed to dry when your eyes briefly caught on the dark stripe of hair–

“You look nice.” He complimented offhandedly, dragging his towel through his hair one last time before throwing it on the bed and sending you a charming smile – it was a quieter smile than the ones he usually thrown your way, but given the rather awkward atmosphere you’d created, it wasn’t much of a shock.

“Thanks.” You returned the tight smile, turning back to the dresser and picking out some jewellery.

And all the while you were putting your earrings in, choosing a bracelet, rings and a necklace that Tyson assumed matched your dress, he couldn’t really take his eyes off you – as if he couldn’t already. He’d almost stubbed his toe on his suitcase when he got a look at your entire outfit because you wore it beautifully. And to top it all off, when you’d opened the bathroom door to pass him his undies, he’d gotten a whiff of your perfume in return for the steam, and he almost had to slam the door shut to deal with another little issue.

It had barely been twenty-four hours and you were already driving him crazy. On the boat, Mat had told him to grow a pair, but he didn’t know if he wanted to unless you gave him some indication of perhaps mutual feelings (as though Tyson would ever actually give you obvious hints). He thought maybe he’d misheard your little comment earlier, and he’d opened the door to just double-check, but that had just gone out of the window when he saw your red cheeks and lack of eye contact.

It could have been a hint, but it could have also just been a cheeky comment – and under no circumstances was Tyson ever going to get those two confused. Ever. You meant too much.

“That offer to help dress you still stands, you know?”

He blinked, and you were suddenly turning around to look at him. His fingers faltered on his shirt buttons and it took a second for his brain to understand what you’d just said because he’d sworn your mouth had moved but no sound had come out of it, and then his eyes drifted down.

He’d missed a button hole and his shirt wasn’t lining up.

He sighed, shaking his head and quickly unbuttoning to the mistake, “‘M starting to think I might have to take you up on it.”

You laughed softly, not bothering to say anything, and instead watched him from where you’d stood leant against the dresser, your arms crossed, as he focused on buttoning up properly.

There were tons of good jokes floating around your head, but given the delicate situation you’d found yourselves in (there was no way it wasn’t delicate – the atmosphere in the room gave the impression that if you even so much as stepped on the wrong floorboard something would inevitably come to light), you’d opted out.

It never even crossed your mind to leave Tyson to finish getting ready and make your way downstairs with Toni and Mat.

“You ready?” You asked, eyes taking in his outfit.

It seemed very Mat-inspired, with a short-sleeved black linen shirt and baggier beige dress pants. He looked…hot, at the very least. And he smelt fucking insane, too.

He hummed, nodding, a cheeky smile on his face before he held his arms at his sides and spun on the spot.

“You look really good.” You breathed a laugh, not detecting a single hint of lies in your words.

“Yeah?” He mumbled shyly, and you nodded, making for the door.

“Yeah. Mat might faint at your feet when he sees you.”

Tyson swallowed, feeling his cheeks redden at his own effort to hold himself back from asking just how ‘good’ you thought he looked. He didn’t care about what Mat thought, he’d seen him at some pretty tough points in life and vice versa, so if anything, he cared about Mat’s opinion on aesthetics the least.

“Well, that’s always my intention.”

#tyson jost oneshot #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl fic #martha's is pretty romantic #hockey fic

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 5 months

Text

MARTHA'S IS PRETTY ROMANTIC - PROLOGUE

summary: the sabres host an end-of-season meal and tyson's not himself; some good-natured concern for a friend goes a long way...to martha's vineyard.

warnings: swearing, sexual innuendos, anxious tyson

word count: 3.4k

series masterlist | part one

“Oh.” The shock laced in your voice wasn’t entirely subtle. Neither was the way your brows practically buried themselves in the midst of your hairline at the sheer surprise of seeing the man on your doorstep, but, alas, nothing about this little relationship of yours was entirely usual.

Relationship – a little too affectionate to be friends, but not affectionate enough to be more.

There was a fine line, and you and Tyson were doing wonderfully at balancing on that precipice; as demonstrated in this very moment.

He was standing on your doormat, a gorgeous deep green chequered blazer slung over his arm, his fist clenched around something you couldn’t immediately see and an adorably hopeful smile on his face. It changed, though, when he saw you. Flickered, even.

Momentarily his eyes dropped down your figure, then zipped back up to your face, a slight flush of colouring now prominent in his cheeks as he cleared his throat and stepped up slightly. You’d been in the midst of changing into your dress when he’d turned up, which meant all you were wearing was a tight black satin slip that hugged your figure in a way that even had you questioning yourself in the mirror, because who was that person staring back at you?

You looked good, and a small part of you felt gratified taking note of the way that Tyson obviously agreed.

“Sorry for intruding,” his tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he couldn’t help but roam his eyes one more time over the sight before him, “But I just needed some–some help with the colours…” he trailed off, unfurling his closed fist to reveal a pair of rather expensive-looking silver cufflinks, but it was the trio of different ties hidden under his blazer that seemed to be the root of the issue.

You blinked, stifling an amused smile at the whole situation, because it was clear he’d come over unannounced with the intention of being invited in – and you were both still standing in your doorway (thank fuck it was fairly warm weather today) – and you would invite him in eventually.

It didn’t mean you weren’t about to give him a bit of shit for it, though.

Your eyes trailed over the ties now hooked through his fingers as he hastily stashed the cufflinks in the noticeably well-fitted trouser pockets, assessing the colours with some consideration.

There was a black one, a grey one, and a burgundy one.

In all honesty, you weren’t an expert on ties, at all. But in the very second you picked one up, something seemed to click.

You’d tried to ignore it for the sake of not wanting to be caught ogling the same man who’d worked his way up your list of close friends in the past couple of months, but after picking up a tie and moving with the intention of placing it against his shirt, you’d come to a deadend.

His shirt was short-sleeved; biceps gloriously tanned and nicely made up – which was precisely the issue.

“You’re wearing a polo shirt.” You raised your brows, a soft tie still in your hands when you folded your arms and looked straight at him.

And the fucker was smirking. And then he was just shamelessly grinning ear-to-ear, teeth slightly grazing over his bottom lip as though he had half the mind to not look so deranged and so proud of catching you out here – and all that seemed to conclude with a simple nod.

You bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to look a little pissed off by his antics, but you hadn’t been able to hold a straight face in front of Tyson since he spent his first night in Buffalo eating a takeout in your front room after EJ had given him your address. He’d been understandably devastated at the time, but you’d been the only person he knew in Buffalo and it seemed your friendly face eased him into the transition a little easier.

But that night excluded, you just couldn’t keep a serious facade in front of the man. There was just something so infectious about his entire demeanour that made it so difficult for you to do that.

You tried to glare at him, but you saw his eyes go to your cheek from where you’d bitten it to stop yourself from smiling, before they’d briefly flickered down to your chest from where you’d folded your arms, and you took that as an incentive to uncross them and actually use your words.

“You’re an idiot.” You rolled your eyes fondly, passing him the tie back as he took half a step backwards from the force of your shove and the unadulterated burst of laughter now ripping through the air placed him a little off balance.

He took your hand instead of the tie and you forced yourself to be normal about the way he used it as leverage to bring himself closer so he was eye-level with you, a step below your door.

“I know,” his laughter died down as he retreated his hand, instead winding the tie in your grip around his fingers, taking it from you, “but I just wanted to see you before we went out, that’s all.” He sighed, jaw clenching as the smile melted off his face for a brief second.

You shrugged, not wanting to think too much into why that just happened when you had approximately fifteen minutes to actually properly dress yourself and recheck you looked presentable, and although Tyson looked practically edible in that suit, you knew if he was within a seven metre radius that you’d break said time slot allocations, and that was the very last thing you needed if either of you had the intention of arriving on time at all.

“You’ve seen me.” You shrugged, but Tyson shook his head, apparently having none of it.

“Nah, I wanna see what you’re wearing.” He said defiantly, and before his gaze could travel south to the swell of your boobs and your bra, you snapped a finger in his face, causing him to blink in shock.

“Eyes are here.”

He swallowed, mouth parting as the tips of his ears reddened slightly. If it weren’t for his eyes you’d have thought he’d be embarrassed at having been caught, but Tyson had never not taken stuff like this in his stride.

Which is why he shrugged good-naturedly, a small smile curving at his lips, “I’m sorry for looking,” you could practically smell the lie emanate through his pores, “but they’re kinda, like, right in my face right now.”

You sighed, turning around before he could see the blush on your own cheeks (his shamelessness always managed to catch you off guard because he was usually so cheeky, and you honestly had no clue as to what brings this out when he talks to you, but you’d be lying if a part of you didn’t enjoy the attention – and a part of you would be lying if you didn’t enjoy it more because it was coming from him), and you left the door open behind you.

You didn’t even turn around to check if he’d followed you through and shut the door behind him because you’d practically rushed up the stairs – trying not to make yourself sweat after that interaction and the short burst of exercise – and into your bedroom.

The dress was on a hanger hung on the back of your bathroom door, and by the time you’d slipped it on, somehow managing not to muss up your hair in the process, you could hear Tyson’s heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs after you. It took all of five seconds for you to notice him enter the bathroom, see you putting on your jewellery and spritzing a last splash of perfume and slightly adjusting your makeup, and then promptly stop.

It was pretty violent, the way he halted, almost throwing himself back into the door.

The dress you’d picked was one you hadn’t had the chance to wear before, but it was sheer with a black floral pattern and fell to mid-calf. The neckline and because it also hugged your figure pretty tightly, it left as little to the imagination as the black slip did. In fact, it looked as though you were wearing a black slip with a pattern, and not much else.

Tyson didn’t move an inch from where he’d stopped, not even a hand to tuck back the curl that had flopped onto his forehead after the aggressive stop, not until you’d finished applying your lipstick and turned to him.

Not until you’d all but ignored him as you breezed past, the fresh spritz of your perfume sending his senses haywire as you did so.

Then he moved. He spun on his heel, mouth dry as he watched you go about your final routine, gathering bits and pieces from your other bags and purses and collating them in the one you’d decided to take to dinner tonight.

And fuck it if Tyson wasn’t currently trying to not look at you and simultaneously look at you. You looked breathtaking (though, you always did, even in hoodies and sweats), but his mind was a dangerous place, especially after harbouring this not-so-little crush on you and the whole flirting thing but never actually acting on it in the situation you’d got going on.

The dress left little to the imagination. Little to none, and he was having a hard time extinguishing the little flame that had ignited in his mind after he’d seen what you were wearing. For now, it was a thought, a simple idea of wow, I wonder how that dress would look if there was nothing underneath it. That thought was pretty harmless – he was just having trouble trying not to picture it.

And also looking at anything that wasn’t you because you looked divine. Divine, he thinks. He also wonders how the hell he’s supposed to let you sit next to EJ, your cousin, the entire night when you could be sitting next to him. He thinks that’d be more bearable than being on the other side of the table and able to look at you whenever he wanted to, because if you were sitting next to him, it’d be harder to look straight at you and therefore be held back – but if you sat next to him there was no way he’d be able to keep his hands to himself.

And that thought alone made something drop in his stomach. Words were fine, words were harmless, it was why you’d both resorted to the whole flirting thing, but touching was another thing in itself. Touching cemented unspoken feelings and hinted at other desires, and potentially allowed moments of wishful thinking and what-ifs, and that was something Tyson couldn’t afford to do. Not with you. Not only because you were EJ’s cousin, but because you were probably one of his closest friends.

It was also why, when you finally looked at him, cheeks flushed from the rushing around, he snapped out of his daze and readjusted his stance to a more casual one, one that didn’t scream you practically just floored me with your beauty and I just saw through space and time for a second, but whatever, no big deal or anything.

And why, when you asked “Do I look okay?” with a nervous expression on your face, as though his opinion mattered, answering with “Gorgeous.” came with zero hesitation before he was whisking the both of you downstairs and out of the door before the weight of his words could even begin to marinate in your head.

***

Tyson was being weird at the dinner. It was an end of season thing, and because Tyson had been traded to Buffalo before EJ had, it meant you’d known the team longer than your own cousin – which was a strange thought considering he played for them. So, naturally (you say that with hesitation), somehow you always seemed to get roped to come along with one or the other as a plus one if EJ or Tyson brought a date.

And despite EJ’s loud comments in your ear, it couldn’t quite distract you from the fact that Tyson had been uncharacteristically quiet on the other side of the table. In fact, he’d been quiet in the car after he’d insisted he’d drive you over to the restaurant instead of taking a taxi – it wasn’t uncommon, sometimes he wouldn’t talk unless you asked him questions, but it was weird considering the fact he’d been nothing but bubbly since he followed you inside your house.

It briefly crossed your mind that it was something you must have done to have him act like that, but he wasn’t one to offend easily, and you didn’t remember doing anything catastrophically hurtful towards him to warrant that kind of reserved reaction.

And because you’d known him for a while now, getting on a few years, you guessed it was probably his own brain keeping him quiet. He’d been chewing his lip every so often, fiddling with the cutlery in front of him and you’d also felt him shake his knee under the table. You hadn’t said anything in front of everyone, but you’d tapped the toe of his shoe gently with your own and flashed him a curious eye to which he’d shrugged and thrown a careless smile in your direction.

In fact, that nervous energy persisted throughout the entire meal. If anyone else noticed it, there wasn’t a comment; EJ was as oblivious as ever, gladly chatting away to Jeff, and you’d eventually swapped places with someone else so you could talk to Rachel. Even so, you didn’t stop checking up on Tyson – couldn’t help it really when each time you looked slightly to your right from looking at Rachel that it meant you’d be looking straight at Tyson over a couple of shoulders.

“Hey,” you found yourself taking the now empty seat on Tyson’s left, “are you ready to go, or do you want to stay a bit longer?”

He leant back against the chair, palms splayed across the tops of his thighs, and all it took was a sigh and a meaningful, tired blink for the both of you to be saying your goodbyes and heading out to his parked car.

He was still quiet.

“Are you okay?” You muttered, stepping up to his side.

There was something unreadable on his face as he turned to look at you; shock at having been caught – it was a possibility, but with the way he faltered and paused as though he was about to say something…you weren’t sure what to think or do.

What you weren’t going to do, though, was press on it. Especially because Tyson had never really been one to dwell on things for too long before saying something, so you weren’t particularly worried.

“Yeah.” He nodded, pressing his lips together, and you left it at that.

Then his hand disappeared in the pocket of his pants, and you assumed he’d gone to fish out his car keys, leaving the conversation at that (because, in all honesty, you didn’t entirely feel as though you had the right to pester and pester if he didn’t want to, and it briefly occurred to you that you were way overthinking the entire situation here), but he stopped on the sidewalk, grabbing your elbow to get your attention.

It was dark now, but you could still see him.

He looked nervous about something, but he was focusing on the small screen of his phone, fingers tapping quickly to find something. In the meantime, you let him have a bit of space, ignoring the urge to look over his shoulders to see what he was doing, but you had an inkling that this had something to do with his behaviour throughout the entire night.

“Um…” he started, taking a deep breath, before flipping his phone around to show you a chain of texts between him and Mat. You took the phone, eyes scanning over what was being said, but there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in particular. Mat was going on holiday, he’d asked Tyson if he wanted to go with him.

Tyson inhaled, and you looked up, unable to help the slight furrow in your brow, “Okay? It’s summer break,” you swallowed, entirely confused and a little concerned, “there’s no hockey.”

Silence.

Tyson scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, his hands on his hips, “Well, I spoke to Mat this morning, and he said he’s got a place at Martha’s Vineyard for him and Toni and he wants to know if I’d go with them.”

You cringed. Third wheeling Mat and Toni at Martha’s Vineyard of all places kind of seemed like a horrendous idea.

“He also said…Um,” his hands tapped on his thighs as he shot you some sort of desperate and frustrated look, like you weren’t managing to read his mind on what he was trying to say, “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

Oh.

“Oh.” You stuttered, seemingly at a loss for words as you cast your eyes back to the phone screen to reread it.

It was just an address, notes on the flight times and dates, and an open invitation of a room still left in the house they’d rented and Tyson hadn’t replied to that – it was where you were assuming the phone call occurred.

But a simple ‘oh’ to Tyson clearly meant something else because before you could even begin to think about it he’d spewed out more words, “I mean, you don’t have to go, I’d get it if you didn’t want to because there’s only one room and it’s Martha’s so it won’t be a twin room, which kinda means, well, y’know. Also third wheeling Mat and Toni doesn’t sound very appealing, so there’s that too.” He wasn’t rushing through your defence at all, more like calmly listing off reasons for you not to go so you didn’t have to.

“Martha’s Vineyard in August.” You muttered, shutting off his phone and handing it back to him. He ducked his head a little, trying to get a read on you, “August is, like, peak tourist season, right?”

You wanted to go. But Martha’s in August would absolutely wreak havoc on your bank account.

Tyson nodded softly, “It’s already been paid for. I’m not even paying for anything other than flights, sounds like they had a house and there was an extra room, that’s all.”

Well, that was that then.

“Okay.” You nodded, flashing an excited smile.

Tyson blinked, “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you. I can book it off work, I’ve got enough holiday time. I’d have to go shopping, but I can work something out with Toni–”

“Even if we have to share a bed?”

“Well, when you put it like that.” You muttered sarcastically at the tone of his voice, “Do you sleepwalk or sleep-yell or something?”

He just stared.

“Do you not want me to go?” It had played across your mind, but you figured if he didn’t want you there, he’d have never bothered to ask in the first place. And the way he’d said it, it made it seem like it was Mat’s suggestion and that Tyson would never have thought to even invite you.

It wasn’t that deep, though. You guys were friends.

“No, no, I want you to go.” He breathed, tilting his head at you curiously, “I guess I just didn’t expect you to say yes.”

You pulled a face, “It’s a mostly free vacation to Martha’s, why would I say no?”

He pulled his mouth into a tight line, dumbfounded at your willingness, “Martha’s is pretty romantic.” Was all he said.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Thank fuck I’m not allergic to romance, then. Why are you so against me saying yes?”

“I’m not, I just – are you sure you want to spend an entire week with me?”

Your annoyance dimmed at that, something twanging in your chest at the self-deprecating doubt, “I’d love to spend an entire week with you.”

He swallowed, brown eyes widening fractionally. When he still didn’t say anything, you took it as an incentive to continue talking.

“Is that okay with you?”

He just nodded dumbly.

#tyson jost oneshot #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl fic #martha's is pretty romantic

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