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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years ago

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Third Time’s the Charm - Tyson Jost

Pairing: Tyson Jost x plus sized!Reader (f)

Summary: Tyson Jost has been your best friend since you were kids. After a drunken hookup, you thought you’d lost him forever - that is, until he gets traded to the Minnesota Wild, conveniently the city in which you now reside. Will the former flame return when you reunite, or has the time changed everything forever?

Word Count: 11.1K

Author’s Note: I wrote this for @jostystyles for @antoineroussel's Summer Fic Exchange! I had an absolute blast writing this, and I tried to factor in as many of Emmie’s requests as I could (including several appropriately-placed Harry mentions, of course). Hope you enjoy, and happy belated birthday, sweetness! Also huge s/o to Demi for beta reading and daydreaming over Tys with me. ☺️🖤

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY) and angst (but a happy ending I promise). Alcohol use/mention and drunk hookup reference, language, plus sized body insecurity/themes, mutual pining, mentions of The Trade, oral sex (m + f receiving), protected sex, (1) overused trope, and multiple Harry Styles references.

Masterlist

Part 1: The Reunion

It was like any other Tuesday when you got the news, scrolling Twitter on your lunch break when a headline caught your eye.

BREAKING: TYSON JOST TRADED TO WILD BY AVALANCHE FOR NICO STURM

The name struck you, familiar and foreign all at once. You hadn’t seen him in years, and outside of the occasional birthday text or Instagram message, you hardly spoke to him, either. But here he was, apparently moving to Minnesota all the same.

When you were kids, you were inseparable. On your first day of kindergarten, you had burst into tears immediately upon walking into the school. A small, dark haired boy with curly hair walked right up to you, gave you a hug, and took your hand, leading you to your classroom with a smile. That boy was Tyson Jost. You hadn’t known it yet, but he would soon become your first — and best — friend.

He was your first kiss on the playground in the 3rd grade, blushing in the alcove of the slide on the jungle gym. A girl in your class dared you to do it, and you were determined, marching right up to him and kissing him on the mouth, before sticking your tongue out at him and sliding down the spiral slide.

In middle school, you went to your first dance with another boy, but ended the night in tears and outside on the swings with Tyson when you caught your date kissing someone else. The next dance, you went with Tyson platonically, awkwardly swaying while his hands rested firmly on your upper hip, looking anywhere but in your eyes.

When he moved away to British Columbia to go to the hockey academy, you’d cried for a week, the loss insurmountable to your teenage self. Despite being hours away from your best friend, you’d talked every night on the phone, trying to act like nothing had changed, keeping each other abreast of the updates in your day.

But, over time, those phone calls became less frequent, and the updates became more vague. Tyson got busier with travel and was being seriously scouted, and you were involved with your own studies and extracurriculars. Tyson was never gone completely, though – you worked part time at the concession stand of the local hockey rink, and every dark haired boy that ordered chicken fingers had him dancing across your mind, wondering what he was doing, fingers twitching to send him a text.

Things changed even more once he got drafted to the Avalanche. Despite the distance that had grown between you through the years, disappointing but understood by both of you as part of life, you still made the invite list for his first NHL game, sitting with his mom and sister in the stands. In celebration of the thrilling shootout win, you later ended the night tangled with Tyson in the sheets, a drunken and awkwardly not-that-awkward hook up that transformed your relationship forever.

Since that night, you hadn’t spoken. You’d slipped out of the bed and disappeared too early for him to wake up and put the pieces together, and the lack of phone call, text, pigeon carrier confirmed your beliefs that it was a stupid, terrible mistake that cost the both of you a best friend.

You hadn’t seen him since that night either, only the occasional update on his Facebook or Instagram, but you knew he was looking good – better than you ever remember him looking, the professional training certainly doing excellent things for his physique. You’d never really processed that night with him, having never really looked at him like that, because he was just… Tyson. Not NHL player Tyson Jost, not playboy extraordinaire, just Tyson, your friend.

And that’s what he was when you sent him a text, the ‘would love to catch up over lunch!’ masking the apprehension in the thumb that hovered over the send button for longer than you’d care to admit. Was he still just Tyson? Had his years in the NHL, making millionaire money, traveling all across the globe changed him from that curly-headed little boy you’d met all those years ago? Did the night between the sheets, whispers of his name falling from your lips while his hands danced over your body, change who he was to you?

Tyson got the text as he was scrolling through Instagram, searching his recent following for some new Minnesota prospects, replacing the slew of Denver girls he could hit up when he needed a night horizontal. Blonde, brunette, redhead, curvy, thin, busty — he didn’t discriminate.

He was 3 months deep in a girl’s feed, a blonde with the middle name ‘Rose’, when his eyes flicked up to the top of his screen, blinking a moment to register the name he was no longer accustomed to seeing texts from. Immediately, he abandoned whatshername to read the message you’d sent him, eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise at the lunch invitation.

Truthfully, he’d completely forgotten that you were in Minnesota — working in Minneapolis, if he remembered correctly from a Facebook post months ago. He was delighted to hear from you, pushing away the pang of guilt he always felt whenever you crossed his mind; he regretted the way that he’d let you slip away and out of his life. He hadn’t meant to; you were never meant to be the kind of friend that turned into a childhood best friend, but life had happened and before he knew it, that’s what you had become.

He’d be lying if he said that night didn’t still cross his mind, never speaking of it aloud. He remembered waking up alone, the faded smell of your perfume still lingering on the pillow beside him. No note, no text, no nothing — just gone, vanished from your life like it never happened. He assumed you’d left with regret in your heart, the forbidden act between two friends an invisible line crossed in thousands of ways, so he never reached out. Never called, never said anything, just letting the memory fade.

Setting up lunch was easy, a few friendly texts exchanged before deciding on a time and place. New to the city, he followed your suggestion and said he’d show up wherever you told him to. When the day came, you were almost embarrassed at the anxiety that bubbled inside of you, the kind of anticipation that made you change your shirt three separate times to make sure you exuded the right amount of not-trying-too-hard-but-still-cute-enough-that-you-know-I’ve-got-my-shit-together. Fortunately, Tyson’s easygoing nature made the initial greeting more natural than if you had led it, not knowing if a hug was inappropriate after all of the years of half-assed birthday texts and the unspoken elephant in the room. He’d scooped you up into his arms before you’d barely managed to get a “hey” out, and you immediately took comfort in his proximity.

The warm up was a bit uncomfortable, despite the all-too-easy softball questions that came with a reunion like this, the how have you been?s, how’s your mom?s, what are you doing for work now?s. Deep down, you both knew that you shouldn’t have to be answering these questions, that it felt counterintuitive with someone who once knew you inside and out. Still, you answered them in stride, giving him the updates he needed and easily making the transition to his very recent move to Minnesota and, simultaneously, his farewell to Denver.

When he told you about JT, you were surprised that there was no inkling of jealousy, rather, comfort knowing that he’d found someone else to take your place, to be that anchor for him in the new phase of his life — and certainly, you thought, someone that would never cross the physical line you had, betraying the friendship you’d built over many years in the course of one drunken night. It was not, and would never be, a competition, and you harbored no resentment at how things had turned out. You couldn’t help but wonder what JT was like — did he have the same sense of humor as you? What was their favorite thing to do together? Were you friends with the same Tyson?

With each laugh, each new quality revealed, you felt the invisible barrier between you breaking down slowly, still seeing flashes of the same Tyson you once confided in for everything, comforted to know that not everything had changed. All of it was surface conversation, though, and you both knew it. It was a strange feeling, to be sitting in front of someone so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time, like riding a bike and remembering how to steer, pedal, and balance all at once, before the muscle memory kicks in.

“D’you remember that time that you fell in the frozen pond by your house?” he asked, out of the blue, as you were taking a sip of your water.

Boom. There went the barrier, the remaining fragments tumbling down into a heap on the table, shattered in an instant.

“Oh my god, that was so terrifying!” you exclaimed, shaking your head at the memory. “I thought I was going to drown right then and there. It was so cold, and I freaked out. And then when we got back to my house and I was shivering and soaked, you told my mom —“

“—it’s all in the past, Miss Lynn!” he finished, causing you to double over, nodding as you laughed.

“To this day, whenever that comes up, my mom still says that you saved my life. You were the one who told me not to panic and to swim slowly,” you said once the giggles had subsided.

“Yeah, I never got a Boy Scout badge for that one,” he grinned.

The memories came out naturally, laughing jovially as you recalled each one with fondness and the fair share of giggles, the nostalgia what you needed to solidify the reconnection. Before you knew it, you realized you’d been there for three hours — five years of silence vanished just like that in the course of one afternoon.

“I’m really glad you called. It’s so good to see you, Kiwi,” he said as you stood in the parking lot beside your car, squeezing you tightly in his arms.

Kiwi. That silly little nickname he’d given you in elementary school because you’d worn a green shirt with brown pants. Somehow, it stuck, and you became Kiwi.

The flashes of the Tyson you knew were there, peeking through the private jets and flashing lights of his career that made him feel so distant, separating your lifestyles with an extra comma and several additional 0’s. As you drove home, his voice echoing in your mind, you asked yourself, were things similar enough? Even if he was the same Tyson, were you still the same Kiwi?

Part 2: The Rekindling

From the moment he got that text from you, Tyson swore all of his problems dissipated. It was cheesy and he hated it, but he had a literal pep in his step ever since he got back from lunch. He was playing more confidently, producing more than he had in Colorado, and while he knew that realistically, it was probably due in part to the change of scenery and the subconscious desire to prove himself, he couldn’t help but attribute it to you.

After that day at the cafe, he’d solidified a spot in your life, at the front of the table, almost like he’d never left, like he’d just been away at summer camp for a few weeks. You found yourself spending much of your free time with him, at his place or yours, or out showing him the Twin Cities like a proper tour guide. Despite the drastic changes in your lives, it was all too easy to fall back into your old routine, muscle memory kicking in after shaking the rust off and doing a few practice loops.

Things were different, though, slight shifts in the dynamic from all those years ago; it was only natural, given the growth you’d both gone through, physically, mentally, emotionally. You were older, more stable, and more mature. You noticed that he’d begun to fill the gaps in your life that would normally be filled by a romantic partner, if you’d had one — the go-to person to invite to the new restaurant you wanted to try, binge-watching your new favorite Netflix show, sending regular text updates about your day. Sure, you had other friends, and so did he, but it was clear from day 1 that you were each other’s first choice, maybe in more ways than one.

As the weeks turned into months, the regular season waning into the playoff preparations, you found yourself longing to be with him more, dreading the away games and extended time apart as he spent more time training, practicing, working out. You told yourself it was just that you’d spent so much time drifting apart and that it was refreshing, rejuvenating to have your closest friend back, a different kind of happy with him back in your life, not willing to even consider the other explanation.

The way he looked at you was different, too, though you did your best to ignore it. He was more affectionate, even cuddly, brushing your arm when he walked past, thigh bumping against yours when he sat next to you on the couch, arms squeezing you tighter when he hugged you goodbye — which was apparently something you did now, despite never having done it before. There was a light in his eye that you hadn’t noticed before, assuming it was a detail you’d forgotten about him in the years you’d grown apart, but it quickly became one of your favorite parts of him, the warmth in his smile and the affection in his eyes a place of comfort you’d missed out on.

And, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the benefit of his profession and his extra time in the gym — praising the warm weather, you looked forward to spending time outside with him, eyes running appreciatively over the cut of his arms and the stretch of fabric over his muscled chest. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, though you did your best to hide behind the shade of your sunglasses — except for the one time you’d walked into his apartment when he was in just a towel, and you’d both stuttered uncomfortably before he ran back into his room to change. (You’d dreamt about his toned six-pack and the drip of the water down his hardened chest for days after.)

He’d introduced you to some of his teammates, vaguely, never really giving you a label — just Y/N — but then, what was the label even supposed to be? Childhood best friend who I reconnected with and is now my best friend again? Former best friend who I drunkenly fucked one night and never spoke to again, but am now speaking to again?

Yeah, you thought, maybe it was best to avoid the labels for now. And maybe there was something more going on than just friendship. But that was another conversation for another time.

When the Wild were disappointingly eliminated from the playoffs, Tyson’s summer break began earlier than expected, and he was quick to invite you on a trip to Denver. He still had his brand deal with Coors Light, and they’d asked him to attend an Avs watch party at Coors Field. It worked out well, since he was already planning on going to cheer on the boys, his connection with the team never fading despite the disappointing departure a few months prior.

It was natural, just like old times; you’d brought the other to dances, proms, parties, when there was no romantic partner of the month. This was really no different, except for the fact that he was now a professional athlete paid millions to schmooze with the fans and stakeholders, the events much more lavish than a homecoming in your middle school gym. In the past, there had never been any question that it was never a date, but now, you weren’t so sure.

When you got to the hotel to check in, the front desk agent had blushed profusely when he gave his name, eyes looking a little too wide and lips a little too pouty for your liking. He’d smiled warmly while you bristled beside him, absolutely no reason to be feeling this contempt toward the kind woman who was simply doing her job.

She didn’t have to put her hand on his, though, when she’d paused her typing to say in a far-from-professional seductive tone, “You were my favorite Av.”

So maybe you felt a little surge of pride at the way her face fell, glossed lips breaking her smile, when she looked at the reservation. Her eyes flicked to you, having already dismissed you in favor of speaking only to Tyson, then turned her attention back to him.

“Mr. Jost, I’m sorry, but it looks like you only have one room on your reservation.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” he replied, and you felt the sinful pride welling up in your gut as she nodded curtly.

“I see,” she said curtly, eyes glancing back to you yet again, not doing much of anything to hide her own contempt. “Unfortunately, it looks like the double rooms are all booked up because of the Finals. All I have left is the king suite.”

You saw the flush on Tyson’s cheeks before feeling the heat rise oin your own, eyes snapping to his.

“Oh, uh —”

“Are you — ?”

“I mean, yeah, it’s fine —”

“I can take the couch,” you said, trying your hardest not to notice the way his cheeks had grown a really delightful shade of pink.

“I’d be happy to have the pullout couch arranged for you,” she offered, voice back to warm, clearly pleased that you were at least having some sort of conflict about sharing a bed, the glaring red alarm light above you signaling that you were not, as she had assumed, a girlfriend or romantic partner.

“No, Kiwi, I’m not letting you do that,” he said firmly, much to Front Desk Girl’s visible disappointment. “The King is fine. It’ll be just like our old sleepovers, yeah?”

You nodded in agreement, and Tyson turned back to the girl to complete the check in, her face back to a mild scowl. Glancing down to hide the smirk on your face, you bit back a comment that her makeup would be ruined at the rate her facial expressions switched from one to the other so rapidly.

Once she handed Tyson the keys, you offered a sweet smile before turning to follow him to the elevator, unable to prevent the satisfaction that settled over you. The room, of course, was wonderful, offering a beautiful view of the city and the snow-covered mountains in the distance, though the awkwardness had seeped in as soon as he’d unlocked the door, the large bed sitting very loudly in the center of the ornate room, a glaring beacon to your past.

You cleared your throat and brushed past it, shoving the discomfort to the side and ignoring it. If you didn’t think about it, it would go away, right?

Tyson’s eyes fell to your wrist as you accepted the extra room key from him, slipping it in the pocket of your purse. “What’s that?”

Smiling, you turned and offered your wrist, showing off your new — old — hardware: a braided bracelet, several shades of blue thread woven together in a simple pattern and tied neatly.

“Is that — ?”

“Yup,” you nodded, touching the bracelet unconsciously. “I meant to tell you that I found it in my closet the other day.”

“I can’t believe you still have it,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I made that for you… God, how long ago was that? It was at that one camp, and I think I was like, nine? Ten?”

“That was the worst summer of my life,” you sighed dramatically. “You were gone for so long and I had nothing to do except hang out with Lizzie Sherman.”

His eyebrows raised in understanding, placing his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry for putting you through that, Kiwi, truly. I solemnly swear that I will never do it again.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head before setting your bag on the luggage rack in the closet.

“You wanna get dinner? My favorite diner is just a few blocks down the street. They have the world’s best pancakes.”

“Tyson, it’s like, 8pm Minnesota time.”

“So? There is literally never a bad time for breakfast food.”

So, a few minutes later, you found yourself seated in an old school diner, straight out of any New York City movie. It was relatively quiet, only a few tables occupied when you arrived, and he’d told you it was Denver’s best kept secret.

“Whoa, now, look who the cat dragged in,” the waitress said as she approached the table. “Tyson Jost, in the flesh.”

“Hey, Carol, good to see you,” he greeted with a grin. She was older, old enough to be his mother, voice raspy no doubt from years of cigarette smoke, with a warm, welcoming smile, laugh lines etched into her face.

“What brings you back? Can’t be a coincidence that you’re here the day before Game 1.”

“Showing Y/N here around the old stomping grounds,” he explained with a gesture to you. “But you know I can’t miss the boys’ first game.”

“Knew you couldn’t stay away for too long,” she tutted, then turned to you. “This boy single handedly kept us in business during the pandemic.”

You laughed, “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. He’s been raving about this place for weeks.”

“Y’know I’ve got a soft spot for ya, Josty,” she winked.

“You’re always my favorite girl,” he replied flirtatiously, nudging your foot under the table as if to say, Nah, you know you are.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t think your girlfriend here appreciates that too much,” she said, and you felt that familiarly uncomfortable heat flood your cheeks at her comment. It was playful, harmless, but your eyes snapped to Tyson’s as he smiled and made the joke, “You always knew you weren’t the only girl for me.”

You tried to hide the way your eyes wanted to bulge out of your head at his words, innocent enough, but shocking nonetheless. Maybe it wasn’t worth correcting, an honest and casual mistake given the circumstances — but how could you just ignore the smile on his face as he said it? There was an ease of his voice, the pride in his body language, like he’d been saying it all his life.

Carol winked at you, lucky girl uttered in that matronly way, before pulling out her notepad and pen, the moment floating away in an instant. “What can I get for you guys?”

“Coffee, please,” he ordered. “We’ll split the pancakes. And, Carol, you’re the only one I trust to get this exactly right. We’ll also have a plate of hashbrowns, with one sunny side up egg on them.”

Carol nodded and you smiled at the gleam in his eye as he flashed you a grin. It had been a tradition when you were kids — to share a plate of pancakes, doused in maple syrup, along with hashbrown and egg yolks, after every sleepover. At one point, when Tyson hit puberty and began demolishing plates of food to keep up with his growing body, your dad and his mom began buying bags of frozen hashbrowns in bulk to keep up.

“Are you even allowed to eat pancakes and potatoes?” you asked, eyebrow raised, once Carol had turned to put your order in.

“We’ll count it as my cheat meal,” he shrugged. “This is more than worth it.”

Your heart warmed at the implication, and before you could comment, he was off, launched into a story about JT and the time their coach made them skate laps when he found out they’d competed — and won — in a pancake challenge at this very restaurant.

It wasn’t long before Carol was delivering your food to your table, balancing several plates expertly on her arms. The smell of freshly cooked pancakes and fried potatoes filled your nose, and Tyson thanked her before sending you a grin. “Smells like heaven, doesn’t it?”

“I never doubted your taste buds for a second.”

As you watched him ceremoniously crack the yellow yolk on the crisp hashbrowns, the liquid oozing over the potatoes, you thought to yourself how natural it all felt. Sitting here, with him, like no time had passed, like nothing had ever happened between you, just sitting and enjoying a plate of pancakes with your friend. It was so simple, so seamless, so easy with him, even amidst the road bumps.

If this was a movie, you thought, this would be the exact moment where the main character realizes she’s in love with him.

It had never really been a thought before, all of the comments from your families growing up about how you’d end up marrying one another shrugged off, laughed away with a teasing gross and a grin. But losing him, and having him come back to you, when both of you had least expected it — you couldn’t deny it certainly had fate written all over it, the serendipity of it all almost too strong to ignore.

And then there was the question — were you in love with him?

*****************

When you got back to the hotel after dinner — breakfast? — you both slipped into more comfortable clothes, and, when you couldn’t stop yawning, you knew it was time for bed. Tyson followed you into the spacious bathroom as you began to get ready for bed; he set his small travel bag for toiletries on the counter beside you while you were brushing your teeth.

“Hyaluronic acid? Seriously, Tys?” you asked, holding up the dropper bottle he’d set down.

“What? My skin is really dry, okay?” He snatched the bottle back, unscrewing it to drop some of the liquid on his hands before rubbing it into his skin. “The girl at Ulta told me I should buy it.” “Girls do like a man who has a skincare routine,” you mused.

“Thank you,” he said, puffing his chest out proudly. “I’ll have you know that I have excellent personal hygiene.”

Your eyebrows raised, biting back any snarky reply, choosing instead to nod sarcastically. “Uh huh.”

Soon enough, you were crawling into bed, the crisp white sheets rustling beneath your body. It wasn’t until you laid your head against the pillow that you realized Tyson would be joining you soon, right next to you, in the bed. The silent implications, unspoken words from years ago swirled in your head, and you did your best to push them away.

When he settled in under the sheets, you were grateful for the large bed, allowing you the extra space between your bodies, not even able to feel his body heat. The timidness had returned, plopping itself in the gap between you, and you swore you could feel a physical, but invisible barrier sharing the covers with you. It was fine, you told yourself, totally normal, not weird at all. Plenty of people shared beds with their friends on trips.

But not everyone had slept with that friend 5 years ago and never talked about it since.

“I’m not gonna bite, you know.”

Called out.

“I know,” you replied, doing your best to hide the nerves in your voice. “I just… don’t usually sleep in a bed with other people.”

“It’s just me. Just like old times, except now I have bulging muscles that you have to watch out for.”

You snorted, grateful for the way he was able to seamlessly ease the tension with his corny jokes, and you smiled when he nudged your leg with his knee.

“Goodnight, Tyson.”

“Goodnight, Kiwi.”

*****************

Fortunately, the awkwardness of waking up beside him was staved, for he’d woken up early to run in the hotel gym, allowing you time to shower and get ready for the day, thankful for the privacy. His ��getting ready’ routine was short, and soon enough, you were taking coffees to go to the park after a quick breakfast. It was a beautiful day, and conversation was easy and casual as you strolled together, excitement buzzing in the air of the city in anticipation for game 1 of the Finals.

Lunch was one of his favorite sandwich shops, followed by some sightseeing — he was pleased to have swapped roles, being in the position of tour guide and leading you through the city that he knew like the back of his hand.

You returned back to the hotel to get ready for the event, and then the game. Tyson had already texted with JT and made arrangements to stop by after the game to say hello to the boys, and while you weren’t nervous, you did want to make a good first impression. It was a summer event, so you opted to wear your old Avalanche Jost jersey — bought in advance of the one game you’d attended five years ago — paired with shorts to help keep you cool in the warm Denver air.

Tyson, while he couldn’t directly wear an Avs logo, ensured that his flannel had navy and burgundy woven into the fabric as his subtle nod to his former team. You couldn’t help but let your eyes trail appreciatively over him, his gray t-shirt fitting him in all the right places, wild curls tamed neatly with some gel. He cleaned up nice, even when going to an event hosted by a beer company.

You slipped on your shoes, before smoothing out your jersey and grabbing your purse.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Tyson opened the door for you, then trailed behind you as you walked down the hall to the elevators. You could feel the heat of his eyes on you, almost enough to make you uncomfortable had it been anyone else.

“You look really… good,” he said. “That jersey looks really good on you.”

“You sound surprised.”

His eyes went wide, cheeks tinging pink as he stuttered, “No, I’m not – you just – I just – ah, shit –”

“Just fucking with you,” you grinned. “You look nice, too, Tys.”

His glare was adorably bashful, leading you to the elevator in order to meet your Uber driver in the lobby.

The event went smoothly, easy enough to stand beside Tyson while he cracked jokes and shared stories with the fans. It was fun to see him interacting with them, always so jovial and friendly despite being traded several months prior. That had always been something you’d loved about him; being able to strike up a conversation with anyone and end it as if he’d known them his whole life. Really, when you thought about it, it shouldn’t have been a surprise as to why you’d reconnected with him so easily.

Watching the game surrounded by fans was an equally thrilling experience, the cheers erupting with each hit, each save, each goal. Tyson was elated, and honestly, so were you, despite the fact that the only reason you’d had any loyalty to the team was the man standing beside you.

After the game, Tyson was buzzing, eager to meet up with the guys. He took you through a “secret” route to get into the arena while avoiding the mass hoards of cheering, hollering fans, elated by the overtime victory. He walked with familiarity through the doors, leading you through the halls outside of the locker rooms, waiting for his friends to emerge.

He’d begun to show you some of the pieces on the wall, explaining some of the history of the team as you saw the murals of Joe Sakic and Peter Forsberg lifting the Cup over their heads.

“God, you need a fuckin’ haircut, bud,” said a voice from behind you.

Your heart warmed as you saw Tyson’s eyes light up, grinning like a fool as he turned at the sound of the voice, as familiar to him as his own name.

“Looks like you lost your trimmers too, ya mountain man. Your playoff beard looks like shit,” he shot back with a smile, approaching his best friend, large arms engulfing the other in a hug. When he pulled away, he turned to you expectantly and set his hand on the back of your arm.

“JT, this is Y/N. Y/N, JT.”

You offered a smile, sticking out your hand and shrieking in surprise when the redhead pushed your hand away and moved in for a bear hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Y/N. Thanks for putting up with this shithead,” he said, grinning.

“Someone’s got to, am I right?” you were quick to crack back, earning a laugh from JT. Tyson held his hands up, as if he was only then beginning to realize the consequences of having his two best friends here to roast him at the same time.

“Jost, you didn’t tell me you had pretty friends at home,” JT said smoothly, and your cheeks felt hot, not used to the public compliment. “Maybe I would’ve come visit sooner if I knew.”

Tyson gave him a shove. “She’s off limits, pal. Don’t even think about it.”

The redhead’s eyebrow raised, sending you a glance like he knew the internal conflict that was brewing inside you, could see the tension mounting between the two of you despite your best efforts to keep it under wraps. It was a bit unsettling, and you wanted to tell him that just because he was Tyson’s best friend didn’t mean that he could read your mind, too.

If he could, he didn’t say anything, smoothly changing the subject to ask about the flight and your activities in the city thus far. The conversation was easy, and you could certainly see how Tyson had fallen into him in your absence.

More and more of the guys began to pile out of the room, greeting Tyson with enthusiasm. Some of them greeted you cordially, and others followed JT’s path and simply scooped you up for a hug. Soon enough, the wives, girlfriends, and others flooded the hall until it was full of people, celebrating Avs getting one win closer to the Stanley Cup.

You found yourself chatting with two girls, one of whom was Mel Landeskog, and the other you hadn’t quite caught the name of or who she was with. Mel was warm, a greeting you like an old friend that she’d known for years.

“I’m so glad you were able to come out,” she said. “I know how much it means to the guys to have Tyson here.”

“It’s been so great to see the way the city’s welcomed him back,” you replied. “You can tell this really is home for him.”

Mel smiled, nodding with agreement, but was quickly called away by EJ asking her to wrangle in her husband. The dynamic shifted as you tried to make small talk with the other girl, offering a friendly smile that was half-assedly returned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“I’m Susie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Susie. I’m Y/N.”

“Are you Josty’s girlfriend?” she asked, the words so blunt you blinked in surprise.

Cheeks warming, you stuttered, “Oh, uh, no. Just a friend.”

Susie hummed, her eyes scanning over Tyson’s figure a few feet away. Part of you wanted to smack her to stop her from ogling him, but considering you were just a friend, you resisted the urge to start a fight.

“You just don’t look like his type, is all,” she said, glancing back. You felt your heart sink at her words, the silent implication all but screaming in your ears. She didn’t say it, didn’t have to, but you knew exactly what she meant: Not pretty enough to be his type, not skinny enough to be his type.

Offering another smile, you excused yourself to find a restroom. You walked away quickly, seeking either the bathroom or just privacy, whichever you could find first. Ducking behind a wall, you closed your eyes, tears hot as they brimmed above your lashes, blinking quickly to avoid letting them spill onto your face.

It was nothing new, nothing you hadn’t heard before, and you knew better than to put any stock in it, especially being around the crowd of pretty, but stereotypical, athlete girlfriends. But that didn’t make it any easier to hear, especially not when comparing you to Tyson — your Tyson. They didn’t understand, no one understood, the history and strength of your relationship, both before and after the unintentional hiatus. Everyone just assumed that Tyson — handsome, fit, rich — could never associate with a fat girl.

With a forlorn sigh, you heaved yourself up and began an actual search for a bathroom to pop into. A few winding corners later, you found one, locking the door behind you. You gathered a wad of toilet paper to dab at your eyes, careful to avoid smudging your mascara. As you exited the stall, your eyes dragged up to see themselves in the reflection of the mirror, unable to avoid the way they inevitably slid over your figure. The jersey, while covering your body, couldn’t hide the size of your arms, the width of your torso, the shape of your belly.

It had taken a long time, with many tears and countless hours of therapy, but you’d finally reached a point where you were happy, or at least content, with your body, no longer hating what you saw in the mirror. But the thoughts echoing in your head were far from kind, unable to prevent the comparisons and harmful words.

Summoning your therapist’s voice in your head, you allowed yourself a few moments to hype yourself back up, if only to gather the energy to return to the crowd of people outside. The weight in your throat dissipated, and you took another deep breath before stepping back out and finding the group again, Susie and everyone else clueless to your brief detour.

“Hey, you,” Tyson greeted, walking up to you and bumping your hips with his. “Was just looking for you. I think the guys are gonna go out for a celebratory drink — you wanna go?”

Hoping he couldn’t see the glassiness of your eyes, you glanced around before saying, “I think I’m just going to head in early.”

Tyson’s face fell. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, just tired from the travel. I’ll see you back at the hotel later.”

“I can come with you —“

“No, Tys, you should go celebrate with them. You deserve to,” you urged, smiling to show him you were okay.

He frowned, but nodded, quickly taking out his phone to order you an Uber back and ignoring your protests that you could, in fact, afford a ride back to the hotel.

*****************

Instead of going to your room, though, you found your feet walking toward the hotel bar, taking a seat on the plush barstool. Maybe it felt a little cliche, a little too ‘main character’ for your liking, but you thought you could use the liquid blanket to help you forget the way those words stung just a little too much.

“Give me something old,” you said when the bartender approached, setting a napkin in front of you. “And red.”

He nodded, and soon you were presented with a glass of Pinot Noir, a 1982 something-or-other. With a wry smile, you lifted the glass in a mock toast to him, pushing away the voice in your head that told you to savor the nice wine and taking a much larger than necessary gulp.

One glass turned into three, time blurred as the wine got sweeter with each sip. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you found yourself hurtling back to the present, conscious, with brown curls tickling your forehead. As reality trickled back into your hazy brain, you realized you were on your back in bed, having the life kissed out of you by your best friend. You didn’t remember how you’d gotten there, only focused on the way his hand felt against your breast, kneading it through the cotton of the t-shirt you were wearing — when did you change?

Tyson tasted like beer, his tongue pressed against yours in a familiar moment. His hands felt sinful, hot, dragging along your skin, drawing soft sighs from your throat.

“Tys,” you breathed, mouth hot against his, words unable to form past the sigh of his name. “Tys.”

He hummed, hearing you but not hearing you, mouth trailing back to your jaw. The work of his lips on your skin had your brain in a haze far more powerful than the wine, all coherent thoughts leading back to one thing: Tyson.

The smallest sober sliver of yourself that was left was screaming at you, fighting desperately against the drunk desire that was all too easy to give in to, to keep kissing him and feeling his heat against yours.

“Tys, stop,” you said again, sobriety flitting into your consciousness. “We can’t.”

Whether it was your words or your tone that reached his brain, you weren’t sure, but he ceased his mouth’s onslaught in an instant. You watched him blink, as if he, too, was flying back to reality, the lustful, drunken haze bursting above you. He pulled away, sitting back on his legs as he ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

The absence of his body caused you to shiver despite the heat of your skin. Your legs were still spread, wide, accompanying his form still sat between your thighs, and your cheeks burned from feeling so exposed. Dread filled your heart as you watched him slide off the bed, muttering an apology, head hung in shame while he shuffled to the couch.

Part of you wanted to call out to him, to apologize — for what exactly, you weren’t sure — but your brain finally spoke louder as you bit your tongue, letting it wait until morning, knowing the situation needed a sober mind. You listened to him shifting on the couch, tugging a spare blanket over him with a sigh.

It was thoughts of Tyson’s lips that filled your mind as you drifted off to sleep, finally succumbing to the haze the wine was calling you to.

Part 3: The Romance

The brightness of the sun stirred you from your sleep. Head pounding, you blinked a few times, the processing time it took to get your bearings extremely delayed, soaked with too much Pinot Noir and the subtle taste of Coors Light. Blurs of the night before flitted through your mind like a slideshow, flashing images of the hotel bar, of brown curls and stolen sighs.

Your legs stretched, and all at once you registered the large bed, the space beside you, and in an instant the feeling of Tyson’s lips on yours came rushing back to you. With a groan, you scrubbed your hand over your face, rolling to your side to heave yourself up.

Tyson sat on the loveseat, not looking much better than you felt, a disposable cup in his hand. He offered a solemn smile, then nodded to the coffee table in front of him, an additional cup waiting for you.

“Morning,” he greeted.

“Hi,” you replied, feeling extremely exposed in your t-shirt and sleep shorts. Your feet slid along the marble floor, cold against your skin, as you shuffled to your bag to tug on a sweatshirt. Though you blamed your slow movements on the ache of your head, you’d be lying if you weren’t doing everything you could to delay the impending conversation that lied ahead, daunting, intimidating, staring back at you on the other side of the room.

You made your way back to the couch, the space beside Tyson burning your skin as you sat down, maximizing the distance between you two as much as possible on the small sofa.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you broke the silence, shifting uncomfortably as you took a sip. “God, I feel like shit.”

Tyson let out a snort in agreement, handing you the small bottle of Advil from his bag.

“Yeah. I pay for it more now than I did back then,” he said, taking a slurp of his own. His eyes flicked to yours, the elephant in the room glaring, screeching loud, unavoidable no matter how much you’d rather curl back up in the king bed and bury your head under the duvet.

You met his eyes, painstaking, and you could see it in them, dying to come out into the world.

“Y/N, I —“

“Tyson, please don’t.”

“No, Y/N, we need to talk about this,” he started, slowly, firm but not cross.

Your eyes broke from his, unable to hold his gaze anymore, looking down at your lap. He was quiet, waiting for you to speak, to give him permission to continue.

“We were drunk, Tyson. Shit happens. We’ll shake it off,” you dismissed it, a weak attempt to make the discomfort vanish.

“That’s what I said five years ago, too,” he said, and your heart leapt into your throat at his words, eyes shooting to meet his. It was the first time either of you had acknowledged It out loud, to each other or to anyone else.

You swallowed thickly, taking a beat before responding. “It was a mistake, Tyson. You regret it, I regret it. It happened, and we moved on —”

“I don’t regret it.”

His words interrupted you, your eyes shooting up to him at his statement. settled in the silence, your eyes shooting up to him at his statement. He what?

Tyson paused for another moment. “Well, I didn’t.”

Oh. The words struck your heart, shattering it instantly, as if confirming what you both feared and knew to be true.

“No, wait, let me rephrase that,” he said quickly, realizing his mistake. “I don’t regret sleeping with you. I regret what happened after, and letting you walk away without talking to you about it.”

The words it’s too late, it doesn’t matter rang through your head, heavy on your tongue in a way that made you want to spit them out.

“I don’t regret it,” he repeated again, as if to solidify his feelings and make sure you understood. Then he asked in a timid voice, as if he was afraid to hear the answer, “Why do you regret it?”

“It’s not that easy of an answer.”

“It can’t be that complicated,” he shot back, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

“Tyson, I’m not –”

“You’re not what, Y/N?” he cut you off, eyes blazing with concern despite the frustration in his voice.

“I don’t belong here, Tyson.”

“What does that mean?”

“This,” you gestured to your surroundings, the expensive suite a contrast to your apartment and old sweatshirt that had brought you comfort since high school. “Here. With you. I don’t belong here. Not when I look like this.”

Tyson’s eyes fell, softening as each of your words struck him like broken glass. The words that his brain managed to conjure — none of them were enough, could ever be enough, to tell you how laughably and incredibly wrong you were.

“I regret it because guys like you don’t end up with girls like me.”

“That’s not true,” he finally said softly, kicking himself for not being able to come up with anything more eloquent.

“It is,” you replied. “You’re a professional athlete now, Tyson. You should be dating models, blonde size zero’s. Not me. Look at every single one of your teammates’ wives and girlfriends. None of them look like me.”

Tyson’s mouth opened, like he was ready to blurt out his next sentence, but paused, closing it.

‘It was fun, but really all sleeping with you did was show me a sliver of a life that I can’t have.”

“Y/N.” His voice was soft, trying to connect with you, to bring you back to the moment. Something about the way your name sounded coming out of his mouth made the burn in your throat even stronger, tears welling in your eyes as you blinked, looking away to avoid his sight.

“I liked you then, before any of that — any of this — mattered,” he began, hand running through his messy, untamed curls. “I know that doesn’t take away from any of the feelings that you’ve felt and the experiences that you’ve had, and I know that I will never be able to fully understand, but fuck, Y/N, I care about you so much, and I…”

His voice trailed off, eyes off in the distance like he was searching for the words. You watched him, waiting patiently for him to finish, trying your best to not prepare your response before he had even completed his thought.

“I know that I’m on the TV sometimes, and I make a lot of money, but that doesn’t mean that I’m different. Deep down, inside, away from the cameras and the crowd, I’m the same Tyson I always was, always have been. The same one who made you this bracelet at camp,” he said softly, reaching out to pull at the braided strings on your wrist. The touch tingled your skin, and you did your best to ignore it. “I’m still the guy who played with your Barbies and made them fall in love with Batman.”

Your lips curled into a small smile at the memory, and he matched it before continuing. “I just want – need you to know that I’ve never, ever been bothered by your size. I look at you and see you. My best friend. The girl who was there by my side for everything. No matter what number is on the scale, or what size jeans you wear, or what you decided to eat that day. Not then, not now.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, and you almost didn’t want to believe him, but for the deep sincerity in his voice and the honesty in his pleading eyes.

“You said that guys like me don’t end up with girls like you,” he said, reaching forward to tentatively take your hand in his. When you didn’t pull away, he gave you a squeeze that encouraged your eyes to flick up to his. “But there’s never been someone who’s so perfect for me.”

“Tyson…”

“Please let me finish,” was his response, and it wasn’t harsh, but gentle, more of a plea, like he would die if he couldn’t get the words out.

“I’ve felt this way forever, about you. I felt it that night, and the morning after, and every morning since. But I didn’t realize what it was until you came back into my life. And now that you’re here, I can’t let you leave again.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, barely processing the words coming out of his mouth before he was speaking again.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The air in your throat felt tight, like you were suddenly engulfed in a tidal wave of emotion. Though you knew what he said, the weight of his words were still light, not sinking in, the true force of them waiting to crash onto you at any moment. He knew, understood without words, and took his hand back and sipped his coffee to allow you some space.

“Tyson, I —“ you began, then stopped, words once again failing you, only this time it was because of something else his lips were doing.

“You don’t have to say it back, now, or ever,” he said quickly. “I just… Needed you to know. I’ve always loved you.”

Hot tears trickled down your cheeks when you blinked, sniffling as you looked up at him. It was, with no contest, the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to you. You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised; you’d never felt as seen or as heard as you did with Tyson, even when you were doing your best to hide beneath the smile you offered to the world outside.

“The last few months with you have been… wonderful, and confusing,” you continued, throat constricted as you tried your best to quell the tears, tried to put your feelings into somewhat coherent words. “I’ve been spending this entire time trying to figure out what it is I’m feeling.”

He nodded, letting you know that he was following, his body completely engaged with you and your words.

“I think —I think that I might… feel… the same,” you picked your words carefully, that big, terrifying L-word far too heavy to throw out like that. “I’m still working that out for sure.”

Tyson smiled, pleased with even the possibility that you might love him too. His expression shifted as he swallowed, suddenly looking nervous.

“Could I kiss you?”

Your heart did a triple-axel backflip at the question, and you realized you were nodding as if he might never ask again, uncertain about the future but knowing in the moment that you desperately wanted his lips on yours.

They were warm, soft, just enough weight behind the kiss that you could feel his yearning without feeling forceful or aggressive. It was sweet, years of pining built up into one moment.

“I’ve always liked doing that.”

“Yeah? Is that why it’s happened twice now when you’re drunk?”

“You wanna see what happens when I’m not?”

With one sentence, the dynamic of the room shifted, suddenly feeling like it was at least ten degrees hotter. The implication of his words had warmth spreading through your body, the sweatshirt you had on quickly too much.

He was hesitant, though, waiting for your approval. Tyson felt your pause, and added, “It’s okay if you don’t. I’m not going anywhere, not unless you tell me to fuck off. But, you know what they say, third time’s the charm.”

You smiled, appreciative of his humor as he grinned, clearly impressed with himself. In the back of your head, you heard a quiet voice mutter, Fuck around and find out.

“And for what it’s worth, I think you’re incredibly fucking sexy.”

Before you could think twice, you were lunging forward to throw your arms around him and kiss him. If he was taken aback, he recovered quickly, moving to wrap his arms around you as he kissed you back with enthusiasm. Your back hit the soft velvet of the sofa, giving him more leverage to kiss you harder, his tongue finding the seam of your mouth.

The irony of making out with him again, mere hours after your recent run-in, was not lost on you, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care. This time was different, sober consent all too clear, and you could feel everything.

The pile of clothes on the floor grew, cotton flung without a second thought as you undressed each other, slowly, carefully. Instinctively, you were tempted to cover your body with your arms, but Tyson had other plans, pulling your hands away from your stomach as he delivered kisses against your skin. You shivered at the feeling, his lips tracing constellations along your chest, over your belly, onto your hips.

“Fuckin’ love your hips,” he murmured, voice muffled by your skin, and you giggled at the way his low tone vibrated against you. His hands followed suit, slow and careful, like they were handling a priceless piece of art — and to him, they were.

Tyson’s mouth trailed over your waist, kissing and sucking marks on his journey between your thighs. His breath was hot against the cotton of your underwear, damp with anticipation as he glanced up at you, searching for any sign of protest. When he was met with none, he allowed his finger to drag up the seam, thumb rubbing gently over your clit through the material.

A moan escaped your lips, encouraging him to continue. He moved forward to kiss the fabric, inhaling your scent and letting out a groan.

“Please, Kiwi,” he murmured against your core. “Please let me eat you out. God, I’m begging you.”

His earnest desire had you nodding so fast you thought your head might fall off, butterflies erupting in your belly when his fingers dug into the waistband of your panties, tugging them over your hips and down your thighs. He didn’t give you any time to be shy, quickly pulling apart your legs to reveal your aching center, wet with need.

Licking his lips, Tyson hummed before pressing kisses against each of your inner thighs, tickling you slightly with the action, poor excuse for a playoff beard scratching the sensitive skin. He licked his way toward your lower lips, kissing them the way he’d kissed your mouth last night. Another deep groan left his throat when he tasted you, quick to delve his tongue inside of you.

Your hands flew to tangle themselves in his curls, his tongue working magic along your sodden slit, teasing you artfully. When his fingers joined his tongue, parting your folds and slipping into your heat, you let out a sigh of his name, pleasure hazing your vision and sending warm fuzzies to your belly.

“Jesus, you taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he moaned against you, pumping his fingers slowly when he realized that doing so produced more of your juices, lapping it up like the syrup from the pancakes you’d eaten the day before.

You couldn’t even reply, words a distant memory with the way he worked his digits inside of you, finding the spot to make you see stars. He grinned against you when he hit it, feeling the way you tightened around his fingers, and set off on his mission to show you just how bad he wanted you. His tongue continued its assault on your clit, flicking and circling in perfect harmony with the movement of his fingers, steady and consistent.

“Tys —“

Your climax hit you suddenly, a long cry of his name called out into the room while your back arched, fingers tugging tightly onto his hair. Tyson was careful to continue his movements exactly the same to draw out your pleasure as long as possible, only stopping when your hand gently pushed his head away. Short puffs of breath left you, panting, and he was smug as he pulled away to grin at you.

“Was that good, or —?”

Resisting the urge to smack him upside the head, you pulled him up toward you to kiss him. He quickly forgot his snark, distracted by your lips and the way your hand was crawling its way between your bodies, palming the hardening bulge in his boxers.

“Fuck,” he choked out, twitching against your hand.

“Take me to bed, Tyson,” you instructed him, words breathed against his mouth softly, a prayer rather than a command.

He moved so quickly that you almost laughed, if not for the shriek that left you as he picked you up, bridal style, crossing the short distance back to the large bed.

“Shall we continue last night’s activities?” he teased, waggling his eyebrows as he laid you back onto the mattress, settling himself between your legs to kiss you again.

“Tys,” you said between kisses. “I wanted to —“

“I know, baby, but look at you. Fuck, I’ve gotta have you,” he interrupted. You could practically feel the desperation in his voice, and you certainly could feel his desperation between your thighs.

A shiver ran up your spine at his words, and you were rendered speechless when he reached his arms behind his head to tug his shirt off his shoulders, in that hot way that boys do. It was your turn to groan at the sight, his toned core muscles flexing in the morning light.

“You like what y’see?” he smirked. “Know you liked that preview that day at my apartment, huh?”

“Shut up,” you shot back, silencing him by reaching for his erection again, this time allowing your hand to slip beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping your fist around him. “You gonna take these off so you can use it, or what?”

Tyson couldn’t remove the offending garment fast enough, fumbling over himself to shove the boxers down his legs, tossing them behind him hurriedly. It was your turn to smirk, admiring the sight of him completely nude in front of you as you leaned forward to stroke him. You watched goosebumps rise on his arms as you pressed your lips to the head of his dick, breath hot on the sensitive flesh.

“Kiwi —”

“Just a taste,” you pleaded, looking up at him with wide eyes, lips puckered against his leaking tip.

He let out a strangled groan, along with a string of curse words, which was all you needed as permission to take him into your mouth. You let your tongue swirl along his length, tasting him, savoring the weight of him and the saltiness of his precum.

Head bobbing, your mouth moved up and down, lips wrapped around the girth of him. With a glance up, you saw his eyes squeezed shut, lip tugged between his teeth as he indulged in the feeling of your hot mouth.

You made it a competition with yourself, see how many delicious moans and groans you could pull from his lips with the work of your own, as you let your mouth learn each inch of him, skin soft on your tongue. Bringing your hand up to the base, you gripped tightly and stroked him, working conjointly with your mouth.

“Baby, baby, you gotta — fuck, Kiwi, you gotta stop,” he panted, hand moving to your jaw to pull you off of him. “M’not gonna last if you keep — fuck.”

You smiled, pleased with your ability to render him a stuttering fool, though it quickly faltered when he gently pressed you onto your back. He kissed you again, stealing the breath from your lungs, as his hand cupped your jaw, slowing the moment down again. His cock bobbed between your thighs, wet with your saliva and bumping against the slickness of your folds, and you whined at the feeling.

When he tore himself away from you, running to retrieve a condom from his bag, you raised an eyebrow at him as he climbed back onto the bed. “You came prepared, huh?”

“What? No! No — I mean, I hoped, maybe… I thought, just in case—“ he stuttered, bashfully looking at you as his cheeks flushed.

You rolled your eyes with a giggle, letting him know you weren’t upset with a nudge against his thigh with your knee. He looked relieved, then remembered he was supposed to be doing something with the foil packet in his hand, ripping it open and working the latex over his aching cock.

He shifted, positioning himself at your opening, then paused to look at you, eyes connecting with yours in a glance, wordless yet saying everything he needed to say. You nodded, a soft please dying on your lips when he let the tip bump against your clit.

Slowly, Tyson pushed into you, taking his time and savoring the way you gripped him, pulling him in in more ways than one. His arms landed on either side of your head, and he pressed his forehead against you as he allowed you both a moment to adjust to the sensation, simply content to just be connected.

Tyson’s hand moved to yours, entwining your fingers together as he began to move, your legs finding their place wrapped around his hips as he pushed into you. He pressed kisses against your lips and on your cheeks, showering you with affection as he took his time to find his rhythm.

He remained slow and steady, keeping his thrusts firm and forceful, allowing you to feel each inch of him as he moved inside you. You could feel his hot breath against your face, whispering declarations of love against your skin.

Tyson poured every emotion from the last five years into you, kissing away all of the unspoken words and forgotten memories, vanished with each pump of his hips. This wasn’t a mistake, though, if you thought about it, neither of the past times had been a mistake, either.

It didn’t take long for your high to build, cresting with a cry of his name. He wasn’t far behind you, eyes holding with yours as he, too, reached his peak with a Kiwi whispered against your lips. When his hips stilled against you, he stayed for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being so connected with you, body and soul.

You couldn’t help the smile on your face, even when he pulled out with a sigh, tying off the condom and tossing it in the direction of the bathroom. He couldn’t bother to stand up, not willing to be parted with you for a second, instead pulling you into his arms as he caught his breath.

“You’re telling me that’s what we’ve been missing out on this whole time?”

With a snort, you said, “You kind of lived across the country until just now, Tys.”

“Still,” he wrapped an arm over your shoulders, “I’m kinda pissed it took us this long.”

You hummed, silently agreeing with him. Now that you’d taken the plunge, you couldn’t remember what you were so hesitant for in the first place, life before today a distant memory.

“Will you go on a date with me? A real one, with dinner and flowers, when we get home?”

“It’s a little late for that,” you laughed, gesturing to the flimsy sheet covering your naked body.

“I guess we’ve done everything out of order,” he chuckled, “but first dates are important.”

“Okay,” you smiled and nodded. “A date. Pick me up at 6. And you better hold the door open for me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

A comfortable silence fell over you as you enjoyed the peace of the moment, cuddled into his body and in the warmth of his strong arms. You listened to the steady beat of his heart while his fingers drew lazy circles into your shoulder blade, content to never leave the bed for the rest of your life.

“Tyson?”

“Hm?”

“I love you, too.”

He broke into a grin, looking down at you to see it in your eyes before he leaned forward to kiss you. You kissed back, pouring all of the love that had been bottled up in your heart for him over the last two decades into him, hoping he knew.

By the look on his face when he pulled away, he did.

“So I guess the third time is the charm, then, huh?”

#tyson jost fic #tyson jost fanfic #tyson jost smut #tyson jost x y/n #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #t. jost #hockey romance #hockey smut

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moonshroooms · 7 years ago

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Random Fandom Questions Oh My

A - Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.

Currently the other ships I like right now are Human Bill Cipher and Dipper (a big guilty pleasure). If there are any Billdip shippers reading this may I humbly recommend Defining Bill Cipher, cause it’s 100% fantastic with plot, characterization, and some uh, heated moments if ya get what I mean.

I always enjoy Frisk x Sans from Undertale, though I’ve been lagging behind on fanfics. I also like Sans and Toriel (which honestly, I like Frisk and Sans better for fanfics, but I’d want Sans and Toriel to be canon), and Frisk and Asriel are super cute too.

I’ve started reading Owari no Seraph (like, I think I’m only like ch 5), and I already knew about Mika x Yuu long before I ever started reading so I’m absolutely shipping them right now A++

I also ship Gon and Killua from Hunter x Hunter, though I don’t read a lot of fanfics for them. I just kinda annoy my friend with it when we watch the show XD

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.

You know, I actually don’t think I do

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will.

Ciel and Sebastian from Black Butler. And it’s weird cause like, they are absolutely ripe for shipping and there are plenty of other ships in like, nearly the same position I like but just. He doesn’t love-love Ciel man. He don’t even friendship-love him. Sebastian wants to eat his soul like literally and that’s it he’s just food. For whatever reason I just can’t get into that pairing. Please just let Ciel be with Elizabeth she’s such a cutie and let them be happy forever on okay good okay

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t.

Ichigo and Masaya from Tokyo Mew Mew. I am 100% a Kisshu x Ichigo shipper and I know Ichigo x Masaya is like, oddly, one of the healthiest relationships you could have in an anime and Masaya would be a boy I’d fall head-over-heels for myself if he was real like honestly everything about him is basically perfect but I just. He’s so boring. He’s a really boring character to watch. And he gets more interesting near the end of the show, but it was just kinda too little too late, yanno? If they’d put more hints at the darker side of his wonderful personality then I’d probably would have shipped them, but I saw Kishigo first and that’s who I glommed onto srry

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what?

I don’t contribute anything to society let alone a fandom XD

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom?

I mean, that’s under the idea I’m actually in a fandom? Do I have to do something to be in a fandom? Can I just enjoy content? Does that count? If it do then I’ve been in the Tokyo Mew Mew fandom for like, 10 years or more. It’s like 99% dead so it’s not like I’ve searched up anything recently, but believe me if it ever gets a good remake I will be there 100%

G - Have you ever had an OTP? If so, do you remember your first one? Who was in it?

My first OTP back before I ever knew what an OTP was was Kisshu and Ichigo from Tokyo Mew Mew. And that fandom is super dead and I’ll probably never read a new good fanfic ever again but I’ll probably never let them go. I still consider them my OTP, and I’ve never found anyone that tops it XD They’re also completely toxic but just. Ah. I love them so much I just want them in a cute relationship plz

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., TV shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.)?

Ennething. I guess anime is the easiest one to find though. I think I like Western animation better than anime, if only for comedy that hits home a little bit more, since I grew up in that culture and whatnot

I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

Nah. I avoid the Discourse by never joining the conversation e v e r. And most of the time I don’t really follow fandom blogs specifically, just blogs that happen to post some fandom stuff, so I probably don’t see any sort of annoying people or awful environments or anything. I don’t understand how people can get so annoyed I feel like discourse is just so easy to avoid/ignore??? But maybe that’s just me

J - Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.)

Voltron. I didn’t even know it existed until some of the funny blogs I follow started posting stuff about it. I don’t even know what Voltron’s about, other than the name sounded really familiar, like it’s an old anime being remade or something.

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

Peridot from Steven Universe. No wait, Rinna from Forest Born. Forest Born is one of my favorite books (from the Books of Bayern series by Shannon Hale, I highly recommend them). When I was younger I related to Rinna a lot (and I’m like, nothing like her now but that’s beside the point), and I loved her development her slow development towards not hating herself so much. It’s wonderful and steady and feels real

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves. (Characters you’re neutral about are fair game, as are characters you merely dislike. Characters that you absolutely loathe with the fire of ten thousand suns are exempt, as there is no point in giving yourself an aneurysm over a character that you hate.)

Jackie from Star vs. is a really nice girl A+ girlfriend material and if I didn’t ship Marco and Star she’d be next up for the Marco ship train. I absolutely don’t hate her and she’s a fun and nice character, but sorry you can’t be Marco’s girlfriend the bloodmoon and also me said so

M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.

Isi from the Goose Girl. She already reminds me a lot of my friend, so maybe I’m a little biased, but she seems like an absolutely wonderful person to be friends with and I’d 100% love that. I’d also like Dasha from River Secrets and Enna from Enna Burning. Just. Any of the main girls from the Books of Bayern. I love them all

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

Since I don’t have a main fandom, I’ll just choose one:

From Steven Universe I want more funny comics, dumb memes, and Stevonnie anything. And that’s considering there’s already a shitton of all of that. There’s never enough

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

He’s Hurting Me by Maria Mena. And Kisshu x Ichigo, mostly because I’ve seen an AMV with them and that song XD

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).

Active Fandom for Tokyo Mew Mew AU!

Okay fine, that doesn’t count. But oh geez I can’t think of any good ideas though. I don’t know but anything but a coffee shop AU. Give me something with adventure man. Uhh *spins wheel* Siren AU with *rolls dice* Pokémon. Make it happen, people

Q - A fandom you’ve abandoned and why.

Eh, considering I’m never an active part of any fandom, I can’t say I’ve abandoned anything. I’ll even go back to really old fandoms and try to find something I haven’t read before

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?

Do Steven and Connie and Star and Marco count even though I ship them? Because I value their friendship just as much if not more than their shipping capabilities. If not then, Sailor Moon and the other sailor scouts from Sailor Moon (from the original anime). I just really like that they joke and roast and support each other. A lot of the episodes focus a lot on their random interactions and it’s a joy to watch.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

I have none honestly XD I’m not usually a person that gets into headcanons much. I ship plenty of people that aren’t together but I wouldn’t really call them headcanons, I dunno. Gon and Killua end up married. There, there’s your headcanon.

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

Kisshu returns to Earth for Whatever reason (any reason that means more battles and adventures is good), Ichigo ends up falling in love with him, Pudding and Tart end up together, Lettuce and Pie are together, Masaya is just fine and not dead, and everyone’s happy the end

That’s the best I got XD

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Kisshu from Tokyo Mew Mew: Other than the fact he’s from my long-standing OTP, he’s just really fun to watch. He’s probably the reason I have an immediate attachment to character that are slightly crazy and shit tons of dangerous. He’s cheeky and flirty and gawd I luv it A+

Peridot and Lapis from Steven Universe. I couldn’t choose really. Peridot is such a trash gremlin and Lapis is amazing when it’s not complete angst she is just Ultimate Emo Child.

Willis from Awful Hospital (I highly recommend this comic by the way. It’s weird and wonderful). So far he’s just the cutest little thing and I love watching him it’s great

V - Which character do you relate to most?

I used to relate to Rinna from Forest Born a whole bunch, especially when I was younger. Nowadays I relate much more to her older brother Razo from River Secrets. He’s self-concious, but always cracking jokes and always in the mood for eating. I think he’s hilarious and honestly I hope I can be as funny as him. He’s got a lot of talents he just never notices. I hope that gets to be me, too.

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

Characters with no personality. And I think this is mostly just in the otome and harem anime’s that this kind of thing is rampant, cause you gotta make a character that people can slip into but just. My god. I tried playing an otome once and I couldn’t even finish it it was so awful and infuriating. Watching Diabolik Lovers was so painful this girl just L E T everything happen she didn’t even try putting up a fight even when some dude GAVE HER A KNIFE TO STAB HER VAMPIRE WHATEVERS WITH. MY GOD. I hated everything I wanted to cry. And don’t even get me started on the manga Black Bird I hate it so much they just rinse repeat everything. ‘No love interest don’t do sexy things at me I don’t want it’ ‘I’m doing it as punishment for you doing/not doing Whatever’ ‘Noooo’ and then proceeds to just continue to love the assbag. Just stop oh my goooood

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

Enemies to Lovers. Or enemies being in love in general. Or forbidden romances of any kind. Basically I want a shit ton of angst and a happy ending.

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (i.e., fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)?

I know a little bit about Homestuck, which I tried to read once and got bored. I keep wanting to pick it back up but just… aaaah the beginning is so boring I can hardly tell what’s going on. And I hate the 1 panel thing. I’m sure it was good while it was being posted, but it just takes so long to load the next page. I need a multi-page version please.

I also know a tad bit about Madoka Magic, which I’m not entirely sure how. I just kinda. Read stuff I came across, despite never being interested in the show myself.

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go! (Prompts optional but encouraged.)

Dear god please let Star and Marco be together (they probably will).

I want at the very least a cute cheek kiss from Steven and Connie, also, can Stevonnie fuse with other gems??? That’d be wild.

Danny Phantom needed to be longer also he needed to be with Valerie I loved her why the flip flap did they give her such a crappy reason to not be with Danny AAAH

I haven’t been able to watch the Legend of Korra because I tear up anytime I see something about the old gang being old or dead like legit if I ever see Aang being all dead and spiritual and shit I will cry

The Amazing World of Gumball is hilarious and I want more people to watch it

I tried watching Bob’s Burger’s for just like, a funny show without a plot and I got bored eventually. Thankfully Gumball saved the day

I think Ni no Kuni is an adorable game and I love their little definitely-not-Pokémon monsters and I’ll probably rant about who’s on my team one day

I ship Link and Midna 100% but like, only the TP incarnation of Link. Skyward Sword and Breath of the Wild and Spirit Tracks Link can be with Zelda. Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass Link can be with Tetra (specifically Tetra).

Speaking of Tetra, why the flip flap SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED WIND WAKER BUT LIKE, IT’S REALLY OLD AND HAS A REMAKE SO I GUESS THAT’S MOSTLY YOUR FAULT BEWAAAAAAAAAARE. ALSO THE BEGINNING OF BREATH OF THE WILD I GUESS? THOUGH IT’S NOT REALLY A BIG IMPORTANT SPOILER.

does she get pale when she turns into Zelda? Like, bam you’re royalty also kiss your tan goodbye. Same thing happens to the mysterious old man when he becomes the king. Do bluebloods just not get tan or something like, the flip?

#fandom #fandoms #personal #asks

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