#tyson jost fanfiction

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━ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JT COMPHER x reader (main); TYSON JOST x reader (side); COMPHER x JOST (brief) wc — 14k synopsis — what's a reunion without some groveling?

note — this takes place a few of years after part one, go out with a bang (post-college/college au — tyson and kate are now out-going seniors!) sorry not sorry for the length of this behemoth, i got carried away per usual <3 there are more parts to come, and i would absolutely love to hear any theories/predictions if yall have any!

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — cameos on cameos on cameos, we're at a party so drinking and mention of dr*gs + yacking (no description), drinking games, sorority terms/processes, me getting too invested in multiple subplots and potential background ships, soft!service!dom!JT makes my peabrain go brrrrr, everybodies a bit masochistic because i, registered heathen, am masochistic, reader’s wearing a short skirt for plot reasons, slight compher x josty, oral (reader receiving 2x), unprotected piv (i know, i know, i know i need help), me letting my brat self take the kink reins, praise baby praise, angst AND IM NOT SORRY, + happy fluffy bits... possible cliffhanger??? 

Staring up at the Alpha Chi house is like stepping back in time. 

Like trying on an old pair of shoes you found while deep-cleaning your closet only to find their once-perfect fit gone. Growth is funny that way; you never realize just how far you’ve come until it pinches you.

You’ve outgrown this place, though not from a lack of love or any great tragedy. It occupies a different place in your mind, just as you’re a different person than you were three years ago. 

Your younger self would balk at this development, wouldn’t believe it’d one day feel too small. You can’t fault her for that near-sightedness. In college, your whole world existed on one street. You had everything you needed then between two stop signs.

But your world is bigger now, and your needs are different too. 

Still, it feels good to try on your past for the night. Even if it's a tad ill-fitting. 

The drive between your new life and your old one hadn’t been too bad, but that’s probably because you didn’t do much of said driving. JT got the engine going before you could even make a grab for the keys and, despite spending the last year in the literal trenches of clinical rotations and shelf exams, refused to switch at the halfway mark. Yet, your boyfriend is practically vibrating with excitement as you cross the all-too-familiar threshold hand-in-hand. 

“This is so weird,” JT remarks, his lips low to your ear. His musky cologne, warm and woody, does its best to soothe your nerves.

As you survey the crowd, you nod. 

He didn’t need to elaborate further for you to understand because you were already thinking the very same thing. Watching students, the vast majority as unfamiliar to you as you are to them, milling around your old haunt stirs an odd, uncanny feeling akin to a surreal dream. You’re well-acquainted with the setting, almost to an uncomfortable degree, and you don’t think you’re all that different, but everything still feels foreign.

All the right pieces are there, and you’re sure you’ve put them in their proper places, but the image won’t behave.

You quickly realize the only thing that’s misplaced is you. Grief hangs from your back like a wet blanket. 

“Look what the cat dragged in, boys!”

A burst of riotous laughter shakes much of the gloom from your system.

Gabe Landeskog barrels into your boyfriend like an overgrown puppy. Gray-blue eyes twinkling under the rainbow of LEDs, he embraces you both in a warm hug, not minding that the spontaneous act of affection has just cost him an entire Solo cup.

“Compher and the missus,” the blonde addresses you both with a wide grin and a big palm to a cheek each; he gives JT’s a quick pat but merely cups yours. 

His breath still smells of spearmint and something spicy, an imposing combination your eighteen-year-old self could never find comforting. Just another thing that's different now. If you could package the scent for all the little moments of nostalgia, you would. 

“I was starting to think we’d have to drag you from the city kicking and screaming, but alas! You've left the cozy, vanilla bubble of your own volition for a weekend of debauchery with your favorite degenerates.”

JT’s affectionate eye-roll is big and dramatic even in your periphery. The levity brings a smile to your face. It grows wider and wider, enduring until your cheeks burn. If anyone deserves some light-heartedness, it's your sleep-deprived, perpetually-stressed boyfriend.

“A night, Landy. We’ve got to be back by tomorrow night to relieve the dog sitter,” your boyfriend amends with a pat to Gabe’s flushed cheek, returning the favor. 

The older man groans like the overgrown boy he is and will always be. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible. All domestic and shit. With a fur-baby and everything. I bet it’s as well-trained as your firstborn.”

Your eyes follow the line drawn by Gabe’s strong chin past the entryway through to the room used for table-top drinking games.

Half-kneeling on the rickety table you helped customize a few years back is Tyson Jost, head tilted to the sky as he guzzles down the center cup. More beer spills down his chest than into his mouth, effectively turning his white tee sheer. The crowd is comprised mostly of giddy sorority girls who don't mind a bit. 

Free booze and a free show—lucky them!

Once the plastic cup is empty, he crushes it in his palm before sinking the balled plastic into the basketball hoop on the adjacent wall. The converted dining room swells with hoots and hollers so quickly you would’ve thought Tyson emerged from some mythic quagmire, blood-soaked and victorious. But there are no winners in Rage Cage; everybody loses.

Tyson’s loopy grin falters when he registers you and JT on either side of Gabe.

You would like to say nothing’s changed between the three of you over the past couple of years. That you’re just as close as you’d been in college, that distance hadn’t done as much damage as it has.

You'd be lying if you did. 

You tried your best to keep him in the loop; you really did, but that didn’t end up mattering much.

JT hardly had time to socialize with you most of the time, and you’ve practically lived together since graduation. He, like you, tried, but at some point, his bandwidth could no longer accommodate Tyson’s sporadic texts and calls. Many of which came in the dead of night, when your boyfriend’s head was either buried in a textbook or in the pillow beside yours.

Whenever you could, you invited the forward to spend the weekend in the city with the two of you. You even went so far as to offer to put him up in a hotel between your and JT’s respective apartments, knowing your adult salary could stretch further than the Atomic tips he was splitting with Tyler. He always had something conflicting going on, and it didn't feel like your place to question the authenticity of his reasons, so you just kept extending the invitation, hoping things would align eventually.

After finally taking the leap and signing a lease together, you decorated the guest room with Tyson in mind. He’s yet to see it, still.

Your little Kate, on the other hand, needs a frequent flyer program.

A small part of you felt this shift was inevitable once JT went from best friend-slash-unrequited crush to full-blown, live-in boyfriend. Despite Tyson’s insistence on you finally hooking up and “putting everyone out of their misery,” his smile didn’t meet his eyes when JT broke the news that it wasn’t a one-night thing.

Maybe his “little crush” hadn’t been so little after all. 

If that’s the case, you can't blame him for avoiding your slice of grown-up love like the plague. It just would've been nice if he hadn't left you in the dark, wondering where and how you fucked up enough to get iced out.

Tyson responded to every third or so text of yours, so you mostly kept up with him and his life through Kate, who briefly dated him between ill-fated Gunnar stints, and social media. You weren’t sure how often he spoke to JT; after several attempts that ended with your boyfriend clammed up and irritated, you stopped asking.

Judging by how tense he is beside you right now, you have a pretty good guess.

“Yikes,” Gabe drawls. “Trouble in paradise?”

You remain carefully quiet, allowing your boyfriend to decide what, if anything, to share. This—whatever it is —feels like it's more so between them two than Tyson and yourself.

JT clears his throat so hard it cuts through the music blaring through the packed house—some remix you don’t remember learning the words to. “Trouble? Nah, Josty’d have to give us the time of day for that.” 

Gabe laughs, but you know JT isn’t trying to be funny. You can taste the undercurrent of bitter resentment. It’s impossible not to without an artificial buzz.

There’s no time to dwell because a flurry of red hair darts through the crowd dispersing out of the dining room and straight into your arms. A fresh, but faintly-candied scent tickles your nose as the cool metal of a bracelet digs into your neck. 

Kate.

“Fuckin finally!” The almost-grad squeals directly into your ear.

Definitely drunk. Or high—or both. 

“Don’t look at me,” you say, beaming when she pulls back. “I wasn’t driving.”

Kate swats JT’s chest with her open palm. “And this is why we don’t let you drive anywhere, Grandpa.”

The playful jab makes your smile deepen. His driving made her tardy to a ZBZ charity gala one time over a year ago when she made the mistake of hitching a ride with you, and she’s probably brought it up a million times since. Kate pretends to hold a grudge, JT pretends to find it aggravating, and you get to sit back, enjoying the warm camaraderie overfilling your cup.

The pair have been friends almost as long as you've been friends with either of them, but since your graduation, they’ve settled into something more serious and more genuine. Where your connection to Tyson wilted outside the conveniences of college, your relationship with Kate matured and flourished. She’s more than just your chapter-appointed Little Sister to JT now, having become more of a true sister than anything else. Hence the juvenile teasing.

“Well, we’re here now. Alive.”

Your little snatches your hand in hers, tugging you away from JT, who feigns offense.

“And now I’m stealing your girlfriend in retribution for making me wait. Go do… whatever it is you two heathens used to do at parties. We have a pong title to defend.”

“Excellent idea, Madame President,” Gabe declares, hands roughly massaging the male ginger’s shoulders. He tosses a wink in Kate’s direction.

Before the other ginger can drag you away for good, your boyfriend catches your free wrist, pulling you back to him so his lips can find your ear. Breath hot, he drops his voice an octave, “President’s bathroom. One hour. Nod if you understand.”

Your chin dips, quick and subtle confirmation.

“Good girl.”

As your respective keepers separate you, JT shoots you a wink of his own. Then, you lose him in the crowd.

Kate leads you through the sea of party-goers to the living room, her grip on you tight and comforting. Her thumb rubs small circles on the inside of your wrist as you approach the table, almost as if privy to your worry. Kate is incredibly perceptive; she can read someone’s mind without even looking at them. With you, her Spidey senses transcend county lines, so it’s no real surprise she deduced your current condition from no more than your erratic pulse thumping against her palm. 

When you reach the bustling folding table commandeered for the BP tournament, Kate does all the talking.

It’s not too hard to get on the bracket despite the late entry with two newly-minted Alpha Chi brothers manning the post. The absolute last thing they want to do is get on the bad side of the president of their sister chapter (Kate) and the girlfriend of a legendary former chapter president (you). The pairs for the current game are only a couple of throws in, so it’s going to be at least ten minutes before it's your turn.

“You, my dear, look thirsty,” Kate declares through a mischievous grin.

You let her pull you towards the kitchen across the hall but have more difficulty than you expect actually getting there. Every few steps, someone stops either you or Kate. Mostly the latter, but she’s quick to show you off to whoever’s trying to seize her attention. Apparently, Kate’s been building quite the mythos of your time on campus, and it’s very… dizzying, to say the least.

“Kit-Kat!”

Kate abandons the poor freshman boy shooting his shot (and missing fantastically) in favor of the feminine voice sliding into the conversation.

In the blue-ish hue washing over the small space, you’re having a hard time placing her, but she seems very keen on making your acquaintance.

“Blake Meyers,” the newcomer announces, extending her hand with a smile.

You take it, giving her your name and a matching expression in return. The flattened vowels are distinct and recognizable, as is the last name. 

“Meyers?” you ask, attempting to work it out.

“Ava’s younger sister,” Kate interjects. “And one of our best steals this past recruitment.”

Blake blushes so brightly her freckles disappear.

You remember that feeling. What it was like to have an older member, especially someone as established and accomplished as an outgoing ZBZ president, go out of their way to make you feel special. You have zero doubt Blake will be walking on air for the foreseeable future, any of the common little doubts about whether or not she made the right choice vanishing.

“I was really hoping I’d get to meet you tonight,” the freshman tells you bashfully. “Kate gave the most beautiful speech about you and your legacy on Preference Night, and when she told me you might be coming with your boyfriend, I had to put a face to the name. And Jenny was the one who pref-ed me, so it seemed like—I don’t know, a non-negotiable?”

Jenny is one of the twins Kate took her junior year, and she couldn’t have picked better. It gave you peace of mind knowing your Kate would have good people around her once you couldn’t physically be there for her.

You won’t be surprised if Jenny takes Blake as her little. Kate pref-ed her, and before that, you pref-ed Kate. It’s basically a family tradition.

Not long after you thank Kate for her generous words and Blake for her kindness, Thomas, one of the new initiates in charge of the beer pong table, flags you down for your game. Not ready to end your conversation, invigorated by the breezy, jovial chatter your new life lacks, you tug Blake along with you.

Between exceptionally beautiful throws (if you do say so yourself), you learn more about Blake and her roommate and fellow ZBZ spring initiate, Emory. They pepper you with questions: about your first-year college experience, advice on getting the best room possible on the sophomore floor for mandatory live-in, whether or not you got anything particularly valuable in the various leadership positions you held, and what fraternities to steer clear of. You’re more than happy to answer them all. Kate sprinkles in comments and jokes occasionally, but she mostly defers to you so she can celebrate the end of a smooth second term as president.

Once Kate and you have successfully defended your title, you pass the torch to the future of your chapter. Blake and Emory make quick work of the first challengers and are close to a similar sweep with the second pair when your little remembers her earlier mission: refreshments.

This time, you both keep your heads ducked as you speed through the dancing bodies and make a beeline for the dinged-up lockers propped against the wall. You can’t help but smile when you see her reach for the lock—your old lock.

Every upperclassman (and a few select friends of the chapter, like Alpha Chi Sweethearts such as Kate and, once upon a time, yourself) is assigned a secure, personal locker in the oversized kitchen for quick access to personal items. During parties, they essentially become personal coolers. At your very last formal chapter meeting, you will-ed the hunk of metal down to Kate, along with the more sentimentally valuable items you wanted to leave behind with her.

“Wait, can you even drink?” Kate asks you from where she’s kneeling. Sarcasm scrunches her brows together.

“Hilarious,” you reply with a playful glare. “And before you loudly ask about the non-existent fetus like the devious bitch you love being, don’t. Unless you want to give JT an aneurysm."

Kate fishes out two slim, chilled cans as she grumbles about how boring you two have become in your “old age.” She shoves a ratty sweatshirt—an old favorite of Tyson’s—back into the small locker, quickly refastens the lock, and scrambles the dial. Then, she returns to her full height beside you.

“So, do you want to tell me what that wink from Gabe was about?” you ask, brow cocked.

“Do you want to tell me what your horndog of a boyfriend whispered in your ear?” Kate counters.

“Touché.”

Kate cracks open a Spindrift Spiked and slots it into your waiting palm. She taps the rim with her own, then sighs back against the cluttered kitchen island. She’s going to crack, you know it. Kate, even when she has a secret she wants to keep, never stays quiet for long. Especially not when you’re the one doing the asking.

“Okay, so, d’you remember how Tyson was, like, completely apathetic after we broke up right before Heaven & Hell last Halloween?”

You nod, recalling how irritated she was over FaceTime while you helped her pick a costume out of your box of hand-me-downs. You did your best not to laugh because Kate was clearly distressed, but it was kind of hard not to when she was buried in a heap of red and white feathers, wearing a too-small tutu dotted with rhinestones.

Kate takes a sip of the spiked strawberry lemonade before elaborating, “Well, I was understandably pissed—Don’t give me that look, okay? I know I broke up with him, but he shouldn’t have been that blasé that soon—so, I hatched a plan.”

You shake your head, laughing. Kate and her schemes.

“I wasn’t planning on taking Gabe as my date, but when I ran into him at Atomic the day before… I don’t know; I just couldn’t resist. I mean, Tyson worships the man. If anyone’s getting a reaction, it’s Landy. I had to.”

“And?” you prod. 

“And…” she stalls, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of pesky eavesdroppers, cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. “…we might’ve done it in the backseat of his truck.”

“I’m scared to ask where.”

She buries her face in your shoulder. “The venue’s parking lot.”

Your eyes bulge so hard you, for a split-second, worry they’ll pop out of your head onto the sticky hardwood and land amongst the discarded cans.

“And I didn’t tell you because I was so scared you and JT would hate me,” Kate moans into your skin. She shifts to peer up at you, hesitant. “You don’t, right?”

“I don’t think I’m even capable of hating you, Katie-Kat, let alone for something as silly as banging a hot blonde,” you giggle, and she’s quick to join you. Lowering your voice, “Especially the hottest of hot blondes.”

“I’m so telling JT you said that,” she teases, pulling away.

You shrug and take your first sip. “Go ahead. He’ll agree.”

“And this is why you’re my favorite couple,” she says, bumping her hip against yours. “The worst part is Tyson didn’t even care about that either! At the post-game, when he saw my lipstick smeared all over Gabe’s neck, he high-fived him. Tyson fucking high-fived him for screwing me. His ex-girlfriend! How supremely demented is that?”

“I wish I had an explanation for you, but I don’t. I’m starting to think I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

Kate takes hold of your unoccupied hand and squeezes it three times.

“I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any better?”

You shake your head, eyes downcast like there’s something super interesting between the floorboards. “I know he’s busy, and we’re busy, but he’s acting like our friendship meant nothing.”

“Not to start a therapy session in the middle of a rager, but did you... did you ever actually talk about That Night? I know you said JT whispered, but how positive are you that Josty didn't hear him?"

A few months after That Night, your guilt was on the brink of hemorrhaging. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped; you broke down in the middle of Talladega Nights. Fucking Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. All fat tears and snotty, incoherent spiraling, your chest heaved as JT rubbed your back. He was quiet, more concerned than confused, until you calmed down enough to explain what’d been weighing on your conscience. 

Then, your boyfriend looked clueless—because he was. JT didn’t remember his heat-of-the-moment pseudo-promise to taint Josty’s image of you.

After a scene or two, you broached the subject you’d both been avoiding since getting together. You wanted to apologize, and not that you needed JT’s permission, but you felt it wasn’t entirely your amends to make. He agreed but was adamantly opposed to operating on assumption alone. If Tyson was truly upset by the pillow talk he overheard, JT reasoned, he was old enough to be frank about it.

You found yourself agreeing, but also not? On the one hand, you could see this being an instance of your anxious mind making a mountain out of a molehill, finding fault where there’s none. But you knew Tyson, and you knew how sensitive he could be. 

Something shifted that night. You’d known then, too, even in the hazy afterglow. His despondency wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t uncommon for his dejected expression—his forced smile dipped in feigned nonchalance—to visit you in therapy sessions or in your nightmares.

But every time you typed and re-typed one remorseful novel after another, every time your gun-shy thumb hovered over his contact, every time you nearly drove out to your alma mater to track him down… You couldn’t get yourself to see it through. 

At first, it was the nerves, the fear of hearing his pain and seeing his anger. Then, it was your own temper, stoked by indignation, that rose with every sign of withdrawal. Now, it’s just plain, garden-variety sadness.

It was—is disappointing how cleanly he severed ties. There one day and gone the next, no blow-out fight or melancholic hear-to-heart. Tyson was there; he was within reach, but at the same time, not at all. The casual dismissal is worse than outright rejection; the door ajar but wholly uninviting.

"In the moment, I was certain he didn’t. Now? Fuck, the percentage drops every time I replay it in my head,” you murmur, remorse bogging down your confession. "I know you made a point not to bring it up when you were together, but did he ever, I don’t know, say anything?"

Kate shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it's not like we actually did much talking anyway."

You snort despite your woes.

“Alright, that’s enough doom and gloom for one night. How’s my nephew?” Kate asks, bright smile chasing the blues away with all its might.

It’s a distraction and a good one, too. She listens intently as you prattle on about the bi-weekly training sessions you’re starting next month to help with the leash pulling and the ridiculous pet parents you’ve met at the dog park near your apartment. She inquires about the fluffy lamb she brought over the last time she stayed with you—it lasted all of a day in his over-excited grip—then gushes over another variation she saw last week while getting litter for Salem, her diabolical tuxedo cat.

By the time Kate has your phone in her hand, swiping through the designated album and asking more questions than each picture really warranted, you’re feeling a bit better.

Noticing the clock, you stumble through a totally-not-suspicious excuse to venture upstairs—alone. Kate shoots you a knowing look but doesn’t give you a hard time. To be honest, she’s just glad you came tonight. Instead of a witty jab or half-hearted guilt trip, she slips a gold foil square into your unsuspecting palm and sends you on your way with a supportive swat to the rear.

Access to the second floor during parties is typically mediated by two to three gatekeepers, depending on the scale and projected rowdiness of each gathering. Three’s the magic number tonight: two up-and-coming juniors and an outgoing senior. They grant you passage with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.

“What? No riddle this time?” you tease over your shoulder.

The senior, an engineering major with a penchant for brain teasers, answers with a hoot. Cale Makar shakes his head, both amused and flattered you remembered his signature move. His puppy crush on you is an open secret. “I was given strict instructions to ‘keep the shenanigans’ to a minimum with you, Your Majesty.”

“JT?” you venture a guess, hand paused on the paint-chipped banister. He’s the only one who still sprinkles in the silly nickname these days.

“Landy, actually.”

Well, close enough.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time the former chapter president enlisted Cale, his little, to assist in your and JT’s more salacious antics.

As soon as Gabe had the defenseman under his wing, he was putting him to work. Not that the younger blonde particularly minded, as his affinity for creative, slightly devious schemes rivaled that of Kate’s. It was Cale, you later found out, who ran interference during Semi Formal… while you were defiled on the balcony.

“Still doing his bidding, I see.”

He counters with that lopsided “Get Out of Jail Free” grin. “What can I say? The man puts up a mean bribe.”

As if cued, Cale’s companions, who you now recognize as Alex Newhook and Bowen Byram, step into view. In Alex’s raised grip is a case of Labatt Blue, and in each of Bowen’s, a bottle of bottom-shelf cabernet. You doubt the trio would notice or mind the subpar quality, though. Between their happy heads, Cale fists a bottle of champagne you know he’ll misplace before he can polish it off.

“Jesus, how drunk is he?” you tease, the follow-up to an exaggerated gasp.

Sure, the quality’s shit, but their haul is far more valuable than your appraisal of their job; it’s a frat house, not Buckingham Palace.

“Not drunk enough to not see you here with us.” Cale’s voice tapers off, his pale eyes tracking someone stalking down the hall before nervously flicking up to the ceiling, “…and not up there with JTC.”

JTC — Talk about a blast from the past.

An anticipatory tingling erupts between your inner thighs just knowing he’s up there right now waiting for you. This is the part of your “homecoming” that excited you most and had been since the moment your boyfriend pinned the invite from the alumni association onto the fridge.

As blissfully domestic as your life together has become, it lacks the spontaneity your college life had been brimming with. Your sex life could never be categorized as mundane or clinical, but you’re finding it difficult to replicate the adrenaline rush stealing secret moments inherently provided.

Sometimes, in your more (admittedly) desperate moments, you’ve caught your fingers moving beneath the sheets to mindlessly chase the thrill of those fleeting intimacies, despite how awful the constant wondering and wallowing felt then or, maybe because of it, pain and pleasure are uniquely human indulgences sought in equal measure. When intertwined, they’ve been known to satiate masochistic cravings the way a sad movie or a sprawling, high-speed rollercoaster might.

However, this time, your risk-spurned euphoria will be at your own hand. The newfound agency—the ability to choose when, how, or if any risk is involved—has you darting up the stairs with a fire under your soles.

Before you round the corner and disappear down the hall, you make sure to call out, “Thank you for your service!” accompanied by a two-finger mock salute. You don’t stick around to catch their responses, though.

As you make your way down the dim corridor, you run smack into a very giggly Sarah Jones, just shy of your destination. Eyes distant and wide, she attempts to apologize for something—Something about sabotaging the Big-Little pairings your senior spring?—but it’s more bubbles than actual words. You nod along, still not quite sure what you’re accepting an apology for but too antsy to forge ahead to play detective. Your purposeful strides went unnoticed in her cloud of intoxication and nostalgia, but Erik Johnson, who’d been JT’s vice president, mercifully ushers his inebriated fiancé out of your path by the shoulders.

You offer him a faint smile of gratitude as they head in the opposite direction.

Over the music, you faintly hear Sarah begin chattering on about something unrelated, your reunion long forgotten already. You can’t help but chuckle a little on behalf of your younger self, who would’ve gawked at snobbish Sarah Jones drunk and voluntarily slumming it in a ramshackle house on Greek Row. And sporting a rock from a Degenerate on Ice (her nickname for your brother fraternity, not yours), too? That would’ve been the icing. But, the older, more mature, once-weekly-therapy iteration of yourself is happy she’s happy.

Thoroughly amused but happy nevertheless.

As you reach for the tarnished doorknob of the president’s suite, the rickety door flings open to reveal your boyfriend, all flushed cheeks and frenzied eyes.

JT pulls you inside, lips easily taking possession of yours, the heel of his lived-in/loved-on sneaker nudging the door shut. The hinges groan in protest to the rough treatment. Still fussy as ever. This house is a goddamn time capsule, you muse. Neither of you has the patience for benevolence. If it jams, it jams. That’s a future-self problem. Diligence now would only slow you down.

And would a prolonged stay on memory lane really be all that bad?

Your boyfriend cages you so close that when he manages more than panted praise between hot-and-heavy touches, the words barely fit in the gap between your mouths. “I was beginning to think you stood me up, sweetheart.”

The light-hearted accusation is semi-whispered, somewhat hoarse, in the way his voice always sounded when he came home from a long shift at the hospital downtown or post-game at the height of his collegiate career. JT isn’t a hard person to read—downright wolfish when he’s homing in on a target—but the low, raspy tone makes his intent glaring.

Your body thrums with anticipation.

“Never,” you croon back. A breathy moan sweetens your voice, courtesy of the calloused hand inching up the back of your bare thigh, bypassing the hem of your skirt with no effort or resistance. Arms looping around his neck, you make an inquiry: “Is there a reason we’re in your old bedroom instead of, I don’t know, the king-sized bed in the honeymoon suite you insisted we spring for?”

Tufts of faint copper tickle your cheek. Your boyfriend lands a kiss on your crowd-warmed forearm. Then, much to your displeasure, he steps out of the tight embrace.

“Y’know, I remembered something earlier when I was downstairs,” JT supplies in an apparent non-answer.

He guides you, as understanding rises in your mental periphery, through the barely-lit space toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this room and the next. Then, he flicks on the secondary light, the dimmer of the two, before tugging you over yet another threshold. His fingers twitch at his sides, lascivious.

You stare back at him expectantly, vision tunneling as you wait, wait, wait.

The latch might as well have been a starting pistol; the subtle click ringing in your eardrums like the sonic crack of a live round; his breath a plume of smoke from a charged muzzle well beyond its flash point. Pent-up, needy tension burns hot and burns brighter. Residue from the night prior aflame; you, a moth seduced.

JT drives forward. Stalking, like a cat on a bird, until he’s pinned you to the door. His dash was easy, made short and hasty by the starting block eagerness in your dilated eyes.

Mouth descending on your sensitive neck, hips grinding his want into your squirming form, harsh belt buckle nudging just right with each sharp rut.

“There’s still one thing left on my college bucket list.”

He sinks the candor in with his incisors. Not hard enough to break the skin, but that was never his intention. The sting is a reminder. Of your shared past, of his unwavering desire—of who is in charge.

Message received. Loud and clear.

JT leans away to admire his handiwork. One big hand poised at your jaw, and the other braced beside your head, keeping your shyness from blocking the perfect view; you’ve never been able to hide from him and never will.

His curious thumb deviates from the original objective to caress the skin, now splotched violet and angry. Softly, at first, like he’s committing the damage to memory. Then, emboldened by a sudden piercing hiss forcing itself from your throat, JT pushes down on the tender spot. The cruel, unexpected pressure pulls pitiful bleating cries from your undulating chest.

This is no longer an expedition to gather intel; it’s a primal instinct.

For a few moments, he just holds you like this. A cloistered existence made worthwhile by him occasionally digging deeper into the column of your throat, the pressure taking on a raptorial quality. Your boyfriend wears his herald grin at a rakish angle. It unfurls with refined delicacy, an effective diversion for his next endeavor. Breathe like a precision instrument; the sharp phantom-edge fans across the sucked-raw skin with unhurried ease.

There isn’t enough alcohol in your system to dull the twinge — and you’re glad for it. It’d be a crime to dilute a burn this good, this all-consuming. You crumble between him and the door, your world only this big. His name tumbles out with a pulled-candy moan, completely devoid of dignity.

JT’s chest rumbles beneath your clammy palms. “You gonna be a good girl and help me tie up loose ends?”

His strawberry-blonde crown dips to nuzzle your cheek. Hot tongue tracing an experimental line, JT groaning as it does. The muscle trawls for tears you didn’t realize you shed, humming through the pursuit. The low-pitched moan sends a chill straight down your spine right to your toes.

The hand gripping your jaw lowers so his fingers are able to coil themselves around somewhere more advantageous — your neck. Your eyelids flutter, woozy. His firm squeeze, just enough to make everything spin and keep you still, has become blissfully familiar over time, but your breath still hitches like it’s the first.

“Hm, sweetheart? Don’t be rude. I asked you a question.”

Your lips part, a barbed retort to his condescension on your tongue, but all you can push out is the strangled yelp of a wounded animal.

The hand by your temple no longer rests against the door. In the fog, it snuck up under your skirt; JT never meant to get an answer out of you; he just likes to watch you squirm. Likes to have something to reprimand you for.

His nimble fingers dance over the thin, sodden material pulled taut over your heat. Less touching, more hovering. Small, lazy movements that betray how well he can play your body. They float above the tingling bundle of nerves, further movement pending, contingent upon your obedience.

“P-please,” comes your pouted whimper.

“Focus for me, pretty baby. Tell me what I want to hear. Come on, let me make things easy for you. I can feel how badly you want to — and you aren’t in a position to be difficult, are you?”

You give in, and though the words you babble are largely unintelligible, JT’s ultimately satisfied.

“Such a good listener I’ve got myself. But you’re always to eager to please, aren’t you? You might throw stones from behind that tough girl act, but it’s just that: an act. I have a puddle in my hand to prove it.”

His frankness sears your face.

You’ve acquired a tolerance for his raunchy silver tongue through months of close proximity, but the mechanism is shoddy at best. Stalls and misfires galore. Against all odds (said “odds” being his fingertips toying with the edges of fabric between your thighs), you summon up a tawdry retort from the growing arsenal. “Don’t l-let it go to waste, Compher.”

It's not your best work, but much better than the slurred gurgle that preceded it.

He loves how you manage to be any sort of cheeky with him, even with your head swimming, stuttering and all.

“I don’t think it matters, sweetheart. I know there’s no shortage. Plenty more where it came from.”

With your knee, you nudge his hard-on and supply some honey-tongued snark of your own. “Is that your ego, or are you just excited to see me?”

Your boyfriend chokes out short-lived mirth. Then, with an accompanying smile, his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. Amused, but by the sting of the remark’s undeniable truth, not your cleverness. The protrusion moves just below his bottom lip as he swipes the muscle over his teeth, a half-second sardonic gesture. It calls attention to your impudence without dignifying it with a verbal reply.

His brow lifts to negate any confusion, feigned or otherwise. “Are you going to keep being a brat, or are you going to let me fuck you with my fingers?”

You gulp down your ready-mixed wisecracks.

“Nothing to say now?” JT taunts. “Funny how that works.”

Fuckin’ wisenheimer. His voice is so haughty you have to bite your lip to keep your foot out of your mouth, unwilling to jeopardize your impending pleasure for short-term gratification.

Your boyfriend’s smugness—and your subsequent annoyance—becomes irrelevant when your panties are roughly pushed to the side, and his thick finger slips past your taut entrance. Tip to knuckle in one succinct trust; your startled gasp drowns out the noise rising up through the floorboards.

Hips bucking forward—you just can’t help yourself—you're in search of some friction to marry with the blinding stretch. He’s made the tensile opening accommodate far more in length and thickness, but not like this. Rarely does he create space where there is barely any, having forgone tenderness. Slowly widening a gap with gentle pressure, not demanding room like it’s already his to occupy.

Your surprise drips down his hand.

The bliss—the relief, is palpable. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, and the gravity of the situation felt for the first time.

Before, you didn’t see any substance in a tipsy frat bathroom hook-up. The older you got, the more pointless it seemed, especially with an established, long-term partner. The novelty wasn’t lost on you, of course, but that’s all you’d written it off as.

Countless collegiate nights were spent imagining one like this one. A moment where your inescapable feelings for him would be matched outright. When the pressure of his stifled emotions would build too fast to keep them from boiling over, too mighty in stature. Suddenly overcome by unrequited feelings of his own, unable to uphold all the ridiculous unspoken platonic conventions with the same authority he commands now.

This is important. For your past and present selves. The significance of this overdone, soapy teen drama scenario cannot be overlooked because it underscores the progress you’ve made together. Years of dancing around one another, the unconventional catalyst and nontraditional timeline, every hushed conversation in the wee hours before responsibilities wake, the sleepless nights and the snooze-filled afternoons—this ostensibly clichéd moment is an amalgamation of it all.

One thought rises above the frenzied rest: Was this here all along?

Is this what was waiting on the other side of the aimless pining and the confusion and the hurt?

The journey might’ve been fucking hell, but the view from here is pretty damn heavenly.

Overwhelmed by your epiphany and his dexterous motions, you moan into his skin far louder than your pride would’ve otherwise allowed outside your shared apartment.

His arrogant laughter grates before it really registers. Venom secretes from your salivary glands when it does, but the melted retribution never makes it past your lips. His second finger robs it of the opportunity, and the third sends all thoughts out your ears. The light circles over your clit cloud your vision, nails digging into his jersey-clad back—I’m feeling nostalgic, he’d said. In more ways than one, apparently.

“S’good—wanted this for so long, Compher—k-kept wishing it was you that night, not Miles.”

JT seethes at the admission, curling his fingers until your knees buckle and you’re entirely reliant on him to keep you off the floor. Even as your mind slips further and further away, your hips manage to move in time with his hand. Meeting each stroke with equal hustle and vigor, a clear end goal on the horizon.

Then his thumb drops away, his hand coming to a halt, and he steps back. 

Away.

Frustration pushes the amassed tears waiting in the wings down your cheeks. Emotion runs down your face; a heavy spill indeed.

“I don’t ever want to hear another man’s name outta your mouth when it’s my fingers buried in your pussy.” His jealousy is well-polished. Manicure-smooth, like he’s been maintaining its luster in preparation for this very occasion. "—'specially not the motherfucker that made sure I heard all your pretty sounds through the walls.”

You’d grin if you weren’t so miserable.

That’d been your intention. It wasn’t anything Miles had or did that made him different from the rest of the chapter (who all, at one point or another, tried their luck with JTC’s hot best friend), just simply when he decided to shoot his shot. The only reason you’d been out in the first place was because you reached your breaking point, no longer able to stomach what you felt for JT, and you made sure Miles knew this before you let him call an Uber.

Despite playing for the same team, the pair shared a touch-and-go rivalry. You never knew if the intensity would result in a sweeping victory or an in-house, all-out brawl. If they ever saw eye to eye, you’d of never known. Miles needed no convincing to push JT’s buttons.

There was some heavy petting, nothing more. The only time Miles saw you undress was to change into the pajamas he lent you before knocking out on his futon, leaving you to take the bed. But JT didn’t know that. If sitting in their chapter house’s kitchen at 5 o’clock the next morning didn’t raise suspicion, the non-Compher borrowed t-shirt and ruffled hair certainly did.

Back then, he refused to ask. Even though you could see how badly he wanted to pry. Miles didn’t have anything he worth sharing, so JT was left to fill in the blanks.

You’d tell him the truth later, but right now, you wanted to see what milking his assumptions could get you.

“Did you like what you heard?”

His jaw ticks. Your hips push against his with a knowing simper.

You lean forward, closing the space he forced, lips barely brushing his ear, “Did you get off on it? Fuck your hand picturing yourself in his place… wishing it was my pussy instead?”

You hear the thud before you feel your head against the door or his hand back around your throat, his fingers deep between your walls again. The everywhere-throb makes you laugh. Giggle, really.

He squeezes until you’re no longer capable of mockery. His pace hastens, leveling out only once your thighs have started shaking around his wrist, knees cutting off his circulation elbow-down. Somehow, he keeps going despite the icy tingle. His determination overrides physical discomfort, knowing how close you’re getting. Feeling it in the distinct fluttering around his digits, seeing it in your trembling, swollen bottom lip.

“You’re so full of shit.” His mouth twitches at your throaty moan. A defiant hint of levity circles his pupils; he never stays riled up for long when it’s you yanking his chain. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him then, messy and crude, love-drunk. He tastes like your chapstick and gin, with a biting citric aftertaste —Grapefruit, maybe?—and you suck it in like you haven’t had a drop of water in days. And, in turn, he drinks down every choked sob and nonsensical half-thought you babble, every drop shooting straight to his loins.

He drives into you with fervor, humming as his tongue slips against yours, iron bulge omnipresent. The hand around your neck loosens but never leaves its post, thumb stroking your pulse point. I know everything about you, his movements whisper. Over and over, in and out. He, just as much as you, gets lost in the repetition.

“Don’t want him, never wanted him. Jus’ you—Always you.” It comes out slurred, mushy like your head, like your heart.

JT’s cock isn’t immune to affirmation and twitches through his too-tight jeans. Groaning, “Go on, sweetheart. Scream my name. I want every single person in this house to know exactly who’s fucking you this good.”

You do just that, writhing on his hand, eventually burying your face into his warm neck when it gets to be too much. He continues fucking you, and you continue crying for him, the pathetic little whimpers muffled now by his body.

JT guides you through the rest of your orgasm, as he always does. He watches your face carefully on the comedown, searching for any sign of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he cradles your shaking form against his solid chest, the hand that, only moments ago, tore you apart, soothing you back down to earth. Once you’ve settled, he walks you back and away from the door.

A startled yelp falls from your lips when you feel the chilly edge of the countertop. You pull away from your boyfriend, brows furrowing with confusion.

His hand taps the outside of your thigh. "Up."

You’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, let alone stringing thoughts together, so the command is met with inaction. Impatient as ever, JT wordlessly hoists you where he wants you and sinks down to his knees, big hands cupping yours.

“What’re you doing?” Strained, barely above a whisper.

He stares up at you with dopey, lovestruck eyes. “Come on, Compher. You can gimmie another one, can’t you?”

You aren’t an idiot. Often sleep deprived beyond belief and, more often than not, fucked-out on JT’s… Well, anything—but definitely not an idiot. You knew exactly what that loaded gun of a pet name implied the moment he used it. It first slipped out during a frantic supply closet rendezvous midway through your company’s holiday party, then a few more times in the months after.

It hasn’t lost its sparkle. It does make you more and more impatient each time he flashes it, though.

Fuckin’ tease.

Your fingers burrow in his hair, tugging from the root until his eyelids flutter prettily. “As long as you let me return the favor after—need to taste you so bad.”

“Deal,” he mumbles into your skin a half-second later.

His hands push your already-short skirt up, bunching it atop your hips and out of the way. Your boyfriend takes the time to remove the fabric barrier this time, and you don’t miss the way he tries to slip them into his back pocket without you noticing. Likely because it’d normally be a tease-able offense.

But not tonight, not right now.

Instead, you let a shiver speak for itself. The risqué gesture reminds you of the pair he used as a pocket square when his parents took you two to a celebratory dinner following his white coat ceremony. The rumble of his chuckle tells you his mind went there, too.

JT leans in, big eyes never moving from yours, his warm exhale fanning over your swollen folds. The tooth-marked bruise forming on the side of your throat pricks in tandem response. The action, a repeat of your boyfriend’s earlier antics, naturally yields similar enough results. He catches on, inching forward to—

Something bangs against the door.

His face falls; your heart seizes.

“Occupied!” your boyfriend barks, hands paused but gripping you tightly. He looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.

A full, lilting sound barrels into the door—too-good-to-be-true laughter. His breathy timbre is an unsteady balance of cocksure and skittish; a preference for one side or the other is blurred by the wood in its way. “It’s me, dickhead.”

Then, the curtain is lifted. A pocket of silence ushers in a stillness that cracks like a bolt from the blue.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel right now. You most definitely suffered a concussion somewhere in all JT’s reprimanding; you’re hallucinating right now. That, or the singular seltzer in your system magically turned psychotropic after consumption.

Waiting in the threshold is Tyson Jost. A quarter-drunk fifth of Jack in one hand and that goofy, irrepressible smile plastered on his face. Almost frozen in time—good-humored, untouched. As if nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. Suave, and standing there like he hasn’t ignored you for months on end, like your and JT’s absence in his life wasn’t felt the way the Tyson-sized void in yours was.

Idle and morose, his eyes are the only defectors to his blasé demeanor. Timid and downturned, akin to a kicked puppy, they beg you and your boyfriend to assuage his guilt. An olive branch, a white flag in the wind. Amid their vulnerability, they still manage to cut into you in a way that feels too intimate, too honest—too much.

The worst part of this charged maelstrom is knowing Tyson isn’t capable of being cruel on purpose, then or now. It's bittersweet.

Careless or callous, it hurts all the same. It’s difficult to sift through the muck and decide which feelings should guide your actions when there’s no easy place to lay blame.

A gnarly, muddy morass of emotion climbs out of your gut and fills your throat, threatening to make an appearance each time you dare to exhale. You’re nervous and confused, elated and optimistic, angry and reproachful. The burn of betrayal rushes up your neck and across the bridge of your nose, but all the words you’ve stockpiled for this rainy day stick to your tongue like tar. Dark, thick, and flammable—your silence is probably for the best.

Bronze eyes, somber beneath the fan of flaxen lashes, adopt a strange aloofness that doesn’t suit his face. Lacquered just so as to protect the gooey softness beneath, the finish does nothing to obstruct or disguise his desirous longing or a brand of blues you’ve never seen in him before.

The intensity of your braided gazes is sanguine at best, duplicitous at worst, but disorienting all the same.

Anxiously, you chew on time; you’re trying your best not to swallow minutes and hours in big gulps. Your attempts to savor their confounding guilty-pleasure flavor are as futile as hoping the animosity would dissipate on its own. Or wishing the distance was just a nightmare you were on the verge of waking up from.

JT’s pulse races against your skin. He’s just as affected, just better at hiding it.

“Took you long enough,” is what JT says in greeting from the floor, dry words flung over his shoulder to curb the growing tension. Blithesome and biting and far more hospitable than you imagined.

All you can do is blink, slack-jawed; there are pieces you’re missing.

JT chuckles at your expression. He pecks your inner thigh to regain your attention. “Fuck now, talk later. Sound good?”

His words crack any and all inhibitions. Like opening the door to a cage, his reassurance grants your mind and heart the permission to succumb to the wave of emotions—lust overtaking the pack with ease.

Eyes still stuck on the ghost in the doorway, you nod your head in agreement. It’s as if you’re afraid your voice might rupture the bubble.

“Figured you’d be a little parched, baby.” Tyson, voice becoming jocular as ever, wags the bottle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tone might be light-hearted, but his gaze is anything but. Starved is the only way you can think to aptly describe the shadow. “And we can’t have that, now can we?”

You barely register JT vacating the prime real estate to accommodate his best friend, and subconsciously, you scoot closer to the edge. You knew you missed him, but you underestimated how needy you’d become if he ever stood before you again.

Both men notice.

Grinning, Tyson takes hold of your jaw. His hand emits a small tremor of unease, hesitant where JT had been demanding. The accidental brush of his fingertips over your boyfriend’s trailed claim rattles free a melancholic whimper. Your eyes glaze over, watering as your neck cranes up at him. He gently tilts your face to the side to assess the damage. You can feel his eyes raking over the marred skin, a sensation akin to your boyfriend’s weaponized breath. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

In reference to the Neanderthal surveying you over his shoulder, Tyson sniggers. “Filthy bastard.”

Charming as ever.

“She deserved it.” JT’s nonchalant shrug is more dismissive than his verbal nod.

Wicked eyes twinkle. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

You pinch his side, offended. Nevertheless, you purr at the certitude dripping from his husky vibrato.

He yelps and bats your hand away. “Got you good, didn’t he?”

You nod.

The baby talk-adjacent voice is demeaning, but with your only shield burning a hole in your boyfriend’s back pocket, lying about the effect it's having would be pointless.

Propriety is becoming increasingly moot, as this conversation circling around you carves space for new possibilities.

“Poor thing,” Josty hums, his thumb coasting back and forth over your jaw. His breath is smokey-sweet, honeyed. “M'gonna make it all better. Open up, baby.”

It’s something straight out of an early aughts raunchy teen comedy, the way he holds your mouth open to pour whiskey straight down, doing so without the lip ever touching either one of yours. The thin stream drags slightly as it goes down, but you’d never know watching the pillowy spirit disappear into you. You’re too eager to impress them both to give in and react—to the burn in your throat or the circumstances of this affair. You guzzle the oaky vanilla-clove flavor, smiling dumbly at the toasted aftertaste, all too happy to take anything and everything you’re given.

Still, either by virtue of Tyson’s lingering tipsiness or your inattention, some of the amber liquid escapes over your bottom lip, dribbling over your chin and down in between your cleavage. There isn’t enough time to consider wiping it off; Josty’s mouth is sucking you clean before the bottle even hits the counter beside you.

“Would be a shame…” Tyson starts, briefly interrupting himself with a succession of wet, open-mouthed pecks he’s decided to spoil your décolletage with, “…to let it go to waste.”

JT’s begrudged scoff cuts through the trance. “Jesus, kid. Where’d you learn that? What the fuck have you been doing? Or should I be asking ‘who' you've been doing?"

Tyson flinches at the coarse overtone the questions carry. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of reaction only you’re close enough to feel. He just laughs into your neck rather than humoring JT or feeding into whatever he’s implying.

You’re too woozy to toss in your two cents in favor of either side.

Cold countertop lapping up your wetness, the burning palm cupping your face to aid the pursuit of sugary lips, the memory of his tongue gliding over your sticky skin—your boyfriend a few paces away, watching. That’s more potent than any liquor, mixed or straight. It doesn’t take long for you to pull away, in a there-but-not state of mind, to slouch against Tyson’s chest. Head heavy, warmed and spinning.

Happy.

“Somethin’ special, aren’t you?” Tyson muses as he kneads the tender spot where your hairline meets your neck. You peck his forearm.

“As sweet as this reunion’s been, you came up here for a reason. Get to it; we don’t have all night. I imagine La Tornade will be wanting his bathroom back eventually.”

You whimper at the sharp edge of his voice, even though you weren’t the intended target.

JT’s dark drawl was laden with protective affection for you, his devotion hardened by a hue of discontent reminiscent of a paternal chide. An outsider looking in might not see beyond the mediator-in-shining-armor ruse, mistakenly pruning away JT’s thorny pain and rotted grief, but you know better. The situation and him. While genuine, his defense of your bruised feelings is a trojan horse for his own. He’s conveying his rage how he can: under the guise of selflessness.

Tyson gulps, eyes downcasted, then nods. He understands as well as you do. When he finally looks up, the shadow’s fallen over his face once more, cloud drooped low overhead.

“You’re scaring me, Josty.”

This makes him laugh, his mood brightening a tad. “If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

In your periphery, you catch JT urging him to continue with a stiff glare.

“I-I’ve been such an ass. I—I just care so damn much. About you. About Compher, and our friendship. When you graduated, m-my whole world changed. Like someone gutted my life, scooped out all the good, comfortable stuff and left me with the shell. I felt like I lost my people. Like I was left behind. And then I had to watch you two get closer than ever—without me. It fucking sucked, and I didn’t cope well. Didn’t cope at all, really. Kate’ll tell you, she took the brunt of my tailspin.”

You can’t help but snort despite the thick emotion welling up behind your eyes. The boys smile, too. Things look up.

Tyson takes your hand in a tight squeeze; his pulse jumps into your palm. “But that’s no excuse for what I did—didn’t do. How I treated you. You were trying so hard, and all I did was punish you for it. For constantly reminding me you guys are there and not here. For moving on with your life like you’re supposed to.”

He claims JT’s old spot knelt between your parted knees. “And I’m sorry. So deeply sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you—let me apologize properly.”

Tears of his own shine up at you from his flushed cheeks. Gently, you take his face in your hands, rubbing away the spilled emotion with the soft pads of your thumbs.

A silent pardon.

The walls throw back the echo of his low, audible content—of relief.

“Is this okay?” His voice is barely a whisper, dwindling to a hush as the question tapers off.

Too determined to quiet his audible fear of rejection—and to have his mouth on you as fast as humanly possible—to bother with words, you nod immediately.

“With how much she’s been dripping onto the counter since you walked in, what do you think?” JT interjects, mood vastly improved.

Your cheeks and neck heat just as he intended.

The younger forward chuckles, hands massaging up and down your sensitive thighs, gripping them as if holding himself back from lunging too soon.

A predator lurking in the brush, lying in wait.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything. Didn’t want to embarrass her.” He winks up at you, confidence rising to the surface once more. You have to fight to maintain eye contact; he’s that stupidly attractive. “ —was try t’be a gentleman.”

You’re a flurry of butterflies, a whimpering mess.

Tyson wants to tease your body; it’s in his nature. But he won’t. Namely, because he can’t. No matter how good some old-fashioned edging would eventually make you feel, he’s already on JT’s shit list as is.

Besides, he’s only been fiending for a taste since you introduced yourself to him. And there's no time like the present...

Your guttural scream—an appropriate, albeit mortifying reaction to his baby pink lips enveloping your swollen clit—pumps his chest full with pride. Tongue flat, he charts the length of your heat with a gentleness you hadn’t thought your collective excitement would allow for. His hands coast over your legs, syncing with his mouth, until he physically cannot wait any longer. One final pass, one so agonizingly slow your greedy hips thoughtlessly vie for more of anything, brings his wistful, fidgeting digits to rest at the apex of your thighs.

“Pause.”

JT’s clipped command is a bucket of ice water.

Your vocal annoyance is matched by Tyson’s, but you both know how delicate a game you’re playing.

With his thumb still lazily swirling to your clit, Tyson’s inquisitive head begins to turn around. Before he gets anywhere worthwhile, it’s swiftly spun back into place by your boyfriend’s firm hand.

You can’t even convey how hot you find JT’s fingers casually twisting in his friend’s curly mop—just the way you love; all you manage is a warbled, mostly airy cry. Your distressed state worsens watching the show unfold between your lax, parted knees: reluctant, fluttery lashes over neon cheeks; a rosy, glistening bottom lip sacrificed to cage mousy whimpers, his ragged breathing betraying all effort toward feigning indifference to JT’s self-assured manhandling.

Your boyfriend snickers at your expression, a fish lingering open-mouthed for a surface sip, an ill-attempt to supplement a natural mode gone inadequate. No matter how much oxygen your widened jaw draws in, it never feels sufficient. A bottomless pit, a balloon with a fatal puncture wound. Gone before your depleted brain could make use of it.

“Have to make sure he does it right, don’t I, sweetheart?” JT’s voice is smooth and low, charring by the second; he’s enjoying the view as much as you are.

Tyson rolls his tawny eyes. Half-hearted annoyance. “Controlling much?”

“I know what my woman needs.”

The look you share with your friend is unequivocally feral.

And the growl JT hurls back, a low-pitched rumble permeating the tight space with little effort on his part, is just plain mean.

His attitude could not be more arrogant. The cavalier persona makes you shiver, and Tyson’s breath hitch. Humming, your boyfriend tugs on his curls until the two’s eyes are locked. Inescapable. The brunette gasps as he tries desperately to hold his eyes open, waiting with bated breath.

JT licks his lips, triumphant. “Open her up for me, will ya?” Mischief catches in the light as quickly as it falls into your boyfriend’s lap. His grip tightens, and Tyson whimpers like a naughty puppy caught red-handed. “Don’t screw around, ‘kay? She needs all the help her tight pussy can get, and we don’t have all night.”

Panting, his nod is the only affirmative he can muster up. And the only one his limited range of motion will allow for. Smug and pleased enough, JT all but throws his friend into your fire, his nose bumping where you’re most sensitive. 

You actually yelp.

Holding your torrid gaze, Tyson dips his marriage and middle into you. You groan out what you meant to be his name—But who knows? And who fucking cares?—unable to control yourself while he’s finally touching you like this. Finally back.

Tyson finger-fucks you at an even pace, steadily pushing you up the hill. His satisfaction is tangible when he pulls out and away, so very delighted by your wonton hiss of annoyance. Even more so when the volume hikes up in response to the slippery pads of his fingers circling your clit. Your lewd whines harmonize with your audible arousal as he works it back into your fragile skin, playing with your wetness, utterly fascinated.

“What d’ya think, baby? Think you’re wet enough to take another finger?” JT’s tone is as cocky as his stupid rhetorical question. He, however, made no move to conceal his growing impatience.

“Mhmm,” you murmur, head like a rubber ball hitting the pavement. Still, you remember your manners. “Please—c-can I? Can I have another?”

His smile is pure adoration, dreamlike.

JT’s reverent eyes stay with you, but his words pour down over the eager man on the floor as he coaxes you halfway to heaven. “You heard her, kid. Give the lady what she deserves.”

Kid—Tyson hates when people call him that, but he especially loathes JT's usage. There’s barely an age difference, but with the way everyone acts, it might as well be decades. It seems like no matter what he does to prove himself, he’s still the baby. Every additional candle is like an annual slap in the face, a mockery that won’t end.

He can feel anger and frustration curdling low in his stomach just thinking about all the attempts that fell flat, and he decides to put the grumbling to good use. The vibration is red-hot and deliberate against your responsive, slick center, irritation like lighter fluid.

He gives you more than just three fingers. He splays all three—wide. Even as they stroke your soft inner walls, Tyson keeps you stretched so as to leave no slack. Your boyfriend wants you open? Tyson will fucking tear you apart, happily. (Yes, spite is a factor.)

Highly sensitive and spread to the limit, you ascend far quicker than usual. Fisting a bushel of golden-brown curls, nails digging rapt half-moons, you guide his willing face to the necessary places to see yourself through. Every slight adjustment has your entire body jerking haphazardly as it struggles to process the rocketing shockwaves.

JT’s hand retreats—only slightly—to make way for yours, to give you more leverage to fuck yourself through it. Less than a foot away, your boyfriend’s chest heaves in time with yours, his eyes pits of lust you dive into with clumsy enthusiasm.

During one particular, delicious pass, the tip of Tyson’s tongue catches your strained entrance, and when you unexpectedly gush against his mouth in response, he begins lapping over and around your carnal connection.

“Holy shit — Ty, I-I’m — I’m — “

The denouement of your climax is nothing short of glorious, as rude of a sentence interruptor as it was. Half-mewls and purred praise rain down from your loosened lips, eyes screwed shut.

Tyson melts over the way you take control of your orgasm, so unabashed and authoritative. You go after what you want; he respects that majorly. And getting to feel and taste what makes you tick doesn’t hurt either.

Neither do you and your pretty, throbbing walls cutting off blood flow while your boyfriend tugs his hair from behind.

“Just like that, keep fucking her through it. Did so good—doin’ so good for us.”

JT’s praise sends the brunette’s unoccupied hand right to his bulge.

This is the best he’s felt in months.

There’s the mythical balance of bliss-to-tension to key up his senses, shooting white-hot tingles of want from his head to his feet and flaming between his ribs, affection for you. You forgive him, JT forgives him, and, most importantly, he forgives himself.

He feels buoyant with his face coated in your climax, so much so that it runs down from his chin to his neck, staining the collar of his beer-soaked tee; he hopes you might return his favor later.

Josty’s guilty hand is knocked away by a firm toe.

“Y’haven’t earned it, bud,” his mentor chides.

The delinquent appendage flops lamely at his side for a split second, then lifts beside his nose to join its partner at your slick core. As if remembering there’s work to be done, a goal to attain. Beneath this new asset, your achy, spent clit pulses, egging him on with every thump, thump, thump.

Tempting him to do something, to take it further…

He thinks about it. Fuck, does he think about it—you can see the tape winding in his eyes.

JT can read Tyson’s mind through his skull, apparently. “Don’t even think about it, kid. Her last one’s mine, but you’re more than welcome to watch from right here.” —Your boyfriend points to the remaining space between the sinks, knowing it’ll be close quarters for you both— “Just remember: I only said watch. This is groveling, not a treat.”

And Tyson does. Without question or complaint, he’s just fine sitting next to you, sitting pretty.

He’s always been the perfect teammate. Always willing to do whatever it takes, regardless of the role. The only difference is he no longer wants his anxiety to be the sole motivator behind said selflessness.

Finally ready to play fearless.

JT helps you down; Tyson hops up.

Immediately, your attention fractures. Split between messy brown curls and lust-blown pupils and your own disheveled appearance: smudged makeup, knotted hair, mauled neck, and spit-stained, bruised lips. Thank fuck you’re graduated and gone. Otherwise, you’d never live this down—Kate might treat you to a taste of would-be campus humiliation later if she’s feeling particularly charitable, though.

Your boyfriend’s grip is heavy on your hips. Happy to have you back. You feel one hand coast over your lower back and down to grope your ass as if trying to keep you in the palm of his hand. White-knuckle hold withstanding, JT presses his chest flush to your backside and uses his free hand to yank every remaining hindrance to your navel.

He wants you on display.

Your gasp is rivaled only by Tyson’s pitiful whimper and twitching, touch-happy fingers.

The ginger’s chuckle is molten and deep, mouth barely a breath from your ear, his eyes pinning Tyson still.

Your mind rewound back to when he made this proposition, wondering how the hell you got from there to here.

“Bend over, sweetheart. Arch that back nice and pretty so we can show Josty what a good girl he’s been missing out on—what a filthy thing you’ve turned into.”

As soon as you’ve done just that, your boyfriend drives home. It’s fast and dirty; primal. He knows there’s no need, but JT marks his territory anyway.

You watch Josty’s mouth part like he’s about to ask you something. Staring through his eyes as if ducking into his pesky daydreams and up-too-late musings, all specifics watery and indistinct.

Ultimately, you wind up disappointed by silence. But, with the slow return of your boyfriend’s bare cock between your soft inner walls, it dawns on you; JT had used a condom last time. Even made Tyson retrieve it for him. The depth of your relationship is sinking in; that’s what you’re now watching. He’s mulling over the information, caught somewhere between wanting to swallow his guilt one go and choking on his own assumptions.

JT follows your charged concern, performs a similar triage, and then gives you a concise nod through the fogged-up mirror.

I’ll handle it.

At that, your walls noticeably ease, and he shudders, groaning as even more of him sinks deeper to occupy the newfound space. He gets a few strokes out before Josty slots his body between your palms to lean in. Here, he does something that collapses the simple but effective status quo. 

“Fuck, kid. K-Keep doing that.”

Keep rubbing your clit.

Keep playing with you.

Keep being an accessory to his pleasure. To yours.

Be present.

Be here.

“Such a fucking mess, baby. Don’t know how Compher gets anything done with you there, sweet and ripe for the taking.”

The two halves of Tyson’s demeanor are antithetical, and infuriatingly so, a saccharine smile split open by filth. It paints a sordid picture that must stand for itself, as you find it impossible to pluck out of thin air any coherent thoughts.

Be that as it may, your friend did not set out for a reply. At least not one other than the befuddled stuttering you’re doing.

A familiar palm shoots to your raw neck—tender, inside and out—lightning quick. You're yanked up before you can blink. JT mercilessly nips at the gaps in between his tight grip, hips pushed just as firm against the swell of your backside.

Still, he furthers their madcap banter. “I dunno either, Josty. And, believe me, the little vixen sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I think she’s tryna milk me dry for good.”

If Tyson Jost were ever going to cream his pants—post-pubescence, it would be now.

Like, right fucking now.

The proclamation of your third orgasm is wondrous. Proud. Grateful. One of your hands flies back to catch the nape of JT’s neck to steady yourself as he continues pistoning in and out of you. Tyson's generous touch stays, too.

Your back arches this go around, head rolling against your boyfriend's shoulder before slipping back down towards the counter, free palm absorbing the impact of the abrupt sway. Too much, too much—it’s all too much for your tender muscles and soupy brain to handle. You surrender to the plethora of sensations, each more overwhelming than the last—half-collapsed back against into your boyfriend, half-crumbled forward into his best friend’s damp, tented lap.

“Not gonna last, sweetheart—y’feel too damn good, s’tight and warm, always strangling my cock—know you’re close, too. Gonna give me what you promised, Compher? Please, pretty girl—need to feel your perfect pussy squeezin’ me dry.”

It's refractory; your world goes from washed-out to vivid and back, over and over, as though impatiently flipping between channels.

You’re a tangle of sticky limbs and physical reverie, blanketed by a warm afterglow and cleared air. Body scaffolded by muscular forms on either side, your mind gives your body permission to slacken at last. JT’s arm winds around your midsection when it becomes clear the all-consuming exhaustion is giving way to the relaxation that eluded you for so many months. Tyson massages your arms, your hands still cemented to his knees. Your head drops to his shoulder, too heavy for your bruised neck.

For a long while, no one says a thing. Not intentionally or for fear of disturbing the peace; there’s simply no need. No words exist to shoulder that much weight, none able to capture precisely what emotions swirl between you. Silence says enough—silence says it all.

Banging cuts through your sex-drunk stupor. Again. The abrupt sounds function like metaphorical smelling salts, restoring consciousness and rousing decorum laid dormant. Your mutual, unadulterated bliss circles the drain in the absence of a psychological plug, ripped free, half-baked.

JT reluctantly leaves you empty and dripping, tucks himself away, and cracks open the door—only as wide as is necessary. Behind his imposing physique, you remain hunched over Tyson, waiting for your boyfriend to make the problem go away; you’re too tired to take any initiative.

Golden hair and familiar grey-blue eyes fill the gap, shining in your periphery. Barely a sliver, that’s how much of this your boyfriend’s willing to share with the world. You like that, and judging by his lopsided grin, so does Tyson.

“Paging Mrs. Compher!” Gabe hollers over JT’s head. “Clean up on aisle ‘Kate.’”

Just hearing her name puts you back in action. Damn you, maternal instincts.

You scramble to right twisted fabric and smeared makeup to a soundtrack of expletives. It’s pointless, though, because nothing settles how it should. No amount of smoothing, brushing, or tucking seems to help. Hazy vision and the legs of a newborn fawn don’t exactly lend themselves to effective primping.

And it’s not like you’ve got a hickey-remover magic wand stashed in your purse, either. 

Accept your fate, you acquiesce with a sigh.

Tyson does a piss-poor job muffling his laughter, which lands him a crisp swat to the chest.

As you stumble over, you catch the end of your boyfriend’s irritation. “—and you’re sure there isn’t anyone else to hold her hair back? Why can’t you do it?”

The gears in Gabe’s skull clank so loud you can hear them over the audible chaos seeping into your haven—he’s intoxicated, not stupid.

“CupKate wants her mommy.” The blonde winks at you over JT’s shoulder. His tongue gives a knowing click of approval at Tyson’s equally disheveled state. “And what do you care, Compher? Smells like you three already made your express trip to Pound-town, USA. How was it? I hear the weather’s hot and steamy this time of year.”

“Real mature, Landy, real mature,” JT scoffs.

The sound just revs him up. “Says the fucker who’s locked in a frat house bathroom with his girlfriend and his best friend. One of whom, might I add, looks like they got mauled by a hormonal freshman after a high school dance.”

“Can you two go measure your dicks, I don’t know, anywhere but in the way? I have a child to tend to.” 

You almost have to laugh. At the situation and at the words coming out of your mouth. At Kate, sick to her stomach like a kid who ate too many sweets on a holiday. 

Years have passed, but you’re all still the same.

“Me-yeoh!” Gabe sing-songs while miming what you assume are claws scratching at nothing.

Again, his drink is the sole casualty of his jubilation. A golden wave sloshes over the rim and onto the floor. The spray makes JT’s jaw tick.

The former winger offers a sheepish grin in repentance. “Whoops?”

Your boyfriend steals a glance to check that you’re decent, then side-steps out of your way with an exasperated sigh. His dilated gaze flits over your ruffled appearance, shamelessly drinking in the state of your throat but tripping over the questions dancing in your eyes.

He juts his head in Landy’s direction with a sardonic eye-roll. “Go on. Save your damsel, Mother Hen. I’ll fill you in on in the Uber back to the hotel.”

“Meet you out front?” You ask, and he nods.

You dart back to Tyson, plant a chaste peck on his flushed cheek, and then repeat the gesture with JT and his peeved lips. It’s faint, but they instantly soften for you.

Before they know it, you’re slipping out the door. Gabe gets an affectionate pat on the shoulder as you squeeze by him before you disappear in the direction of the Girls Only bathroom; no significant differences, only marginally cleaner and occasionally stocked with helpful accouterment—chivalry isn’t dead!

Lingering in the wake of your departure, Gabe sways like an inflatable man on the curb of a car dealership. A smirk twists his lips. “Nicely done, boys. Nicely done. Can’t say I thought we’d see the day—or that either of you had it in ya—but I feel like a proud father.” He wipes a phantom tear, the final straw. “Makes you wish you listened to Daddy Landy sooner, huh? Think of all the lost ti—”

JT slams the door in his face. Through the wood, Gabe cackles.

The two men slip back into sync as they wordlessly scrape themselves back together with the time and privacy you were not afforded. 

As JT yanks his jeans back into place, his belt clanking around like a bell’s hourly chime, a black velvet box tumbles to the floor, and Tyson’s stomach along with it.

The air shouldn’t, but it turns on a dime. Their progress is seemingly more fragile than expected.

“If—uh, wow.” A crunchy, anxious bark of a laugh cuts his thought in half.

JT doesn’t interrupt; he holds space for the blossoming discomfort.

Tyson rubs the tense knots along the back of his neck as his eyes drill into the floor. “If I’d known this would be our swan song, I would’ve tried to enjoy it more. I don’t know—savored it, I guess?”

“This,” JT says, scooping up the dud he hopes isn’t hanging fire. “— is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.”

Before they got into it in the garage, before they’d been forcibly separated by Erik and Nate. Before they, punch-drunk and drunk-drunk, teetered between tears and anger in the shadowy, too-quiet backyard.

They spun in circles until they had nowhere to move but on. To make amends, to stumble through chary half-apologies that mean more than they say.

JT’s alleviation was short-lived; his calm trepidation squashed before it could fly. Tyson now understands why.

Tyson balks. “Me?”

Your boyfriend sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge. He’s bidding time. Digging for the right words but knowing there are none.

“I love her—and I know you do, too. I’m not upset; she makes it hard not to fall for her.”

Tyson’s head hangs lower, chagrined.

JT continues, “I’m going to ask her to marry me, but I didn’t want to do it without talking to you. Without making sure you’d be okay. Eventually. The last thing I wanted was for you to be blindsided or to feel even more left out.”

Tyson can’t help but snort at the sheer absurdity. “Left out… God, how pathetic am I? Getting all butt-hurt over a relationship that isn’t even mine.”

“Pathetic was going AWOL.”

Josty winces. He doesn’t argue because he has zero ground to stand on.

“But feeling something? Far from it.”

“I didn't—don’t want to take her from you. You have to know that, Compher.” The hurt’s been hammered from his voice. Left behind is softened sincerity.

JT’s smile is just as downy. “I do, and you’d be wasting time by trying.”

Josty chokes on an unforeseen bubble of laughter.

You love JT Compher so openly and ardently it might as well be a neon sign plastered to your forehead. He’s always been it for you. There’s never been any competition, Tyson Jost included.

“Thank god we got this ironed out before the wedding,” the older forward chuckles as he leans back against the counter.

They’re side-by-side, as they should be.

“Why’s that?”

JT digs into his other pocket and pushes something into the palm of his best friend, whose cheeks flame tout de suite in response. With a bump of his shoulder, your boyfriend tacks on, “Something to remember tonight by.”

Tyson shoves the memento into his own pocket, then raises a quizzical brow.

Your boyfriend grins.

“The best man pining over the bride while giving the groom the cold shoulder would make for an awkward wedding, don’t you think?”

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[blueskrugs]

Written in the Sand | Tyson Jost

it’s finally here! I started this fic in September, thinking it would be a cute couple thousand words, and then finally finished it four months and almost 30,000 words later. 

huge thank you to @antoineroussel​ who held my hand through a lot of this and also did the hard work of beta reading and editing all of this. 

recommended listening: Written in the Sand by Old Dominion (where else would I get title and inspo from?), Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band, and The Dance by Garth Brooks.

length: 29.8k words (lol)

this fic has now been broken into chapters for easier reading 

Are we written in the stars, baby, or are we written in the sand?

Tyson never meant to catch feelings. Really. It was supposed to be a one-night stand. Then it happened again, and again, and somewhere along the line it turned into regular hooking up. And, well, anyone would tell you that Tyson wore his heart on his sleeve. It wasn’t long before he was falling fast and hard. 

Tyson looked across the couch at where she was dozing, wearing one of his T-shirts. His birthday was in a few days. He’d already resolved to ask her out for real before then. This stupid not-quite-friends-with-benefits shit was getting old. It needed to end one way or another, for Tyson’s sanity—and his heart. If he was going to get his heart broken anyway, why prolong the inevitable?

But he was getting ahead of himself. 

November

It’s early in the season, too early to be celebrating wins the way they are. But they blew out the Canucks and the Sharks in consecutive games and don’t have another one for four days, so Gabe dragged them all out to a bar. There’s something special about this team, Tyson can feel it, and so can the rest of the guys.

Which is how Tyson finds himself a couple beers and a shot or two deep on a Saturday night in November, with JT squished against his side in the booth. The team is extra loud to account for the fact that they’re in a crowded bar; EJ is across the table chirping Andre about something or other. Tyson settles in and takes another drink of his beer. 

JT elbows him in the ribs. Tyson elbows him back harder on principle. 

“No, idiot, there’s a cute girl over there,” JT says.

“You have a girlfriend,” Tyson says, not following. He tries to figure out which girl JT is talking about, but there’s a lot of girls in the bar. 

“You don’t,” JT points out, and, oh. 

“I’m not really looking for anything,” Tyson says, because it’s true. Especially not some hookup with a girl in a bar. He doesn’t really roll that way. He really wants to focus on having a good season here. He still doesn’t know which girl JT is talking about.

Gabe, the nosy asshole, leans over Cale to give his two cents. “Josty, I think you need another beer.”

Tyson glares at his unfortunately almost-empty beer bottle. He glances over at the bar again. This time, a girl catches his eye and gives him a small smile over her friend’s shoulder. She is kind of cute, Tyson supposes. Tyson heaves a sigh and elbows JT again to force him out of the booth. A small cheer goes up. He flips them off without turning around. 

It’s even more crowded at the bar, but Tyson manages to squeeze in near the girl and lean against the bar while he waits for a bartender. The person on his left leaves with their drink, and then he’s next to the girl. He wishes he knew her name. She smiles at him again. 

He’s about to lean in and introduce himself when a bartender comes over and asks for his order. She’s smirking at him when he turns back.

“All the beers in the world, and you’re drinking Coors?” she asks. She has to lean in close to be heard, and Tyson doesn’t mind it. He makes an outraged noise, which only makes her grin grow. “I’m Madison,” she says. 

“Listen, Madison,” Tyson starts, but he doesn’t actually have a great argument. He’s just not very picky when it comes to beers. He closes his mouth. Madison laughs at him and takes a sip of her drink. “And what’re you drinking, huh?” Something with a lime wedge on it. Red, maybe. The dim lighting makes it extra hard to see colors.

“All beer is gross, first of all,” she says. “Second of all, it’s a vodka cran.”

“Can I buy you another?” Tyson asks. Her glass is less vodka cran and more ice at this point.

On Madison’s other side, her friend groans. Tyson probably deserves that. Madison rolls her eyes at him. He deserves that, too.

“Real smooth,” she says. Tyson winks at her. “I don’t even know your name,” she points out. Oh, yeah.

“I’m Tyson,” he says. He sticks out a hand for handshake, and Madison takes it, though she raises an eyebrow and laughs at him again as she does it. 

“Okay, Tyson,” Madison says, “you can buy me a drink.” Tyson thinks she sounds amused. 

Tyson fist pumps and turns back to catch the attention of one of the bartenders again. 

Drinks procured, Tyson loses track of time as he chats with Madison, as much as they can over the din and constant jostling. By the time they’re both finished, Madison’s pressed close to Tyson’s side. She’s looking up at him expectantly. 

Fuck it, Tyson thinks. He leans close and settles a hand on Madison’s hip. “Can I take you home?” he asks.

Madison slides a hand around the back of his neck. Her nails scratch the curls at the nape of his neck, and Tyson suppresses a shiver in a warm, crowded bar. 

“God, I thought you were never going to ask,” she says. 

Some of the guys are still posted up at tables in the corner. He’d forgotten about them. He hears a few jeers over the din of the crowd, and he flips them off with the hand that’s not clutching one of Madison’s. 

“Friends of yours?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at the cluster of rowdy hockey players, letting Tyson drag her towards the door.

“Unfortunately,” Tyson says, once they’re safely out the door, and he can talk at a normal volume again. “Can I kiss you?” he blurts, pausing in trying to fish his car keys out of his pocket.

Madison laughs again, but it’s not mean. Tyson likes it, the way she already seems comfortable teasing him. She doesn’t answer, instead just slides her hand around Tyson’s neck again and pulls him down to kiss her. Tyson’s dizzy with the feeling of her lips warm against his, there in the middle of the sidewalk. He makes himself pull away.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Madison lets Tyson keep a hand on her thigh as he drives, edging up under the hem of her shorts. He’s dying to be able to kiss her again. She lets him as soon as she’s out of the car and pressed up against the passenger door. Then again, in the elevator until they’re both breathless, and even more once they’re safely inside Tyson’s apartment. Against the front door, tripping over themselves down the hallway, and, finally, finally, twisted up in Tyson’s sheets. 

Madison stirs next to Tyson, knocking him out of his bask in the afterglow. Her hair, once nicely curled, is a mess. Tyson’s probably doesn’t look much better, actually.

“I should go,” she whispers.

Tyson wants to argue. To tell her she can stay. But that’s too much, too strange. He rolls over to kiss her again, instead. She pushes him away with a soft giggle.

“Not helping,” she says. She sits up. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah, course,” Tyson says, nodding too hard. Madison slips out of bed and collects her clothes. If Tyson watches her ass as she goes, who’s to blame him?

He’s dozing when she re-emerges, fully dressed and a little less disheveled. 

“Can I get your phone number?” Tyson asks without thinking. That’s not what this was supposed to be. He told JT he wasn’t looking for anything just a few hours ago. He just knows he wants to see Madison again.

She hesitates. Tyson understands. 

“I’d really like to see you again,” Tyson says, maybe too honest for a hookup, but it’s late. He can’t be blamed for the things he says after 1 AM. “And it’s late, I’d sleep better if I know you got home okay.”

Tyson can see the moment she gives in. Madison sighs and steps closer to the bed, but there’s something soft in her eyes when she looks at Tyson. 

“Where’s your phone?” she asks. Tyson reaches for his bedside table out of habit. His phone never made it there in their haste to get into bed. He turns back to face Madison, sheepish.

“I don’t know, actually.” Probably still in the back pocket of his jeans, but he can’t remember if he stopped to take it out and set it somewhere, either. 

Madison sighs at him again and shakes her head. Tyson watches as she scoops his jeans off the floor and digs through them before coming up with his phone. He probably should have done that himself, but Madison tosses it at him before he can push the sheets away from where they’re pooling at his waist. Tyson isn’t expecting it and fumbles the phone. He has to dig it back out before he can unlock it and toss it back to Madison. 

She catches it with ease, and Tyson sticks his tongue out at her. Show-off. She ignores him, thumb swiping idly through his apps until she finds his contacts. She types for a moment, oddly serious. Her own phone vibrates in her other hand. She throws the phone back at Tyson. He doesn’t drop it this time. 

He unlocks his phone to see that Madison’s made herself a contact—just her first name and a smiley face typed out— and texted herself—a little blue bubble that just says, tyson.

She checks her phone again. “I really should go,” she says softly. “My ride’s here,” she adds.

“Wait,” Tyson says. He reaches out a hand, wraps his fingers around her wrist when she steps closer and tugs her down so he can kiss her one last time. “‘Kay, now you can go,” he whispers.

Madison cups his cheek and gives him one quick peck, then she’s out the door.

Tyson’s not quite asleep when his phone vibrates next to him, and she slaps at it, squinting at it in the dark. A text from Madison reads, home x. Tyson falls asleep smiling. 

He almost expects that to be the end of it. He knows he said he wanted to see Madison again, but he’s not sure either of them are going to follow up on it. The Avs’ schedule gets busy—away, then back home, then gone again.

But it happens again. Tyson’s high on another win when he dials Madison’s phone number. It rings long enough that Tyson thinks she’s not going to answer.

“Hello?” Madison says, startling Tyson. 

“Oh,” he says. He didn’t think he’d get this far. 

“Tyson?”

“Are you busy tonight?” he blurts. It’s a Saturday night, he’s expecting her to say that she’s going out with friends or something. Tyson’s just getting home from the game himself. 

He’s surprised when she says, “Not really.”

“Oh,” Tyson says again. He pulls his tie off over his head and tosses it aside. 

“Tyson? This is a booty call, isn’t it?”

“Uh. Maybe?” Tyson says. “Is it working?” Tyson surveys his apartment. He’d cleaned before leaving for Dallas, and he’s barely been home long enough to make a mess again. Though, his unpacked suitcase is exploding in the corner of his room where he dumped it when they got in late the night before. 

“God, you’re so bad at flirting,” Madison says. Unfortunately, she’s endeared by it. “I can be there in like thirty minutes, text me your address.” 

Tyson fist pumps when he hangs up the call. He frantically texts Madison before going to change into sweats. He’s fidgeting restlessly on his couch when Madison calls him again thirty-six minutes later. 

“Can you let me up?” she asks.

“Oh, shit, yeah,” he says. He doesn’t bother with shoes, just swipes his keys from his kitchen island and heads downstairs.

Madison’s waiting awkwardly in his lobby when Tyson steps off the elevator. She spots him and grins when he waves at her. She wants to hug him, for some reason, when he approaches her, but that’s not what they are, so she settles for taking his hand and twining their fingers together when he reaches out for her. 

Tyson doesn’t pin her against the elevator wall to kiss her after the doors close behind them, but Madison can tell he wants to. She squeezes his hand, and Tyson pulls her into his side.

“Little excited, huh?” Madison teases, looking at Tyson’s feet.

He wiggles his socked toes and grins at Madison. 

“Well, duh,” he says. The elevator doors open again. Tyson all but drags Madison towards his apartment. He’s kissing her before the door is shut all the way. They stumble over to Tyson’s couch, and Tyson’s pulling Madison into his lap before he’s even settled. She lets him kiss her for a few minutes before she pulls away.

“Is this going to become a thing every time you guys win?” she gasps. 

“You know who I am?” Tyson doesn’t ask, resting his forehead on Madison’s shoulder to catch his breath. “You watch hockey?” he asks instead. He’s not sure it’s a better question than the one he didn’t ask. 

Madison twists her fingers in the hair at the base of Tyson’s neck. “Not avidly. I really didn’t know who you were the first time, but my friends and I were out the other night, and I saw you on TV.” She tugs a little on his hair, and Tyson tilts his head back to look at her. She’s watching his face closely, waiting for his reaction.

Tyson’s relieved, in a weird way, that she didn’t know who he was when they hooked up the first time. He’s just not sure how he feels now that she’s back in his lap, and evidently knows he plays for the Avalanche. Madison’s unwavering, looking steadily back at Tyson. 

“What, so you’re just fucking me because I’m a hockey player now?” he jokes, or tries to joke. He thinks it falls flat.

Madison laughs. “No, you idiot, I’m fucking you because you’re kinda cute.” She rolls her eyes, and Tyson pouts a little. “I told you, I didn’t know who you were the first time. I’m not chasing anything, Tys. Besides, if I were chasing hockey players, I’m sure there are single Avs players who score more goals,” she teases.

“Hey, I scored a goal tonight!” Tyson protests. 

“I know, baby,” she says, kissing him quickly. 

“Did you look up my stats?” Tyson asks, distracted. 

“I like you, okay?” Madison says, ignoring him. “Wouldn’t be here for any other reason.”

Tyson has to kiss her again. They don’t end up making it to the bedroom. 

“Do you have to go?” Tyson whines, watching Madison sit up and search for her clothes. Tyson thinks her T-shirt ended up behind his couch.

Madison pauses. Tyson’s curls are a disaster, and Madison kind of wants to mess them up more. “And what exactly would we do if I stayed?” she asks, eyebrows raised. She threads her fingers into Tyson’s hair, tugs once, because she can. 

Tyson blushes a little. “I dunno, watch a movie?” Madison makes a face. Tyson’s phone got buried in the couch cushions, and he fishes it out to look at the time. “Okay, I guess it is kinda late.” Tyson’s stomach growls. “Do you want to order pizza?” he asks instead. 

Madison finds her shirt and checks the time on her own phone. “I really should get home,” she says, apologetic. “I hate getting Ubers late at night.” 

“You can spend the night,” Tyson says without thinking. At the look on Madison’s face, he says instead, ”Or, I could drive you home. Whatever.” 

“‘Whatever,’” Madison scoffs, shaking her head. But she grins at Tyson and pulls her shirt over her head. Tyson briefly mourns the loss of her bare chest. “I guess I could go for pizza,” she says. 

“Wait, for real?” Tyson asks. He realizes he probably sounds too eager. 

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Madison warns, but her smile is playful. 

She’s still standing next to the couch, and Tyson has to pull her back into his lap. She giggles as she settles across Tyson’s thighs. He kisses her cheek, the corner of her mouth, before she turns her head and captures his lips with her own. They kiss for long minutes, Tyson doesn’t know, time slowed down and unimportant. That is, until Tyson remembers he’s hungry and has to pull away. 

“Pizza?” he asks, somewhat nonsensically, panting a little. 

Madison kisses him again. Tyson tightens his grip on her hips, but pushes her away. “As long as you order pepperoni.” She slides off Tyson’s lap and slumps onto the couch next to Tyson.

Madison suddenly realizes that she’s tired, her eyes feeling heavy as she watches Tyson order pizza. She considers for a second, before carefully poking him in the ribs with her toes. Tyson doesn’t flinch. Madison stretches and settles with one of her feet across Tyson’s lap. He drops his hand to her ankle without looking down, thumb rubbing small circles across the bone absently. Madison closes her eyes and dozes. 

She’s woken up again by Tyson gripping her foot and shaking it. She’s melted further into the couch cushions, bones heavy with exhaustion. Tyson smiles at her.

“Pizza’s here, babe,” he says softly.

Sure enough, there’s a pizza box resting on the coffee table. It smells enticing enough to rouse Madison the rest of the way. She reaches a hand out, intending for Tyson to give her a piece of pizza, but he wraps his fingers around hers and pulls her to sit up. She leans into Tyson’s side. He laughs quietly and drapes an arm across her shoulders. Madison could probably fall back asleep like this, Tyson warm and solid next to her. Tyson hands her a slice of pizza, and Madison’s actually too hungry to resist. 

Tyson turns on some show on Netflix while they eat. Neither of them are paying much attention, but it fills in the silence nicely. It’s cold and dark outside, the city of Denver sleepy, but inside Tyson’s apartment, it’s cozy and warm. 

It’s dangerous waking up next to Madison the next morning. It’s something Tyson could get used to far too easily. Madison’s still asleep when he rolls over in the early morning light. She’s rolled over to face him in her sleep, face soft and hair a mess. Tyson’s not sure what time it is. He should maybe get up, but he’s not in any rush. 

Madison blinks awake to find Tyson watching her. She rubs at her eyes and rolls onto her back.

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” she mumbles. She turns her head back to look at Tyson. 

Tyson grins lazily back at her. “You, duh.” 

Madison facewashes him. Tyson grabs her wrist and wrenches her hand away, cackling. “You’re the worst,” she says over his laughter. 

Tyson scoots closer and sticks a foot in between Madison’s legs. No ulterior motive, just wanting to be close. Okay, maybe a teeny bit of ulterior motive: Tyson’s toes are cold. He’d wheedled Madison into wearing a pair of his sweatpants and a T-shirt before they’d fallen asleep. She looks like she belongs in Tyson’s bed. 

Madison watches Tyson closely as he settles back in. She tries to read the expression on his face, the small smile on his lips. She’s not sure what any of it means.

“So what next?” she asks softly. Two hook-ups and a sleepover does not a relationship make. 

Tyson knows what she’s asking. He runs through their upcoming schedule in his head. They’re about to leave for a week. That’s about as far as he gets. They can worry about all that later. All he knows that he wants, no, he needs to see Madison again. 

What he says now is, “Breakfast?” 

December

Madison doesn’t hear much from Tyson for a while after that. It’s not like she expected to, really. She knows the Avalanche went on another long road trip, and it’s not like they need to be texting each other constantly. 

Madison finds herself checking the Avalanche box scores after each game. Tyson gets two goals while they’re gone. Not that she’s counting, or anything. 

Tyson means to call. He really does. Or even text some. But in the air somewhere over Canada, he realizes he’s never actually talked much with Madison. He doesn’t know anything about her, unless you count what she’s like in bed. He’s never been good at small talk, or the talking phase. Which, when he thinks about it, is probably why he’s still single. 

It’s not until he’s staring down three and a half weeks of nothing but practices that Tyson picks up his phone again. 

Madison answers faster than he’d expected. “You’re not bored already, are you?” she asks. “It’s only been two days since you had a game.”

It’s only been one day since their last game, actually. Tyson whines into the phone. “Yes, I’m bored, okay?” Madison laughs at him. Tyson makes a face, even though she can’t see it. “We never get this much time off, it’s weird,” he goes on. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re a smart boy, Tyson,” Madison teases. “Went to college and everything, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

That’s not to say that Tyson doesn’t have ideas, and he thinks Madison knows what he’s angling for because she’s not a fool. She’s really going to make him work for this one. 

“I mean, I guess I could watch some movies or start a new TV show,” Tyson hedges. 

“Watch The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings trilogies,” Madison says absently. “Could get you through a good couple of days.”

Tyson takes his opening. “You could always come over and watch them with me,” he says. 

Madison groans, as if they both didn’t see where this conversation was going. “You’re terrible,” she tells him. 

“No, really, we can just hang out,” Tyson says. And if hanging out leads to other things, well. “Don’t you have teammates you can hang out with or something?” Madison asks, skeptical. 

“I see them literally every day”—Madison laughs again—“and I want to see you,” Tyson adds. “Really.” 

Madison pauses on the other end of the line. “Fine,” she says finally. “Should I pack a bag?” 

Tyson freezes. He hadn’t gotten that far in his scheming. Never considered Madison would even want to spend that much time with him this weekend. He’s quiet long enough that Madison says something.

“Tyson?” she says softly.

Tyson shakes himself, tries to get his brain back online. “I, uh, I mean. I guess? You can, if—if you want?” he stammers. It’s Friday afternoon. He still has some practices over the weekend, but the long break between games suddenly seems less daunting with the prospect of Madison staying over, staying in his bed.

“I’ll be over soon, okay?” Madison says. 

Tyson isn’t sure if he manages to say anything else before she ends the call. Fuck. He’s getting the sense for the first time that he’s in over his head. He isn’t so sure he minds, actually. 

The weekend passes quickly once Madison’s there, though Tyson swears time slows down when he’s with her. They do actually end up watching The Lord of the Rings movies—which Madison had proudly produced from one of her bags, along with several packs of microwave popcorn, which had sent Tyson into a laughing fit— in between falling into bed (or the couch, more than once) and Tyson dragging himself out of the apartment to get to skate. 

“We really should do The Hobbit first, since those come first chronologically, but other than the first one, they’re not as good,” Madison explains at one point, gesturing with a handful of popcorn. Tyson just nods. “And we could have probably had a proper marathon and watched all the movies, but that’s like twenty hours, and I figured you had other plans, anyway.” She looks sidelong at Tyson, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re kind of a nerd, you know that?” Tyson asks later, breathless from making out. He’s pressing Madison into the couch cushions, their legs tangled together underneath a blanket. He’s aiming for light, teasing, but he’s not sure he quite gets there.

Madison tugs on the hair at the nape of Tyson’s neck. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.” Madison’s smirking a little. 

Tyson absolutely does like her anyway. It might make him like her more, actually.

Madison’s standing at the kitchen counter with the last of her coffee on Sunday morning when Tyson comes up and presses himself against her back, pinning her in place. He presses a kiss to the spot where Madison’s neck meets her shoulder. Madison tilts her head to the side some. With better access, Tyson drags a line of kisses down her neck and across the top of her shoulder.

Madison sets her coffee mug down on the counter with shaky hands before she drops it. 

“Are you sure you can’t stay longer?” Tyson mumbles into Madison’s skin. 

From this angle, Tyson can see the hickey on Madison’s collarbone from the day before. He’s got one to match, somewhere. He wants to get his mouth on it again, make it darker, make sure it’s there for days. 

Tyson feels it more than he hears it when Madison laughs. She reaches up and drapes an arm backwards over his shoulder, holding him in place as much as he’s pinning her. 

“Sorry, bud, but some of us have to get back to the real world,” she says. She doesn’t make any effort to move. 

Tyson bites her shoulder, gently, but pulls away. “Same time next week?” he asks next, only half a joke. 

Madison turns around and looks at Tyson. “Tyson, next week is Christmas.”

“Fuck, is it?” Tyson tries to remember what day it is. His family is coming to town this year. He should probably put some effort into decorating his apartment, then. 

Madison just shakes her head at him. Tyson wonders if his mom and Kacey will be able to look at him and know what’s going on in his heart. 

Tyson’s apartment feels empty without Madison in it when he gets back from practice later that afternoon. She’d filled in all the quiet spaces Tyson didn’t realize it had—a spare throw blanket strewn across the couch, her makeup bag overflowing on his bathroom counter, an extra set of dirty dishes in the sink. 

He misses her. More than he should, probably. Huh.

This was never supposed to be anything. Just a hook-up from the bar. Now Madison’s spending weekends at his place, and Tyson wants to see her all the time. He should’ve seen it coming, maybe. He’d never been good at flings. 

He thinks about calling Madison, but that seems like too much. He’s been told he can be too much, sometimes. He puts his phone back down, flops face down onto his couch for a while, instead. 

Tyson spends the next few days doubling down on getting ready for Christmas. He had, in fact, forgotten that it was coming up so soon, and he still needed to get presents for his grandpa and sister. He digs out his meager box of Christmas decorations and sets them up around his apartment. It’s not very much, but it does go a long way towards making the apartment feel a bit more like home. 

He holds off on texting Madison until Wednesday. He shouldn’t have; his family’s flying in later this evening. They’ll be in town all week, and Tyson might actually go insane if he can’t see Madison, get his hands on her again until after the new year. 

If Tyson ends up picking up his family with sex hair, well. They probably didn’t notice. He’d shoved a ball cap on, anyway, though Kacey still raised her eyebrows at him in the rearview as she slid into the backseat next to their mom. He’d flip her off if he could, but his grandpa is right there.

Tyson makes it through the holiday without an interrogation from his mom and sister, but he knows it’s coming. The blanket Madison had left behind is still laying across the couch, and Kacey’s been curled up under it more often than not. Madison texts Tyson on Christmas morning, a simple merry Christmas! with a heart emoji that has Tyson grinning stupidly at his phone. Kacey clears her throat loudly, on the floor next to Tyson. He feels himself blushing as he fumbles to lock his phone and drop it face down next to him. His mom and sister share a look over his head. 

Madison texts again a few days after Christmas, asking if Tyson wants to grab lunch and hangout. Tyson does, obviously, but he has to figure out how to dodge his family for a few hours, first.

“I’m gonna go workout, I think,” Tyson announces. He needs to find his shoes, a water bottle. He is restless, too many days off in a row. 

Kacey looks up from her computer. “Oh, can I come? I’m supposed to be working out over break, too,” she says. 

“Uh,” Tyson says, trying to stall. He should’ve thought this through better. Kacey raises an eyebrow at him. “I was actually hoping for some time alone, y’know?” Kacey’s other eyebrow raises. 

“Are you saying you’re tired of us?” his mom asks, teasing. 

Tyson’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Madison again. He hasn’t had a chance to respond to her yet. He hates lying to his mom, but he still says, “Yes? No?” Tyson’s never been one to need space. “I just—”

“It’s okay, Tys,” his mom says gently. “Have a good workout, sweetheart.” 

Tyson doesn’t linger, grabbing his coat and shoving his feet into the first pair of shoes he sees on his way out the front door. He texts Madison that he’s on his way in the elevator. He does pick up lunch for both of them, too, on his way over to Madison’s place. He’s thoughtful like that. 

It takes just about all of Tyson’s self-control to actually sit next to Madison on her couch and eat first.

“How’d you ditch your mom and sister?” Madison asks eventually, eyes still on the TV, playing some random Hallmark Christmas movie. 

Tyson swallows. “Told them I was working out,” he admits.

Madison turns to smirk at him. “Working out, huh?” she asks, laughter in her voice. 

Tyson nudges her knee with his foot. “It’s not entirely a lie,” he points out. His lunch is practically finished anyway, so he sets it aside and slides closer to Madison. “I think they’re on to me, though.” He never could hide anything from the people he loves. 

Madison swings her feet into Tyson’s lap. She’s still eating, and Tyson’s about fifteen seconds away from taking her lunch from her and just kissing her. His leg bounces—his restless energy has only gotten worse since landing on Madison’s couch—until Madison digs her heel into his thigh, forcing him to stop. 

She’s looking at him carefully. “Would that be such a bad thing?” she asks. “People knowing about us?”

Tyson considers. It’s not like there’s anything to keep a secret, really. He realizes that no one even knows that he and Madison had hooked up more than just that night at the bar. He hadn’t realized how close he’d been keeping them to his chest. 

Madison’s still waiting for an answer. Tyson squeezes her ankle where it’s still draped across his lap. “I guess not, actually,” he says. 

Madison grins at him and, finally, finally, sets aside the remnants of her lunch. Tyson slides his hands up Madison’s legs, underneath her thighs, and drags her into his lap, finally, finally, getting his mouth on hers. 

Kacey and his mom are waiting for Tyson when he sheepishly slips in his front door an hour later. Kacey’s smirking, leaned up against the counter with her arms crossed. Tyson could kill her. He tugs the collar of his hoodie up, hoping it covers the hickey Madison left on his collarbone. 

“Good workout, Tys?” Kacey asks. Tyson flips her off. Even their mom smacks her arm in reprimand. 

“Great, actually,” Tyson says, allowing himself a moment of smugness in spite of his embarrassment. He hopes he’s not blushing. Kacey laughs. 

“If you’ve gotten yourself a girlfriend, Tyson, you know you could always bring her around,” his mom says gently. Tyson winces. He really hates lying to his mom. And he definitely could not just bring Madison around.

“Yeah,” Kacey chimes in, “I want to meet whoever’s got you sneaking around like an idiot.”

“She’s not—it’s not like that,” Tyson rushes to say. “We’re taking it slow, I guess.” He’s definitely blushing now, his face warm under the matching gazes of his mom and sister. He forces himself to shrug, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. “We’re just…friends,” he finishes lamely. 

Kacey and his mom pin Tyson with matching pitying, yet disbelieving looks. Tyson hunches his shoulders, nervous underneath their gazes. He thinks of Madison telling him that it’s okay if people know about them. Thinks about having to tell his mom and baby sister that he’s just fucking around with a girl he thinks he could fall in love with, given the chance. He decides against it, for now. 

Tyson shrugs again. “I mean it,” he says. “It’s not really anything right now. I don’t know.” 

He escapes to his bedroom for a shower and to bury his head under a pillow for a while, until he feels like he can face his family again.

The days seem to pass more slowly after that. Tyson works out—for real, thank you very much— and watches way too many cooking shows with Kacey, curled up under a mountain of blankets on the couch. Tyson doesn’t know the last time he got to spend this much time with his family during hockey season. It’s nice, even as he starts getting restless again, anxious to be back on the ice with his teammates. 

There’s a team New Year’s Eve party at Gabe’s. It’s pretty chill, especially as far as team gatherings go, but Tyson maybe has a little too much to drink. He’s surrounded by happy teammates with their significant others, and he’s maybe feeling a little alone. He cracks open another beer.

It’s almost midnight when Tyson sinks onto a couch next to JT and slips out his phone. No notifications. He doesn’t know what he expected. Madison had posted on her story earlier in the night that she was celebrating with friends, too. Tyson stares at his phone for a moment. 

miss you, he carefully types out. It takes him longer than it should to get it right, drunk as he is, squinting at his phone and concentrating really hard on hitting the correct keys.

Madison responds quickly, way faster than Tyson had expected her to. The typing bubble appears almost immediately. Tyson waits.

miss you too tys, it says. Then, please drink some water. 

“Who the fuck is Josty texting?” EJ yells from across the room. Tyson realizes that he’s been smiling stupidly down at his phone. He makes to lock it and put it back away, but he’s not fast enough. JT grabs Tyson’s wrist and wrenches it around so he can see his screen. 

“Who’s Madison?” JT asks, quieter than EJ. He lets Tyson lock his phone, finally.

“She’s—” Tyson pauses. He doesn’t want to say that she’s no one, because that’s not really true. He doesn’t have any other word for her, either.

JT’s been watching Tyson’s face carefully. He knows better than anyone that Tyson isn’t good at hiding his emotions, and something must be showing on Tyson’s face now. JT’s eyebrows raise. 

“Is that the girl you brought home from the bar like a month ago?” JT asks. Tyson hesitates, pulling his hand free from JT’s grasp. Tyson’s hesitation is enough. “Oh my God, are you still fucking her?” 

Tyson winces. It sounds crass when JT says it like that. “We’ve hooked up a few more times,” he admits. JT doesn’t need to know about the number of times she’s slept over, too.

JT laughs at him, shaking his head. “‘Not really looking for anything,’ huh?” he teases, echoing Tyson’s own words from that night in the bar. Was it really only a month ago? Feels like Madison’s been in Tyson’s life way longer than that, with how quickly she’s taken over Tyson’s thoughts.

“I wasn’t!” Tyson protests. He shoves JT a little for good measure. He’s so drunk he doesn’t think it has the intended effect. JT just sways back into Tyson, leaning more of his weight on Tyson’s side. 

It’s almost midnight. Around them, teammates are moving around, finding someone to kiss. Someone’s opened champagne, someone else is passing full flutes around. Tyson takes one when it passes in front of him. JT digs his elbow into Tyson’s ribs one last time before getting up to find Sydney. 

Tyson’s left on the couch, alone. He pulls his phone back out as people begin counting down around him. Madison’s text comes through just as everyone starts cheering and the clock strikes midnight. Happy new year Tyson! 🖤 

Tyson closes his eyes and drains his glass of champagne. 

January

Tyson usually dreads January. It’s a long, cold, and dark month. The grind of the season feels like it’s at its…grindiest. The game days and travel days start to run into each other and turn into one exhausting, never-ending blur. Someone’s always getting sick, or injured, 

He’s perfectly happy to throw himself back into hockey when the new year finally rolls around after so many weeks without it, but he hates how quiet his apartment is without Kacey hanging around, being annoying. He leaves his Christmas decorations up, anything to make his apartment feel lived-in.

Tyson lasts until the team gets back from Chicago on the fifth before he calls Madison again. She doesn’t answer. Tyson stares at his phone after it goes through to voicemail, bewildered. That is, until Madison texts him back and reminds him that she has a “normal job with normal hours.” Right.

Madison calls Tyson back on her way home from work. His groggy, mumbled “‘ello?” makes Madison smile when he answers, voice tinny over her car’s speakers.

“Did I wake you?” she teases. 

Tyson scoffs, but says, “...yeah. Sorry for calling you earlier,” he adds. “I’d just gotten home and wasn’t thinking.” “You can’t just call at 10:30 in the morning on a Wednesday, Tyson,” she admonishes. 

“I know, I’m sorry, I was just—” missing you. Tyson dismisses that thought. Too earnest. “I was just bored,” he finishes. Not much better, actually. 

Madison’s quiet for a while, focused on driving. She realizes she should figure out where she’s actually headed. “Were you calling for any particular reason earlier?” she asks. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I could never forget you,” Tyson says quickly. “I just wanted to see you,” he admits after another moment. 

Madison turns on her blinker at a red light. She should be turning left, towards her apartment. She turns right, towards Tyson’s place. “Did you want me to come over,” she asks, wanting to hear Tyson say it.

“I mean, obviously, yeah. I can make us dinner.”

Madison laughs. “Oh, sure, you’re gonna make me some toaster waffles, huh?” She had seen the Instagram stories. “You really know how to woo a girl, Tys.”

She can practically feel Tyson’s playful outrage on the other end of the phone. He sputters for a minute before saying, “Okay, I can order us dinner.” 

Madison’s almost to Tyson’s apartment building. She hates that she already knows how to get there so easily. “Are you going to get your ass out of bed and meet me downstairs?” There’s the sound of something hitting the floor, like Tyson actually rolled out of bed.

“I’ll be right there!” Tyson says, before hanging up. The radio cuts back in, music playing softly to fill in the abrupt silence of the call ending. Madison parks and turns her car off, sitting in silence for a minute. She wonders just what the hell she’s doing, what she’s getting herself into. 

Tyson sprawls onto his couch and pulls Madison into his lap almost immediately after they’re both through the door. Madison rolls her eyes, but she goes willingly. Tyson’s perfectly content to just make out for a while, all sense of urgency gone as soon as he gets his hands on Madison. He’s not sure how long they’re there before he realizes something and pulls away.

“Have you ever been to an Avs game?” he asks.

“What?” Madison lost her shirt at some point, and Tyson’s thumb has been fiddling with one of her bra straps for the last several moments. She’s admittedly a little distracted. She processes what Tyson said. “Tyson, are you seriously thinking about hockey right now?” She tries to roll off his lap, but he digs his hands into her thighs and refuses to let her move.

“I’m always thinking about hockey, a little bit,” he defends. Madison rolls her eyes at him again. What Tyson had really been thinking about was introducing Madison to JT, then he’d remembered that she said she didn’t watch much hockey, and somehow that’s what had come out of his mouth. Madison still looks a little bit like she wants to smack him. “I told my best friend about you,” is what he ends up saying next. “He’s actually the one who pointed you out to me at the bar that night, and he wants to meet you for real.”

JT had actually said that, in between chirps about Tyson’s hooking up habits. Some of the other guys had picked it up, too, but Tyson wasn’t ready to subject Madison to them yet. Except maybe, like, Cale. And maybe after a game at the arena wasn’t the best place to introduce Madison to his friends, but Tyson could get tickets for Madison and a friend, ask Mel to introduce herself or something, and then meet Madison after with JT. 

Tyson realizes Madison hasn’t answered him. She’s still in his lap, but she’s tense. Tyson squeezes her thighs again. 

“You don’t have to, obviously,” he says softly. “I dunno, I just thought you might want to meet the guys.”

Madison relaxes a little. “You really want that?” she asks. 

Tyson can’t help but grin at her. He kisses her again, slowly. “I do.”

Later, when they’re sitting at Tyson’s little table eating dinner—that Tyson did actually cook, thank you very much—Madison knocks her ankle into Tyson’s. Tyson swallows his mouthful of food and traps her foot in between both of his. Madison had gotten re-dressed in one of Tyson’s sweatshirts, and Tyson’s doing his best to feel normal about it. 

“So, did you have a day in mind for me to come to a game, or had you not thought that far ahead?” Madison asks. 

Tyson tries to run through their upcoming schedule in his head. “Uh?” They’re home for a lot of January. “Next Friday, maybe? The…14th?” He can’t remember who they’re playing, but that’s not really important. Tyson squints over at the printout of their schedule he keeps on his fridge. “We wouldn’t be able to hang around because we fly out that night, I think.”

Madison looks faintly overwhelmed suddenly. It might be for the best that the guys will only be able to say hi briefly, actually. “Sure? Whatever you want, Tyson.”

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Tyson reminds her. He feels a bit as if he’s thrown her off the deep end, even though she’s the one who pushed Tyson to tell JT in the first place. 

Madison shakes her head. “No, it’s okay, I just didn’t really expect it.” 

Tyson pulls a face. “Maybe I’m tired of keeping you a secret.” He doesn’t know what he was trying so hard to protect, now. 

Madison stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Tyson stares back. Finally, Madison drops her fork with a clatter and leans across the table to kiss Tyson. The fierceness of the kiss surprises him, Madison’s lips hard against his, her hand sliding around the back of his neck. Tyson cups her cheek and tries to soften the kiss, but Madison pulls away just as quickly as she’d kissed him. 

Tyson blinks at her, bemused. He’s not sure what just happened. It feels significant somehow, something unspoken changing between them. Tyson turns back to his dinner.

Madison sees Tyson a few more times over the next week and a half before the game. Tyson acts the same, but Madison feels like she’s on edge, counting down the hours until Friday. Tyson doesn’t seem to notice.

“What the hell am I supposed to wear to a hockey game?” Madison complains over the phone to her older sister, Emma, who she’d asked to come with her on Friday. Emma just laughs at her. Madison’s seen what WAGs wear to games—cute outfits with leather pants and heels. Madison doesn’t own that type of shit, and she’s not really a WAG, besides. She doesn’t own a jersey, either, and it would probably be weird to wear a jersey that’s not Tyson’s anyway. Madison’s pixie pants from Old Navy and sensible work shoes aren’t going to cut it.

“What were you wearing when you met Tyson?” Emma asks, as if she doesn’t know they met in a bar.

Madison snorts. “Nothing that’s appropriate for a hockey game.” Madison regards the handful of sweaters she’s pulled from her closet. One of them is close enough to Avalanche burgundy, maybe. Somewhere in her dirty laundry is one of Tyson’s sweatshirts. Madison’s not bold enough to wear it.

Game day is overwhelming, to say the least. Tyson had gotten them good seats, but Madison’s not used to being around so many people, and it’s noisy all around her. It’s easier to follow the pace of the game in person than on TV, she learns, and her eyes follow Tyson whenever he’s on the ice.

Tyson scores a goal late in the first period, and Madison’s probably the one who cheers the loudest for him. 

Madison waits outside the arena for Tyson after the game. Her sister’s waiting in the car, telling Madison it was too cold to stand around. She watches some of the other players make their way past her and onto a waiting bus. It’s cold, and she hates Tyson briefly. It’s only another few minutes until Tyson appears, closely followed by someone. They’re arguing, but Tyson breaks off as soon as he sees Madison waiting for him.

Tyson forgets himself for a moment. He runs over to Madison and wraps his arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her once. Madison laughs at him. He ignores JT snickering behind him in favor of leaning down and kissing Madison quickly. 

Madison’s blushing when he pulls away, but it might just be from the cold. 

“Nice goal tonight, babe,” Madison tells him. Tyson just shrugs. 

Behind them, JT clears his throat. Tyson kind of forgot about that part. He drapes an arm around JT’s shoulders and drags him closer. “This asshole is JT,” he tells Madison. “He’s one of my best friends.” To JT, he says, “This is Madison, be nice.”

JT scoffs. “I’m always nice.” He grins at Madison. “I’m also the reason Tyson went up to you at the bar, so I guess you could thank me for whatever’s going on here.” Tyson smacks him. 

“You can get on the bus now, actually,” Tyson says. JT’s laughing again as Tyson tries to elbow him out of the way. Madison’s smiling, too, though, amused by their antics. 

JT does leave, then, and Madison and Tyson are alone. Or, as alone as you can be with half of Tyson’s teammates watching them through the bus windows. Tyson steps closer to Madison.

“Thanks for tonight,” she says. Tyson barely did anything, but he’s not going to say that now. Tyson should really get on the bus, but he can’t tear himself away. Madison’s hand finds his, tangling their fingers together and squeezing once before letting go again. “Text me when you get to the hotel, yeah?”

Tyson has to kiss her again. “I will, I promise.” He really needs to go. One last kiss, pressed to Madison’s cheek this time, then Tyson forces himself to step away. Madison’s gone when he turns around as he steps on the bus. Tyson shakes himself and goes to find JT, flopping into the seat left open for him. 

“You’re in deep, bud,” JT says. Tyson glares at him. 

“God, I know.”

February

Tyson should be planning a vacation somewhere warm. That’s what most of his teammates are doing, with the All-Star break coming up in just a few days, everyone ready to escape winter in Colorado. What Tyson’s doing instead is texting Madison, trying to convince her to spend the week with him. 

He doesn’t understand why she’s being so resistant to the idea. She’s spent nights and weekends with him before. She’s spent more time around his friends, even sticking around the other night when JT and Cale crashed their evening. 

Fine I’ll just stay over at yours then, Tyson finally texts as a last resort. 

Madison leaves him on read for, like, two hours. He spends most of that time trying to figure out what he could have said to make her pull away so suddenly. 

Tyson’s this close to actually driving over to Madison’s to finish this conversation-slash-argument in person when she finally texts him back. 

I don’t think that’s a good idea either, Madison has texted. Tyson stares at it. Tries to type a response, deletes it. 

Before he can think much more about it, Tyson’s grabbing his car keys. He ends up driving aimlessly around Denver for a while before he heads towards Madison’s apartment. He’s worried he’s too upset to go straight over, that he’ll just start saying things he doesn’t mean out of frustration. 

He still knocks on Madison’s door a little too hard, maybe. She looks confused when she answers the door. Tyson realizes he probably should have given her a heads up. 

He’d planned what he wanted to say in the car, but what he blurts out instead is, “What, are you sleeping with someone else on the side?” Tyson could play it off as a joke any other time, but right now it comes out too accusing, too hurt. 

Madison’s face does something complicated before she grabs him by the wrist and hauls him inside. 

“What the fuck, no,” she says. “Tyson, what the fuck?” she repeats.

He crosses his arms. “I don’t get why you don’t want to spend the week off with me.” She’s already spent days at a time in his apartment. This week shouldn’t be any different. 

Madison’s always hated cuffing season, is the thing. Maybe it’s just because she usually finds herself lonely through the winter months. She’s not stupid, this thing with Tyson has an expiration date; if she’s being honest with herself; they’ve been pushing it ever since they extended all of this past a one night stand. With every day that passes, Madison feels herself falling just a little more for Tyson, and she feels the impending end creeping closer. She needs to put some space between them before she gets her heart broken.

She just doesn’t know that Tyson’s busy falling, too. 

Madison doesn’t know how to put all of that into words without blowing up her spot, though. She settles for saying, “I just need some space, I think.” It’s not exactly a lie. 

Tyson’s face falls, and Madison immediately wishes she could take the words back.

Tyson’s quiet for a moment before he quietly says, “I didn’t do anything, did I?”

“No, God, of course not,” Madison rushes to assure him. She tries to collect her thoughts. “It’s just that, with Valentine’s Day coming up, and winter ending, I don’t know, I think I need to figure out what I want.”

Tyson forgot about Valentine’s Day. He doesn’t even know their schedule that far out. He supposes they have been hurtling towards something they’ve yet to define lately. But, “Hey, we’ve got a good thing going right now, don’t we?” Madison nods hesitantly. “Who said anything about changing that?” Tyson’s heart has other ideas, but he can worry about that later. 

Madison takes a deep breath. “I guess,” she says, and Tyson grins at her. 

“I’ll drop the All-Star break thing if you want. I just wanted to spend some time with you.” He doesn’t spend a lot of time with people other than teammates. It’s nice to change things up. 

“Like you wouldn’t be calling me all the time to hook up, anyway,” Madison teases. Tyson can’t argue with that. 

He ends up sticking around for a while, sprawled across Madison’s couch with her tucked against his chest between his legs. Madison turns on The Hobbit, even though Tyson doesn’t think they quite managed to make it through The Return of the King the last time they had a Tolkien marathon. 

When he leaves later, pulling Madison in for a chaste kiss in the doorway, he realizes it’s the longest they’ve spent together without it ending in a hook-up. It’s kind of nice. 

Tyson does back off some after that. All-Star break is already upon them, anyway. He can handle winging it solo for a few days. Probably. 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t properly cleaned his apartment since their last long break back in December. The Avs have been home a lot in January, too, and his fridge is looking pretty bare these days.

He considers texting Madison and asking if she wants to tag along for his groceries, but he thinks that might be crossing the line of “too domestic.” He throws himself into cleaning and does his best to not think about texting her, instead.

It’s Madison who breaks the silence first. She lasts two days. She thought time and distance was what she needed, but that was before she realized how much she missed listening to Tyson chattering at her in between falling into bed. 

She texts, i’m coming over, before she can think better of it. She makes the now-familiar drive to Tyson’s apartment on autopilot. Tyson’s seen her text by the time she parks, and he readily buzzes her into the building. Madison doesn’t even have to knock when she gets to his door; Tyson jerks it open like he’s been waiting, beaming.

“Burky’s here,” he says, pulling Madison in for a kiss. Madison peers around Tyson. She hasn’t met Burky yet, but she vaguely recognizes the guy standing in the middle of Tyson’s living room as another teammate. 

“Hi,” he says. Awkward. Madison likes him.

“This is Madison,” Tyson announces, somewhat needlessly. His brain shorts out a bit after that, unsure what he can call Madison. ‘Friend’? ‘Hookup’? Definitely not ‘girlfriend’.

“Tyson hasn’t stopped talking about you since you came to the game a few weeks ago,” Burky tells Madison, interrupting Tyson’s runaway train of thought.

“Hey,” Tyson whines. “You don’t need to tell her that part.” 

Madison laughs. “Nah, it’s okay, JT’s already told me.”

Tyson’s busy trying to come up with a sufficient way to threaten JT whenever he sees him again as Burky slips out the front door, and suddenly he and Madison are alone. 

Madison starts to apologize for showing up with little warning, but Tyson cuts her off, pushing her—as gently as he can—against the nearest wall and kissing her. 

“Hi,” he breathes when Madison ducks her head to pull away. He kisses her again before he can admit how much he missed her.

“I missed you,” Madison says, which. Tyson can handle that.

“God, me too.” Before, he might have felt overexposed by telling her that, but, now, it’s just comforting to know she misses him the same way he misses her. “I was actually about to make dinner, if you’re hungry?”

He starts to head towards his kitchen, not waiting for Madison to follow. He hadn’t really planned much further than deciding to cook, but he can probably figure out enough to make for two people. Madison leans against the counter as Tyson opens his fridge and peers inside. He could make chicken, but that’s boring.

“I did just buy burger patties,” he says, sort of thinking out loud.

“Tys, make whatever you want,” Madison tells him, laughing a little. “I’ll eat it.”

Tyson twists around to grin at Madison. “Be careful, you haven’t actually seen me cook yet.” 

He’s a passable cook, actually—his mom wouldn’t let him leave for North Dakota before he knew the basics, and he’s only learned more since then. He plucks the burger patties out of the fridge.

Tyson talks while he cooks. He’s not even sure what he’s chatting about after a while, but Madison listens intently to everything he says. She winds up sitting on the counter near him, and he keeps stepping away from the stove to steal kisses in between sentences. He roasts up some red potatoes, too, and digs his hamburger buns out of the freezer. “They last longer,” he tells Madison, sticking two buns in his toaster. “Also, don’t tell Nate I’m eating white bread.”

Madison has not yet met Nathan MacKinnon, and she doesn’t think she’d be telling him what Tyson’s eating for dinner on a night off when she does meet him, either.

Tyson spends almost as much time dramatically plating the food as he did cooking it. Madison pours them both glasses of wine. He finally slides a plate in front of her but whips out his phone before she can take a bite.

Madison groans. “Tyson, oh my God.” She hides behind her wine glass while Tyson takes a picture of their plates.

Tyson reaches across the table to pull Madison’s hand away from her face. “Relax, I’m just sending it to JT.”

Madison scoffs, “Sure, just JT,” but she sets her wine back down.

Tyson tries to sneak another picture of her, but she catches him. The artificial shutter clicks just as she smiles sweetly at Tyson and flips him off.

“Delete that,” she whines.

“Absolutely not.”

They continue to chat over dinner. Tyson drips ketchup on his shirt, and Madison laughs so hard she chokes on her wine, which sets Tyson off, too. It’s several minutes before they can collect themselves again. Until Madison meets Tyson’s eyes across the table and bursts into laughter again.

“What’s so funny?” Tyson whines, still dabbing futilely at the stain on his shirt.

Madison wipes at her eyes, trying to catch her breath. “Nothing, nothing.” It really wasn’t that funny. “I think I’m just over-tired.” She doesn’t tell Tyson that she’s been worrying about him, about their relationship, so much that she hasn’t been able to sleep well.

Tyson frowns at her, anyway, like he knows what she’s not saying. He glances at the time. 

“Do you want to take a nap or something? It’s still early enough.”

Madison knows that if she falls asleep in Tyson’s bed now, she will not be getting out of it until morning at least, and, “I didn’t pack anything.” 

She doesn’t know why she was half-expecting Tyson to shut the door in her face when she arrived. She definitely hadn’t been planning on staying the night. 

Tyson frowns harder. “You can always wear something of mine. Unless…you don’t wanna stay?”

Madison pushes a piece of potato around her plate with her fork for a moment before answering.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to stay,” she says quietly.

“What?” Tyson’s so surprised he drops his fork. He snatches it back up and points it accusingly at Madison. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I want you to stay. I literally always want you to stay.”

Madison can feel herself blushing and she ducks her head so Tyson can’t see.

Tyson goes on. “Plus, it’s a Friday night, we can stay up late and watch a movie, then sleep in tomorrow. I’ll even make you breakfast!”

He’ll probably actually persuade Madison into going out for breakfast, but that’s an argument he’ll save until the morning. Tyson decides he’s done eating and pushes back from the table. He tries to clear Madison’s plate, but she glares at him and swipes her plate away. Tyson makes grabby hands for it.

“C’mon, I’m not making you clean up after yourself, you don’t have to.”

Madison shakes her head and holds her empty plate farther out of Tyson’s reach. “You cooked, I clean, baby.”

“That’s not—” Tyson’s so distracted that Madison snatches his plate and darts towards the kitchen. “Hey!”

He chases after Madison, who’s laughing again. Tyson loves the sound of Madison’s laugh, the way it fills his apartment. He waits until the plates have clattered into the sink to press up behind her. He kisses her shoulder, her neck, before burying his face in the crook of her neck. Madison shudders and leans back into Tyson.

“How about neither of us clean up, and we go watch a movie instead?” Tyson mumbles into Madison’s skin.

Dishes can wait; Tyson needs Madison on top of him, like, five minutes ago. He doesn’t wait for her to respond before he loops an arm around her waist and drags her over to the couch. She grunts when he pulls her on top of him, but she’s pliant as he arranges both of them until they’re comfortable. He even pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Madison’s back.

Madison snuggles in, the top of her head nestled perfectly under Tyson’s chin. He had intended for some making out, but now that they’re there, he’s fine with actually turning on a movie. He’s pretty sure Madison’s eyes are closed already, anyway, her breathing already starting to slow down and even out. Tyson scrolls for a while aimlessly before he settles on something stupid he’s probably seen before. He keeps the volume low. He dozes a little himself, absently rubbing Madison’s back underneath her shirt. She mumbles in her sleep and shifts closer.

It’s late by the time the movie ends, and Tyson rouses himself. They should both move to the bed, but he’s loath to wake Madison. She’s cute when she sleeps.

Tyson nudges Madison gently in the ribs. She stirs and blinks blearily up at Tyson.

“Hm?”

“Let’s get you to bed, baby,” Tyson whispers. He starts to move, and Madison makes a grumpy noise and snuggles back in. “C’mon, c’mon, it’s more comfy, I promise.”

He gets Madison up with quite a bit more poking and prodding. She’s unhappy with being woken up, and Tyson’s doing his best not to laugh at her. He nudges her towards the bathroom and gets a glare for his troubles, but she does dig out her toothbrush. 

Tyson roots around for an old shirt for Madison to wear. He holds it out to her when she emerges from the bathroom, but Madison bypasses the shirt and kisses Tyson instead. He tries to keep it gentle, but Madison whines and presses closer. Tyson drops the shirt in favor of sliding his hands along Madison’s shoulders, her ribs, down her hips. They’re not very coordinated as they fall backwards onto Tyson’s bed. Their feet tangle as Tyson tries to push even closer, pinning Madison to the bed as they continue to kiss.

Madison breaks the kiss to yawn in Tyson’s face.

He huffs out a laugh, and Madison whines again. “No more, or you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”

He watches as Madison squirms around until her head is on her pillow. She’s already half-asleep again. Tyson leans over the foot of the bed and fishes around for the sleep shirt he dropped. He tosses it to Madison, and it lands on her face. She tears it away to glare at him.

Tyson’s even polite and doesn’t stare at Madison’s chest as she strips off the shirt she had been wearing and shimmies into his shirt.

He also wins the argument over breakfast the next morning, and triumphantly takes Madison to breakfast at Snooze. Madison’s grouchiness only lasts until a plate of French toast lands in front of her. 

They’re out of town the day before Valentine’s Day. It’s just Dallas, and they’ll fly home after the game, but Tyson’s not actually sure where the line is between him and Madison and February 14th. Romantic dinner is absolutely out of the question. So are roses, probably. Tyson still wants to do something though, which is how he ends up on the website for a local flower shop while he’s supposed to be napping after skate. He scrolls for a few minutes before he remembers that he’s colorblind, and he should probably enlist some help.

JT and his judgmental eyebrows are at Tyson’s hotel room door seven minutes later. He shoulders his way past Tyson without a word, settles next to Tyson’s laptop on the bed.

“Flowers?” JT asks. “For your not-girlfriend?” He’s still being judgy, but Tyson knows he’s amused a little, too.

“Shut up, at least I’m not sending her roses,” Tyson says, trying to defend himself. He flops down on the bed next to JT. JT’s already busy scrolling. ”You need help picking the right colors, don’t you,” he says, teasing.

“Maybe.” Tyson’s never really understood flowers—they all sort of look the same to him—but girls are supposed to like them. Tyson’s never claimed to understand girls, either. 

JT clicks around a few times before he punches Tyson in the shoulder.

“Ow,” he complains, sitting up and peering over JT’s shoulder. “...What am I looking at?”

JT sighs. “I don’t know, some pink and purple flowers.”

Tyson squints closer at the photo of the arrangement JT picked. “Wait, is that a rose? I said no roses.”

“It’s pink, it’s fine.” JT tilts the screen away for a second. “You’re adding on a stuffed animal.”

“I am?” JT gives him a look. “I mean, sure.” JT turns the laptop back towards Tyson, and he dutifully fills in his credit card information. He has to hunt for Madison’s address in his phone, but then he’s pressing the confirmation button, and that’s it. “That’s it? That was easy.” 

JT snorts and shuts Tyson’s laptop. “Sure, easy after you asked me for help.” He facewashes Tyson. “You’re welcome.” 

“I’ll buy your coffee before the game,” Tyson offers, ignoring JT’s sarcasm. “Besides, you’re the one of us in a cute, long-term relationship.”

JT smirks at Tyson over his shoulder, heading for the door. “You could change that for yourself, you know.” 

“Working on it!” Tyson yells as the door shuts behind JT.

Tyson mostly forgets about the flowers after that, with the game, and the flight home, and crashing into bed and sleeping for almost ten hours. He hopes Madison likes them, hopes he isn’t pushing it too far.

Madison isn’t expecting the knock she gets on her door the next morning. She’s even more surprised when she opens her door and finds a small vase of flowers waiting on her doormat. There’s a teddy bear propped up next to the flowers; she hugs it to her chest as she carries the flowers inside. She has to set the teddy back down with the flowers to take a picture to send to Tyson.

She sends, should I be worried about a secret admirer? Tyson, eternal dork that he is, sends back the smirking emoji and the emoji blowing a kiss. Madison adds a selfie of herself hugging the bear and says, come cuddle?

Tyson probably, maybe, goes a little over the speed limit on his way to Madison’s. 

March

Fucking Calgary. Tyson’s face hurts. He gingerly sticks his tongue through the gap where his front teeth used to be, but moving hurts too much. He sits back in the passenger seat of JT’s car with a quiet groan. The training staff had been adamant that Tyson couldn’t drive himself home, and Tyson wasn’t really in any shape to put up a fight. JT looks at him sideways, something amused in the tilt of his eyebrows.

All this and they didn’t even fucking win. 

“Want me to call your mom?” JT asks. 

Tyson groans again. He really should call her. He knows she’s worried, and if he doesn’t tell her he’s fine—mostly— she’ll probably take the next flight into Denver to check on him herself. She’s pretty great like that. 

He should probably text Madison, too. 

What Tyson really wants to do is go home and pass out for about twelve hours. He’s already scheduled for emergency dental work in the morning, though, and then Tyson’s going to have to beg the training staff to let him play on the road trip they’re about to head on. He hasn’t even packed yet. 

JT holds his hand out for Tyson’s phone. Tyson fishes it out of his hoodie pocket and slaps it into JT’s hand. JT waves it at him.

“Unlock it, dumbass,” JT says. Tyson could grumble about how JT definitely knows his passcode, but he just takes his phone back. “And dial your mom while you’re at it, I can’t do it while driving.” Tyson settles for a disgruntled huff and does as he’s told. 

He only half-listens, eyes closed, as JT talks to his mom, repeated reassurances that he’s fine, and, no, she doesn’t need to come down, and, yes, JT will keep an eye on him. 

They’re almost to Tyson’s apartment by the time JT hangs up. He doesn’t hand Tyson’s phone back. Tyson cracks open his eyes to squint at JT.

“Need me to call your little girlfriend, too?” he asks. The way he says it isn’t mean, but Tyson bristles anyway.

“Not my girlfriend,” he manages, swiping for his phone. Not yet, anyway, or maybe not ever. Tyson’s working on it. JT lets him take it, but Tyson doesn’t miss the raised eyebrow he gets before JT turns back to the road.

JT insists on walking Tyson to his front door, then following him inside. Tyson’s too tired to begrudge the fussing. Plus, he does feel like shit, and it’s kind of nice, even if he’ll never, ever tell JT that. JT hovers in the bedroom doorway as Tyson kicks off his slides and faceplants into his pillow.

“Ow,” he says, gingerly turning back over.

JT snorts at him. “Need anything?” The trainers gave Tyson painkillers after the game, and it’s not like he can brush his teeth—or what’s left of them, anyway. He settles for flipping off JT. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll lock the door on my way out.” Tyson probably owes him one after this. 

He barely remembers to text Madison a thumbs up emoji before he falls asleep.

Tyson grimaces when he sees himself in the mirror the next morning. His jaw is swollen and bruised, and he can barely open his mouth. He’s not sure he wants to see the state of his teeth, anyway. A knock on his door drags him away from his mirror.

Madison knocks again, unsure if Tyson’s awake. She should’ve called, or texted, before she showed up. She shifts anxiously from foot to foot while she waits for Tyson to answer. It’s only another few seconds before the door swings open, and Tyson appears. He looks miserable as he leans against the door. 

“You look like shit,” Madison says. She waits until he steps back before pushing past him and inside his apartment. 

“Thanks,” Tyson mumbles, following Madison to the kitchen. 

She hops up onto the counter and thrusts one of the smoothies in her hand at Tyson. “Breakfast,” she says.

Tyson takes it and takes a wary sip. It’s his favorite flavor, and he takes a bigger drink. He’s halfway through slurping his smoothie before he remembers to say anything else.

“I’ve, uh, got the dentist this morning, then I’ve gotta meet the team to fly to New York,” he tells Madison. He talks carefully around his swollen gums. 

Madison shrugs. “Just wanted to check on you, bud,” she says. She sets her smoothie aside and holds her arms out to Tyson. He steps into her arms and lets her hold him. He wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in the crook of her neck. “Looked pretty rough out there last night.”

Tyson grunts. Madison pokes him in the ribs until he squirms away. He takes a petulant drink of his smoothie.

“Do you need any help with anything?” she asks. 

Tyson still hasn’t packed. His dirty laundry has piled up. He should really clean his apartment. 

Instead, he shakes his head, muttering, “You don’t have to.”

“That’s not what I asked, Tys,” she says, crossing her arms. She stares him down. 

Tyson cracks. “I’ve just got a bunch of cleaning to do, is all.” It hurts to talk too much. He forces himself to shrug, tries to do the math on how much time he has before the dentist and before heading to the airport to get everything done. 

Madison doesn’t seem concerned. “Okay, where do you want to start?”

“You don’t-” Tyson starts. You should just leave, he wants to say, but doesn’t. 

“Shut up and drink your smoothie, Jost,” Madison tells him. 

Tyson shuts up and drinks his smoothie. 

He goes to start a load of laundry while Madison tackles his kitchen. He’d run the dishwasher the day before, but what hadn’t fit had piled up in the sink, and he had never exactly gotten around to emptying it. More dirty dishes piled up in the sink. Tyson stands in his bedroom for a moment, listening to the sounds of Madison putting things away in his cabinets.

He doesn’t know when she learned where everything goes.

They work around each other in silence for a while. Tyson stops a few times and watches the confidence and comfort with which Madison moves around his apartment. He likes it more than he should, probably. 

He’s got clothes in the dryer when he realizes he should’ve left already. He’d gotten a lot of work done the night before, and he’s got more appointments for when they get back to Denver at the end of the week.

He looks around his half-cleaned apartment in despair. He’d managed to pack enough to get by, he thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to borrow socks from JT on a road trip, anyway. Madison must see the look on his face, because she walks over to Tyson. He looks down at her as she places her hands on his hips.

“Go, I can handle the rest of this,” she says. They’d made good progress, but most of Tyson’s laundry—anything that hadn’t gotten immediately packed—still needs to be folded. “Just leave me the apartment key. I’ll finish up, and make sure everything’s locked up. Promise,” she tells him.

Tyson can’t ask her to do that, and he tells her as much. That’s like. Girlfriend shit. He doesn’t say that part. 

What he ends up saying is, “Are you sure? You really don’t have to.” 

Madison leans up on tiptoes to press a quick close-mouthed kiss to Tyson’s lips. “I know. But I want to help you, babe. Let me help you.” 

Tyson sighs. This isn’t a fight he’s going to win. Madison watches him with something like satisfaction on her face as he finds his keys, carefully unhooks his apartment key and hands it over, but there’s something soft in her eyes, too. Tyson can’t bear to think too hard about what that look means, so he steps around Madison and goes to grab his bags.

Tyson gives her a quick kiss on his way past. He wants nothing more than to kiss her properly, like she deserves, but he doesn’t think his jaw could handle that. Madison grabs Tyson’s wrist before he can get far. He turns to look at her again, a question on the tip of his tongue, when she slips a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down to kiss him again. It’s almost desperate, but slow and gentle. Tyson lets himself get lost in it for a second. Madison squeezes his neck once before she pulls away. She gives him a soft smile. Tyson presses his forehead to hers for another second before he regretfully pulls away. 

“See you in a few days,” she whispers. 

Tyson deserves all the chirps he gets for being late.

The road trip fucking sucks, to say the least. Tyson’s jaw hurts more often than it doesn’t, and he ends up with more penalty minutes than points. He’s looking forward to going home and sleeping in his own bed for a minimum of twelve hours.

He panics, too, a little. It’s become startlingly obvious that he’s fucking head over heels for Madison, and he has no clue what to do about it. They’ve got a good thing going, he thinks, and he doesn’t want to mess with it, really. He doesn’t really want things to stay how they are, either. 

So, panic. He thinks about JT calling Madison his girlfriend, just a few days before. He thinks of his own realization that the lines between hooking up and relationship have become blurred. What he needs is distance, some clarity. The time difference between Denver and the East Coast is an easy enough excuse to start; they’re busy, and it’s easy to let texts from Madison go unanswered for a few hours, or a few hours longer than a few hours. 

Madison must get the hint, because her texts peter out after a few days. 

Tyson is trying to find his keys in his carry-on bag as they step off the plane when he remembers that he left them with Madison so she could lock up his apartment for him. He’s locked out of his apartment and being iced out by Madison, and all he really wants is to go to sleep and not talk to anyone.

He sheepishly calls Madison as he leaves the airport. She sounds normal when she answers, and she doesn’t hesitate to say, “Sure,” when he asks if he can pick up his keys. Tyson climbs into his car tiredly and puts Madison’s address into his phone GPS.

Tyson’s only been to Madison’s place a few times. He hasn’t realized until now that he usually prefers having her over at his apartment. He likes seeing her there, forcing him to make room for herself in his life, at ease in his bed. He shakes those thoughts off. 

Madison makes him wait when he knocks on her apartment door. He stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. Finally, after what feels like forever, Madison swings the door open. She doesn’t move back to let Tyson in, keys already in her hand. 

“Hi,” Tyson breathes. Madison raises an eyebrow at him. Tyson gets the sudden urge to apologize. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Thanks again, uh, for helping me with everything,” he says eventually. “I owe you.” He hasn’t seen his apartment yet, obviously, but he knows Madison left it cleaner than it’s been since he moved in, probably. Madison’s breath catches. That was the wrong thing to say. “No, you don’t, Tyson,” she says shortly. She tosses Tyson his keys. He’s not expecting it and fumbles them. The sound of them hitting the ground is deafening. Tyson’s exhausted, and he’s only so strong.

“Can I come in?” he asks. “Please?”

Madison regards him. Tyson looks pathetic, if she’s being honest with herself, worn-out and worn-down. His swelling has gone down since she last saw him, but he looks uncomfortable. She gets the feeling it’s not just about his jaw. She, too, is only so strong. “C’mere,” she says, finally stepping back and opening the door wider. Tyson’s so relieved he could cry.

Tyson ends up collapsing in Madison’s bed and sleeps for twelve hours, face buried in a pillow that smells like her. So much for getting some distance. 

Madison’s waiting outside Tyson’s apartment door when he gets home after beating Calgary a few nights later. Tyson’s tired, and cold, but he feels himself grinning when he sees her. She’s leaning casually against his door frame, playing idly on her phone, but she’s wearing one of Tyson’s hoodies. He wants nothing more than to kiss her right there, but he settles for bumping her out of the way with his hip so he can unlock his front door.

“What if JT had come home with me, huh? Or Cale?” Tyson asks instead of saying hello. She follows him inside and locks the door behind her. Tyson busies himself with his coat so he doesn’t blurt out something dumb. He and JT weren’t quite as inseparable as they used to be, but it could happen. And Cale only lived a few floors away. Though, now that Tyson thought of it, he hadn’t been inviting teammates over after games very much lately, not when there was usually someone else waiting for him.

He’s seen Madison since they got back from their road trip, but he misses her so much when she’s not around now. He can’t get enough of her. That probably means something. He’s working on it. Sort of. 

“Hello to you, too, Tys,” she scoffs, kicking off her shoes. She carefully aims one at Tyson’s shin.

“Hey, hey, watch the suit pants,” he protests. He gives in and steps closer to her, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her into him. He allows himself a quick kiss, just a chaste one, forcing himself to pull away before either of them can deepen it.

She pouts at him. Tyson allows himself one more kiss. He is beginning to realize that he is so, so fucked.

Tyson strips off his suit jacket as he heads towards the kitchen. She trails after him. Tyson swings around to walk backwards so he can face her. He immediately bumps into the doorway to the kitchen and stumbles. He doesn’t turn back around.

“Snack first,” he says. He doesn’t say what comes next, but he’s pretty sure they both know.

“Didn’t you eat after the game at the Can?” she asks. Tyson drops his suit jacket on one of his kitchen chairs. She picks it up with a sigh and a small smile before draping it nicely over the back of the chair instead. 

Tyson turns back around, intent on digging through his fridge. “Well, yeah, but—” He freezes. Blinks. There are balloons tied to the faucet of his sink. Next to them, a cookie cake and two wrapped presents. Tyson peers closer at the cookie cake. Happy birthday, Tys! It reads, in looping cursive. 

Tyson turns slowly back to face her. She looks shy, biting her lip and watching Tyson with something like nervousness written across her face. Tyson feels guilty, suddenly, for the way he tried to put distance between them just a few days before. 

“How did you—When?” Tyson gets out. She doesn’t look any less nervous, he realizes, and he rushes over to hug her.

She holds up a familiar key when he lets her go, the beginnings of a smile on her face, now. “Cale slipped me your spare key,” she explains. “I snuck in after you left for the game this afternoon, after I got off work.” 

Tyson had completely forgotten that he and Cale had swapped spares when they ended up living in the same building. The idea was to save them from the potential embarrassment of locking your keys in your apartment, but apparently Cale was using his for more nefarious purposes now. 

Madison had been surprised at how easy it had all been. She doesn’t even remember when she got Cale’s number, but he had readily agreed to help her out some. She’d even considered sticking around and surprising Tyson when he got home, but she still wasn’t quite sure how he’d react. She couldn’t tell with him sometimes.

Tyson has to kiss her. She giggles, breathless, when he pulls away.

“Well, now I know what we’re eating for a snack,” Tyson says, taking her hand and dragging her towards the island. He only lets go long enough to dig through a drawer for a knife and to tear off two paper towels. He cuts two large slices and hands one to her. He shoves a bite of cookie cake in his mouth before he says, I love you.

She hops up on the counter when they’ve both finished their slices, swinging her feet into the cabinets. Tyson steps between her legs and kisses her again, because he can. He reaches behind her and picks up one of the wrapped packages. It’s small, light. He flips it over once in his hands. “Hey, your birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” she says, swiping for the present. 

Tyson holds it out of her reach, and she wraps her legs around his waist, pressing him close against her. Tyson takes a deep breath.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he says. He sticks a finger underneath a flap in the wrapping paper. He really hadn’t been expecting anything.

She shrugs. “It’s stupid,” she says. 

“Good thing I like stupid,” Tyson counters. He tears into the wrapping paper properly, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. He’s left with a small book. “It’s a ukulele book?” 

“It’s sheet music, so you can finally stop playing the same three songs all the time,” she says.

Tyson realizes he hasn’t said anything else. He stops staring and sets the book aside. “It’s perfect, not stupid,” he says. She tilts her chin for another kiss. Who is he to say no? “Thank you,” he murmurs against her lips. He reaches for the second present, still kissing her. She groans at him.

Tyson tears into the second present just as eagerly as the first. She’s laughing at him, and this time he crumples the wrapping paper up and tosses it at her face. It’s just a case of beer, Tyson’s favorite. He hadn’t realized she noticed it was always stocked in his fridge. 

Her legs are still wrapped around his waist, and Tyson presses closer, as close as he can get. The counter digs into the tops of his thighs, but he’s too busy making out to care. She slides her hands into his hair. She tastes like cookie cake and peppermint Chapstick; Tyson would kiss her forever if he could. 

Speaking of. They fell over the last time Tyson tried to carry her to his bedroom, but he slides his hands underneath her thighs, anyway, tugging her off the counter. She slips down, still pinned between Tyson and the countertop, still kissing him languidly. 

“Gonna actually move at any point?” she eventually asks, pulling away to press her forehead to Tyson’s. 

Tyson pretends to think about it. “I mean, we don’t have to go to bed,” he says. Not being on a bed hadn’t stopped them before.

She pushes on Tyson’s chest, and he goes, laughing. She lets herself be dragged to Tyson’s room, kicking the door shut behind her. 

It’s late by the time they tumble into bed for real. She’s in one of Tyson’s shirts, and nothing else. If Tyson weren’t actually exhausted, he’d be considering round two. He had nearly gotten caught while they were cleaning up in the bathroom after round one, sleepily staring as she took off her makeup and brushed her teeth—a bottle of her makeup remover and her toothbrush live on Tyson’s sink, and have for months. Tyson tries not to look into it too much. 

“What?” she’d asked, catching Tyson’s eye in the mirror.

He had shaken himself. “Nothing,” he said, giving her a sleepy grin. He pressed a kiss to her temple as he slipped out of the bathroom.

Madison watches him go. She’s trying to decipher that look in his eyes. His face was soft, fond behind drowsy eyes. She realizes she’s frozen with her toothbrush still in her mouth. Tyson’s waiting for her. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling fan, rotating slowly above him, when she emerges and slips under the covers next to him. Her toes are cold where she presses them to Tyson’s leg, and he swears under his breath, even as he reaches across the bed to pull her closer. He presses a kiss to her hair and rests his chin on top of her head. Madison hides a smile in his chest. 

Tyson wakes up slowly the next morning. It’s still early, the sunlight filtering through his curtains the hazy grey of dawn. Madison’s still asleep next to him when he rolls over. Tyson dares to pull her closer until she’s tucked underneath his chin again. Madison stirs a little, making a soft noise and pressing closer. She pulls back and blinks sleepily up at Tyson.

“Happy birthday, Tyson,” she murmurs. 

Tyson grins at her and brushes a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. He kisses her quickly, and she makes a soft noise and leans into it before yawning. “Thank you,” Tyson whispers back. “Now go back to sleep.” 

Madison grumbles, but snuggles back in, pressing her nose to Tyson’s collarbone. 

It’s brighter out when Tyson next blinks himself awake. Madison’s already awake this time, scrolling quietly on her phone, but she sets it aside when she sees Tyson look at her. He rolls so he can prop himself up on one hand, leaning over Madison. She grins up at him, reaches to slide her fingers into Tyson’s hair.

Tyson has practice today, and then they’re leaving again. Those things aren’t important right now, though. What’s important is Madison’s mouth opening up to his, the pressure of her knee against his hip, the feel of her skin underneath his fingers when he slips a hand below her shirt. 

It takes them a while to get out of bed. 

Madison moves easily around Tyson when they finally make it into the kitchen. Tyson makes Madison coffee the way she likes it and mans the toaster while Madison makes them both eggs. She showers—Tyson bought all of her shower products weeks ago—while Tyson gets dressed. Tyson perches on the bathroom counter and watches while she does her makeup. She catches him looking at her.

“What?” she asks. She pushes her hair out of her face nervously. 

“Uh,” Tyson says. He had gotten caught up, wasn’t really thinking about anything, distracted by thoughts of how easily Madison moves through his space, by his side.

“Tyson,” Madison says, impatient.

“Do you, uh, maybe wanna go on a date with me?” Tyson manages. 

“Tys, you’re leaving on a road trip in,” she checks the time on her phone, “like four hours.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Okay, but we’ll be back in a few days. What about then?”

Madison smiles. “We’ll see, ask me when you get back.” 

“That’s not a real answer,” Tyson says. He can hear himself whining. He needs this answer before he can board a plane, though. He grabs her wrist and tugs her closer. “C’mon, am I really that bad?”

She goes easily into Tyson’s side. She pretends to think about it for a moment—too long for Tyson’s nerves—before relenting. “When you get back,” she says. She goes up on her toes to kiss Tyson’s cheek. “Now get out of here before you’re late to practice.”

They don’t get to go on that date.

He’s in California when he gets the call. Minnesota. It’s not like he didn’t see it coming. The deadline’s coming up in, like, a week, and besides. He’d asked for a trade, hadn’t he? He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone before he’s back on a plane, this time to St. Paul. 

He calls his mom first, asks if she’ll pack him some shit from his apartment in Denver. He was supposed to be back in just a few days. 

“I don’t have any clothes for fucking Minnesota,” he complains, his one moment of self-appointed wallowing. He’ll be happy about this, probably, he just needs to process it.

He doesn’t think about it when he turns his phone off before getting on the plane. He’s met by some people from the Wild—the team, his team, now—at the airport in St. Paul, hustled to a hotel near Xcel Center with his meager belongings and left to “settle in.” He’s expected at morning skate tomorrow; his jaw aches.

They’ve put him up in a nice hotel downtown. He can see a river—the Mississippi, he thinks— out his window. His phone’s still off, tossed on the bed when he came in. He swipes it off the comforter and powers it back on, shoving it and a room key in his pocket on his way out the door. 

His hotel room is too stuffy, too small. He takes the stairs and pushes his way outside. He can see the Xcel Center a few blocks away, and he turns his back to it, starts walking. He has no idea where he is or where he’s going. He hopes no one recognizes him. 

It’s not long before he finds himself in a park alongside the river. It’s quiet, and no one looks twice at him as he finds an empty bench and finally pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his notifications: texts from Kacey and his grandpa—he’ll have to respond to them—dozens from his—former—teammates on the Avs that he ignores, a handful from numbers he doesn’t have saved, Wild players introducing themselves and welcoming him to the team—he’ll have to make some new contacts. He swipes everything away to deal with later, once his head stops spinning. He pauses on one text, the only one he’d really been looking for.

So much for that date, huh. it says. She’s added a broken heart emoji to soften the blow. Then, an hour later, call me when you get the chance. Another emoji at the end, a black heart, even though Tyson’s told her repeatedly that he can mostly tell colors apart.

He already knows what she’s going to say. Can you get broken up with before you’re even dating? How do you make friends-with-benefits work long-distance? Tyson’s not in the mood for that conversation, doesn’t know if he ever will be. He swipes away her notifications, too. 

Minnesota is chilly, and Tyson’s fingertips are a little numb by the time his hotel room door slams behind him later. It’s getting dark. He should order dinner. He should do a lot of things, actually. He lets himself wallow for a few more minutes, flopped on his back in the center of the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.

He halfheartedly peruses the room service menu on his nightstand before calling something in. He’s not even sure what he ordered. 

Tyson’s woken up by knocking on his door. He blinks awake and stumbles blearily out of bed. It’s fully dark in his room now. Room service knocks on his door again. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Tyson grumbles, not even loud enough to be heard, probably. 

His food is lukewarm at best by the time he gets everything spread out on the little desk in his room. Tyson picks at it more than he eats it.

Back in Denver, Madison’s phone doesn’t ring. She figured Tyson would be busy and exhausted by the time he made it to Minnesota. She wants to check in, but her messages show that they’ve been read. He’s made it clear that he’s not in the mood to chat. 

It’s fine. He’s allowed to be upset over all this. Madison had just thought that they’d made it far enough in their relationship—whatever that relationship was—that she wouldn’t get stonewalled the second something serious happened. 

She hasn’t had a chance to return Tyson’s spare key to Cale yet. She’d stayed behind after Tyson left for the airport on his birthday to clean up some of the disaster they’d left behind the night before. She was going to give it back when they got home. Except now Tyson’s not coming home, and she isn’t sure he’ll speak to her again, either. 

She tries to convince herself she’s not hurt by it. 

Madison sneaks back into Tyson’s apartment the day after the trade. She’s collected some of Tyson’s clothes over the last few months, and she should pick up her own belongings that have become scattered across his apartment. She’s not sure how Tyson’s going to get the rest of his stuff to Minnesota, but she knows it’s not her problem. Tyson’s made that clear. 

She opens the text thread with Tys 🖤 again anyway. No new messages. She starts to type, to ask how Tyson’s doing, if he wants to talk, but she deletes it all. She closes her text thread with him again.

Madison wanders around the apartment, collecting things she recognizes as her own: her toothbrush, a half dozen ponytail holders that Tyson delights in tearing out of her hair to make out, the makeup remover that Tyson bought after she fell asleep there the first time and left makeup all over his pillowcase. She leaves the clothes she dug out of her closet and drawers folded on the end of his bed. She keeps one of his hoodies, because it’s comfy and it smells like him. It’s an Avs hoodie, anyway; it’s not like he’ll need it. The cookie cake she bought for his birthday is still sitting on the counter. They’d eaten it with breakfast on his actual birthday, but it was otherwise untouched. She figures someone will be by soon to pack up his apartment. She leaves it on the counter for them, whoever it is.

She locks the door behind her. It feels final in a way that she hates. 

Tyson drags himself to morning skate early the next morning. He doesn’t feel like he slept much, though he fell asleep before he ever got around to responding to anyone’s texts. He makes no less than four wrong turns trying to find the home locker room in Xcel Center. The equipment staff has a locker set up for him already, all of his new gear waiting for him when he finds it. Tyson stares at the white practice jersey for a long moment, the green helmet already fitted with his full face shield and new number. He’s the only one in the locker room so far.

Tyson feels himself smile for the first time in what feels like days. 

Skate passes in a blur. Tyson throws himself into everything the coaches ask of him, trying his best to learn a new team on the fly. His muscles ache from all the travel in the last few days and the lack of sleep, but he leans into the pain with a grin. It’s fun, in a weird way, and everyone’s quick to chirp Tyson, make him feel like he’s already a real part of the team. 

Madison watches the Wild’s game that night. Tyson’s still in his little fishbowl after the broken jaw, and Madison winces every time he takes a check, even though she knows he’s fine, really. Minnesota wins. She doesn’t watch any of their other games, or follow Minnesota on any socials. She considers blocking Tyson’s phone number, the last message she sent to him still sitting open and unreplied to. 

She can’t bring herself to do it. 

Tyson’s mom, ever the lifesaver, arrives a few days later with most of the contents of his closet in tow. She’s also brought the cookie cake Madison had bought him for his birthday. It’s half-eaten and stale, now, reading only “-hday, Tys!” He eats a piece, anyway, and his mom doesn’t ask who bought it for him. She doesn’t ask any questions, actually, which Tyson is grateful for. He’s told her bits and pieces about Madison over the last few months, but he hasn’t told her how he’s fallen in love. It doesn’t matter now.

Tyson’s trying to unpack, give himself some semblance of “home” in his stale hotel room, when a piece of paper falls out of the pocket of one of his suit jackets. He picks it up and carefully unfolds it, though he already knows what it says. good luck tonight! ♡ in Madison’s pretty cursive. She’d tucked it into his suit before a game in January, and Tyson had scored a goal that night. He slipped it back in the inside pocket of the suit jacket. Maybe it’ll bring him luck in Minnesota, too. 

Madison’s phone rings late one night, a few weeks after Tyson’s been traded. It’s the first time she’s heard from him since he left Denver. She squints at her phone screen in the dark, debating ignoring it. Tyson’s face grins up at her, a stupid selfie he had taken ages ago. She swipes to answer with a sigh.

“Tyson, if you’re just calling because you’re drunk or something, I swear—” she starts. She’s not really sure what she’ll do to Tyson, actually, so she trails off. 

Tyson’s quiet on the other end of the line. Madison hears him take a shaky breath, but he still doesn’t speak for a long moment. “The Avs are in town,” he says finally. “Game’s tomorrow night,” he adds. 

Madison hasn’t really been paying attention to either team’s schedule lately. She hasn’t had much reason to. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say here, what’s the right answer to comfort Tyson. She might’ve once, but she feels wrong-footed now, unsure of where they stand.

“You gonna see anyone?” she asks.

Tyson huffs. “Yeah, I got dinner with some of them tonight.” He pauses. “They’re still my friends, y’know, it’s not like they’re the ones who traded me.”

Madison hums, something like agreement. She thinks she can hear the hurt in Tyson’s voice, even though he’s trying to hide it. He’s still talking. “I’ve just…never had to play against my best friends like this before.”

“Oh, Tys,” Madison says softly. “That sucks, babe.” The familiar endearment slips out before she can stop herself. 

“Yeah, it sucks alright,” Tyson agrees. He’s quiet again. “Wish you could be here, too. Miss you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Madison says. With the game tomorrow, Tyson might not be drunk, but it’s late, and he’s wallowing in missing his friends. She doesn’t think she really qualifies as that anymore.

“What do you mean?” Tyson asks, indignant. “Of course I mean it.”

“Is that why this is the first time we’ve spoken since you got traded? Two weeks ago?” Madison’s angry, suddenly; that small spark of hurt she’s been trying to bury flares into fury. 

She can practically hear Tyson’s wince on the other end of the line. It’s too late to be arguing, but this is where they’re at now. 

“Sorry for not wanting to get dumped hours after I got shipped off to fucking Minnesota,” Tyson snaps back, but he sounds tired. The fight leaves Madison just as quickly as it appeared. “Who said anything about breaking up?”

Tyson’s quiet. Madison can picture the way his eyebrows furrow when he’s thinking too hard. “You asked me to call you!”

“I asked you to call me because I wanted to check on you, dumbass.” Madison rubs at her eyes. They should both be asleep, but now she feels too awake to hang up, to end this conversation. She might be annoyed, but it’s the first time she’s heard Tyson’s voice in weeks. She’s missed it, though she’s not about to admit that right now. “How can I even break up with a guy I’ve never been on a real date with?” she asks.

“Oh.” 

“It’s been a wild fucking month for you, Tys, I wanted to talk to you and see how you were handling shit,” Madison continues.

Tyson realizes now might not be the best time to admit that he’d requested a trade. This had still blindsided him, somehow. He considers switching to a FaceTime call. He desperately wants to see Madison’s face, the next best thing to being with her right now, getting to touch her. He winces again when she sniffles on the other end of the line. He’d been lonely when he called her, expecting some sympathy, not the anger he was met with. 

He guesses he probably should’ve considered she’d be mad at him after moving over 900 miles away and then giving her radio silence for two weeks, actually. He taps the FaceTime button a little harder than necessary. He’s almost surprised when Madison accepts the request.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been busy,” he says weakly. “I didn’t think—I just figured you were wanting to tell me that we couldn’t keep doing this.” It seems obvious given the distance, but Tyson really hadn’t been in the mood to get effectively broken up with twice in one day. 

Madison’s eyes burn as she swipes at them, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the late hour, or if she’s about to cry. 

Tyson realizes something. “Besides, you had just gotten spooked and tried to slow things down, I didn’t think you’d want to jump from just hooking up to long-distance.” It’s too dark for him to tell if she’s crying. He hopes she isn’t. 

“That was—” Madison starts to protest. But Tyson’s right. It had only been a few weeks since she’d panicked about how fast they were headed towards a real relationship. That had been before the broken jaw, before Tyson’s birthday, before he got traded. Before Madison had the chance to realize just how much she cared about Tyson, and liked Tyson, and how much she missed him when he wasn’t just a text away.

“I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend for real, you know? On that date? But then I was in Minnesota, and I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to anyone, and I wasn’t ready to talk about anything.” Madison opens her mouth to argue more, but Tyson cuts her off. “You want to know how I’m handling shit? Not well,” he admits.

Hockey is hockey, but he’s not sure Minnesota will ever feel like home the way Denver still does. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Madison blurts.

Tyson laughs in spite of himself. “So many things,” he says. It’s easy, for a second, to forget they’re arguing. Fuck, he wishes Madison were with him, and not for the first, or the third, or the tenth time since he’s been in Minnesota. “I guess I should’ve texted instead of shutting you out, huh? I just never knew what to say.”

“You’re an idiot,” Madison says softly. “I really did just want to check on you. But you left me on read, and then a few days had passed, so I guess you’d made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to talk. I didn’t even think about worrying about our future then.” 

Tyson squeezes his eyes shut. He’s blurry on Madison’s phone screen, but she can tell his hair is a disaster, like he’s been anxiously pulling on his curls.

“Did I accidentally break up with you to avoid being broken up with?” he asks. He sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter. Or maybe tears. Madison can’t quite tell, actually. 

“Mmm, I think so, babe,” Madison says. She rolls over in bed, stifling a yawn. It’s late in Denver, but it’s even later in St. Paul, she thinks. “Hey, you need to sleep. “You’ve gotta beat the Avs tomorrow.” She glances at the clock in the corner of her screen. “Well. Today, I guess.”

Tyson sticks his tongue out at her, but he snuggles deeper into his pillows. “Can I call you later?” His voice is small.

“Yeah, Tys.” They’ve got a lot more to talk about. “Say hi to JT and Cale for me, yeah?” she says.

Tyson grins at her. He stops himself from saying, “I love you,” before he hangs up, but only barely, settling on, “Good night,” instead. There’s still time for the other one, he thinks

The game is…fine. They slap a microphone on Tyson before he goes out on the ice, and it’s definitely weird facing off against some of his best friends, but he gets through it. He doesn’t score, but he doesn’t land in the penalty box either, so. He spends some time attempting to chirp an exasperated EJ that he’ll probably get made fun of for later. Oh, and the Wild win. Tyson guesses it’s an okay night, after all. 

Tyson misses Denver, misses playing at the Can, but after facing off against his friends on the still-unfamiliar ice in Minnesota, he’s not sure he can handle returning. 

Madison finds herself watching the Avs game for the first time in weeks, but she’s not watching for them. She’s paying attention to all of Tyson’s shifts, and she realizes halfway through the game that she’s completely rooting against the Avs. 

The final buzzer has barely blown when she’s pulling out her phone to text Tyson. She hesitates for a moment, unsure of the right thing to say. She feels like they finally made progress last night after Tyson stonewalled her for weeks, but they’re still a half dozen steps behind where they were in the beginning of March. She somehow knows more than she did before Tyson called her, but she feels like she understands their relationship even less now. 

She must type four or five messages before she settles on, great win :) 🖤. She kind of hates it as soon as she sends it, but she can’t take it back. She tosses her phone to the other end of the couch before she can obsess over waiting for Tyson to text her back. She doesn’t have to wait long, though, before her phone is vibrating near her feet. She takes one breath, then another, before scrambling for her phone again. Tyson’s texted back, thanks babe. Then, less than a minute later, wish you were here. 

Madison stares at her phone, chewing on her bottom lip. She doesn’t know the right thing to say once again. ‘Me too’ feels too earnest, ‘wish you were still here instead’ feels mean somehow. She still doesn’t know when she’ll see Tyson again, if she’ll see Tyson again. All she has is a version of Tyson through a screen. Her thumb hovers over the call button. Tyson’s probably busy with post-game stuff, Madison reminds herself. She misses his voice, though.

She finally settles on: :). She waits anxiously until Tyson has read it before sending: Call me later?

She checked the Wild’s schedule already; they’re in town for a few more days. Tyson will probably be heading straight home—wherever “home” is these days— after the game. She spares a moment to wonder about the future of Tyson’s old apartment in Denver. She wonders if it’s been emptied out yet, wiped clean of all traces of Tyson, of them. That had been home to Tyson, and it had almost started to feel like home to Madison, too. 

Tyson sends her back a thumbs up emoji and an emoji with its tongue sticking out. Madison rolls her eyes fondly and tosses her phone back to the end of her couch. 

She’s dozing when her phone rings. Half-asleep, she fumbles for it before answering. “‘Lo?” she mumbles. 

Tyson chuckles softly at her. “You asked me to call you and then fell asleep,” he says, tsk-ing. 

Madison sticks her tongue out at him, even though he can’t see her. “Shut up, it’s late,” she whines. 

“Then go to bed, Mads,” Tyson tells her. She can tell he’s trying not to laugh at her.

Madison feels like a toddler protesting bedtime, but she says, “No! I wanna talk to you.”

Tyson laughs again. “Okay, are you at least in bed already?”

“...No.”

“Go brush your teeth, and get in bed, yeah? We can keep talking then.”

Madison sighs but heaves herself off her couch and into her bathroom. Tyson starts chatting as she walks, mindless stuff, like the weather in St. Paul, or how bored he is of living in a hotel room still. Madison puts him on speaker and sets her phone next to the sink so she can keep listening while she washes her face and brushes her teeth. It almost feels like getting ready for bed alongside Tyson again, elbowing each other for space in front of his bathroom mirror. 

He falls quiet as she crawls underneath her blankets. Madison stifles a yawn.

“How was it?” she asks.

“The game?” Madison nods, forgetting again that Tyson can’t see her. Tyson continues anyway. “I mean, it was fine, I guess. We won, so.”

“Just fine?” Madison prods.

Tyson hesitates. “Weird,” he says after a few seconds. “It was weird. Feels like a Twilight Zone episode, honestly. Like I woke up one day in some other life that everyone else swears didn’t happen. Like, you get traded, and everyone expects you to immediately fit in with this new locker room, and be all in with your new team. As if all the games played with your friends never even happened.”

Madison doesn’t know what to say to that. It must be weird to have to effectively sever all ties with your best friends. To know and trust the face across the faceoff dot from you. She probably couldn’t handle it if she were in Tyson’s place,

“I’m sorry, Tys,” she murmurs, for lack of anything better to say. “It’s business, but business is shitty.” 

Tyson huffs in agreement. Madison’s wearing the hoodie she stole from Tyson, and she tucks her nose underneath the collar. It doesn’t smell like Tyson any more. 

“Hey, is now a bad time to ask if we can have phone sex?” Tyson asks.

Madison bursts out laughing. “Yes, Tyson, it’s a terrible time.” Tyson whines a little at her. “Though,” she adds, “I am wearing one of your hoodies.”

Tyson groans. The few times Madison had worn something of his around him, it usually wasn’t long before the clothes ended up back on the floor.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he says. His voice is muffled like he’s buried his head underneath a pillow.

Madison yawns again.

“You need to go to sleep,” Tyson tells her gently.

“No,” Madison protests again. “Tell me more about Minnesota,” she pleads. “I’ve missed listening to you.”

Madison can’t read Tyson’s moment of silence, but he starts doing as he’s told, telling Madison more about his hotel, about the food in the locker room after games at Xcel Center and how different it is from Denver, about all the different personalities on the team, until Madison falls asleep. 

Madison wakes up to a dead phone. She plugs it in while she showers, and she immediately checks her call log. Tyson had kept talking for well over an hour. He texted her, too, after he’d hung up. Miss you, promise we’ll talk more soon.

Madison responds the only way she knows how: 🖤.

April

The end of the season passes in a blur after that. Tyson settles in as best he can, but he feels like he barely has time to catch his breath. With the end of the season and the playoffs looming, there’s no time for Tyson to find a real place to live, so he’s still holed up in the hotel, living out of suitcases.

Time moves differently in hotels, he swears, the days blurring into one another. Tyson no longer knows what day it is; it’s only travel day, or game day, or rarely, a day off. 

The Wild are winning more than they lose, and Tyson manages to pick up some points here and there. It could be worse. At least it’s not, like, Buffalo. 

The team goes on the road for the first time since he got there, and it’s a good chance for Tyson to get to know everyone a little better, spend some time out of his generic hotel room—even if he goes back to another generic hotel room after each dinner out with the guys. He makes a point to call Madison as much as he can, which is almost every night after he crashes into bed and turns on some shitty TV. 

Their phone calls end up lasting for hours. Tyson realizes that he and Madison spent more time hooking up than really getting to know each other. It’s nice to take the time to just talk and learn things about Madison. Tyson feels himself falling in love more with each phone call.

Tyson talks about his family—his sister, his mom, his grandparents. How much he misses them with the long seasons away. How much he’s looking forward to going home to Alberta when the season ends. He doesn’t tell Madison that he wants to bring her home with him this summer, not yet. 

Madison tells Tyson about everything: her job (graphic design and marketing for a local business Tyson vaguely thinks he recognizes), her family (two sisters, one of whom Tyson briefly met), and her favorite movies (Lord of the Rings, but Tyson could have guessed that). When she tells him she likes to bake, Tyson immediately demands that she sends him some. He’s not even sure if he can get mail at the hotel, actually. Not important.

Tyson throws himself into hockey, though he’s not sure how much it shows. He’s determined to make this work, to stick and make a difference in Minnesota the way he never quite could in Colorado. He tells Madison this, too, voicing fears about his future in hockey that he’s never even let himself think about too much. 

The Wild plays the Avalanche again in St. Paul on the last day of the season. Tyson’s dreading it. He’s privately more than a little glad that they’re not playing the Avs in the first round, but he still can’t help but feel like he should be there instead, still on a powerhouse team poised to take on the postseason, not the underdogs.

Tyson calls Madison a week before the game, laying in bed, fresh off a single assist in back to back wins against Vancouver and Seattle. Tyson can hear the smile in Madison’s voice when she answers. Tyson’s chest hurts with how much he misses her.

Which is probably why he blurts, “Can you come to Minnesota?” 

Madison’s quiet for so long Tyson pulls his phone away from his ear to make sure the call didn’t disconnect. 

Finally, she says, “Tyson, I can’t just drop everything and fly to Minnesota.” “No, I know, I just meant next week,” he says. “We play the Avs again.”

Madison knows that, this time. She’s actually started paying attention to the Wild—mostly just Tyson, though—since April started.

“That’s a Friday night, Tys,” she tells him. “I’d have to take off work for the day.” She could, probably, without too much fuss. She just wants to hear Tyson beg a little. She’s still a tiny bit hurt by the way he stonewalled her after the trade. 

“I’ll pay for your plane ticket!” Tyson adds. That wasn’t really Madison’s point. “I really want you to be there, I need to see you again.” 

Madison already knows she can’t tell Tyson no. She sighs and drags her laptop towards her. She starts searching for plane tickets. “Just for the game on Friday, or am I allowed to stay the whole weekend?” she asks.

Tyson scoffs. “Like I’d let you leave after one night when I haven’t seen you in two like two months.” He’s already planning on only leaving the hotel room except for practice and maybe to finally take Madison on an actual date. Actually: “Hey, pack something nice to wear. I still owe you a date.”

Madison laughs. “How nice are we talking?”

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna wine and dine you so hard,” Tyson says, breaking off into laughter before he can even finish the sentence. 

Madison spends the next week, alternating between excited and anxious. Excited because she hasn’t seen Tyson in weeks, and she can’t wait to be able to kiss him again. She’s not sure why she’s even worried. She and Tyson have already spent months doing almost everything couples do, just without the label. They already know they work well together. Adding a label shouldn’t change things. 

She goes out and buys a new dress the day before her flight, after frantically deciding that nothing in her closet was good enough for a first date.

“He already knows what you look like,” her sister Emma points out. “It’s not like you have to worry about him liking you. Also, he’s colorblind.”

Madison ignores her (annoyingly correct) sister and spends almost over an hour in the mall. She carefully packs the new dress at the top of her suitcase before zipping it up and leaving it by her front door. She’s so excited she can hardly sleep.

It’s not a long flight from Denver to Minnesota, but Madison’s not used to flying, and the whole affair has her stressed beyond belief. It takes her unbelievably long to find her gate, and even though she got to KDEN plenty early, she still worries that she’ll be late. It’s a relief when she can finally settle in her seat. She turns on a Disney movie she doesn’t really watch and counts the minutes until she can see Tyson again.

Except then she can’t find her luggage, and Tyson’s supposed to be picking her up and isn’t answering her texts. It takes her twenty minutes to find out that another passenger mistakenly took her suitcase and has brought it back, and Tyson still hasn’t responded to tell her that he’s waiting.

She makes her way outside anyway, following the signs towards parking. Her hands are too full with her carry-on and suitcase to reach for her phone to call Tyson, but when she steps outside her terminal, she recognizes the person behind the wheel of a car just pulling up to the curb.

Tyson has the car in park and is jumping out before Madison can take another step. She’s so overwhelmed she bursts into tears.

She drops her bags to launch herself at Tyson, wrapping her arms around his neck. He doesn’t stumble, just slides his arms around her waist and hugs her back.

“Whoa, whoa, why the tears?” he asks, wiping one away with his thumb. 

“I just really missed you,” Madison mumbles into his shirt.

Tyson presses a kiss to her hair. He unwraps one hand and reaches for the handle of Madison’s suitcase. “Well, let’s get you in the car, and then we can talk, yeah?” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer, letting go of Madison fully to swing her suitcase into the trunk. Madison slips into the passenger seat while he throws her carry-on in, too, before he’s jogging back to the driver’s side. He leans across the console to kiss Madison’s cheek.

“Missed you, too, by the way,” he says.

Madison feels silly for crying now. Everything always seems better when Tyson’s around, and right now is no exception, with the windows rolled down and Tyson singing loudly—and badly—to the song on the radio. Tyson reaches for Madison’s hand, and she lets him slip his fingers between hers. Something restless in Madison’s chest settles when he touches her. 

They don’t much as Tyson drives, the city flashing by out the car windows. It’s been ages since they saw each other, but they talk almost every day; there’s not much to catch up on. Madison likes it, the comfortable quiet between two people who know each other well. 

Tyson apologizes for the fact that he’s still living in a hotel on the elevator ride up to his room. 

“Tyson, I don’t care where you’re living, I’m just glad to be able to see you again,” she tells him.

Tyson blushes, but he also boxes her in against the elevator wall to kiss her properly for the first time since she got off the plane. Madison trails after him as he heads down the hallway and pushes open his hotel room door with a dorky sweep of his arm. 

The room’s bigger than Madison expected, with a kitchenette that doesn’t look like it’s been used at all, and a little couch and desk near the TV. Madison can see the bed, sheets rumpled and twisted like Tyson has never bothered to make it in the weeks he’s been here. Tyson’s watching Madison survey the room like he’s nervous. 

“So, what’s next?” Madison asks. 

With the game last night, Tyson didn’t have skate today, but she’s familiar enough with his game day routine to know he should probably be napping soon. She could go for a nap herself. Madison doesn’t wait for an answer, just dumps her carry-on bag on the couch and wanders over to the bed. Tyson follows, still rolling Madison’s suitcase behind him. Madison flops backwards onto the bed. The sheets smell like Tyson.

“Well?” she asks, raising one eyebrow at him.

Tyson scrambles onto the bed after her. He drops to his elbows above Madison and leans down to kiss her, eager and not exactly gentle. Madison reaches up to thread her fingers into his curls. She runs her fingers through his hair once, twice, before closing her hand and tugging. Tyson groans into her mouth, but he gentles the kiss. They make out until they’re both breathless, and Tyson has to pull away. 

“I really should nap,” he says once he catches his breath. Madison tilts her chin up for another kiss. Tyson rolls his eyes but obliges, just a quick peck. He shifts his weight to one hand and pinches the outside of Madison’s thigh with the other. “C’mon, I wanna cuddle.”

They both clamber up the bed until Madison can collapse onto the pillows. Tyson collapses on top of her. 

“Oof, bud, what the hell,” she manages. Tyson’s heavy, and it’s hard to breathe. 

“Told you I wanted to cuddle,” Tyson says back, face smushed into Madison’s collarbone.

Madison pokes Tyson in the ribs, then again, harder, when he doesn’t react, until he sighs and squirms off her. Her reprieve doesn’t long, though, because Tyson immediately reaches out for Madison and pulls her close. She rolls onto her side to face him, and he grins at her. 

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him.

Tyson’s grin only grows. “Yeah, but you like me.”

Madison slides a hand around the back of Tyson’s neck and kisses him. 

When Tyson's alarm goes off later, they’ve shifted in their sleep, and Tyson’s half-laying on top of Madison again. He slaps at his phone without moving and somehow manages to snooze the alarm. 

“Not ready yet,” Madison mumbles, wrapping an arm around Tyson and keeping him close. He huffs a laugh against Madison’s skin. 

“I’ve gotta get ready, baby,” he says. He kisses Madison’s shoulder.

Madison should probably get up, too. She wants to shower the plane funk off and make herself presentable for the game. But Tyson’s bed is really comfy. Tyson rolls off of her, and Madison whines at the loss of her human blanket.

Tyson shoots her an amused look. He leans back over Madison to kiss her one more time, but he avoids her attempts at dragging him back to bed. Madison pouts up at him. It doesn’t work. She watches from the bed as Tyson gets dressed in his gameday suit. He kisses her goodbye before he leaves. 

Left alone in the eerie silence of the hotel, Madison forces herself out of bed and into the shower. She brings her Bluetooth speaker with her, blasting one of her playlists loud enough to be heard over the water. She emerges in a cloud of steam to dig through her suitcase for the outfit she’d packed for tonight. She doesn’t own anything Wild-branded, and she doesn’t think wearing Tyson’s old Avalanche hoodie would go over too well. She’d had to buy something new for this, too: an amazing fleece-lined green corduroy jacket that she’d probably live in come fall. 

She takes the opportunity to poke around the hotel room a little, looking for traces of Tyson in the unfamiliar space. One of the blankets from his apartment was thrown carelessly across the foot of the bed. His ukulele sits on top of the desk. Madison hangs her date-night dress up in the little closet and finds her own good luck note to Tyson taped to the door. The kitchenette is full of Tyson’s snacks, including some of Madison’s favorites. It’s not much, but it’s enough. 

Madison eventually makes her way to the Xcel Center. She’s met by someone’s significant other outside—it’s a blur of faces and names she can hardly keep track of—before they head to their seats. She’d gotten used to the atmosphere at The Can, and Xcel Center is different but the same. It’s easy enough to settle into the rhythm of the game and the crowd. The game is wild from puck drop, but Minnesota manages to pull out a win. Tyson even scores the game winning goal. 

She follows the rest of the girls downstairs to the family room after the game. She’s restless, full of energy after the game, with no outlet for it. She all but tackles Tyson when he pokes his head in, stripped down to his base layers, but his curls still plastered to his head with sweat. 

“Whoa,” he says, steadying her as they tumble out into the hallway. He’s grinning at her, cheeks pink. He lets Madison pin him up against the wall opposite them. “Hi.”

Madison kisses him, before she can blurt something embarrassing, like, “I love you,” or, “That goal was hot.” Tyson makes a surprised noise into her mouth but kisses back easily, his hands tightening on her hips. He pulls away after a minute.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he whispers, kissing her temple. Louder, he says, “JT has requested to see you.”

Madison’s a little surprised, but pleased, to hear that. She’s hung out with JT a handful of times since she met him back in January, but she doesn’t think she’s talked to him since Tyson got traded. It had always felt more like JT was just a friend of a friend she got along with.

Tyson drags her down the halls towards the visitors’ locker room, JT’s already waiting for them, leaning against the door frame and messing around on his phone. Unlike Tyson, he’s dressed in clean clothes. He looks up as they approach and grins at them. Tyson doesn’t let go of Madison’s hand. 

JT ropes Madison into a one-armed hug. “Think you’re Josty’s good luck charm. He’s scored twice now at games you’ve been to.” Tyson sticks his tongue out at JT.

Someone from inside the locker room yells Tyson’s name, and he’s momentarily distracted. JT leans in closer to Madison.

“Take care of our boy, yeah?” he says, quietly so Tyson, who’s still talking to someone else, won’t hear. “He needs you.” 

Madison’s not sure how to respond to that. She’s saved by Tyson remembering they’re there. JT smacks a kiss to Madison’s cheek and nudges her back towards Tyson. 

“See you around?” he asks Tyson.

“C’mon, you know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Madison watches them hug, and then Tyson’s leading her back down the maze of hallways. He says something to her before dropping her off outside the family room, but she doesn’t really hear it, lost in her own thoughts, thinking about JT’s words.

She’s still thinking about what JT said when Tyson rejoins her, as they make their way back to the hotel, up the elevator and into Tyson’s hotel room. She and Tyson move quietly, easily, around each other as they start to change out of their game-day clothes. She’s still lost in her thoughts when Tyson hooks his chin over her shoulder, startling her as she’s taking her makeup off. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He looks worried. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

Madison shrugs. “Nothing.”

Madison watches in the mirror as Tyson’s brow furrows further. “Did something happen?” Madison knows he’d been worried about how the Wild WAGs would receive her.

She shrugs Tyson’s chin off her shoulder, suddenly annoyed. “No, Tys, nothing happened.”

Nothing did happen, unless you count JT Compher’s casual words sending Madison into a spiral. 

Tyson slides between Madison and the sink. He crosses his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

Madison rolls her eyes, but gives Tyson a quick peck, before hip checking him out of the way so she can brush her teeth. Tyson watches, still suspicious. Madison ushers him towards the bed. He sits and drags Madison into his lap. He frowns up at her.

“Tys, really. Everything was just overwhelming, I guess.” Also not a lie; she’d never been to a hockey game as Tyson’s girlfriend—or, almost-girlfriend—and everything had been overwhelming in a way she hadn’t expected. Most things had been the same, but sitting with the rest of the wives and girlfriends and listening to them ask her questions about her life and job had almost felt like a well-meaning interrogation. 

“Promise?”

Madison kisses Tyson, slow and gentle. “Promise.”

She yelps when Tyson flips them suddenly. He rolls on top of her, propping himself up on his hands. Madison can tell that he’s not letting this go.

“Then what’s wrong?” He chews nervously on his lower lip for a moment. “And don’t say nothing, I know you’re lying.” 

Madison huffs. “Just something JT said.” She shoves at Tyson’s shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. His glasses are crooked from his acrobatics, and Madison reaches up to adjust those next. He swats at her hand.

“I’ll kill him,” he says confidently.

“First, I think JT would beat you in a fight,” Madison says. Tyson makes a noise of protest, and Madison slaps a hand over his mouth. “Second, it wasn’t anything bad, I don’t know, just made me think.”

Tyson pries Madison’s hand away. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” he says.

He’s distracted enough that Madison can hook a leg over his hips and flip them back over. She settles across his lap as Tyson blinks dazedly up at her.

“He asked me to take care of you, said you need me, whatever.” Madison’s trying to brush it off, as if she hadn’t spent hours thinking about it, as if she doesn’t feel uncomfortably seen. Far too vulnerable for something that was supposed to just be a hook-up way back in November. 

They’ve come a long way since November.

Tyson’s face clears. “What do you mean, ‘whatever?’” He surges up to kiss Madison before he continues. “Of course I need you. I fucking miss you constantly. I’ve wanted literally nothing but to be around you, like, all the time since, like, December.”

“Oh.” Madison should have realized that, maybe. It’s different to hear Tyson lay it out like that. “I didn’t realize,” she whispers. Tyson grins up at her. “You did kinda ghost me for a while there,” she points out.

Tyson groans. “I am never gonna hear the end of that, am I?” He runs his fingers through Madison’s hair, tugs a little at the ends. “I panicked because I was terrified of losing you, remember?” He punctuates his sentence with another gentle kiss. His hand slips from Madison’s hair to her waist, underneath her T-shirt. He’s missed the feeling of her underneath his hands. An emotion Madison can’t read crosses his face for a second before he says, “Do you—do you not—?” Feel the same way, is what he means to say, but can’t quite get out.

Madison understands him, anyway. “No, God, Tyson, no.” She hesitates; she supposes they’re laying it all on the line here. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Tyson surprises her by bursting out laughing. Hurt, Madison tries to squirm out of Tyson’s lap, but he reels her in and kisses her until she melts into his hands.

“Baby, I’ve been in love with you since you showed up at my door for a Lord of the Rings marathon.” He giggles a little and kisses Madison’s nose. “We’ve done this all backwards, haven’t we?” 

Madison giggles a little too and nods. “I don’t think we’re very good at all this,” she whispers.

Tyson shakes his head, still laughing. “We’ll get better. I mean, look at us, we’re already communicating more!”

Madison kissed him again to shut him up, but by then they were both too busy laughing to take it much farther. Madison collapses to the sheets next to Tyson, letting herself dissolve into giggles. It feels good to laugh like this with Tyson, the last bit of uneasy tension Madison didn’t even know existed disappearing at last. Madison feels delirious with it: the stress of the last few weeks, the long day of travel and hockey, the raw vulnerability of finally being honest with Tyson.

They laugh for longer than the situation warrants. Tyson eventually heaves a sigh and turns his head on his pillow to look at Madison, eyes uncharacteristically serious. Madison sucks in a breath and forces herself to stop laughing.

“I mean it, you know,” Tyson says. “I’ve been falling for you for a long time.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, props himself up on an elbow. “I guess this means you’re officially my girlfriend now, huh?”

“Huh, guess so.” Tyson beams at her. “Don’t think this gets you out of wining and dining me tomorrow, though,” she threatens. 

Tyson leans down to kiss Madison. “I don’t put out on the first date,” he murmurs.

Madison drags him closer, slots her mouth against his again. “Bit late for that, babe.”

Madison wakes up late the next morning, bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. Tyson’s already awake, sitting up against the headboard and fucking around on his phone. He never got dressed besides finding his boxers, and his glasses are slipping down his nose. He grins down at her when he realizes she’s awake. 

“You’re a dork,” Madison says, rolling over to bury her face in a pillow again. Tyson pokes her shoulder blade, and she turns her head enough to glare at him. 

“Brunch in bed, or go somewhere?” Tyson asks, poking Madison again.

Madison’s not wearing anything, either, and she’d have to shower and fix her hair before they could leave the hotel room. “Bed,” she says, burrowing back into her pillow. Actually, it might be one of Tyson’s pillows. It’s hers now.

Tyson chuckles and rolls out of bed to hunt down the room service menu. He orders a bunch of stuff that they can share, but makes sure to include an omelet for Madison. He learned a while ago that she always has to have an omelet with breakfast. He’s also learned not to question it. He jumps back onto the bed. Madison bounces with it, and turns once more to glare at him. 

Her hair’s a disaster, and Tyson thinks he can see a hickey he left low on her neck. He loves her so much. He remembers he can tell her that now.

“I love you,” he blurts. Madison’s face softens. “Also, breakfast in thirty.” He tugs a little on the sheet where it’s slipping down Madison’s shoulders. “Plenty of time for…”

“For what, Tyson?” Madison asks. She’s laughing, now, and she rolls over, letting Tyson slide between her thighs and kiss her, slow and easy. 

He has to fish his boxers out of the sheets again when room service knocks on the door, but it’s worth it.

Madison drags herself out of bed after they eat. Tyson’s promised her plans all day, so she and Tyson take turns showering and making themselves presentable. Tyson holds Madison’s hand from the door of the hotel room until they reach his car, and even then, he only lets go after he opens the door for her and kisses her on the cheek.

It’s a warm spring day, and Tyson drives with the windows down through downtown St. Paul. He refuses to tell Madison where he’s taking her.

“Can we at least get coffee if you’re going to kidnap me?” Madison whines.

“I don’t think it’s kidnapping if you willingly got in the car,” Tyson points out mildly. He pulls into the next Starbucks drive-thru he sees, though, so Madison’s pretty sure she wins the argument.

Placated with caffeine, she stops pestering Tyson for details, but it’s only another few minutes before he’s turning into a parking lot for Como Park Zoo.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Madison asks. She’d idly mentioned, a while ago, that she wanted to visit the Denver Zoo when it got warmer. She had no idea that Tyson would remember that.

Tyson smirks at her. “I think it’s a little smaller than Denver Zoo—”

Madison cuts him off. “Shut up, it’s gonna be great.”

And it is great. Madison all but runs between animal exhibits, and Tyson’s more than happy to be dragged along by the hand, even though he thinks his nose is getting sunburned. They entertain themselves by naming the animals after his old teammates.

“You can’t name them all EJ,” Madison says at one point. 

“Well, why not?” Tyson argues. Madison…doesn’t have a good argument for that, actually.

There’s gardens, too, and they wander through those after they’ve looped around the zoo, holding hands the whole time. Madison’s pretty sure she enjoys the flowers more than Tyson, but he waits good-naturedly when she stops to point out a pretty flower or to take some pictures. It all feels like a date, which Madison supposes it is, actually.

“Hey, wait,” Tyson says suddenly, after Madison stands back up from taking a photo. “We should get a picture of us.” He snatches Madison’s phone from her hand. 

There’s an older couple nearby, and Tyson approaches them with a smile. Madison can hear him asking if one of them would mind, “taking a picture of me and my girlfriend?” She’s sure she’s blushing when Tyson comes back over and winds an arm around her waist. She smiles obligingly at the camera next to Tyson, and doesn’t even flinch when he turns and smacks a kiss to her cheek for the last one.

Tyson’s gracious and sweet as he takes Madison’s phone back, but he turns on Madison with an evil glint in his eye.

“Shut up,” Madison says, turning and walking away from Tyson so he can’t see that she’s still blushing.

Tyson jogs to keep up, spinning around and walking backwards so he can keep smirking at Madison. “You liked hearing me call you my girlfriend, huh?”

“Shut up,” Madison says again.

Tyson steps in front of Madison suddenly, blocking her path completely. She bumps into him. He’s still grinning. “Get used to it fast, because I can’t wait to tell everyone you’re my girlfriend.” Madison claps a hand over his mouth before he can literally start yelling about it. Tyson pries her hand away and uses it to pull her in for a kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs. The novelty of hearing that from Tyson hasn’t worn off, either.

Madison kisses him again because she can. 

They head out not long after that. Tyson starts insisting that they can’t be late for their dinner reservation, even though it’s still early afternoon. Madison lets him take her by the hand again and all but drag her back to the car. 

She’s suddenly tired once she’s sitting back in the passenger seat, the sun and the walking catching up to her. She rests her head on the window while Tyson drives, fighting back a yawn. Tyson still catches her, and he reaches across to poke her in the thigh. She swats half-heartedly at his hand.

“Do I have time to take a nap?” Madison murmurs.

“What? No way!” He pokes Madison harder. “I’m supposed to be wining and dining you, remember?” 

“But I’m sleepy,” Madison whines. She’ll rally, probably; she needs to complain a little first. Tyson pokes her harder.

“That’s not allowed,” Tyson says. It’s not a long drive back to the hotel, and they’re most of the way back there already. Tyson checks the time on the dashboard. There’s still a few hours before their dinner reservation. “Okay, how about a mini nap?” he allows. “But we’re setting like three alarms.” 

It’s important to him that he still gets this first date right, even if they have done their entire relationship backwards. They got to the right place in the end, though, right?

Madison crashes into bed as soon as they’re back in the room. Tyson considers her for a moment. She’s already wriggled under the sheets, but she’s lying directly in the middle of the bed.

Tyson collapses on top of Madison. He catches himself at the last second so he doesn’t completely crush her, because he’s nice like that. Madison giggles, but she squirms and tries to elbow Tyson.

Her voice is muffled into the pillow as she tries to say, “Get off me.”

Tyson lets his weight press her further into the mattress. “Nope, ‘m comfy.” He does fish his phone out of his pocket to set an alarm and roll off Madison. He pulls Madison close as soon as he lands on his side next to her. “Shh, sleep now.”

They’re both jolted awake half an hour later when Tyson’s alarm goes off. Madison whines and presses closer. Tyson kisses the top of her head where she’s tucked under his chin.

“We need to get up,” Tyson whispers. Madison blinks sleepily up at him. 

Tyson forces himself to disentangle himself from Madison. When she doesn’t get up after him, he grabs her by the ankles and drags her to the end of the bed, ignoring her laughter and shrieks.

Tyson follows Madison into the bathroom after she digs her makeup bag and curling iron out of her suitcase, plops himself down on the marble countertop of the sink. Madison raises her eyebrow at him as she plugs the curling iron in and turns it on. Tyson beams at her.

“I wanna watch,” Tyson says simply, still smiling innocently.

He does watch, intent on Madison as she starts to section her hair.

“What’s that for?” he asks. He hands Madison a hair clip.

She brandishes the curling iron at him. “So it’s easier to curl.” 

Tyson’s quiet for a few more minutes before he slides Madison’s makeup bag closer and starts pawing through it. He pulls items out one by one and starts asking questions, mostly more of, “What’s this for?”—a makeup sponge, eyeliner, one of those jumbo eyeshadow crayons—until most of the contents of Madison’s makeup bag are strewn across the counter around Tyson. 

“Are you proud of yourself?” Madison teases. Tyson snaps a compact of blush shut, surveys the damage he’s done. Madison’s momentarily distracted by Tyson’s shenanigans, and one of her fingers brushes across the hot barrel of the curling iron. “Ah, shit,” she hisses.

Tyson’s immediately serious. “Are you okay?” He grabs at Madison’s hand, bringing it close to his face to inspect her finger. Madison bites her lip to keep from laughing. Tyson frowns before carefully pulling Madison’s finger to his lips, kissing it gently. “There. All better.” 

“I love you,” Madison hears herself saying. She’s not used to being able to just say it. Tyson beams at her again.

Tyson behaves himself while Madison finishes her hair and makeup, though he does giggle at the faces Madison pulls while she’s trying to apply mascara. He even helps put away all the makeup he got out. He finally hops off the counter to start getting ready himself.

Madison grabs his wrist when he reaches for the bottle of hair gel. “Nope, I’m rescinding your gel privileges.” She dies a little inside every time she sees a new photo of Tyson and his curls smothered in gel. Tyson squirms, trying to free his hand; Madison tightens her grip.

“Just a little?” Tyson pleads. 

“No, I like your curls!” For emphasis, Madison cards her free hand through Tyson’s curls.

Tyson grumbles at her and tries to tamp his hair back down. “You’re gonna make it frizzy,” he complains. Madison is still tightly holding onto his wrist. “Ugh, fine, but just for tonight.” 

Madison releases his wrist and kisses Tyson’s cheek as she steps past him out of the bathroom. Tyson blinks at himself in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened.

Madison’s changed into a dress when Tyson finally makes his way out of the bathroom, too, sitting on the edge of the bed to slide on a pair of heels. She watches Tyson change with a small smile on her face. Tyson takes Madison’s hand and pulls her to her feet, twirling her once before pulling her close for a kiss.

“Let’s fucking do this,” Tyson says, and Madison has to laugh.

Dinner is pretty nice, as first dates go. Tyson picked a good restaurant—good food, nice environment, but not so fancy Madison feels out of her depth—and Madison already knows that he’s good for conversation. The good thing about falling in love before you actually start dating is that you’ve already gotten the awkwardness and discomfort out of the way already, Madison supposes.

She’s even mostly immune to the sad eyes Tyson directs at her as he pleads his case for getting dessert. Mostly. (They end up splitting a slice of tiramisu.)

The weekend passes too quickly. Madison blinks and suddenly she’s standing in the middle of Tyson’s hotel room, trying to figure out if she’s forgotten to re-pack anything. 

“Stay,” Tyson begs. “A few more days, through the beginning of the series.”

“Tyson, I can’t, I have to get back to Denver for work, you know that.”

Tyson does know that, but he also hates coming back to a dark and empty hotel room every night after games. He tries to tackle Madison to the bed, but she side-steps Tyson and crosses her arms at him, disapproval in her eyes. Tyson feels a bit like a scolded child for a moment. 

“What if I refuse to drive you to the airport, huh? Then you’ll have to stay.” Tyson knows it’s a weak argument, but he’s desperate here. 

Madison’s glare softens. She cups Tyson’s face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Tyson, but I really have to go. I’ll see you soon, okay? We’ll figure something out.” She punctuates this with a kiss. Tyson leans into it, his hands tight on Madison’s waist. 

“Soon,” Tyson repeats. “I love you,” he adds.

Madison kisses him again, and Tyson slips a hand beneath her shirt, her skin warm beneath his hand. She shudders and kisses him harder. They both startle when the alarm Madison set to make sure they leave for the airport on time goes off. Tyson tries to follow her when she pulls away to silence it.

“Time to go,” Madison says sadly.

After Tyson drops Madison off at Departures, he’s grateful that she’s not there to see him wipe away some tears. 

May

Madison sees the Avs’ WAG jackets on Instagram the night they start the first round. The WIld had played the night before, an ugly loss Madison hadn’t been able to tear her attention away from. She could have had one of those jackets, sitting next to Syd and all the other girls. Instead, she’s back in her apartment in Denver, alone. 

She wishes she could have stayed in Minnesota with Tyson for the first two games of the series. She gets a text from Tyson after the game that’s just a thumbs down emoji. Madison “dislikes” it out of solidarity. Tyson doesn’t call her that night. Madison has to remind herself that it’s okay, that they don’t have to talk all the time.

She watches anxiously two nights later as the Wild drag out a win, clutching a glass of wine for emotional support the whole time. 

Before she can think too hard about it, Madison’s opening her laptop. She’s in the middle of searching flights to St. Louis when her phone rings. It’s Tyson, and Madison doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“I miss you,” she says, before Tyson can get a greeting out. She has perhaps had a little too much wine. 

He chuckles. “It’s been less than a week, baby.” But then he adds, “I miss you, too.”

Madison shoves her laptop away and flops backwards on her bed. Last minute plane tickets are so expensive. So are playoff hockey tickets, apparently. She wonders if it would be easier to just drive to St. Louis.

“Wish I could be there,” she says next, even though she had just turned down Tyson when he’d asked her to stay. 

“Yeah, me too,” Tyson says after a beat. He doesn’t offer to fly Madison out again, though Madison can tell he wants to.

She doesn’t tell him that she’s only a few clicks away from buying herself tickets and meeting him in Missouri. Though she should probably do it while she’s not sober, before she can talk herself out of it in the morning. 

“Oh, good game, by the way,” Madison remembers to say.

Tyson huffs. “Are you already in bed?” Tyson asks. Madison can hear him banging around his hotel room, tinny and muffled where her phone has slid off her pillow. 

“Sorta,” Madison tells him. She pulls her laptop closer again. She could fly out after work and make it to the arena without missing too much of the game, probably. She winces again at the outrageous prices for the game. There aren’t even any good seats left.

Tyson speaks again. “Go to sleep, we can talk in the morning. I just wanted to say good night to you.” 

“In a minute,” she whines. She’s trying to remember her credit card number without having to get up and dig it out of her purse.

Tyson must hear her keyboard clacking. “What are you still doing on your computer?”

“Online shopping,” Madison lies. Well, half-lies. She is spending plenty of money right now. She triple-checks that her flight is booked correctly and that she purchased the ticket for the game before she finally slams her laptop shut and tosses it aside. “There, I’m done,” she tells Tyson.

“Buy anything good?” Tyson asks through a yawn. 

“Hope so, we’ll see.”

On Friday, Madison rushes off the plane, rushes through baggage claim, and rushes through renting a car. She’s cutting it close on time, with less than half an hour until puck drop. She drives as carefully and quickly as she can on the unfamiliar roads to the arena, one eye on the clock the whole time. The streets and parking around Enterprise Center are a fucking nightmare, but when she finally parks and makes it to the front doors, there’s still lines of people milling about, waiting to get in, too.

Madison checks her watch. Puck dropped five minutes ago. She pushes around a group of people who are somehow already drunk and towards the front of a line. All hockey arenas are the same, in a way, but Madison is immediately overwhelmed and disoriented. The first period is half over by the time she manages to get to the upper level and settle in her seat, but at least she finally made it. 

Madison takes a photo of the ice and texts it to Tyson with her usual black heart emoji. He’ll see it eventually. 

Madison has to keep herself from cheering too loudly for every Wild goal, surrounded by Blues fans as she is, and she’s probably one of the only people in the arena who’s happy when the Wild manage a neat win. 

She follows the throngs of people outside and back to her rental car. She has a text from Tyson waiting for her, just a string of exclamation marks. Another text comes through while she’s waiting for traffic to thin out, a request for Madison to call Tyson in all capital letters. Tyson’s breathless when he answers Madison’s call. “What the hell are you doing in St. Louis?” 

“Surprise?” Madison says weakly. 

Tyson laughs. “Hell of a surprise, babe.” He must pull his phone away from his ear, because Madison can still hear him speaking, but distantly. “Hang on, I’m trying to get you the address of the hotel, you can meet me there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Madison says. Tyson’s gone again, not really listening.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’ll text you where to go, and I’ll see you soon, okay?” He hangs up without letting Madison reply, but he texts again seconds later with the name and address of the team hotel. 

Madison is anxiously idling in the hotel driveway when the team bus pulls in behind her. Tyson bounds off the bus almost before it comes to a full stop, and he races over to Madison’s car door and taps on the window.

Madison rolls down the window. “And what if it hadn’t been me in the car?” she teases.

Tyson is reaching through the now-open window to try and unlock the door, his tongue sticking out the way it does when he’s focusing on the ice. “I would have apologized. A lot.” He successfully presses the unlock button and yanks the car door open. “Come here, come here,” he says.

Madison laughs and climbs out of the car. Both of her feet aren’t even out of the car before Tyson’s sweeping her up in a hug so tight she swears she can feel her ribs shift. He sets her down and immediately cups her face.

“You’re here, I can’t believe you’re here.” Tyson narrows his eyes, and he squishes Madison’s cheeks where he’s still holding her face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming.” 

Madison pries Tyson’s hands away enough to talk. “I wanted to surprise you.” Tyson’s teammates are still filtering off the bus, and they should probably move inside, too. “Can you let go of me so I can get my bag out of the trunk?” she asks.

Tyson considers this. He slides one hand down Madison’s arm until he can tangle their fingers together. He also leans into the car and deftly turns it off, holding the keys up with a grin. He nudges the door shut. “We can get your bag out of the trunk.” He proceeds to drag Madison around to the back of the car and drags her suitcase out of the back with his free hand. He stares between the suitcase in his hand and the open trunk before Madison takes pity on him and slams the trunk shut.

Madison hangs back while Tyson hands the car keys off to a valet, and then he’s dragging her towards the elevators, happily rolling Madison’s suitcase in front of him. At least the rest of the Wild players have all disappeared, sparing Madison from their stares and jeers. She tucks herself closer to Tyson in the elevator, suddenly self-conscious. Tyson kisses her temple.

Madison is suddenly exhausted as soon as they enter Tyson’s room. Tyson flips the light on as Madison kicks off her shoes. Tyson left the curtains open earlier, and Madison can see the Arch, lit up above the river, through the window. She’s too tired to give it more than a half-hearted glance on her way to face-planting into the pillows. 

Tyson’s laughing when she rolls over and brushes her hair out of her face. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here,” he says, jumping onto the bed next to Madison, and, really, that’s all that matters.

The Wild lose the next game at Enterprise, and Madison holds Tyson tightly for a long time in the hall outside the locker room before he has to get on a plane. They lose again at home, then yet again back in St. Louis. 

Just like that, hockey season is over. 

Tyson calls Madison after the last game. He sounds like he’s been crying, but he tries to be cheerful for Madison. She just wishes she could hug him, but she’s back in Denver. She knows the Avs swept the Predators already, and they’ll be facing St. Louis next. It’s not difficult to imagine how Tyson feels about that. 

“Come home with me,” Tyson blurts. He’s on the phone with Madison, getting ready to leave his Minnesota hotel room behind. He survived locker cleanout and exit interviews, and now he’s ready to sleep for about a week.

Madison, in the middle of complaining at work, freezes. “I—what?” She takes another moment to process. “Aren’t you coming back to Denver first?” Madison knows his apartment sits half-abandoned, filled with things too difficult or unnecessary to move after the trade. 

“Well, yeah, but like, after. You should come home with me,” Tyson repeats. He’s been dying to introduce her to his mom for months. He hopes his mom likes Madison as much as he does. He is a little worried about his sanity if Madison and Kacey get along as well as he thinks they will, though. 

“I’ve never been to Canada before,” Madison says thoughtfully. She’s barely travelled abroad at all, except for one trip to the UK after she graduated high school. Her passport has been collecting dust since then. 

“So you’ll come?” Tyson asks. 

“Is there even anything to do in Edmonton?” Madison teases.

“There’s so much to do, like—” Tyson pauses. It’s been a while since he’s had to play tourist back home. Madison is giggling on the other end of the line. “Shut up, we’ll figure something out.”

Tyson feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in months when he steps out of the airport in Denver. He wonders if any place will ever feel like home the way Denver does.

Tyson had managed to wheedle JT into picking him up, and he even brought coffee. Tyson ignores the way it almost feels like an apology. JT has nothing to be apologizing for, but Tyson just sips his coffee. 

The apartment smells stale when they walk in. Tyson’s mom had done a good job of cleaning for him, at least, and there aren’t any dirty dishes still stacked in the sink. He and JT are quiet as they walk through the apartment, opening windows. Tyson feels like he’s walking through someone else’s life. He stares for too long at his bed, freshly made and untouched for weeks. 

He shakes it off and goes to find the moving boxes.

“So, this is it, huh?” JT says.

He could be talking about all the boxes they’ve spent the last few hours filling boxes and separating them into piles to be shipped off to Minnesota—Tyson finally signed a lease for an apartment there—or to be sent back home for his family to deal with. An alarming amount of Tyson’s clothes is Avalanche-branded gear, and more of it got packed away to keep than Tyson is willing to admit. 

He could also be talking about the end of everything they’ve known together in Denver. Tyson’s spent years accepting the fact that hockey is a business before everything else, has gotten used to the revolving door of teammates each season. It’s been a long time since Rookie House days with Kerf. Tyson is going to walk out that apartment door, and he’s never going to be able to go back. A chapter—or book, really—in the story of his life ended for good. 

Tyson sighs. “This is it.”

The apartment is stripped bare when Madison steps through the door, left unlocked by JT and Tyson.

She drops her laptop bag and kicks off her shoes, saying, “You should be more careful, anybody could just walk in here.”

Tyson drops the box he’s holding and whirls around. Madison winces as its contents rattle. There’s no time to say anything else before Tyson is bounding across the room and wrapping her in a huge hug. 

“What, no hug for me?” JT asks from somewhere behind them. Tyson turns to glare at him, but Madison shoots him a smile.

“Hey, JT,” she says. She lets JT drape an arm around her in a half-hug.

“Betrayal,” Tyson says. He is ignored. 

They leave most of the boxes for the moving company to deal with. Madison bundles Tyson into her car with his bags of clothes, complaining the whole time about wanting dinner. She lets Tyson hold her hand across the console as she drives him to her apartment. 

It’s not the first time Tyson’s been to Madison’s apartment, but it still feels strange to be there instead of his own. They’ve spent so much time there the past few months, watching movies on the couch, doing things other than sleeping in the bed. He misses it already, all the memories they made as they fumbled their way into a relationship. 

He says as much to Madison, expecting her to tease him for something so objectively dumb—to miss an apartment he lived in half of the time for like six months—but the look she gives him is almost sad.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” she says. Tyson pulls her in by the hips, letting her lean her weight on him. “But I guess we’ll just have to keep making more memories, yeah?” 

Later that night, tangled up in Madison’s sheets, Tyson stares at the dark ceiling. He can feel Madison, looking rumpled and in his shirt, watching him. She nudges his calf with her toes. He doesn’t look at her, focused on keeping his eyes from welling up. Then Madison’s hand is on his cheek, turning his head towards her.

“How you doin’, bud?” 

Tyson lets Madison pull him close and hold him tightly. He slides a hand under her shirt and to the bare skin of her hip, just feeling the comforting warmth of her skin. 

“What if it’s never like this again?” Tyson whispers back. This—Denver and the Avalanche, friends who become family; Madison in bed next to him, loving him and wearing his clothes. Minnesota had been okay, but Tyson worked his ass off and never felt settled. Maybe it was the endless hotel life, maybe it was the team, maybe it was him. He feels like a child, begging his mom to tell him everything was going to be okay. 

Madison doesn’t know how to comfort Tyson. It probably never will be like this again. Madison can’t see the future, and she can’t promise Tyson anything, either. “I don’t know, baby,” Madison admits. “I don’t know.” 

Tyson doesn’t cry, but they both lay awake for a long time. 

June

They fly into Edmonton together on Friday. Tyson seems nervous the whole flight and all the way through the airport. At baggage claim, as they wait for their suitcases, Madison turns on him.

“What’s up with you?” she asks. Tyson blinks at her like he forgot she was there. “You’re not seriously this worried about me meeting your family, are you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know!” Tyson crosses his arms. He’s pretty sure his suitcase just spun past them on the carousel. He lowers his voice. “I don’t really bring girls home, I don’t know. I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

“Oh, Tys. It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Madison tosses her hair, and Tyson manages a weak smile. “Your family is going to love me so much they’ll forget you even exist.”

“Hey!”

Tyson had lobbied hard for taking an Uber from the airport, to give Madison and himself a few last moments of peace before a week with his family, but his mom had put her foot down and insisted on picking them up. She’s already idling at the curb when they step out of the airport.

Madison calls shotgun, leaving Tyson to throw their suitcases in the trunk and slide into the backseat. His mom is in the middle of telling Madison, “Call me Laura, please!” Madison turns in her seat to grin at Tyson as his mom pulls away and starts driving out of the airport. She refrains from grilling Madison on the short drive home, something Tyson is grateful for. He zones out while Madison explains where she grew up and what she does and lets himself relax back into his seat.

Before he knows it, they’re pulling up to the house, and Kacey is sprinting out the front door to greet them. Tyson groans, but he eagerly shoves his car door open before the car is in park and lets Kacey jump on him. 

Madison gets out of the car at a more leisurely—and sane—pace, and Kacey turns to wrap her in a hug as soon as she lets go of Tyson.

“I’m Kacey,” she says, pulling away and gripping Madison by the shoulders. “The better Jost sibling.”

Tyson pulls on Kacey’s ponytail. She smacks him in the chest without turning around. Tyson’s about to lunge and get Kacey in a headlock when their mom yells, “Behave,” at them from the front door.

Madison’s looking faintly overwhelmed. Tyson mouths “You okay?” at her over Kacey’s shoulder. Madison just grins and lets Kacey grab her by the hand and drag her inside. He’s pretty sure he hears Kacey telling her how much their grandparents can’t wait to meet her as they go. He shakes his head and retrieves their luggage from the trunk.

He’s missed all the introductions by the time he makes it inside. Madison sits on the couch next to Kacey, the spot on Madison’s other side left conspicuously open. Tyson ignores Kacey’s smirk and plops himself down next to Madison. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Tyson’s grandpa asks.

Tyson refrains from glaring at him. Madison laughs next to him.

“He picked me up in a bar, and I had no idea he was a hockey player,” she says. Tyson had almost forgotten about that part. “We kinda just…kept seeing each other after that.” 

That’s a delicate way of putting it.

“So you’re the reason Tyson ditched us over Christmas, huh?” Kacey asks next. She’s smirking again, directed straight at Tyson over Madison’s head. Tyson has not forgotten that part, struggling to lie to Kacey and his mom.

“Kacey!” Tyson and his mom both protest, but Madison just laughs again. Something about the question melts all of the tension out of her shoulders. She turns a little to lean against Tyson.

“Yeah, that was me,” Madison says. Tyson can’t see her face, but she doesn’t sound very sheepish. She tilts her chin to look up at Tyson. “I should’ve known something was up when he couldn’t go more than a few days without seeing me.” “Hey,” Tyson protests again, weakly. She’s right, though. They really should have figured out their shit sooner, but they got to the right place eventually. 

Conversation drifts away from the topic of their relationship after that. Tyson drapes an arm across Madison’s shoulders. After a while of catching up—Tyson and hockey season, or Kacey and her school year—mixed in with his family asking Madison questions to get to know her better, Tyson’s mom and grandma head to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

Madison tries to follow and offer to help, but Tyson tightens his arm around her. He kisses her forehead, whispering, “Stay here,” into her hair. Madison stays.

They’re getting ready for bed later—banished to separate rooms, of course—when Madison notices Tyson getting nervous again.

“What’s up?” Madison asks, sliding between him and the bathroom sink. They’re pushing it, probably, spending this long in the bathroom with the door closed. 

Tyson shrugs. “Worried about you and Kacey spending all night gossiping.” They’d really hit it off over dinner, which Tyson is simultaneously grateful for and horrified by. From the look Madison gives him, she’s not buying it. “It’s just…the Avs are in town tomorrow night, and I got tickets, and you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, but I want to go, and—”

Madison cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. “Tyson, I’d love to go to the game with you.”

Tyson relaxes again, and Madison moves her hand. Tyson takes the opportunity to bully her up against the sink and kiss her. Tyson’s just getting into it when Kacey bangs on the bathroom door. He’s pretty sure he accidentally bites Madison’s lip when he jerks away. Madison grumbles at him, but she ducks around him to open the door. Tyson tries not to whine about it.

Going to the game together the next night is strange. Tyson hasn’t been to Rogers Place and not been playing a game since he was a kid, probably. Madison had never really been to a hockey game before she’d met Tyson, and she’s definitely never gone to a game with Tyson. 

They mostly go unnoticed, except for a handful of people who stop Tyson and ask for a picture. Madison hangs back while he politely smiles at the camera. It’s easy to fade into the crush of the crowd, and Tyson keeps a tight hold and Madison’s hand as they make their way through the concourse and to their seats.

After that, it’s just like any other hockey game. Cheering for the Avalanche is familiar, even if the way Tyson is squeezing Madison’s hand at every single scoring chance is not. She’d tease him for his nervousness, especially because the Avalanche are winning easily, except for the fact that she knows it had to be hard for him to come out tonight. To cheer for his old team, his friends, knowing that with every win they’re one step closer to something he can’t be a part of. 

So she lets him hold her hand as tightly as he wants. It’s the best she can offer. 

They don’t linger after the game. Tyson seems eager to escape the arena, and Madison lets him lead her back to the car. He puts on a Spotify playlist and turns the volume up loud, but he’s mostly quiet on the drive to the house, one hand on the wheel, one hand on Madison’s thigh.

Madison gets caught up talking to Laura when they get to the house, and she loses track of Tyson for a while. He’s not upstairs in his old bedroom, or even bugging Kacey in her bedroom. Madison ventures outside. Tyson has dragged a lawn chair out to the driveway, but he’s laying on his back on the cold concrete, staring up at the dim stars. The moon is just a sliver in the sky. 

Madison nudges him with her foot. He wraps a hand around her ankle, squeezes once.

“You alive down there?”

Tyson makes a sound that almost passes for a laugh. Madison is pretty sure his eyes are wet, shiny in the dark. Madison lays down next to him. The concrete is hard against her shoulder blades, and it feels damp through her thin T-shirt. 

“This fucking sucks,” Tyson says. It’s too loud for how late it is, and his voice echoes a little around the quiet street. He rubs a hand angrily across his face. “I want to be out there, playing for the Cup, not fucking sitting in the arena watching them. I guess I should be happy for them because they’re my friends, you know? But I kinda want to hate them, too.” He’s quiet for a moment. He reaches for Madison’s hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm, before settling their clasped hands on his chest. “I might not have asked for a trade if I had known it would be this shitty,” he admits.

“It’s okay to be mad, Tyson,” Madison says gently.

“It’s not—I don’t know if I’m mad. I wish I could be.”

“It’s okay to be sad, too,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, voice thick. 

They’re both quiet for so long, Madison’s half-certain Tyson’s fallen asleep, if not for his occasional sniffle. He sits up after a while, still holding Madison’s hand. Even in the dark, Madison can see him yawn.

“Ready for bed?” Madison asks.

Tyson nods. “D’you think I can sneak you into my bed?”

He pulls Madison to her feet as she lets out a startled laugh. Tyson kisses her quiet. “I’m willing to get in trouble if you are.”

The house is dark when they slip back inside. They giggle their way through brushing their teeth, close together at the bathroom sink, elbows bumping. Tyson shushes her loudly as they tiptoe carefully down the hall. Madison’s pretty sure he’s being louder than her, but whatever.

Madison wakes to an empty bed and late morning sunlight. She can hear Tyson’s voice drifting up the stairs. That boy truly does not know how to be quiet. Madison has an Instagram notification when she swipes her phone off the bedside table: josty17 has tagged you in a post. Madison frowns and unlocks her phone, wondering what unflattering photo of her Tyson took. Instead, it’s a photo Kacey or Laura must have taken the morning before. Madison’s laying on top of Tyson on the couch, Tyson visibly complaining that he’s being squished, despite the fact that he had pulled Madison on top of him. He captioned it with a black heart emoji. 

Madison makes her way downstairs. Tyson sits at the kitchen table, arguing with Kacey over something stupid. He reaches a hand out for Madison without stopping whatever he’s ranting about. There’s a fresh mug of coffee in his hand, already doctored the way Madison likes it. Tyson uses his now-free hand to loop around Madison’s waist and tug her onto his lap. She hooks her arms around Tyson’s neck and sips her coffee, content to listen to this argument, even though she’s still not sure what they’re arguing about. She thinks she hears something about which fruit would make the best weapon. 

It might not be easy, but Madison thinks they’ll be just fine.

#cait writes things #tyson jost fic #tyson jost imagine #colorado avalanche fic #minnesota wild fic #buffalo sabres fic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagine #tyson jost fanfiction

[barzysunflower]

38 from the fluff list w josty…. i crave it…. congrats bby <3

yaay baby josty request!! thank youu -> 1k celly

38. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

“Oh my god, so cute,” Tyson exclaimed, crouching down to the little brown puppy jumping up his leg. The owners apologized and tried to get their puppy to stop jumping, but both you and Tyson were quick to let them know you were totally fine with it.

“I love him,” you said, scratching behind his little ears. You looked over to Tyson, who had the biggest grin on his face, making your stomach flutter.

A few more pets and cute puppy pictures later, you were back on your way, strolling around the city. You had met Tyson a few weeks ago when he moved to Rochester to play hockey here and you had been hanging out ever since. It started out as just friends, but it was clear to the both of you that it was quickly developing into something more.

You just had just met up to have lunch after his practice and decided to afterwards take a walk through the city, that was still unfamiliar to him. But you grew up here and loved showing him around.

“Yes, I swear we used to be able to skate on here. It’s where I learned to. I’m actually pretty good,” you explained as you stood on the bridge overlooking the river. “But it hasn’t been cold enough in years.”

“Well, I’m going to have to take you skating soon to see those skills. How’s your puck handling?” You rolled your eyes, which elicited a goofy grin which you’d grown to love.

“I was talking about skating, not hockey. But I’d love to take you up on that offer.” He nodded, still sporting his smile. A big gust of wind suddenly blew, almost blowing your scarf off and messing up your hair. You quickly fixed it, looking back at him.

His hand reached over, stroking a strand of hair out of your face. The tips of his fingers, brushed across your forehead. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

You blushed, looking away, but his fingers that still lingered close to your face gently forced you to look back at him. The wind blew, messing up his curly hair as well, but he looked so cute you couldn’t tear your gaze away again. Slowly, Tyson bent down to brush his cold lips against yours. Your heart skipped a beat, then another one when your lips touched with more force.

When you pulled away, you both shyly looked away with equally big smiles on your face and you could tell that this was only the start of something great.

#tyson jost #tyson jost fic #nhl blurb #nhl fic #lolo’s 1k celly #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey fics #hockey blurb #hockey imagine #buffalo sabres

[kailyn-writes]

First Snow | Tyson Jost x Reader

A/N: it has been forever since I have written or posted anything so please go easy on me!! This is just a short little thing to try and get my motivation to come back. If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! IDK if I'll write them but I might!

Word Count: 600

Growing up in Texas, you’d rarely had the opportunity to see actual, fluffy snow. Texas turned into one sheet of ice anytime it was cold and wet, and you’d only been out of state during the winter a couple of times. You knew when you moved to Buffalo that you would have to get used to the snow, but the first snowfall of the season took you by surprise. 

It was a Saturday morning in the middle of November, and you’d only been up long enough to brush your teeth. You’d stayed at your boyfriends place the night before, and you saw the snow through his balcony door in his room. 

“Tyson!” You shouted, rushing to get up. You grabbed a pair of sweatpants and one of his hoodies, running over to the balcony door.

“You called?” Your boyfriend asked, stepping into his room.

“Look! It’s snowing!” You pointed excitedly at the door as he chuckled, moving to wrap his arms around your waist.

“Barely. This won’t even stick, it’ll be gone by the afternoon.” He says, placing his head on your shoulder. 

“I’m still gonna play in it.” You say, pulling out from his embrace, moving to pull a pair of socks and your tennis shoes on. 

“Really? You’re not going to get much playing out of it.” Tyson says, watching you incredulously.

“Party pooper.” You give your boyfriend a quick kiss before hurrying out of his apartment and down to the lobby. There wasn’t much snow on the ground, but there was enough of it piled up on the plastic chairs sat in the courtyard, so you pushed open the door and headed right for it. 

Moments later, a pair of hands scooped up some of the snow beside the tiny snowman you were making and when you looked up, Tyson was standing beside you, nose already a little pink. You smiled up at him, watching as he scooped up a little bit more snow before squishing it into a small ball. Your eyes widened as he grinned, and you knew you were in trouble. 

Twenty minutes and several tiny snowballs later, your fingers were frozen, cheeks pink and sore from laughing so much. 

“C’mon, there’s no more snow left, what do you say we go inside now?” Tyson asks, reaching out to hook an arm around your waist and pull you closer to him. 

“Can we make hot cocoa and watch Christmas movies?” Tyson raises his brows as you smile up at him.

“Babe, it’s not even Thanksgiving.”

“You don’t even celebrate American Thanksgiving! Even more reason to start preparing for Christmas now.” 

“Okay, okay, we can make hot cocoa and watch Christmas movies.” 

One pizza, two cups of hot cocoa, and three Christmas movies later, you and Tyson were snuggled up on the couch under a blanket. The two of you had rearranged his sectional into a makeshift bed with pillows and blankets and everything. You had long since abandoned the movie playing, in favor of listening to your boyfriend’s heart beating. The steady rhythm of his heart beating, his breathing and the soft touches on your waist where his hand was idly drawing shapes on the small sliver of skin exposed was lulling you into sleepiness. 

“Hey Tys?” You murmured sleepily.

“Yes, baby?” 

“Does this mean I need new tires on my car?” 

His soft chuckle vibrates through you and you crack an eyelid to see him smiling down at you. 

“Yes, but I’ll take it to get done one day this week for you.” He says, before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

#tyson jost x reader #tyson jost blurb #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #also I definitely did not reread or edit this so if there are mistakes pls forgive me

[2-fast-2-curious]

That Tyson Jost gif you reposted just made 🤤. Do you happen to have any audios for him? Thank you!

Babe you don't have to ask me twice to post some Tyson even though technically that's what happened

[M4F] Stuck At Your Ex's House In A Snowstorm

[Former Relationship][Exes to ?][Stuck Together][We Shouldn't][Reminiscing][Cuddling][Lots of Kissing][Cunnilingus][No Condom][Moaning][Choking][Begging for Orgasm][Creampie][12:19]

Creator Reddit: u/Sweat__NSFW

#tyson jost #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost smut #christine recommends audios #nhl fan fiction #nhl players #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey players #hockeyblr #hockey smut #x reader #smut #audios

[nolanscheeks]

Working the night shift and it’s chill and I’m bored. Also super in my soft thoughts about Jack. Indulge me and send your soft thoughts!!

#nhl writing #brock boeser #nhl fanfiction #jack hughes #nhl imagines #trevor zegras #tyson jost #hockey blurbs #matthew tkachuk #vince dunn #self indulgent #night shift #soft boy #soft thoughts #lylawritesthings

[princessphilly]

Let Me Count The Ways

A 1,500 follower celebration blurb #1

For hockeyblr, the community where I started. 😘

CW: soft smut. Plus sized reader.

Note: Some slight body shaming by reader internally. Tyson reassures. Inspired by Toni Braxton - How Many Ways

Tagging: @hockeywocs @hookingminor @hockeylvr59 @chara-hugs @thebookofmags @jostystyles @newlibrary @fallinallincurls @hiimana @itsjuliak5 @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @luvsherleafs @mesmerizedcrosby @m00nlightdelights @myhockeyworld87 @perpetually-anxious @puckngrind @ryngrvs @whoeverineedtobe @matbaerzal

It never failed to amaze you, just how thrilling it felt to be in Tyson’s arms.

It didn’t matter where or when, not even now as you stood in front of the floor length mirror.

You had been mentally looking over your body, that criticizing voice trying to come out. Then you felt those solid arms, got pulled into a solid chest and that voice went away.

“You look so sexy, baby,” was muffled into your hair. You giggled as hands began to move.

“You always say I look sexy,” you managed to say as you felt fingers and hands begin to roam over your body. Soft kisses were pressed to the nape of your neck, facial hair teasing your sensitive skin.

“You are sexy. I love your tits, they are amazing. Thick thighs save lives, especially this life.”

A hand grabbed an ass cheek. “I love how thick and soft your butt is. It’s amazing. So soft, your whole body is so amazingly soft.”

Hips ground into your ass, letting you feel just hard Tyson was. You couldn’t hide your reaction; you were still completely naked while Tyson was wearing boxers. Your thighs felt slick, your pussy felt hot. Tyson was creating a fire with each touch, his words making it hotter.

One hand move and you noticed a pair of boxers flutter to the floor. Well, you barely noticed as a dork hand was now around your neck, your legs automatically spreading for Tyson.

“I could tell you were starting to doubt yourself. So let me remind you of how you are the sexiest woman for me,” was husked into your ear before you were bent over.

Before you could answer, you felt exactly how much Tyson found you sexy, in one slow thrust. Instead, you moaned as Tyson showed you in sweet, filthy words, and a nice slow fuck in front of the mirror.

#drabbles #smut #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #blurbs #hockey fic #hockey imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl rpf #tyson jost smut #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost #hockey smut #soft smut

[barzzal]

untitled blurb

“will i ever gonna see you again?” he asks, the feeling of being the one left behind entirely foreign.

she shrugs with a sigh, “i don’t know. maybe.”

quietly, despite already knowing her answer, there comes a quiver in his lips, trying to muster enough courage to finally ask, “do you really have to go?”

with a catch in his throat whilst her eyes now misty with longing and sorrow, she offers him an apologetic smile.

“i’m sorry.” she says, reaching to caress his cheeks.

slowly, he nods as he helplessly held her hand as close as he possibly can. “it’s alright. i know.”

the final boarding call envelops the place, the noise of the crowd heightens, robbing more of their time.

i need you to be okay.

“i want you to be okay.” she tells him instead, clutching him close to her before she finally lets go.

“you know i will be.”

#tyson jost imagine #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #barzzal blurbs #ok u know what this gives off josty vibes #im tagging

[huggybug]

Tyson Jost dad Content! Maybe telling him your pregnant after trying for almost a year

“I think when we look for places, we should think about a house maybe” You suggested as you watched over Tyson’s shoulder while he scrolled through apartment listings.

“A house?” He looks at you with wide eyes.

“Well yeah, with the baby and everything I’m just not sure an apartment will be big enough” You smile when his mouth hangs open.

“You? I- what?” Tyson’s searching your face for answers and the genuine confusion on his face makes you laugh. “Babe! Are you pregnant?”

You nod which makes him jump up, wrapping his arms around you while whooping and making noise while you laugh. It takes a few minutes for the news to settle with him and really sink in as he calms down.

“Finally” He breathed a sigh of relief and you would be lying if you said you didn’t do the exact same thing. “You’re all good? Have you been to the doctor?” Once reality set in, he was all over you, already worrying which warmed your heart.

“I’m fine, the first doctor’s appointment is tomorrow, I figured you’d wanna be there” He surges forward to kiss you.

“We’re going to be parents” He whispers, like he can’t believe it himself.

“Mhm, sure are”

#happy dilf day! #this is kinda bad sorry ew #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost blurb #minnesota wild #hockey writing #hockey fic #nhl players #nhl fanfiction #dad au

[typical-simplelove]

Center Point Road -> Tyson Jost

Summary: Based on Thomas Rhett and Kelsea Ballerini's Center Point Road, it's your and Tyson's story from meeting formally night at the age of 5 and onward. (Your classic childhood friends to lovers).

Author's Note: After almost a year later, I finally have the final part of the Kelsea Ballerini Series! I'm so glad that I got this one finished, and I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: nothing much; probably not proofread; gender-neutral!reader (if I missed anything, please let me know!)

Word Count: 5.4k

We drink our beer in the basement So no one would know We didn't care where the days went Had nowhere to go, Center Point Road When everything was about a kiss and clouds just look like battleships And helmets crashing on the field And we thought every love was real

When the doorbell rang, you weren’t paying any attention to who was at the door. After all, you needed to find out if they found Nemo, and your mother always said never to open the door because, you know, stranger danger. 

“Do you mind watching Tyson for the night?” you hear a familiar voice from the door. “Kacey has a raging fever, and my parents are out of town. There’s no one else.”

“Hardly even a request,” your mother responds, and she ushers Tyson into the house. You turn your head and watch Tyson Jost walk into your living room. He’s nervously and shyly taking off his jacket and boots before he sits next to you on the couch. You smile at him before you grab the remote and rewind the movie. 

“We can start over,” you tell him, not sure if Tyson has seen the movie. He nods and turns his attention to the TV. 

It’s not that you don’t like Tyson. You barely know him, but you were both in the same kindergarten class. You’ve sat at the same table in class a few times, but mostly, you hung out with different people. 

“Are you okay, Tyson?” your mother asks, putting a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table ten minutes later. 

“Yes, thank you,” Tyson replies with a soft smile. He always was very polite, you recall. Even in school, Tyson had the biggest heart out of all of the other 5-year-old-boys. 

You look down at Tyson’s knee, noticing that he was taping it nervously. “Popcorn?” 

Smiling, Tyson puts his hand in the bowl and takes a handful. “Thank you.”

Throughout the first half of the movie, you and Tyson go back and forth between taking handfuls. By the halfway mark of the movie, the bowl is empty, and Tyson has slowly come out of his shell. You’ve noticed, though, that Tyson is still nervous and not quite comfortable. You’re not sure, though, what to do to make him feel better. 

“Let’s get you two into pajamas,” your mother interrupts and pauses the movie. You and Tyson follow your mom upstairs. You go into your bedroom while your mother urges Tyson towards the guest bedroom. Once you’re both in your pajamas and teeth brushed, you and Tyson are sitting on the couch again with the movie started again. 

Next to you, you watch Tyson slightly shiver, so you take the blanket that was sitting on your lap and unfold it and place it on Tyson’s lap. “Better?”

He nods with a cute smile. “Much, thank you.” 

Throughout the rest of the movie, you and Tyson sat next to each other under the shared blanket. You never thought of Tyson as a friend, but as the night carried on and the movie wound to a close, you knew that Tyson was going to be your friend, and during recess the next day, you were going to play with Tyson. 

When the movie’s over, you and Tyson are walking upstairs (he was to stay in the guest bedroom), and you say to him, “I just know that Kacey’s going to be okay.”

He smiles at you. “I hope so, too.” 

With that smile, your life changed. You didn’t know it yet, but you met the person who would be the focal point of the rest of your life. 

We wrote our own destiny in parking lots and empty streets Yeah, we got high on you and me Jumped over cracks beneath our feet

“Is the punch good?” Tyson asks as he walks up to you. He noticed the small cup in your hand. He didn’t have anything else to say to you at this current moment. There was something about the energy in the gym that was making Tyson nervous to talk to you. 

It was the seventh-grade middle school dance, and you were wearing a lavender shirt with a black skirt, and Tyson swears you’ve never looked more beautiful. Even under the darkness and very dim show lights of the gym, Tyson just knows you’re glowing. 

You shrugged at Tyson’s question. “It’s fine. Nothing too stellar.” 

“How much more do you have in there?” Tyson asks, inquisitively. 

“It’s empty, but I just don’t want to walk to the trash can or the table for a refill.” 

“Oh, cool,” Tyson says, awkwardly. He nods and bounces on his feet awkwardly. His mom and grandfather gave Tyson a pep talk just before the dance, but now that he’s come to use that pep talk, Tyson can’t do it. 

His hands were sweaty, his mouth was parched, and he was really, really warm. Who knew his best friend since the age of five could make Tyson this nervous? 

Ever since that first Friday night watching Finding Nemo on your couch, you and Tyson have spent almost every Friday night together. Sometimes, you’d watch movies or hockey games together. Sometimes, you’d go for ice cream together after one of Tyson’s games. Other times, you and Tyson biked around the neighborhood or played mini-sticks in one of your driveways. 

That’s how Friday nights went. 

This Friday night, though, you and Tyson were at your middle school dance, and Tyson has been waiting for this night for the past few weeks. He’s watched his classmates ask people to the dance. Although Tyson wasn’t brave enough to ask you to be his date, he knew he could ask you for at least one dance. One dance, Tyson’s mother said to him. It didn’t have to be something big, but as long as you knew Tyson cared, Tyson’s mother reasoned, then it would make a big difference. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“You don’t really have to ask,” you reply, a smile emerging on your face. 

“Okay, then, um, at the next slow song, did you want to dance with me?” Tyson asks, his voice barely audible with the loud music blaring through the speakers. 

Your eyes widen in shock, a good shock. You nod. “Yeah, I’ll dance with you.”

Tyson nods and stares ahead at the dance floor. “Good.” 

As you and Tyson wait for the next slow song, you both stand there awkwardly, side by side. It’s never been that way between you two, but the anticipation of the dance was getting to both your nerves. 

After what seemed like eons, a slow song began. Tyson looked at you, expectantly. When he looked at you, though, he discovered that you were already looking at him. He gestured his head towards the dance floor, and you both moved towards an empty space. Copying the movements of your classmates, you place your hands behind Tyson’s neck as his hands gently rest on your waist. It was an unusual feeling having Tyson’s hands on your waist. It was a feeling that burned into your skin through your clothes. 

As the song continued, you and Tyson awkwardly swayed to the song, not meeting each other’s eyes. When the son concluded, Tyson cleared his throat, and for the first time during the dance, your eyes met Tyson’s. You both nodded at each other before dropping your hands and finding your other respective friend groups. 

Standing next to another friend, you couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying. The feeling of Tyson’s hands on your waist was still burning. You liked the burning, though, it reminded you that your best friend was there, and he would always be there. No matter what. 

And we thought it would never end Then watched it go like summer wind When growing up was just a dream And Friday night was everything

Whenever you and Tyson would go to the movies together, someone else would be there. Sometimes, it was Kacey or your parents or Tyson’s grandparents or his mother. Sometimes, it was another friend from school. This time, though, it was different. 

You and Tyson wanted to go see the newest Spider-Man movie, but no one else was available to go. Your parents had to go out of town for a family function, so you were spending the weekend at the Josts. Kacey and their mother had a birthday party to go to, and Tyson’s grandparents were unavailable. For the first time in years, it seemed, you and Tyson wouldn’t have any plans for your Friday nights. 

However, to your surprise, Tyson’s mother said that you and Tyson could see the movie on your own. She felt that (and after discussing with your parents), at your and Tyson’s ripe age of 14, you and Tyson could sit in a movie theatre without adult supervision. When she told you and Tyson, wide smiles graced your faces as you thought of all the fun you’d have. 

The plan was Tyson’s mom would drive you and Tyson to the movie theatre before driving to and staying at Kacey’s friend’s birthday party. The movie and birthday party ended at around the same time, so you and Tyson would wait in the theatre lobby for Tyson’s mother to pick you back up. 

It seemed like a date, you told yourself. You knew it wasn’t technically a date, but you in your freshman year state of mind with a huge crush on Tyson thought it was a date. After all, that’s what all the other freshman in your grade did for dates—go to the movies.  

As you were getting ready to leave for the movie theatre, you paid special attention to the way your hair looked. You weren’t trying to make it obvious, but you wanted to look nice just in case it was a date. When you deemed yourself ready, you made your way to the Jost’s couch and waited for Tyson, Kacey, and their mother to be ready. You sat on that couch, sweaty palms running up and down your pants as you tried to calm yourself down. It was just Tyson, you kept telling yourself. There was nothing new to this situation. 

Except there was. You and Tyson would be going to the movies alone. You’ve never done that before. Most times, your parents or Tyson’s mother would sit in a different row and let you and Tyson sit on your own. If Kacey joined you, then she’d sit next to you because she claimed she “saw Tyson all the time, so why should she have to sit next to him?” You didn’t mind. It was a routine you enjoyed. 

Until it wasn’t. Until you and Tyson were going to the movies alone, and your heart was racing through your chest. 

As you and Tyson are getting out of the car, you hear Tyson’s mother say, “Enjoy your date, you two!” 

There’s a ringing in your ears at her words as you close the door, but the heat drains from your face when you hear Tyson say, “It’s not a date, mom.” His face was burning red, though. 

Your heart deflates. So it wasn’t a date. 

It wasn’t that you completely thought it was a date, but when Tyson confirmed that it really wasn’t a date, that just made your heart feel worse. You’d rather pretend that it might be a date instead of Tyson spoiling your fun and saying it’s not a date. 

As you and Tyson are buying your movie tickets and snacks, you’re quiet. Normally, you’d be chatting about the movie or nothing at all, but tonight, you weren’t in the mood to talk. The evening was going well until Tyson’s comment. 

Maybe he didn’t have feelings for you? All your other friends insisted that Tyson liked you, too, but now you’re not sure. 

You’re still contemplating these thoughts as the opening scene of the movie begins. You relax in the back of the seat when Tyson leans over to you. The scent of his Head & Shoulders shampoo is driving you insane, and when he gets closer to you, it’s intoxicating. 

“Ignore my mom,” he whispers. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” you reply, your heart breaking. 

Yeah, Tyson doesn’t like you. It’s okay. You’ll just be his friend, then. 

Yeah, we didn't worry 'bout nothing But we had it all, yeah And being that fast was just something Running the halls, breaking the laws

“Okay, let’s try this again,” you say, looking down at your notebook. “What is the effect of temperature on resistance?” 

“Um,” Tyson stutters, trying to remember the fact. “If temperature increases, then resistance increases?”

“Correct!” you say, giving Tyson a high-five. With the touch of his hand, your face grows warm, but you’re able to hide how flustered it makes you. Tyson, on the other hand, is bright red and can’t look you in the eyes. 

Junior year physics was kicking your butt. Your Friday night study sessions with Tyson were making it better. It might entirely be because of Tyson. 

You’re about to start another practice problem when Kacey walks up to Tyson’s bedroom. “Tys, mom says it’s getting late.”

Tyson checks the time and curses under his breath. “Let me walk you home.”

You nod and begin to pack up your belongings. When you’re ready, you follow Tyson out of his bedroom and out the door after you say goodbye to Tyson’s mother and Kacey. 

“We have a quiz on Monday, right?” Tyson asks for clarification, turning onto the road. 

“Yeah, you can come over on Sunday after practice if you want, and we can study.”

“I’ll let you know,” Tyson answers, giving you a short glance. 

Since that night in Freshman Year when Tyson said the movie wasn’t a date, you ignored your feelings for him. You pretended that you didn’t have feelings for Tyson to let your friendship grow, and it has. In the past few months, though, Tyson has changed. He has gotten so handsome, and it was getting harder and harder for you to pretend you weren’t attracted to him. If being such close friends with Tyson and loving him as much as you do has taught you anything it was that you were really good at hiding things. You were really, really good at hiding how much you loved him. 

“Let me take your bag for you,” Tyson says, grabbing the strap of your backpack. 

“Tyson, I can carry my own bag.”

“Not the point, my friend.”

My friend. Those two words stung deeper than a bee sting. 

“Okay,” you relent, passing over your bag. He’s shouldering your bag, and as you and Tyson take the final turn down your road, the walk resumes in silence. That was happening a lot, the silence. It was as if Tyson was constantly contemplating something. You weren’t sure just what it was, though, and it felt like if you asked, you wouldn’t get a straight answer. Whatever was constantly on Tyson’s mind wasn’t something he wanted to or could share with you. 

When you and Tyson walk up the driveway towards your door, you wished that the walk was longer. You liked the times when Tyson walked you home. It was calm and peaceful, and you were able to pretend that Tyson just might love you, too. 

“I need my key to get inside,” you tell Tyson, gesturing to your backpack still on his shoulder. 

“Oh, right,” he says, shrugging off the bag and placing it at your feet. You bend down and grab the key. Just before you put the key in the lock, Tyson’s hand rests on yours. He’s holding your hand, and your breath stills. You turn to him and stare deeply into your eyes. “Don’t go inside, yet.” 

“Tys, I—”

He interrupts your sentence with a kiss. His hand was still in yours, but his lips were gentle on yours. It was soft, and with the first initial touch, it felt like you had fallen into a bed full of pillows and blankets. It was comfortable, it was familiar, and mostly, it was everything you wanted. 

When Tyson pulls away, you refrain from pouting. It was just one kiss, and you hoped it would lead to more. 

“Yeah, so, yeah,” Tyson says, awkwardly, running his hands through his hair. 

“I should really get inside,” you say, flustered. 

“Right, yeah, um, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

You smile. “Okay.” 

Before you step into your house after unlocking the door, you lean into Tyson and kiss his cheek. You step into the foyer and lock the door behind you. Tyson, oh, Tyson. He really did know how to keep you on your toes. 

Life was about the party, who you are, and who you with Drinking 'til your head was sorry Oh, and dancing for the hell of it

Hanging your jacket on the chair, you look around the apartment for Tyson. After following Tyson when he was traded to Minnesota, you found a new home. It wasn’t a life you thought you were going to lead, but now that you’ve started to build the life, you couldn’t be happier. And you were with Tyson, so that was more than you could ask for. 

It was Friday night, and all you wanted to do was sit on the couch with your favorite comfort food and Tyson. 

Noticing that Tyson wasn’t in the kitchen, you turn to your phone to answer any messages you received while driving home from work. You’re leaning against the counter when you notice a huge box from a bakery around the corner. Needing something sweet to eat, you open the box and see cupcakes. The lid slips out of your hands when you see the icing on the cupcakes, though. 

The cupcakes in your favorite flavor have a light blue icing on top. The top of the icing on each cupcake is a circle made of fondant with a letter on each circle. The words spell out “Will you marry me?” and a small, velvet box is sitting in the center. 

Tyson was going to propose. 

Your heart begins to beat erratically. Although you thought Tyson would propose within the next year or so, you never thought it would be right now! If Tyson did ask you, though, you know you’d say yes. 

“Tyson?” you call out. You hear a muffled “yeah” from one of the bedrooms turned home gym. “Can you come here, please?” 

In seconds, Tyson is in the kitchen. He greets you with a kiss on your forehead and a smile. “What’s up?”

“I, um, might have opened the box,” you answer, directing your head towards the white box. 

Tyson’s eyes go wide. He pushes the box away from your grasp. “How could you ruin the proposal?”

“First, I didn’t know you were going to propose,” you say, defending yourself. “Second, I see a box from a bakery, I open it! Tys, you shouldn’t have left it out if it were super important.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tyson sighs. “I was going to do this whole thing, but I guess I can’t anymore.”

You giggle. “It doesn’t matter how you ask me; my answer will be the same regardless.” 

“I’m going to assume that because you called for me instead of just running away from the box I’ll like the answer, so I’ll just improvise,” Tyson says, running his hands through his hair. “I was going to make you dinner, first. And then, I’d clean the dishes and force you to sit on the couch and relax. Then, when I finished, I’d bring out the cupcakes, and you’d open them, and I’d ask you, and it would be happily ever after.”

You smile. “You can still do some of that.”

“Right,” Tyson replies, walking over to the box and putting it in front of you. “I have something for you.”

“For me?” you tease, play-acting. You open the box, and your eyes widen reading the words despite already knowing what they say. You still couldn’t believe this was happening. 

Tyson takes the velvet box out and turns to you. He gets down on one knee and opens the box. “Will you make the happiest man alive and give me the honor of marrying you? There isn’t a thing I’d want more in the world than to be by your side forever.”

You smile. “There’s nothing more in the world that I want.”

“So, yes?” Tyson asks, unsure, an eyebrow raised. 

You burst out into laughter. “Yes, yes! Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Tyson smiles widely and slips the ring onto your finger. He pulls you in for a kiss and holds you close. After pulling away, Tyson rests his forehead on yours and breathes in your scent. “It’s you and me forever.”

Twenty years after watching Finding Nemo on your couch at the age of five, you and Tyson just agreed on forever, and you couldn’t wait for what that entailed. 

“It was always our destiny.”

We wrote our own destiny in parking lots and empty streets Yeah, we got high on you and me Jumped over cracks beneath our feet And we thought it would never end

“For the first time on this Friday night, I would like to introduce to you, the Josts!” the DJ announces to the ballroom, and you and Tyson walk through the doors, wide smiles on your faces. You and Tyson make your way around the guests, hugging and greeting friends and loved ones who were there to celebrate your marriage. 

After many hugs and handshakes and congratulations, you and Tyson make your way to the center of the dance floor in the ballroom. The lights in the room dim, and your wedding song begins to play through the speakers.

As the familiar tune of the song begins, you and Tyson begin your first dance as a married couple. You and Tyson have one hand clasped together while your other hand is resting on his neck. Tyson’s other hand is resting on your waist as your chests are close. Your forehead is resting on his shoulder as you sway to the music. There wasn’t any pattern or rhyme or reason to your dancing. All you wanted was to be there, with Tyson, and close to him. 

Although the song was just under four minutes, it felt like an eternity. The first time ever that something that felt like an eternity was not enough. You didn’t want that little bubble that you and Tyson formed to end. You wanted to be in that moment forever. 

As the refrain to the song begins, Tyson releases his hold on your waist and twirls you. You spin to the song and rejoin Tyson with your hand back on his shoulder. 

“Did you know that I’ve been thinking about this night for years?” Tyson says, close to your ear. 

“Were you now,” you murmur, a small smile covering your face as you think about Tyson thinking about you. 

“Ever since I first kissed you,” Tyson replies. “Ten years ago.”

“You’ve been thinking about marrying me since we were sixteen?” 

“I think even before that, but it was more like I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you,” Tyson answers, his face growing red. 

“Well, did you know that I’ve been in love with you since, like, middle school?”

“Middle school! Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You told your mother that we weren’t on a date that first time we went to the movies together! I thought you didn’t love me back.”

“Oh, baby, I’ve been in love with you for so long, I couldn’t even enumerate it. You have no idea.”

You smile at his words and let yourself get lost in the music. 

As the final beats of the song play and the guests clap, Tyson places a kiss on your lips. Yeah, forever was looking pretty nice. 

Then watched it go like summer wind When growing up was just a dream And Friday night was everything

“She’s so tiny,” Tyson remarks as he’s holding Lydia, your newborn daughter. You’re sitting on the couch watching Tyson stand at the window. He wanted to “show Lydia the world.” Whatever that meant. Lydia could barely open her eyes at just one week old. “What if we break her? Do we get a new one of her?”

“You’re not going to break her,” you reassure, your eyes weary. 

“I never knew I could love someone this much,” Tyson murmurs, smiling down at his new daughter. Although he was very firm in his stance with holding Lydia, you can tell that Tyson is shaking. “I mean, I never knew I could love someone this much who I’ve only known for a few weeks. Sorry, I love you.”

You laugh, knowing the last “I love you” was for you. Patting the empty cushion next to you, you say, “Come here, I want to see my husband and daughter.”

Tyson does as you said. He’s holding Lydia close to his chest. “Are you 100% sure we’re not going to break her? I don’t know how we’re expected to raise this perfect little girl. We’re only going to ruin her.”

“We won’t break her, Tys. People have been raising children for eons and eons, and I think we turned out pretty okay, so I think we’ll do pretty good.” 

“What if she hates us one day?” Tyson’s mind was spinning. With you, he knew you would always love him no matter what, but with Lydia, he didn’t know. He loved her with his entire being, but it would shatter his heart if she didn’t love her father just as much. Already at such a young age, Lydia had Tyson wrapped around her finger. 

“We’ll still love her no matter what and hope she can see that,” you reply, resting your arm around his shoulder. Your other hand was resting on the little bundle of joy in Tyson’s arms. “Imagine, in like thirty years or so, Lydia could be having this very conversation with her partner and her child—our grandchild.”

Tyson’s head whips up at you. “Nope, this little girl is never getting married. No one on this earth is good enough for my little kid.”

You snort. “That’s why my parents thought, too, but they ended up liking you.”

“She’s so precious,” Tyson says, changing the subject. “I love you, little girl. Your Momma and I love you with our entire beings, and we can’t wait to watch you grow up. And one day, we’re going to spend every Friday night, just like this one, showing you all our favorite traditions because Friday nights are the best part about being a Jost.”

It used to be just you and Tyson, but now, it was you and Tyson and Lydia, the precious little baby who has her parents enamored and in love. 

Hold on forever (Hold on forever) Yeah, hold on to it (Hold onto it) Hold on forever (Hold on forever) And never let go of it (Ooh ooh)

“Remember, we have to be quiet when we go into the room, okay?” Tyson tells Lydia, currently four years old. 

“But why?” she asks. Typical of your young daughter to follow a comment with a “why” question. 

“Because Momma is probably tired and sleeping, and your baby brother is also probably sleeping,” Tyson explains. 

“Luca!” Lydia exclaims. She’s only seen a photo of her new baby brother, but she’s completely enamored and in love with him. 

Tyson smiles at his daughter. “Yeah, Luca, and remember—”

“We have to be quiet,” Lydia interrupts. “I know, Daddy.”

Tyson just nods his head and opens the door to the hospital room. As you got closer to your due date, Tyson’s mother flew into town to take care of Lydia if you went into labor overnight or when Lydia wasn’t at school. Tyson didn’t want to leave your side to get Lydia (Tyson’s mother didn’t have a car to use), but you insisted that your other child should meet the new child. It took much cajoling to convince Tyson to leave you and Luca. 

“Hey,” you say from the bed when you see Lydia and Tyson walk in. 

“Hi, Momma,” Lydia loudly whispers. 

“Do you want to meet Luca?” you ask, gesturing to the baby boy in your arms. Lydia nods emphatically, and Tyson places her on the bed next to you. Slowly, you lower Luca more to Lydia’s eye line. Gently, Lydia reaches her hand up to Luca’s face and strokes his face softly. At first touch, she giggles and looks at her father in excitement. 

“I’m a big sister, now,” she says, a wide smile on her face. She puts her hand gently on Luca’s hand and continues to watch him. “You made a pretty baby, Momma.”

You smile at your two children and continue watching them interact. 

“I’m going to have the best story to tell my classmates on Monday,” Lydia remarks. Going into labor on a Friday night meant that Lydia wouldn’t have to miss any school, and as she mentioned, she’d have the best story to tell her friends. She’s a big sister, now! “Can I bring Luca to school for show-and-tell?”

You laugh softly. “Maybe not on Monday, but you can take a picture of Luca; how about that?”

Lydia nods. “I’ll keep it in my pocket to show everyone!” 

Tyson looks down at his small family of four. He smiles. He couldn’t ask for a more perfect group of people he got to love every day of his life. 

Everyone says when you're younger "It's gonna go fast" It suddenly hits you like thunder And you're gonna wanna go back (Wanna go back, wanna go back, wanna go back)

Luca was sleeping on your chest after taking his bottle. You were stroking his back as Tyson’s hand was wrapped around your shoulders. The cushions of your couch allowed you to sink in comfort and fluff as you tried to keep your eyes concentrated on the movie. You think Lydia is awake. She’s sitting on Tyson’s lap with a blanket. If Lydia was anything like you, then she was probably knocked out. Being in Tyson’s arms for more than ten minutes is enough to make anyone fall asleep. 

After being married for eight years and having two children, you can’t imagine that life could get any better for you and Tyson. It was tough, some days, especially during the season, but nights like tonight made up for it. Nights where you and Tyson were on the couch with your four-year-old daughter and two-year-old son. 

A few weeks prior, Lydia asked what the first movie you and Tyson ever saw was. Although you couldn’t give her a straight answer on the individual answer, you and Tyson could give an answer about the first movie you saw together. Ever since you told her you and Tyson became best friends after watching Finding Nemo together, she wanted to watch it. So, on the first free Friday night that you and Tyson had in a while, your little Jost family was sitting on the couch watching Finding Nemo. 

Lydia managed to stay awake for the first half of the movie, but once the halfway mark hit, Lydia was knocked out. You were pretty sure Tyson was awake, but the only sign of life was his hand stroking patterns on your shoulder. If you glanced at Tyson, though, then you’d see his eyes mostly shut. Maybe he was asleep, too. 

Looking down at your sleeping family, you can’t help but see the irony in the situation. You and Tyson started your friendship together on a Friday night, and now, you and Tyson were spreading the Friday night tradition with your new family. Because you built your destinies on Friday nights and spent it growing in love. 

Being interrupted during Finding Nemo at age 5 was probably one of the best things to ever happen to you. 

We wrote our own destiny in parking lots and empty streets When growing up was just a dream And Friday night was everything

Taglist: @sorryjustafangirl, @joeljuice, @joelsfarabees, @shinyfalcon4, @ghostyjosty, @besthockeyfics, @fallinallincurls, @cinnamoncowboy, @ch-ristiane, @owenpowerstapejob, @barzyblogbabe, @2manytabsopen, @plds2000, @stars-canucks, @barzysandhughesbaby, @drei-mrssvechii, @rosesvioletshardy, @laurenairay (Join my taglist here!)

#claudia writes #tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fic #tyson jost imagines #tyson jost x reader #hockey #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fic #nhl writing #nhl fanfiction #minnesota wild imagine #minnesota wild x reader #minnesota wild fic #kelsea ballerini series #op: 2022 #hwncloud #hwn cloud

[jostystyles]

the futures better than yesterday | tj

a/n: here’s a soft josty fic to fix the pain I caused with the last one <3 this can be read as a part 2 to this fic, but as a stand alone is fine! this is heavily inspired by this tiktok. title comes from best years by 5sos! enjoy and let me know what you think as always <3

warnings: fluff, lots of it. swearing

word count: 2.4k

The universe works in mysterious ways. Some people believe in destiny, some in luck, and some not at all. In (Y/N)’s case, she didn’t really know what to believe. All she knows is that someone on the other side is looking out for her. If we’re talking fate, then it must’ve been fate that she moved to Denver for school. And it was fate that she became friends with Susanna. And it was fate again that allowed the love of her life to manifest in the form of Tyson Jost.

Two years ago, (Y/N) was just a heartbroken soul who gave up on finding true love. Then she was a nervous wreck on a blind date. But now, she thinks she would relive every single heartbreak she’s ever had if it meant she was where she is today.

Her relationship with Tyson has been nothing short of a whirlwind. And it isn’t the kind of relationship that fades: she knew they were in it for the long haul. They had both mutually agreed that the future wouldn't be worthwhile if they didn’t have each other in it. Of course, it wasn’t perfect. They were long past the phases of puppy love and honeymoons, and had their fair share of arguments and self doubts. But it was their own version of perfect. No one understood (Y/N)’s need for quiet nights to herself with a romance novel and a candle like Tyson did. And no one understood Tyson’s love for self care nights and pink moscato like (Y/N) did. There was a level of mutual respect that existed between them, and a series of actions that said those three little words more than they needed to be spoken.

Just over 3 months ago was when they made the leap to move in together. The lease on (Y/N)’s apartment was coming to an end, and her old sedan was starting to require more trips to the shop due to the excess driving between places. Not to mention (Y/N)’s neighbor was probably getting sick of babysitting her dog so often. So, one morning after (Y/N) had slept over Tyson had woken her up with breakfast and a handwritten letter asking her to move in with him.

Now, when Tyson arrived home from a rough game or a roadie, he didn’t have to sleep in a cold bed. His home was much lighter now, and he could see in every room the touch that (Y/N) brought to it. Like his couch, that was now decorated with throw pillows and blankets to match. The picture frames that were empty on his walls now hung filled with pictures of him with his family, Kacey’s graduation photo, memories from their relationship, some of him and the team, and even some of (Y/N)’s niece. It was no longer his “sad bachelor pad” as deemed by EJ, it was a home.

The only downside to living together was the fact that he had to leave her for roadies. Many mornings he would wake up, limbs tangled with hers and his head in the crook of her neck, listening to (Y/N)’s soft reprimands telling him he has to pack. They would spend too long saying goodbye, sharing sweet kisses and laughs until Tyson’s phone would buzz repeatedly with texts from JT complaining they’d be late.

Yesterday was one of those days. Tyson left for his longest roadie of the season and he’d be gone for almost 2 and a half weeks. They’d been apart for much longer, especially the first summer they were together. Now, they spend their summers in Alberta, Denver, and visiting (Y/N)’s family. But that didn’t make being apart any easier.

(Y/N) woke up to heavy breathing in her face. Opening her eyes, she was met with the scrunched face of her bulldog, Pickles. “Jesus, P. You sure don’t wake me up as romantically as Daddy does.” She remarked, swinging her feet off the side of the bed. Grabbing her phone, she saw a few texts from her coworkers detailing the day’s work, some notifications from instagram, and then a few from Tyson. A smile found it’s way across her face as she opened them.

Tyson🥰

Good morning lovebug, hope u slept well. Facetime me when u get a chance, wanna see ur beautiful face :)

She laughed before locking her phone and exiting the bedroom. She grabbed her headphones and Pickles’ leash before taking him for a quick walk so he could do his business. The sounds of Tyson’s playlist titled “lovebug” filled her ears. He made her the playlist for their first anniversary, and she's pretty sure there’s not a day that goes by that she doesn't listen to it. Returning to the apartment, she started up her work computer and took a quick look at some emails, before starting the iced coffee maker and pressing the camera button on Tyson’s contact. The familiar jingle of Facetime’s loading call rang for about 3 seconds, before she was met with the smiling face of her boyfriend.

“Good morning, lovebug!” He exclaimed. The dark wood of the hotel bed frame was seen behind him as he was propped up against it, his one arm thrown behind his head. His mop of unruly curls fell into his face and his brown eyes were lively, but full of sleep. (Y/N) could tell he had just woken up, and she tried not to make it to obvious when her eyes ran over the bit of his bare chest she could see.

“Good morning handsome, how’d you sleep? Are you feeling jet lagged at all?” She questioned.

Tyson’s camera moved as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “Sleep was fine, not the same without you though.” A disgruntled gag sounded from behind the camera. “Comphs don't let me cuddle him like you do unfortunately.” Tyson said with a smirk.

“He just wails in his sleep about how much he misses you!” JT joked from across the room.

(Y/N) laughed, knowing full well they were both liars because she had caught them in a very cuddly position many times after a few too many drinks.

“You guys are dorks. What’s up for today?” She asked, sipping on her coffee.

“Gonna go grab some grub with the boys then head out to morning skate. Gabe wants to do some team bonding too so we’ll see what that entails, eh? What about you? Lotsa work?” Tyson said, running his hands through his curls.

“Not really, just gonna finish some reports and I have a couple meetings and an interview lead.”

As she finished her sentence, she heard a knock on the door. Pickles let out a small woof but not at all moving from his bed.

“Hold on babe, there’s someone at the door.” She said, taking their call with her.

“Oh, I wonder who it could be, Kind of early.” Tyson said calmly, but (Y/N) was too focused to have any suspicion.

She looked through the peephole and saw no one, but noticed a package outside the door.

“Hmm, that’s strange. Someone left a package though.” She told him.

“Oh, really? Interesting.” Tyson said. (Y/N) stopped for a second, and narrowed her eyes before saying, “What.”

“Nothing! Just see what it is.”

She let out a huff before opening the door and grabbing the package. It wasn’t too heavy, just kind of bulky. Balancing her phone on top, she walked back towards the kitchen, her suspicion growing that her curly headed boyfriend on screen had something to do with it.

“Tyson, do you happen to know anything about this?” She said, grabbing the scissors to open the package. Her phone was propped up so Tyson could see her opening it.

“No, not a thing. Let’s see what’s inside though. I gotta find out who’s dropping off secret gifts to my girl.” He replied.

She giggled, “Yeah, because I’m the one in this relationship who’s got secret admirers.”

As she opened the package, she let out a gasp. The first thing she laid eyes upon was a letter, and a bag that was an oh-so-familiar shade of blue.

“Tyson….” She let out, her heart suddenly bursting with more love than usual.

On the other side of the screen, Tyson felt his cheeks grow hot as a goofy smile drew across his face. “Surprise?” He said letting out a chuckle. “Go one lovebug. Read it.”

Opening the letter, (Y/N) recognized the chicken scratch as her boyfriends, and she smiled as she began to read.

My dearest, (Y/N):

When I leave for road trips, there’s nothing I miss more than you. I know it must suck to not have me there, because without you beside me I am lonely, and each time I leave I look forward only to returning to you. (Ok, and maybe our little pudgeball son too.) Since you’ve come into my life I’ve never known how much you can miss another human being. I appreciate everything you do to work your life into my lifestyle and everything you’ve had to sacrifice to do so. I promise that the rest of our lives will be worth it. Since I am gone for a while, I figured I’d leave you something to keep you company until I return, for this and every road trip ahead. I love you so much my lovebug.

Yours forever,

Tyson

Tears filled her eyes now, and she choked on a sob while letting out a laugh.

“Josty, you sap. I love you so much. Fuck, I miss you.” She said, looking at him through the screen.

“I love you too and I miss you so fucking much. Go on, keep looking.”

Setting down the letter, (Y/N) grabbed the blue bag, and pulled out another blue box and a notecard.

“Tiffany, Tyson seriously? This is too much.” (Y/N) said.

“Nothing is ever too much baby, stop it.”

Opening the note, it read a single sentence: “Call It What You Want. T Swift. 2:09.”

She was confused for a second, but then she realized. That song was on their playlist, and she immediately knew what lyric he was referring to.

I want to wear his initial on a chain around my neck. Not because he owns me, but because he really knows me.

She pulled the whte ribbon off the box, the pulled the pouch out of the box. Tyson’s breach hitched as she began to take the necklace out. A Tiffany heart pendant hung from a silver chain, with a second pendant behind it, engraved with what (Y/N) read to be “TJ” and on the other side “17”.

“Tyson…”

“Do you like it?” He said, softer than he intended.

“I love it so much. It’s beautiful.” She replied.

“Put it on, let’s see.” He told her. As she put the pendant around her neck, he admired just how beautiful she was. Bare faced, in her pj’s, in their shared kitchen, sporting a necklace with his initials. He was sure that not even the gates of heaven could compare to that sight. Until he could put a diamond on her finger, the necklace would do.

“It’s so pretty baby, thank you.” (Y/N) said.

“I knew you’d love it. I know how much you love that song too. That’s not it, keep looking in the box.” He said eagerly.

“Ok pretty boy, if you say so.”

Removing a layer of tissue paper, she was met with the cutest thing, and so unexpected. A brown build a bear sat smiling up at her, sporting a grey Colorado Avalanche hoodie.

“Oh my God, Tyson, he's so cute!” She exclaimed, taking the bear out of the box and squeezing it close to her.

“I knew you’d love him. Go on and squeeze his paw, eh?” Tyson said.

“Oh, ok!” (Y/N) said, and her jaw dropped once she did it. The sweet sounds of her boyfriends voice filled her ears, and it wasn’t coming from her phone.

“I love you! See you soon lovebug. I miss you.” said the bear. In that moment, (Y/N) could have died. Nothing could’ve ever prepared her for that. There was also no person on earth who’d ever done something for her like this other than Tyson. Looking up from the bear, she was met with Tyson's smiling face.

“Do you like it? I figured you could use something to cuddle when I’m not there. And I know how much you miss my voice when I’m not there. You told me when you were drunk.”

(Y/N) threw her head back laughing. “I love it so much. Thank you, Tyson, seriously. You have no idea how much this means to me.” She said, now holding the phone closer to her face, the bear still in her arms.

“You’re welcome lovebug. I hope this helps you get through the roadie a little better now.” he said sweetly.

“It will for sure. I love you.”

“Love you too bug. ‘M glad I got to see you open it. Gotta go now thought before Nate knocks the door down, he’s been looking for me. I love you and I’ll talk to you later ok?” He said, standing up to find a change of clothes.

“I’m glad I called. Have a great day and tell the boys I say hey, ok? Love you mister. Be safe babe.” (Y/N) said, having moved to sit at her desk in the corner of the kitchen, bear still in tow.

“I will. Kisses.” Tyson said, blowing her a kiss.

“Kisses,” (Y/N) returned one back, “Bye my love.”

“Bye pretty girl.” He said before hanging up.

(Y/N) sighed, grabbing the pendant and swinging it on the chain a bit and smiled. She really wondered how she got so lucky. She made a mental note to send Susanna flowers or something. Glancing down at Pickles in his bed, she said: “Your dad’s a good guy, P. We’re lucky.” Obviously, Pickles didn’t respond but it’s the thought that counts.

As she started her days work, she did so with a love drunk attitude.

Tyson was built like a daydream. He knew her soul and body like no other. And as she recalled from that very first day in the cafe, he was a ray of sunshine in her usual cloudy sky.

For now, she’d count down the days until he came home to her.

(With the help of the bear of course.)

taglist: add yourself here @comphybiscuit @stars-canucks @fallinallincurls @2manytabsopen @hollyjollyjosty @tysonjost-taylorsversion @sorryjustafangirl @hotanddistraught @hockstuff

#emmie writes #tyson jost fic #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #tyson jost fanfiction #colorado avalanche fic

[rosesvioletshardy]

gullible from the start - t.j.

so this is for @sorryjustafangirl for the winter fic exchange that was held by @antoineroussel

i'm sorry this took so long to post, i tried to make sure that it would be something i'd receive and that it wasn't too terrible and what you had requested for

**sorry if there's any spelling mistakes, i've been sick and really congested the last couple of days while editing

masterlist

tyson jost masterlist

warnings: lying, angst, fluff (idk what else, if i miss something please tell me)

# of words: 4,597

August 2019

Tyson wanted to prove to his team and to everyone that he was able to get a date to Colorado's annual Mile High Dreams Gala and would stop bickering about being single all the time. Every year since he’s been on the team, he’s always taken one of his friends and if they were honest, they were somewhat sick of it already.

“Tyson, you’re one of my oldest friends and you’re like a brother to me. But for the love of god please take someone else because I can’t keep calling out work and using my vacation days for this.” Peter said as he sat across his friend

“Please? This is the last time I’ll ask you to do something for me.” Tyson begged with pleading eyes, showing that he was desperate and that he only had a few months to find someone

“No.” Peter told him as tyson slid down his seat and sighed before peter got an idea after looking at his desperate friend

“Alright listen. There’s this girl I like that I've been talking to and she told me that because she is back living with her parents, it means that she has to live under their rules.”

“What does this have to do with me?” tyson asked, already annoyed as he took a sip from his water

“It’s a whole 10 things situation. She’s not allowed to date unless her sister dates if they’re under their parent's roof. The problem is, her sister, Y/N, went through a bad breakup a few months ago and swore she wouldn’t date anyone ever again. This person did a real number on her, but with you…”

“You want me to date her so you can date her sister?” tyson suggested

“Please? I’ll even get you tickets to the next Drake concert, and I’ll get you those really nice golf clubs you’ve had your eye on for a while”

“You do realize I can get those on my own right?” Tyson asked him as Peter gave him a “I'm only doing this once and won’t give you another offer so just take it already”

“Fine.”

“Yes!” Peter celebrated as his friend across from him and shook his head laughing

Over the next week after arriving back in Denver from a game road trip, Peter had sent the details about you to Tyson. Your sister had gotten details about Tyson from Peter, and she thought he’d be amazing for you. She understood that you were still trying to recover from your last relationship and wanted to take your time before jumping into another one, but she felt that it was time. You on the other hand wanted to take time to focus on yourself. You were done moping about the breakup and now only wanted to focus on your education and your future. Claire figured out how she was going to introduce you to Tyson. She figured that since he enjoyed going to the restaurant you worked at that’s where the two of you could meet after your shift.

“Clarie! I’m headed off to work” you yelled as you found her in the kitchen

“Y/N! Before you go, remember how when mom and dad said that since you’ve moved back how I wasn’t allowed to date unless you were? Well, I’ve been talking to this guy I met since the trip I took to Vancouver back during spring break and we’ve been talking ever since.” she started

“Please get to the point” you told her looking at the time

“He has this friend that I think would be good for you and he’s not like the other guys you’ve gone out with”

“So, you want me to go out with him so you can go out with the Canadian boy?” you questioned

“Funny joke they’re actually both Canadian” Claire started

“But yes. Listen he’s a great guy and he’s funny too” she finished

“What are his details and everything about him and I'll think about it. Just run me the basics before i leave” you said looking at the time again

“Okay, so his job. He’s a professional athlete, the NHL specifically. He plays for the Colorado Avalanche-”

“So, he’s local?” you asked

“Sort of, only during the season but holidays and the summer sometimes he’s back in Canada. Anyways.” she stated before continuing

“Him and Peter played in juniors together, and he’s currently 23. I think that’s it” she finished

“Send me his socials and I’ll check him out on my break, but for now I need to leave”

-----

October 2019

It’s been nearly two months since Claire had told you about Tyson and neither you nor Tyson had seen each other. He hadn’t been to the restaurant in a while due to being busy with the season’s new schedule and training camp, but he wanted to meet you soon.

Tyson had wanted to meet you in person before messaging you but couldn’t find the courage or the time to do so. It wasn’t until he went out with the guys to celebrate the first win of the season that he decided to muster up the courage and go with it. Taking a deep breath and sigh, he pulled out his phone and went to your profile.

“Hey, it's Tyson. Of course, you know that my name is on here. I just wanted to say that Claire gave me your handle and I wanted to know the next time you’re free so we can possibly hang out?”

He stared at the message for a bit wondering if that’s really what he should say to a girl he wants to ask out with his thumb hovering over the send button before pressing it as he tried to delete the message and start over

“Fuck!” he yelled out, hoping no one heard him but luckily to his surprise the sent was changed to a seen as you began to type out your message giggling at the way he introduced himself before responding back

“Hi Tyson, don’t worry about that, it's okay. And I’m free Thursday to Saturday”

“That’s good. I wanted to invite you to the first game on Saturday and then maybe afterwards we can meet up to hang out / grab something to eat?” This made Tyson even more nervous of what your response would be and if you would want to do it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.

“That’s great!”

“I’ll leave some tickets in your name at the ticket booth and afterwards I'll meet up with you at the entrance for players. Just look for a guy named Terry where you enter and leave to go to your seat and he’ll take you, then we can go!” he messaged back, hoping he wasn’t too forward with himself or making himself look weird

“Yeah, that’s completely fine! I can’t wait to meet you!”

“Same here!” was the last thing he sent before telling you he the guys wanted to continue celebrating

A week had passed, and you were nervous about meeting Tyson. You heard great things about him and saw the way he was around his friends and family, but something just felt off about the situation, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Ignoring it and taking one last look in the mirror and taking a deep breath, you knew that you couldn’t back out of the situation that was about to happen.

The drive to the arena was quiet except for the small giggles that would often come out of your mouth from the things you and Tyson were texting each other. Instead of continually messaging each other on instagram you’d decided just to trade numbers instead. After being dropped off and entering the Ball Arena, you decided to just wait in your seat until the game started. You didn’t want to go down to the glass where warmups were since you wanted the meeting to be a surprise, but something did catch your eye: the way Tyson was interacting with all the kids. At one point he decided to play rock, paper, scissors with a boy no older than nine and you could tell that he was trying to lose purposely so the kid could be happy where he later tossed them one of the pucks and smiled before skating away off the ice after it was over.

As you watched on, you thought to yourself “this is really it. I’m about to meet the person i’ve been talking to for a week in person now” before your mind felt like it was about to explode

“Okay, just take deep breaths. He’s just a normal person and you seem fond of him” you whispered to yourself the teams made their way onto the ice as their names were being called

----

After those 65 minutes and the shootout was over as Tyson got the winning goal, you knew that he wouldn’t be out right away and decided to wait for a bit before going to where Terry was. Throughout the game, your eyes were only paying attention to Tyson and the way he was playing and how he skated from one end of the ice to the other end. As he was giving his interview after being named the first star of the night, you admired the way he was thanking the fans and the way he talked about the team and how they played the game.

As he went back, you felt that it was time to get up and leave. You saw a man who was thanking everyone for coming to the game and as you noticed his name tag.

“Excuse me? Are you Terry? I was told by Tyson that you’d be taking me to meet him. My name is Y/N L/N, and I was told he would talk to you?” you asked him

“Yes of course! Follow me!” he told you, giving you a big smile.

The way to where the locker rooms were didn’t take as long due him being an employee and knowing all the entrances and exits. Fans were everywhere as you walked back as they all left with smiles on their faces before Terry opened the door for you.

“This is where I leave you. The team should be done within the next 5 maybe 10 minutes. But other than that, I hope you enjoyed the game and have a good night.” he said before he left

“You too!” you had said as the doors opened and the players started to walk out. It was a moment before Tyson walked out and noticed you immediately. Walking over, a smile on both of your faces he dropped his stuff to talk to you

“Wow. It's um, really nice to meet you. Peter and Claire have told me a lot about you and I’m just glad we’re finally meeting” he said smiling

“Me too. And yeah, Claire has told me a lot about you too!” you said the two of you began walking towards his car

---

Tyson was different from the people you’ve gone out with. He listened to you talk as the two of you went to a nearby diner to eat. He told you about his family and some memories that he made with them over the summer before returning back to Colorado. You loved the way he talked about his family and how much he owed it to his mom for supporting him and getting him to where he was now, and you’ve never seen someone talk about their family like that before. He felt like he could be different from the others, but you didn’t want to fall for him too quickly.

“Listen Tyson, you’re a great guy. You’re funny, you’re cute, you’re an amazing athlete-” you started before Tyson cut you off

“But you’re scared to get into another relationship this quickly?” he finished as you nodded

“It’s okay. We can take as much time as you need, if that’s what you want” he said as you nodded

“I did have great time with you i’m not going to lie.” he added as you took a sip of your drink

“Thanks. I had a great time with you. Do you want to hang out another time? It’s fine if you don’t.” you asked him as you felt your cheeks heat up

“Ye-yeah. I do” he stuttered through and then smiled making you smile

The night then continued on as you and Tyson continued to exchange stories and make each other laugh until you two were the last one in the restaurant before he dropped you off at your parents' house.

As you got ready for bed, your phone went off signaling that you’ve gotten a text.

“I had a really fun night, and I'm not just talking about the game :) sleep well tonight and see you next week” you read aloud making you smile thinking that being with him wouldn’t be bad

---

April 2020

Months have passed and Tyson was the best he could be. He was always a gentleman and never let you pay no matter how many times you’ve tried, and he always makes sures that you’re comfortable with everything surrounding you. Whenever he had a plan for a night out, he would ask you beforehand if it was something you felt comfortable with and would change it quickly if you weren’t. He would always facetime you whenever the two of you got the chance whenever he was on a roadie. At one moment he decided it was time to introduce you to the team and they all welcomed you with open arms. There were a few comments that were made from Gabe and EJ about how he finally was able to get someone to go out with and you couldn’t help but smile about his relationship with his team. They all loved you from the start and they didn’t know anything about the bet that he had made with Peter and Claire didn’t know about it either. She thought it was just an innocent relationship of setting two people up.

Tyson has already met your family and charmed their way of welcoming him into the family. You met his family when they came to Denver during the holidays, and you were more nervous of meeting them than Tyson was of meeting your family.

---

It was November 2019 when Tyson had asked you to be his girlfriend and you still remember what you were doing. The two of you have just come back from an ice skating date seeing that the weather was nice enough for one. You had mentioned before that you haven’t gone before, and he decided to take you to the rink where the Avs were hosting an open skate with family and friends.

“C’mon it would be great” he said trying to get you up and onto the ice

“I’m going to fall on my face!” you tried to argue back

“You’re not going to fall! I’m going to hold your hands the entire time” he argued back, taking your hands

“Tyson please we all know that you’re going to let go” you argued back as he put his head down and laughed

Everyone on the team and their significant others who were there were all smiling and laughing at the two of you because of how you were fighting like an old married couple. They watched as Tyson skated backwards holding your hands smiling before you slipped and he caught you in his arms and made him fall as well making the two of you laugh.

“I told you I was going to fall and now look at us!” you laughed out

“Little kids are already doing laps around us” you finished as you stared each other in the eyes

“I really want to kiss you but we’re in front of a lot of people” he whispered as his eyes flickered down to your lips and yours to his

“Then do it” you whispered back before the two of you leaned in and kissed

It felt like it was only the two of you on the ice before pulling away and hearing a lot of hollering and stick taps and hitting on the boards from the team causing both Tyson and your cheeks to heat up and you putting your head in his chest as he laughed and threw his head back

“Okay we really should get up.” you told him moving away as Tyson got up and pulled you up

The two of you continued skating and as you skated past the guys, they let out a few occasional chirps for the two of you.

“Wait a minute, there’s something I wanted to ask you” he mentioned as you turned back to him

“What is it?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he nervously asked as you could hear his voice shake a bit

“Yeah. yes” you smiled as you nodded and then hugged him

---

That was old news. You haven't spoken to Tyson at all since the night of the gala. The two of you had lasted a year before you found out the truth. The night where you found out everything. He’s tried to get through to you through different types of social media but all you did was block him and move on. You kept in touch with Mel and a few of the other wags but you made them promise to not tell Tyson about you still being in contact. Your parents had loved Tyson from you introducing them and let Claire and Peter date because of you but they ended up letting the rule go seeing as the two of you were both adults and it would seem silly to live with a rule they set when the two of you were young.

Everyday your parents and Claire checked you, and every day it was the same. You had gotten a new job away from the restaurant you worked out seeing that Tyson would always visit you on your lunch break whenever he didn’t have practice or a game. As much as it hurt you, you had to do it.

“Hey, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but I think we need to go out. Get you out of here and get some fresh air” Claire whispered as she rubbed your back knowing that you hadn’t left your room other than for the bathroom and food and water

“Okay if you don’t want to leave, then do you want to talk about it? I know you haven’t spoken a word about what happened and bottling it up isn’t good” she asked you, hoping to get an answer out of you

You thought about it for a bit and decided to turn around and looked at her sister before sitting up and decided to tell her what happened

“He lied. He lied about everything and dated as a dare for golf clubs and tickets he could’ve gotten himself. He made a deal with Peter because he wanted to go out with you but couldn’t because of mom and dad’s rule.” you sobbed out

“I left for a moment to go to the bathroom with Maddie and when I came back I heard him talking on the phone” you breathed out as you tried to calm down

“His exact words were “this was the easiest dare I have ever had to do and she was gullible from the start” and he turned around and saw me and in that moment, and he tried to explain himself”

----

November 2020, Mile High Dreams Gala

“Okay dude listen. After tonight I’m just going to wait a couple of days and then I’ll just dump her. This was the easiest dare I ever had to do and she was gullible from the start.” Tyson spoke into his phone and looking around to make sure you weren’t in sight

“Really? It only took a year, but thanks for doing this. Claire and I are doing amazing together and I’ve never felt more in love.” Peter told him

“Okay but just know that the bet is now over pretty much and when I get back next month for the holidays, I better see the clubs under my mom’s tree” Tyson said before you cut him off and causing him to turn around and see you

“Oh shit”

“So, the thoughts that were running through my head since we first went out were true I guess.” you whispered as he stared at you

“Listen-”

“No! This entire year I thought I had found someone who was amazing and treated me the way I thought I deserved to be treated, but I guess not. I guess you’re all the same but this time for the price of golf clubs and being lied to for an entire year because people were tired of you coming to this event with them for you because you couldn’t find someone. Now I know why.” you shouted in frustration as everyone began to look at the two of you. You didn’t even care if they were staring, the only thing you cared about was leaving. Tyson tried to explain himself but he knew he couldn’t put the words together as you waited for him to explain before letting out a scoff and leaving.

Leaving as fast as you could, Tyson followed you out and called out your name before you stopped him

“TYSON! Just stop! I’m done with all of this. I hope you have a nice time playing golf with your new set and I hope that whatever girl you decide to go after next knows how much pain you will cause them.” you laughed out as tears escaped your eyes more. At this point Mel had decided it would be best to take you back to your place.

----

Present

“You need to get up and go out. Why don’t we have some lunch? We could go to your favorite place.” Claire asked, hoping that you would get up. You knew in your best heart she was trying to be a nice sister and forget about what happened

“Fine.” you responded as you gave a small smile and left the room so you can change and wait downstairs

----

“See, isn't this nice? You’re eating a meal and not stuck in your room and crying about some guy-” Claire started

“I did love him. Like I didn’t say it just yet because I was scared that something would happen that happened with Alex, but Tyson was just different.”

“What do you mean?” Claire asked as she saw Tyson walk into the restaurant and sat up straight

“What I mean is, he just treated me differently. Like I was the only person in the room every time we were together and that it was the only two of us. And that night, I-I just” you began as you felt the tears in your eyes

“You don’t have to finish if you want.” Claire started before continuing

“Why don’t you go clean up and I’ll order for the two of us” she finished knowing that you’d run into Tyson

Getting up and grabbing your things, you headed to the bathroom before accidentally walking into someone

“Sorry” you mumbled before you recognized the cologne and looking up and seeing Tyson making you walk even faster

“Y/N wait!” he called out

“Please leave me alone”

“Tyson stop it”

“Let me explain” he spoke as the two of you had now drawn every set of eyes in the restaurant on you. You couldn’t help but let him as you gave into his pleading eyes

“You get five minutes and I’m timing it” you stated setting a time as tyson nodded

“Listen. I regret the way that night went. I regret even making that bet in the first place. If I had known I was going to meet you I wouldn’t have done it. At first, when we first met, I thought to myself “wow she is amazing and funny” and later when we had dinner until the diner closed, I was already head over heels” he started off

“Later on, the team started hustling me every time they saw that you and I were either facetiming or texting. That time, when we first kissed and we got chirped, that was when I fell in love. It didn’t matter how early it was, I knew that I had feelings for you that I probably have never really felt for anyone else. That night at Ball arena when I was talking to Peter, I don’t know why I said what I said and why I said it, let alone thought about it.” he continued as you mentioned he had 2 minutes and 30 seconds left

“Two and a half minutes”

“All I have to say is, I regret everything. Not everything but everything that happened that night. I was stupid and dumb enough to lose such an amazing person that my best friends girlfriends' sister. She had come out of bad relationship and I was stupid enough to hurt her even more.”

You stood there in silence as he poured his heart out and you couldn’t help but still be in love with him. No other person has treated you the way he treated you before that night. When he introduced you to his family, you knew it was serious seeing how much his grandfather loved you and you knew that it meant a lot for him that he loved you. Every single of his friends and family made you feel at home and whenever you were with him, you just felt safe.

“Tyson I-” you managed to get out before clearing your throat and continuing

“There are a lot of thoughts that are going through my mind right now and how I am feeling. A part of me wants you to just leave and never talk to me ever again” you said as he let his head down

“But the other part of me is still in love with the guy who slid into my dms and told me his name when it was already there in the first place. The guy who ended up tripping on his own feet when he was trying to teach his little cousin how to skate for the first time and wanted to impress me. The guy who sent me flowers every day when he was gone for a week and found out I had a few shitty days” you choked out as Tyson began to tear up by looking at your state and realizing how bad he had hurt you. You took a quick pause and a sigh before you spoke up again

“I’m going to give you one more chance. I don’t think I ever want to experience something like again and the fact that I’m saying this means you should know how badly you fucked up” you let out as he smile

“I really am sorry. You had every right not to give me a chance and you decided to.”

“Tyson stop talking before I change my mind” you tell him

“I’m sorry. I’m Tyson” he said holding out his hand, knowing what he was doing as you smiled

“I’m Y/N” you told him, taking his hand as the two of you laughed

“Would you by any chance want to go out? I know a great place we could go to. Actually, we’re here right now.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice. I’d love to”

#hopefully this is good #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost #colorado avalanche #tyson jost fic #tyson jost fanfiction #tyson jost imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fic #the winter fic exchange 2k22

[hockeyshitandstuff]

everything but you - Tyson Jost

hey, this is my piece for the winter fic exchange hosted by @antoineroussel and I've had so much fun participating in it! @toplinetommy this is for you! I hope you like it, it's a pleasure to dedicate this fic to you <3

pair: tyson jost x OC

word count: 3,3k

tw: cursing, heavy implication of sex

When Ava came back home from work, already thinking of taking a nap or getting herself a drink (maybe both), she was more than surprised that the door next to her apartment was wide open and that there were cardboard boxes behind it, labeled with handwritten notes such as "kitchen" or "bedroom". It's been months since the apartment has been abandoned by it's previous resident and she had to say that she liked it that way - quiet and peaceful.

"Thinking of stealing something?"

Ava quickly turned around at the sudden sound of someone's voice and her cheeks reddened with shame when she realized she was standing on the doorstep of this someone's new home, looking inside as if she wasn't inviding their privacy.

"Uh- no, sorry, I was just-" But there were no appropriate words on her mind so she just opened and closed her mouth a few times before actually taking this stranger in.

Ava's new neighbor was hot. Even without the hockey stick and gear in his arms she would easily guess that he was the sporty type of guy with all that muscle visible beneath his clothes. He had a nice face - the kind of face that would make her and probably a lot of others turn behind him on a street. The dark curly hair complemented his brown kind eyes and perfect nose.

And god, his cologne was one of the best scents she'd ever came across.

"That was a joke. I'm Tyson, by the way." He held out his hand and Ava shook it, admiring his soft yet firm grip.

"Ava. I live just next door and if I would be stealing, you would be the last person to notice."

"That's... disturbing but it's nice to meet you." Tyson's laughter was contagious and she couldn't help it but smile at the sight of it.

"Yeah, you too. See you around I guess." She was already walking away, shooting a polite smile at him over her shoulder when she stopped and turned around to face him. "Actually, I was just gonna make myself coffee, do you want some?"

Tyson gave her a look, then he eyed the things in his arms. He stepped into his apartment, laid the hockey gear and sticks on the ground and locked the door behind him before shooting her a bright smile in response.

"I'd like that very much." When Ava opened the door to her apartment Tyson walked in and (accidently or not) touched her arm with his as he was walking through the door frame where she was waiting for him to squeeze in her apartment so she could close the door behind the two of you. The air behind smelled frest and tangy.

"This is an interesting choice of color for a shoe rack." he stated as he took off his shoes and carefully put them there. Ava remembered buying it with her mum as a joke when she told her she was moving to Denver because of college. But now, the crazy neon pink reminded her of home.

"Since when are shoe racks supposed to be boring?" she objected, walking barefoot inside the kitchen, her new neighbor following her without saying anything.

"Milk?"

"Yes, thank you."

Ava wasn't a really talkative person - instead of being friends with people she had things to talk about, she preffered to befriend the ones with which she enjoyed the silence, not the awkward type but the soothing and pleasant one. Silence spoke in ways people never could.

And in this case, she liked the silence between her and this guy Tyson she met just minutes ago.

While Ava prepared the two cappuccinos, Tyson looked around her apartment, once in a while picking up some weird decoration in his hand before putting it back where it belonged.

She liked how her apartment looked - the multiple colors on the walls, cozy carpets, crazy paintings - but her favourites were the designer pieces she herself made sketches for.

"I like your couch." She heard Tyson's muffled voice from the living room. The sound was barely audible over the grinding of the coffee beans.

"Thanks. I made it."

"You're a... furniture maker?" His voice was getting closer and when Ava turned around, her eyes met his and she immediately looked back to her hands. Seeing a man in her home was an unfamiliar thing - in the two years she lived in Denver, there had never been a guy that would ever see this apartment, this part of her that made her feel vulnerable; as if Ava's home was an open book and anyone could read in it. She didn't like this feeling.

But Tyson was your new neighbor. Eventually, he would probably see it anyway so Ava tried not to make a big deal out of it.

She laughed for the first time then and he just watched her in silence.

"I'm not sure if it's even a close call but no, I'm not a furniture maker. I'm designer - you know, I design things. And you - let me guess -" she playfully put a finger to her lips so it would look like it was difficult to identify. "Are a hockey player?"

Tyson leaned against the counter, his body taking up so much space in the not-so-big kitchen that Ava felt like they were standing next to each other. Her gaze wandered to his thighs without really thinking about it, the muscles visible beneath the fabric of his gray sweatpants. Shit. She turned her eyes away and breathed in deeply, praying he didn't see her. It isn't a sin to look at a guy's thighs, Ava repeated to herself in her mind as she took one of the steaming coffee mugs and handed it to Tyson.

"Thanks, sorry about that. And yeah, I am. Was that so easy to tell?"

"You were literally out there standing with all that hockey... stuff."

"Oh, right, I forgot," he laughed, his cheeks and ears a bit red.

The two of them just stood there, sipping their coffee, occasionally saying something that could maybe count as small talk. And it was not awkward - Ava felt at peace and Tyson didn't look like he really minded the silence.

When he said it was late, she was a bit disappointed by the lack of his presence after he left. But he said he had enjoyed today and that he'd like to do this again sometime and Ava was immediately excited for that "sometime" to occur.

After two weeks of zero interaction, not even catching a glint of him in the shared halls, on the way home from work she decided to knock on his door. Just as Ava stepped into the building, she was greeted by the familiar beige walls, worn carpets and laughter. Usually, the apartment building was silent except for the occasional cries of a sleepless child or a loudly playing TV but the sound of someone laughing was new.

She didn't think much of it when the noise got louder with every step she took in the direction of Tyson's apartment. Ava realized only after she already knocked on his door and then the sudden silence felt palpable.

"Uh, hey Ava." Tyson said nervously, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. By answering the door, the barely audible beats of some song got louder and behind his shoulders she could make out the forms of at least another two people.

"You're being too loud." she blurted out. In her mind, she screamed at herself - what she wanted to say was supposed to be something like "just checking if you're still alive" or "I see your thighs look even better in jeans" but the people behind Tyson made her hesitate and now she must look like a total idiot. That type of old neighbor that yells at kids just because they are cheerfully playing on the street - except that Ava and Tyson were about the same age.

His eyebrows shot up but he managed to look guilty instead of laughing as he answered: "Right. We'll keep it down. Do you want to join us? Some of my teammates came over and we're having pizza and playing videogames-"

"No, that's fine. Have fun though." Ava interrupted him and quickly turned away, making the two unbelievably long steps to her apartment. What was wrong with her?

"Hey," Tyson grabbed her elbow but she wiggled out of his grip. His hand fell awkwardly back to his side. She watched, confused, as he quickly stepped away from her. "Was that why you came?"

Ava looked up, his eyes already locked on hers. There was another question hanging in the air and Tyson knew that saying it aloud might be a disaster so he left it unsaid but still visible in his gaze - Am I not the reason why you came?

"Yes. That's all." The door handle was digging into Ava's ribs and the pain reminded her to breathe normally, act normally; but god, it was so hard to act as if there was nothing between the two of them.

Tyson's face became colder than it had been seconds before, a hint of disappointment crossing his features before being replaced by a sad smile.

"If you think so. Good night then, Ava." Her name rolling off his tongue made her knees go weak and she was thankful for the door behind her for keeping her body upright.

"Good night, Tys."

He closed the door behind him, not even sparing her a one last glance. The sound of music was once again muffled - just a whisper in the back of Ava's mind. She thought that she heard beats of the next song but it was only her own stupid heart beating wildly in her ribcage.

With a sigh, she covered her face with her cold sweaty hands and slid down the door til she her body connected with the floor.

But no matter what, the world kept on spinning.

...

In the next few months all the two of the neighbors exchanged were forced smiles and pleasant but awkward "hey"s and "hello"s. No phone numbers or keys to the other's apartment. It was probably better that way, anyways.

Why was it bothering her so much? They weren't even friends. Or they were but only the formal type of friends, she wasn't really sure anymore. Tyson probably thought she was his grumpy and annoying neighbor, nothing more. And Ava couldn't stand his easy smiles and the way he acted like nothing ever happened (even though that might as well be the case); slowly but without a doubt, she learned to hate those little gestures she liked about him in the first place.

She also learned to ignore him entirely - for example she was doing so at the moment, not giving a fuck about the agressive sound of the buzzer echoing through her entire place. After five more minutes Ava breathed through her nose, clearly annoyed, and closed the book she was currently reading. She breathed in, pushed agressively the talk button down and yelled back at Tyson:

"What the fuck do you want, Jost?"

"I forgot my keys at the arena. Could you let me in?"

"Hell no."

"Fuck, you're so stubborn. Why are you even angry with me this time?"

"I don't know, it's probably just an old habit."

For a moment the only sound interrupting the silence was the cracking of the connection.

"I'll make it up to you, what do you say?"

Ava cought herself smiling at the buzzer and she listened to her racing heartbeat for some time before pushing down the button that would let her neighbor into the building.

There was no indication that Tyson did so until he (exactly four minutes later) knocked at her door. Ava answered it immediately, not realizing how out of breath she looked. Flushed cheeks, heaving chest, bright eyes. But he looked exactly the same.

"How will you make it up to me, huh?"

Ava didn't argue when he kissed her, hungrily and passionately, his body answering her question well enough. She imagined that moment many times in the dark, restless nights, her fingers and lonely moans her only companions. But this was real - the curly hair she was gently pulling, the touch of his his skin against hers, the knee parting her legs with some urgency.

She was falling and then she was lying on the couch, Tyson's body pressed agaist hers and in that moment she thought to herself: if this is not what heaven is going to look like, I don't want it. Her fingers were trembling with desire as she tugged at the hem of his shirt - he helped her get rid of it.

"What do you want me to do to make it up to you?" Tyson whispered, his voice deep and full of emotion. That itself made her back arch, feeling the pleasure she was denying herself for months.

"I want you to fuck me," Ava gasped out and Tyson moved his hand to gently tuck a stray strand of her dark hair behind her ear. "I want you to fuck me so hard I'll forget everything."

"Everything but me." he grinned at her and she leaned her forehead against his, his quickened breath chilling her burning cheeks.

"Everything but you." Ava repeated and kissed him, her mind getting lost in the whirl of emotions when Tys helped her out of the rest of her clothes. As his hands roamed over her body, making her a moaning mess, she knew she would do anything for him in that moment. She was his puppet.

But most importantly, she was fucked.

...

The next morning Tyson was still asleep when she woke up, her body stiff and tired, mind filled with memories of the previous night. Ava watched his face for some time, taking in his dark long lashes and the slightly parted lips, still a bit swollen.

If she could, she would run away - but it was her apartment, not his. And they were neighbors so it wouldn't be so easy to never see him again the way she did with all of her other one-nighters.

Ava found a temporary solution - she will make herself coffee and then think about all this mess. With a groan she got out of bed and her knees nearly gave out. It took her more time than usual to get herself to the kitchen but she used the counters as a support.

"'Thinking of stealing something?'" she quoated Tyson's first words to her when she noticed he was silently walking through her living room, clearly no longer asleep, his hair a curly mess, picking up random things and then putting them back down.

"'If I would be stealing, you would be the last person to notice.'" he grinned at her, answering with one of her own lines. His eyes were brighter than usual and his shoulder seemed more relaxed.

"Do you want some coffee?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Ava deliberately ignored his presence filling up her kitchen and looked up only when Tyson joisted himself up on her countertop. He was wearing only his boxers and she stared at his body for a moment before taking two mugs from the cupboard.

"Hey, stop ignoring me, Ava."

She kept her eyes on the hot dark fluid dripping into the mugs.

"I'm not-" Tyson wrapped his hand around her waist but still left Ava some free space in the embrace. She felt his body tense behind her as if he was awaiting some kind of negative reaction from her, maybe expecting her to scream at him or something that kind of ridiculous.

"I really like you, you know. And I figured you liked me too-"

"Why on earth do you think I’m into you?"

"You always use that sweet nickname for me, remember?"

"'fucking idiot’ is not a sweet nickname, you know."

Tyson laughed and Ava smiled softly, leaning into his touch a bit more.

"And I want to take you out on a date, not just to fuck you on your couch." he continued, strenghtening his grip on her hips with confidence.

"Designer couch. Don't forget about that. You'll never fuck on another couch like this."

Ava turned around and handed Tyson the steaming cup of coffee. With a sigh he let go of her.

"Okay," she said, really thinking about his words. "I'm usually not a relationship type of girl but if the date you're promising me makes me forget about everything but you, then we can try to make this work."

...

It certainly did make her forget everything but him. Tyson really put an effort into that date, thinking through every little detail. Still, her favourite part of the night wasn't the pottery class they took (even though the pair of mugs in the shape of hearts they made looks rather lovely in her kitchen). It was the time they sat on the couch at his place, exhausted and smiling like idiots, making out and cuddling under a soft blanket with some funny sitcom playing in the background.

And it all faded into nothing when Ava looked at her neighbor, kissing the tip of his nose. The smell of his cologne itself made her feel safe and she secretly sniffed at his t-shirt a few times that evening.

"You were right." she stated suddenly.

"Of course I was. About what?" Ava jabbed him with her elbow, laughing.

"About the relationship thingy-thing. I want to try it. Fuck, I want it to work. I like this... cuddling or what is it called."

Tyson laughed with his lips pressed to her neck and the sound reverberated through her entire body.

"So... do you want to cuddle as a couple or what?"

Ava hummed in agreement and played with his fluffy hair for a moment before she breathed out:

"I'm just scared that it could end badly if it doesn't work out."

"You already hate me. How worse could it get?"

"I don't hate you. But," she raised a finger in the air, acting overly dramatic, "I hate how much I actually like your stupid ass."

Tyson leaned closer and gave Ava an annoyed look before he kissed her, his lips tasting like the sweet popcorn they were devouring in mouthfuls.

"I like your stupid ass too."

...

It was driving everyone crazy how private their relationship actually was. They didn't try to keep it a secret but they also never really told anyone that they were dating.

"Everyone probably already knows so why bother," was Tyson's justification and Ava couldn't help it but agree with him. She enjoyed their privacy and she might have been a little afraid that publicity could ruin the experience for her.

Even after months spent together, they never really moved in together - they just left pieces of themselves in the other's apartment. Like when Ava bought Tyson a brand new shoe reck, same as hers except for the color - this one was neon green. Or how he in return gave her an excessive number of blankets because there was no way he could lie on the couch next to her, not covered in at least three layers of them.

Ava was supportive - she came to every game of his she could manage to attend and secretly she enjoyed the silence that ruled over her place when Tyson left for road trips. But as he kept on filling up a bigger and bigger part of her heart, she realized she missed him sometimes, when there was noone keeping her warm and making her feel safe. Noone telling those bad and cringeworthy jokes she learned to adore. Noone to whom she'd rant about her day and who would actually listen to her.

Noone who would understand what she was saying even if she didn't say anything at all.

When he got back from the trips, he made it a tradition to bring her flowers and Ava didn't have the heart to tell him she hated colourful plants because she loved how lid up his face was when he'd hand them to her. She just kept on smiling an honest smile as she put them in a vase so they wouldn't fade as quickly.

"I love you." she whispered quietly when they lay in bed, her fingers playing with Tyson's curls. Ava though he was already sleeping but his eyes suddenly shot open and there was a silence between them she couldn't really put a name to.

"Thank god," he signed. "For a moment I thought I heard you saying "Tyson is the best person in the world" and I thought you were sick or something."

"You fucking idiot," Even with the frown on her face she couldn't help but laugh.

"Hey," Tyson said softly. "I love you two, of course."

There was a warm feeling inside of her body and she couldn't get enough of it.

Ava wanted to say something sarcastic in response but his eyelids drooped by then.

She tucked a stray curl of his hair behind his ear and kissed him softly on both of his eyelids.

I might hate a lot of things, she thought to herself then. I might hate everything. But there is no way I'll hate you. Everyone, everything but you.

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[islesnucks]

Not So Sneaky - Tyson Jost x Reader

or ’the one where everyone already knew you two were dating’

Part of the Clara’s Scrapbook: Blurb Series

Word Count: 964

Warnings: none that i can think of, make out session?

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At first you decided to keep it secret because you didn’t know if things were going to get serious between the two of you and didn’t want to necessarily involve your whole group of friends. Three months had gone by since that first kiss, things were serious now, but for some reason you still kept it to yourselves. That’s how you ended up here, sitting on the counter of his kitchen, him standing between your legs with his hands on your hips holding you close against him.

“Our friends are arriving in like 5 minutes” you reminded him again. You were impossibly closer, his forehead against yours, noses touching; he was basically breathing in every word you spoke.

“Is that a challenge?” he said with a cocky smile and raising an eyebrow, making you roll your eyes with pretended annoyance. Tyson accepted the challenge.

He took a step back and his hand went up to grab your chin. At first you were confused until he moved your head gently to the side, giving him perfect access to your neck, and wasted no time in attaching his lips to your skin.

It was slow and sensual, your whole body was on fire. He took his time with each kiss, making his way up your neck until he reached that one spot under your ear that drove you crazy. A small moan escaped your lips and he smiled against your skin, taking it as a victory.

“Seriously, babe.” You tried to sound serious but it ended up sounding like a whisper, a really unconvincing whisper.

“You're the one that has her legs wrapped around me.” he pointed out with his lips still glued to your neck as he tapped your leg with his hand. Your legs were indeed wrapped firmly around his hips. You didn't even realize you had done that, it was probably a reflection when you felt his lips on you. Tyson had an effect on you like no other; it was like electricity whenever he touched your skin.

“Fuck it.” you muttered, hands reaching to grab his face and pull him against your lips. Already forgetting you friends were meant to arrive any second from now when you felt the taste of his lips on yours.

He kissed you back instantly and you felt his grip on your hips tighten. It was like you couldn’t get enough of each other, every touch only made you want him more, never ceasing the hunger. Your hands met on the back of his neck. Lips working in perfect sync. You got lost in each other.

So lost you didn’t hear when your friends knocked on the door, or when they eventually walked into the apartment since the door was unlocked and Tyson wouldn’t go greet them. You also didn’t hear them make their way down the hall and when you finally heard one of them speak it was already too late.

“Hey guys.” Your friend’s voice made you pull away from each other quickly, your legs falling from his hips as he stepped back. You looked at each other, panic in your eyes. However he just made his way to the living room like he hadn’t even seen you and Tyson.

“Josty we let ourselves in, hope you don't mind.” another of your friends said casually as she walked past the kitchen followed by another friend.

“S-sure.” was all Tyson was able to say, confusion clear all over his face. He looked back at you again but you were as confused as he was.

“What was that?” he asked in a whisper.

“I don't know.” you replied, hopping off the table and making your way to the living room where your friends were already settling in, Tyson following you closely.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Your friends looked up at you with furrowed brows. “About us.”

“We already knew.” one of them replied.

“You did!?” Tyson asked genuinely surprised.

“Yeah dude. You weren’t sneaky at all, it was pretty obvious at one point.” Heat rushed to your cheeks thinking all the times you thought you were being so cautious when everyone already knew.

“Then I guess it’s out.” he said, lifting his shoulders like there wasn’t anything else to do. There really wasn’t anything else to do, your friends knew and they seemed to be okay with the fact you were hiding it from them. Everything was good.

Tyson took you by the hand and dragged you to the empty spot on the sofa. He took a seat and you sat next to him while your friends started catching up. You nestled to his side as he wrapped his arm around you. It felt weird to be like that in front of them but a good kind of weird.

Now you wouldn’t have to make up excuses to leave the room. You didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing the spark that would appear in your eyes when he arrived, or the way you were so drawn to each other, always side by side. However there was this part of you, one you’d never admit existed, that liked the adrenaline of sneaking around with him, sharing complicated looks when you were out with your friends, stealing a kiss or two when you thought no one was watching.

“I did like sneaking around though.” Tyson suddenly said as if he was reading your mind. “Even if we apparently sucked at it.” he added, making you laugh.

“Me too.” you replied, leaning against his chest and stretching your neck to reach his lips.

“I liked it better when they would hide to do that.” you heard your friend say from her spot on the couch next to you, making you both laugh in the middle of the kiss.

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[nolanscheeks]

Blurb Night!

I want to do a blurb night!! Send me thoughts!

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[silverstonesainz-archive]

driver's license || t.j.

❝'cause you said forever, now i drive alone past your street ❞

summary: the one where a late night drive takes a turn... literally word count: 3.2k warnings: swear words, no proofreading, i think thats that???? note: pls that awkward moment when the queue doesn't work and doesn't post this on friday like i had planned. i literally did not notice because i've been so busy i didn't bother to check. im so sorry guys. life has been so rough, and i found it so hard to write. but i'm back.

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There is something about being bundled up on your couch while rewatching Criminal Minds, fingers curling around stale popcorn. You don’t pay attention to the gunshots and yelling on the TV, not even Spencer Reid manages to rip your mind away from the boy who still has a hold on your heart. The memories of Tyson’s arms wrapped around you and his lips pressed against your hair haunt you. You missed the warmth he gave, the small commentary while watching, and just every bit of him.

You click pause on the episode, walking through your empty apartment to return the half filled bowl of popcorn to the kitchen. You were in a rut, stuck in an endless cycle of bed, kitchen, and netflix. You were filled with popcorn and soda, and you were in dire need of water. So as you gulp a glass, you feel your body come alive and very possibly, even a bit of courage. You felt like a drive might do you good, to feel the warm night air against your skin, to smell the sick world around you. It might be half-past eleven at night, but you couldn’t imagine any other time to go. So you grab your keys, wallet, and run all the way down the steps to your car.

The roads were quiet, only a few cars on the road commuting to wherever they needed to be. Or wherever they wanted. Your fingers tap mindlessly on the wheel, driving around with no destination in mind. SOUR plays in the background, the only album that has helped you through all the heartache and all your troubles with expressing your feelings. Olivia’s voice plays softly in your car, soft hums drowned out by the music. As you slow to a stop at a light, you look over to your right. Loneliness settles in, the empty seat staring back at you. It is still foreign to you, being alone. Having no one to hold your hand, or talk to on drives like these. Late night drives were always better with a partner, especially when your partner is Tyson.

The light flicked to green and you ease your foot on the gas, accelerating and moving forward. The music fades in the background, the album suddenly coming to a stop. Your mind wanders to your favorite dark curls, the bass of his voice, and even the little squeak in his laugh. You feel the ghost of his touch at the back of your neck, fingers rubbing against your scalp. Tears well into your eyes, blurring your vision. A small sob escapes you and you’re forced to pull over. You press your forehead against your hands on the wheel, shoulders shaking and your breathing quickening. There isn’t a doubt in your mind and broken heart that you miss Tyson. You miss every moment, every word, every touch shared. You miss the way he loved you, how he consumed you and made you feel whole. It has been well over a month without him, but time has yet to heal you.

You finally look up, eyes landing on a little shrub of wildflowers, the pink and yellow still vibrant under the streetlamp. You laugh softly, the memory of watching Tyson bend over to pick one for you at any given moment. You picture his goofy smile as he holds out the flower for you to take. Then you think of the moments after, the frail stem in your hand and Tyson slinging his arm over your shoulder. You can feel his soft lips against your temple.

“Pretty flower for my pretty girl.”

You lean back in your seat, arms wrapping around yourself in hopes to mimic the feeling of his arms around you. Nothing compared, nothin ever would. But maybe that was the point. Tyson was everything and more. The reason for your once incomparable happiness, and now why you’re crying in the middle of a quiet neighborhood trying to console yourself. Maybe in the end of it all, you didn’t need someone who could make everything by simply holding you. Or someone who knows exactly what to say, who knows you like the back of their hand. It doesn’t make sense, but then again how you ended up in this situation didn’t either.

You swipe the sleeve of your hoodie against your eyes before pulling out of the space and driving down the road again. You switched from the SOUR album, choosing a random song radio. You try to steer your mind away from him, try to think about literally anything else. The music doesn’t help, and nor does the lack of stars in the sky. And so you drive through the quiet streets, mindlessly turning at every stop sign, unaware of where you are in the vast city of Denver. You didn’t care how far you might be from home, or the fact that it was nearly one in the morning. For a brief moment, a sense of peace washes over you, a moment where your heartache and inconsolable mind are long forgotten.

When the clock read 12:45, you decided to type in the directions back to your place. The tears shed earlier in the drive had begun to tire you out and you figured it’d be safer to retreat now than to push it. You hum softly as you navigate through your phone for the map app. Driving while searching through your phone is as dumb as it is reckless, but you figure with the empty streets there’d be no harm or foul. A stop sign is fast approaching, and so you slow down to a stop, your focus solely on your device. On accident, you click on the Find My Friends app and a map of the city of Denver pops up. Your friends' initials pop up all over the screen in various places, places they were meant to be. But then your eyes gloss over T and just how close it was to you.

That’s when your head springs up, eyes darting to find the street signs. In your panic you barely register the car that had pulled up behind you, waiting for you to move your vehicle. A loud honk shakes you from your panic, causing your foot to slam on the gas to move at the beckoning of the irritated driver behind you. But in the same second your foot hit the gas pedal, you had to slam on the brakes to avoid killing the pedestrian that had emerged from the dark.

“What the fuck! Are you even paying attention?!”

The familiar voice stops your heart dead in its tracks. Your body is sent into a frenzy, your mind and heart fighting the urge to look up and meet the face of the voice. The deep rumble and rasp, the anger emitting through, probably just unaware of who you are. Against better judgement, you give in to the temptation. You look up to face him, eyes meeting his brown ones. You watch as recognition and realization washes over his face, the color dulling and the angry expression no longer there. Two seconds, you and Tyson are frozen in place. Those two seconds feel like hours, just studying the other, allowing a month's worth of unsaid feelings pass between you two without the utterance of a single word.

“Y/n….”

His voice grounds you, brings you back to the present. All at once, a single mention of your name and all the heartbreak and pain comes rushing back. The angry driver behind you was long gone, probably had pulled around you for taking too long.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is muffled through the glass of your windshield, fighting against the barrier and the sound of your engine. Without a thought in your head, you shift your gears in reverse, quickly backing away from Tyson so that you have enough room to speed around him. You floor it, foot heavy on the gas pedal as you whip past your ex-boyfriend in a cowardly attempt to avoid any kind of conversation. You make every turn, speed through every stop sign, as if Tyson was right behind you. You drive recklessly until you feel safe behind the gates of your apartment complex. You pull into your space, twisting the key to turn off your car so you can sit in the silence .

There is no effort to move, to return to the sweet confines of your apartment. You picture his soft, pink lips, the way your name dripped from them. It sounded so sweet, even in its ambivalence. You throw your head back against the headrest, chest rising and falling quickly.

I should’ve stayed home, you think.

You trudge up the stairs, mind bleary as the last two hours finally catch up to you. There isn’t much that happens between your front door and your bed, you barely remember your head hitting the pillow. Your next coherent thought is the sound of soft thumping on your door, and the soft call of your name to come to the door. A groan escapes you, body tossing and turning in a poor attempt to ignore the sounds. But to no avail, the knocking grows louder and you are forced to answer the door just so that it would stop.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You grumble. Your hand grips the cold knob, twisting and yanking it back to reveal curly brown hair and surprised eyes. Tyson stands at your front door, a cup holder in hand with two cups of coffee set in them, and a brown bag in the other.

“Hey…” He breathes, “Can I come in?”

His presence sucks the words out of you, so you nod and step aside. Tyson kicks off his shoes before making a beeline for your kitchen. You shut the door, locking it, before you follow him. The smell of coffee grows stronger as you move closer to the kitchen, and when you enter Tyson has already set out two plates and two forks on the counter.

“I bought banana nut muffins from the place you like. And coffee,” He swirled the cup before handing it to you. “Three sugars, splash of oat milk, just how you like.”

You reach out to take it, fingers brushing as you wrap them around the warm cup. “Thanks Tyson.”

The silence is bearable. Not thick with tension, but it isn’t comfortable and light like it used to be. It’s just quiet, only the sound of your timid sips and the accidental clang of Tyson’s fork against the plate filling in the air.

“That was you last night, right?” Tyson finally asks, eyes still on his muffin.

“Yeah…” You admit, setting your cup down. “Listen, I'm sorry. I just… I thought a drive would clear my mind and I was just making turns without thinking about it. I was sad. Upset.”

There hasn’t been a day since the end of your relationship where he didn’t picture himself finally growing the balls to come up to your door and profess his love for you. To tell you that he made a mistake and that he would do anything to make it up to you, to prove that he was worthy of another chance of handling your heart. But then he remembers why he walked away from you in the first place. The memory of the strain his job put on your relationship, the fights about priorities and not having enough time kept him far from you. He wasn’t even supposed to be here now, but seeing you– being so close to you– brought him to your front door with a peace offering of sorts. Even if today ends terribly, at least he can say he tried.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. I’ve made many mistakes in my life, walked away from so many people in search of something I felt like was missing. The truth is, you scare me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that…” Tyson chuckles, shaking his head as his hand tugs on the ringlets on his head. “You just scare me. You hold so much of me, see parts of my life with you that haven’t played out yet. I see everything I’ve ever hoped for in you, and I freaked out and ran. I was afraid that my career, that the time I spent away would drive you away so I left first. I gave a bullshit excuse of how I felt our relationship had come to a halt when it was the opposite. God your love came rushing in and I didn’t know how I was supposed to react. I fucked up, and for that I’m so sorry.”

“So what now Tys?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, eyes slowly meeting his, “Why are you here? Why are you telling me this, what’s changed?”

“This is me admitting that I made a mistake, that I fucked up. This is me asking for a second chance to get things right and prove to you that I can be what you deserve. This is me telling you that I love you and I never stopped.”

These are the words that are supposed to make you melt, words that would make your knees buckle. These words are the ones you craved to hear for the past month. After all, it’s Tyson. He makes everything okay by simply holding you, always knows exactly what to say, and knows you like the back of his hand. He’s supposed to be your person. But there he stands, several feet of marble and two aching hearts separating the two of you. You were waiting for the words of regret, confirming that his leaving was the only thing he ever did right for the both of you. You wait for Tyson to say anything that would justify you throwing hot coffee in his face. But he looks at you with wide brown eyes, trying to pick your brain, and those foul words never came.

You stand there, stone cold, your heart beating beneath your ribs as it begs you to protect it. You always pictured Tyson knocking on your door in dramatic fashion, the thunderstorm behind him as he begs on his knees to come back to you. Nothing in the last twenty-four hours has matched up to your fantasy, but maybe because that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe you were meant to be standing here, angry, as he professes his love to you.

“You love me?!” Your voice carries louder than either of you expect, “If you loved me you wouldn’t have walked away like you did! If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me, made me feel like a fucking failure. Do you think you were the only one that’s scared? Did you ever consider that maybe I feel the exact same way you do?!”

Tyson stares you down, shame glossing over his eyes as your words seep through his skin. His breathing is ragged, just like yours. He makes no attempt to speak, to fight you, to defend himself. There are no words that escape him in the same fiery way it left you.

“I look at you, Tys, and I want to so badly forget that you walked away even after you promised me forever. I want to forget the loneliness, the heartache, every bit of sadness, I want to forget it all because then maybe it’ll be easier to believe you love me.” Tears topple onto your cheeks, brows tense as you stare at him, “I’m finding it so hard to accept the love you want to give me. I’m scared, Tyson.”

“I know. If I could go back and slap some sense into myself, then I would. I wish that I could go back in time and choose differently. But I can’t. All I’m asking for is a chance to move forward, Y/n.” For the first time, Tyson makes a move. His steps are quick to get to you, hands reaching for yours. You allow his fingers to graze against your skin before his larger hand engulfs your own. “I still see my future with you Y/n, and I want it. If you tell me to walk away and leave you alone forever, then I’ll do it, but I hope to God you ask me to stay.”

“I missed you,” You finally admit, “But I really wish I didn’t. More than anything, I wish that I could forget about you as easily as you forgot about me.”

Tyson doesn’t know how to respond. He watches the way you move, the way your shoulders remain rigid under his gaze, the way your hands rub the skin above her heart, and the way it slowly moves to your shoulder to rub your arm in the same soothing manner. Your hands move to rub the reddened skin on your face, and when you finally look back up he sees the tears in your eyes.

He can't lie, there were days where he found it easy to push the thought of you aside. But with each day he spends trying to forget you, he spends double in your memory. The sound of your laugh or the image of your loving eyes hovered over his shoulder. There isn’t any amount of alcohol, nicotine, or even time on the ice that could distract him from the yearning in his heart. He can’t count the times he drove past your place, alone, just to be sure that you were okay. Tyson would settle for just five minutes spent with you than not at all.

“Forgetting you isn’t easy.” He smiles, honest words rolling off his tongue, “You are anything but forgettable.”

Then it happens. Tyson’s words make your cheeks heat up. It sends your heart off in a frenzy. You look up at him, heart beating harder and faster at the close proximity. You can smell the smoky smell of his aftershave and you savor it. It has been too long without it, and there is a sense of comfort that settles within you.

“I wish you didn’t say that.” Tears spill on your cheeks, a humorless ha pushing past your throat. “You make it so hard to hate you.”

“So I’ve been told,” Tyson retorts, lips curving into an amused smirk.

But even in these moments you feel at home, there is still that small nagging feeling that is begging you to run in the opposite direction. To protect yourself from the possibility of getting hurt, of possibly going on another late night drive just to cry halfway through it. But you didn’t want to run away, to cower in a corner and lose him.

So you take one step closer, allowing your arms to wrap around his broad frame to pull him into a hug. Tyson’s arms are quick to wrap around your torso, squeezing tight like his life depends on it. And maybe it did. As you held each other in the kitchen of your tiny apartment, all the broken pieces began to come together. You inhale his scent as you bury your face into his neck. It feels right, it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

“I’ll never hurt you again, y/n,” Tyson mumbles into your hair, “Never never never. I promise.”

“I hope so, Tyson. I hope so.”

-

a fun edit to go with the ending

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