#Tyson jost x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year ago

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with you - t. jost

tyson jost x f!reader

warnings: hospitals, swearing, fainting/dizziness/light-headedness, mentions of blood tests, medical inaccuracies, implant as a method of hormonal contraception, anxiety, pregnancy, implications of sex, mention of alcohol (lmk if there's more)

< a/n: this has an abrupt ending so i apologise in advance >

word count: 8.1k

Your eyes were glued to the screen of your phone, watching Tyson’s contact photo wander to the parking lot of the golf club. Your foot was bouncing on the linoleum bed they’d put you on, arm laid flat against the surface, a cotton wool ball taped at the crease of your inner elbow.

The phone itself was leaning against your thighs, still clad in your sports leggings, and your free hand was anxiously pulling at your bottom lip.

The thumping in your chest was way too prominent to ignore, and you guessed it was the knowledge that you’d most definitely feel better if he was with you that had you pressing his contact number.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He picked up on the second ring, airy tone already suggesting he was smiling.

Almost instantly the sound of his voice seemed to ease the knot in your chest, and you sighed into the phone, your bouncing foot stilling, “Hi,” you started, the words lined up in your brain and dancing on the end of your tongue, yet somehow still stuck behind the blockade of apprehension, “um–”

“Are you okay?” Tyson’s worried voice cut through your phone, somehow clearer than it had been ten seconds ago.

You nodded to yourself, sucking in a deep breath and trying to prepare yourself for what you were about to tell him, but it didn’t seem to have the desired effect to the desired extent. Your chest was still heavy and your mind was racing, and you were vaguely aware of the fact that he’d cut his car engine because your silence was worrying him, “I’m fine,” it was a partial truth, “I just…Are you sitting down?”

It was his turn to hesitate, “Yeah.” Then, in a low voice, just a smidge harsher than a whisper, “Baby, you’re kind of scaring me right now.”

You blinked, “Don’t be scared, and definitely don’t freak out.”

“Now I’m scared and freaking out. What–”

“I’m fine, okay?” The more you repeated that, the less confident you felt in the weight of them, your certainty wavering by the second–

“You keep saying that, but you sound like you’re not.” His voice was soft, still most definitely concerned, but still displaying an insane amount of patience.

If the roles had been reversed (although, considering Tyson most definitely could not get pregnant, this situation was a little different), there was absolutely no way you would have been able to maintain that same level-headedness if he was on the phone sounding as completely out of it as you assumed you did.

You swallowed, feeling a multitude of emotions begin to simmer under your skin – so much so that trying to dissect and analyse each pound of your heart or tremble of your fingers was exhausting – and you could feel your previous shock-induced numbness begin to fade, “I need you to pick me up from the hospital–”

“Said no fine person ever!”

You ignored his rather panicked comment, instead soldiering through before you lost your nerve, “I’m not injured, nothing’s broken, nothing hurts, but I fainted out at tennis and Sabine drove me here. I can’t come home by myself for another two hours, but I want to come home now and the only way I can do that is if someone picks me up.”

Silence.

You felt your eyes prickle slightly – you were so overwhelmed the lightheadedness felt like it could start to make a comeback, “Tys?”

A dry sniffle sounded through the phone, and before his voice cut through to answer you, the sound of the engine spurred back to life, “Of course I’ll come and get you. I’m on my way, ‘kay? Just pulling out the lot right now, I’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.” You whispered, focusing your eyes on the ceiling and trying to get your breathing under control.

“How are you feeling now?” He asked gently, just the sound of his voice giving you something else to focus on besides the flickering lightbulb and the calling of other names from the waiting room outside.

“Better than I did earlier. They gave me something to eat so I don’t feel as weak, but the lightheadedness is kind of still kicking around. The dizziness has gone, but my arm’s a little sore from where they took my blood.”

You could picture him behind the wheel of his car, phone hooked up to the Bluetooth system, a crease between his brows and the telltale tilt of a frown playing at the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t shaved recently, a soft scruff coming in, and your hands tingled in remembrance. He’d be warm, too, a vast contrast to your current state.

It wasn’t just the room you were in either, even despite wearing a hoodie, you were freezing. Your hands and feet were almost numb, and your skin was littered with goosebumps – it was the stress of the entire day manifesting into physical symptoms.

“Bl..” He began, sentence trailing off, “Bloods – is it anything serious?” He rambled, voice straining slightly.

It was serious. Very serious – life changing, in fact. But not serious in the way he was insinuating.

So you lied; it wasn’t the sort of thing to tell over the phone, much less when he was driving, and if you were being honest, you wanted to keep the news to yourself a little while longer just to mull it over and let it sink in, “No, nothing serious,” there was a twinge of guilt that nested itself under your ribs, “They said it was caused by low blood pressure from my hormones.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement, not delving further into the reason as to why it was caused by your hormones – something you were grateful for – before continuing, “You didn’t hurt yourself when you fainted did you? Your head’s okay, right?”

Despite yourself, you cracked a small smile at his questions, “You should know.” It was a half-hearted attempt to try to reassure him, and judging from the short huff of laughter, it did so to an extent, “But no, I didn’t. I was literally warming up and then out of nowhere, I was just hit with this wave of dizziness. I thought it’d sort itself out when I sat out for a bit, but it got worse and the next thing I know I’m waking up to Sabine kneeling next to me saying I passed out.” You sighed again. Your brain hadn’t shut up since the whole incident had occurred, and, cautiously, almost curiously, you slid your sore arm under your jumper.

It felt weird, perhaps a little silly considering the fact that there was nothing to show for said pregnancy just yet, but as you gently skimmed a thumb over the skin, your nerves spun on their head a little. It was anticipation, with a peppering of excitement.

It had been a wedding that started everything; a friend of yours from high school was marrying their college sweetheart and you’d dragged Tyson along (freshly from your second year anniversary) with the intention of spending a few days away from the chaos of the NHL and the uncertainty surrounding his career.

Amidst it all, you’d both somehow become the in-ceremony babysitters – unintentionally. It turned out Tyson seemed to be some kind of magnet for all things hockey related, including children and rogue pucks. So when a rubber disk was flicked too high and too wide, hitting someone in the middle of their back, he’d taken it upon himself to teach the ones playing on the grass (how they’d made playing hockey work on uncut grass you had no idea) how to properly control and flick the sticks with more precision, and, you wanting a break from the mini high school reunions, had followed him, taking a seat on the banking of the hill.

It was a good view, even more so when the sun had started to drop, casting an orangey glow from behind you. Tyson had been teaching about ten kids the ways of hockey for a while by that point, them completely enraptured by what he was saying. He’d let the bigger kids go off by themselves, and was crouching in front of a five year old girl, pigtails held up by pink ribbons, helping her when she couldn’t quite get the grip right on the stick. The boys had wandered off, leaving her by herself, even though you’d heard her shout after them, but Tyson had stayed.

He’d shed his blazer a while ago, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and even though you knew how expensive his dress pants were he’d not even thought twice about kneeling on the dewy ground. Everything about the entire scene was endearing – in the way that had you falling in love with him even more.

You barely held yourself back from dropping your head in your hands when the little girl had reached out to tug on one of his curls inquisitively, giggling when it bounced back immediately. And when he ducked and shook his head for her to see?

You could have died happily.

But you, on the other hand, also had company of sorts.

From where you’d initially sat down by yourself on the banking, a glass of Prosecco in your hand, a group of three girls had slowly migrated towards you, led by sheer curiosity.

One looked around nine, wearing a deep purple tulle dress with butterflies embroidered along the bottom, and was holding hands with another little girl who could barely walk without assistance and looked half asleep. The third must have been about six or seven, trainers on her feet, with a green jumpsuit.

Green jumpsuit was Fiona, purple tulle was Iris and the toddler with ruddy cheeks and a pink pinafore dress was Eden.

And two out of three of the girls had their eyes focused on your hands, where you’d been picking daisies and knotting them to form a chain.

It barely took five minutes, a reassurance from Iris that, yes, Eden’s parents are aware she’s taken her for a walk, and yes, they do trust her to look after her as long as she’s with Fiona, and within no time you’d found yourself showing the older girls how to make the daisy chains, and somehow, somewhere along the lines, Eden had slumped her head against your chest, legs kicked out around your waist, and was snoring gently on your collarbone.

After that, it had been difficult to keep sneaking glances at Tyson due to your stolen attention, but that was your moment. It was the moment.

Watching the girls cheer in excitement and giggle and smile at each other and boast about their successful daisy chains, eventually showing them off to Tyson when the little girl he’d been teaching had joined the boys (she’d stunned them with her determined flicks into their makeshift net) and he’d climbed up the banking to sit with you.

It wasn’t his moment, that much you knew, but it certainly solidified what he’d already decided, and you could tell just in the way he’d taken a seat next to you, leaning back on his elbows with his legs stretched out down the hill. It was in the way he’d looked at you with the girls, with Eden, in the way his smile seemed to physically split his cheeks, in the way they seemed to turn a little bit pink when you raised a knowing eyebrow in his direction at his lack of subtlety. It was also in the way he’d leant himself towards you, hand tracing shapes on the red silk at your hips, before gently tracing the seams of Eden’s baby shoes.

Neither of you had actually brought up the unspoken yet entirely noticeable change until you’d both tucked yourself under the duvet in your hotel room.

“Are you still awake?” You whispered into the darkness, eyes trained to where you knew the ceiling to be.

You knew he wasn’t because he’d been pretty still – a stark contrast to his usual fidgeting and shuffling. Though, as soon as you’d spoken you could feel and hear the rustle of the duvet as he rolled onto his side, eyes burning into the side of your face from where you’d laid on your back.

“I can’t sleep.” He admitted, sighing through his nose, the action blowing strands of your own hair into your face.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, body still but mind loud.

Then you flicked your bedside light on and rolled towards the middle of the bed, nearly nose to nose with Tyson, who, up close and personal, looked more awake than he definitely should have been considering the fact that it was getting on to half past one in the morning.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You whispered, watching his face closely.

Gentle brown eyes pierced your gaze, his lashes fluttering when he blinked, hair separated into curls after the late night shower, and something in his jaw ticked. It elicited your own motions, a tentative hand reaching up to brush your fingers over his chin, soft stubble greeting your touch.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, nudging his chin further into the palm of your hand until you were cupping his cheek, thumb swiping lightly against his cheekbone, before retracting your hand and using it to tug the covers closer to your chin.

Even the broach of the topic on both your minds was enough to feel uncharacteristically shy in his presence. Strangely, it felt intimate, leaving you feeling somewhat vulnerable and sheepish.

“You first.”

His face broke into a small smile at your comment, and you rolled your eyes at his teasing laughter.

“Okay,” he started, laughter dying out as a hint of seriousness bled into his tone, “I want kids. Plural. I mean, I think I’ve always known I wanted them, but now I’m at an age where it’s…I’m not a teenager anymore, I’m not immune to being broody. And I guess after today, seeing you with those girls got me thinking about us in the future, and I do want kids. With you.” He pursed his lips, looking at you with hopeful eyes, before nodding.

Your turn.

You swallowed, heart pounding a little at his admission, “I…” you sucked in a breath, nerves having skyrocketed completely, “I’d never really thought about having my own children before, I guess because I’d always just thought I’d be happy with my life with or without having them – like, I wouldn’t feel like something was missing if I never had kids, y’know?”

He nodded, listening intently.

“That being said, recently – and not just today – I don’t know, I think you’ve changed my mind.”

He furrowed his brows, “Me?”

You nodded, “And your mom and sister. You come from such a loving family, and…” you sighed, frustrated, “I don’t know how to say it, but I think if I was with any other person, the idea of kids wouldn’t be so appealing, but because it’s you, having children half you and half me just seems like an absolute dream.” You took a breath, “And it’s not just because I kind of knew you already wanted kids even though you didn’t actually say it, but I came to that decision by myself.”

Tyson smiled properly this time, teeth and everything, with creases appearing on the corner of his eyes. You felt yourself furrow your brows, thoroughly confused with his blatant joy and lack of words, not entirely knowing what to do or what to say.

“Say something.” You urged, his warm palm landing on your back as he used the leverage to pull you closer, coaxing you to drape a leg across his hip as he breathed a laugh.

“Holy shit, you’re so in love with me it’s actually kind of embarrassing.” You could practically feel him roll his eyes as he moved onto his back, pulling you with him so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders and weave his hand in your hair, pulling it away from your face.

“Excuse m–”

“But that’s okay, y’know. I’m also embarrassingly in love with you too, so it’s not that bad.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, but before he could continue you pushed yourself up onto your elbow, his arm dropping to our waist.

“That’s not the end of this conversatio–”

“Even more so now than, like, five minutes ago.” He interrupted, eyes focused on the ceiling with a dopey grin on his face.

You didn’t know if he was even aware of the fact you were talking, or if he was stuck in his own head, imagining your children–

“You mean when I told you that I wanted to have your babies and your babies only?” You teased, poking him in the cheek.

This time it was evident that he’d heard you because his eyes rolled into his head and he dragged both hands away from you and ran them down his face, groaning out loud. You laughed at his reaction, his hands tangling into his curls as though even the sight of you was too much for him at that moment, “My heart can’t take this,” he shook his head, “you’re killing me, woman. I honestly think I can’t love you more, and then you say shit like that and it just makes me want to propose on the spot.”

You felt your cheeks burn instantaneously at that confession, and you tilted your head, eyes wide, “It makes you want to what now?”

He blinked, “Um–”

“You can’t get shy on me now, Tys.”

“Like you haven’t been thinking about it either.” He said with full conviction as he too pushed himself onto his elbows, the both of you now essentially sat up in bed, covers pooling around your middle.

You shrugged coyly, “I–This has nothing to do with me, I was asking you.”

His eyes were wide, a smile on his face despite the disbelieving scoff that passed his lips, “I didn’t think it was a secret that I’m gonna marry you at some point in the future.”

You stuttered, mouth opening and shutting. He was right, it wasn’t exactly a secret as such, what with both your families and friends making jokes and whatnot, but…it was different hearing it come from his mouth. In confidence.

So, you switched it up a little, “Before or after children?”

He froze, this time it was his turn to stutter, “What?”

“Marriage. Before or after children?”

He straightened, tilting his head with some amusement, “That depends on when you want to come off birth control, sweetheart.”

If you weren’t so suddenly awake, you’d have stalled at his words, at the sweet yet condescending way he used the term of endearment reserved only for you. But your brain was going a mile a minute, and you were way too fired up to even consider letting him leave you speechless.

“We’re twenty-two, I don’t want kids yet for at least another couple of years. Twenty-five, maybe. It might change depending on whether or not you propose, though.”

The challenge was there, laid out in the open for him – you’d put the ball in his court pretty much. Whether or not you’d change your mind if he did propose was another thing altogether, but you had no preference.

“Change how?” He shot back.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see, yeah?” You raised a brow.

He blinked, that irritating smirk still on his face. Your fingers itched to snatch the pillow next to you and whack him with it, but you refrained, waiting patiently for an answer.

“Yes, ma’am.” He muttered, sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes, throwing yourself back on the mattress with a dramatic flair. Tyson copied you, still using his elbow to hover over you with that grin still on his face, “Cheeky bastard.”

He winked, “Your cheeky bastard though. The cheeky bastard you want to have children with – wait, how many do you want?”

You inhaled, taking him in. He’d worn a soft black t-shirt to bed, one that, now as he hovered over you, just seemed to make him look so incredibly, deliciously broad. The kind of good-looking that had you debating whether or not to retract your previous statement of having your implant taken out in another three years.

Though, with the one you’d just had put in, you’d be twenty-five when you’d have to replace it…you could just not.

“Two to three.” You said, “One would be lonely, and four would be too much. Depends how the first one goes, too.”

He nodded, something on the tip of his tongue, but thought better of it, instead leaning down (thus, taking you by surprise given the previous nature of the conversation) and planting a slow kiss on your lips. He pulled away slightly, a smile on his face, his hair tickling your forehead, “You were so just checking me out, weren’t you?”

You shook your head, a hand on the back of his neck pulling him back into you to avoid answering the question.

He laughed, resting his forehead on yours for a moment before something seemed to occur to him, “Are you fussy about what we’d have?”

“No, I’d just like one of each at least. What about you?” You swiped his hair back, watching in delight when his curls flopped back over his forehead.

“Same as you.”

Another kiss.

“You never said how many you wanted.” You pointed out, fingers once more grazing against his cheeks.

Maybe you’d underestimated the power of being broody, because after what you’d witnessed it was like a switch had been flicked in your brain because you could not stop touching him.

He collapsed into his shoulder, forcing you to turn your head to keep your eyes on him, “Two or three. I think you’re right about the four kid thing, though. I couldn’t have imagined growing up with two more siblings on top of Kacey.”

“Even the thought of four kids is exhausting.”

“Yeah.”

“Speaking of exhaustion…” you muttered, stifling a yawn with the back of your hand.

Accomplished. That’s how you felt having that incredibly mature (it had its moments) and very adult conversation.

You’d essentially just planned the next five years with the man next to you, and although the thought of having kids and everything that would entail — should it happen — was terrifying, it felt right.

You’d switched off the bedside lamp and rolled over towards the middle of the bed when something else occurred to you; a rogue idea you’d had once that had seemingly flashed back up once you’d shut your eyes, “When you grow a pair and propose, I’d like it if you wear a ring too. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy if you don’t want, maybe like one of those titanium ones.”

He shuffled, and you could hear the smirk in his voice as he looked back at you, “Possessive much?”

You shrugged, “We’re engaged to each other, I don’t know why only women typically wear the rings…and there’s no harm in sending a hint.”

Tyson hummed, “Whatever you say.”

That entire conversation had been three years ago. You’d had your implant removed and not replaced around five months ago…and you’d not exactly been careful during sex because ‘it’ll happen when it happens’, only it happened. You’d talked about it happening early, enough to the point that you’d done your research and prepped everything in terms of checking finances, but it didn’t mean you weren’t…shocked.

There was just simply nothing that could prepare you for the actual moment.

Nor, it seemed, seeing Tyson after everything that had happened. You’d been holding everything in, the fear, the shock – not just of the pregnancy, but the whole fainting debacle, and getting a blood test and being seen to by multiple doctors all by yourself. Sabine had dropped you off and waited with you in the ER waiting area but that had been the extent of it; she’d had to go pick up her kids from her sister’s or something, and…something else you couldn’t quite remember.

But you’d heard him before you’d seen him, and then the door to your room was opening, a nurse walking through first and offering you a knowing smile before he’d all but barrelled through the doorway, somewhat frazzled. You’d been sitting with your legs slung off the side of the bed when you heard him ask for you at the desk, and almost instantaneously his eyes had zeroed in on the cotton wool ball now screwed up next to you.

“I’m fine–” The words died in your throat when he immediately wrapped you in a warm hug, moving to stand between your dangling legs with one arm wrapped around your waist, his left hand curled around the base of your neck and your face tucked into the curve of his neck.

The coolness of the ring on his hand soothed you somewhat, but as soon as the door shut and the nurse left, you lifted your arms to hug him across his back, sniffling wetly as the tears began to accumulate along your waterline.

“Hey, hey, shh, shh, it’s okay,” his hand rubbed up and down your back, and he pulled away slightly, running a thumb under your eyes to wipe the tears away before they could fall, “you’re okay–”

“I just–I’ve never fainted before,” you took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself, eyes watery and blurring your view of him, “It just took me by surprise, and I don’t know…it was scary.” You let out a watery and rather self-deprecating laugh, taking a deep breath and running your hands over your face to remove the evidence of tears, bar red cheeks and puffy eyes.

Tyson said nothing, simply ran his hands over the tops of your thighs as he waited patiently for you to calm down. In all honesty, he’d never really seen you have an emotional outburst like that – no matter how short. Sure, he’d seen you cry; your childhood dog was put down in your first year together and he’d held you in Colorado, hundreds of miles away from your own home; he’d seen you cry for him (however much you tried to hide the few loose tears) when everything went down with Minnesota; he’d seen you cry over the ‘heartfelt, charming’ film you’d put on one day (‘Red Dog’, it was called) that destroyed both your souls; and he’d helped you through grief, from the days you’d need space to the days you’d just need him to sit with you.

But never in your entire relationship had he seen you cry from terror, let alone such a cathartic release of emotion. He’d heard your wobbly voice crack over the phone and done his best to try to take your mind off it, but he knew by the way you’d just barely held it together at the mere sight of him that there was something amiss.

“I know it’s scary, sweetheart, when you told me, I was scared too. It’s a completely normal reaction, okay?” He was talking softly, neck bent slightly so he could look at you, and his fingers tenderly swiped some of your flyaways back from where they’d escaped from your updo.

You ached at his compassion, the gentle touches and sneaking glances at your arm, and at the thought of him looking after your baby like that almost sent you down another emotional spiral, but you straightened slightly, trying a small smile no matter how it wobbled.

“I’ve never cried like that before.” Was all you said, a watery laugh falling from your lips just as he nodded.

“I know.” He offered a small smile, “Bet it felt good, though.”

“Cathartic.” You agreed.

“Today’s been pretty hectic for you, huh?”

Oh, he had no idea.

This time you smiled properly, eyes and lashes still wet as he passed you a tissue from the box next to the bed, you dabbing under your eyes.

“Yeah.” You inhaled through your nose once more, expelling out of your mouth, “I’m so tired. When we get home can we camp out on the couch?”

He smiled, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes, “You’re insane if you think I’d let you do anything else after today.” You rolled your eyes at that, not having the heart to argue with him, “How’re you feeling now? Faint? Light-headed?”

“No, I feel fine now. Do I look okay?” You scrunched up the tissue, throwing it in the bin, only to look back at Tyson, who was still standing between your legs and was arching a brow in your direction, his hands having moved from your body to come to rest on his own hips.

“You look stunning. You always do.” He deadpanned, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he leaned forward, you meeting him halfway in a delicate kiss.

“You have to say that.”

“I don’t have to say anything. I could tell you look horrible, but then I’d be lying, and breaking our vows–”

“We’re not married.”

“Yet.”

“We’ve both got rings but nothing is actually official–”

“Let me have this one, please.”

“I just fainted, you let me have this one.” You complained, throwing your head back in his grip, hand instinctively going up to hold his wrist when he leaned in for another short kiss.

“Only because I love you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Fucking hell, you’re really gullible–”

“You just fainted, my so-called gullibility is reasonable.”

“Whatever. In all seriousness, though, does it look like I’ve been crying?” You pointed at your eyes, knowing they’d be red-rimmed and still a little watery after that, and he winced slightly.

“Yes.”

You sighed, dropping your head, “You know what, I don’t even care anymore. I just want to go home.”

Tyson nodded, “Is everything sorted out with the doctors?”

“I have a follow-up appointment in a few days–”

“I thought it wasn’t serious?” His voice did that thing it did earlier, right after you’d told him you’d fainted. It went up, both in pitch and harshness, and there was a crease between his brows and a frown playing at his lips.

Said follow-up was actually a dating scan, your first ultrasound to make sure everything’s healthy and whatnot, but in the meantime you’d decided you wanted to tell him outside of a placeless hospital room surrounded by strangers.

Oddly enough it was Father’s Day in two days. Technically his first one, too.

You’d decided on his way to pick you up that that’s when you’d tell him, and you could keep a secret from him that long.

“It’s not serious, but because of the low blood pressure they just need to make sure it was a one-time thing.” You waved a hand, ignoring his gaze as you jumped off the bed, moving to pick up your backpack on the chair.

The handle of the tennis racket was poking out the top, taunting you (even despite the mess of emotion swimming around you right now, you were still kind of bummed you missed out on that), but before you could even bend down to pick it up, a very familiar hand reached out and snatched it up before you, his black titanium ring glinting under the lights as he swung it over his shoulder.

“Can I come with you to that appointment?” He asked, holding his hand out for you to grab, innocently pretending to ignore the glare you were sending his way.

“Sure.” You nodded, feigning nonchalance, as though you hadn’t purposefully booked the appointment on the day you knew he didn’t have any plans.

***

Father’s Day, despite having only been two days away, came incredibly quickly. It felt like you’d barely blinked before you were sneaking out of bed in the morning to make Tyson some tea and breakfast.

You’d kept the breakfast simple, just a couple of slices of toast and jam, as well as some extras for you because you couldn’t risk him wandering downstairs and ruining his own surprise. The card you’d picked out with assistance from Kacey over FaceTime was in your bedside drawer, but it was the mug that was important, too.

Weirdly enough it was absolutely the right amount of subtle for a quiet announcement. It was a handmade mug, a dainty, cream thing with words pressed onto the inside base, so when he’d finish his tea the words ‘WE’RE PREGNANT!’ would be visible at the bottom. The plan was, you’d decided, to wait for him to nearly finish his tea, and then hand him the card, so that way the card thing would be fool-proof, but also partly because you were way too nervous to actually tell him yourself using actual words out of your own mouth.

You’d thought about what his reaction might be, but given the fact that he’d practically buzzed with eagerness after you’d asked him if it’d be okay with him if you didn’t get your implant replaced, and the fact that every time you went out for a foodshop he’d get lost and coincidentally be found in the baby clothes section, you’d say he’d probably have a pretty enthusiastic reaction.

Kacey had tried to bet $20 he’d cry, but given the fact that you also agreed with her, she’d dropped it completely.

You took a deep breath, straightening the plate on the tray to calm your nerves, your engagement ring getting caught in the light coming in from the window. It glittered, iridescent colours dancing against the cupboards, and it was at that moment that you realised you’d have to make adjustments to the wedding planning.

“Marriage. Before or after children?”

Looked like that one was still up in the air.

The quiet tiptoe up the stairs carrying a wobbling tray was one mean challenge and a half, especially considering the fact that you couldn’t see your feet and you were also trying to avoid any creaking floorboards.

You nudged the bedroom door open with your foot, peeking around the corner and cheering internally when you saw Tyson was still face down on his pillow, arms above his head, shoulders and back muscles prominent.

You paused, unable to help biting your lip at the view.

Fuck, you hoped your kids would have his hair.

You didn’t bother shutting the door behind you, making your way around to your side of the bed, the shadows from your figure blocking the light from the window causing Tyson to blink slowly at the interruption.

“Good morning.” You hummed, putting the tray on the floor and leaning across the mattress and gently pressing a kiss against his lips, quickly removing yourself before he had the chance to pull you any closer.

You heard a grunt of disapproval before he yawned audibly, arms stretching up from where you’d crouched on the floor to pick up his tea and toast.

“Morning.” He groaned, pushing himself to sit as you placed his toast on his bedside table and handed him his tea, his ring clinking against the porcelain.

Before you could walk back to your side, his free hand caught yours, gently tugging you towards him, a confused and bleary expression still on his face, “Did I forget something?”

You shook your head, kissing him once more when he puckered his lips in your direction, and he nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer before taking a sip of his tea and twirling the lone diamond ring on your finger before letting you go.

From the way you could feel his eyes burning into you when you climbed back into bed, your own breakfast in your hands, you thought maybe he’d caught on to something. That maybe he’d figured something was up to warrant a rare ‘breakfast in bed’.

“I just woke up earlier than usual, couldn’t wait for you to wake up.” Was all you said, hoping it’d suffice for now.

He nodded again, this time taking a bite of his toast, “How come you woke up early?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. You knew avoiding eye contact would be suspicious but if it was even more intense he’d definitely know something was up, “Just did.”

His chewing seemed to slow, and he furrowed his brows, “Are you feeling okay?”

You swallowed, anxiety levels slowly beginning to creep up, “Yeah, why?”

“You look flustered, is all.”

You pulled a face, “In what way?”

“I don’t know, you just—Are you not telling me something?” He was nervous now, his eyes wider than usual as he washed down his toast with a gulp of tea.

You held your breath as he did so, expecting him to look inside the mug but he stubbornly kept his eyes on you, assessing every square inch of your face like the apparent secret he was accusing you of was written there.

“Did you break something?” He brought the mug to rest on top of the covers on his lap, his spare hand playing apprehensively with his bottom lip.

You couldn’t help it when you laughed at him, “No.”

He still didn’t look convinced, and you found his confusion adorably endearing in that moment.

Until your phone dinged on your bedside table. Then, his expression narrowed, a hint of a smile curling at his mouth as you blatantly ignored it.

“Don’t you want to know who’s messaging you at nine on a Sunday morning?” He teased, placing his mug on his bedside table as he scooted further into the middle of the bed, purposefully crowding into your space.

You hid your face in your mug, tapping your fingers against the porcelain and attempting to hide the smile that had suddenly appeared on your face as he not-so-subtly manoeuvred his arm over your shoulder. There was a scuffle of fingertips against the surface of the table, and you saw him frown out of the corner of your eye, scruff just grazing your forehead as he looked over your head, successfully snatching up your phone.

He made no move to look at the home screen notification, instead just picking it up and planting it on your lap without a care.

You rolled your eyes, faking a dramatic sigh at his insisting, “I already know who’s texting me.”

At that he stalled, head tilting as he used the hand on your shoulder to tangle and play with your hair, “Who?”

You blinked, giving in and picking up your phone, ignoring his watchful eyes, “Kacey.”

“Kacey?” He echoed, “My Kacey?”

“Yeah.” You placed your mug and plate on the table, giving your phone your full attention.

“Why is Kacey texting you?” He rested his chin on your shoulder, breath fanning softly across your neck in a huff as you switched your phone off, not allowing him to read the messages, which – even taken out of context – were rather incriminating.

“Because we’re friends.” You shut your eyes to avoid being poked in the face by your own hair as he purposefully raked it over your face as he removed his hand from your shoulder.

“Obviously,” he drawled, rolling his eyes, “But you’re being weird.”

You sighed, throwing your phone to the end of the bed and giving him your full attention.

He’d caught on already, before either of you had even finished breakfast. It was earlier than you’d initially planned for, but with the kicked puppy/borderline worried expression on his face as he fiddled with his ring and waited for you to ease his mind, you felt yourself soften.

“Is it about the hospital thing?” He murmured, pursing his lips as though to brace himself for something bad.

His head was hung, but he was still looking at you, “Yes.” You held his hand, stopping the alarmed expression that had instantly taken hold of him, “But it’s nothing bad, I swear. I’m gonna get you something, but can you drink some more tea?”

You neglected to throw him a reassuring look, too focused on the task at hand, but bargained on the fact that he’d drink the tea like before: his eyes carefully trained on you as he took a few gulps to ease his nerves.

Your fingers caught the edge of the card, pulling it out of the drawer and slamming it shut to turn and face a severely anxious Tyson. His jaw was clenched and his fingers were tapping on the mug you’d given him.

When you produced the envelope, however, the tension in his jaw seemed to slacken, the unease melting into uncertainty – it only seemed to magnify when you, with shaking hands, passed it to him.

He swallowed, the curve of his neck bobbing slightly, “It’s got my name on it.”

Your lip caught between your teeth for a moment (you absolutely tried to quell the rising agitation within yourself watching him, but it was partly a losing game), other hand offering to take the tea from his hand.

He took the card from you gently, gladly letting you take his almost empty mug (you drank the rest of it, able to see the writing at the bottom), and held your breath in anticipation.

He untucked the lip of the envelope, gently sliding the card out.

You’d put it backwards, the front design hidden from his eyes unless he turned it over, and waited. Your eyes briefly flickered to his shirtless chest. He was breathing a little heavier than usual, predictably from the nerves because you’d left him in the dark about something important, and you knew if you placed your palm over his chest his heart would be hammering.

He went to turn the card over, but stopped, his brown eyes flickering to you, “Why am I scared?”

You smiled, patience wearing thin, “Just turn it over.”

He inhaled deeply, flicking the card over.

He blinked.

The card you’d picked was pretty simple – on the front there was one acronym: DILF. It wasn’t in large letters either, about 96% of the entire front was blank, and there was a single full stop at the end.

The message was pretty clear, you thought, but after about ten seconds of Tyson’s silence, his mouth repeating the word over and over, a slight crease on his forehead, perhaps from either denial or confusion, you’d concluded that he wasn’t completely grasping the message.

You remained quiet, heart hammering almost painfully against your ribs.

“DILF.” He muttered, opening the card, mouth parting in shock at the slip of paper that fell out onto his lap.

He made a move to pick up the paper, sending you a glance that had you thinking maybe he’d got a brief idea of what you were intending, but not let himself get too hopeful until he was properly sure.

Sure as if it came from your mouth, or sure as in a copy of your blood test results from two days ago in his hand with the words ‘pregnant’ scribbled on the receipt in your handwriting.

He froze, tensing on the bed. He seemed to blink a few times, before inhaling sharply, arms lip at his side and head swung in your direction, “I’m pregnant?” He breathed shakily, and you bit back a soft smile at the tears already glistening on his lash line and a slight quiver in his chin.

And at his muddled words you breathed a laugh, but before you could even move to confirm his accusation, he was shaking his head, “I mean, y…you’re pregnant?”

You felt your own eyes prick, “Yeah.” You sniffled, curling into the pillow under your head from where you’d sunk back under the duvet when you’d given him the card.

You showed him the mug, and like a snapped elastic band, as soon as he read the words imprinted there, dropped the receipt onto his lap and covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking. Your reaction was delayed in itself – you’d expected him to be a little emotional given how excited he’d been at the mere thought of being a dad, but not to the uncontrollable sobbing extent.

After you put the mug back down on the side of the bed, you wasted no time in positioning yourself on his lap, gently taking a hold of his wrists and pulling them away from his face. His eyes were rimmed red and a little puffy, cheeks wet with tears, but he wasn’t frowning. There was a wobbly smile on his face that seemed to twitch every now and again and when you wiped his cheeks dry, unable to suppress your own grin, he seemed to calm down.

He wasn’t hiccupping anymore, but his breathing was a little heavy and his cheeks rosy.

“I’m glad I didn’t tell you when you were standing up.” You teased, brushing his hair back with your hand.

“Me too.” He sniffled, looking up at you through damp lashes and a watery gaze.

“Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that.”

You tilted your head adoringly, “I’m not the one currently crying.”

He nodded, agreeing, “We’re really lucky. Some people wait years to get here, or for some people it just doesn’t happen, and I’m just so grateful, I…” he trailed off, eyes looking straight up at the ceiling to blink away a fresh bout of tears.

“It’s okay to cry.” You mumbled, sliding your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a tight hug as he sniffled again, his hands on your lower back, pressing you into him as close as he could. His uneven breaths tickled your neck, and one of your arms draped across his back, tracing lines against his skin in the soothing manner he likes.

After a couple of minutes, breathing back to normal and tears at bay, he pulled back, a question on his lips as, once more, you wiped away his tears, “When did you find out?”

You were so fucking in love with this man. Gone. Ruined. Whatever.

Before you could even consider answering, he pushed himself further down the headboard, taking you with him as he placed his head on his pillow, pulling the duvet over your bodies and enveloping you both in a cocoon of warmth entirely too hot for mid-June.

“It was actually when I was in the hospital the other day. The hormones changes from the pregnancy made me faint, but it wasn’t until the bloodwork came back that I found out.” He nodded, rolling you onto your side to look at you easier. His hand came up to the joint of your hip, rubbing back and forth as he listened intently.

“What was your reaction?”

“I didn’t really have one until I saw you walk in to pick me up.”

His brows quirked up at that, mouth curling into a smug smile, “That’s pretty romantic.”

You rolled your eyes, “You were fine with this,” you motioned between you both, “until you looked at me, and then you also cried – twice – so you can’t even think about–”

He silenced you with a sweet kiss, scruff tickling your chin, “I love you so much.”

“I know.”

He rolled his eyes, “Can the fainting thing happen again, or was it just a one time thing?”

You shrugged, as much as you could given the close quarters you were both in, “Guess we’ll have to ask them tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“The ‘follow-up appointment’ is actually a dating scan to see how far along we are.”

At this he breathed a laugh, “We have too much sex–”

“No such thing.” You denied, shaking your head vehemently, “It’s not my fault you look so gorgeous all the damn time–”

“Baby,” he groaned, it melting into a soft laugh, “you should look in the fucking mirror–”

“This flirting is exactly why we’re in this situation in the first place.”

“I can’t help it though.”

You briefly turned around, fingers finding your phone by the side of your bed, “You’re gonna have to because you need to call Kacey and tell her you blubbered like a fucking baby–”

“Hey–”

“She wanted to put $20 on it–”

“You bet on me crying?”

“No, she wanted to but…” you winced, “I agreed, so.”

“You’re supposed to side with me–”

“I’m making you a Dad, just remember that.”

He blinked, pursing his lips to prevent himself from laughing at your deadpan tone. You were both joking, but at your last comment, a silence seemed to stretch between you, both of you really absorbing the truth to your words.

Tyson’s eyes seemed to soften, looking at you like a man most definitely in love, and he made a noise that seemed to come from the back of his throat, “We’re gonna be parents.” He grinned, almost wistfully, “I…”

“I know.” You passed him the phone, Kacey’s contact already lined up for him, “It doesn’t feel real.”

He shook his head, kissing you once more and taking the phone out of your hand.

It barely took five seconds before Kacey’s excited voice burst through the phone.

#tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost oneshot #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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butgilinsky · 1 year ago

Text

i should’ve fought harder | tj

warning; language, mentions of drinking, mentions of violence (its hockey babe)

summary; What happens when you both find out that your messy breakup was the biggest mistake of all?

word count; 5k+

this is for @typical-simplelove as a part of @wyattjohnston summer fic exchange💓i hope you enjoy it bb

You’d be lying if you said you cut him off entirely after that night. It was nearly impossible to cut him out of your life after all you’d gone through together. Sure, it only spanned over a year in all actuality, but it felt like you had spent an entire lifetime by his side. Now you were expected to do a complete 180 and pretend like none of that ever happened? It didn’t feel possible.

You’d also be lying if you said you wanted to cut him out of your life. You weren’t the one that wanted to end things in the first place. You tried to work through all of your differences, tried to work through the different lives the two of you led. You tried everything you could possibly think of, but none of it was enough to save the life you’d built with Tyson.

It also didn’t help that you had heavily intertwined your lives before breaking things off. You were one of the first things that grounded him in New York. Too many nights were spent with him expressing gratitude for your presence helping him adjust. Despite your many reminders that he had friends on the island and in the city, his appreciation was always given to you.

You still got questions about him, despite all of your friends knowing that you weren’t together anymore. It didn’t matter that the break up was messy, nothing was enough to get people to stop asking. It probably didn’t help that you still hung out with mutual friends.

He experienced the same thing to a certain degree. It was a weak spot for him. His teammates only used it as fuel when he was having an off day. He'd never admit it, but it was the one thing that really set him off when he was on the ice.

He was always able to step away from his personal life when he was on the ice. He used to be the best at it, but with the newfound ammo, there was something that would set off Tyson Jost every single time.

It's not like he advertised it, telling every other team in the league that the only thing they had to do to rile him up was mention your name. Once one person caught on, it felt like every hockey player in North America knew about the boy’s soft spot.

He'd gotten into two fights this week alone, which wasn’t like him. It might have been more than two if Jeff hadn’t been there to talk him down from the ledge on more than one occasion.

He didn’t know you still watched his games. In fact, he thought you’d rather drop dead than show up to another hockey game. He didn’t know that you’d asked Jeff to get you into the first few games after the breakup, since you’d sworn the winger to secrecy each time he helped you.

Eventually you resorted to watching their games in your living room, wrapped in the last sweatshirt he left at your apartment, a bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table at the ready. You didn’t even bother to pull out a glass.

The first fight, although confusing, was written off by you initially. He played hockey, fighting was practically inevitable. It wasn’t a part of his game usually, he wasn’t the most violent player, especially in New York. The second fight of the week, however, raised some concern in your chest.

Jeff had texted you after both games, assuring you he was okay and that the game just got the better of him. You weren’t sure it was true but appreciated the sentiment anyways. Tyson had been on edge for weeks, but Jeff wasn’t going to tell you that. He didn’t think it would do either of you any good.

Then there was the night that he was on the end of a nasty hit, one that had him hunched over on the ice for longer than anyone wished he’d been, gripping onto both sides of his head after violently ripping off his helmet.

You were at work, hand over your mouth as you stood at the bar, frozen in place. There was a tray of drinks sitting in front of you, getting warmer with every passing second, but you couldn’t move.

“Y/n.” Reyna, your best friend at work, gripped your elbow gently to tear your focus away from the screen. “I'll take these. You go check your phone.”

You mumbled the table number to her quickly before flying to the back room, fishing your phone out of your bag quickly and trying to think about how to go about this.

You couldn’t call him. He'd be confused at best. He probably wouldn’t answer. You couldn’t call Jeff, he was still on the ice. In fact, every other person you thought of calling was out on the ice. Even Mat was in the middle of a game. You’d have to wait for intermission.

So you texted Jeff, knowing you wouldn’t get a response quick enough, but figuring it was better than any other option you had.

i’m at work, but i saw the hit. just please tell me he’s okay.

You had to go back out and clear the rest of your tables. It weighed heavily on your chest for the rest of your shift. Two more grueling hours had passed by, and when Tyson never came back out onto the ice, you knew something was wrong.

You lunged for your phone after clocking out, ripping it out of your bag and fumbling to punch in your passcode.

minor concussion, massive migraine. he’ll be alright, but he’s out for a few weeks.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily both out of relief and in slight distress.

You remembered a time where you’d spend nights running your fingers through his hair gently, massaging and softly scratching at his scalp to soothe his migraines. You’d sit in the dark for hours, barely even speaking while soft music filled the room.

His head would sit in your lap or on your chest, your nails running up and down the span of his back. Then there were the days where he was so sore he could barely move. You’d spend hours rubbing out knots from his muscles and doing anything you could think of to help him relax.

You couldn’t do any of that anymore. It wasn’t your job anymore.

You thought it would get easier. You thought that it would get worse before it got better, but as weeks turned into months, you began to realize that things may never get better. You couldn’t let go of him.

His words would replay over and over again in your mind, a loop that had no ending, it seemed.

“I’m tired of fighting, Tys.” you sighed, your shoulders slumping as you watched him lean back into the couch.

“Maybe if you didn’t stick your nose in my business all the time, we wouldn’t have to fight.” He lifted the hat off of his head and ran his fingers through his hair, not missing the way your eyes followed his hand before he placed the hat back onto his head.

“I'm sticking my nose in your business? You haven’t spoken to me in almost three weeks!” your voice raised again, earning a guttural groan for the boy as he rose to his feet, standing just above you.

“Talking to you is exhausting sometimes.” His voice was calmer than yours, and he didn’t have the same wall of tears built up in his eyes that you did. He was angry at you for whatever reason and your heart was breaking. This might be the final nail in the coffin of your relationship.

Your bottom lip wobbled as you looked down at your feet, feeling him brush past you as he headed towards his bedroom. There wasn’t a single touch or glance as he hurried by.

“I don't think this is working out.” you shook your head, sniffling in an attempt to suppress the tears that threatened to spill over.

“You don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do. What don’t you understand, Y/n? I don't want to be with you anymore. I don't want to deal with this shit anymore.” The venom dripping from his voice was hard to shake off. He never sounded like that with you. Disbelief flooded your senses as you stared at a boy you weren’t even sure you recognized anymore. “Just go, y/n.”

“Tyson, please-”

“Just get the fuck out, y/n!”

It seemed like a bad dream every time it replayed in your mind. The way he slammed the door shut behind you. The way he waited two weeks to call you, only in search of a sense of comfort that he knew you’d be willing to give him.

You ended up in Tyson’s bed three times after that, each one breaking your heart even further as you neared the realization that he wasn’t going to change his mind. It was a hard pill to swallow, and the void was still a large hole in your chest, but you had come to the understanding that you and Tyson needed to be separated in order to get through this.

He returned back to the ice as soon as he was cleared to play, throwing himself into it more than he ever had before. He barely talked to anyone outside of the team, and people were running out of ways to reach out to him.

The first time the two of you ended up in the same room together was completely accidental. Tyson had made sure he didn’t end up at your restaurant on nights out, always too scared that you’d be working the same night. even on days he knew you never worked, he didn't risk it.

You let your friends pick the bar that night, which seemed to be a mistake now. You should’ve just picked one. You would’ve picked one you knew he never went to. But as your luck ran out, you found yourself pressed against the bar, flagging down the bartender when a hand landed on your back.

You turned over your shoulder, not being able to stop the wide grin that spread across your lips. You threw your arms around Mat’s neck, hugging him tightly and listening to him chuckle beside your ear.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” Though you hadn’t seen him in a few months, you had heard from him just last week.

“I know.” You stopped yourself from scanning the bar over his shoulder and settled on letting your eyes settle on the boy in front of you.

Mat and Jeff were two of the only mutual friends you shared that still reached out. The rest of the sabres had taken obvious sides to “keep the peace”. Jeff knew you better than they had so it was difficult for him to cut you out. Especially when he knew how your brain worked when you were alone. He knew you needed some line of connection to Tys.

Mat’s situation was a little easier. Though New York wasn’t all that large, being on a different team made it easier for Mat to separate you from Tyson in his mind. It wasn’t often that he saw Tyson between their schedules, and he’d never stop pointing out the obvious.

Mat introduced the two of you when Tyson moved to Buffalo. He knew he needed good people around him after his hectic years since Colorado. You l didn’t live far from Tyson, and Mat’s raving review of your restaurant put the final stamp of approval on it all.

“You can ask, you know?” you shook your head, chewing on your bottom lip nervously.

“I don't need to ask, Jeff. I know he’s here, and I know that he probably knows that I'm here. It’s not like I can ban him from stepping foot into the same building as me.” Even if you wished you could. Your head snapping back to the bartender as he sets four cups on the counter in front of you.

You reached for your wallet just as your wrist was caught in Jeff’s grip. He told the bartender to put it on his tab that he had started not too long ago. You thanked him and he waved you off quickly.

“How is he?” Your curiosity got the best of you, seeing as you hadn’t spoken to Tyson in so long that you weren’t sure how he was truly doing off the ice.

“Awful.” Jeff offered you a sad smile, letting a heavy sigh pass his lips. “He fucked up, y/n. Maybe beyond repair, but he hasn’t been the same since the two of you split.”

You took a sip of your drink, hoping that the alcohol would wash away the nerves growing in your chest. You knew Tyson had at least some regret from the way things ended. You had drunk voicemails to prove it. That didn’t mean you were ready to jump back into something that ended the way it did. Part of you never believed it was entirely genuine.

“I have to go back to my table, but it was nice to see you, sunshine” he nodded, letting you wander off with one last smile.

You flung yourself into the empty seat at your table once you returned, throwing your head back against the wall as you let out a heavy sigh. It caught the attention of your friends, who were quick to ask what was wrong before you heard a gasp from beside you.

“Out of all the bars in the fucking city?” you nodded, following her line of sight only to be filled with instant regret.

He was laughing, a wide grin on his lips as his head tilted back ever so slightly. You felt your stomach twist, nausea mixing with nostalgia as you longed to hear the sound he was creating.

“Drink this.” you turned to your friends, head slightly foggy as you pulled yourself out of your current headspace.

You don’t know when they got shots, but you were quick to throw one back, and one more before Selena was gripping onto your hand and pulling you out of your chair.

You could barely hear the song, just feeling the bass in your hips that moved sensually. You laughed loudly at your friends around you, pressing themselves against you in an attempt to distract you. It had been slightly successful and you almost forgot about the boy’s presence at the bar.

You hadn’t thought much of it as you told your friends you’d be back after a bathroom break. They stayed in the middle of the crowd, though they did keep their eyes on you as you slipped into the hallway with the bathrooms.

When you walked out, wiping the excess water off onto your jeans, you almost ran right into someone, eye level with their chest as you almost sputtered out an apology.

Almost.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, right in front of you for the first time in months. He clearly didn’t know what to say anymore than you did, because it took a minute for you to spit out a coherent thought.

“Hi.” you spoke softly, wanting nothing more than to kick yourself for being such an idiot.

“Hi.” his voice was just as soft, barely reaching your ears over the loud music.

You froze then, your mind void of all thoughts you previously had. You didn’t know what to say, and you didn’t know if you should say anything. You hadn’t spoken to him in months, what were you supposed to say now?

“Y/n, listen-”

“Y/n!” you turned to the sound of your name being called, eyes landing on selena who stood at the other end of the hallway with hands on her hips. “We ordered shots!”

Selena knew what she was doing, and you and Tyson both knew that. She wasn’t trying to be all that discrete, her eyes burning holes into the side of Tyson’s head as she silently tested him. She expected Tyson to try to fight back against her, fight to keep you in front of him for just a moment longer, but he didn’t.

You nodded, glancing at Tyson one last time before walking towards your friends and grabbing your savior’s outstretched hand. You squeezed it softly, thanking her for helping you once you were out of earshot.

You probably had three more shots before the boys saw you again. You were level headed enough to walk, but your filter had completely left you as you let your muscles finally relax.

Your night had taken a turn for the better until you felt an unfamiliar set of hands land on your hips, gripping you tighter than you wanted to be held. You turned over your shoulder, moving out of the grip of the man you were unfamiliar with.

“What's wrong, gorgeous?” you rolled your eyes, annoyed with the fact that he felt entitled to a reason why you didn’t want his hands on you.

“Don’t touch me.” you shouted over the music, turning back around towards your friends when you felt his hand back on you.

This time his hands were off of you before you had even moved, confusion flooding your system as you turned around. You were drained of any intoxication you currently felt as you jumped to pull Tyson back, not wanting him to get caught in a bar fight just after he returned to the league.

“Tys, stop.” you moved in front of him, your hands flat on his chest to keep him away from the other guy. His nostrils flared in anger, his eyes not even looking down at you as he looked over you to glare harshly at the guy behind you.

“You can’t get into a fight right now. You just made it back to the league.” his eyes snapped down to you then, his face draining of any anger he previously felt as a soft smirk inched up his lips.

“You’re keeping tabs on me?” you rolled your eyes then, huffing in newfound annoyance as you dropped your hands from their place on his chest.

You took a step towards your table, only to be pulled into a familiar pair of arms. you avoided his eyes until he brought a hand underneath your chin, tilting your head back far enough to look up at him.

“Come home with me.” you sighed softly, eyes fluttering shut when his hand moved from your chin to your cheek.

He smiled when you leaned into his palm, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of his hand before looking back at him. The phrase of denial sat on the tip of your tongue, threatening to fall past your lips despite you wanting to give in more than anything.

You looked over his shoulder, catching sight of your friends who had different expressions adorning their faces. Selena clicked her tongue in disapproval, shaking her head gently at you and watching your shoulders slump in defeat.

“I can't.” you pulled his hand away from your face slowly before walking past him, towards your friends but not stopping to address them.

You gathered your things from your table and grabbed your card from the bar before walking out of the bar, leaving your friends and Tyson back in the bar behind you.

You shouldn’t have been all that surprised when he ended up in your restaurant just a week after that, letting profanities slip underneath your breath when Reyna gave you the heads up that they were in your section.

She offered to take their table, but you told her you had it under control. Besides, it’s not like he came alone.

You couldn’t help but smile when they clapped at the sight of you. The loud interruption wasn’t all that surprising for the tables around them, given that it was a sports bar in New York. There were always people screaming and clapping from tables.

Tyson sat in the aisle seat, which you noticed within seconds of seeing their table. Jeff sat beside him, offering a warm smile when you finally reached the table. Mat and Anthony sat across from them, and you noticed another table of hockey players just beside them, another table in your section.

“What did I do to land all of you guys in my section?” Your smile was refreshing for Tyson to see.

He hadn’t been able to get you off his mind for the past however many months, but the last week was brutal. After having you right in front of him, leaning into him like you used to do, he knew there was no going back. Any progress he made, which wasn’t much, was lost the second you pressed a feather soft kiss against his hand.

“We asked for you.” Owen beamed at you from the next booth over, hissing out in pain when Jeff reached over the back of his booth and hit the back of his head.

“You weren’t supposed to tell her that, idiot.” you laughed at the interaction between the boys before your head fell to the side.

“Can I get you drinks?” they all fired numerous drink orders at you, but you took mental note of them before smiling warmly and telling them you’d be back in a minute.

You tended to your other tables as well as theirs, bringing everyone drinks quickly before you stood in front of their table with a pen and a notepad, writing down their orders with ease.

When your eyes landed on Tyson, a corner of your mouth curled up gently.

“Same thing?” he nodded, smiling when you scribbled his order down from memory.

You didn’t notice that every time you’d check on them, you’d set a hand on Tyson's shoulder, the other resting on your hip as you looked over the eight of them. It was usually quick, but Tyson felt a fire underneath his skin every single time.

You had expected him to ask something similar to what he asked you the week before. It shocked you to find two empty tables, multiple checks left on the table with various different messages written across them.

The only thing he left you with was an uneven heart at the bottom and a tip that had your eyes practically popping out of your skull. It was something he jokingly did when you were dating, but that was then, and this was now.

In theory, you should’ve probably called him. You should’ve reached out, even if it was just to scold him about the tip that he left you. He was hoping you’d call, checking his phone every five minutes for the rest of the night while his leg bounced in anticipation, but you never did.

He was disappointed, but he thought that was selfish of him. You didn’t owe him a phone call. He'd broken up with you, after all, and you were the one that made this entire process easier than it should’ve been.

You should’ve screamed, should’ve pushed him away after all he’d put you through. The two of you had ups and downs, riding an emotional roller coaster all the way to the end. but you couldn’t push Tyson away. You couldn’t cut him out even if that had been what you wanted.

You couldn’t get rid of him, and you didn’t want to.

Jeff had practically choked on his drink when you told him you planned on coming to their next home game. He had to drop his phone into his lap in order to finish coughing up a lung, assuring his teammates he was fine and the liquid had just gone down the wrong pipe.

Tyson gave him a hesitant look, not exactly believing that nothing had triggered Jeff’s coughing fit, but didn’t push the subject. If Jeff wanted to keep things from him, he would. There was no breaking that boy once he told himself he’d keep a secret.

Tyson had no idea you were sitting in the crowd. You were a few rows away from the glass, the jersey you’d usually wear still stuffed in the back of your closet. The hoodie you wore, however, did have the familiar logo on the front of it, with the same name and number that you used to wear every other night draped across your back.

It wasn't until he had scored a goal with two minutes left in third period, screaming at the top of his lungs and skating around the back of the net that he saw you. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes locked on you even while his teammates tackled him with massive hugs.

Jeff turned to follow his line of sight, smiling widely and waving at you. you waved back, watching Tyson turn towards Jeff and mumble something before the shorter boy shrugged, laughing when Tyson shoved him playfully.

He turned back to you, eyes filled with a slew of emotions you weren’t able to unpack in the short moment. His lips moved, mouthing a desperate ‘please don’t leave’. You nodded, assuring him you’d stay put after the last buzzer filled the arena.

You kept good on your promise, staying in your seat even as the people around you filed out of the arena. you expected to wait for a while, given that he’d no doubt have to do a media run before he’d be given the chance to shower and change, so you were surprised when he came barreling down the stairs not even twenty minutes later.

You laughed gently when he almost flew right past you, his momentum making it difficult for him to stop on the right row of seats. He watched you stand up and make the short distance over to him, his jaw dropped and mind reeling too fast to form a coherent thought.

“Hi.” you spoke first, seeing the mental roadblock he was currently facing.

He didn’t know why talking to you right now was so difficult. He has just spoken to you two weeks ago, sitting in your restaurant for hours, and that didn’t seem as daunting as this did. maybe it was because you were wearing his name across your back. maybe it was because this is the first game he’d seen you in months.

Maybe it was because he was still head over heels in love with you.

“Hi.” it came out in a breath, almost like he couldn’t believe that he finally got a single syllable past his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Skinner.” you shrugged your shoulders, waiting for a second before a wide grin spread across your lips, a similar one finding a home on Tyson’s.

“I thought I’d never see you in here again.” it shouldn’t have knocked the wind out of you, shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.

“Well, here I am.” he nodded, unsure of where to go from here. He didn’t know what this meant, but he was desperate to find out. “Tys-”

“I’m so fucking sorry. About everything I ever said or did that crossed the line. I'm sorry I wasn't the boyfriend you needed me to be, and that I didn't love you hard enough when things went to shit. I’m sorry I fucked it all up, because I swore U wasn’t going to. I told you I was going to be there for you even when it seemed impossible, and I didn't follow through with that and i’m sorry.

“Not a single day passes by that I don't think about you, that I don't miss you. I love you with everything I have and I should've shown you that when we were together, but I didn't. I don’t know how to make up for all of that time, but I need you to know how fucking sorry I am.”

He barely even realized he was rambling, shooting off at the mouth too fast to think about what he was saying. He missed the smile inching up your lips as you listened, letting him get everything off of his chest.

“I should’ve fought harder. I shouldn't have let hockey get in the way of it all. We both had our own shit we were dealing with and instead of trying to help each other through it, I thought isolating myself and shutting you out would make it easier. I was an idiot, y/n, and I know that’s no excuse, but-”

Your hands reached for his head, holding it between your palms and bringing him down to meet you halfway. His lips felt familiar, a sliver of home that you had been missing for months. The rhythm came naturally, moving against each other like you had never been apart to begin with.

You were both slightly out of breath by the time you pulled back, foreheads resting against one another as you both smiled like idiots.

“I love you. I always have, and I always will.” you whispered softly, leaning up to place one more kiss to his lips. This one was softer and shorter, but it was enough to have Tyson’s heart beating at a mile a minute.

“I don’t think I'll ever be able to love another person the way I love you.”

You tilted your head back, just enough to disconnect your foreheads so you could look up at him properly. Your thumb ran across the skin of his cheek, and he leaned into your hand just like you had done at the bar. His lips were soft as they pressed to the pad of your thumb, sending a jolt of electricity down your hand and through your arm.

“Take me home.” you whispered softly, watching his lips turn up in a smile wider than one he’d ever worn before.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want me to.”

#tyson jost #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #buffalo sabres #tyson jost x reader #summer fic exchange 2k23

217 notes · View notes

withwritersblock · 9 months ago

Text

Say, Isn't it Strange pt. 1

~Strange by Celeste~

Part 2

Author's note: I've always wanted to write something to this song :) It's just so beautiful. Warnings: Swearing, implied smut, :) Word Count: 8,136 Cale Makar x fm!reader | Tyson Jost x fm!reader

Say, Isn’t it strange?

January 26, 2022

It was well past midnight when the group of hockey players entered the bar. It wasn’t just a handful of players, it was the entire roster. Each player was wearing their formal attire they wore before games as they loudly made their way throughout the bar. Sydney beside her stood up from her seat in the booth table they were sitting at. She walked towards JT, who had a wide smile on his lips once he saw her. She followed towards the bartop, gladly to get another drink.

Y/N stayed in her spot still nursing the cocktail in front of her. Her fingertips grazed the glass as she observed the crowd of professional hockey players waiting for their drinks. Being Sydney’s best friend came with a lot of wives and girlfriends rituals; despite not being involved with any of the players on the team. She was still invited to the suit and to the pre and post game events. Sydney always dragged her along, which could be exhausting when everyone is happily in love around her.

Sydney and JT saunter over to the booth together with Cale and Tyson close behind. She’s hung out a lot with Tyson as he and JT are best friends. Sydney even tried setting the pair up but they lacked the romantic chemistry. Which makes them great friends instead. Cale was someone who she hadn’t had any conversations with despite him being a part of the team for a few years now. Cale was always quiet, keeping his train of thought to himself.

Which is why it surprised her to see him with JT and Tyson and willing to socialize. Y/N looked up towards the four of them squeezing into the four person booth that Y/N was already sitting in. Cale pulled a chair from another table, realizing it wasn’t going to work very quickly. Tyson squeezed closely beside Y/N and fist bumped her before engaging in conversation with the boys again.

Y/N took another long sip of her drink while keeping her head low, “What’s wrong?” JT asked Y/N, interrupting a joke Tyson was saying. She blinked a few times before meeting his gaze, she nodded.

“Yeah, just thinking about how I’m out drinking on a Wednesday when I have to teach a bunch of teenagers tomorrow at eight in the morning,” she said while smirking. JT chuckled, “Maybe we’ll have a movie day,” she let out while raising her glass and taking a long sip.

“Caler, Y/N here teaches high school English,” Tyson said while slapping his hand against Cale’s arm. “Can you imagine having someone that hot as your teacher?” he asked while huffing out a breath of air. Cale raised his eyebrows while nodding, his cheeks flushing in the process.

Y/N smacked him against his arm, “Will you stop,” she muttered before drinking the rest of her drink. “Move it,” she shoved him slightly as she needed to get out of the booth for another drink. Tyson chuckled as he stood up from the booth, keeping his beer in his hand. Cale stood up from his chair, already finished with the beer that was on the table.

“I’ll join ya,” he mumbled, following behind her towards the bartop. They reach the bartop that has slowly dissipated as the players dispersed into their usual groups. The bartender was talking on the phone while writing on a small notepad. She smiled towards him as she tapped her fingers against the top of the bar.

“I’m Y/N, I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken before,” she let out while tilting her body to face him. He smirked as he leaned his body against his elbow on the counter.

“Cale,” he mumbled with a smile. “How long have you and Josty been together?” he asked, striking up a conversation. Her eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. She shook her head.

“Josty? Yeah, no we’re not together,” she explained.

Looking towards her suspiciously, he asked, “I just thought that him calling you hot so casually meant you guys were together.” he chuckled before continuing, “-And the fact that you guys are always together.”

She sighed, “We tried dating, but there was no-” she lingered as she tilted her head back and forth deciding the right word, “There was no chemistry,” she trailed off as she looked into his blue eyes. He let out a sudden laugh while leaning forward.

Isn’t it strange?

I am still me

You are still you

She sat at her desk sifting through papers as her students started piling into the classroom. Her first period was always the most talkative of the day. She never complained as it was always a good way to wake up in the morning.

“Did you watch the Avs last night?” her student, Logan, asked her other student, Harry. They both walked into the room and sat down in their assigned seats beside each other.

“It was insane,” Harry replied while shaking his head, “Yo Ms. Y/L/N, did you watch it?” Harry asked Y/N. She lifted her head from her desk and smiled towards the boys before looking back down at the graded essays in her hand. She was there with Sydney in one of the suites watching the game.

“I was actually at the game last night,” she said while pulling out their essays. She stood up from the desk and walked towards the pair. Their eyes widened as they stared towards her.

“No way, you’re lying,” Logan said while leaning back into his chair tapping his pencil on the desk. She dropped the essays on their desk, shifting her gaze towards the large friend group walking into her class. It was nice to see that the majority of her class was friends, which made her life a lot easier. “Trey, Ms. Y/L/N was at the game last night.”

“Shut up, seriously!” Trey replied as he sat in his corner seat by himself.

Y/N chuckled while she walked towards her desk to take the stack of essays and walked around the classroom dropping the papers face down on all of their desks. “I’m allowed to do things other than be a teacher, you know,” she let out while laughing.

“So you saw Cale Makar’s goal in person?” Noah asked as he took a hold of his paper, glancing at it before he dropped it back on his desk.

Y/N tried to stop the chuckle rising in her throat as she recalled her events of the night before. Said famous Cale Makar and herself talking all night like they’ve been friends for years. Or the fact that JT Compher drove her home from the bar. It was a fun secret.

“I did,” she mumbled as she walked back towards her desk, glancing at her watch.

“Did you take pictures? Can I see?” Logan asked, standing up from her desk. Y/N turned around furrowing her eyebrows while shaking her head. A laugh leaving her lips. She did take pictures, many of which were with the wives and girlfriends of the players. As well as with the players themselves. Tyson stole her phone and took many pictures together. She had yet to delete the hundred he took.

“Logan, sit down,” she said while laughing.

“Come on, Ms. Y/L/N, Makar is the best player in the league right now,” Logan begged at the foot of her desk.

The bell to signal that class was about to start rang as the last few of her students walked into the classroom. Slightly out of breath.

Lifting her head, she met the gaze of the boy and shook her head, “Sit and maybe I’ll show you in a bit,” she said while laughing. The memory of Cale and how he bought her many drinks last night; for the amount of times they had hung out without actually speaking.

Logan groaned before he walked back to his seat. The final bell rang as he sat down.

“Good morning, I’ve returned your essays with very detailed suggestions on things to change and edit. Please spend this period working on changing the things you need to change. Once you’ve finished doing that, print them out and turn them into me by class on Monday.” she explained, shifting her gaze towards the students who all had eyes on their papers. “What movie do you guys want to watch in the background?” Y/N asked as the projector was slowly starting to turn on. Many eyes widened at the mention of a movie.

In the same place

February 11, 2022

She leaned back on the couch, leaving the essays on the coffee table. The words were starting to blend together as she has been grading for the last three hours.

Suddenly, her phone started ringing beside her, Sydney was calling her. She smiled softly before pulling the phone against her ear. “Syd,” she said simply.

“Y/N! It is Friday night and you are alone in your apartment,” Sydney said, slurring her words slightly. It was past ten at night. Y/N chuckled while shutting her eyes.

“Yes, very lonely. What can I do for you?” she sarcastically asked Sydney while running her hand across her forehead. Her eyes danced around her apartment, it was dark beside the small lap beside her. She shook her hand and clenched it and unclenched it multiple times.

“Come to Josty’s,” she begged.

“I promised my kids their grades would be submitted by Sunday. I’ve got like forty papers left.”

“Booo, come over, we’ll order that nasty pizza you like too,” she continued to beg. Y/N took a deep breath in before standing up from the couch and wandering towards her room to get ready.

“Fine, give me like an hour,” she mumbled while she hung up the phone. Tyson lived in the same apartment building as she did.

She walked into her bedroom staring at the mess. Her job has kept her busy over the course of the few days. It was nearly impossible to get her life back together. She walked towards her closet and pulled out a pair of light wash jeans and a black t-shirt.

She quickly changed before she walked towards her vanity. It didn’t take long to freshen up her appearance. A simple makeup look that turned into a full face of makeup without realizing it. She sighed while adjusting her hair before standing up from her vanity chair.

The walk towards Tyson’s apartment was quick as it was only two floors below hers.

Without announcing herself, she walked into the apartment. Expecting to see Tyson, JT, and Sydney only. But to her surprise it was full of the team. She could only assume they were celebrating something but her mind was drawing a blank. Her eyes widened as she looked at all of their faces, each of them greeting her as she walked through the apartment. Sydney’s eyes widened as she walked towards Y/N.

“Y/L/N!” Tyson shouted from the kitchen area. He had his armed wrapped around a blonde girl who she’s met a few times. Her name drawing a blank on her mind. She gave them a small wave while walking deeper into the apartment.

“Sydney, I thought it was just going to be a few people,” Y/N said while walking towards Sydney and JT. She stared towards her while shaking her head. Y/N sighed while mentally preparing to socalize. A task she was not hoping to do tonight.

“Oh it’s fun, enjoy yourself,” Sydney said while hugging her before following JT. Leaving Y/N alone in the center of the party. A sigh left her lips.

Her eyes scanned the living room, seeing the wives and girlfriends hanging around their players while they were all talking to each other laughing. It was surprising to see each player in the apartment, there were always a handful that avoided any team building. Tyson was leaning against the countertop talking with Logan and Kendra. She watched him loudly laugh at something Logan said.

Her eyes landed on Cale who was sitting alone while scrolling on his phone. A plain white t-shirt and black shorts covering his body.

Isn’t it strange

How people can change

He was one of a few people who didn’t bring a date to the party. Without someone by his side, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Pretty much how Y/N feels all of the time as she’s just friends with JT and Tyson. It was always awkward to explain why she was invited to some of the events as she was always deemed to be an outsider.

She walked towards him and sat down beside him on the small loveseat. He lifted his gaze and smiled towards her as he dropped his phone in his lap. She leaned her head back against the loveseat while looking towards him. “Not having fun?” he asked.

Shrugging, “I just got here, didn’t realize it was a team thing,” she mumbled while she looked into his soft eyes. He nodded, his gaze searching her features. Taking note of the makeup to her features.

“I’m surprised everyone came. Normally when Josty’s hosting it’s just OC, JT, Newy, and I that show up.” he said, a small chuckle leaving his throat. His cheeks shaded to red. “He buys the cheap stuff, that’s why,” he mumbled as he leaned closer to her, showing her the budlight in his hand. Y/N laughed while looking away from him. Her eyes admired the couples throughout the apartment.

Sydney and JT were standing against the wall, talking to each other as Alex and his girlfriend were talking to them. The four of them have gotten close as the season progressed.

Mikko and his girlfriend stood next to EJ and his girlfriend as they were laughing at something Mikko said.

The rest of the apartment was full to the brim with couples excitedly chatting and being lovey-dovey with one another. She dropped her gaze to her lap.

It was hard not to feel a pit of jealousy as she surveyed the scene. “My students were raving about you the other day,” she mumbled, turning to face him. A shy smile formed to his lips as he dropped his head.

“Oh yeah?” he let out. She nodded her head dramatically.

“They were obsessed with your goal against the Bruins,” she explained. His face reddened at the statement while he pulled his lips between his teeth. “They were even more shocked to find out I was there to witness Cale Makar in person,” she said with hand gestures, emphesising each word of his name. He laughed.

“I’m sure they'd be even more shocked to find out,” he paused for dramatic effect, “We’re sitting on the same couch,” he expressed, his tone laced with sarcasm. Their eyes remained connected as she shook her head while laughing.

“I think their heads would implode at the sight,” she teased as she looked deeply into his blue eyes. He nervously turned his gaze towards his lap as he licked his lips.

“So are a lot of your students Avs fans then?” he asked.

From strangers to friends

“So many, it’s hard to keep track. I’ve got this student, Logan, who’s committed to DU. I had them write this essay a few months back about their life goals. You know to get them used to writing in long form-that doesn’t matter.” she paused while pursing her lips forward, “He wrote about how he wants to play for the NHL and how you’ve been a big inspiration for him. He spent a whole page talking about how he tries to be like you,” she explained.

His eyes softened the more as she spoke, hearing her talk about him. He could tell the passion she had towards teaching and the students she had in her classes.

“Give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand. Her eyes furrowed as she stared towards him suspiciously.

He smirked as he ushered his hand towards her. She turned her phone on and handed it to him. “I want you to call me when you’re at school so the guys and I can talk to him.” he suggested as he began typing his information into her phone.

He opened her camera and took a quick selfie and made it his contact photo on her phone. Her eyebrows furrowed as a smirk crept on her lips. “In case you forget what I look like,” he mumbled as he handed her phone back to her. Rolling her eyes, she texted him a quick message so he could have her number.

“Like I could forget, your face is all over Denver right now,” she mumbled. He dropped his gaze to his lap, shyly.

“I wish it wasn’t,” he defended, chuckling softly.

“You’d actually speak to Logan?” she asked. He nodded while bringing his beer to his lips. “That’s amazing,” she mumbled as she reached over to him and gave him a quick hug. Standing up from her seat. She pointed towards the kitchen as she started walking towards it.

He stood up and quickly followed her towards the kitchen. They squeezed through the collection of players. “Y/N, you remember Ila?” Tyson said as he pointed towards the blonde that was hooked to his side. Y/N nodded towards her before she walked towards the fridge. Cale followed behind her.

“Want another one?” she asked, holding out the Budlight bottle. He held his hand out and she gladly handed it towards him. She pulled out a White Claw and opened it while shutting the fridge door behind her. She smiled towards Cale.

He popped open the drink before he took a long sip before he leaned against the counter waiting for her. His eyes scanned her frame before she walked towards him. His eyes met her eyes before he tilted his head towards Tyson, “Have you met that girl before?” Cale asked. Y/N looked towards Tyson and Ila curious how long it was going to last.

“She hung out with us a few times but she’s super quiet.” she explained as the pair approached the small group talking.

“It’s starting to get hard to keep track of which girls which,” he mumbled before they approached them. Y/N stifled a laugh while fighting off a smile.

“You look tired,” OC offered as Y/N approached, Kendra slapped his arm delicately. “What I meant to say-“ he gave Kendra a pointed look, “Josty was saying you were grading papers all day. He was begging for you to come hang out.”

Y/N glanced towards Tyson who was already looking towards her. Ila beside him was glaring towards him. “Yeah, I’m so tired of reading about the Great Gatsby in slightly different words,” she explained.

“Why’d you assign it then?” Tyson asked teasingly. Y/N rolled her eyes before she sipped her White Claw. Her eyes meet Cale’s in the process.

“If I could’ve assigned another book I would’ve,” she mumbled before she looked towards Ila who was glaring at Tyson still. “I’m going to go find a couch to sit on,” Y/N said as she raised her eyebrows. She delicately brushed past Cale.

Cale smiled towards the small group before he followed Y/N like a lost puppy throughout the crowded party. Y/N turned around to see Cale behind her, a smile formed to her lips. They sat down on the loveseat together both sipping their drinks.

“Don’t think she likes me very much,” Y/N mumbled as she leaned towards Cale. He pressed his lips together as his cheeks pinked up.

~~~

The following Monday, she had texted Cale to make sure that he was available to talk to Logan. She glanced towards the clock, watching it hit the final minute before class ended. “Thank you guys for your hard work today, have a great rest of your day,” she said, a wide smile to her lips. Her eyes landed on Logan, a sad smile on his face as he was talking with his friend beside him. “Logan, can you hang back for a bit? I’ll write a note for your next period teacher,” she said as she pulled her phone from her pocket.

Logan's eyes widened as he nervously finished packing up his stuff. She stared at the text from Cale.

Ready :)

She smiled at the message before the bell went off. “Bye!” she yelled as they all started leaving the classroom quickly. It was quickly just Logan in the room awkwardly waiting by her desk.

“I know I talked a lot today but-”

“Logan, you’re not in trouble,” she let out with a chuckle, “Remember how you begged to see pictures of the Avs and Bruins game I went to, a few weeks ago?” she asked. He nodded nervously.

“Yeah, but you never did,” he let out while laughing.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. He nodded slowly. She slowly pulled up her camera roll and started showing him some pictures of her hanging out with Sydney, Tyson, and JT. “Well for starters, my best friend is dating JT Compher-”

“Shut up,” he said excitedly as his eyes stared towards the screen.

“And I know how much you love this team and I wanted to introduce you to someone,” she explained as she pulled the phone away from his line of sight. She quickly switched over to her FaceTime app and called Cale. It only took a few seconds before he answered with a wide smile on his face.

Logan’s eyes went wide as his shaky hand took a hold of the phone, “Hey Logan!” Cale said into the phone.

“What’s up man?” OC said into the phone, peeking his head into view. Y/N smiled softly to herself as she started tuning out the conversation. Letting Logan enjoy the moment. She lifted her gaze as she watched Logan smile widely as he spoke to the guys.

It had been a few minutes of them talking and Logan was still excitedly pacing the empty classroom. Since Y/N had a planning period for her second period. “We want you to come to the game tomorrow against Dallas,” Cale said as he held up five tickets, enough tickets for him and his family.

“Wait really?” he mumbled.

“Yeah, we’ll have these tickets at the front box office for you. We’ve got to get to practice, but I’m glad we got to talk to you,” Cale said over the phone.

“Th-thank you so much,” he mumbled as they hung up the phone. Logan walked towards the desk, delicately placing the phone on her desk. “Ms. Y/L/N, you are now my favorite person ever,” he said as he leaned down and hugged her. She smiled towards him.

“I thought you could use that,” she said as she leaned back into the chair.

“You know there’s no way I’m keeping this a secret, right?” He said, eyes wide. She chuckled while rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, sorta figured,” she mumbled while she started writing him a late pass. She handed it towards him, “Now get to your next class,” she handed him the note.

“Thank you so much,” he said as he jogged out of the classroom. She smiled to herself as she turned her gaze towards her computer screen.

March 15, 2022

Tyson never called during school hours, she stared at his incoming call on her watch and ignored it. She stood at the podium, taking notes on the Kahoot! game her students were playing. He called her again. Something was wrong.

“You guys keep playing, I’ll be right back,” she mumbled as she dropped her gaze towards her watch. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she brought it to her ears. “I’ve got a class right now-” she started as she left the classroom, delicately shutting the door behind her.

“I’ve been traded, Y/N,” Tyson said, teary eyed.

“What? Where?” she asked, her breath catching in her throat.

“Minnesota, I’m waiting to catch a flight,” he took a deep breath.

She stared at the white tiled floor, trying to fully grasp everything he was saying. Sydney was her best friend but she was always with JT. Which left her to hang out with Tyson, he was also her best friend. She couldn’t imagine life without him.

“Ty, I’ll miss you so much,” she mumbled into the phone, keeping her teary eyes at bay. There were a handful of voices on his end of the phone.

“I’ll miss you too but-uh- I gotta go, I’ll call you once I’m settled,” he explained before hanging up. She slowly dropped her phone from her and placed it into her pocket. She blinked away a few tears from her eyes. She brushed her hair away from her face as she cleared her throat.

Returning to her class, sitting and talking quietly. There were still five questions left on the Kahoot! game. Logan never told anyone about the little secret she shared with him, despite wanting to brag that he spoke to many Avs players. And brag about how amazing Ms. Y/L/N was for setting it up.

“Alright, who’s winning?” Y/N asked, keeping her gaze on the projector, sniffling. “Nice job Nikki,” she mumbled as she returned to the podium, keeping her gaze on her laptop, avoiding the eyes of the many Avalanche fans in the classroom.

“Dude, no way,” Noah mumbled, staring at his phone, “Tyson Jost just got traded.”

Y/N clammed up, not entirely shocked that the news already broke. She clenched her jaw while blinking rapidly. “Who even is this guy?” Noah continued as he looked through the details of the trade.

“Josty is so much better than him,” Trey mumbled while staring at Noah’s phone.

“Boys, talk about it after class please?” Y/N asked as she finally lifted her gaze to give Noah and Trey a look. They shuffled in their seats, Noah dropping his phone into his hoodie pocket. Logan lifted his gaze from his computer to look towards Y/N and nodded his head.

“This is the first move that Sakic has done that’s awful,” Trey spoke out.

“She said after class, dude,” Logan interjected. Trey looked towards him confused.

A couple of hours later, she was still in her classroom. She was grading a few extra credit assignments. Her phone began to ring again with Cale calling her. She answered the phone and put it on speaker. “Hey, how are you doing?” Cale asked. She took a sharp breath.

It was starting to be normal for the two of them to talk on the phone or text constantly. They’ve even started hanging out more one on one as the weeks progressed. It was a crazy few weeks with the majority of the games being away games. Cale always made time for the two of them to talk.

“Not great, I didn’t get to say goodbye,” she mumbled as she continued adding grades to the online gradebook. Each student got a random 100% on an assignment they didn’t realize was one.

“Didn’t expect him to go,” Cale said into the phone.

“What time do you guys play?” She asked, wanted to change the subject. He took a sharp breath.

“I think it’s six back in Colorado. You watching?”

“Yeah, heading to Syd’s to watch it. I’m actually supposed to be there now,” she said with a chuckle. She began to type the last of the grades into the grade book faster.

“You’ve got a couple hours,” he mumbled.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the arena by now?” She questioned shutting her laptop.

“Walking in now, smile at the camera,” he mumbled, his cheeks pinking up as he walked past the camera girl sitting on the floor. Y/N rolled her eyes as she shoved her computer into her pocket.

“You’re an ass,” Y/N teased as she stood up shoving different items into her backpack.

“I try,” he shot back, there were a few muffled voices on his end of the phone. “I’ve got to get ready, but I’ll call you after the game?”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said with a smile. He rolled his eyes as he hung up the phone. He dropped his phone into his suit as he brought his coffee to his lips.

“Who was that?” Nate asked Cale as they met up at the doors before the locker room.

Cale ran a hand along his mouth, covering his smile. “Y/N,” he said, avoiding Nate’s gaze.

“How’s she doing with Josty?” Nate asked, ignoring the obvious smile to Cale’s lips.

“She wanted to say goodbye but she didn’t get the chance.” Cale explained as he wandered to his stall.

“You planning on comforting her?” Nate asked teasingly. Cale threw a small towel at him. Nate dodged it with a chuckle. “I’m just saying-“

“You’re just saying nothing,” Cale interrupted before wandering away from his stall.

~~~

March 18, 2022

Y/N has called off work the past few days in order to help Tyson pack up his apartment for him since he was gone. They were sitting in the kitchen putting different pots and pans into boxes.

“He doesn’t even cook, what does he need all this shit for?” Sydney joked as she placed bubble wrap inside one of the boxes. Y/N laughed while rolling her eyes.

“Maybe he’ll start,” Y/N shrugged as she continued placing all of the silverware into a small container. “I hate that his living in a hotel,”

“I’m sure he loves it, all the room service he can get,” Sydney joked, lightening the mood. Y/N smiled politely as she taped up one of the boxes. “You know, the boys come home tonight,” she started off but trailed off letting the music play around them.

“Yeah, Cale’s coming over tomorrow,” Y/N said nonchalantly as Sydney’s eyes widened but quickly she turned her gaze back towards the cabinet behind her.

“Is he now?” she countered.

“Yeah, we’ve been talking a lot and he’s come over a few times,” Y/N explained, a small smile to her lips.

“Are you officially a part of the club?” Sydney asked excitedly.

“We’re just friends,” Y/N said as she took a hold of the box and carried it towards the living room. The kitchen was finally all packed up.

“I hate when you say that,” Sydney said with a dramatic eye roll. They began walking towards his living room to pack up the books and a few of the decorations he had around the area.

“You hate it because it’s always true,” Y/N said as she pointed her finger towards it. She rolled her eyes again.

“Not always, you and Tyson weren’t ‘just friends’ for a while,”

“We’re better off as friends,” Y/N said, and she meant it. She loved Tyson, platonically. Throwing romance into something that worked so well as a friendship was so detrimental. It was too hard to try to make something romantic when there was nothing there to make romantic.

Sure, they could kiss and everything would feel great but anything more than a peck on the lips felt forced. It wasn’t going to work, and they worked better as friends. A relationship that they were content with despite Sydney and JT’s constant protests for them to keep trying. You can’t keep trying something that will always fail, Tyson and Y/N would’ve ended up getting hurt and never would’ve still been friends.

Cale, on the other hand, he was different. She smiled any time he would show up on the screen during the games. She would cheer extra loud if he scored. She found her cheeks heating up whenever he was talking. The sound of his voice gave her butterflies. But of course, she would never tell Sydney that. Since Sydney would tell JT and JT would tell OC and then it would get back to Cale instantly.

She couldn’t let that happen. Her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, she pulled it out to see Cale was calling her. His profile picture is the same tipsy selfie he took at Josty’s party a few weeks back. A small smile formed to her lips as she admired the pink cheeks and the squint in his eyes.

She pulled the phone to her ear as she wandered towards Tyson’s packed up bedroom, for some privacy. “Hey,” she mumbled.

“How are you feeling?” his voice rasped as he spoke, evident that he just woke up fom a nap. She liked hearing his voice like that, it was different. She smiled to herself, her mood instantly lifted.

“I’m doing better today, Josty’s place is officially almost done. I’m also happy that you guys will be home finally,” she explained, running her fingers through her hair.

“Yeah?” he asked, a smile evident to his lips. “I’m glad you're doing better,” he mumbled.

She was quiet for a moment, listening to the quiet ruffling sounds on his end of the phone. She liked hearing his voice everyday. Hearing him talk to her was like a breath of fresh air. It made her mind clear and her body relaxed.

“Hearing your voice helps,” she let out, her mouth dropped open and clamped shut at the sudden words leaving her lips. “Oh my god,” she mouthed as she pulled the phone away from her ear.

“Really?” he questioned, his cheeks pinking up. She stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating what to say.

“Yeah,” was all she could muster up after the complete and utter embarrassment coursed through her veins.

“Why do you think I call you before my games?” he asked, forming a wide smile to her features. She pursed her lips forward as she tried to suppress the giddy smile to her lips.

“Well, I’m glad I can help,” she spoke teasingly. He chuckled.

~~~

April 13, 2022

March flew by. Every day that Cale was in Denver he spent it with the team and Y/N. The team barely having days without one another, which meant the wives and girlfriends, and Y/N were dragged along. Y/N never complained, any excuse to be with Cale, she would take.

The games were great, only two losses during that whole stretch. They were elated but filled with so much drive and determination. All they ever spoke about was hockey, but it was nearing the end of the regular season, so Y/N never minded the constant talk of hockey.

Now there are eight games left of the regular season. Tonight solidified that they were favored for the cup. A 9-3 win against the Kings where Cale had four points. It was one of the best games she has ever seen them play.

She stood beside Sydney, waiting for JT and Cale to emerge from the locker room. It was filled with voices of the players leaving, excited to see their loved ones after a huge win. Cale and JT walked out at the same time with wide smiles on their faces. Cale took fast steps towards Y/N engulfing her in a hug.

“Wow,” she mumbled against his chest, he chuckled before he pulled away.

“I’m so glad you were here,” he mumbled with a wide smile. She looked into his blue eyes, they were so bright. She kept her hand on his chest running her fingers along it before she hugged him one more time.

“It was incredible,” she mumbled against his chest. He tightened his grip around the center of her back, pulling her tighter.

“You’re never allowed to miss another game, we can’t lose with you in the building,” he whispered.

“Caler! Are you going to EJ’s?” Bo shouted from down the hallway. Y/N pulled away from him and looked back towards the small crowd of players with their partners.

Cale rested his hands on her arms and looked into her eyes, “You up for it?” he asked. She nodded. “Yeah, I’ll meet ya there,” he shouted back. He looked back towards her, fighting the grin to his lips.

“What?” she asked innocently. He shook his head as he let go of her.

“Did you drive or ride with Syd?” he asked as he started walking backwards, she followed him.

“Syd drove me,” she mumbled.

“Good,” he mumbled, pulling her arm delicately so she could follow him faster, “C’mon, I’ve got to go home and change.”

“Cale, what are you doing?” she asked laughing.

“EJ has a hot tub and we are using it. We have to get there before everyone hogs it,” he explained as they continued down the path towards the parking garage.

“I don’t have my swimsuit with me,” she countered. He raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes.

“Do you really need one? I mean it’s the same as-”

“It is not the same thing!” she said with a gasp leaving her lips, she delicately shoved him away. He chuckled.

“We can stop at your place to get one,” he smiled sweetly before they continued to his car that was only a couple feet away.

“What if I don’t want to go in?”

“Who doesn’t want to go into a hot tub?”

“It is freezing outside, Cale,” she said, wide eyed.

“It’s the perfect hot tub weather,”

“You’re awful,”

“I try,”

~~~

Cale was right, she didn’t want to admit it but it was the perfect weather for a hot tub. The air was freezing but the heat from the hot tub created a beautiful misty fog that hovered above them creating a false sense of warm air.

Alex and his girlfriend, Bo and Kailey were also in the hot tub with them. Each pair in their own little world.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mumbles as he watches her tilt her head back and take a deep breath. Her hands created little waves in front of her. She tilted her gaze towards Cale and fought off a smirk, “Told you so,” he whispered towards her ear. She rolled her eyes as she leaned towards him.

“What are we going to do when we get out, huh?” she shook her head slightly, “It is thirty degrees,” she mumbled teasingly.

“We’ll figure it out,” he teased looking deeply into her eyes. She dropped her gaze to his lips for a brief moment before she looked back into his eyes.

She wanted to kiss him. She’s wanted to for weeks. After every home win, he’d hug her so tight and look at her in a way that made her think he wanted to too. He never tried anything and she didn’t either. It was too scary to think that her feelings, or whatever she was feeling, weren’t reciprocated.

The way he was looking at her right now. At this very moment it seemed like he wanted to. His eyes were looking into her own so deeply, it’s as if he was reading her thoughts.

Maybe it was because she swears he was leaning towards her and his gaze was now on her lips, or the fact that her own gaze was watching his. He was close, closer than he’s ever been. It wouldn’t take much to take a hold of his cheek and kiss him.

“If you want us to leave we can do that,” Bo teased, Y/N turned her gaze towards the blond man sitting across the hot tub from her with his arm around Kailey. He mimicked getting up out of the hot tub but he quickly sat back down. Cale dropped his gaze and pulled his lips in between his teeth, his cheeks and neck bright red.

“Looking pretty cozy over there,” Alex mumbled while raising his eyebrows. Cale rolled his eyes as he ran his wet hand over his dry hair.

“You too,” Y/N said pointing a finger between Alex and Bo, striking a laugh between the small group in the hot tub. They moved away from each other as they were laughing hard.

“We should all get home soon anyway, we’ve got a game tomorrow,” Cale mumbled as he stood up from the hot tub, starting to climb out. Y/N looked towards him, her smile faltering. Her lips left unkissed and her heart beating out of her chest.

She watched him pull up his swim trunks, taking note of the muscles in his back tensing as he continued moving around. She reluctantly stood up and climbed out of the hot tub herself.

The cold air shocked her body as she reached for a towel on the table. Her teeth were shattering as the towel didn’t help much. “This is awful,” she mumbled, Cale laughed as he watched her jump up and down.

“It’s not that bad,” he teased.

“You are an athlete, I am not,” she said while jumping slightly.

“What does that have to-” he asked laughing but she interrupted him with a death glare. He stifled a laugh as he delicately placed his hand on her lower back and guided her inside the house where it was warm and their clothes were.

It took another thirty minutes for them to say their goodbyes to everyone before they got into his car. He put his playlist on shuffle. They sat quietly as Cale drove out of the long driveway.

“The hot tub was nice,” she mumbled as she turned and looked towards him. He nodded as he kept his gaze on the dark road in front of him. “I’m sure your body needed it,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze to her lap as she nervously spun the ring on her middle finger.

“Definitely, especially on a back-to-back,” he mumbled, glancing towards her.

The drive back to her apartment only took ten minutes, he pulled into a parking spot in her parking garage as he looked her body up and down. She smiled shyly.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” she asked. His eyes lit up as he nodded his head almost instantly. She laughed as she quickly started to climb out of the car. He followed in pursuit, shoving his keys into his hoodie pocket.

He walked slowly as he watched her in front of him walk confidently towards the elevator several feet away. He admired everything about her from afar. The way her hair flowed as she walked. He watched her spin around and meet his gaze, her eyes softened as she smiled towards him.

“Caler, come on,” she mumbled as she tilted her head to the side.

“Y/N,” her name fell from his lips as he watched her stop in her tracks. She lifted her eyebrows as she pursed her lips forward. She hummed as she reluctantly walked towards him. He dropped his gaze to the floor as he cleared his throat. “You know I probably shouldn’t,” he let out. He clenched his jaw as he avoided her eyes. Her smile fell from her lips as she looked towards him.

“Oh, okay,” she let out barely above a whisper.

“With the game tomorrow, I should probably go home and get some sleep,” he explained while avoiding her eyes. She nodded while biting her bottom lip nervously.

“You could sleep here, you don’t have morning skate until nine,” she offered. He met her eyes, tilting his head to the side as he fought the smile forming to his lips.

“You live in a one bedroom apartment,” he countered. Her mouth fell open as she tried not to laugh.

“You’re an ass,” she said as she shook her head.

“I try,” he mumbled before licking his lips as he followed her once more towards the elevator. “If I’m sluggish tomorrow, I blame you,” he said while pointing his finger towards her.

“The Cale Makar? Sluggish? Never,” she teased. He bit his bottom lip as he took a hold of her arm and pulled her towards him. Forcing her to walk beside him. She laughed as they reached the elevator. She pushed the button as she turned her gaze towards him. He was already looking down towards her. “You know that didn’t take a lot of convincing,”

“You’re hard to say no to,” he mumbled, rubbing his hand across his lips.

“And why is that?” she asked, smiling. He lifted his gaze, his mouth falling open. His cheeks started to pink up as he searched for the right words. He shrugged. “Come on,” she dragged the words out, “Tell me,”

He stared towards her, the soft hum of the elevator being the only noise for a few moments. Her eyes scanned his pinked features as she took a step towards him. The elevator doors opened to her floor and the pair started to walk out, Y/N dropping the question as they walked past a few apartments before they reached hers. They stepped inside and it was immaculately clean.

“Do you have any grading that needs to be done or anything?” he asked, wanting to change the subject away from him. She shook her head as she unzipped her jacket from her body and placed it onto the small barstool. Cale did the same thing.

“They are currently working on a book report of their choosing, it’s a huge project that takes the majority of April to get it done. I kinda sit there and answer questions for multiple weeks on end. My least favorite assignment but I have to give it to them,” she explained.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie, I hated English class,”

“Most people do,” she said with a chuckle, “My students don’t seem to hate it, especially since I can talk about sports with them. Oh and the fact that Logan let it slip the other day that my best friend dates a guy on the team. Or the fact that he spoke to Cale Makar because of me,” she ranted.

“Sounds like a plus, I’m sure they’d freak out about this,” he mumbled as he followed her towards her bedroom. She chuckled as she shut the door behind him. He was already wearing comfy clothes, and didn't need to change. He sat down on the mattress, trailing her actions with his eyes.

“I know,” she said in a whisper, “Cale Makar is on my bed,” she whispered sarcastically. He laughed as he ran his fingers through his hair. She pulled out a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants and walked towards her bathroom to change, “You stay right there,” she pointed a finger towards him. He raised his hands up defensively with a wide smirk.

After a few minutes she reemerged from the bathroom in her new outfit, it wasn’t flattering in any way but she saw the way Cale looked at her. He looked like he wasn’t breathing, “You okay?” she asked him. He cleared his throat as he nodded. She sat down beside him, their knees bumping into one another.

She looked into his eyes and saw the blue brighter than ever, his eyelashes were curled slightly. A detail she would’ve never noticed before. “Cale?” she mumbled, he hummed in response as he leaned towards her subconsciously. “I’m glad you were at the bar that night,” she mumbled. He smirked.

“Why’s that,” he let out barely above a whisper.

Friends into lovers

Leaning towards him she took a hold of his neck and kissed him. It was slow and hesitant at first. He kissed her back as he delicately placed his hand on her waist and turned her body closer and towards him. She hummed as she placed her hand on his neck, pulling him closer.

He pulled away, looking over her features with such admiration all over his features. He stood up, looking down towards her. Motioning for her to slide up the bed more, giving them both more space. She listened while maintaining eye contact. He climbed on top of her, holding himself up with both of his hands on either side of her head. He leaned down and kissed her, more urgently this time.

Her hands found his neck again, gliding through the short shaven pieces of his hair. “I’m glad too,” he mumbled against her lips before he sat up, she saw his pinked cheeks. A constant detail to his skin that she adored. He pulled the hoodie away from his body.

“I hate that Nate was right,” he mumbled as he leaned back over her. His eyes scan her features.

“What was he right about?” she asked as she ran her fingertips along the base of his neck.

“You,” he mumbled, “He knew I liked you before I did.”

#cale makar x reader #cale makar imagines #cale makar #tyson jost #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagines #nhl imagines #nhl fic #nhl #colorado avalanche imagines #colorado avalanche

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buttercupjosh · 1 year ago

Text

The Journey of Loving You

(Gif credit to @mattymartin)

Word count: 4,376

Genres: strangers to lovers, fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: I've had pieces of details of this fic in mind for a few months and I had a difficult time figuring out who to write it with so I ended up choosing to give Josty another fic. It is not intended to be a sequel to star-crossed (which you still read and check out and if you want this to be a sequel to that, you can interpret it that way). It did take me awhile to get this fic done because I decided to write other stories before completing this one. This story is based off of the songs “Not a Bad Thing” and “Mirrors”, both by Justin Timberlake and the title is something I came up with. It did take me awhile to get this fic done because I decided to write other stories before completing this one. I also have a bunch of other songs linked throughout the story and I highly recommend listening to them when you come across them during reading. It’s not set at a specific moment in time (It's taking place in a fictional future but you could also say that it's set in the future and this season. However, the season is still ongoing at the moment and anything can happen or change so don't hold me to what occurs in the fic and if things do change (ex. Tyson goes to another team), I'm not going to update this fic to reflect that). It’s written with a female reader in mind because I’m a female of color but the reader doesn’t specifically have to be a POC or a woman and there’s little dialogue. As always, I’m open to any and all feedback, comments or questions; just put them in my inbox or dm me. Thank you so much in advance for reading, I appreciate it😌

(P.S. I have other stories (linked here) that I have written for other players as well if you want to check it out)

“I want it all with you and if I'm coming on too strong, it's 'cause I've waited far too long for someone just like you” -“Share Your Address” by Ben Platt

In your role as the social media manager for the Buffalo Bills, you got to interact and meet with many different types of people. You would have never imagined that something as simple as doing your job would lead you to meet the love of your life. During the Bills season, some of the Buffalo Sabres players had come by to watch a game and you were responsible for capturing their experience at the game. Through mutual connections in the industry, you knew the social media manager for the Sabres but you only watched hockey occasionally. Before the game started, the guys were given a tour of Highmark Stadium and you were trailing around as the guys made their way around your workplace. Throughout their time there, you had noticed that a particular curly-haired hockey forward named Tyson Jost kept being close to you; as one of the few single guys left on the team, his teammates were shifting around and nudging him to talk to you. Tyson walked at a much slower pace to keep up with you instead of with the guys. He asked you a lot of questions and it was a bit odd to you that Tyson was more interested in paying attention to you than the football stadium tour was occurring. Tyson seemed curious about you, which you thought was cute, but you couldn’t quite be as flirty with him on the clock. The tour was only for an hour and concluded at the sidelines before the game officially started. You still had a lot of work to do since it was gameday so before going back to your office to review the content you acquired and what the team photographers captured, you discreetly exchanged numbers with Tyson to talk to him later on. During half-time, you checked your phone quickly and saw a text from Tyson that read “Thanks for answering all of my questions back there, I appreciate it. Can I ask you some more over coffee sometime?”. You were slightly taken aback by him asking you out so soon but you weren’t going to let that opportunity slip away so you agreed to go out with Tyson.

On your first official date, Tyson forgot to bring flowers because he was nervous. You didn’t mind that he forgot and understood his nervousness. Over drinks and pastries from Five Points Bakery, Tyson asked you a lot of questions because he was so enamored by you and you got to ask him a lot of questions in return: you even made each other laugh a few times. The conversation flowed so easily and effortlessly from topic to topic. As you chatted, for some reason, it felt like you had known each other for so much longer. The time that you spent together went by so fast that you ended up closing the bakery. Neither you nor Tyson wanted the date to be over so you ended up strolling around the leaf-riddled streets of Buffalo, making a stop for some additional fun at Lock and Key Escape Room and popping into Mythos for a last-minute dinner date. After dinner concluded, you mutually agreed to call it a night. You learned a lot about each other in the hours that you spent together that day. By the time the date officially ended, all Tyson had wanted was to see you again the following day and whatever days he could after that; you felt the same way. He walked you to your car and before going your separate ways, you shared a long goodbye embrace; a kiss would be saved for the next date. Speaking of which, on your next date, Tyson brought you flowers for the first time, and for the rest of your relationship, he would never forget to get them for you ever again.

With the both of you working in sports, your schedule was never really consistent but despite that, you and Tyson still kept in constant contact and made time for each other whenever you could. You would go to some of Tyson’s games and some team events and Tyson would always hype you up on Bills gamedays. You even surprised Tyson once at an away game; the Bills had a bye week so you flew out to Boston to cheer him on. Whenever your schedules aligned in Buffalo, you and Tyson would go out on different dates around the city and suburbs; these dates were always guaranteed to be an enjoyable time and all of those dates eventually turned into a deeply committed romantic relationship.

Being loved by Tyson and loving him was like your dreams coming true; your relationship worked well because you admired each other so much and neither of you could imagine being with anyone else. You were both used to people making promises to you and turning around and breaking them, used to giving your heart to others and they just cut you and leave you bleeding all over the place. However, this relationship was different and all you had to do was try; this time, trying paid off well because being together made those realities not true anymore. The relationship you shared was determined to heal you both from those who had hurt you in the past and you both felt safe with each other. You were worth the challenge of mending together a broken and tender heart for Tyson; his heart was ignited for you and he would do everything in his power to continue to pursue you and you only. Your relationship also had no moments of wasted time or any broken promises and you were always honest to each other. You both had waited so long through dating around and heartbreak for the right person to come along into each other’s lives but the wait was worth it because you ended up together. Falling in love wasn’t a bad thing at all; as expected, it was scary to give your heart to someone else but like a rollercoaster, it was also thrilling and exciting and you got to fall into the arms of someone amazing. Of course, things weren’t always sunny and there were some setbacks and struggles while you were dating. You and Tyson did disagree and argue sometimes but you could compromise when needed; you also had to balance your relationship with the demands of your job and Tyson constantly being either home or away but being with him was worth those challenges. Like anything in life, there would be a moment that would test how strong your relationship is.————————————————————One Saturday afternoon, you and Tyson decided to get ice cream after Tyson was healthy scratched from that afternoon’s game. Unfortunately, the person who served the ice cream used the same scooper that was used to scoop ice cream with nuts in it and you had an allergic reaction. Thankfully, you had an EpiPen in your bag and used it to help you. Your symptoms began to slowly subside but the instructions mentioned that you should visit the ER if used so Tyson took you. The ER doctor put you on an IV and decided to keep you overnight for observation. Tyson begged the doctor to let him stay in the room with you and they surprisingly agreed, even though you weren’t married and common law marriages weren’t a thing in New York. You were so grateful that Tyson stayed with you instead of leaving to go sleep in his comfy bed and just picking you up whenever you were discharged, not having to deal with the nurses and doctors coming in and out of the room throughout the night, interrupting whatever rest he got in that uncomfortable hospital chair. You were awake and observant for a while but you eventually drifted off to sleep. Tyson was tired but he couldn’t bring himself to sleep because he was so worried about you. As he saw you lying in the hospital bed, Tyson thought to himself that you should never have to go through any sort of health crisis alone. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to be there all the time but he would be there for you as much as he could. This whole experience opened up Tyson’s eyes to realizing that he wanted to share your address and move in together and also to be your emergency contact.

To say that Tyson was in love with you was a bit of an understatement; he was so smitten about you and everyone around him could pick up on that immediately. Tyson would see things that would remind him of you and his heart would swell with so much joy and the light in his eyes shined differently whenever he talked about you. Tyson truly and deeply loved you so much that he couldn’t lose you. His heart would beat so fast whenever you were around or if someone mentioned you and you were the one that he adored. To him, it felt like days would go wasted without you in them. He wanted a house with kids running around that shared both of your traits, to travel across the world, and grow old, all with you. In that moment, Tyson privately vowed to himself that he was going to marry you one day.

Months down the line, after waiting for your lease to be up and for the hockey season to be over, you and Tyson rented a house together. Living together meant that you got to see each other a little bit more frequently, which you both liked. You settled into a comfortable routine with Tyson and had mild complaints about your cute roommate; sharing a space wasn’t so bad. Tyson got to cook for you, serenade you on his ukulele, and slow dance in the kitchen with you as often as he could. You got to taste all of Tyson’s recipes, annoy him with your purposefully bad singing, and wake up next to him on the rare days you were off together. You and Tyson even began hosting a monthly trivia night at your home with your friends and some of Tyson’s teammates. Moving in together also meant that you were around to help Tyson whenever he was injured and always there to comfort him after a disappointing healthy scratch or game loss as well.

Combining your lives together meant that your families would mix at some point. Tyson’s mother, Laura, visited frequently and came down for the Sabres’ Moms’ Trip and stayed for a week afterward so you got to know her more and she got to know the person her son was so lovestruck about. You also got to meet his sister, Kacey, when his mother returned for Christmas and also brought Grandpa Jost along. You had a good relationship with Tyson’s family; they adored you and liked you with him. In regards to your family, your parents only came to Buffalo once in a while and you would go back to your hometown for holidays but your parents talked Tyson through video calls and knew how much he meant to you.

While you were still dating, your parents ended up contributing to a significant memory for Tyson and you weren’t even there. When the Dads and Mentors Trip came around, for some reason, Grandpa Jost couldn’t be there for his grandson so your dad flew out to Buffalo to accompany Tyson on the trip. This was going to be your father’s first time meeting Tyson in person and it was intimidating at first but that intimidation faded away as your dad and Tyson got to know each other. Tyson was so thankful that your dad took the time to be there for him. Before returning to Buffalo, Tyson had asked your father for your hand in marriage and your dad agreed to let his little ray of sunshine shine their light into someone else’s life. If there was anyone else in the world that he would walk his precious child down the aisle to, your father was glad that Tyson would be the guy on the other side.————————————————————After getting your father’s approval, calling your mom to get her blessing, and telling both of your family and friends about it, it was time for Tyson to propose. Tyson arranged a fun scavenger hunt for you around Buffalo during the NFL off-season and at the end of the NHL regular season. This scavenger hunt was bittersweet because Tyson was going to be a free agent that upcoming off-season and there was no full guarantee he would return to play for the Sabres so you both prepared for the likely possibility that you would have to move away for Tyson to play with a different team. It was going to be hard to leave behind the place that you both called home and also your job but you would follow Tyson wherever he would go. Thankfully, you still had some time left to hang out with your friends and former co-workers before leaving for the off-season.

The scavenger hunt started with an index card on the fridge that read: “Good morning, my love. Look for the next clue inside our home on a masterpiece hanging above.” Tyson had gone golfing with his teammates for what could be the last time so these little notes were the only communication you had with him that day and you read all of the clue cards in his voice. You found the next note that read on top of a painting you made: “Remember when we went to that art class and you painted the most beautiful sunset? Go to the visitor’s desk at Buffalo AKG Art Museum to find out the rest.”

You headed to the Buffalo AKG Art Museum and the guide at the visitor’s desk handed you an envelope with a prepaid admission ticket inside; there was also a sticky note inside that read “Your reflection is a work of art. Go to the mirrors exhibit and see how your beauty captured my heart.” The heat rushed to your face as you read Tyson’s note; he wasn’t there but he still made your heart skip a beat through his words. You headed straight to the mirrors exhibit and took a bunch of cute photos while you were there. After the mirrors exhibit, you continued to look around the art museum and ran into Danielle Okoposo, Kyle Okoposo’s wife, while you were there. She mentioned that she was visiting the art museum because her kids were taking an art class there and told you to stay with her until the class was over because one of her kids had the next clue for you. You didn’t wait long for the kids to come out and all of the Okoposo children showed off to their mother and you what they had created in class. Livia, the youngest Okoposo daughter, gave you a personalized drawing of you and Tyson with a lot of hearts on it. Written in Livia’s youthful handwriting, the back of the drawing read: “As you can see, we are surrounded by lots of love, and no matter what happens, that will always be true. Head to Five Points Bakery for a snack pickup and your next clue.” You departed from Danielle and the Okposo children and headed to the spot where you and Tyson had your first date.

The bakery wasn’t as busy when you went to pick up your order; although Tyson had already placed the order for you, you still picked up a sweet treat for your sweetie as a reward for all of the things he’d done with this scavenger hunt. Your next clue card was inside the bag with your order that stated: “After my snack has had their snack, don’t be perplexed by my request for you to ask your parents for where to go next.” You followed Tyson’s instructions and your mom texted you: “Summer is approaching and we can’t wait to see you soon so go to the Botanical Garden where the flowers bloom.”

The Buffalo and Erie County Botanical Gardens was a special place to you and Tyson; it’s where you celebrated your first year of dating with a cute couples photoshoot and also had membership to the space. Your favorite part of the Botanical Gardens was the koi fish pond so of course, you would find your next clue taped to the back of the bench near where the pond was. “I know you’ve been out for hours but I have you running around for a reason. Now, go home, there’s something fun that we need to do before we go to Canada for the off-season.”, the clue card read.

You went back home; all of the nostalgia from visiting some of your favorite spots around Buffalo made you feel both happy and sad at the same time. Even though the scavenger hunt was a final trip for you to go to the places you enjoyed in Buffalo, you wished deep down that Tyson would have been there to experience them with you for one last time. Tyson still wasn’t back yet and his location indicated that he was at a restaurant near the golf course; you tried to call and text him throughout the day to check on him but he didn’t answer at all. You walked into your bedroom and saw a note on the closet door that read “You’re going to want to dress your best for this next part (as the kids say, make sure your look serves) and when you’re done, meet me at Tifft Nature Preserve.” The last part of the note confused you because the nature preserve would be closed by now but you showered, got ready, and went there anyway.

Inside the Tifft Nature Preserve Education Center was a trail of lights that led you to a projector with a Kahoot game, ready to be played. Tyson, looking handsome in a crisp polo and jeans, was surrounded by blankets and snacks. You hadn’t seen or heard much from him the whole day so it was nice to see the face of the man that you loved.

“Tyson, you did not ask me to dress up and drag me all this way to play trivia when we could do it at home or go to trivia night at the bar.”, you stated.

“This might be our last time playing our monthly trivia game in Buffalo so why not go all out?” Tyson responded.

Trivia was amusing as expected and you won the game so you asked Tyson what your prize was; your prize was Tyson was going to sing you a quick song on his ukulele. The notes sounded familiar to you and then you recognized what your lover was serenading you to.

“Cause I don't wanna lose you now, I'm lookin' right at the other half of me. The vacancy that sat in my heart is a space that now you hold. Show me how to fight for now and I'll tell you, baby, it was easy, comin' back here to you. Once I figured it out, you were right here all along. It's like you're my mirror, my mirror staring back at me. I couldn't get any bigger with anyone else beside of me. And now it's clear as this promise that we're making two reflections into one.” Tyson sang during the chorus of Mirrors by Justin Timberlake. The lyrics were right for describing your relationship with Tyson; you were separate individuals but your relationship intertwined you together and also allowed you to change for the better as people. Music was something that was important to both of you and Tyson had sung to you several times before, including love songs, so this wasn’t much of a surprise to you. After he concluded singing, Tyson handed you over one final clue card that simply read “Will you marry me?”.

Tears of joy began to fill your eyes and Tyson was down on one knee, holding out your dream ring. The sun was going to set soon so the golden hour sunset hue coming through the windows was a nice natural touch to the proposal. You had thought Tyson was going to propose on your planned trip to Banff that summer so this was definitely a huge surprise. You were both speechless because there just weren't enough words to describe the feeling of love that was flowing between the two of you at that moment. After over a year of dating, you were moving on to the next step of getting married and like the lyrics of the song said, merging your two reflections into one. After your engagement/farewell dinner with some of the Sabers players and their families, you and Tyson returned home and had an impromptu dance party in the living room with your new fiance to “Let’s Get Married” by Bleachers, “Slow Dance” by Saint Motel, and “Just The Two of Us” by Grover Washington Jr. featuring Bill Withers. Your time in Buffalo was coming to an end but it ended in the best way.————————————————————Just as you both suspected, the Sabres did not choose to offer Tyson a contract so he ended up signing on a short-term NHL contract elsewhere as a free agent and you moved away from Buffalo. Tyson was used to moving away and starting over more than you were but you both knew that home would always be wherever you were with those that you loved. The move and the wedding planning did add some additional stress to both of you but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. You both adjusted well to your new life in your new home city; you had good relationships with the other WAGs and their families and continued your career as a social media manager for a local sports team. Tyson meshed great with his teammates, got more ice time and his play improved. You and Tyson rented a house again and added a dog named Maverick to your little family.

The wedding planning time went by in such an exciting and enjoyable blur and before you both knew it, it was time to marry the love of your life. You and Tyson decided on a destination wedding at a Four Seasons Resort in Florida. Both of your families helped out with the wedding in the many different ways that they could and were delighted to unite together on behalf of your love. It was also nice that all of your friends and some of Tyson’s former teammates were there for your special day as well.

The details of your wedding day were so beautiful and perfect; your something new was a diamond necklace given to you by the Jost family, your something borrowed and something blue was a blue bracelet from your mom that she wore on her wedding day to your dad. You floated down the aisle with your father by your side to meet with your soon-to-be husband, waiting for you in his black tux. Tyson saw you, walking towards him, and he got a little emotional. Tyson’s parents’ relationship didn’t work out and he was terrified to face a similar doom in his life but being with you restored his faith in relationships and marriage. Seeing Tyson cry made you tear up too but everyone knew that those were happy tears. Even though there was an audience of other people in the room, it felt like you and Tyson were the only ones there. Your vows to each other were like the most poetic song lyrics and were sealed with a sweet kiss. You had dreamed of your wedding day for a while, unsure who would be the one to greet you at the altar but finally, you knew.

Your first dance as a married couple was to the Mariah Carey and Luther Vandross cover of Endless Love (originally performed by Diana Ross featuring Lionel Richie), which was considered one of the greatest duets of all time. Like the vocals in the song, you and Tyson debuting as a married couple to a duet made sense because you were complementary to each other and brought out each other’s strengths. The rest of your wedding was spectacular. You danced the night away to a variety of tracks from a carefully curated playlist, enjoyed delicious food, took plenty of photos, laughed, and happily cried a few more times too. You also both mixed and mingled with your guests and were swept into all different directions around the venue.

Towards the end of your wedding and before you walked out to say goodbye to all of your guests, Tyson pulled you away for a surprise private dance as newlyweds. You and Tyson would get plenty of time alone together on your honeymoon in Greece but the private dance without the pressure of any other eyes on you was much appreciated. You swayed back and forth with your husband to “All My Life” by K-Ci and Jojo, “You’re Still The One” by Shania Twain, and “This I Promise You” by *NSYNC, and sang along to all of them together. Just like the lyrics in the songs had said, “All my life, I’ve been waiting for someone like you” (“All My Life” by K-Ci and Jojo), “we’re still together, still going strong” (“You’re Still The One” by Shania Twain), and “and with this vow, forever has now begun” (This I Promise You” by *NSYNC), all that you had been waiting for, for so long was right in front of you and it was true that your forever love was just getting started. In a whisper, you asked to play a song and chose “Because You Loved Me” by Celine Dion as the final song for your private dance. The song served as a thank you to each other by summing up the journey of your relationship so far and how your love helped you both grow as people. Getting married allowed you to write a new chapter in your love story. You made it this far as a couple and there was so much to look forward to in your future together.

#tyson jost #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fic #buffalo sabres #hockey fic #my writing #hockey writing #please read my story

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jostystyles · 2 years ago

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cooler | tj

a/n: this is my entry for @antoineroussel 's winter fic exchange! demi, thanks for putting this together as always!! this fic was written for @butgilinsky <3 I hope you enjoy it dear!! special thanks to @comphy-and-cozy for letting me brain rot about my tyson jost = nick miller agenda, and @suitandtys for the title. divider graphics are by @firefly-graphics . this fic is inspired by nick and jess's first kiss in new girl. i hope you enjoy <3

warnings: fluff, alcohol, use of she/her pronouns. mat barzal is an instigator.

word count: 2.8k

The All-Star Weekend, for a certain group of guys, meant the ability to show off their skills for the game they love, and praise for being considered the best of the best. But for the rest of them, it meant something else.

Freedom & Relaxation.

Of course, the way the free time was being spent varied from player to player. Some guys returned home to spend time with their kids and families, some took weekend trips, and some just stayed put.

But for Tyson Jost, Mat Barzal, and Dante Fabbro, it meant a reunion. Typically, they only saw each other during the season when they played each other respectfully, and in the summer when they trained together amongst other things. This break, though, they’d be traveling to Cancun for a weekend getaway with some of their friends from back home. Though they all hailed from different hometowns, they had a pretty tight knit group that tried to see each other as much as possible. So when the group chat collectively agreed everyone would be free for a trip, it was decided. This was going to be a trip to remember.

“Wait, why the fuck do I need my passport?” Mat exclaimed inquisitively, his voice echoing through the speakers of the FaceTime call.

Abruptly pausing her packing, (Y/N) turned to grab her phone off the bed. “What? Mat, where the hell do you think Cancun is?”

“Uh. Florida.” He said, like she had asked him the stupidest question in the world.

“Jesus fuck, Mat, it’s in Mexico. Are you kidding me? Your plane ticket literally says you’re flying into Mexico.”

As if his mind had just been completely blown, which it had in a way, Mat’s expression turned to one of total shock. “Wow. That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

(Y/N) shook her head with a sigh, wondering how he has managed to make it this far. Out of all her close friends, Mat was the one she’d known the longest. The two of them had grown up on the same street, their families becoming friends over the years. Despite the jokes from everyone, they’d actually defied the odds to show that boys and girls can be just friends as they’d formed such a tight bond throughout their lives and consider each other like siblings.

Naturally, they had the same friends. Enter Dante, who came into the picture when he and Mat started playing hockey together. Over the years, the three of them grew closer and other friends came and went, but as they got older, a group solidified. As they became teenagers, Tyson became a part of that group. (Y/N) still remembers the day she first met him.

Her family was the last to arrive at the Fabbro’s lake house, as usual. This had been a tradition for the past few years, and she usually anticipated it each time. But for some reason she was nervous. She was 14 now, and things were changing. She was no longer the nerdy little girl that hung out with the hockey boys, physically at least. The thought of being in a bathing suit around a bunch of rowdy boys made her feel awkward and uncomfortable. She reminded herself it was just Mat and Dante, her two idiot best friends who would make fun of her for the color of the swimsuit, not how she looked in it. Shaking it off, she grabbed her suitcase and wandered through the cabin to the room she shared with Dante’s sisters. Tossing the bag on the bed, she quickly grabbed her book to head down to the water. (Y/N) closed the door behind her and turned around to walk away, only to take a few steps and collide with something bare and warm. She fell to the ground, letting out an “Oof.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going are you ok?” A voice rambled on.

“Yeah, no problem ‘m good, I-” (Y/N) replied, her voice faltering as she looked up. Her eyes were met with the softest brown ones, flashing at her with a look of concern. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

“Here, let me help you up. I’m Tyson, um, Tyson Jost. Mat and Dante’s friend from hockey.” The boy said, reaching down to help her up.

“I’m (Y/N). Also Mat and Dante’s friend, but um. Not from hockey.” She said, eliciting a laugh from Tyson.

He stuck his hand out before saying, “Well, here’s to hoping we become each other’s friend too.”

Shaking his hand, (Y/N) shook her head with a shy smile. A part of her knew her life would never be the same now that he was in it.

“...when Tyson gets in?”

The sound of Mat’s voice brought her back to reality. “Hm?” She replied. Rolling his eyes, Mat spoke with a teasing tone.

“I knew that saying his name would get your attention. Do you know when Tyson gets in?”

“You’re a dick. He gets in around the same time as you so I’d try and get to the house together. Gabe, Alicia, Jay and I will already be there.”

“Fer sure. You think this’ll be the trip you finally admit you’re in love with each other?”

(Y/N) shot him a glare. “I will hang up on you right now Mathew. Tyson is not in love with me.”

“You didn’t deny you’re in love with him though.”

Caught off guard, she stumbled over her words. Mat let out a laugh, saying, “(Y/N/N) you realize I know you better than anyone right? You aren’t fooling anyone. Except Tys. He’s definitely oblivious.”

“I will literally skin you alive and slice your achilles tendon if you say anything to him on this trip.”

“Love you too.”

If there was anything Tyson needed right now, it was a gigantic margarita on the beach. The past year of his life had been a bit insane, and he was in desperate need of a vacation. He’d missed his friends, too. They didn’t get to see each other that often now that they were older, and cherished times like this. His flight had landed from Buffalo a few minutes ago, and he was waiting at the baggage claim to grab his luggage. Scrolling through instagram to pass time, he felt a hand clap on his shoulder and whipped his head around.

“Oh hell yeah. Missed you brother, what’s up!” He said, turning to embrace Mat in a hug.

“Missed you too bud. You ready for the best weekend of your life? C’mon. Car’s here.”

“Jesus Christ, Leesh. I can’t believe your boss let you have his fucking house for the weekend. This place is insane.” (Y/N) exclaimed, taking in the sights that laid before her. Alicia’s boss had graciously let her utilize his beach mansion for the weekend as a thanks for her hard work at her company.

“Eh, perks of being fucking good at what I do.” Alicia said, taking a swig of moscato straight from the bottle. “Who wants a cocktail?”

“I sure do. Tequila sunrise, light on the sunrise, heavy on the tequila.” A voice cried out, followed by a huff of laughter.

Turning around, (Y/N)’s confusion turned into a smile. “Barzy, you’re not even through the door and you’re already asking for a drink? Why am I surprised?”

“You shouldn’t be. I love day drinking.” Mat stated, hugging her. “Watch out. Your boyfriend's right behind me.” He whispered in her ear, earning him a knee to his nether regions.

Pushing him away, (Y/N) turned towards the guy she’d been waiting far too long to see.

Tyson stood there, a small smile on his face. After the hell he’d been through the past 10 months, he still managed to smile. That was one of her favorite things about him. His brown eyes looked soft, and duller than usual, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the flight.

“C’mere you big oaf. I missed you, Tys.”

He hugged her for a bit longer than he intended. There was just something comforting about being in his best friend's arms again.

“Ok, if you two love birds are going to keep hugging, we’re going to get this party started. Drinking games start now.” Dante said, shoving two solo cups full of something their way.

Grabbing the cups, Tyson passed one to (Y/N). “Good to see you too, Big D. Lead the way.”

“I missed you, you know.” Tyson said, swinging his and (Y/N)’s entwined hands back and forth.

“I missed you too. Least we’re in the same state now though, right?”

“6 hours is still too far.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Well, at least I’m a train ride away instead of a plane.”

As they approached the patio, the party was already in full swing. Music was blasting, Mat was already trying to get Jay down from her place on top of the table, and Gabe and Alicia were mixing drinks like nobody's business.

Tyson shook his head. “Somebodies gonna fucking die here.”

“Either that, or we’re spending a night in a Mexican jail.” (Y/N) replied. The night was just about to begin.

To say everyone was fucked up would be putting it lightly. The drinks had been flowing consistently all evening, and it was approaching midnight. The gang had made their way inside for a game of who knows what. At this point, it was just a bunch of drunk people shouting things. Mat and Jay were sharing a bottle of wine, discussing God knows what under the dining room table. Gabe was shirtless, but wearing his swimsuit and dress socks. Tyson had somehow acquired a trench coat he found in one of the bedroom closets, and (Y/N) sported her bikini top and a bright pink tutu from god knows where.

“Guys, I think we need to call it a night. We’re gonna be so hungover tomorrow and it’s only the first day.”

“NO!” Alicia cried. “Don’t be a party pooper. You were out the latest in college.”

“We aren't in college anymore. I’m tired, Leesh.” (Y/N) wailed, resting her head dramatically on Tyson’s shoulder.

“Boring. Who wants to play another game?” Alicia shouted, gaining the attention of the whole house.

“How about good old fashioned, 7 minutes in heaven?” Jay chimed in, waggling her eyebrows mischievously.

“OOOh, nice one Jay. I’m in. Who votes Josty and (Y/N)?”

The room erupted in cheers, aside from (Y/N) and Tyson.

“Hold on, don’t we get a say in this?” Tyson retorted.

“Nope. Behind the iron curtain you go!” Alicia demanded, ushering them to the kitchen, where she then rolled the door that separated the two spaces shut.

A chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” began amongst the other friends, as Tyson protested.

“Open the door! This isn’t funny guys.”

The chants continued, and (Y/N) sucked in a sharp breath at Tyson’s seeming wish to be left out. Would it really be that bad to him if they kissed?

After a moment, (Y/N) spoke up. “Ok, we kissed! Sent you a picture!”

From the other side of the door, Dante looked at the picture, which was of (Y/N) and Tyson with their lips pursed, angled at each others cheeks. “That is not a kiss! C’mon, Inspector Gadget, inspect those tonsils!”

Barzy chimed in, saying, “Yeah! C’mon, Josty. Just give (Y/N) a tender, sensual, kiss, and we’ll let you right out.”

“Mat, shut up!” (Y/N) cried, knowing full well he was having a field day with this.

Tyson was desperately trying to pry the door open, but was unsuccessful. His heart was beating out of his chest. This was not how he wanted this to go.

Leaning against the counter, (Y/N) pondered, “What’s the big deal? Let’s just suck it up and french a little.” That was the tequila talking.

Tyson shot his head up at her. “Ok, fine. But don't say ‘suck it up and french a little’.”

“Ok, fine, let’s do this.”

They walked towards each other, stopping when they were in close proximity. (Y/N) could feel her heart beating a mile a minute. Tyson’s hands reached out to settle on her forearms. She could see the sparkle in his brown eyes that wasn’t there before. Later, she’d come to know, that spark only existed for her.

“Let’s just do it.” Tyson said, his voice quivering slightly.

“Let’s do it.” (Y/N) echoed. “Do it.”

“Fine.”

“I’m doing it.”

“Fine, then do it.”

“Are you a tounger?”

“Tyson, what the hell.”

“Well, I don’t wanna put my tongue in your mouth if you don’t like it!”

(Y/N) sighed, laughing at her best friend. “Just kiss me!”

Tyson was freaking out. “OK, alright, great. That’s what I’m gonna do.” He grabbed her face, his fingers gracing her soft (Y/H/C) ever so lightly. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” (Y/N) replied, quietly.

Tyson closed his eyes, leaning in. (Y/N) pulled her head away, saying, “I’m sorry, you can’t do that!”

“What did I do?” Tyson asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Your face!”

“My face?”

“You can’t do that with your face.”

Tyson burst into laughter, (Y/N) soon following him. They stopped, glancing at each other for a brief moment. Tyson thought she was the prettiest girl in the world. He always had, ever since they met 10 years ago. Just as he was about to speak up, a banging ensued on the wall.

“Yo, I don’t hear any talking, so ya’ll better be smooching!” Dante screeched.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re getting to it.” Tyson said, not breaking eye contact with (Y/N).

The chants of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” picked back up again.

“Ok Tyson, come on. Just kiss me.” (Y/N) said, frustrated.

“No, I’m not gonna kiss you.”

“Kiss me!”

“(Y/N), stop!” Tyson said harshly.

“God, Jost, just kiss me already!”

“No, not like this!” he almost shouted.

(Y/N)’s face turned to one of confusion. “What? What does that mean?”

Tyson took a step back, his face turning red. “No I didn’t mean… Nothing, I just. I didn’t mean it like that. I just, we can’t. That’s not, you know, like,” He was full on word vomiting, “Do you know like, it’s very, like, you don’t, that’s not what it…”

(Y/N) tilted her head, a small smile on her face. Before she could say anything, the door swung open, revealing Jay, with an insane look on her face.

“Ok, times up! Mat and I’s turn.”

Tyson was gone faster than (Y/N) could see, leaving her with nothing but a sobered up head full of confusion, and a heavy heart.

Everyone had since retreated to their rooms for the night, except for Jay and Mat who were probably still making out in the kitchen like they usually do when they’re drunk. Her door slightly ajar, (Y/N) saw a quick shadow while she was brushing her hair.

“Hey!” she cried out. Tyson stopped in his own doorway, turning around to see (Y/N) in hers. She stood there in her silk nightgown, bare faced, with the look of concern painted across her face that she often gave him.

“You ok, Tys?” She asked softly, stepping out into the hallway just a bit.

“Yeah, Im good. Just needed to sober up a bit, so I went and sat down by the beach.”

“Oh. Ok. Listen, about earlier. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I was just messing around, feeding off our idiot friends.” (Y/N) apologized.

“S’ Ok, (Y/N/N). It was just a game. I still think you’re cool.”

“I think you’re cooler. Night, Tyson.” She replied with a smile.

“G’night, (Y/N).”

Just as she turned to go inside her room, something shifted within Tyson. Like he wasn’t even thinking, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her flush to him. Before either of them could speak, he pressed his lips onto hers, encapsulating them into a passionate kiss. His arms moved to her lower back, hugging her so forcefully as if it were to be the last time. (Y/N)’s arms were wrapped around his neck, tugging at the tufts of curls that lay at the back of his head. Their lips moved in harmony, Tyson kissing her again and again each time with more push than the last. They finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together and breathing heavily.

Tyson kissed her once more, than again, and again. He finally looked at her, his finger under her chin forcing her to look at him.

She was staring at him, her big beautiful (Y/E/C) that he loved so dearly, begging him to say something.

“I meant something like that.” Tyson told her, before dropping his hands from her figure and retreating into his room, and shutting the door.

(Y/N) stood there, in complete and utter shock. She brought her hand up to touch her lips, and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Tyson Jost was going to be the death of her, and she’d been hoping to see the Grim Reaper for quite a while.

tags: @comphyjost @tinyhockey @2manytabsopen @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @ilyasorokinn @lt-natrace

#emmie writes #winter fic exchange '23 #i hope you like it:)#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost x reader #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fic #hockey fic #buffalo sabres

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mikkomacko · 2 years ago

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Everything Comes Back To You

Pairing: Tyson Jost x female reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Tyson's been in love with his roommate forever. And he knows you love him too. Now it's just a matter of saying it.

A/n: Not sure how much I like this but I think it's got potential lol. Might add another part if y'all enjoy it so let me know. Happy reading!

Tyson's jealous and bitter as he slips into the apartment, setting his bag on the floor by his feet before quietly shutting the door and locking it. He shouldn't be, he knows that. He should be basking in the excitement of the 4-point night he had, the two back-to-back goals that lifted the team past the unstoppable goaltending of Sorokin. He felt that way earlier. Flying high as he changed out of his gear to head to the media table, proud and probably a bit too cocky as he answered questions and joked around with Cale. But after he'd showered and packed up his game day suit, he found himself dragging his feet back to the players parking lot, thinking about how Compher was probably showered and tucked into his bed by now.

And if the dead silent apartment is any indication, he was right. The living room and kitchen are still and quiet, the light above the stove poorly illuminating the large area and giving him just a peek into the dark hallway across from him. The door to Compher's room on the other side of the living room is shut and the crack under the door dark. Tyson wouldn't even be surprised if Comph had just tiptoed his way to his room before crashing into bed in his post game gear. Hell, he'll probably do the same.

He's just locked the front door and kicked off his slides when his stomach rumbles. For a moment he considers ignoring it and just going to bed, but he knows the ache of hunger will just keep him up anyway so he silently moves into the kitchen. The dishwasher hums quietly next to the fridge, drawing Tyson's attention to it just as he's reaching for the fridge handle. The only way there would be enough dishes to constitute using the dishwasher is if pots and pans were used.

Backtracking, he tugs open the microwave door instead, his entire chest warming when the yellow bulb illuminates a container of spaghetti and meatballs. He doesn't even try to fight off the crooked smile that slips onto his face as he grabs the still warm dish, shutting the microwave door with a nudge of his elbow as he simultaneously digs through the drawer next to the stove for a fork.

He's so grateful for you, grateful for the fact that you care enough about him to have a warm dinner waiting for him after a game, and he wants to run down the hallway, burst through your door and give you the biggest hug. But he's exhausted. And certain you're asleep. So instead he silently tip toes to his room, casts a quick glance at your door not even ten feet from his, and buries his urge to go twist the knob open.

He can wait until the morning.

At first, he thinks it's just in his head. The soft taps that rattle in his ears just enough to stir his brain awake. Then they sound again and he thinks it must be something hitting the bedroom window. Maybe rain since they're too high up for it to be a tree branch. Or maybe it's coming from the apartment below them. Tyson rolls to his back, huffing out a sigh as he knuckles at his tired eyes. The room remains silent save for the hum of the air conditioning, and he's just about to bury himself back under his sheets when he hears the creek of the hallway, just outside his bedroom door.

As if a bolt of lightning has just shot through him, he jolts up just in time to hear your bedroom door clicking shut. Through his foggy brain he realizes the taps were you and he's kicking off his blankets before he can even see clearly. Stumbling over the shirt on his floor, Tyson pulls open his door and peeks his head out. Your bedroom door is closed but the light that shines from underneath it confirms you are in fact awake.

He was right. You were knocking at his door. Or maybe you were just passing in front of it? Maybe he heard you getting water from the kitchen or something. Maybe you were checking to see if he ate when he got h-

Tyson shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut to wipe away the image of you slipping into the kitchen to look for his shoes by the door and his dishes in the sink, a pleased smile tugging at your lips because you know he's resting, happy and fed.

A frustrated groan rumbles in his chest because he's never going to get back to sleep if he doesn't know if you needed something from him or not. And he's most definitely going to be tossing and turning all night with the thought of you making that stupid pasta for him, concerned about him enough that you drug yourself out here to check.

He casts a glance over his shoulder at the clock on his dresser, sees the soft white 3:28 glowing and decides it is technically morning. The wood groans beneath his feet when he steps into the hallway, cold on his bare toes and he immediately wishes he'd pulled a pair of socks on before coming out here. Luckily he doesn't have much time to think about it before the hallway is being flooded with light, your silhouette now standing in your open doorway.

Tyson can't make out your face in the shadows, but he can see the burgundy shirt your wearing and his stomach flips. It's not at all rare for him to see you in Avalanche gear but every time it's his he feels as if he's just swallowed a hive of buzzing bees.

"Hey," he says, quiet and hoarse "you ok?"

He blinks a couple of times, let's his eyes adjust to the change in light until he can finally start to see the curve of your nose and the messy tangles of hair on the right side of your head.

"Y-yeah. Just couldn't sleep." Your voice is soft and tired, punctuated by a yawn, but by the way your lacing and unlacing your fingers in front of you, Tyson has the tingling suspicion that you've had a bad dream.

"Did I wake you?"

He shakes his head. "No," the lie slips out easily, mouth curling with amusement because of course you woke him, you were knocking on his door. But he doesn't want to make you feel bad or anything for it so he'll just keep his laughter to himself.

"Yeah I did," you correct through a chuckle, leaning your shoulder against the doorway and crossing your arms over your ribs. This time he does laugh, shrugging as if to say it's no biggie. And it really isn't because he hadn't seen you since he left after lunch for the game and he hates coming home from games to you already shut in your room.

"Yeah but you also made me dinner so I'm not upset."

He wishes he could see if your cheeks flood with color, if you bite at your bottom lip like you always do when he mentions your acts of kindness.

"You ate?" You question, and he thinks he hears a hint of relief in your tone. Those bees in his stomach buzz again, and in that brief second of silence he decides you must be made of honey. Warm, sweet, and impossible to fully lick off his fingers.

Leaning back against his own doorway, he nods. "Yeah, thanks. It was really good."

There's another beat of silence, Tyson wondering what's going through your head. Are you thinking of the meal you made for him? That maybe you shouldn't have or you should've made something different. Are you thinking about the fact that ever since he told you he loves pasta after a game, that's what you make him? And are you wondering if he's noticed?

"You don't have to thank me," you finally mumble, and if Tyson weren't so used to listening to the softness of your voice he might not have heard you. "just don't tell Comph because he didn't get any."

Tyson's chest blooms with warmth and flowers and every other good thing he could possibly imagine. He realized a long time ago that he probably shouldn't be so desperate to be your favorite roommate and that it could possibly bring him a lot of grief in the future, but he doesn't care. Fuck Compher and his stupid goldfish he insists is a roommate, because in your eyes it feels like it's just Tyson. He hopes it's always like that for you. That even when he's away or when you step out of the apartment without him, it's still him.

"Swear on my heart," he promises, index finger tracing an x over his left pec. He sees the faint glow of your smile, feels its heat bask over him.

"Does that mean a lot?"

"It means everything."

He hears the breath catch in your throat, sees your arms tighten around yourself and for a brief millisecond he regrets his honesty. But it passes as quickly as it came and satisfaction takes its place. He's been waiting too long to tell you that, to draw attention to the invisible string that seems to pull you two together always.

"You gonna tell me why you're up or are we going to stare at each other all night?"

You take a second to answer, lips pursed thoughtfully. "I had a bad dream."

He hums, gaze shifting over your form for any signs that you may not be okay, hoping to find a reason to reach out to you, hook his fingers under your elbow and draw you into him. It's too dark in the hallway and the little light coming from somewhere deep in your room doesn't help as it casts you in a dark shadow.

"I don't know. I thought maybe you'd be awake but you always sleep like the dead after you eat and you had a crazy game. I should-"

"Come sleep with me," he cuts in, halting any further rambling. Truth is, he can't bare to hear you talk about him anymore, not in that shy, high-school-crush way, because he might do something he'll regret. Or you'll regret.

"Tyson, no" You decline. "You're tired. You don't need to babysit me."

He scoffs, pushing himself off the doorway and taking half a step towards you. "This is purely for me sweetheart," the pet name melts off his tongue easily, as it always has with you. "I sleep better when I snuggle, you know that."

There's no hesitation, no moment in which he thinks you for some reason might turn him down. You never did before, always laying your head on his shoulder during movie nights or letting him settle his head in your lap when he has a headache. And it's not the first time he's shared a bed with you after countless nights of his sister coming to town and stealing his bed. You never wanted him to sleep on the couch and when it came down to picking between his snoring sister and your extra soft sheets, he chose you.

But this feels different. The air around him feels charged as you drop your arms from around your waist, tentatively stepping forward. He can't help but grin, reaching his left hand out towards you. It's like fireworks have gone off under his skin when your fingers touch, a burning heat rushing up his arms and to his chest, squeezing around his heart until he can feel it pounding in his throat. He guides you into his bedroom, pausing in the entryway to close the door behind you and flick the lock. Maybe it's bold of him, but he doesn't care for subtleties anymore so he finds the curve of your hip, let's his fingertips slip just under the band of your T-shirt before nudging you towards his bed.

As if you've done it a million times, you crawl into the right side of his bed, completely oblivious to the way you've just made his heart throb painfully in his throat and the pit of his stomach ache. Despite his agony, Tyson follows after you, settling into the spot he'd previously been sleeping on. He feels a bit awkward when he lays his head back on the pillow, unsure of what to do with arms, he worries they'll grow a mind of their own and reach out to you. He settles for shoving left hand under his thigh and his right behind his head, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling.

You shuffle around for a moment, adjusting the blankets and tugging them over your shoulder. Tyson looks over at you, the yellowish light from outside falling across half of your face as you lie facing him, cheek smashed into his pillow.

"It's nice in here," you state, eyes bright "so warm. I love it."

Tyson smiles, warm honey dripping into his chest and surrounding his heart. "S'hot in here," he replies "usually sleep with the window open but I fell asleep before I remembered to."

"Good pasta will do that to ya." You say teasingly and he startles when your cold foot nudges his calf. Without even thinking he's rolling to his side, holding himself up on his elbow as he drags the extra blanket at the bottom of the bed up to cover you.

"Jesus Christ you're like an icicle under there." He mutters, ignoring the way your eyes are burning into the side of his face as he continues to adjust the blanket. He's not really sure why he always kept that throw on his bed since he's never needed it but he's gonna credit it to the universe setting him up for this moment.

"There," he states, knuckles brushing your jaw when he tucks the blankets under your chin. Your skin is soft and bit sticky with that moisturizer you put on before bed, and he traces a gentle line up the curve of your cheek until he's holding your face in his palm, fingers buried in your soft hair.

"Why do you have to make this so hard?"

His first reaction is to chuckle like a stupid school boy and say that's what she said but the logical part of his brain (and his beat up heart) recognize this as the moment he can change everything. He's been here with you before, on the edge of letting himself have everything he's ever wanted, and he always finds a way to back out and settle back into his role of your roommate. But he doesn't have to do that again. Maybe he's still riding the high of tonight's game but that doesn't matter because this is his chance to capitalize. He's been dangling the puck for far too long now and he knows he's going to eventually run out of room to shoot.

"M'not trying to," he responds, brushing his thumb over the little acne scar he knows sits just to the right of your nose. "just can't help myself sometimes."

Finally, he pulls his gaze from where his hand holds you, meeting your breathtakingly beautiful eyes. They pull him in with nothing but longing and love, the way you've always looked at him, and the knots in his stomach tighten. He had been avoiding your gaze for that reason, knowing that if he let himself see you he'd be unable to chicken out. Because how could he when he knows you want him just as much, when it's so blatantly obvious in the way you look at him?

"You can let yourself have good things Tys," you whisper earnestly "I think you realized that tonight. The only thing holding you back is yourself."

Your words hit him like a check into the boards, hard and heavy on his chest and a little bit numbing to his legs. He knows your right. He has a habit of letting his doubts keep him from being happy, of convincing him that he hasn't earned the things he wants. It's not something he realized you've picked up on but he supposes watching him play all these years, both on the ice and with your friendship, that you've become well acquainted with his flaws.

"It's scary," he finally says, the words barely a whisper. "I don't want to get everything I've dreamed of and then lose it."

"I'm scared too."

The breath you'd previously stolen from him suddenly fills his lungs again, inflates his whole being and while he's still got the cold chill of fear dripping down his spine, he finds something in you to keep it at bay. "Yeah?"

"Of course," you assure "but you'll never get the things you want if you let your fears stop you."

He knows what you're saying, can read it like a flashing neon sign. You've got an open net Jost, just take the shot.

"I love you," he says, lips curling when he notices the twinkle of relief in your eyes. "I've always loved you y/n. You know that."

You giggle-well more squeal than giggle, shoving the blankets back so you can free your arms, and he can't see them but he feels you kicking your legs around under the sheets. He laughs at that, digging his fingers deeper into the roots of your hair to draw your face closer to him and kisses you. It's more smiling than kissing, teeth awkwardly bumping but it's all worth it to finally feel your lips on his.

One of your cold hands finds his side, resting in the curve of his abdomen for a moment before sliding to rest on his back. You pull him towards you then, nipping softly at his bottom lip and rolling to your back. He follows swiftly, heat rushing from his head down to his toes as he shoves a knee between your thighs and props himself up on his elbows.

You're left hand finds your right one, soft fingertips pressing into the dip of his back. You hold him like he's made of silk, smooth and precious to touch but stronger than most and he thinks that must be intentional. You're one of the few in his life that's complimented him for being an optimist, for always keeping his head up. He's not surprised that you somehow find a way to reiterate that admiration to him with just your hands.

"I love you too you know," you murmur after pulling back for a breath of air. "since like the moment I first met you I think."

He doesn't doubt you because he's certain he's loved you since then too, but he's in the mood to have his ego stroked a little more tonight, especially by you. Ghosting his lips over yours before pulling back, he smirks when your mouth chases after his.

"Yeah?" He urges, chills running up his spine when you trace your fingers up each vertebrae, sinking them into the roots of curly hair on the base of his neck.

You laugh a bit shyly. "I just couldn't stop looking at you and I swore Compher was going to call me a weirdo or something but every time you bragged about your stupid ukulele I thought 'he's just so cute.'"

His heart swoons, fluttering around in his chest and he can't believe he's let himself wait this long to kiss you. Any girl that finds his music skills attractive is the girl for him because he knows he's truly awful. He can't sing for the life of him, even though he tries, and his ukulele is more plucking at random strings and hoping it sounds ok.

"Don't think Comph even noticed with the way I was all over you." Tyson laughs, ignoring the way his biceps have started to ache from holding himself over you. "Told me afterwards that I was practically buzzing every time you laughed."

Your smile widens, eyes dancing between his as you giggle that same little laugh that made him fall in love all those years ago. "You were funny," you say. "You are funny. I love your dumb jokes."

As much as he doesn't want to, Tyson needs to move before his arms fall off but he takes the moment to kiss you again, short and sweet but enough for now. He shuffles a bit, gets his right hand up to brush your hair away from your face and he presses another kiss to your temple as he settles back on his side of the bed, this time on his side so he can still look at you.

You do the same, pulling the blankets back up to your chin as you smile at him. He can practically feel your body vibrating, eyes staring at him expectantly and he chuckles before sliding his hand across the bed in search of your hip.

"Come here you." He teases, and you quietly laugh as you scoot into his chest, head lying on his bare arm. It's silent after that, a bubble of peace and content wrapping around you both as you lay there together. Tyson's eyes trace over your face, soaking in every feature as he's done numerous times before but this time it's different. This time he's admiring the beauty of his girl, not his roommate or his friend anymore. It hits him hard in the chest again, this time in a good way. He wonders if you're doing the same as you wiggle a hand out to hold his jaw, stroking the soft spot of his beard just to the right of his chin.

Tyson can feel himself starting to doze off, eyes growing heavy and muscles relaxing into the mattress. You must feel the same because a yawn stretches your mouth and you burying it into the fluff of his comforter as if trying to hide it from him. He smiles a lazy and crooked grin, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"Thanks for knocking on my door."

You grin shyly. "Thanks for coming to check on me." You snuggle in closer to him, throwing a leg over his and he gladly wraps you up in his chest as he rolls to his back, your weight heavy and comforting on top of him. He can't see your face like this but he doesn't mind. He'll see you in the morning, hopefully with more kisses and laughter.

"You still gonna love me in the morning Josty?"

He squeezes you tight, nodding without hesitation.

"Of course. I'll always love you."

A beat of silence passes. "Even when Compher comes barging in here at 6 am to ask you if you want to get breakfast."

Tyson laughs, dreading the fact that he knows Compher will be the one to wake you two up. But he was way ahead of the game, knowing that no matter what happened tonight he wasn't going to let his best friend steal his time with you.

"I locked the door so the most he'll do is knock," Tyson whispers, stroking his fingers up and down your back. "Probably leave after that and of course I'll get up and follow after him, ask him if he maybe wants to have a sleepover and I'll inevitably declare my love to him."

You giggle sleepily, and he can imagine your beautiful smile as you fight to keep your eyes open. "Well this was fun while it lasted."

Tyson shakes his head in amusement, finally letting his eyes shut as he buries his nose in your hair. "I'm not done with you yet," he murmurs. "Compher will just have to wait."

As if agreeing with him you press a lazy kiss to his chest, your arm wrapping around his waist and he can feel you relax as you start to slip into sleep. He doesn't know what will happen in the morning when it comes to the other roommate but he knows it doesn't matter because he's finally got you.

After everything, you're his and he's yours.

#tyson jost #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #Tyson Jost fluff #josty baby #fluff #nhl #josty #colorado avalanche #nhl imagine #friends to lovers

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ringanon · 6 months ago

Text

Date Night | Tyson Jost

(gif creds to @mattymartin )

Pairing: Tyson Jost x fem!PotteryTeacher!reader

Warning(s): None?

Word Count: 3000 on the dot

Summary: Part 3 to this, cute dates, adorable humans

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"Y/N-Y/N-Y/N-Y/N-Y/N The Sabres pots just made it out of the kiln, you're going to want to see them," Shelby came running into the main room of the studio giddy and practically jumping up and down, "They turned out so good!"

You snickered, "give me one second, I'll come look at them. I think they're coming soon anyways."

"Dude- come ON!" You didn't need to turn around to know that she was probably shifting her weight back and forth and practically bouncing off the walls waiting for you to spray and wrap the plates you were refining. The second you stood up from the chair, you only saw a flash of Shelby's hair disappearing down the hallway. You followed her down to the kiln room, hitting the threshold by the time she was standing over the open kiln, eyes scattering around the inside of it. You looked into it, looking at the five masterpieces that littered the top shelf of the kiln. you stifled laughter at the odd array of clay in front of you. You left Shelby to take apart the kiln and went back to the front. The Sabres weren't supposed to be here for another hour, which gave you time to work on a few orders, organize a couple classes for this upcoming week, and contemplate how you would attempt to keep yourself together around Tyson. You started glazing a piece that needed to be shipped out this coming week when the front door opened. Your head spun around and met the eyes of Scott Balzar (The team videographer, per nhl.com), "Mr. B, I didn't think you were supposed to be here for another 45 minutes?"

He nodded his head, "I know, but we were wondering if we could film around the studio a little so the viewers get an idea of what the studio looks like and so the guys have a chance to be around what you guys do a little more, if that's okay?"

You smiled, "Of course it is, just be careful when you head back the hall, we're unloading the kiln right now, so I would avoid that end room."

"That's perfect, thank you. I'm okay to release everybody?"

"Yeah, as long as I have my little bubble to work," the grin plastered on his face scared you, it was almost like he knew something he shouldn't. Maybe you were just paranoid.

You turned your focus back to the pot that was still in your hand, listening to the bell on the door jingle. When the door shut completely and everyone was inside, the team was trying to be respectful and quiet around you. They were almost succeeding, until Tage Thompson sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table, "So, what'd you think?"

You looked up, "Of what?"

"Of Lombardo?" You felt yourself cock your eyebrow in confusion. It took longer than a second for you to connect the dots that Tyson told him about your date.

"Oh! It was nice! I got the Fazzoletti and he got whatever their Lobster pasta is and we split their little banana pie!"

Tage looked so excited, "Phew, some good choices. Overall, enjoyable?"

"It was, 10/10 would do again, why do you ask?" You had all but abandoned your glaze work, more interested in why Tage was questioning you like a trained FBI agent.

"He did not shut the hell up the entire time. From the second he walked through the door, to the time he fell asleep, you are all I heard about. I was told I'm supposed to be asking you about the Merlot?" You burst out laughing. Apparently Tyson did not hold back to tell Tage all of the details of his night.

"I didn't have too high of hopes for it, but it was good. I don't remember what it was, if that's what you're asking," Tage looked disappointed, "but I can find out and text Tyson."

As if on cue, Tyson came up behind you, "How many projects do you have going on right now?"

You looked up at him, "We have an online shop that people place orders on, so I'm constantly working on those. This one is going to a woman out in California and the plates I was working on earlier are going to Alberta."

Tyson took this as an invitation to sit down next to you, asking you about all the orders you were working on and all the other cool stuff that your job let you do. You sat there and chatted with the two of them until your alarm went off. It was supposed to tell you that it was 15 minutes before their scheduled start time, "I should start setting up for you guys."

Both men sitting at the table followed your eyes as you stood up.They turned to their own conversation as you cleaned off the table. Tyson looked at Tage in shock as you used his shoulder to lean on as you reached for a cup of water on the opposite side of the table. He felt like a giddy teenager, overthinking light touches and sweet words, trying to hold himself together in front of you. You walked to the back room and grabbed the five bowls that sat in a circle closest to the door and brought them to one of the classrooms. By the time you made it back out to the main part of the studio, all of the members of the Buffalo Sabres had congregated in a little huddle around the table you previously occupied, "Gentleman, you can come back, we're in the second room on the right."

All five of them stood up and scurried back to the hall. You popped open the door to show them where exactly you were talking about, allowing Tage to pass you first. Tyson, who passed right behind him, touched your hip lightly as he walked past- a motion that didn't go entirely unnoticed. you finished grabbing a few supplies that you weren't sure were all in the room already and stood back to let the rest of the crew in and give them space to set up.

This room was set up differently than the last one. Instead of pottery wheels, there was a long table that stretched most of the room, with cabinets along the side and a counter top at the front of the room. You watched all five of them take in the change of scenery. You stood at the end of the table and grabbed the bowls you had sitting there. You silently passed around all of their pots and let them talk and compare their pieces. When you were given the go ahead, you started class, "Welcome back to the last part of your little pottery making journey. You're almost free, I promise."

The room collectively chuckled. You got the chance to look around the room, Tyson was enamored in your words; Tage was too busy looking at Tyson ogle at you. Owen was too busy watching Jeff, who was twisting his bowl in his hands inspecting every crack and crevice of it. Dylan seemed to be looking around the entire room, looking at you every so often to make sure you knew he was listening, "today we're going to be painting our works. You have the choice between using glaze or acrylic paint, there's pros and cons to each one. If you paint it, it is only decorative, you cannot eat out of your pieces, but you can take them with you today. If you glaze it, you will have to come back after it is fired again, but it'll be food safe. I, thankfully, don't have to do too much of a tutorial on this, because you guys watched me glaze a pot out front before we came in, yeah?"

They nodded, "If you decide to glaze your pieces, you have to do at least 3 coats of whatever color you are using, and that's for each color. Most of the glaze containers should say how many layers you need for that glaze to be opaque, I would try to shoot for 2 layers of acrylic just in case. Any questions?"

The entire room shook their heads, so you showed them where all of the materials that they didn't already have out in front of them were and basically cut them loose. You helped where needed, but it seemed like they all got the hang of it pretty quickly. Owen and Tyson were the only ones who decided to glaze their pieces, so you spent most of your time sitting with them and helping. The hour went by quickly, most of the guys didn't need that much time, opting to do one color and call it a day. Owen and Tyson stayed back, Tyson having driven separately from the rest of the group (He planned to go out with you afterwards, but couldn't tell anyone else that). They had decided that they would film the two other pots after they were done with the last firing, and had decided to go home for the day. You sat in the room, just the three of you, until they were done. Owen was the first to push his bowl in front of him and announce that he didn't think there was anything else he wanted to add. Tyson offered to drive him back to his place, and asked to hang back for just a couple minutes while he finished up.

When Tyson had, very loudly, announced he was finished, Owen huffed. Both of them placed their pots together at the end of the table, which you grabbed and promised to take back to the kiln room when they left. Owen left to go use the restroom and then was going to wait out front, which left you and Tyson alone. Tyson found you leaning against the counter at the front of the room, and caged you in front of it, “Sweetheart, you’ve barely looked at me the entire time I’ve been here.”

“Did you seemingly forget that we’re barely supposed to know each other?”

Tyson kissed your forehead, “It’s okay, we’ll make it up tonight. I’m going to drop him off at his place and then come back for you, okay? You’re done in half an hour?” You looked over at the clock.

“Yeah, about a half an hour. Is that okay? You’re not going to be cutting it too close?”

“I’ll rush through it if it means I get to spend more time with you.” you blushed, “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

You nodded, letting him lean down and kiss you sweetly, “Go take Owen home, You’re gonna have me the rest of the night, or until Tage thinks I’m harvesting your organs again.”

The laugh that he let out was heavenly, “I’ll text you, keep you updated.”

“Yeah, we’ll make that work.” he walked out with nothing more than a nod of his head.

You took their pots back to the kiln room and slipped them on the next glaze kiln that was going to go in.

The 35 minutes that it took Tyson to drop Owen off and come back went by slowly. It seemed to drag on after 15 minutes, when Tyson texted you and told him he had just dropped Owen off and was on his way back. You were the last one at work, having ushered everyone else out and that you would finish cleaning up. You were sweeping the floor when the door opened, “I’m back, did I miss anything.”

You didn’t look up from what you were doing, “nope, Steve chirped me because I wouldn’t let him help me close up.”

You finished what you were doing quickly, letting Tyson ramble about the conversation on the car ride to Owens and the cool song on the radio on the way back. You grabbed your bag and looked at Tyson from the other side of the front register, “Are you done? Can we go out now? I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

You walked around to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he talked, “yes, I am done, I am all yours.”

“Thank god,” he placed a hand at the base of your spine and pulled you into him. He pressed his lips against yours in a kiss that made you weak in the knees. You grabbed a handful of the tshirt that adorned his shoulders. When he pulled away from you, you were breathing heavily, red in the face, and staring up at him in bewilderment, “I’ve been waiting so long to do that.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“You mean to tell me I can’t just stand here and makeout with you?”

“Maybe back at my place, or yours for all I give a shit.” You took a step back out of his arms and gently motioned him towards the door. You both took a step outside and he let you lock the door. Taking a hand in his, he walked towards his car.

“I think we should make a pit stop first, real quick.” He brought your hand up to his lips to kiss the back of your palm.

“Why? What do you have planned or are you not going to tell me again?”

Tyson walked you over to the passenger side of the car, opening the door, “What’s your go-to Mcdonald’s order?”

You laughed and kissed his cheek, “Thank you.”

“You didn’t answer me,” He leaned against the door frame until you cracked and told him, “Good, welcome to our second date.”

He shut the door and you laughed. The whole way back to your apartment was full of comfortable silence and little touches that Tyson wanted to do the first time. Your hand held his on the center console and his thumb made small strokes across your knuckles. Once the Mcdonald’s bag was secured, the conversation started to pick up. Tyson talked about how difficult it was to not say anything to you during ‘class,’ you made fun of him for admitting it. You made it back to your apartment and handed Tyson the bag of food.

You collapsed on the couch, letting Tyson drop his stuff on the table by the door. He sat on the couch next to you and unpacked the bag. As you ate, you chatted about the upcoming week. The Buffalo Sabres played one pregame at home and then were set to play a road game later on in the week. You ate and talked about the pots and your schedules and how you two would navigate it. The conversation came easy, flowing consistently until the trash was thrown back in the bag. Tyson stood up from the couch, swiping the bag off the table.

“I’m envious of you,” Tyson turned around to look at you with a confused look, “you and your healthy knees that don’t crack when you stand up-”

Tyson let out a chuckle, “I think it’s the athlete.”

“I think you’re mean,” You watched him waltz to the kitchen. He kept his head held high like it was a regular routine of his. You laid down on the couch, listening to the soft thuds of Tyson’s gait, the thunk of the bag at the bottom of the garbage bin, the screech of the bar stool from the island, and the silence that followed. Tyson sat at the kitchen island and admired his surroundings. He memorized the way you decorated the walls with photos and paintings of pretty landscapes and portraits of what he could assume were Your People. He admired the bookshelf of old leather bound copies of classics and some other random books he’s never heard of with quaint clipart looking flowers on the spine. Shelves and nooks were adorned with hastily painted clay pots he assumed were from former students and photographs taped to your cabinets and fridge of smiling college girls and graying people who looked eerily like you. He doted on how every miniscule part of your apartment felt like it captured your whole heart and attention; every single part of it got your undivided attention in the decorating process.

“Tyson- '' You called from the living room, “can you take a photo of that Merlot and send it to Tage? He was asking about it earlier. I don’t wanna forget! It should be in the fridge”

Rounding the island, he pulled out his phone. Tyson opened the fridge door and scanned for the bottle. He found it half corked in the back corner of the door shelf. He grabbed the bottle by the neck, set it on the counter, snapped a photo quickly and sent it off to Tage. He hoped the no-context photo would do the trick as he pushed the half-corked bottle back to its place in the fridge, “done.”

“Thank you, I assumed he’d have your ass if I didn’t tell him what the brand was by the time you got back.” You watched Tyson walk back into the living room, phone in hand. He dropped it on the coffee table in front of the couch and took your slightly spread legs as an invitation to lay down. He rested his head on your shoulder, embedding his face in the curve of your neck; your hands, almost instinctively, found the curls at the nape of his neck. You two laid there in silence until Tyson’s breathing went faint, and soft snoring echoed from his lips. You entangled your hand in his hair, lightly scratching his back with the other. You stared up at the ceiling trying not to fangirl. It wasn’t enough to really be geeking about, but it made you wonder if there ever existed a thing as “too fast.” you were comfortable with him, and obviously the reciprocal was true. It wasn’t much, you knew that, but it was yours.

-💍

I think there actually is a thing as too fast, but that's besides the point. She's here (albeit a year later)

#Tyson Jost #tyson jost x reader #buffalo sabres #nhl #hockey #tyson jost imagine

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thomasschabot · 2 years ago

Text

tell you i miss you but i don’t know how

tyson jost x fem!reader

run-ins with an ex-boyfriend keep happening, but you still have so many feelings about him

word count: 2.8k

warnings: alcohol consumption, children, cursing

a/n: this is a repost of a fic i wrote in nov 2020 while existing in this corner of the internet at @/nugnthopkns. a few edits have been made for spelling, grammar, and general flow, but the the story itself remains untouched. enjoy x

⭑⭒⭑

Breaking up was for the best.

You repeat the phrase like a mantra. It’s the first thing you think when you wake up, in the back of your mind as you sit in your cubicle, and verbally repeated anytime you pass a mirror. Deep down you know it’s right — you and Tyson aren’t on compatible lifepaths, and that’s okay. You just wish it didn’t hurt so much to say goodbye. He’s an easy person to miss, with his infectious smile and quick wit. Tyson is the only person who’s made you laugh so hard tears roll down your cheek, the one who always picked up a bag of pretzels on his way home from the rink so you could have a snack after work. Though you didn’t expect to get over him quickly, you had no idea you’d still miss him nearly a year later. Or that it would hurt so much every time you see him in public.

⭒⭑⭒

The bar offers a reprieve from the brisk Denver wind. October has been unusually chilly so far, but the bodies packed like sardines in the open room create all the heat insulation you need. It’s a Friday night and you’re hoping to unwind after a stressful week at work. It’s audit season, meaning you’ve had to pull crazy late nights as you read over the financial records of the firm’s junior partners. Today was particularly terrible, with the computer system crashing, and you really need a drink. Your friends are supposed to meet you, but a text confirms that traffic is heavier than they anticipated and they’re running late.

Not wanting to waste precious time, you head straight for the only empty space at the bar. A bartender a few years older than you sees you approach and leans close to hear your order over the thumping bass. “Could I just grab a gin and tonic?” you ask, and she smiles before turning away to make your drink. A minute later a drink is placed in your hand and you scour the venue for a table. A small booth is available in the corner with the perfect amount of space for your eventual party. It turns out to be an ideal spot for people watching, and you casually sip your drink and occasionally scroll through Instagram while you wait. A text from your friend alerts you everyone is fifteen minutes out. Though it’s pretty crowded, everyone seems to be congregating on the dance floor so you don’t hesitate to leave your table and order a second drink.

This gin and tonic goes down easier than the first, and soon you’re on your third. There’s still no sign of your friends anywhere and the balls of your feet ache from the heels you wore to the office today. You abandon your plan to meet them at the door, firing off a text giving your location in the venue. Once sitting back down, you take off your shoes and rub at your feet. Why did you choose today to abide by the dress code? You typically wore a discreet pair of sneakers and wished you could go back in time to change your shoe choice.

“I see you’re still drinking gin and can’t wear heels for more than two hours.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. You look up to see Tyson smiling down at you, and the room spins around you. The entire reason you picked this bar was because it was the only one the boys didn’t frequent, but it seems they’re here anyways.

“I’m consistent,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. The sight of Tyson makes your heart clench. He looks good, glowing the way that means the team came out with a win and that he played well and put up some points.

Tyson nods to the empty seat across from you, and against your better judgement you allow him to sit. A small section of your brain thinks he’s going to confess he’s been miserable the last few months, that he’s still madly in love with you. It seems to be the part controlling the rest of your body. “That’s one thing that’ll never change. How’s work?”

You hum wistfully, wishing he wouldn’t make small talk. How is this so easy for him? “Busy,” you sigh. “It’s audit season so the department is swamped. The boys still causing issues?”

“They’re as annoying as ever.” He smiles at you again. The sick feeling in your stomach doesn’t subside. Tyson gives you a quick recap of the Avs’ season so far, and you half pay attention. You’ve gone to great lengths to avoid seeing him — switched the way you drive home, where you hang out with friends, what grocery store you go to. It’s a little ironic he’d find you here of all places.

Idle chatter occurs for a while. Tyson’s talking to you like he’s reuniting with a childhood friend, not an ex-lover. As much as you find the conversation uncomfortable, you can’t turn him away. You miss sitting with him, talking about anything under the sun. Life hasn’t been as bright since the break up. No matter how hard you try, nothing fills the Tyson sized hole in your heart. In a twisted way his presence is comforting, a reminder of what once was. Eventually his teammates realize he’s gone missing and come to whisk him away.

“See you around, I hope,” Tyson says, a little bewildered because J.T is dragging him by the belt loops towards a large table full of rowdy men.

All you can croak out is a feeble “Yeah.” He doesn’t look back once he’s away from the table. You shouldn’t have expected him to, as he seems to be doing fine. Well even. Every step he takes breaks your heart a little more, and you curse yourself for missing him and down the rest of your drink.

Your friends find you crying in the bathroom and usher you home.

⭑⭒⭑

Despite being separated from Tyson, you’re still close with some members of the Avalanche extended family. Mel Landeskog continually reaches out, ensuring you’re doing the best you can given the circumstances. It isn’t easy when your ex-boyfriend is the pride of Denver, plastered over every billboard in a fifteen mile radius of the city. When she called to ask if you’d emergency babysit Linnea while she ran errands you jumped at the opportunity to help.

“Thank you so much,” Mel says, cooing to her daughter who’s comfortably placed in your arms.

“It’s not a problem,” you insist, “I’m just glad I can finally start repaying you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, telling you to text her if you need anything picked up at the store. You’re then left alone with the baby who is luckily one of the happiest you’ve ever seen. The first hour or so is spent entertaining Linnea with various toys and games. Her smile and laugh melt your heart, and your mind briefly flashes to conversations you had about children with Tyson. You push them from your mind, not wanting to lose your focus. The child in front of you is the one that matters, not the hypothetical one from times past. Around two she gets fussy — a bottle and quick diaper change satiate her.

“You having fun, pretty girl?” you coo. “I’m not always the most exciting to be around.” She doesn’t respond, just looks up at you with heavy lids. You pull her closer to your chest, rocking gently back and forth on your heels. Within minutes she’s soundly asleep and you head upstairs to place her in the crib.

Back on the main floor, you settle into the corner of the couch. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you keep your laptop at a low volume to ensure you’ll hear anything. You sift through the mess in your inbox, deleting promotional emails and replying to those that need your attention. After killing half an hour, you quickly check on Linnea before scrolling through social media. According to twitter the Avalanche are on a six game winning streak and are looking to keep it alive. You honestly could care less about hockey anymore — it’s a painful reminder that Tyson is no longer yours. In truth you’re happy for the team because they work hard and deserve it. Other social media platforms yield nothing of interest and you soon feel yourself nodding off. Looking at the clock you realize there’s about an hour left in the baby’s nap, so you let yourself sleep.

A knock on the door startles you awake. Careful not to cause a commotion that could wake Linnea you head in the direction of the entryway. The knocking increases as you approach, and you open the door to a disheveled Tyson.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t mean for the question to come off so rude, but it does.

He pays it no mind. “Is Gabe home yet?”

“No,” you sputter. “I’m watching Linnea while Mel stepped out.”

Tyson looks stumped. “He should be home by now. We had plans to unwind before the game.” You make no attempt to stop him from entering, and he takes his shoes off without another word. Aimlessly trailing behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he heads to the guest room. “I’m gonna take a nap, have Landy wake me up when he gets home.”

“Can do,” you sigh, but it falls on deaf ears. Tyson’s already got the door shut, and you imagine he’s climbing under the covers, blissfully unaffected by your presence. You can’t say the same. Knowing he’s less than fifty feet from you sends you spiraling. Flashbacks of pre-game cuddles grace the back of your eyelids, and you rub your temples furiously to get rid of the images. It doesn’t help. You want nothing more than to not be bothered by how much you miss seeing him. You miss the way his hands felt entangled with yours and how sweet his voice sounds in the morning. Being this hung up on a person so long after a relationship has ended can’t be healthy.

The baby monitor crackles, signaling the baby, and the only reason you haven’t fled, is once again awake. Linnea’s room is bright and cheerful; the perfect hideaway from Tyson. Sometime during your tenth reciting of Green Eggs and Ham Mel returns. She finds you upstairs and giddily sweeps up her child, missing her terribly even though she was only gone for a couple of hours.

“Did everything go okay?”

You nod. “She was a dream. The happiest baby I’ve ever seen. She might need to be changed soon though.”

Mel nods. “I saw Tyson’s car in the driveway, did he meet Gabe?”

“He’s actually asleep in the downstairs guest room,” you whisper, scared he’ll sense you’re talking about it, and by extension thinking about him, missing him.

“Oh. Shit.”

That’s the understatement of the year. “Yeah.” You quickly help put away the groceries before heading out, not wanting to disrupt the routine more so than you already had. Really though, you want to be as far away from the Landeskogs as possible before Tyson wakes up. You’ll have to do a better job of avoiding him in the future, you decide on the way home. You’re heart can’t take seeing him this frequently — or at all.

⭒⭑⭒

You would rather be anywhere than the Pepsi Center. It’s the first time you’ve been in the arena since breaking up with Tyson and you’re downright miserable. However, you promised your younger brother you’d take him to a game the next time he visited Denver with your parents and you aren’t about to break his heart. Ryan is borderline obsessed with the Avalanche, and hockey in general. At eleven he’s showing significant promise and you know he works hard.

“Ry, slow down,” you huff, desperately trying to keep up with him. The kid is swaying through the throng of people at lightning speed, desperately trying to make it to your seats to catch warmup. Wanting to make the experience special for him, you purchased seats along the glass across from the Avs bench. Your brother halts, tapping his foot impatiently as you join him and match his stride.

Contrary to what Ryan thinks, your seats have not been stolen and warmup is just starting. His winter jacket is soon placed on the seat, revealing the too big jersey underneath. The number seventeen nearly sits at his elbow and the name-bar is askew because one side keeps slipping down, but your brother is exuberant. He’s preoccupied with watching players do passing drills, hands pressed against the glass, and you allow yourself to look around. Virtually nothing has changed since the last time you were here. The banners are still the same, the energy electric. One small difference is your seating arrangement — the better halves’ box is no longer a luxury you have available to you. A quick glance in that direction confirms they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and no doubt in the midst of planning the next off-season wedding.

Ryan grips the hem of your sweater to get your attention. “Look, look,” he squeals, “Tys and J.T are coming over!” Sure enough, the two friends are making a beeline in your direction. Tyson waves and Ryan eagerly reciprocates. You’re reminded just how much he misses Tyson — they were the best of friends whenever they could get together. Another piece of your heart breaks in that moment, as you realize you aren’t the only hurting from the breakup.

“You’ve got him in the wrong jersey, short stack,” J.T smirks. “Think he’d look better with thirty-seven plastered all over.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll remember that Compher. You got the spare change lying around to buy him one?” There’s no malice in your voice — you truly miss joking around with him.

Tyson throws a puck high enough to clear the plexiglass. “Ry-Guy, catch!”

It lands unceremoniously at Ryan’s feet, but he beams as he picks it up. The two boys share a makeshift fist bump and quickly catch up with each other. It’s been over a year since they’ve seen each other at this point, and Ryan has so much he wants to talk about. J.T tells a joke that makes the younger boy laugh, and Tyson turns his attention to you.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, doing his best to convey his sincerity. The energy of the area and the adrenaline have Tyson shaking slightly, and he rocks back onto his blades.

You study his facial features as you inhale. He’s still incredibly handsome, just slightly more defined, like he’s growing into himself. “Likewise,” you exhale. You know you shouldn’t lie but you can’t help it — for Ryan’s sake you need to pretend that seeing Tyson doesn’t make you want to curl into a ball and cry. He smiles sadly, like he knows you’re putting on a show. He probably does — you’ve never been good at hiding your emotions from him. Has been able to see how much you hurt every time you interact?

Ryan recaptures Tyson’s attention for a few final moments before he has to return to the locker room. With a high-five through the glass and a promise to call soon he skates away, leaving your brother to gush about his idol. The game goes better than you could have ever imagined — the Avs gain a landslide victory and Tyson gets a hatrick. After each goal he points in your direction and Ryan goes berserk. You catch yourself smiling, proud of his accomplishment, before you realize you won’t be at the celebratory afterparty. That isn’t your life anymore.

The traffic out of the arena is terrible, and Ryan’s asleep in the backseat before you hit the interstate. In some sort of daze you think about what you’d be doing with Tyson right now if you were still together. Maybe you’d be getting ready to make an appearance at a club to celebrate the big game, but it’s more likely you’d be pressed together on the couch, watching a nature documentary to unwind. It’s moments like that you miss most, where you were both too comfortable and enamored with each other to care about your social obligations. A single tear escapes and flows down your cheek. One turns into ten, and soon you’re sobbing over lost love.

⭑⭒⭑

Tyson Jost isn’t someone you could ever stop loving. He’s the human equivalent of the sun, and even now your life revolves around him. It’s centered on missing him, sure, but that’s a part of him nonetheless. You can only hope it gets easier to deal with.

⭒⭑⭒

enjoy this fic? give it a reblog :) <3

#tyson jost imagine #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost fic #buffalo sabres imagine #buffalo sabres fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #no one in this starbucks knows i'm posting fic hehehe

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ilyasorokinn · 2 years ago

Note

HELLO NEW PFP SPARE SOME TYSON FLUFF IN HONOUR PLEASE?? (he is just so doting boyfriend to me I feel like he’s very protective but in like a gentle way?? he’s always checking if you need another drink when you’re out or if you’re getting tired and loves to cook for you while you just sit at the counter and talk to him very much love language acts of service vibes)

CHICKEN TENDIES

okay, 1. the title has nothing to with the song. promise. it's a happy fic, and 2. this has been sitting in my inbox for months, like actual months. like, from late 2022. it's bad. hope this is what you were thinking of. i tried. anyways, happy birthday tjosty, i love you my little slay king. *muah*

tw: alcohol consumption (all legal)

tyson had been watching you all night. not in a creepy way, quite the opposite. he was watching to make sure you were alright. he knew you could take care of yourself, but the world was scary.

after the song ended, you made your way over to tyson, stumbling and bumping into a few people, giggling and apologizing as you went. you threw your arms around his neck when you finally made it back to your table, and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek.

"did you have fun?" he couldn't help but smile at the carefree smile on your face as he poured you a glass of water.

"sooo much." you giggled, taking the glass and almost spilling it on yourself as you took a big gulp, "did you see me?"

"i did." he nodded, "you ready to go home?"

"i'm hungry," you answered.

"yeah? what do you want?" he asked, pushing a piece of hair that had fallen from the hairdo that was too complicated for tyson to understand, behind your ear.

"chicken tendies." you answered, gulping down some more water.

"all right, let's get some chicken tendies." he left you alone at the table before walking two steps to the table where your group of friends were, and said your goodbyes before helping you walk out of the bar and towards your car.

he buckled you in, nodding along to your drunk babble talk, "all right, let's get you some chicken tendies." you giggled.

by the time the chicken tenders were secured, you were asleep. he knew this would happen, so he got the small size of chicken and drove home in silence.

when he pulled into the parking spot in your apartment complex, he sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying one of the chicken tenders before getting out and making his way over to you.

"hi, pretty." he cooed, "time to go upstairs."

"chicken?" you mumbled.

"yeah, i got the chicken." he carresed your hair and cheek, "come on, bed is way more comfortable than this seat." you raised your arms, and he set the chicken bag on the roof of the car, picking you up and lifting you bridal style.

you hummed, grabbing the chicken bag and taking the key, locking the door. he carried you all the way up to your apartment, laying you in bed and tucking you in before getting you water.

"good chicken?" he asked, coming back into the room.

"good chicken." you nodded, "thank you, tj."

"your welcome." he smiled, "but please don't call me tj." you giggled.

this made me fell so single, i'm sad. anyways, happy birthday to tyson jost. i love you and you are so slay.

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holy-puckslibrary · 10 months ago

Text

━ 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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