#i just really think josty is so cute

[nhl-stories]

Apartment 402 – Tyson Jost

Summary: Sylvia is a running away from the only life she’s ever known, turning up on Tyson's doorstep may be the best decision she's made in years.

Author’s Note: Mentions of emotional abuse and postpartum depression, but also Josty being a sweetie. Honestly, I could probably write 4 billion more words

If you feel like you or a loved one might be in an abusive relationship, you can find resources here Please be safe out there and look out for one another

Word Count: 11.7k

Album Series Masterlist

Emptied my hеart, laid down my cards Played my best part, wanting a new start

It was too late to go back. Not that it was really an option, there was no turning around now.

She trudges through the snow that’s piling up on the walkway. This was the right choice, at least for now.

She rings the doorbell and waits for him to answer. It’s late and she didn’t call, she hopes he’s still a light enough sleeper to come get her out of the cold.

“Syl? What– why?” Tyson rubs the sleep from his eyes as he tries to decipher what’s going on.

Before she can answer there’s a cry that grabs their attention.

“You have the baby? Jesus, get in here before he gets cold.”

Sylvia gives a stiff smile and walks into his place with the carrier, she sets it down and pulls Jonah out and bounces him on her hip to get him to calm down. Tyson just watches, waiting for an explanation.

“I left him and I didn’t know where to go, so I just started driving and I ended up here,” Sylvia sniffs, trying her best to not cry. She cried enough in the car.

Tyson is too tired to say anything useful so he just pulls her and Jonah into a hug, he feels her relax in his embrace. When he pulls away, he smiles at the baby.

“Hi Jonah, it’s nice to finally meet you in person,” he holds out a finger and the baby grabs on and giggles when Tyson exaggeratedly shakes his hand.

Syl laughs along, happy Tyson isn’t prodding into the situation just yet. The wound hasn’t even scabbed over, it’s too early to even pick.

“I can put you in the guest room, but I don’t know where the little guy will sleep.”

“I have some of his stuff in the car, I just didn’t want to lug it to your door. You know in case…”

“In case I turned away a mother and baby in this weather?”

“More like you slept through me ringing the doorbell,” she smirks.

Tyson trudges back and forth for Sylvia to get all the stuff out of the car and then helps her set up in his guest room. She sets up the travel playpen and gets Jonah settled for bed, it’s not perfect but it works for now.

“If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Sylvia is the first to go for the hug this time, she’s finally able to squeeze hard without a baby in her arms.

Tyson is surprised he manages to sleep through the rest of the night. He expects the way his blood boils to keep him up, thinking about what that man did to Sylvia, what he took from her, instead he finds solace in sleep.

He also expects the baby to cry, but maybe little Jonah knows how exhausted his mom is emotionally and physically that he gives her a break.

He goes to practice the next morning well-rested and acts like nothing has happened, because as of right now that’s kind of true. Sure, there’s a woman and a baby at his house for God knows how long, but it could be considered just an old friend visiting.

Still, after practice he goes to the grocery store. He doesn’t know anything about babies. Kacey is only two years younger than him so he was barely out of diapers when she was born. He wanders down the baby aisle and throws things in his cart that he thinks will be helpful: food, diapers, wipes, a pacifier with an elephant at the end that he thinks looks cute.

When he arrives home, it’s almost noon and it’s quiet. He knows Syl is still here because her shoes sit by the door like the good Canadian she is.

Sylvia is lying on the bed; her eyes are open but she’s in a daze. Jonah is lying on the bed next to her, playing with his feet while his mother sort of pays attention.

When Jonah hears Tyson in the doorway, he makes an attempt to sit up and gets fussy when he can’t quite get up to look at the visitor. Sylvia doesn’t make any attempts to comfort or move towards him so Tyson scoops the baby up.

“Just get some more sleep,” he whispers and Sylvia just grunts in response.

Jonah starts crying as soon as Tyson gets into the living room.

“Don’t cry little man, we’ll find something fun to do,” he makes a silly face but Jonah’s eyes are closed as he gets ready to scream.

“Shh, shh, shhh,” he looks around the house for something to play with and grabs a loose puck from a side table, he’s pretty sure it’s for some milestone but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Hey look, here’s a puck,” he puts it in Jonah’s hand and the baby grabs it with interest before putting it in his mouth and gnawing on it.

If he was more knowledgeable, Tyson might think about the problem with letting the baby suck on a dirty puck but he’s just happy that Jonah’s calmed down.

He sits down on the floor with Jonah and the baby just happily gums the puck.

“You like hockey then, eh?”

Jonah gurgles in response before taking the puck and holding out for Tyson.

“Thank you,” he smiles though he’s grossed out by the now slobbery puck.

He sets it down but Jonah reaches out for it again. So, Tyson hands it back and Jonah laughs. A few seconds later Jonah passes it back. This continues for far too long to entertain anyone sufficiently and yet; it entertains both until Syl comes into the living room.

“Jonah did you make a new friend?” She brightens at the sight and joins them on the ground, Jonah drops the puck and reaches out for his mom.

“I bought some food and stuff if he’s hungry, sorry I didn’t even think to feed him.”

“He’s still on the tit, but thank you… for everything.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, “are you gonna tell me what happened?”

Syl lets out a heavy sigh and kisses her baby on the head.

“You don’t have to, I –“

“It’s fine, you deserve to know why I invaded your life.”

“I guess I finally opened my eyes and figured out what everyone else always knew? I think when I got pregnant, I really started to see what he had done. He has me push away my family and friends and kept me from my own source of income and when I finally came up for air I was poor and alone and trapped.”

She starts to cry, “But people started sending me money for the baby and I didn’t tell him so I had a little nest egg and then he got mad at me for overcooking a steak and not being able to calm down Jonah fast enough and I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to leave.”

“And you took his son in the middle of the night across the border?” Tyson tries to keep judgement out of his tone, but he wants to make sure he understands.

“I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far, I thought I’d chicken out.”

Tyson gives her a strained smile. He’s proud of her, he really is; but at the same time, it seems reckless to leave without a whole plan.

“What if he tries to come after you? After Jonah?”

“I don’t think he’d want any of this to become public knowledge. Let something as stupid as me mess up his reputation,” she says it like she believes she’s nothing.

“I’ll help you find a lawyer just in case, people like him don’t deserve to win.”

Before she can respond, Jonah pulls down the collar of her shirt.

“Sorry, did I ignore your lunchtime?” she smiles and gets a gummy sone in return.

Without second thought she pulls out her breast and starts feeding him.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Tyson shoots up.

“I know you’ve seen tits at least once before, because I dared Brittni to flash you that one summer.”

“You’ll be shocked to hear I’ve seen a few more since then,” he mocks while averting his gaze.

“You know this is the only actual purpose of breasts, right?” She laughs, a real, genuine laugh.

“Yeah, doesn’t mean I need to watch,” he laughs back.

“Well get used to it buddy,” she drops her happy tone, “I mean if I’m allowed to stay here.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“You’re a cool, young single guy who just moved to a new city, who doesn’t need a newly single mom and her baby cramping your style.”

“Lucky for you Sylvie, I like single moms.”

“I’m serious Tys, I haven’t exactly been a good friend for the past few years and then I throw this on you. It’s not really fair.”

“I appreciate it, but I got over being mad about the cold shoulder a long time ago. It was never really your fault. Stay as long as it takes to get back on your feet.”

“You say that now, but wait until Jonah really starts teething and screaming, then you’ll regret saying that.”

“You want to order pizza? I feel like celebrating that my best friend is here and left that asshole.”

“Pepperoni, green peppers, and extra cheese?”

“Always.”

It’s like no time has passed since they were last together. Syl can’t remember the last time she laughed so hard. If she were to guess it would have been 5 years ago, when her relationship still seemed good, when she still had friends she regularly talked to, and she hadn’t let herself wither away in the shadow of her husband’s expectations

If she thinks about everything she gave up, she’ll start to cry, and she has to be better for Jonah. For the new life she’s going to give them.

The next day she ventures out of the house with Jonah, the city looks much different with the sun out, like a new beginning. She finds herself driving around aimlessly at first, taking in this new freedom. Then reality sets in when she gets a call from her mother.

“He called me, to see if you came here, which is hilarious to think this is the first place you’d come,” she laughs like it’s actually a joke and not a comment on their strained relationship, which has been tenuous as long as Sylvia can remember.

“But are you okay? You don’t have to tell me where you guys are I just want to know you feel safe there,” despite their less than stellar relationship her mother had always loved her fiercely.

“I’m in Buffalo.”

“Of course, you went to Tyson,” there’s a sigh of relief, “I’m wiring you some money, don’t argue. Think of it as all the Christmas and birthday presents you missed. And get a new phone number. Don’t give him a chance to contact you outside of lawyers.”

Syl doesn’t mention the dozens of voicemails she hasn’t listened to yet. Though she can practically hear the threatening tone of half of them and the faux apologetic tone of the other half. The dichotomy of anger and caring that had kept her caged with fear and guilt for so many years. 

Her mom goes into legalities that Sylvia knows she’s only familiar with because of her daughter’s life choices. The deep harbored hope that Syl would eventually come to her senses. Everyone obviously hoped it would happen before a child was involved, but life doesn’t always go the way we hope.

After the phone call, Sylvia finds herself crying in a Target parking lot while Jonah screams in tandem.

Tyson comes home and finds Sylvia’s car missing and her phone number disconnected. He’s starts having a weird vision of Taken and going to Toronto to find Syl and beat the life out of her husband, though he doesn’t really have a special set of skills for that kind of action.

Then the door opens with Jonah strapped to Sylvia’s chest and her carrying some bags.

“Jesus Christ where were you?” Tyson grabs the bags out of her hands and his tone causing Jonah to whimper and start to cry.

“It’s okay Jonah, Tyson didn’t mean to scare you,” she bounces a bit to soothe him, “if I’m staying here a while I kind of need the essentials, cribs, bibs, changing table.”

“Well, you should have texted or something,” he lowers his voice a bit, not wanting to frighten Jonah more.

“I thought I would be back before you got home, but then my mom called and–“

“You talked to your mom?”

That’s the last thing Tyson expected to hear. Sylvia was a bit of a latchkey kid growing up, her parents working all hours, so Tyson mostly remembers her mom as the woman who would pick Syl up from his house or an outdoor rink late at night without much fanfare or conversation.

“Yeah, he called her. So, she wanted to see if I was safe. And told me to get a new phone so he could only reach me through a lawyer.”

“Smart,” Tyson nods, “and that’s why your phone was disconnected?”

Sylvia makes an embarrassed grimace in response, before she pulls out her phone and texts him a matching emoji.

“Before you start having me make furniture I have a gift,” Tyson smiles and drags Sylvia to the kitchen.

“I already owe you so much, you don’t need to get me a–“

She stops and laughs at the gift Tyson is excitedly holding up: a Sabres onesie and a pair of noise canceling headphones.

“I thought you guys might want to come to the next home game.”

“I don’t know…” she wants to go but she also worries about imposing too much on his life.

“C’mon, I want to be the one this little guy sees playing for his first NHL game, plus you can meet some of the guys and their partners. Get to know some people other than me, people who have experience raising their own kids.”

Tyson has a big smile, mostly directed to Jonah and it makes Sylvia insides turn mushy.

“Fine, you’re right it sounds fun.”

The day of the game comes and the last thing Syl wants to do was go, instead she wants to lie in bed and do nothing. And by nothing she meant nothing; she hasn’t even gotten out of bed to change Jonah, who is crying in his crib. It’s the worst version of self-soothing a mother could do, but if that makes her a bad mom she doesn’t care.

She lets him cry for 30 minutes and it still isn’t enough to pull her out of her bed, if anything a new level of self-loathing is keeping her there.

Her phone buzzes and she has just enough energy to look that Tyson texted her that he’s bringing her home lunch.

And it’s the fear of Tyson seeing her lower than low, ignoring her child and wallowing in her own self-pity, that finally rouses her from bed.

She scoops up her son, who continues to cry, “Mommy is so sorry baby, I’ll try and pay for your therapy in the future.”

She laughs at her own dark joke as she changes her son, then decides to just give him a full bath since she let him fester in his own filth like the trash person she is.

“You’re gonna have a lot of fun tonight, Jo,” she says once she puts him in the bath, “hockey is a lot of fun, and Tyson, that’s the guy we’re living with, I guess he’s your godfather or something, he’s really good. And mommy met him playing hockey cause she used to have to play on a boys’ team.”

“And she got in trouble for punching a bunch of boys,” Tyson laughs from where he leans against the doorframe.

“Mommy was defending herself, which makes violence okay,” she smiles at Jonah.

Tyson joins her on the floor and hands her a smoothie, “They made this at the training facility, it apparently has all the good vitamins and stuff for breast feeding.”

“They make you guys’ booby smoothies?” Jonah laughs at the word booby, “Booby is like, the one word he recognizes.”

Tyson laughs, “Makes sense, I get excited hearing about meals too, and no it’s not a special smoothie I just read that you need all these vitamins and calcium so I grabbed one on the way out.”

“There’s another part of this lunch right? I’m not a smoothie-only kind of girl.”

“Yeah, I grabbed you a sandwich too.”

The gloom recedes into the background as the day goes on, Sylvia can feel it looming but tries her best to ignore it. If only to make sure she doesn’t seem ungrateful to Tyson.

She hasn’t seen Tyson play a hockey game since his first game against the Maple Leafs, and even then, as a happy newlywed, she was quickly ushered away before really getting to congratulate Tyson. After that she was always been conveniently “busy” when he played in Toronto.

So, walking into the arena is already a wholly different. It makes her heart swell with pride, that little old Tyson made it here. It also makes her feel guilty for not celebrating him enough before.

Jonah seems as enamored as his mom, he moves his head every which way, like he’s taking note of everything so he doesn’t forget.

An usher leads her to the family suite, which is instantly too fancy for her. She’s used to her hockey games being in cold warehouse rinks on hard bleachers where parents scream too loud and teens sneak in beer. She doesn’t know what to do with herself here.

“Sylvia?” A woman comes up to her, clearly sensing her unease.

“I’m Danielle Okposo, Tyson had some of the guys warn us you’d be coming,” her smile is warm and familiar, the kind of person you just want to hug.

“Warn? I hope he’s not telling everyone the bad stories,” she laughs but it ends hollow as she realizes there are bad things he could say.

She merely laughs and bends down to look into the stroller, “And who’s this guy?”

“This is Jonah,” Sylvia gets him out of the stroller and readjust his headphones.

“Welcome to the Sabres family you guys, come sit down,”

She ushers her towards the other women, who all look beautiful and well-dressed. Sylvia feels bad in her ratty flannel, it was the only clean, blue thing she owned. No one seems to take notice or care, but when you’re holding a baby as cute as Jonah, she realizes people pay very little attention to her.

Jonah plays with the ends of her hair while he stares at the players at warm up and his mom is gently interrogated.

“Tyson said you just moved to Buffalo?” A woman who hadn’t introduced herself asked.

“Uh- yeah, I’m staying with Tys until I get back on my feet,” she stutters, “I’m going through a bad separation,” she adds hoping it will kibosh any further question or at least any question about the father of her child.

“Buffalo’s a great place to raise kids if you end up staying,” Danielle adds before they’re all distracted by the start of the game.

The rest of the evening goes pretty smoothly. Jonah isn’t fussy and only sleeps for part of the second period. Too distracted by the ice, the other kids, and the women who insist on giving her a break and holding him.

She eventually gives into the pleas, letting go of her grounding anchor and getting to focus more on the game. Tyson makes an assist and Syl jumps out of her seat, the old rush of a hockey game taking over.

The Sabres win and the women convince her to come down and congratulate the third star of the night, even when she says she’ll just see him back at his place.

She’s already thrown Tyson’s life off its axis; she doesn’t want to completely knock it out of orbit because he’s too nice to tell her to backoff. Even if she deserves it.

She has an overwrought smile as she watches all the wives and girlfriends hug their partners. She wonders if she’ll ever feel happy like that with someone, if the picture-perfect hugs and grins will be real for her.

“Whoa bud, stayed up for the whole game?” Tyson takes Jonah from her arms and gives him a little toss in the air.

 He’s all damp curls and misbuttoned buttons and smiles, for a second Sylvia thinks of kissing him.

She smiles through the strange thought, trying to remain unphased. “Yeah, eyes glued on the ice the whole time.”

Jonah grabs Tyson’s nose and laughs.

“I should get him a pair of skate next then, eh?” He grabs Jonah’s nose back.

“Yeah, for his hands and knees maybe, he can’t even crawl yet.”

“I’ll wait a few months then.”

He makes a mocking face and Sylvia sticks her tongue out at him, Jonah laughs at their faces.

“Want me to take a picture of you guys?” Another player asks walking by.

“No we’re-“

“C’mon Sylvie, I gotta get a good picture to send my mom,” he hands his phone over.

 She rolls her eyes and stands by him, wrapping an arm around his waist before pointing Jonah in the direction of the camera. She tickles Jonah’s side so his gummy smile is on full display.

“Cute, I’m Jeff by the way,” he extends a hand.

“Sylvia and the Sabres newest number one fan is Jonah,” she waves his little hand towards Jeff.

“Nice to meet you, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you both,” he smiles, showing off the deepest dimples Sylvia’s ever seen.

“Yeah, probably,” she already feels like she’s getting in too deep.

“Well, it’s bedtime for me and my partner in crime,” she takes Jonah back and puts him in his stroller, “but go out and celebrate, I’ll see you later.”

She gives Tyson a big hug, it’s probably too long and too tight, but she has so many hugs and ‘I’m proud of yous’ to make up for, she doesn’t care.

Sylvia wakes up the next morning and Jonah isn’t in his crib. An unbearable dread fills her body. Had he found her, taken the only thing that mattered to her, just because he could?  Just to remind her she couldn’t escape him, that she was nothing without him.

It’s not logical, but the emotions of being a mother are illogical.

She runs out to the living room, but before she can actually have her reaction out loud, she sees Tyson sitting on the couch with Jonah in his lap, facetiming his mom and sister.

Sylvia almost sobs with relief.

“Oh my god, I want one,” Kacey whines from the other end.

“Yeah, in ten years,” Tyson scoffs with older brother protectiveness.

“Either way I’m booking a flight to Buffalo just to squeeze him, Sylvie makes cute fucking babies.”

“Language,” their mom laughs.

Sylvia doesn’t want to interrupt the family moment, but she second guesses that when she realizes her own flesh and blood is involved and she pops in the background and waves. Jonah squeaks, seeing his mom in the screen but not knowing where she is.

“It’s good to see you sweetie,” Laura smiles, “I’m glad Tyson is being a helpful babysitter.”

There’s no pity in her voice or eyes, but pride, she probably knows what Sylvia’s going through, what she will go through better than most. The silent reassurance makes Syl feel braver.

“I can’t complain, his mom raised him right,” she smirks, aching for the company of a family she hasn’t had in years.

She comes around the couch and takes a spot next to Tyson.

“Did Tys tell you grandpa cried when he saw the picture of the three of you?” Kacey grins.

“Of course, he did,” Sylvia’s grinning so hard she knows it will hurt later.

Jonah then leans forward mouth open onto Sylvia’s shirt-covered boob.

“I’m just a giant milk machine to you, aren’t I?” She moves him off Tyson’s lap and closer to her and her now drool covered shirt.

“Wow you’re still breast feeding, good for you I never lasted that long,” Laura says.

“Gross mom,” Tyson groans.

“It’s a perfectly natural thing Tyson,” his mom scolds and Sylvia makes an ‘I told you so’ face.

“I can feel a tooth coming in, so I think it’s gonna be game over soon. I don’t know if my nipples can take that.”

Tyson and Kacey both make gagging noises in response.

“One of the many reasons you don’t want your own yet, Kace. But before I mortify Tyson more, I’ll feed my child elsewhere. I’m sure I’ll talk to you guys later.”

She gives Jonah’s hand a little wave and goes back to her room.

The conversation changes before she makes it all the way in the room, “How’s she holding up, actually?”

“I think pretty well, not really sure how. We’ve talked a little, but I don’t want to push her.”

“He was always an asshole; it was bound to happen eventually. And all you can do it be there for her, she’s really lucky to have you.”

“Thank mom.”

Sylvia tries, really tries to keep it together.

She gets into somewhat of a routine. She goes on walks with Rachel Thompson and her baby Brooks, who’s about the same age as Jonah. And that’s nice. Being around another new mom is refreshing, it’s a chance to vent with someone who’s going through it. Even if their circumstances are drastically different.

Sylvia tries to make life easier for Tyson where she can, she cooks meals, cleans, runs errands for him. It keeps her mind busy but it’s also a little too familiar. Playing the domestic housewife role so well. She has to remind herself Tyson isn’t him.

Tyson will cook with her when he can, he offers to do dishes when she cooked. He won’t go off on her if something isn’t to his precise specifications.

That still doesn’t put her at complete ease.

Then Tyson goes on a long road trip. She thinks it’s somewhere warmer, but she feels nosey asking while he packs. Like she’s crossing some weird line if she asks. She knows he’d probably be happy to share, Tyson isn’t him.

Her mom calls two days in, “He keeps calling, have you seen a lawyer yet?”

“I’m seeing one tomorrow,” morbid curiosity takes over, “what has he asked about?”

“Just where are you and when I get him extra frustrated, ‘does she know how bad this makes her look?’ Stuff about how he gave you a good life and you’re throwing that all away.”

There’s a glowing feeling in her knowing he’s frazzled now, barely hiding his true nature from everyone else. But then frost touches her heart.

“Has he asked about Jonah?”

The pause her mother takes is answer enough, “No, sorry Sylvie.”

She looks over at Jonah sleeping peacefully in his crib, blissfully unaware of the family he was brought into and the father who cares more about the appearance of his missing wife than the well-being of his son.

“At least it should make getting custody easier,” and that comforts Sylvia in the worst way.

Tyson is chilling by the pool in California with his teammates, it’s not very warm by SoCal standards but it’s boiling in comparison to Buffalo.

His phone buzzes with a text from Sylvia: Thx for the lawyer recommendation, we sent divorce papers today

And before he can think it through, he sends her a shirtless picture of himself with a thumbs up, not exactly the best response to the news.

“Who you sending shirtless pics to Josty,” Alex Tuch calls from in the pool.

“Probably the MILF he’s living with now,” Cozens laughs and the rest of the boys join in.

“She’s getting a divorce,” Tyson lamely retorts.

“That wasn’t a no,” Alex grins.

“And it means she’s single…”

“It’s not like that, we’re just friends,” he can feel heat rushing to his face.

He’d only ever thought of Sylvia that way once. It was just a fleeting pubescent crush. He had come back for the summer after his second year away for hockey in Kelowna and in the meantime, Syl had become a woman. He didn’t know how to react to his friend’s growth spurt or the new curves of her body.

She no longer felt like the girl who wore boy clothes and was too competitive in every game they played. Really, she was the same girl just in a new body.

So, when she rubbed up against Tyson while guarding him in street hockey, he felt all new sensations. It was too confusing for a 14-year-old to really grasp. But once he got his hormones under control and learned to accept the changes in Sylvia, she was the same old friend he had always known.

But every now and then the thought creeps out from the back of his mind that Sylvia is beautiful and can give him butterflies.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out,” Jeff grins, his dimples on full display.

“You’d maybe be the only guy I’d let date her, but seriously just leave her alone okay, she’s going through it right now,” he stops himself before he says too much, shares something that’s not his to share.

His phone buzzes with a reply: Very rude of you to send a pic of you in warm weather like that, so here’s my payback.

He reads the text a few times over, trying to decipher it before he receives a picture of Sylvia flipping him off while she is breast feeding.

A shirtless pic for a shirtless pic 😜

He grimaces and exits the text before his teammates get a glimpse.

A swell of darkness comes in with such force Sylvia can’t help but succumb. It had been lurking in the distance for days, but the storm had finally arrived with gusto.

She felt overwhelmed for most of Jonah’s life. She didn’t know how to take care of a small person who didn’t understand the world, she barely took care of herself well enough to be considered well-adjusted or healthy.

“Ow, fuck Jonah,” Sylvia pulls the baby away from her breast.

Jonah wails in response, his mouth gaping wide and the new tooth barely poking through looks almost throbbing with pain.

“Sorry bud, I should have pumped after the last time you tried to gnaw my nipple off,” she tries to reason over the screams.

She lets Jonah gnaw on one of her fingers while she tries to set up the breast pump one handed. By the time she gets it set up both her and Jonah are crying in unison.

In this moment of being milked like a cow while her son greedily chomps on her fingers, she just lets herself free fall into the abyss. The darkness covers her like blanket and she feels warm thinking about falling asleep and never waking up again.

She’s going through the motions of motherhood and she doesn’t know how much longer she can take it. Maybe she could drop Jonah off at a fire station, have him put with a family that deserves him.

She feeds the fussy baby, who only cries more when he’s finished. Throwing a bottle with such force he puts a dent in the stainless-steel refrigerator.

He cries and cries and cries. She doesn’t know how he has this much breath in his lungs. She ran out of tears and breath a long time ago.

On top of that he doesn’t sleep.

It’s three in the morning and he’s just as awake, somehow throwing his loudest tantrum yet.

“Just stop, please! I get it, life fucking sucks but you can’t keep doing this,” Sylvia somehow finds more tears in her body.

He stops for a moment and Sylvia relaxes a little, just long enough for him to spit up on her before he lets out a scream.

“Why are you doing this to me?” She shouts in her son’s face, like if she matches his volume maybe he’ll realize how ridiculous he sounds.

If anything, he wants to win the screaming contest.

Syl has to set him down on the floor to stop herself from shaking him, from throwing him out of a window, from winning worst mother of the millennium award.

She crumples to the floor beside him and sobs. Her body shakes so hard she thinks she’ll bruise her ribs. She never wanted to be this person. She doesn’t want to be a person at all.

It’s 6 AM and it’s still unending; she doesn’t know how he hasn’t just screamed himself into a coma. He’s only stopped when he desperately pleaded for a meal, and the solace of silence was worth her bleeding nipples.

She’s more surprised that the neighbors haven’t called CPS. Maybe they have, it’s not business hours yet.

The door opens, the team had taken a red eye. Sylvia doesn’t react, she might be half deaf at this point.

Tyson comes around the corner at full speed, rushing to the sound of crying. Only to see both Jonah and Sylvia sobbing on the floor.

She looks a mess: dried vomit on an old sweater that probably hasn’t been washed since she moved here, hair looking just as unwashed, and dark bags under her eyes that still show through the red puffiness.

“Shit Syl,” he gets down on the floor and gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

“He’s broken,” she sniffles, “he won’t stop crying.”

Tyson’s heart shatters, “Okay,” he pauses to think, he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, make her feel like a bad mother.

“How about I take him for a bit and you go shower and refresh,” he smiles and picks Jonah up before she can respond.

The baby screams in his ear while he helps Sylvia up. She seems too dazed to move so Tyson pulls her along to the bathroom and turns on the shower, waiting until the water is warm.

“This will make you feel a little better, or at least more human,” he kisses her forehead and walks out.

Tyson is right, Sylvia does feel a little better after washing the grime off of her. But she’s not ready to face Jonah again, the echoes of his cries ringing in her ears. She sits on the floor of the shower and cries until the water turns cold.

She gets out and it’s quiet. For a second she thinks she might have actually gone deaf. She puts on pajamas and pads out to the living room, no sign of them. She peers into Tyson’s room and finds Jonah sitting in Tyson’s open suitcase, chewing on a hockey puck. He has big crocodile tears still pouring, but that’s a million times better than he had been.

“I know the puck is pretty cool, but I thought you’d like the matching shirts,” Tyson is modeling a Hawaiian shirt and hold up a tiny version of the same one, they’re horribly bright and in any other moment Syl would point out a colorblind person clearly picked them out.

“We can’t exactly wear them here, so I got it a little bigger so you can grow into it.”

“I’m an awful mom,” it’s not what she wants to say, but it’s where her brain goes.

Tyson turns around and pulls her into his chest.

“Sylvie, you’re not a bad mom, you were just overwhelmed.”

“He’s been crying for like days straight and you come home for five minutes and he stops! Obviously, it’s because I don’t know how to take care of my son.”

He rubs circles on her back and takes a deep breath, willing her to follow suit.

“You’ve been mostly alone for over a week, you were overwhelmed. It doesn’t make you a bad mom.”

When she doesn’t make eye contact with him, Tyson lifts her chin to make sure she sees how serious he is.

“You’re a good mom, Sylvia. You just had some bad days and look,” he points to Jonah who is now snoozing on a pile of Tyson’s travel clothes, “you made it through and he’s still alive.”

Sylvia still seems unsure but she’s too tired to protest. She just nods in agreement.

“He’s really lucky to have you, he just doesn’t appreciate it yet. And obviously he was lost without seeing me every day.”

Sylvia shakes her head and laughs, the feeling is foreign.

“You may be his food source, but I’m the entertainment,” Tyson grins, loosening his embrace but no quite letting go.

“I’m glad he has his own personal clown,” she playfully shoves him.

“Go get some sleep Syl, I got the rugrat for a few hours.”

Sylvia is out of the room before Tyson can second guess his offer. She’s asleep before her head hits the pillow.

If she doesn’t wake up at least Jonah would be in good hands. The sick thought is the last thing that runs through her mind before slumber takes over.

She wakes up, much to her chagrin.

But then she hears Tyson and Jonah laughing outside her room and she hates herself. Here she is with a happy, healthy baby and a friend so nice he’s willing to upend his life to help her out, and she’s acting this way? She hates being ungrateful.

She recommits herself to being better.

And it works, for the most part. Sure, she cries in the shower where Tyson can’t hear her or stays in a parking lot to sob, but who doesn’t do that? It could be worse, she knows that, until a few weeks ago Syl was living that.

It’s pretty late at night for Jonah to still be up but he’s been buzzing all day so Sylvia is hoping to tire him out a bit more before putting him down. She’s noticed that he doesn’t wake up in pain over his fresh teeth if he’s completely worn out.

She’s folding some of Tyson’s laundry, a new chore she’s picked up in an attempt to keep her mind busy and have more of a routine. Jonah is laying on his stomach, doing an impression of pushups as he tries to get a Sabretooth plushie Sylvia put just out of reach to keep him occupied.

“You’re so strong Jo,” she laughs as he pushes himself up a little further and moves himself a bit closer to the toy.

He grunts with concentration.

She moves to grab another shirt to fold and turns back to see Jonah on his hands and knees, crawling towards his prize.

“Holy shit,” she whips out her phone to take a video, moving the stuffed animal a little further away from him.

He takes the challenge and moves a little further, getting his hands on the Sabretooth. He gurgles happily and puts it in mouth.

“You’re crawling baby,” Syl doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy than seeing him reach a milestone.

She baits him to crawl a little further a few more times when she hears the door open. Syl doesn’t even think twice about her newly mobile baby before she shoots up and runs towards the door.

“Tys you have to see – oh shit sorry,” Sylvia freezes in her tracks and half turns away in embarrassment.

Tyson has a woman hanging off of him, they’re intentions clearly painted on their flushed faces.

“Oh my god you have a girlfriend?” The woman says as she detaches herself from him.

“No, I’m just staying here, I’m so sorry. I’m usually in bed by now so you wouldn’t even know I was here.” Sylvia rambles, feeling so embarrassed and remorseful she completely forgets why she was so happy.

“Tys you should have texted I would have made sure I was out of the–“

“Jonah you’re crawling?” Tyson interjects when the baby scoots his way towards the noises.

Syl can’t even relish in the pure joy spreading across Tyson’s face as he beams at her son.

“And there’s a baby,” she’s clearly a second from leaving but the cold is probably preventing her from just waiting outside.

Sylvia picks up Jonah, “I’ll just go for a drive with him and let you two have the place for a while, I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking cockblock.”

She starts to gather her coat and boots when the woman speaks up, “I think the moment’s passed, but maybe we can go back to mine next time”

She sends an understanding smile towards Sylvia and somehow that makes her feel guiltier.

“I can drive you home,” Tyson offers.

“I called an Uber,” she holds up her phone, “it’s outside,” she gives Tyson a tentative kiss before leaving.

Sylvia lets out an embarrassed groan, “Oh my god I’m ruining your fucking life.”

“You think that ruined my life?”

Sylvia just glares in response.

Tyson takes Jonah from her, “Now show me what this crawling business is all about.”

“My son isn’t a dog you can ask to show you tricks,” she laughs as she follows him into the living room.

“I think you have to do this for me, since you’re ruining my fucking life,” he winks and sets Jonah on the ground.

The baby immediately makes his way over to the stuffed animal he left on the floor.

“I know it sounds stupid, but this is like the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Sylvia says while holding back tears.

“It kind of is.”

Now that Jonah is on the move any time he’s set on the floor, Syl realizes she should probably baby proof Tyson’s place. It’s a lot of work but it’s just another thing to keep her occupied and if it’s funny every time Tyson finds a new drawer or cupboard he can’t open, then that’s just a bonus.

It feels like she’s on the other side of a tunnel. Then her lawyer calls.

Uncontested divorce.

It sounds nice to get it over with, no arguing or going into court. Never having to see him again

Then the reality sets in. She loves the idea of not fighting over custody but also agreeing to not take alimony or child support in return is a little extreme. Without a little income from the divorce, she doesn’t know when she’ll be able to work and get on her own feet. And she can’t expect Tyson to just be okay with this arrangement indefinitely.

But she also knows her opponent, and she knows he’ll make her life a living hell if she fights back, and is that worth it?

The lawyer talks her through all her options, Sylvia tries to absorb all the information she can but the emotional and logical parts of her brain are at war.

She lying on the ground and tossing a ball a little bit away for Jonah to grab; essentially, she’s playing the most passive game of fetch, but it’s entertaining him so she doesn’t care. It’s the perfect way to wallow and be a somewhat decent mother.

The door opens and Tyson calls out, “I went to the store but I couldn’t remember what solid food he was on, sweet potatoes or beets?”

At the sound of his voice, Jonah bypasses the ball and scrambles to the kitchen. Tys picks him up and flips him upside down, much to the little boy’s delight.

“What?” Syl sits up and gives him a quizzical look.

“We were out of baby food, but I know he’s trying a new food this week and I couldn’t remember what it was.”

The way he says ‘we’ makes Sylvia’s heart swell then burst. She can’t tell if it’s in a good or bad way, but it makes her a little lightheaded.

“You, okay?”

“Yeah, just lost track of time. Forgot it was lunch time,” she rubs her eyes even though she’s not actually tired, “And it’s sweet potato week,” she puts on her ‘happy baby’ voice and walks over to the pair.

She starts to set up the high chair and Tyson helps strap Jonah in and together they’re like a well-oiled machine. Before she knows it, Tyson is spoon feeding her son, sing-songing ‘here comes the plane.’

“Wow bud, you really love these sweet potatoes. You might even rival my friend Nate Dogg,” he laughs and Jonah copies him.

Syl can feel herself doing a robotic kind of laugh, like she’s trying to solidify the fact that she’s there and present, but her brain is a million miles ahead of her and maybe in a different country.

Tyson doesn’t seem to notice from his bonding bubble with her son.

“I think I have to go to Toronto for my divorce,” she blurts, finally coming back to reality.

“What?”

The orange goo of sweet potato slips off the spoon and onto Jonah’s bib. Sylvia takes a moment too long, staring at the food as it slides down further.

“My lawyer called today and I think I want to contest his terms of the divorce.”

Tyson puts the spoon and bowl of food down, doesn’t even notice that Jonah takes this as an opportunity to take both and make a mess.

“And what are the terms?” A deep wrinkle forms between his brows.

“I get to keep Jonah 100%, but no child support or alimony.”

Tyson stares on like he’s missing something.

Syl doesn’t know how to voice all her jumbled thoughts, so she just lets the words flow out, “I can’t just go without money from him, I’ll never be able to pick myself up without something and you can’t take care of us.”

She knows it’s not exactly what she meant to say, but it’s also not completely off. She can’t go from her whole life depending on one man then another, even if Tyson would never use that as some power to hold over her.

The hurt that crumples Tyson’s face makes her realizes he doesn’t understand what she’s really feeling.

“I don’t mind taking care of you guys,” his voice is so small and hurt.

“Just because you don’t mind doesn’t mean you should have to Tys, I’m not your problem,” she can feel her words digging a deeper grave.

Jonah can sense the shift in the air and his lip starts to tremble.

“I’m gonna give him a bath,” she mumbles and leaves the room in a hurry, the hot sting of tears coming through.

Tyson leaves on a road trip the next morning. She doesn’t get the chance to explain herself or apologize.

After two days of fretting over an apology text she never sends, Danielle Okposo comes knocking on the door.

“How would you and Jonah like a playdate?”

Syl doesn’t feel up to leaving the house, she’s back in ‘fully alone and unable to clean herself and her son’ mode.

“Uhhh–“

“This is like 90% for me, my oldest two keep bringing up having another baby and I think having them play with an actual baby might help my cause. Because either Jonah is really cute and satisfies the baby needs or he’s a nightmare and they remember how hard having a baby is.”

“Wow, babies having baby fever,” Sylvia laughs.

“So will you come?”

“Why not,” she decides adult interaction is probably healthy and will keep her mind off of Tyson.

“You’re literally a lifesaver.”

They end up at the Okposo house, which is controlled chaos at its finest. Four kids, toys everywhere, but it’s cozy; it’s the kind of house Sylvia always dreamed of living in.

The kids are instantly enthralled with Jonah, who is living for the attention. They place him in front of a mini stick net with an oversized helmet on to play goalie. The three older kids take soft shots at him, and now that he can move, he actually stop some of the foam balls that come towards him.

Sylvia can’t help but take a picture without a second thought she sends it to Tyson with the caption, he’s strangely good at this, a sign I gave birth to a weirdo?

As soon as it says delivered, she worries away at the corner of her lip, wondering if it was wrong to send that without any apology or acknowledgment of their last conversation. The image of his hurt face burned into her mind.

“Everything okay?”

And maybe it’s because Danielle is a real adult who really has it together or that Sylvia kept everything shoved down in the darkest part of her mind for years, but whatever it was about being here right now makes her open up. About everything.

Suddenly there’s someone in the world who knows it all, and she a weight she didn’t even know was on her chest is lifted. She can finally take a full breath and with all the newfound air rushing to her lungs she starts to feel overwhelmed and hyperventilates. It brings out the tears that were just below the surface.

Danielle rubs her back and just lets Sylvia feel her emotions and there’s something profoundly new and profoundly sad about that.

“Oh Syl, that’s a lot to have to carry all on your own.”

Sylvia quickly wipes her tears when she hears the kids come in asking for a snack, Odin awkwardly holding a rather happy Jonah. She sniffles and offers to take the baby.

“We just knew we couldn’t leave him alone; he doesn’t want to hang out with moms,” Odin scrunches up his nose and Syl can’t help but laugh at the glimpse into her own future.

“Why don’t you guys pick a movie and we’ll bring you some snacks in a bit,” Danielle diplomatically gets rid of the kids before they really notice Sylvia’s tear-stained face.

Once they’re out of ear-shot Danielle turns back, “My advice might not mean a lot coming from someone who has not gone through half the stuff you’ve gone through, but I do think you should let Tyson in a little more, so he understands what you’re thinking.”

Sylvia gnaws at her lip but nods.

“And I think you should see a therapist, because the way you talk, that’s not just being sad or motherhood being hard. It sounds like postpartum depression and you can’t take care of Jonah if you aren’t taking care of yourself too.”

Talking about all of this with a stranger almost seems more appealing than talking to Tyson.

“I have a few names I can give you,” Danielle squeezes her hand, “now let’s go feed some kiddos before they get really crazy.”

Tyson is set to arrive home and Sylvia is tempted to ask if she can stay with the Okposo’s just to push off her conversation another day. But she knows she has to be brave. She was brave enough to leave an emotionally abusive relationship, why couldn’t she be brave enough to talk to her best friend?

Jonah is down for a nap and Syl starts making dinner, something to keep her hands and brain busy.

Tyson comes through the door; his usual loud and happy greeting doesn’t follow him. Syl can hear him rummaging around his room, taking his sweet time before they talk. He finally sheepishly makes his way into the kitchen, sitting on a barstool but not yet acknowledging Syl.

She goes on with her business, finishing a stir fry and plating it for the both of them. She sets a plate in front of Tyson, a sort of peace offering, before taking the seat next to him. They eat in silence until it becomes too deafening for Syl, she doesn’t know if she’s ever heard Tyson so quiet.

She doesn’t quite dare to look over to him yet, “you have been so kind and amazing to take care of us and I really appreciate it, more than you’ll ever really understand.”

“But…” he fills in for Sylvia.

“But,” she takes a deep breath, she wants to get it right this time.

“I want to get back on my feet or I guess find the footing I never had so I don’t have to need your money.”

“Sylvie, I don’t mind. I like helping.”

“What if I never get on my feet?” she finally looks at him giving him a stern look in hopes of getting through to him.

“Then you don’t, it’s fine,” he has this blank look, like he can’t understand there are alternatives.

“Tys this isn’t about you! I want to be able to afford daycare while I go to a job or pay for my own lawyer without relying on you.”

She puts a hand on his arm, gently rubs her thumb up and down his sweatshirt covered bicep.

“The last time I let a man have this much power over my life…” she doesn’t need to finish the sentence, “And I know you’re not him, you could never be like that. But I need the chance to find that independence I’ve never had, even if it’s hard.”

She can feel tears falling down her face, Tyson reaches up to wipe a few away, his own eyes glossy.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to fight him to get that independence.”

“What did you say before? People like him can’t win?”

Tyson lets out a hesitant laugh, “then let’s kick his ass and take him for all he’s worth.”

Sylvia is finally seeing a rainbow after the storm. For most of her adult life she’s been on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop; if it’s coming soon, she doesn’t care, or at least she knows she can handle it.

Her lawyer seems to think they’re building a solid case. Years of texts and voicemails she was too lazy delete are making quite the damning pile of evidence.

Her new therapist seems to think she’s making good progress, even before they fully cracked open the can of worm that was her marriage.

“Mmm, mmm” Jonah babbles.

“You almost got it Jojo, it’s Ma Ma,” she smiles at him.

“Mmma, mm.”

“I’ll even settle for no,” Syl pauses but he doesn’t respond, “or hi? But Hs are hard.”

“Duh dddd,” he gives a her his gleaming four tooth smile.

“Okay, I don’t know who’s teaching you that one,” she narrows her eyes at him.

“Duh mmmm.”

“Maybe you can try bye bye?”

Jonah happily waves at her, having recently mastered the skill.

“Yeah, bye bye! Can you wave and say bye bye?” She prods.

“Buh duh,” he waves.

“Fine, I guess I can live with your timetable.”

He gurgles and drools in response.

“But Ma Ma was really hoping to write that she was grateful you said your first words this week.”

When he still doesn’t respond, she sighs and writes down her daily gratitudes sans first words. Jonah and Tyson are numbers one and two every day, which she loves but she hates feeling so boring.

Though if she thinks about it, she can’t recall when she was ever actually interesting.  She was kind of interesting when she left behind Alberta for Toronto to be with the love of her life, but that didn’t turn out very well.

The next time was probably when she got pregnant, but that’s only in the way that making human life is interesting. And no one was really interested in her then anyway; recently some of the Sabres’ better halves were sharing pregnancy photos and Sylvia only had one mediocre picture a nurse had taken when she was in the early stages of labor. The rest of her pregnancy lost in preparations to flee her own life.

She guesses that makes her interesting, her escape from a bad relationship; not that she’s publicly sharing that information. But she doesn’t want to be interesting because of her trauma.

Tyson comes into the kitchen in a navy blue suit, he gets an excited, goofy grin on his face when he sees Jonah in his tiny Sabres jersey.

“Hey bud, ready for the game?” he waves at the baby who happily waves back, always excited to show off for Tyson.

“He may not know what’s going on but he is a great good luck charm,” Syl laughs at the fact the team of 4-0-1 when Jonah is in the arena.

“You’re both my good luck charms.”

He doesn’t look away from Jonah as he says it, doesn’t see Sylvia’s cheeks heat up as he gives Jonah a raspberry on his where his shoulder meets his neck; for a moment she pictures Tyson’s lips on her neck.

“You ready to help me win Jonah? Can you say Ty-son?”

“Yah duh.”

Sylvia snatches her son, “Mama might not be his first words but if he’s gonna acknowledge a person by name, it’ll be the person who grew him.”

“Fair enough,” he raises his hands in surrender, “well, be good for mama and I’ll see you later.”

He gives Jonah a loud, obnoxious smooch on the cheek then a subtle one to Syl before he heads out.

Jonah continues to be enthralled by hockey, just stares at the ice with big eyes like he understands what’s going on. The only thing he actually understands is that he loves Sabretooth, especially the life-size one who picks him, it’s much better than the small one he drops when the mascot arrives.

Sylvia takes a picture of it and sends it to Tyson’s family. She gets a 50-emoji response from Kacey.

The team wins and Jonah keeps the title of good luck charm, the others joking that he has to come to every home game until they make the playoffs.

“Okay, hand the baby over and enjoy your night out,” Danielle reaches out for Jonah.

Sylvia doesn’t follow orders, just looks confused.

“Sorry I didn’t tell her, I didn’t want her to run away,” Rachel chimes in, sporting a sort of apologetic look, though Syl doesn’t know if it’s directed at her or Danielle.

“Am I having a stroke?”

“No Syl,” Rachel responds, “we got a babysitter for the night and getting you out on the town.”

“You deserve it, now give me Jonah. Tyson dropped of a bag of his stuff he’s in good hands.”

“I don’t like that this was a coordinated effort; do I seem that desperate to go out?”

“No, but you haven’t had a night to yourself since you moved here,” or since you had a kid or God knows since when is implied between Danielle’s words, “so go be young and have fun.”

Sylvia knows when she can’t win a fight so she squeezes her baby tight and kisses him before reluctantly handing him over.

They go to the Thompson’s house and Sylvia gets handed a drink to loosen her up while Rachel does her makeup and finds something for her to wear.

Halfway through the drink Syl feels tipsy, she never was a big drinker and it had been a while, but she’s enjoying the warmth and weirdly the attention she’s getting right now.

“You’re always hot, but damn you really clean up nice,” Rachel smiles at her while she puts on the finishing touches.

She finally looks at herself, it’s like a looking into an alternate universe. Like maybe this would be a normal occurrence if she had gone off to college, made normal 20-something mistakes, had a close group of girlfriends who shared clothes.

She takes moment to mourn that Sylvia.

“Thanks, I can’t remember the last time I wore make up, or a dress,” she laughs and spins around in the mirror.

They arrive at a crowded bar and meander through the crowd until they find the team. Sylvia waves before she feels everyone’s eyes on her, suddenly self-conscious about how she looks.

“Who’s gonna get our girl a drink? Welcome her to the Buffalo night life?” Rachel’s voice cuts through the noise.

Jeff is at the edge of the booth and the first to get up, Sylvia thinks he’s gonna guide her to the bar but instead he guides her to take his seat, conveniently next to Tyson, before he takes her order.

“Surprise me,” she says before she rethinks it, “but nothing too strong.”

She awkwardly readjusts her skirt that has ridden up too high, she’s too aware of the eyes on her and the weight of Tyson’s arm that’s now wrapped around her shoulder.

Sylvia hadn’t gone out in years; it was always a whole ordeal only for her to get in trouble. She always had to look nice, but if she looked too nice, she was accused of trying to attract male attention. If she went to the bar for too long, it was because she had to be flirting.  If she danced too long or in a certain way or with anyone who wasn’t him, she had to expect a long lecture and some verbal degradation.

Going out meant being emotionally exhausted and in a way, she could feel that exhaustion already seeping in.

Jeff comes back and drops a drink in front of her, waiting for her to take a sip of approval. She gives him a thumbs up after tasting the semi-sweet concoction, she’s not sure what it is but it’s good.

“Cheers to mom’s night out,” Rachel holds up a drink and they all cheers.

This drink goes to her head much quicker, probably because she’s taking nervous sips every two seconds.

Suddenly she stands up, a little wobbly on her feet, Tyson grabs her hand to steady her or maybe concerned she’s about to run or something.

“I’m gonna go dance,” she doesn’t yell so she’s not sure anyone hears her, but she wanders onto the dance floor anyway.   

It feels freeing, to just let go for a bit and dance. She forgets about her problems and the other people around. It’s a moment of pure joy she hasn’t felt for just herself in a long time. It feels like she’s shaking rust off her heart.

Syl feels someone come up behind her, warmth radiating. She doesn’t care to look just happy to keep dancing to the beat of whatever song. Still, she gives a little start when she feels hands on her hips, it’s a foreign feeling.

Before she can move to look behind her, she sees Tyson move in front of her, she can feel her smile growing. She moves a hand to pull Tyson closer the her, feeling the large warm hands retreat. In her hazy mind she thinks she’s a gloating glint in Tyson’s eyes but when she turns to look, there’s only the mass of the crowd, not one person standing out.

Tyson and Sylvia aren’t really touching while they dance. Syl can’t bring herself to look away from his warm brown eyes, she finds herself thinking about how long and thick his eyelashes are, that Tyson is very pretty. Before she can voice some of these thoughts, she feels her eyes drooping.

“It’s pretty late for mom’s first night out,” he leans in to whisper into her ear, it makes Syl shiver a bit, “want to head home?”

Syl can only nod suddenly feeling very overstimulated.

As they make it home, she feels like she’s only getting drunker. Even though she stopped drinking a while ago. Tyson ushers her into the kitchen and gets her a glass of water.

“Oh no, I’m still wearing Rachel’s clothes.”

Tyson chuckles, “you weren’t exactly going to return them in the bar.”

Sylvia shrugs and downs half the glass of water; she holds it out to Tyson for a refill.

“I miss Jonah. This is the first time I won’t be able to kiss him good night,” it feels weird to have her heart somewhere else.

“You can give him extra kisses tomorrow,” Tyson gives her a hug.

He starts to pull away but Syl doesn’t quite let go, “I can still give you a goodnight kiss.”

She leans up to close the distance between them, she would normally go for a quick peck on the cheek but she doesn’t start to turn her head. They’re lips touch and it should be quick, it should be over already, but it’s not.

There’s too much heat and Sylvia doesn’t who it’s coming from. She doesn’t know whose tongue comes out first, but it doesn’t make either pull away. It’s an unfamiliar feeling that radiates through her chest and she wants to see where it takes her, but it’s also too scary and she can’t possibly go through it without perishing.

She pulls away too quickly and almost falls off the bar stool, Tyson catches her by the waist and it lights her skin on fire.

“Well, good night!”

Sylvia rushes to her room, she falls back on her bed; touching her lips with awe, like it will keep the sensation there longer.

Tyson leaves on a road trip the next day. He comes in to check on her before he leaves, but Syl pretends to be asleep. Not ready for any conversation or to look Tyson in the eyes. Still, he moves deeper in the room, kissing her forehead before he leaves.

So, at least she knows he doesn’t hate her.

She texts Danielle later about dropping off Jonah, claiming she has a raging hangover and couldn’t possibly leave the house. It’s partially true, there’s persistent but dull ache in her head. It may be from thinking too hard about the kiss though.

Once Jonah is home, Sylvia can’t let him out of her arms, he’s the anchor keeping her grounded while her brain is all static. She spends most of the day snoozing with Jonah pressed up against her.

The following day she tries to get her head on straight, come up with a game plan for talking about the kiss. She doesn’t have much time with Tyson set to return that evening and with Jonah having an unexplainable meltdown.

She tries to put on a calming demeanor, but it’s like Jonah can sense the worried churning in his mom’s stomach. He’s only communicating his concern in the best way he can, but it doesn’t make the day easier.

She can’t pinpoint the moment her feelings changed and maybe that’s what makes it scarier. It feels a bit out of the blue, she had no time to gauge Tyson’s thoughts before her inhibitions were down and she was acting on it.

All Sylvia knows is friendship isn’t enough for her anymore.

In a panic she packs a go-bag, a déjà vu moment she was never hoping to repeat. But she has no idea what’s to come and she doesn’t want to be a burden in Tyson’s house with any unresolved feelings.

She doesn’t even know where she would go this time around, all her friends are Tyson’s friends first. If it weren’t for her baby she’d just sleep in her car. Maybe she could haul ass to Edmonton.

There’s no time to dwell, Jonah is screaming in her ear and she can’t think over the din.

Tyson comes home to screaming, which is oddly comforting for him. He was a bit worried Sylvia might leave in a panic, embarrassed about the kiss.

“Hey Sylvie,” he says quietly.

“Hi Tys,” she looks exasperated, “I don’t know what’s wrong, I’ve tried everything.”

Jonah continues to cry, knocking over a bowl of food and making a mess. Sylvia looks a second away from breaking down with him, but she’s not looking away from Tyson to notice the chaos.

“Let me try,” he gets Jonah out of the highchair and bounces him on his hip.

Jonah doesn’t stop. But Tyson looks so natural with her son, Sylvia has to have this conversation now. She can’t live in this fantasy world a moment longer if it’s going to be snatched from her.

“I’m not sorry I kissed you,” she nearly shouts, making sure Tyson can hear her.

She flinches out her own loud voice and tones it down, “I mean I’m sorry for the when and the how of the kiss but I’m not sorry it happened.”

Tyson just has this unreadable look on his face, he stares on as he rocks Jonah, who’s screams are subsiding a little.

 “You’re good to my son and you’re good to me. And maybe I don’t deserve that or deserve you. But I want you and I can’t help it,” her eyes well up as she exposes her heart.

Her heart hurts too much in the extended silence from Tyson. It’s like it can’t pump enough blood any more, like it doesn’t understand how it was even working before she loved Tyson; like it can’t survive a minute longer not loving him wholly.

“And if you don’t want that, I get that. My life is a mess and I have so much baggage,” she can’t hold back the sob in her throat, “We can leave if this is too much.”

“No!”

It takes her second to grasp that the voice is small and foreign.

“No” Jonah says again.

“Did you just say your first word?” Her tears quickly shifting focus.

“No”

She can’t stop herself from coming over and kissing her son all over his face to a chorus of little nos.

“Kid stole my line.”

Sylvia is jolted back into the moment. She looks up into deep brown eyes, their bodies are too close together.

“I don’t know what that guy did to you and you don’t ever have to tell me, but it makes me so angry that he made you think you aren’t worth it or don’t deserve good things.”

He has blink back some tears, Sylvia can’t stop herself wiping the stray ones away.

“Syl, you’re kind and loving and an amazing mother. You deserve the world and I want to be the one who gives that to you.”

She can’t stop herself from going for the kiss, Tyson is left so breathless he almost forgets he’s still holding a baby. It’s not as heated as the last kiss, but it says everything much clearer.

“No!”

“Yeah we get it bud,” Tyson laughs when they break a part, “You said your first word, the moment is all yours.”

[blueskrugs]

Written in the Sand | Tyson Jost

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

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

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

length: 29.8k words (lol)

this fic has now been broken into chapters for easier reading 

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

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

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

But he was getting ahead of himself. 

November

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t,” JT points out, and, oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he breathes.

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

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

“I should go,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitates. Tyson understands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Madison says, startling Tyson. 

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

“Tyson?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you let me up?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

He wiggles his socked toes and grins at Madison. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pizza’s here, babe,” he says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he says now is, “Breakfast?” 

December

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tyson?” she says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyson closes his eyes and drains his glass of champagne. 

January

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

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

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

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

“Did I wake you?” she teases. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, I know.”

February

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Delete that,” she whines.

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March

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

All this and they didn’t even fucking win. 

“Want me to call your mom?” JT asks. 

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

He should probably text Madison, too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyson shuts up and drinks his smoothie. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyson deserves all the chirps he gets for being late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I come in?” he asks. “Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugs. “It’s stupid,” she says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had shaken himself. “Nothing,” he said, giving her a sleepy grin. He pressed a kiss to her temple as he slipped out of the bathroom.

Madison watches him go. She’s trying to decipher that look in his eyes. His face was soft, fond behind drowsy eyes. She realizes she’s frozen with her toothbrush still in her mouth. Tyson’s waiting for her. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling fan, rotating slowly above him, when she emerges and slips under the covers next to him. Her toes are cold where she presses them to Tyson’s leg, and he swears under his breath, even as he reaches across the bed to pull her closer. He presses a kiss to her hair and rests his chin on top of her head. Madison hides a smile in his chest. 

Tyson wakes up slowly the next morning. It’s still early, the sunlight filtering through his curtains the hazy grey of dawn. Madison’s still asleep next to him when he rolls over. Tyson dares to pull her closer until she’s tucked underneath his chin again. Madison stirs a little, making a soft noise and pressing closer. She pulls back and blinks sleepily up at Tyson.

“Happy birthday, Tyson,” she murmurs. 

Tyson grins at her and brushes a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. He kisses her quickly, and she makes a soft noise and leans into it before yawning. “Thank you,” Tyson whispers back. “Now go back to sleep.” 

Madison grumbles, but snuggles back in, pressing her nose to Tyson’s collarbone. 

It’s brighter out when Tyson next blinks himself awake. Madison’s already awake this time, scrolling quietly on her phone, but she sets it aside when she sees Tyson look at her. He rolls so he can prop himself up on one hand, leaning over Madison. She grins up at him, reaches to slide her fingers into Tyson’s hair.

Tyson has practice today, and then they’re leaving again. Those things aren’t important right now, though. What’s important is Madison’s mouth opening up to his, the pressure of her knee against his hip, the feel of her skin underneath his fingers when he slips a hand below her shirt. 

It takes them a while to get out of bed. 

Madison moves easily around Tyson when they finally make it into the kitchen. Tyson makes Madison coffee the way she likes it and mans the toaster while Madison makes them both eggs. She showers—Tyson bought all of her shower products weeks ago—while Tyson gets dressed. Tyson perches on the bathroom counter and watches while she does her makeup. She catches him looking at her.

“What?” she asks. She pushes her hair out of her face nervously. 

“Uh,” Tyson says. He had gotten caught up, wasn’t really thinking about anything, distracted by thoughts of how easily Madison moves through his space, by his side.

“Tyson,” Madison says, impatient.

“Do you, uh, maybe wanna go on a date with me?” Tyson manages. 

“Tys, you’re leaving on a road trip in,” she checks the time on her phone, “like four hours.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Okay, but we’ll be back in a few days. What about then?”

Madison smiles. “We’ll see, ask me when you get back.” 

“That’s not a real answer,” Tyson says. He can hear himself whining. He needs this answer before he can board a plane, though. He grabs her wrist and tugs her closer. “C’mon, am I really that bad?”

She goes easily into Tyson’s side. She pretends to think about it for a moment—too long for Tyson’s nerves—before relenting. “When you get back,” she says. She goes up on her toes to kiss Tyson’s cheek. “Now get out of here before you’re late to practice.”

They don’t get to go on that date.

He’s in California when he gets the call. Minnesota. It’s not like he didn’t see it coming. The deadline’s coming up in, like, a week, and besides. He’d asked for a trade, hadn’t he? He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone before he’s back on a plane, this time to St. Paul. 

He calls his mom first, asks if she’ll pack him some shit from his apartment in Denver. He was supposed to be back in just a few days. 

“I don’t have any clothes for fucking Minnesota,” he complains, his one moment of self-appointed wallowing. He’ll be happy about this, probably, he just needs to process it.

He doesn’t think about it when he turns his phone off before getting on the plane. He’s met by some people from the Wild—the team, his team, now—at the airport in St. Paul, hustled to a hotel near Xcel Center with his meager belongings and left to “settle in.” He’s expected at morning skate tomorrow; his jaw aches.

They’ve put him up in a nice hotel downtown. He can see a river—the Mississippi, he thinks— out his window. His phone’s still off, tossed on the bed when he came in. He swipes it off the comforter and powers it back on, shoving it and a room key in his pocket on his way out the door. 

His hotel room is too stuffy, too small. He takes the stairs and pushes his way outside. He can see the Xcel Center a few blocks away, and he turns his back to it, starts walking. He has no idea where he is or where he’s going. He hopes no one recognizes him. 

It’s not long before he finds himself in a park alongside the river. It’s quiet, and no one looks twice at him as he finds an empty bench and finally pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his notifications: texts from Kacey and his grandpa—he’ll have to respond to them—dozens from his—former—teammates on the Avs that he ignores, a handful from numbers he doesn’t have saved, Wild players introducing themselves and welcoming him to the team—he’ll have to make some new contacts. He swipes everything away to deal with later, once his head stops spinning. He pauses on one text, the only one he’d really been looking for.

So much for that date, huh. it says. She’s added a broken heart emoji to soften the blow. Then, an hour later, call me when you get the chance. Another emoji at the end, a black heart, even though Tyson’s told her repeatedly that he can mostly tell colors apart.

He already knows what she’s going to say. Can you get broken up with before you’re even dating? How do you make friends-with-benefits work long-distance? Tyson’s not in the mood for that conversation, doesn’t know if he ever will be. He swipes away her notifications, too. 

Minnesota is chilly, and Tyson’s fingertips are a little numb by the time his hotel room door slams behind him later. It’s getting dark. He should order dinner. He should do a lot of things, actually. He lets himself wallow for a few more minutes, flopped on his back in the center of the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.

He halfheartedly peruses the room service menu on his nightstand before calling something in. He’s not even sure what he ordered. 

Tyson’s woken up by knocking on his door. He blinks awake and stumbles blearily out of bed. It’s fully dark in his room now. Room service knocks on his door again. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Tyson grumbles, not even loud enough to be heard, probably. 

His food is lukewarm at best by the time he gets everything spread out on the little desk in his room. Tyson picks at it more than he eats it.

Back in Denver, Madison’s phone doesn’t ring. She figured Tyson would be busy and exhausted by the time he made it to Minnesota. She wants to check in, but her messages show that they’ve been read. He’s made it clear that he’s not in the mood to chat. 

It’s fine. He’s allowed to be upset over all this. Madison had just thought that they’d made it far enough in their relationship—whatever that relationship was—that she wouldn’t get stonewalled the second something serious happened. 

She hasn’t had a chance to return Tyson’s spare key to Cale yet. She’d stayed behind after Tyson left for the airport on his birthday to clean up some of the disaster they’d left behind the night before. She was going to give it back when they got home. Except now Tyson’s not coming home, and she isn’t sure he’ll speak to her again, either. 

She tries to convince herself she’s not hurt by it. 

Madison sneaks back into Tyson’s apartment the day after the trade. She’s collected some of Tyson’s clothes over the last few months, and she should pick up her own belongings that have become scattered across his apartment. She’s not sure how Tyson’s going to get the rest of his stuff to Minnesota, but she knows it’s not her problem. Tyson’s made that clear. 

She opens the text thread with Tys 🖤 again anyway. No new messages. She starts to type, to ask how Tyson’s doing, if he wants to talk, but she deletes it all. She closes her text thread with him again.

Madison wanders around the apartment, collecting things she recognizes as her own: her toothbrush, a half dozen ponytail holders that Tyson delights in tearing out of her hair to make out, the makeup remover that Tyson bought after she fell asleep there the first time and left makeup all over his pillowcase. She leaves the clothes she dug out of her closet and drawers folded on the end of his bed. She keeps one of his hoodies, because it’s comfy and it smells like him. It’s an Avs hoodie, anyway; it’s not like he’ll need it. The cookie cake she bought for his birthday is still sitting on the counter. They’d eaten it with breakfast on his actual birthday, but it was otherwise untouched. She figures someone will be by soon to pack up his apartment. She leaves it on the counter for them, whoever it is.

She locks the door behind her. It feels final in a way that she hates. 

Tyson drags himself to morning skate early the next morning. He doesn’t feel like he slept much, though he fell asleep before he ever got around to responding to anyone’s texts. He makes no less than four wrong turns trying to find the home locker room in Xcel Center. The equipment staff has a locker set up for him already, all of his new gear waiting for him when he finds it. Tyson stares at the white practice jersey for a long moment, the green helmet already fitted with his full face shield and new number. He’s the only one in the locker room so far.

Tyson feels himself smile for the first time in what feels like days. 

Skate passes in a blur. Tyson throws himself into everything the coaches ask of him, trying his best to learn a new team on the fly. His muscles ache from all the travel in the last few days and the lack of sleep, but he leans into the pain with a grin. It’s fun, in a weird way, and everyone’s quick to chirp Tyson, make him feel like he’s already a real part of the team. 

Madison watches the Wild’s game that night. Tyson’s still in his little fishbowl after the broken jaw, and Madison winces every time he takes a check, even though she knows he’s fine, really. Minnesota wins. She doesn’t watch any of their other games, or follow Minnesota on any socials. She considers blocking Tyson’s phone number, the last message she sent to him still sitting open and unreplied to. 

She can’t bring herself to do it. 

Tyson’s mom, ever the lifesaver, arrives a few days later with most of the contents of his closet in tow. She’s also brought the cookie cake Madison had bought him for his birthday. It’s half-eaten and stale, now, reading only “-hday, Tys!” He eats a piece, anyway, and his mom doesn’t ask who bought it for him. She doesn’t ask any questions, actually, which Tyson is grateful for. He’s told her bits and pieces about Madison over the last few months, but he hasn’t told her how he’s fallen in love. It doesn’t matter now.

Tyson’s trying to unpack, give himself some semblance of “home” in his stale hotel room, when a piece of paper falls out of the pocket of one of his suit jackets. He picks it up and carefully unfolds it, though he already knows what it says. good luck tonight! ♡ in Madison’s pretty cursive. She’d tucked it into his suit before a game in January, and Tyson had scored a goal that night. He slipped it back in the inside pocket of the suit jacket. Maybe it’ll bring him luck in Minnesota, too. 

Madison’s phone rings late one night, a few weeks after Tyson’s been traded. It’s the first time she’s heard from him since he left Denver. She squints at her phone screen in the dark, debating ignoring it. Tyson’s face grins up at her, a stupid selfie he had taken ages ago. She swipes to answer with a sigh.

“Tyson, if you’re just calling because you’re drunk or something, I swear—” she starts. She’s not really sure what she’ll do to Tyson, actually, so she trails off. 

Tyson’s quiet on the other end of the line. Madison hears him take a shaky breath, but he still doesn’t speak for a long moment. “The Avs are in town,” he says finally. “Game’s tomorrow night,” he adds. 

Madison hasn’t really been paying attention to either team’s schedule lately. She hasn’t had much reason to. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say here, what’s the right answer to comfort Tyson. She might’ve once, but she feels wrong-footed now, unsure of where they stand.

“You gonna see anyone?” she asks.

Tyson huffs. “Yeah, I got dinner with some of them tonight.” He pauses. “They’re still my friends, y’know, it’s not like they’re the ones who traded me.”

Madison hums, something like agreement. She thinks she can hear the hurt in Tyson’s voice, even though he’s trying to hide it. He’s still talking. “I’ve just…never had to play against my best friends like this before.”

“Oh, Tys,” Madison says softly. “That sucks, babe.” The familiar endearment slips out before she can stop herself. 

“Yeah, it sucks alright,” Tyson agrees. He’s quiet again. “Wish you could be here, too. Miss you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Madison says. With the game tomorrow, Tyson might not be drunk, but it’s late, and he’s wallowing in missing his friends. She doesn’t think she really qualifies as that anymore.

“What do you mean?” Tyson asks, indignant. “Of course I mean it.”

“Is that why this is the first time we’ve spoken since you got traded? Two weeks ago?” Madison’s angry, suddenly; that small spark of hurt she’s been trying to bury flares into fury. 

She can practically hear Tyson’s wince on the other end of the line. It’s too late to be arguing, but this is where they’re at now. 

“Sorry for not wanting to get dumped hours after I got shipped off to fucking Minnesota,” Tyson snaps back, but he sounds tired. The fight leaves Madison just as quickly as it appeared. “Who said anything about breaking up?”

Tyson’s quiet. Madison can picture the way his eyebrows furrow when he’s thinking too hard. “You asked me to call you!”

“I asked you to call me because I wanted to check on you, dumbass.” Madison rubs at her eyes. They should both be asleep, but now she feels too awake to hang up, to end this conversation. She might be annoyed, but it’s the first time she’s heard Tyson’s voice in weeks. She’s missed it, though she’s not about to admit that right now. “How can I even break up with a guy I’ve never been on a real date with?” she asks.

“Oh.” 

“It’s been a wild fucking month for you, Tys, I wanted to talk to you and see how you were handling shit,” Madison continues.

Tyson realizes now might not be the best time to admit that he’d requested a trade. This had still blindsided him, somehow. He considers switching to a FaceTime call. He desperately wants to see Madison’s face, the next best thing to being with her right now, getting to touch her. He winces again when she sniffles on the other end of the line. He’d been lonely when he called her, expecting some sympathy, not the anger he was met with. 

He guesses he probably should’ve considered she’d be mad at him after moving over 900 miles away and then giving her radio silence for two weeks, actually. He taps the FaceTime button a little harder than necessary. He’s almost surprised when Madison accepts the request.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been busy,” he says weakly. “I didn’t think—I just figured you were wanting to tell me that we couldn’t keep doing this.” It seems obvious given the distance, but Tyson really hadn’t been in the mood to get effectively broken up with twice in one day. 

Madison’s eyes burn as she swipes at them, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the late hour, or if she’s about to cry. 

Tyson realizes something. “Besides, you had just gotten spooked and tried to slow things down, I didn’t think you’d want to jump from just hooking up to long-distance.” It’s too dark for him to tell if she’s crying. He hopes she isn’t. 

“That was—” Madison starts to protest. But Tyson’s right. It had only been a few weeks since she’d panicked about how fast they were headed towards a real relationship. That had been before the broken jaw, before Tyson’s birthday, before he got traded. Before Madison had the chance to realize just how much she cared about Tyson, and liked Tyson, and how much she missed him when he wasn’t just a text away.

“I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend for real, you know? On that date? But then I was in Minnesota, and I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to anyone, and I wasn’t ready to talk about anything.” Madison opens her mouth to argue more, but Tyson cuts her off. “You want to know how I’m handling shit? Not well,” he admits.

Hockey is hockey, but he’s not sure Minnesota will ever feel like home the way Denver still does. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Madison blurts.

Tyson laughs in spite of himself. “So many things,” he says. It’s easy, for a second, to forget they’re arguing. Fuck, he wishes Madison were with him, and not for the first, or the third, or the tenth time since he’s been in Minnesota. “I guess I should’ve texted instead of shutting you out, huh? I just never knew what to say.”

“You’re an idiot,” Madison says softly. “I really did just want to check on you. But you left me on read, and then a few days had passed, so I guess you’d made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to talk. I didn’t even think about worrying about our future then.” 

Tyson squeezes his eyes shut. He’s blurry on Madison’s phone screen, but she can tell his hair is a disaster, like he’s been anxiously pulling on his curls.

“Did I accidentally break up with you to avoid being broken up with?” he asks. He sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter. Or maybe tears. Madison can’t quite tell, actually. 

“Mmm, I think so, babe,” Madison says. She rolls over in bed, stifling a yawn. It’s late in Denver, but it’s even later in St. Paul, she thinks. “Hey, you need to sleep. “You’ve gotta beat the Avs tomorrow.” She glances at the clock in the corner of her screen. “Well. Today, I guess.”

Tyson sticks his tongue out at her, but he snuggles deeper into his pillows. “Can I call you later?” His voice is small.

“Yeah, Tys.” They’ve got a lot more to talk about. “Say hi to JT and Cale for me, yeah?” she says.

Tyson grins at her. He stops himself from saying, “I love you,” before he hangs up, but only barely, settling on, “Good night,” instead. There’s still time for the other one, he thinks

The game is…fine. They slap a microphone on Tyson before he goes out on the ice, and it’s definitely weird facing off against some of his best friends, but he gets through it. He doesn’t score, but he doesn’t land in the penalty box either, so. He spends some time attempting to chirp an exasperated EJ that he’ll probably get made fun of for later. Oh, and the Wild win. Tyson guesses it’s an okay night, after all. 

Tyson misses Denver, misses playing at the Can, but after facing off against his friends on the still-unfamiliar ice in Minnesota, he’s not sure he can handle returning. 

Madison finds herself watching the Avs game for the first time in weeks, but she’s not watching for them. She’s paying attention to all of Tyson’s shifts, and she realizes halfway through the game that she’s completely rooting against the Avs. 

The final buzzer has barely blown when she’s pulling out her phone to text Tyson. She hesitates for a moment, unsure of the right thing to say. She feels like they finally made progress last night after Tyson stonewalled her for weeks, but they’re still a half dozen steps behind where they were in the beginning of March. She somehow knows more than she did before Tyson called her, but she feels like she understands their relationship even less now. 

She must type four or five messages before she settles on, great win :) 🖤. She kind of hates it as soon as she sends it, but she can’t take it back. She tosses her phone to the other end of the couch before she can obsess over waiting for Tyson to text her back. She doesn’t have to wait long, though, before her phone is vibrating near her feet. She takes one breath, then another, before scrambling for her phone again. Tyson’s texted back, thanks babe. Then, less than a minute later, wish you were here. 

Madison stares at her phone, chewing on her bottom lip. She doesn’t know the right thing to say once again. ‘Me too’ feels too earnest, ‘wish you were still here instead’ feels mean somehow. She still doesn’t know when she’ll see Tyson again, if she’ll see Tyson again. All she has is a version of Tyson through a screen. Her thumb hovers over the call button. Tyson’s probably busy with post-game stuff, Madison reminds herself. She misses his voice, though.

She finally settles on: :). She waits anxiously until Tyson has read it before sending: Call me later?

She checked the Wild’s schedule already; they’re in town for a few more days. Tyson will probably be heading straight home—wherever “home” is these days— after the game. She spares a moment to wonder about the future of Tyson’s old apartment in Denver. She wonders if it’s been emptied out yet, wiped clean of all traces of Tyson, of them. That had been home to Tyson, and it had almost started to feel like home to Madison, too. 

Tyson sends her back a thumbs up emoji and an emoji with its tongue sticking out. Madison rolls her eyes fondly and tosses her phone back to the end of her couch. 

She’s dozing when her phone rings. Half-asleep, she fumbles for it before answering. “‘Lo?” she mumbles. 

Tyson chuckles softly at her. “You asked me to call you and then fell asleep,” he says, tsk-ing. 

Madison sticks her tongue out at him, even though he can’t see her. “Shut up, it’s late,” she whines. 

“Then go to bed, Mads,” Tyson tells her. She can tell he’s trying not to laugh at her.

Madison feels like a toddler protesting bedtime, but she says, “No! I wanna talk to you.”

Tyson laughs again. “Okay, are you at least in bed already?”

“...No.”

“Go brush your teeth, and get in bed, yeah? We can keep talking then.”

Madison sighs but heaves herself off her couch and into her bathroom. Tyson starts chatting as she walks, mindless stuff, like the weather in St. Paul, or how bored he is of living in a hotel room still. Madison puts him on speaker and sets her phone next to the sink so she can keep listening while she washes her face and brushes her teeth. It almost feels like getting ready for bed alongside Tyson again, elbowing each other for space in front of his bathroom mirror. 

He falls quiet as she crawls underneath her blankets. Madison stifles a yawn.

“How was it?” she asks.

“The game?” Madison nods, forgetting again that Tyson can’t see her. Tyson continues anyway. “I mean, it was fine, I guess. We won, so.”

“Just fine?” Madison prods.

Tyson hesitates. “Weird,” he says after a few seconds. “It was weird. Feels like a Twilight Zone episode, honestly. Like I woke up one day in some other life that everyone else swears didn’t happen. Like, you get traded, and everyone expects you to immediately fit in with this new locker room, and be all in with your new team. As if all the games played with your friends never even happened.”

Madison doesn’t know what to say to that. It must be weird to have to effectively sever all ties with your best friends. To know and trust the face across the faceoff dot from you. She probably couldn’t handle it if she were in Tyson’s place,

“I’m sorry, Tys,” she murmurs, for lack of anything better to say. “It’s business, but business is shitty.” 

Tyson huffs in agreement. Madison’s wearing the hoodie she stole from Tyson, and she tucks her nose underneath the collar. It doesn’t smell like Tyson any more. 

“Hey, is now a bad time to ask if we can have phone sex?” Tyson asks.

Madison bursts out laughing. “Yes, Tyson, it’s a terrible time.” Tyson whines a little at her. “Though,” she adds, “I am wearing one of your hoodies.”

Tyson groans. The few times Madison had worn something of his around him, it usually wasn’t long before the clothes ended up back on the floor.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he says. His voice is muffled like he’s buried his head underneath a pillow.

Madison yawns again.

“You need to go to sleep,” Tyson tells her gently.

“No,” Madison protests again. “Tell me more about Minnesota,” she pleads. “I’ve missed listening to you.”

Madison can’t read Tyson’s moment of silence, but he starts doing as he’s told, telling Madison more about his hotel, about the food in the locker room after games at Xcel Center and how different it is from Denver, about all the different personalities on the team, until Madison falls asleep. 

Madison wakes up to a dead phone. She plugs it in while she showers, and she immediately checks her call log. Tyson had kept talking for well over an hour. He texted her, too, after he’d hung up. Miss you, promise we’ll talk more soon.

Madison responds the only way she knows how: 🖤.

April

The end of the season passes in a blur after that. Tyson settles in as best he can, but he feels like he barely has time to catch his breath. With the end of the season and the playoffs looming, there’s no time for Tyson to find a real place to live, so he’s still holed up in the hotel, living out of suitcases.

Time moves differently in hotels, he swears, the days blurring into one another. Tyson no longer knows what day it is; it’s only travel day, or game day, or rarely, a day off. 

The Wild are winning more than they lose, and Tyson manages to pick up some points here and there. It could be worse. At least it’s not, like, Buffalo. 

The team goes on the road for the first time since he got there, and it’s a good chance for Tyson to get to know everyone a little better, spend some time out of his generic hotel room—even if he goes back to another generic hotel room after each dinner out with the guys. He makes a point to call Madison as much as he can, which is almost every night after he crashes into bed and turns on some shitty TV. 

Their phone calls end up lasting for hours. Tyson realizes that he and Madison spent more time hooking up than really getting to know each other. It’s nice to take the time to just talk and learn things about Madison. Tyson feels himself falling in love more with each phone call.

Tyson talks about his family—his sister, his mom, his grandparents. How much he misses them with the long seasons away. How much he’s looking forward to going home to Alberta when the season ends. He doesn’t tell Madison that he wants to bring her home with him this summer, not yet. 

Madison tells Tyson about everything: her job (graphic design and marketing for a local business Tyson vaguely thinks he recognizes), her family (two sisters, one of whom Tyson briefly met), and her favorite movies (Lord of the Rings, but Tyson could have guessed that). When she tells him she likes to bake, Tyson immediately demands that she sends him some. He’s not even sure if he can get mail at the hotel, actually. Not important.

Tyson throws himself into hockey, though he’s not sure how much it shows. He’s determined to make this work, to stick and make a difference in Minnesota the way he never quite could in Colorado. He tells Madison this, too, voicing fears about his future in hockey that he’s never even let himself think about too much. 

The Wild plays the Avalanche again in St. Paul on the last day of the season. Tyson’s dreading it. He’s privately more than a little glad that they’re not playing the Avs in the first round, but he still can’t help but feel like he should be there instead, still on a powerhouse team poised to take on the postseason, not the underdogs.

Tyson calls Madison a week before the game, laying in bed, fresh off a single assist in back to back wins against Vancouver and Seattle. Tyson can hear the smile in Madison’s voice when she answers. Tyson’s chest hurts with how much he misses her.

Which is probably why he blurts, “Can you come to Minnesota?” 

Madison’s quiet for so long Tyson pulls his phone away from his ear to make sure the call didn’t disconnect. 

Finally, she says, “Tyson, I can’t just drop everything and fly to Minnesota.” “No, I know, I just meant next week,” he says. “We play the Avs again.”

Madison knows that, this time. She’s actually started paying attention to the Wild—mostly just Tyson, though—since April started.

“That’s a Friday night, Tys,” she tells him. “I’d have to take off work for the day.” She could, probably, without too much fuss. She just wants to hear Tyson beg a little. She’s still a tiny bit hurt by the way he stonewalled her after the trade. 

“I’ll pay for your plane ticket!” Tyson adds. That wasn’t really Madison’s point. “I really want you to be there, I need to see you again.” 

Madison already knows she can’t tell Tyson no. She sighs and drags her laptop towards her. She starts searching for plane tickets. “Just for the game on Friday, or am I allowed to stay the whole weekend?” she asks.

Tyson scoffs. “Like I’d let you leave after one night when I haven’t seen you in two like two months.” He’s already planning on only leaving the hotel room except for practice and maybe to finally take Madison on an actual date. Actually: “Hey, pack something nice to wear. I still owe you a date.”

Madison laughs. “How nice are we talking?”

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna wine and dine you so hard,” Tyson says, breaking off into laughter before he can even finish the sentence. 

Madison spends the next week, alternating between excited and anxious. Excited because she hasn’t seen Tyson in weeks, and she can’t wait to be able to kiss him again. She’s not sure why she’s even worried. She and Tyson have already spent months doing almost everything couples do, just without the label. They already know they work well together. Adding a label shouldn’t change things. 

She goes out and buys a new dress the day before her flight, after frantically deciding that nothing in her closet was good enough for a first date.

“He already knows what you look like,” her sister Emma points out. “It’s not like you have to worry about him liking you. Also, he’s colorblind.”

Madison ignores her (annoyingly correct) sister and spends almost over an hour in the mall. She carefully packs the new dress at the top of her suitcase before zipping it up and leaving it by her front door. She’s so excited she can hardly sleep.

It’s not a long flight from Denver to Minnesota, but Madison’s not used to flying, and the whole affair has her stressed beyond belief. It takes her unbelievably long to find her gate, and even though she got to KDEN plenty early, she still worries that she’ll be late. It’s a relief when she can finally settle in her seat. She turns on a Disney movie she doesn’t really watch and counts the minutes until she can see Tyson again.

Except then she can’t find her luggage, and Tyson’s supposed to be picking her up and isn’t answering her texts. It takes her twenty minutes to find out that another passenger mistakenly took her suitcase and has brought it back, and Tyson still hasn’t responded to tell her that he’s waiting.

She makes her way outside anyway, following the signs towards parking. Her hands are too full with her carry-on and suitcase to reach for her phone to call Tyson, but when she steps outside her terminal, she recognizes the person behind the wheel of a car just pulling up to the curb.

Tyson has the car in park and is jumping out before Madison can take another step. She’s so overwhelmed she bursts into tears.

She drops her bags to launch herself at Tyson, wrapping her arms around his neck. He doesn’t stumble, just slides his arms around her waist and hugs her back.

“Whoa, whoa, why the tears?” he asks, wiping one away with his thumb. 

“I just really missed you,” Madison mumbles into his shirt.

Tyson presses a kiss to her hair. He unwraps one hand and reaches for the handle of Madison’s suitcase. “Well, let’s get you in the car, and then we can talk, yeah?” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer, letting go of Madison fully to swing her suitcase into the trunk. Madison slips into the passenger seat while he throws her carry-on in, too, before he’s jogging back to the driver’s side. He leans across the console to kiss Madison’s cheek.

“Missed you, too, by the way,” he says.

Madison feels silly for crying now. Everything always seems better when Tyson’s around, and right now is no exception, with the windows rolled down and Tyson singing loudly—and badly—to the song on the radio. Tyson reaches for Madison’s hand, and she lets him slip his fingers between hers. Something restless in Madison’s chest settles when he touches her. 

They don’t much as Tyson drives, the city flashing by out the car windows. It’s been ages since they saw each other, but they talk almost every day; there’s not much to catch up on. Madison likes it, the comfortable quiet between two people who know each other well. 

Tyson apologizes for the fact that he’s still living in a hotel on the elevator ride up to his room. 

“Tyson, I don’t care where you’re living, I’m just glad to be able to see you again,” she tells him.

Tyson blushes, but he also boxes her in against the elevator wall to kiss her properly for the first time since she got off the plane. Madison trails after him as he heads down the hallway and pushes open his hotel room door with a dorky sweep of his arm. 

The room’s bigger than Madison expected, with a kitchenette that doesn’t look like it’s been used at all, and a little couch and desk near the TV. Madison can see the bed, sheets rumpled and twisted like Tyson has never bothered to make it in the weeks he’s been here. Tyson’s watching Madison survey the room like he’s nervous. 

“So, what’s next?” Madison asks. 

With the game last night, Tyson didn’t have skate today, but she’s familiar enough with his game day routine to know he should probably be napping soon. She could go for a nap herself. Madison doesn’t wait for an answer, just dumps her carry-on bag on the couch and wanders over to the bed. Tyson follows, still rolling Madison’s suitcase behind him. Madison flops backwards onto the bed. The sheets smell like Tyson.

“Well?” she asks, raising one eyebrow at him.

Tyson scrambles onto the bed after her. He drops to his elbows above Madison and leans down to kiss her, eager and not exactly gentle. Madison reaches up to thread her fingers into his curls. She runs her fingers through his hair once, twice, before closing her hand and tugging. Tyson groans into her mouth, but he gentles the kiss. They make out until they’re both breathless, and Tyson has to pull away. 

“I really should nap,” he says once he catches his breath. Madison tilts her chin up for another kiss. Tyson rolls his eyes but obliges, just a quick peck. He shifts his weight to one hand and pinches the outside of Madison’s thigh with the other. “C’mon, I wanna cuddle.”

They both clamber up the bed until Madison can collapse onto the pillows. Tyson collapses on top of her. 

“Oof, bud, what the hell,” she manages. Tyson’s heavy, and it’s hard to breathe. 

“Told you I wanted to cuddle,” Tyson says back, face smushed into Madison’s collarbone.

Madison pokes Tyson in the ribs, then again, harder, when he doesn’t react, until he sighs and squirms off her. Her reprieve doesn’t long, though, because Tyson immediately reaches out for Madison and pulls her close. She rolls onto her side to face him, and he grins at her. 

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him.

Tyson’s grin only grows. “Yeah, but you like me.”

Madison slides a hand around the back of Tyson’s neck and kisses him. 

When Tyson's alarm goes off later, they’ve shifted in their sleep, and Tyson’s half-laying on top of Madison again. He slaps at his phone without moving and somehow manages to snooze the alarm. 

“Not ready yet,” Madison mumbles, wrapping an arm around Tyson and keeping him close. He huffs a laugh against Madison’s skin. 

“I’ve gotta get ready, baby,” he says. He kisses Madison’s shoulder.

Madison should probably get up, too. She wants to shower the plane funk off and make herself presentable for the game. But Tyson’s bed is really comfy. Tyson rolls off of her, and Madison whines at the loss of her human blanket.

Tyson shoots her an amused look. He leans back over Madison to kiss her one more time, but he avoids her attempts at dragging him back to bed. Madison pouts up at him. It doesn’t work. She watches from the bed as Tyson gets dressed in his gameday suit. He kisses her goodbye before he leaves. 

Left alone in the eerie silence of the hotel, Madison forces herself out of bed and into the shower. She brings her Bluetooth speaker with her, blasting one of her playlists loud enough to be heard over the water. She emerges in a cloud of steam to dig through her suitcase for the outfit she’d packed for tonight. She doesn’t own anything Wild-branded, and she doesn’t think wearing Tyson’s old Avalanche hoodie would go over too well. She’d had to buy something new for this, too: an amazing fleece-lined green corduroy jacket that she’d probably live in come fall. 

She takes the opportunity to poke around the hotel room a little, looking for traces of Tyson in the unfamiliar space. One of the blankets from his apartment was thrown carelessly across the foot of the bed. His ukulele sits on top of the desk. Madison hangs her date-night dress up in the little closet and finds her own good luck note to Tyson taped to the door. The kitchenette is full of Tyson’s snacks, including some of Madison’s favorites. It’s not much, but it’s enough. 

Madison eventually makes her way to the Xcel Center. She’s met by someone’s significant other outside—it’s a blur of faces and names she can hardly keep track of—before they head to their seats. She’d gotten used to the atmosphere at The Can, and Xcel Center is different but the same. It’s easy enough to settle into the rhythm of the game and the crowd. The game is wild from puck drop, but Minnesota manages to pull out a win. Tyson even scores the game winning goal. 

She follows the rest of the girls downstairs to the family room after the game. She’s restless, full of energy after the game, with no outlet for it. She all but tackles Tyson when he pokes his head in, stripped down to his base layers, but his curls still plastered to his head with sweat. 

“Whoa,” he says, steadying her as they tumble out into the hallway. He’s grinning at her, cheeks pink. He lets Madison pin him up against the wall opposite them. “Hi.”

Madison kisses him, before she can blurt something embarrassing, like, “I love you,” or, “That goal was hot.” Tyson makes a surprised noise into her mouth but kisses back easily, his hands tightening on her hips. He pulls away after a minute.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he whispers, kissing her temple. Louder, he says, “JT has requested to see you.”

Madison’s a little surprised, but pleased, to hear that. She’s hung out with JT a handful of times since she met him back in January, but she doesn’t think she’s talked to him since Tyson got traded. It had always felt more like JT was just a friend of a friend she got along with.

Tyson drags her down the halls towards the visitors’ locker room, JT’s already waiting for them, leaning against the door frame and messing around on his phone. Unlike Tyson, he’s dressed in clean clothes. He looks up as they approach and grins at them. Tyson doesn’t let go of Madison’s hand. 

JT ropes Madison into a one-armed hug. “Think you’re Josty’s good luck charm. He’s scored twice now at games you’ve been to.” Tyson sticks his tongue out at JT.

Someone from inside the locker room yells Tyson’s name, and he’s momentarily distracted. JT leans in closer to Madison.

“Take care of our boy, yeah?” he says, quietly so Tyson, who’s still talking to someone else, won’t hear. “He needs you.” 

Madison’s not sure how to respond to that. She’s saved by Tyson remembering they’re there. JT smacks a kiss to Madison’s cheek and nudges her back towards Tyson. 

“See you around?” he asks Tyson.

“C’mon, you know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Madison watches them hug, and then Tyson’s leading her back down the maze of hallways. He says something to her before dropping her off outside the family room, but she doesn’t really hear it, lost in her own thoughts, thinking about JT’s words.

She’s still thinking about what JT said when Tyson rejoins her, as they make their way back to the hotel, up the elevator and into Tyson’s hotel room. She and Tyson move quietly, easily, around each other as they start to change out of their game-day clothes. She’s still lost in her thoughts when Tyson hooks his chin over her shoulder, startling her as she’s taking her makeup off. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He looks worried. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

Madison shrugs. “Nothing.”

Madison watches in the mirror as Tyson’s brow furrows further. “Did something happen?” Madison knows he’d been worried about how the Wild WAGs would receive her.

She shrugs Tyson’s chin off her shoulder, suddenly annoyed. “No, Tys, nothing happened.”

Nothing did happen, unless you count JT Compher’s casual words sending Madison into a spiral. 

Tyson slides between Madison and the sink. He crosses his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

Madison rolls her eyes, but gives Tyson a quick peck, before hip checking him out of the way so she can brush her teeth. Tyson watches, still suspicious. Madison ushers him towards the bed. He sits and drags Madison into his lap. He frowns up at her.

“Tys, really. Everything was just overwhelming, I guess.” Also not a lie; she’d never been to a hockey game as Tyson’s girlfriend—or, almost-girlfriend—and everything had been overwhelming in a way she hadn’t expected. Most things had been the same, but sitting with the rest of the wives and girlfriends and listening to them ask her questions about her life and job had almost felt like a well-meaning interrogation. 

“Promise?”

Madison kisses Tyson, slow and gentle. “Promise.”

She yelps when Tyson flips them suddenly. He rolls on top of her, propping himself up on his hands. Madison can tell that he’s not letting this go.

“Then what’s wrong?” He chews nervously on his lower lip for a moment. “And don’t say nothing, I know you’re lying.” 

Madison huffs. “Just something JT said.” She shoves at Tyson’s shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. His glasses are crooked from his acrobatics, and Madison reaches up to adjust those next. He swats at her hand.

“I’ll kill him,” he says confidently.

“First, I think JT would beat you in a fight,” Madison says. Tyson makes a noise of protest, and Madison slaps a hand over his mouth. “Second, it wasn’t anything bad, I don’t know, just made me think.”

Tyson pries Madison’s hand away. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” he says.

He’s distracted enough that Madison can hook a leg over his hips and flip them back over. She settles across his lap as Tyson blinks dazedly up at her.

“He asked me to take care of you, said you need me, whatever.” Madison’s trying to brush it off, as if she hadn’t spent hours thinking about it, as if she doesn’t feel uncomfortably seen. Far too vulnerable for something that was supposed to just be a hook-up way back in November. 

They’ve come a long way since November.

Tyson’s face clears. “What do you mean, ‘whatever?’” He surges up to kiss Madison before he continues. “Of course I need you. I fucking miss you constantly. I’ve wanted literally nothing but to be around you, like, all the time since, like, December.”

“Oh.” Madison should have realized that, maybe. It’s different to hear Tyson lay it out like that. “I didn’t realize,” she whispers. Tyson grins up at her. “You did kinda ghost me for a while there,” she points out.

Tyson groans. “I am never gonna hear the end of that, am I?” He runs his fingers through Madison’s hair, tugs a little at the ends. “I panicked because I was terrified of losing you, remember?” He punctuates his sentence with another gentle kiss. His hand slips from Madison’s hair to her waist, underneath her T-shirt. He’s missed the feeling of her underneath his hands. An emotion Madison can’t read crosses his face for a second before he says, “Do you—do you not—?” Feel the same way, is what he means to say, but can’t quite get out.

Madison understands him, anyway. “No, God, Tyson, no.” She hesitates; she supposes they’re laying it all on the line here. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Tyson surprises her by bursting out laughing. Hurt, Madison tries to squirm out of Tyson’s lap, but he reels her in and kisses her until she melts into his hands.

“Baby, I’ve been in love with you since you showed up at my door for a Lord of the Rings marathon.” He giggles a little and kisses Madison’s nose. “We’ve done this all backwards, haven’t we?” 

Madison giggles a little too and nods. “I don’t think we’re very good at all this,” she whispers.

Tyson shakes his head, still laughing. “We’ll get better. I mean, look at us, we’re already communicating more!”

Madison kissed him again to shut him up, but by then they were both too busy laughing to take it much farther. Madison collapses to the sheets next to Tyson, letting herself dissolve into giggles. It feels good to laugh like this with Tyson, the last bit of uneasy tension Madison didn’t even know existed disappearing at last. Madison feels delirious with it: the stress of the last few weeks, the long day of travel and hockey, the raw vulnerability of finally being honest with Tyson.

They laugh for longer than the situation warrants. Tyson eventually heaves a sigh and turns his head on his pillow to look at Madison, eyes uncharacteristically serious. Madison sucks in a breath and forces herself to stop laughing.

“I mean it, you know,” Tyson says. “I’ve been falling for you for a long time.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, props himself up on an elbow. “I guess this means you’re officially my girlfriend now, huh?”

“Huh, guess so.” Tyson beams at her. “Don’t think this gets you out of wining and dining me tomorrow, though,” she threatens. 

Tyson leans down to kiss Madison. “I don’t put out on the first date,” he murmurs.

Madison drags him closer, slots her mouth against his again. “Bit late for that, babe.”

Madison wakes up late the next morning, bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. Tyson’s already awake, sitting up against the headboard and fucking around on his phone. He never got dressed besides finding his boxers, and his glasses are slipping down his nose. He grins down at her when he realizes she’s awake. 

“You’re a dork,” Madison says, rolling over to bury her face in a pillow again. Tyson pokes her shoulder blade, and she turns her head enough to glare at him. 

“Brunch in bed, or go somewhere?” Tyson asks, poking Madison again.

Madison’s not wearing anything, either, and she’d have to shower and fix her hair before they could leave the hotel room. “Bed,” she says, burrowing back into her pillow. Actually, it might be one of Tyson’s pillows. It’s hers now.

Tyson chuckles and rolls out of bed to hunt down the room service menu. He orders a bunch of stuff that they can share, but makes sure to include an omelet for Madison. He learned a while ago that she always has to have an omelet with breakfast. He’s also learned not to question it. He jumps back onto the bed. Madison bounces with it, and turns once more to glare at him. 

Her hair’s a disaster, and Tyson thinks he can see a hickey he left low on her neck. He loves her so much. He remembers he can tell her that now.

“I love you,” he blurts. Madison’s face softens. “Also, breakfast in thirty.” He tugs a little on the sheet where it’s slipping down Madison’s shoulders. “Plenty of time for…”

“For what, Tyson?” Madison asks. She’s laughing, now, and she rolls over, letting Tyson slide between her thighs and kiss her, slow and easy. 

He has to fish his boxers out of the sheets again when room service knocks on the door, but it’s worth it.

Madison drags herself out of bed after they eat. Tyson’s promised her plans all day, so she and Tyson take turns showering and making themselves presentable. Tyson holds Madison’s hand from the door of the hotel room until they reach his car, and even then, he only lets go after he opens the door for her and kisses her on the cheek.

It’s a warm spring day, and Tyson drives with the windows down through downtown St. Paul. He refuses to tell Madison where he’s taking her.

“Can we at least get coffee if you’re going to kidnap me?” Madison whines.

“I don’t think it’s kidnapping if you willingly got in the car,” Tyson points out mildly. He pulls into the next Starbucks drive-thru he sees, though, so Madison’s pretty sure she wins the argument.

Placated with caffeine, she stops pestering Tyson for details, but it’s only another few minutes before he’s turning into a parking lot for Como Park Zoo.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Madison asks. She’d idly mentioned, a while ago, that she wanted to visit the Denver Zoo when it got warmer. She had no idea that Tyson would remember that.

Tyson smirks at her. “I think it’s a little smaller than Denver Zoo—”

Madison cuts him off. “Shut up, it’s gonna be great.”

And it is great. Madison all but runs between animal exhibits, and Tyson’s more than happy to be dragged along by the hand, even though he thinks his nose is getting sunburned. They entertain themselves by naming the animals after his old teammates.

“You can’t name them all EJ,” Madison says at one point. 

“Well, why not?” Tyson argues. Madison…doesn’t have a good argument for that, actually.

There’s gardens, too, and they wander through those after they’ve looped around the zoo, holding hands the whole time. Madison’s pretty sure she enjoys the flowers more than Tyson, but he waits good-naturedly when she stops to point out a pretty flower or to take some pictures. It all feels like a date, which Madison supposes it is, actually.

“Hey, wait,” Tyson says suddenly, after Madison stands back up from taking a photo. “We should get a picture of us.” He snatches Madison’s phone from her hand. 

There’s an older couple nearby, and Tyson approaches them with a smile. Madison can hear him asking if one of them would mind, “taking a picture of me and my girlfriend?” She’s sure she’s blushing when Tyson comes back over and winds an arm around her waist. She smiles obligingly at the camera next to Tyson, and doesn’t even flinch when he turns and smacks a kiss to her cheek for the last one.

Tyson’s gracious and sweet as he takes Madison’s phone back, but he turns on Madison with an evil glint in his eye.

“Shut up,” Madison says, turning and walking away from Tyson so he can’t see that she’s still blushing.

Tyson jogs to keep up, spinning around and walking backwards so he can keep smirking at Madison. “You liked hearing me call you my girlfriend, huh?”

“Shut up,” Madison says again.

Tyson steps in front of Madison suddenly, blocking her path completely. She bumps into him. He’s still grinning. “Get used to it fast, because I can’t wait to tell everyone you’re my girlfriend.” Madison claps a hand over his mouth before he can literally start yelling about it. Tyson pries her hand away and uses it to pull her in for a kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs. The novelty of hearing that from Tyson hasn’t worn off, either.

Madison kisses him again because she can. 

They head out not long after that. Tyson starts insisting that they can’t be late for their dinner reservation, even though it’s still early afternoon. Madison lets him take her by the hand again and all but drag her back to the car. 

She’s suddenly tired once she’s sitting back in the passenger seat, the sun and the walking catching up to her. She rests her head on the window while Tyson drives, fighting back a yawn. Tyson still catches her, and he reaches across to poke her in the thigh. She swats half-heartedly at his hand.

“Do I have time to take a nap?” Madison murmurs.

“What? No way!” He pokes Madison harder. “I’m supposed to be wining and dining you, remember?” 

“But I’m sleepy,” Madison whines. She’ll rally, probably; she needs to complain a little first. Tyson pokes her harder.

“That’s not allowed,” Tyson says. It’s not a long drive back to the hotel, and they’re most of the way back there already. Tyson checks the time on the dashboard. There’s still a few hours before their dinner reservation. “Okay, how about a mini nap?” he allows. “But we’re setting like three alarms.” 

It’s important to him that he still gets this first date right, even if they have done their entire relationship backwards. They got to the right place in the end, though, right?

Madison crashes into bed as soon as they’re back in the room. Tyson considers her for a moment. She’s already wriggled under the sheets, but she’s lying directly in the middle of the bed.

Tyson collapses on top of Madison. He catches himself at the last second so he doesn’t completely crush her, because he’s nice like that. Madison giggles, but she squirms and tries to elbow Tyson.

Her voice is muffled into the pillow as she tries to say, “Get off me.”

Tyson lets his weight press her further into the mattress. “Nope, ‘m comfy.” He does fish his phone out of his pocket to set an alarm and roll off Madison. He pulls Madison close as soon as he lands on his side next to her. “Shh, sleep now.”

They’re both jolted awake half an hour later when Tyson’s alarm goes off. Madison whines and presses closer. Tyson kisses the top of her head where she’s tucked under his chin.

“We need to get up,” Tyson whispers. Madison blinks sleepily up at him. 

Tyson forces himself to disentangle himself from Madison. When she doesn’t get up after him, he grabs her by the ankles and drags her to the end of the bed, ignoring her laughter and shrieks.

Tyson follows Madison into the bathroom after she digs her makeup bag and curling iron out of her suitcase, plops himself down on the marble countertop of the sink. Madison raises her eyebrow at him as she plugs the curling iron in and turns it on. Tyson beams at her.

“I wanna watch,” Tyson says simply, still smiling innocently.

He does watch, intent on Madison as she starts to section her hair.

“What’s that for?” he asks. He hands Madison a hair clip.

She brandishes the curling iron at him. “So it’s easier to curl.” 

Tyson’s quiet for a few more minutes before he slides Madison’s makeup bag closer and starts pawing through it. He pulls items out one by one and starts asking questions, mostly more of, “What’s this for?”—a makeup sponge, eyeliner, one of those jumbo eyeshadow crayons—until most of the contents of Madison’s makeup bag are strewn across the counter around Tyson. 

“Are you proud of yourself?” Madison teases. Tyson snaps a compact of blush shut, surveys the damage he’s done. Madison’s momentarily distracted by Tyson’s shenanigans, and one of her fingers brushes across the hot barrel of the curling iron. “Ah, shit,” she hisses.

Tyson’s immediately serious. “Are you okay?” He grabs at Madison’s hand, bringing it close to his face to inspect her finger. Madison bites her lip to keep from laughing. Tyson frowns before carefully pulling Madison’s finger to his lips, kissing it gently. “There. All better.” 

“I love you,” Madison hears herself saying. She’s not used to being able to just say it. Tyson beams at her again.

Tyson behaves himself while Madison finishes her hair and makeup, though he does giggle at the faces Madison pulls while she’s trying to apply mascara. He even helps put away all the makeup he got out. He finally hops off the counter to start getting ready himself.

Madison grabs his wrist when he reaches for the bottle of hair gel. “Nope, I’m rescinding your gel privileges.” She dies a little inside every time she sees a new photo of Tyson and his curls smothered in gel. Tyson squirms, trying to free his hand; Madison tightens her grip.

“Just a little?” Tyson pleads. 

“No, I like your curls!” For emphasis, Madison cards her free hand through Tyson’s curls.

Tyson grumbles at her and tries to tamp his hair back down. “You’re gonna make it frizzy,” he complains. Madison is still tightly holding onto his wrist. “Ugh, fine, but just for tonight.” 

Madison releases his wrist and kisses Tyson’s cheek as she steps past him out of the bathroom. Tyson blinks at himself in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened.

Madison’s changed into a dress when Tyson finally makes his way out of the bathroom, too, sitting on the edge of the bed to slide on a pair of heels. She watches Tyson change with a small smile on her face. Tyson takes Madison’s hand and pulls her to her feet, twirling her once before pulling her close for a kiss.

“Let’s fucking do this,” Tyson says, and Madison has to laugh.

Dinner is pretty nice, as first dates go. Tyson picked a good restaurant—good food, nice environment, but not so fancy Madison feels out of her depth—and Madison already knows that he’s good for conversation. The good thing about falling in love before you actually start dating is that you’ve already gotten the awkwardness and discomfort out of the way already, Madison supposes.

She’s even mostly immune to the sad eyes Tyson directs at her as he pleads his case for getting dessert. Mostly. (They end up splitting a slice of tiramisu.)

The weekend passes too quickly. Madison blinks and suddenly she’s standing in the middle of Tyson’s hotel room, trying to figure out if she’s forgotten to re-pack anything. 

“Stay,” Tyson begs. “A few more days, through the beginning of the series.”

“Tyson, I can’t, I have to get back to Denver for work, you know that.”

Tyson does know that, but he also hates coming back to a dark and empty hotel room every night after games. He tries to tackle Madison to the bed, but she side-steps Tyson and crosses her arms at him, disapproval in her eyes. Tyson feels a bit like a scolded child for a moment. 

“What if I refuse to drive you to the airport, huh? Then you’ll have to stay.” Tyson knows it’s a weak argument, but he’s desperate here. 

Madison’s glare softens. She cups Tyson’s face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Tyson, but I really have to go. I’ll see you soon, okay? We’ll figure something out.” She punctuates this with a kiss. Tyson leans into it, his hands tight on Madison’s waist. 

“Soon,” Tyson repeats. “I love you,” he adds.

Madison kisses him again, and Tyson slips a hand beneath her shirt, her skin warm beneath his hand. She shudders and kisses him harder. They both startle when the alarm Madison set to make sure they leave for the airport on time goes off. Tyson tries to follow her when she pulls away to silence it.

“Time to go,” Madison says sadly.

After Tyson drops Madison off at Departures, he’s grateful that she’s not there to see him wipe away some tears. 

May

Madison sees the Avs’ WAG jackets on Instagram the night they start the first round. The WIld had played the night before, an ugly loss Madison hadn’t been able to tear her attention away from. She could have had one of those jackets, sitting next to Syd and all the other girls. Instead, she’s back in her apartment in Denver, alone. 

She wishes she could have stayed in Minnesota with Tyson for the first two games of the series. She gets a text from Tyson after the game that’s just a thumbs down emoji. Madison “dislikes” it out of solidarity. Tyson doesn’t call her that night. Madison has to remind herself that it’s okay, that they don’t have to talk all the time.

She watches anxiously two nights later as the Wild drag out a win, clutching a glass of wine for emotional support the whole time. 

Before she can think too hard about it, Madison’s opening her laptop. She’s in the middle of searching flights to St. Louis when her phone rings. It’s Tyson, and Madison doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“I miss you,” she says, before Tyson can get a greeting out. She has perhaps had a little too much wine. 

He chuckles. “It’s been less than a week, baby.” But then he adds, “I miss you, too.”

Madison shoves her laptop away and flops backwards on her bed. Last minute plane tickets are so expensive. So are playoff hockey tickets, apparently. She wonders if it would be easier to just drive to St. Louis.

“Wish I could be there,” she says next, even though she had just turned down Tyson when he’d asked her to stay. 

“Yeah, me too,” Tyson says after a beat. He doesn’t offer to fly Madison out again, though Madison can tell he wants to.

She doesn’t tell him that she’s only a few clicks away from buying herself tickets and meeting him in Missouri. Though she should probably do it while she’s not sober, before she can talk herself out of it in the morning. 

“Oh, good game, by the way,” Madison remembers to say.

Tyson huffs. “Are you already in bed?” Tyson asks. Madison can hear him banging around his hotel room, tinny and muffled where her phone has slid off her pillow. 

“Sorta,” Madison tells him. She pulls her laptop closer again. She could fly out after work and make it to the arena without missing too much of the game, probably. She winces again at the outrageous prices for the game. There aren’t even any good seats left.

Tyson speaks again. “Go to sleep, we can talk in the morning. I just wanted to say good night to you.” 

“In a minute,” she whines. She’s trying to remember her credit card number without having to get up and dig it out of her purse.

Tyson must hear her keyboard clacking. “What are you still doing on your computer?”

“Online shopping,” Madison lies. Well, half-lies. She is spending plenty of money right now. She triple-checks that her flight is booked correctly and that she purchased the ticket for the game before she finally slams her laptop shut and tosses it aside. “There, I’m done,” she tells Tyson.

“Buy anything good?” Tyson asks through a yawn. 

“Hope so, we’ll see.”

On Friday, Madison rushes off the plane, rushes through baggage claim, and rushes through renting a car. She’s cutting it close on time, with less than half an hour until puck drop. She drives as carefully and quickly as she can on the unfamiliar roads to the arena, one eye on the clock the whole time. The streets and parking around Enterprise Center are a fucking nightmare, but when she finally parks and makes it to the front doors, there’s still lines of people milling about, waiting to get in, too.

Madison checks her watch. Puck dropped five minutes ago. She pushes around a group of people who are somehow already drunk and towards the front of a line. All hockey arenas are the same, in a way, but Madison is immediately overwhelmed and disoriented. The first period is half over by the time she manages to get to the upper level and settle in her seat, but at least she finally made it. 

Madison takes a photo of the ice and texts it to Tyson with her usual black heart emoji. He’ll see it eventually. 

Madison has to keep herself from cheering too loudly for every Wild goal, surrounded by Blues fans as she is, and she’s probably one of the only people in the arena who’s happy when the Wild manage a neat win. 

She follows the throngs of people outside and back to her rental car. She has a text from Tyson waiting for her, just a string of exclamation marks. Another text comes through while she’s waiting for traffic to thin out, a request for Madison to call Tyson in all capital letters. Tyson’s breathless when he answers Madison’s call. “What the hell are you doing in St. Louis?” 

“Surprise?” Madison says weakly. 

Tyson laughs. “Hell of a surprise, babe.” He must pull his phone away from his ear, because Madison can still hear him speaking, but distantly. “Hang on, I’m trying to get you the address of the hotel, you can meet me there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Madison says. Tyson’s gone again, not really listening.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’ll text you where to go, and I’ll see you soon, okay?” He hangs up without letting Madison reply, but he texts again seconds later with the name and address of the team hotel. 

Madison is anxiously idling in the hotel driveway when the team bus pulls in behind her. Tyson bounds off the bus almost before it comes to a full stop, and he races over to Madison’s car door and taps on the window.

Madison rolls down the window. “And what if it hadn’t been me in the car?” she teases.

Tyson is reaching through the now-open window to try and unlock the door, his tongue sticking out the way it does when he’s focusing on the ice. “I would have apologized. A lot.” He successfully presses the unlock button and yanks the car door open. “Come here, come here,” he says.

Madison laughs and climbs out of the car. Both of her feet aren’t even out of the car before Tyson’s sweeping her up in a hug so tight she swears she can feel her ribs shift. He sets her down and immediately cups her face.

“You’re here, I can’t believe you’re here.” Tyson narrows his eyes, and he squishes Madison’s cheeks where he’s still holding her face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming.” 

Madison pries Tyson’s hands away enough to talk. “I wanted to surprise you.” Tyson’s teammates are still filtering off the bus, and they should probably move inside, too. “Can you let go of me so I can get my bag out of the trunk?” she asks.

Tyson considers this. He slides one hand down Madison’s arm until he can tangle their fingers together. He also leans into the car and deftly turns it off, holding the keys up with a grin. He nudges the door shut. “We can get your bag out of the trunk.” He proceeds to drag Madison around to the back of the car and drags her suitcase out of the back with his free hand. He stares between the suitcase in his hand and the open trunk before Madison takes pity on him and slams the trunk shut.

Madison hangs back while Tyson hands the car keys off to a valet, and then he’s dragging her towards the elevators, happily rolling Madison’s suitcase in front of him. At least the rest of the Wild players have all disappeared, sparing Madison from their stares and jeers. She tucks herself closer to Tyson in the elevator, suddenly self-conscious. Tyson kisses her temple.

Madison is suddenly exhausted as soon as they enter Tyson’s room. Tyson flips the light on as Madison kicks off her shoes. Tyson left the curtains open earlier, and Madison can see the Arch, lit up above the river, through the window. She’s too tired to give it more than a half-hearted glance on her way to face-planting into the pillows. 

Tyson’s laughing when she rolls over and brushes her hair out of her face. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here,” he says, jumping onto the bed next to Madison, and, really, that’s all that matters.

The Wild lose the next game at Enterprise, and Madison holds Tyson tightly for a long time in the hall outside the locker room before he has to get on a plane. They lose again at home, then yet again back in St. Louis. 

Just like that, hockey season is over. 

Tyson calls Madison after the last game. He sounds like he’s been crying, but he tries to be cheerful for Madison. She just wishes she could hug him, but she’s back in Denver. She knows the Avs swept the Predators already, and they’ll be facing St. Louis next. It’s not difficult to imagine how Tyson feels about that. 

“Come home with me,” Tyson blurts. He’s on the phone with Madison, getting ready to leave his Minnesota hotel room behind. He survived locker cleanout and exit interviews, and now he’s ready to sleep for about a week.

Madison, in the middle of complaining at work, freezes. “I—what?” She takes another moment to process. “Aren’t you coming back to Denver first?” Madison knows his apartment sits half-abandoned, filled with things too difficult or unnecessary to move after the trade. 

“Well, yeah, but like, after. You should come home with me,” Tyson repeats. He’s been dying to introduce her to his mom for months. He hopes his mom likes Madison as much as he does. He is a little worried about his sanity if Madison and Kacey get along as well as he thinks they will, though. 

“I’ve never been to Canada before,” Madison says thoughtfully. She’s barely travelled abroad at all, except for one trip to the UK after she graduated high school. Her passport has been collecting dust since then. 

“So you’ll come?” Tyson asks. 

“Is there even anything to do in Edmonton?” Madison teases.

“There’s so much to do, like—” Tyson pauses. It’s been a while since he’s had to play tourist back home. Madison is giggling on the other end of the line. “Shut up, we’ll figure something out.”

Tyson feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in months when he steps out of the airport in Denver. He wonders if any place will ever feel like home the way Denver does.

Tyson had managed to wheedle JT into picking him up, and he even brought coffee. Tyson ignores the way it almost feels like an apology. JT has nothing to be apologizing for, but Tyson just sips his coffee. 

The apartment smells stale when they walk in. Tyson’s mom had done a good job of cleaning for him, at least, and there aren’t any dirty dishes still stacked in the sink. He and JT are quiet as they walk through the apartment, opening windows. Tyson feels like he’s walking through someone else’s life. He stares for too long at his bed, freshly made and untouched for weeks. 

He shakes it off and goes to find the moving boxes.

“So, this is it, huh?” JT says.

He could be talking about all the boxes they’ve spent the last few hours filling boxes and separating them into piles to be shipped off to Minnesota—Tyson finally signed a lease for an apartment there—or to be sent back home for his family to deal with. An alarming amount of Tyson’s clothes is Avalanche-branded gear, and more of it got packed away to keep than Tyson is willing to admit. 

He could also be talking about the end of everything they’ve known together in Denver. Tyson’s spent years accepting the fact that hockey is a business before everything else, has gotten used to the revolving door of teammates each season. It’s been a long time since Rookie House days with Kerf. Tyson is going to walk out that apartment door, and he’s never going to be able to go back. A chapter—or book, really—in the story of his life ended for good. 

Tyson sighs. “This is it.”

The apartment is stripped bare when Madison steps through the door, left unlocked by JT and Tyson.

She drops her laptop bag and kicks off her shoes, saying, “You should be more careful, anybody could just walk in here.”

Tyson drops the box he’s holding and whirls around. Madison winces as its contents rattle. There’s no time to say anything else before Tyson is bounding across the room and wrapping her in a huge hug. 

“What, no hug for me?” JT asks from somewhere behind them. Tyson turns to glare at him, but Madison shoots him a smile.

“Hey, JT,” she says. She lets JT drape an arm around her in a half-hug.

“Betrayal,” Tyson says. He is ignored. 

They leave most of the boxes for the moving company to deal with. Madison bundles Tyson into her car with his bags of clothes, complaining the whole time about wanting dinner. She lets Tyson hold her hand across the console as she drives him to her apartment. 

It’s not the first time Tyson’s been to Madison’s apartment, but it still feels strange to be there instead of his own. They’ve spent so much time there the past few months, watching movies on the couch, doing things other than sleeping in the bed. He misses it already, all the memories they made as they fumbled their way into a relationship. 

He says as much to Madison, expecting her to tease him for something so objectively dumb—to miss an apartment he lived in half of the time for like six months—but the look she gives him is almost sad.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” she says. Tyson pulls her in by the hips, letting her lean her weight on him. “But I guess we’ll just have to keep making more memories, yeah?” 

Later that night, tangled up in Madison’s sheets, Tyson stares at the dark ceiling. He can feel Madison, looking rumpled and in his shirt, watching him. She nudges his calf with her toes. He doesn’t look at her, focused on keeping his eyes from welling up. Then Madison’s hand is on his cheek, turning his head towards her.

“How you doin’, bud?” 

Tyson lets Madison pull him close and hold him tightly. He slides a hand under her shirt and to the bare skin of her hip, just feeling the comforting warmth of her skin. 

“What if it’s never like this again?” Tyson whispers back. This—Denver and the Avalanche, friends who become family; Madison in bed next to him, loving him and wearing his clothes. Minnesota had been okay, but Tyson worked his ass off and never felt settled. Maybe it was the endless hotel life, maybe it was the team, maybe it was him. He feels like a child, begging his mom to tell him everything was going to be okay. 

Madison doesn’t know how to comfort Tyson. It probably never will be like this again. Madison can’t see the future, and she can’t promise Tyson anything, either. “I don’t know, baby,” Madison admits. “I don’t know.” 

Tyson doesn’t cry, but they both lay awake for a long time. 

June

They fly into Edmonton together on Friday. Tyson seems nervous the whole flight and all the way through the airport. At baggage claim, as they wait for their suitcases, Madison turns on him.

“What’s up with you?” she asks. Tyson blinks at her like he forgot she was there. “You’re not seriously this worried about me meeting your family, are you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know!” Tyson crosses his arms. He’s pretty sure his suitcase just spun past them on the carousel. He lowers his voice. “I don’t really bring girls home, I don’t know. I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

“Oh, Tys. It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Madison tosses her hair, and Tyson manages a weak smile. “Your family is going to love me so much they’ll forget you even exist.”

“Hey!”

Tyson had lobbied hard for taking an Uber from the airport, to give Madison and himself a few last moments of peace before a week with his family, but his mom had put her foot down and insisted on picking them up. She’s already idling at the curb when they step out of the airport.

Madison calls shotgun, leaving Tyson to throw their suitcases in the trunk and slide into the backseat. His mom is in the middle of telling Madison, “Call me Laura, please!” Madison turns in her seat to grin at Tyson as his mom pulls away and starts driving out of the airport. She refrains from grilling Madison on the short drive home, something Tyson is grateful for. He zones out while Madison explains where she grew up and what she does and lets himself relax back into his seat.

Before he knows it, they’re pulling up to the house, and Kacey is sprinting out the front door to greet them. Tyson groans, but he eagerly shoves his car door open before the car is in park and lets Kacey jump on him. 

Madison gets out of the car at a more leisurely—and sane—pace, and Kacey turns to wrap her in a hug as soon as she lets go of Tyson.

“I’m Kacey,” she says, pulling away and gripping Madison by the shoulders. “The better Jost sibling.”

Tyson pulls on Kacey’s ponytail. She smacks him in the chest without turning around. Tyson’s about to lunge and get Kacey in a headlock when their mom yells, “Behave,” at them from the front door.

Madison’s looking faintly overwhelmed. Tyson mouths “You okay?” at her over Kacey’s shoulder. Madison just grins and lets Kacey grab her by the hand and drag her inside. He’s pretty sure he hears Kacey telling her how much their grandparents can’t wait to meet her as they go. He shakes his head and retrieves their luggage from the trunk.

He’s missed all the introductions by the time he makes it inside. Madison sits on the couch next to Kacey, the spot on Madison’s other side left conspicuously open. Tyson ignores Kacey’s smirk and plops himself down next to Madison. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Tyson’s grandpa asks.

Tyson refrains from glaring at him. Madison laughs next to him.

“He picked me up in a bar, and I had no idea he was a hockey player,” she says. Tyson had almost forgotten about that part. “We kinda just…kept seeing each other after that.” 

That’s a delicate way of putting it.

“So you’re the reason Tyson ditched us over Christmas, huh?” Kacey asks next. She’s smirking again, directed straight at Tyson over Madison’s head. Tyson has not forgotten that part, struggling to lie to Kacey and his mom.

“Kacey!” Tyson and his mom both protest, but Madison just laughs again. Something about the question melts all of the tension out of her shoulders. She turns a little to lean against Tyson.

“Yeah, that was me,” Madison says. Tyson can’t see her face, but she doesn’t sound very sheepish. She tilts her chin to look up at Tyson. “I should’ve known something was up when he couldn’t go more than a few days without seeing me.” “Hey,” Tyson protests again, weakly. She’s right, though. They really should have figured out their shit sooner, but they got to the right place eventually. 

Conversation drifts away from the topic of their relationship after that. Tyson drapes an arm across Madison’s shoulders. After a while of catching up—Tyson and hockey season, or Kacey and her school year—mixed in with his family asking Madison questions to get to know her better, Tyson’s mom and grandma head to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

Madison tries to follow and offer to help, but Tyson tightens his arm around her. He kisses her forehead, whispering, “Stay here,” into her hair. Madison stays.

They’re getting ready for bed later—banished to separate rooms, of course—when Madison notices Tyson getting nervous again.

“What’s up?” Madison asks, sliding between him and the bathroom sink. They’re pushing it, probably, spending this long in the bathroom with the door closed. 

Tyson shrugs. “Worried about you and Kacey spending all night gossiping.” They’d really hit it off over dinner, which Tyson is simultaneously grateful for and horrified by. From the look Madison gives him, she’s not buying it. “It’s just…the Avs are in town tomorrow night, and I got tickets, and you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, but I want to go, and—”

Madison cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. “Tyson, I’d love to go to the game with you.”

Tyson relaxes again, and Madison moves her hand. Tyson takes the opportunity to bully her up against the sink and kiss her. Tyson’s just getting into it when Kacey bangs on the bathroom door. He’s pretty sure he accidentally bites Madison’s lip when he jerks away. Madison grumbles at him, but she ducks around him to open the door. Tyson tries not to whine about it.

Going to the game together the next night is strange. Tyson hasn’t been to Rogers Place and not been playing a game since he was a kid, probably. Madison had never really been to a hockey game before she’d met Tyson, and she’s definitely never gone to a game with Tyson. 

They mostly go unnoticed, except for a handful of people who stop Tyson and ask for a picture. Madison hangs back while he politely smiles at the camera. It’s easy to fade into the crush of the crowd, and Tyson keeps a tight hold and Madison’s hand as they make their way through the concourse and to their seats.

After that, it’s just like any other hockey game. Cheering for the Avalanche is familiar, even if the way Tyson is squeezing Madison’s hand at every single scoring chance is not. She’d tease him for his nervousness, especially because the Avalanche are winning easily, except for the fact that she knows it had to be hard for him to come out tonight. To cheer for his old team, his friends, knowing that with every win they’re one step closer to something he can’t be a part of. 

So she lets him hold her hand as tightly as he wants. It’s the best she can offer. 

They don’t linger after the game. Tyson seems eager to escape the arena, and Madison lets him lead her back to the car. He puts on a Spotify playlist and turns the volume up loud, but he’s mostly quiet on the drive to the house, one hand on the wheel, one hand on Madison’s thigh.

Madison gets caught up talking to Laura when they get to the house, and she loses track of Tyson for a while. He’s not upstairs in his old bedroom, or even bugging Kacey in her bedroom. Madison ventures outside. Tyson has dragged a lawn chair out to the driveway, but he’s laying on his back on the cold concrete, staring up at the dim stars. The moon is just a sliver in the sky. 

Madison nudges him with her foot. He wraps a hand around her ankle, squeezes once.

“You alive down there?”

Tyson makes a sound that almost passes for a laugh. Madison is pretty sure his eyes are wet, shiny in the dark. Madison lays down next to him. The concrete is hard against her shoulder blades, and it feels damp through her thin T-shirt. 

“This fucking sucks,” Tyson says. It’s too loud for how late it is, and his voice echoes a little around the quiet street. He rubs a hand angrily across his face. “I want to be out there, playing for the Cup, not fucking sitting in the arena watching them. I guess I should be happy for them because they’re my friends, you know? But I kinda want to hate them, too.” He’s quiet for a moment. He reaches for Madison’s hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm, before settling their clasped hands on his chest. “I might not have asked for a trade if I had known it would be this shitty,” he admits.

“It’s okay to be mad, Tyson,” Madison says gently.

“It’s not—I don’t know if I’m mad. I wish I could be.”

“It’s okay to be sad, too,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, voice thick. 

They’re both quiet for so long, Madison’s half-certain Tyson’s fallen asleep, if not for his occasional sniffle. He sits up after a while, still holding Madison’s hand. Even in the dark, Madison can see him yawn.

“Ready for bed?” Madison asks.

Tyson nods. “D’you think I can sneak you into my bed?”

He pulls Madison to her feet as she lets out a startled laugh. Tyson kisses her quiet. “I’m willing to get in trouble if you are.”

The house is dark when they slip back inside. They giggle their way through brushing their teeth, close together at the bathroom sink, elbows bumping. Tyson shushes her loudly as they tiptoe carefully down the hall. Madison’s pretty sure he’s being louder than her, but whatever.

Madison wakes to an empty bed and late morning sunlight. She can hear Tyson’s voice drifting up the stairs. That boy truly does not know how to be quiet. Madison has an Instagram notification when she swipes her phone off the bedside table: josty17 has tagged you in a post. Madison frowns and unlocks her phone, wondering what unflattering photo of her Tyson took. Instead, it’s a photo Kacey or Laura must have taken the morning before. Madison’s laying on top of Tyson on the couch, Tyson visibly complaining that he’s being squished, despite the fact that he had pulled Madison on top of him. He captioned it with a black heart emoji. 

Madison makes her way downstairs. Tyson sits at the kitchen table, arguing with Kacey over something stupid. He reaches a hand out for Madison without stopping whatever he’s ranting about. There’s a fresh mug of coffee in his hand, already doctored the way Madison likes it. Tyson uses his now-free hand to loop around Madison’s waist and tug her onto his lap. She hooks her arms around Tyson’s neck and sips her coffee, content to listen to this argument, even though she’s still not sure what they’re arguing about. She thinks she hears something about which fruit would make the best weapon. 

It might not be easy, but Madison thinks they’ll be just fine.

[fallinallincurls]

congrats on ur 4 years babe!!!! can i pls have #27 from list one w josty <33 🫶🏻

ahh thank you for requesting this one!! it's so cute! #27 from list one is "what made you think putting a holiday sweater on our cat was a good idea? i'll get the bandaids."

he almost will never admit it, but tyson has loved your cat, pumpkin, since they first met a few years ago. since then, the two have become inseparable and you're constantly joking that your own cat likes him more than you because you always fine pumpkin curled up on his chest or rubbing against his leg or meowing for pets.

but one thing you didn't ever expect to come home one day to find your cat wearing a holiday sweater against her will.

"tyson?" you ask when you spot pumpkin running down the hallway and sure enough, your boyfriend is following behind with a frantic look on his face.

"it's the holiday season so i thought she would like to be festive too and i found that adorable sweater the other day. she hated getting into it though and now i can't catch her to get it off!" he explains as soon as he sees you. the story makes you giggle because it's just something tyson would think is a good idea, until you see his arms.

"oh, tys! your arms!"

"i'm okay! she just scratched me a few time as i getting the sweater on her."

"i love you, tys, i really do, but what made you think putting a holiday sweater on our cat was a good idea?" you shook your head at the sight before leaning up to kiss him and heading towards the bathroom. "i'll get the bandaids."

and just as you start laughing to yourself about the situation. pumpkin darts out from under the table and you get to see her in the holiday sweater. "aw she does look cute and festive! maybe we can keep it on her."

"yeah, next time you can put it on." tyson says with a chuckle.

[jostystyles]

hi, can you do “i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know.” for tyson

a/n: this is so much longer than a blurb. i'm not even sorry. also, this is my shitty attempt at smut. apologies in advance for how bad it is. please do not read if you aren't 18+ !

The bar was crowded, but not too much that you couldn't move. The Handsome Gambler was one of his favorite spots so far. It reminded him of a place you'd find out west, with sort of a country vibe. Nightlife in Minnesota was everything he was told it would be, and even more so that he got to spend the summer with his buddies. He got to connect with friends new and old, one of those being (Y/N). They'd met back in North Dakota as freshman, and stayed friends ever since. She lived in Minnesota for work now.

Tyson wasn't physically attracted to (Y/N) at first. He cherished her friendship above everything. Sure, she was cute, but wasn't really like the girls he usually went for. But once she came home from studying abroad, that changed everything. She was no longer the shy, quiet, insecure girl who he became best friends with.

She was fucking hot. He felt guilty for seeing her the way he did sometimes, and how often he thought of her alone in his bed at night. But he was head over heels for her, both in the romantic sense and the lustful one. He knew something had shifted between them this summer, and the sexual tension was such a tightly wound coil, it was bound to snap at any second.

He hoped tonight would be the night. From the moment she walked in the bar with some of their friends, he was ready to drop to his knees right then and there.

(Y/N) was wearing a light blue satin dress, if you could even call it that for how much it covered. It hugged her curves in all the right places, showing off her thick hips and putting her breasts on display perfectly. Tyson had a ton of respect for women, more so than the average man he liked to think. But tonight, all that went out the window. The only emotion he was feeling was pure lust.

He hoped he could get a moment alone with her, but before he knew it they were both at least 2 drinks deep. Not enough to be drunk, but just enough of a buzz. He wandered up to the bar for another, and felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he was met with his favorite set of (Y/E/C).

"Hi." She spoke, a sly smile appear across her face.

"Hey, (Y/N). Come to get another drink too? 'S on me. Whad'ya want?"

"Vodka Red Bull. And I also just wanted to get away from Liv. She won't stop trying to set me up with her dumb neighbor."

Tyson hummed, feeling jealous even though he knew he had no right to be. "I'm glad we're alone now. I can finally tell you how good you look. That dress sure was made for you." He flirted, reaching out to squeeze her hip.

(Y/N) smiled, reaching for her drink the bartender just placed. Leaning closer to him, she spoke, "Thanks, Tys. Also, I'm not wearing any underwear. Just thought you'd like to know." With that, she took a sip of her drink and sauntered away.

Tyson stood bewildered for a second, thinking. Did she really just say that to him? Was she being serious? He looked up, meeting her eyes across the room. He felt his cock harden as she made glances toward the bathroom at the back of the bar. Time moved in a blur, and before he knew it she was standing in front of him. Grabbing her hands, he slowly backed her up against the wall before they were face to face, his lips hovering above hers.

"Was I too forward?" She teased, a slight smirk on her face.

Tyson scoffed, using his free hand to grab hers that was settled on his thigh, moving it to his crotch. "No, I think you were forward enough."

"Going to do something about it then, Josty?"

Slamming his lips onto hers, he grabbed her leg and hiked it up around his waist. This wasn't exactly how he pictured their first kiss, but no going back now. (Y/N) let out a high pitched moan and Tyson felt his cock growing harder each second. She was spread open enough that he could feel her wetness on his jeans, and that was almost enough to send him over the edge.

Breaking the kiss, he swung the door to the bathroom open before picking her up swiftly and setting her down on the counter. He didn't bench 250 at the gym for nothing. Locking the door, he moved back between her legs.

"You sure about this?" He said.

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh. "Never been more sure about anything. I've only been dropping hints for like, 4 years."

"You're telling me we could've done this 4 years ago?"

"Shut the hell up and eat me out, Tyson." She said, smiling as she pushed his shoulders down.

"Don't have to tell me twice." He uttered, dropping to his knees. She placed one of her legs on his shoulder, pushing him towards her sex.

Tyson pressed a few soft kisses to her inner thigh, before making his first move. He licked a stripe up her folds, before landing on her clit. He circled his tongue around it a few times before sucking it lightly, then a bit more harsh the second time. (Y/N)'s hand was wrapped in his mop of curls, the other one gripping her breast. Her breathing was heavy, and her head was thrown back against the mirror. She let out a squeaky moan, her mouth wide open in pleasure.

Tyson continued his actions, this time pumping one, two fingers inside her. This caused (Y/N) to wiggle slightly, tugging a bit harder on his hair. Tyson rutted his hips toward nothing, moaning into her cunt.

"Fucking Christ, you're good at this, I'm so close." (Y/N) practically cried.

As if to bring her closer to her orgasm, tyson glanced up at her through his eyelashes, his free hand finding hers and giving it a squeeze. Making kitten licks to her clit and curling his fingers inside her, he could feel her walls start to pulse.

"Oh my god, fuck. I'm gonna cum. Fuck, Tys." (Y/N) wailed, feeling the coil in her belly start to snap. She moved to bring Tyson's head off her pussy, but he relented. She came harder than she'd ever before, from any previous partner or toy. A string of curses fell from her lips as Tyson rode it out with her. He licked up every last drop of her sweet juices, before pulling off with a squelch.

His hand still holding hers, he used his free one to wipe his face, licking his fingers that once rested inside her. (Y/N) sat, her back to the wall, breathing heavily and coming down from her high. She shook her head with a smile at his slutty actions, doing that while not breaking eye contact.

"Was that good?" Tyson spoke.

(Y/N) sat up. "Was that good? You literally just gave me the best head of my life and you're asking me that?"

Tyson blushed with a smile. "Just an honest question, babe."

(Y/N) leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. The kiss was sweet, and she knew there were feelings behind it for both of them.

"How's that for an honest answer, huh? Ok. My turn to return the favor."

As she pushed off the counter and started to drop to her knees, and fiddle wit his belt buckle, Tyson was sure he was seeing heaven tonight.

[adelphenium]

do you have a fave player to draw from each team? or if you haven’t drawn a player from each team (/maybe even if you have and he wasn’t your fave) who do you think they would be?

ahh this is gonna be a long one! i'm taking you at your word and listing one from every team..... under the cut :D

also i've divided it up based on the teams each player was on when i drew them!

favourite players i have drawn, by team:

East

sens: definitely chabby! however i will also note that i have not yet drawn timmy in a finished piece and i am very much aware of how criminal that is. i will try to rectify this soon.

canadiens: i haven't drawn many but probably pk!

leafs: auston bc he's got really nice distinctive features! conversely i don't like drawing mitchy bc he's too conventionally attractive :( another forbidden answer is bertuzzi . he was so rancid i HAD to draw him and it was admittedly fun.. but it was only a one-time thing.....

panthers: obviously matty tkachuk :)

bruins: sway! he's got the sweetest face BUT so too does ully.. hm..

red wings: dylan larkin, gorgeous nose

pens: s. crosby, legendary nose

flyers: nolpat! love his blush and lashes and terrifyingly blue eyes

canes: brady skjei in all his grey glory <3

devils: nico!!! amazing brows

West

avs: natemac, no question. PHENOMENAL nose, dare i say the best. though cale is a close second!

wild: kirill!!! squishy and doughy

jets: i've only drawn heller and his HUGE ears but it was still fun

stars: robo my beloved!! though seggy kinda reminds me of mtkachuk (?just me??) so he's been fun too

chicago: so far only seth jones

oilers: i Cannot Believe i'm saying this but...... connor. he seriously grew on me like a zebra mussel. i had such a hard time getting his features right at first (why is his mouth so small. why are his eyebrows Like That. what's up with his facial hair) but he's. he uh. listen davo propaganda is real and i have submitted completely to it. i love drawing him now

sharks: i've only drawn ekarlsson but he was so fun with the flow and twirly mustache

ducks: definitely jamie drysdale! i am a sucker for freckles..... praying for his contract 🙏

canucks: only quinn as of yet but he is fun and pretty

kraken: only matty beniers but he is extremely fun!!

knights: only mark stone but he's been fun too

teams whose players i have not drawn but want to:

East

lightning: i tried drawing vasy once and it went Very Badly. i think it'll be the same for stamkos. so maybe bogo!

sabres: definitely need to draw jeff skinner!! maybe i'll draw him with ej and josty just to make myself sad

islanders: mat barzal bc he reminds me of a handsome version of br*ndon urie

rangers: zibanejad!! i'm quite fond of him bc he looks like a male bearded version of one of my friends 😭

caps: nicke or sonny!

blue jackets: i don't really know these guys but maybe gaudreau.. he always looks a little freaked out, so. interesting

West

yotes: matt dumba! he reminds me of another one of my friends

preds: erm.... i gotta admit ryan o'reilly. he's very pretty to me and i don't really know anyone else on the preds...... i love tbear but he's a little plain for me 😭

blues: brandon saad, super cute smile!

flames: i've drawn matty tkachuk while he was on the flames but he's otherwise represented on the list so i don't think he counts..!! so maybe naz or hanny?

kings: either kopitar or pld!

i really like to draw players with distinctive faces, but i am extremely partial to those i've emotionally imprinted on.. as well as those i've already drawn multiple times...... you can see i've got a bit of an eastern atlantic bias haha

[comphy-and-cozy]

So basically you want to kill us all around with this JT Josty fic? Ugh girl. Hurt and The PAIN. 🫠

You can totally make it up to us by sharing some of that smut you mentioned 🤪

if I had to feel it then so do you!

but, as always, your wish is my command 😏 (adult content below the cut - 18+ only please)

“Hey, dude, I thought you could take —” 

JT freezes mid-sentence, standing in the doorway of the apartment, keys hanging loosely in hand. Even before he registered the sight in front of him, he had the feeling of intruding on something he wasn’t supposed to. It’s the abnormal amount of skin that he notices first—not just arms and legs, but an entire back, a lady’s back, bare. Instinctively, his eyes immediately zone in on the ass that’s perched on the couch, perfectly round and shapely, before they trail to the legs attached to it. They’re at a strange angle, he thinks, until he realizes that they’re surrounding something, straddling something—another person.

All at once, the reality of the moment rushes to him, and he realizes he’s walked in on Tyson getting one last booty call. By the looks of it, they’ve made decent headway in the time that he’s been gone, considering she’s completely without a shirt and she already has a hickey sucked into her neck.

It’s only then that he realizes that both Tyson and you are staring at him. Your chest is pressed against Tyson’s, covering your bare breasts, though there really isn’t much room for modesty. The moment is awkward, but not as awkward as JT feels, standing foolishly in the doorway.

“Hi, JT,” you greet with a sly smile, like it’s any other Tuesday night, like he isn’t standing there gaping at you half naked in front of him.

“Uhh, hey—s-sorry, I’ll just—” 

JT shifts uncomfortably in the doorway, eyeing the door to his room, but he pauses when he sees you lean in to whisper something in Tyson’s ear. His face is bright red, he can feel it, skin hot as he averts his gaze. He wants to cross the room, to make his way to his bedroom where he can lock the door and turn up his music and ignore whatever is about to happen out here on the couch, but his feet feel like they’re made of lead. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tyson grin, glancing up at you whose gaze is already back on JT. Suddenly, his great idea has turned into a phenomenal idea.

“You wanna join us? Make my last night one to remember?” 

JT nearly chokes on his own spit, staring dumbfounded at the brunette. Fuck yeah is what he wants to say, obviously with the ass and tits on the girl in front of him he’d be an idiot to say no. But the logical side of him pauses, running through the consequences and the ever-looking Bro Code in the few moments of silence. Through all of it, he ignores the pang in his heart at the thought of Tyson’s last night in Denver. 

“Dude, are you—?”

“Yes or no, Compher? I’d really like to fuck this girl today.”

Fuck. “Uh—y-yeah, fuck yeah.”

Your heart flutters, along with another region of your body, at JT’s admission, like the floodgates are now open to truly make Tyson’s last night in Denver unforgettable. 

Tyson’s eyes find yours, glittering and velvety, a smirk forming on his face. “You planned this, didn’t you? ‘Cause you think he’s so cute?”

JT’s stomach lurches upon hearing the taunt from his best friend’s mouth. His eyes shoot to your face, gauging your reaction, but based on the bashful expression and shy smile, he’s inclined to believe it.

“Told me she thinks you’re hot,” Tyson adds, enjoying the way you fidget in front of him, embarrassed that he spilled your secret crush despite the fact that you’ve just agreed to having a threesome with him. “And I mean, you are, obviously.”

“You trying to fuck me or her?” JT’s found enough of his footing to make a quick jab at Tyson, who rolls his eyes, lugging the pillow beside him and tossing it to the other couch to make room for his friend.

[hattywatch]

T. Jost - Dog Day Afternoon

A/N: No one asked for this. It’s just a small meet-cute. It’s been a while, be gentle!

“Nooo. No!” A gentle tug on the leash brings the labradoodle back to your side, “We do not poop on lawns in this neighborhood, mister!” You’d be absolutely mortified to be caught bagging up poop off of the pristinely manicured lawns in this community, so you bend down and give Cooper a satisfying scratch behind his ear and let him gently tug you towards the end of the block. 

He’s one of your favorites, so well behaved and affectionate when you visit him. His humans are out of town for the weekend, and you stop by a few times a day to exercise him and give him his meals. If someone had asked you when you were in high school if you saw yourself picking up after people’s dogs to pay your bills you’d be confused to say the least. But, the fact of the matter is you’ve opened your own business with five girls working for you, and you rarely have to deal with humans on the day-to-day, so it’s actually kind of a blessing in disguise.

This particular gated community has been your bread and butter as of late, full of well-to-do families who don’t take vacations, they holiday. It’s a marked difference. They’d pay anything to have their treasured pet pampered in their own home and not stuffed into some grimey kennel with 20 other dogs. The best part is they all talk, so you’ve been able to turn 1 client into 15 in only a month. Cooper was the one that started it all. 

You’re nearing the end of the block, coming up on the grassy park that caps the cul-de-sac when Cooper finds a street sign to relieve himself on. You have one headphone in, so you don’t quite hear the heavy footfalls before you see the men jogging up beside you. 

The blond one is broad and shirtless, he looks like Thor incarnate. His running partner is younger, with curly hair and biceps that strain the sleeves of his t-shirt, which is damp with sweat. Of course, it’s at this time Cooper finds a patch of grass to poop on and you wish you could throw yourself into the picturesque lake to your right as you start unrolling the bags you keep in your pocket. The men smile as they pass though, everyone in this town is polite to a fault. 

______

Three days later you haven’t given them much of a second though. 

Today you have Daisy, whose dainty name would be more fitting on a dog half her size. The dopey husky can hardly control her own body, tail smacking against you as you try to get her harness on before you lead her through the streets which are starting to become familiar. 

Daisy lives 5 doors down from Cooper, and it really is so convenient, allowing you to maximize your profit with minimal travel time. She’s still being leash trained, so you grab a handful of treats and shove them into your pocket and hope that “heel” is something she can be coerced to learn. Today you wind your way past the park, up and down the curving streets, intent on this being a “walk,” not a “pull,” like Daisy seems to prefer. 

You pass your favorite house, stark white with a red door and a blooming rose bush on either corner of a wrap around porch. The porch swing is occupied by a pretty blonde woman holding a small baby. She looks up as Daisy barks and you smile and give an apologetic wave. The woman smiles back and you see the beautiful, blond man from the other day hop out of the truck in the driveway. 

He smiles and waves at you as well before walking up to the porch and kissing his wife and baby, sitting down next to her on the swing. 

It warms you up to your toes to see that this couple isn’t too jaded by the beautiful home they have and the affluent community they live in to enjoy the little things. 

Daisy barks again and you see that she’s making herself at home at the edge of their driveway, and you grimace before grabbing the bags from your back pocket. The couple doesn’t seem to mind and gives you another wave when you pass by, intent on getting Daisy back to her house so you could move onto the next client.

______

On Sunday, your only day off, one of your girls calls in sick, so you throw on some leggings and flip-flops and drive over to walk a fluffy pomeranian named Precious. 

She’s a demon. 

She’s yippy and aggressive from the moment you walk in the door. She can, however, be plied with treats, so you arm yourself with a handful and hope you can tire her out so she’ll be easily swayed back into her crate without too much chaos.

She lives across the street from that white house with the red door you love so much, so at least that’s one plus on Precious’ side. You get to admire the home from close up. Making your way down the walkway trying to control the spawn of dog-satan, you catch a glimpse of a shiny new jeep parked outside. 

The driver looks familiar, he’s handsome… And he’s staring right at you, which is awkward, as you’re pretty much still in pajamas and Precious has not stopped her shrill yapping since she’s been put on her leash. 

“Hey there,” he’s not talking so much to you as he is talking to the ball of fluff dragging you down the walk. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t pet her, she’s a bit cranky this morning,” you tell him while he’s mid-squat. He shoots back up and smiles and you finally recognize him. The curly haired friend who was running with the blond from earlier in the week. He’s more handsome up close and it’s making you a little antsy. 

He laughs and it suits his boyish face, “Fair enough, I’m pretty crabby when I have to wake up early on the weekend too.” You smile and try to pull Precious closer to you, lest she start nipping at his ankles. 

The red front door across the street opens, and that golden couple steps onto the porch. They wave at you and you wave back, smiling tightly, a little uncomfortable trying to pay attention to the beautiful man in front of you and the little fluffy ball of rage between you. 

When he notices you waving, he looks over his shoulder and waves ridiculously back to them as well, a big goofy grin splitting his face, “Is it okay that I park here? I can move if it’s not.” 

“No, no, go ahead. No problem at all,” you smile genuinely this time. He says thank you and holds his hand out, “Tyson, by the way. I’m Gabe’s friend,” he thumbs over his shoulder at who you assume to be Gabe.

Still nodding, you give him your name in return before blurting, “Yeah, I think I’ve seen you around here before,” before you can shut your stupid mouth and he smiles impossibly bigger. 

Gabe, who you have identified as the blond dad from the house across the street helps you save face when he shouts, “Tyson, c’mon we’re going to be late,” as he remote starts his truck from the front door, bouncing his tiny baby on his hip. 

Tyson ducks his head at being called out and smiles one last time before waving and heading to a waiting Gabe, “See you two around.”  

Gabe gives you a big grin as he backs out of his driveway and passes you and Precious, still huffing at your feet at the delay in her walk. You walk her the opposite way they drove off in, not trying to encounter any more broad chests and pretty faces before you’ve had your morning coffee.

______

Friday is a busier day, you have 6 walks back to back in your new area, plenty of families going on a long weekend trip for memorial day weekend. You start your day off with Cooper, followed up by Daisy. They’re getting used to their routes with you and their walks are enjoyable. The next four are with Rocky, Lucy, Maggie, and Duke who are all newer clients. 

You’re up to Lucy when you pass Gabe’s house for the first time. There’s music coming from the yard and a few extra cars line the sidewalk, so you assume he’s hosting a party. If you look for a familiar, shiny jeep who could blame you? 

It isn’t there though. 

You’ve almost forgotten about it by the time you’re walking Duke, a tiny little yorkie who is veritably ancient in dog years. He still has some pep in his step though, and you shuffle through your playlist to find some appropriately happy music for the occasion as you turn a corner. 

With your head down, thumb scrolling skillfully through your favorite Spotify playlist, you jump when you hear the sound of a horn. Duke gives a little bark and you look up to see who the offending party is.

Tyson’s body is half out of his window waving, where his car is parked on the corner across the street.

He hops out and walks over to you, peering at Duke with a little confusion.

“You could probably save yourself some time if you walked all of your dogs together. How many do you have?” He laughs and starts squatting down to Duke’s level while looking up at you for permission to pet. 

“This one’s friendly, you can pet him,” is what you say, because your brain is starting to lose higher functioning the more his shorts creep up his bent legs, revealing the thick, muscular thighs underneath.

Once given permission, Tyson becomes the equivalent of a floppy golden, all sunshine smiles and praise for Duke. “Who’s a good boy?” he coos as he holds Duke’s head in his big hands, simultaneously rubbing under his chin and the top of his head.

He stands up and turns his smile on you, which makes your stomach swoop a little bit, not that you’d admit it. “You should come to Gabe’s house when you’re done walking all of your dogs. He’s having a little party; he said he invited all the neighbors.”

“That sounds nice,” you begin, knowing you shouldn’t and can’t., “but unfortunately I have some more work to do this evening.” 

The smile on Tyson’s face doesn’t falter when he shrugs, “Okay, maybe next time.” He bends down to Duke one last time and uses a higher-pitched sweet voice to say, “See ya, buddy!” before standing up and jogging back over to his idling truck. He hops in and waves before driving back towards Gabe’s house. 

Duke looks up at you, unimpressed, “He’s cute," you sigh. The yorkie just wags his tail and tugs you over to a maple tree to do his business. 

______

It’s a week later when you’re trying to coax Precious down the driveway that you see the pretty blonde walking towards you smiling with a stroller. You know she’s Gabe’s wife, but she’s waving to you in a way that says she wants to talk and you wind the leash around your hand so Precious doesn’t get any ideas. 

“Hi! You’re (y/n) right?” she waits for you to nod and say ‘that’s me’ before continuing, “Oh awesome! I’ve heard so much about you from the neighbors. I’m Mel, I live over there,” she points to the house with the red door that you know to be hers, “We have plans Friday night and we need someone to come and take Zoey out. Would we be able to book you?” 

She looks ecstatic to have run into you so you pull your phone out and check your calendar, “Let’s see, I will actually be in the neighborhood around 7, and I’m free around 7:45, does that work for you?” 

“Ah! That’s perfect. We’re just so excited, because it’s the first time we’ve been out since the baby,” she beams down at the little girl in the stroller, “Mom and dad need a night out, ya know?” She’s smiling so brightly and she’s so sweet, and you don’t know, but you do get it somehow. 

You type her name and address into the calendar on your phone, “I’m sure. You guys totally deserve it, babies are a lot of work!” 

Mel laughs, “I had no idea just how much work! But thank you so much for fitting us in. The sitter will be there with her, so just knock and they’ll let you in and show you around,” her eyes are lit up and you’re actually excited to help her get a free night out with her husband, “I’ll text you and just save my number and we can work out all the details. I just have to get her home to feed before she starts fussing! Thank you again.” 

She’s a whirlwind when she types your number into her phone with fast thumbs, but she has her timing down, because you can hear the baby starting to whine as she crosses the street to her house, right on schedule.

_____

When Friday comes you finish two walks and end up on the porch of the big white house with the rose bushes flanking it. You knock three times and step back to wait for the sitter to let you in. 

Surprisingly enough, Tyson opens the front door. 

He’s smiling, like always, with his right eyebrow raised in confusion, bouncing a giggly baby in his arms. She’s in a pink onesie, covered in what looks like mushy carrots, and Tysons white shirt doesn’t look any better. 

“We weren’t expecting company, were we, princess?” He nuzzles his cheek across the top of the baby’s peach fuzz head and she squishes her eyes shut, babbling happily. 

“I’m not really 'company' perse. I’m just here to walk Zoey,” you rock gently from foot to foot, hoping he’ll let you in and you can get your job done without looking like a total fool. 

"Don't you have enough dogs of your own?" He laughs but steps aside to let you through the front door, the inside of the house is just as nice as the outside. 

"Oh. Those aren't mine," you pull a biscuit out of your pocket and click your tongue, trying to coax Zoey out of her hiding spot under the kitchen table. "I'm just the dog walker." Zoey crawls towards you ok her belly, unsure and skittish. 

"That's a good girl, c'mon mama." Tyson hands you her leash off of the back of a kitchen chair and you can feel his eyes on you as you snap her harness together. 

He nods, bouncing foot to foot, keeping the baby happy, "That makes more sense. I thought you had like, 6 dogs. Gabe told me I was an idiot." You look up and his face flames, luckily the baby chooses that very second to spit up onto the burp cloth slung over his shoulder. 

"Oh no, baby girl," he coos at the infant, rubbing her back soothingly. "I'm going to take care of this, don't leave without saying goodbye," he winks and walks through the kitchen, leaving you in a whirlwind, Zoey whining at your feet. 

"Let's go girl."

_____

If you didn't know better, you think, as Zoey noses along the bushes down the block, distinctly uninterested in doing anything at all, you'd think you were being set up. Except you don't really know better.

You think back to the mischievous glint in Mel's eye was she stopped you for your number and Tyson's surprised face when you showed up, apparently unannounced, at the door. 

The more you think about it the more flustered you get, not dressed to woo a potential suitor, and more likely than not, coming back with a bag full of Zoey's poop isn't really the way you prefer to meet men. 

You dig into your pocket for some chapstick and maybe stop in front of a tinted car window in an attempt to curtail your hair into something halfway cute. It's a lost cause. 

Zoey walks listlessly at your side, she's well behaved, but clearly has no business to do, so you head back to Mel and Gabe's house. She looks excited as you make your way up the porch steps and barks at the front door. 

Tyson steps outside and shushes her softly. "Shh girl, please. I just got the baby to sleep." 

"Do you want me to bring her into the back until she calms down enough to go inside?" You wrap the leash around your hand and pat the top of Zoey's head. 

"Nah," he pulls the baby monitor out of his back pocket,  "I was going to sit on the porch for a little anyway, it's nice out. Want some coffee?" 

You say okay and sit on the porch swing waiting for Tyson, not entirely sure how life has led you to this moment on the pretty wrap-around porch of the house with the red door. 

He comes back out and shuts the door quietly behind him before handing you a cup and sitting next to you on the swing. You're quiet for a pause, but then you giggle into your mug. 

"Did you really think all those dogs were mine?" Tyson looks up at you, smiling goofily back over his own mug. 

"Yeah, I totally did. Told Gabe I was going to see if his pretty neighbor needed help walking all of her dogs. Mel finally figured out it was you and they had a good laugh at my expense." His feet are solid on the porch rocking you back and forth while Zoey dozes in front of you. 

Your ears warm at the compliment. "Thanks." 

"I don't have a dog or anything, but maybe I could get your number in case I wanted company for a walk? What's your schedule look like?" You let your leg slide towards his on the swing so your knees knock. 

Smiling and pulling your phone out of your pocket, you hand it over, "I think I could squeeze you in."

[flashyfucker]

longshot | tyson jost ✷

MY MASTERLIST / talk 2 me! :) summary: on a night in bed, you match with your best friend’s teammate on tinder. it’s real convenient that he happens to be crashing on your friend’s couch.     tyson jost x fem reader. word count: 5.2k SORRY warnings: smut with feelings (this is a bardownbitch production, obviously.) degrading but  like as a joke kinda? it’s a super sarcastic relationship but she gets a lil turned on by it lol. alcohol mentions.  dedicated to bffs @97soroka​ and @toplinetommy​! ty for the endless inspo!! xxxx

His first picture should’ve been a red flag.

Not the stomach-turning shirtless, mid-pump gym selfie kind of red, but the heart-squeezing brunch with mom, ask the waiter to take a photo kind of red– a shade that wouldn’t be red at all, on any other night, if it were anyone else’s tinder profile. 

Alas, Tyson’s name stares at you, makes your mouth feel dry. Tyson’s cute ass photo with his mom and his brunch and his bouncy curls stares up at the dark ceiling after you drop your phone to the bed, your face buried in your hands, assessing the situation, feeling like you’ve been caught, somehow. 

The faint text reading less than a mile away feels all too real when he’s right down the hall. 

As you grope the bed to find your phone, you have half a panicky idea to screenshot the profile and send it to your friends in a flurry of “oh my god what the fuck look at this” and “lol should I swipe?”.

When Mikko pops up in the big group chat, a chaotic little part of you wants to send the screenshots their way, tack on a “Josty’s on the hunt” message and watch your extended circle flame his profile.

You think better of it, though— knowing how this looks (how it is, really). Curled up in JT’s guest room after movie night, after almost everyone else’s gone home, swiping tinder at something-past-eleven. It’s not subtle, and you doubt your frustration will be helped by your friends cawing about it in the group chat, so you shut up and hold your breath before tapping through to Tyson’s next photos.

You’re hit immediately with an obscene amount of thigh and bicep in a gratuitous wakesurfing shot, and the low hum from the space heater in the corner fills your ears as you groan almost silently into your fist, rolling your eyes because why does he have to look like that? And, shit, since when does he make this little ache bloom between your thighs? Your shaky fingers grip your phone a little tighter, letting your head sink deep between two pillows, like shielding half your face will make this any better. 

The next photo is from a few months back, taken at the party where JT had first introduced you to his friends after you’d moved out from Illinois. You were still a little reserved around the boys, so you and the girls huddled and Tyson had approached you periodically, gradually tipsier but charm never wavering, to make sure you were good, top up your drinks, ask if you needed an uber (or a shot).

It’s not until now, tapping through his fucking tinder profile, that you realise just how sweet that’d been of him, watching out for the new girl for nothing in return. And it’s not until now, staring at a photo where he and the boys are shirtless, fake flexing in sunglasses at nighttime, camera flash exaggerating the ridiculous contours of his body, that you realise, shit, maybe you’ve got… a thing… for Josty. 

JT’s presence in the photo right beside Tyson churns your stomach. You grew up with his little sister, and in the absence of an older brother of your own, JT was what you wound up with. Scanning the picture, its familiar background, you vaguely remember the variations JT spits when introducing you– “my sister’s sister” and “basically my sister”, and you know what they’re meant to imply, when he says them to his friends, but as you stare at Tyson’s tinder profile, of all things, you meekly hope Tyson hasn’t taken those dumb implications to heart.

Tyson’s last photo makes you scoff, the pixelly mid-celly action shot, avalanche logo proud on his chest, a little flex buried behind a stack of largely unassuming photos. Once the feeling of ugh, obviously he had to include that has rolled through you, you find yourself smiling a little, endeared by it— sorta proud. And fuck, yeah, maybe the way your heart squeezed at that first photo was a red flag, flailing at half-mast, a harbinger of a crush you hadn’t really known you harboured.

It takes a full five minutes of restless back and forth in your head, deciding you’ll play it off as a joke on the off chance you match, and looking away from your phone while you do it, to finally swipe right.

You heave a choke, eyes bulging, as the It’s a Match! graphic fills the screen immediately. Snapping up in bed, you lock your phone as though that’ll make what’s just happened un-happen, waiting, frozen in the dark, for something. Like he’s going to yell down the hall from where he’s meant to be sleeping in the living room, or something.

Your head swims with thoughts of oh, this is a joke, and we both swiped right because we know each other, no other reason, trying to rationalise it, knowing, somewhere in your head, that it’s not as big a deal as it feels, with the way your heart is pumping. You know you’ll laugh about it while playing never have I ever at some party down the line, maybe. Still, you wince when your phone vibrates against your leg, once, twice.

What are u wearing rn baby? Jk. come hang

You want to scream-laugh and bury yourself under the covers and most of all, pretend you hadn’t seen the messages. Pretend he hadn’t messaged mere moments after you’d swiped, so you could pretend you were sleeping. Climb out the window? JT lives on the tenth floor. Fuck JT’s nice ass apartment. You’d known this could happen, but you’d kinda assumed it wouldn’t. That he’d swipe left if he found you (better still, roast you in the group chat like you’d wanted to do to him. He’s too nice for that, though. Of course he is.).

You hold your breath as you slip out of the room, pulling up the door handle to silence its latch as you close it slowly— and you hold your breath as you shuffle down the dark hall as though the press of your socks to the hardwood could possibly rouse JT through the walls.

As you breach the light blanketing from the floor lamp in the far corner, Tyson twists on the couch to greet you, smug little smile on his face as he throws his arms out, says “Welcome to our first date.” without a lick of sarcasm, and you scoff a laugh, easy.

The tension you’d fabricated is drained away, seeing him all smiley in a dense nest of blankets and pillows like this.

“Damn. No candles? Romantic music?” You let your eyes dart around the room comically, assessing the night’s damage: the packages leftover from midseason cheat snacks, the deck of cards strewn over the table. 

“It was a last-minute thing. I have popcorn, though.”

Tyson leans to lift the bowl on the coffee table, shaking the long-cold kernels about noisily, cracking the swell of silence which fills the room behind the clipped volume of your voices, and you shhh him aggressively, pointing towards the shadowy hallway, JT’s room. 

“He can hang with us.” He rolls his eyes, working at you like a little kid, as though getting under your skin is going to impress you, somehow– and you suppose that’s always been the nature of your relationship: play fighting, pulling pigtails. It just feels charged, now. You snatch the bowl from Tyson’s hand, watch his smirk drop, satisfied.

“Now JT’s invited on our date?” You gasp, feigning offence, glancing back at him as you cross the open plan to the kitchen to empty the stale popcorn. 

“No– no.” Tyson sputters. And, for a second, he sounds like he might add something, but you finish rinsing and drying the bowl and he hasn’t continued. Something about it turns your stomach.

“Come, get in. ‘S cold.” Tyson tells you, lifting the layered patchwork of blankets that engulf his lower half, beckoning you in.

Your eyes narrow at him, face contorting sarcastically, and you watch as his brows raise, eyes roll.

“Don’t be weird about some blankets. It’s pretty obvious why you were on tinder at eleven p.m.”

Your throat goes dry, because he’s right, and god, it’s embarrassing that he’s called it out, but it doesn’t change how you’re still a little hot all over, and that wakesurfing pic spins in the back of your head, even looking at him, now, wearing a plush hoodie and waist-deep in fluffy bedding.

“Hey, chill. You were on tinder, too.” You compose yourself quickly, flicking an accusatory point of your finger in his direction with raised brows, hoping, by some grace, the weird, sheeted lighting means he doesn’t catch the glow of your cheeks, hoping he doesn’t quite know your timbre well enough to recognise the waver.

Tyson lifts his hands in mock surrender, warping his voice sarcastically to chide “Oh, you caught me,” before he flips the duvet off to let you have it, leaning to fish over the heavy wool knit you’d given JT as a housewarming gift years ago.

“’S like JT’s never heard of central heating before.” You mutter, if for nothing but to fill the quiet as you take up place beside him on the couch, tucking yourself comfortably beneath the still-warm duvet which bunches up thickly between the pair of you.

“He doesn’t earn enough to use it, unfortunately.” Tyson sighs, nods solemnly before his eyes cant towards you, glinting a little as he staves off a smile, “‘M sure those tiny shorts don’t help your case, though.”

You barely let the thought settle before you’re throwing a pillow at his head and he’s catching it, apologising with red cheeks and “I knew that’d getcha. Y’r shorts are fine.”.

“They’re just fine?” 

And you don’t know what you’re doing, not letting what he’s said settle before you cut back: there’s still a nagging warmth in you, and your mouth runs with it, testing. You roll the inside of your cheek between your teeth.

“I can’t think too much about ‘em in JT’s house, honestly.” 

He looks shy while saying it, and your whole body goes cold and tingly-numb watching him, hearing what he’s said, the way his cheeks are ruddy and his chin tucked like hiding, a little. Your dumb almost-smile fills the gap while you process, shift your seat unconsciously, heat curling between your legs, and you pray he doesn’t notice.

“Fuck off.” You settle on laughing like he’s joking, even though he’s straight-faced.

An unoffended hum clears it, whatever that moment was, and Tyson continues.

“Y’know, I was losing hope. I swiped right on you weeks ago, like last movie night. Whenever it was that you and Mikko, like, whatever.”

His words wrap around you, the weight of them, feeling like he’s holding the flyaway at the end of a spool of thread, about to unravel. Tyson shuffles his phone between his hands absentmindedly, not looking at you. 

“What d’you…” 

But you know what he means. 

“I didn’t go home, y’know with Mikko, or anything, Tys. We carpooled.” 

“Yeah, JT told me. Still, you left with him, his hand was on your back, I was kinda jealous, whatever, whatever.” Tyson says, sweetly self-deprecating and assuring in the ways he always is, and his words feel like a swarm of butterflies in your chest (and, right now, you don’t even begin to unpack the mention of JT.).

“Point is, it was a long shot swiping right. Didn’t think you’d ever hit me back. ‘M glad it’s paying off.”

Tyson looks at you, mouth pinched into this little smile he does, and you hadn’t realised but you know it up and down, know the satisfaction behind it. For all the facetious digs, you feel the change, here, things being laid out flush on the table, between you both.

“Paying off? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I swiped right by accident.”

“You’re my mortal enemy.” His smile blooms. 

“So, why’d you swipe right?”

You don’t miss a beat.

“For sure the wakeboarding pic.” You furrow your brow like pssh, like you’re telling him obviously. Your eyes try to find the version of him from that photo, here, now, within the billow of layers. All you discover is his hand, hard and cut with veins, which clutches the blanket on his lap: it waves heat through your lower abdomen all the same as that photo did. 

He chews on his lip, brow hard, then you watch him light up, a-ha—  remembering the photo.

“Fuck yeah. I knew it’d work.” He says. “‘S that why you’re squirming like that?”

Sitting there, the duvet weighs a tonne on your bare thighs, and there’s no air in your lungs, you’re hot all over, and inside, too. 

“I’m not, squirming, Tys.” You try, squirming, cris-crossing your legs and shifting a little. 

“You are so! It’s kinda sweet.”  He looks overjoyed. You want to sink into the rowdy sea of blankets.

“Sweet?” You nearly laugh, fingers curling into your blanket, knuckles white. “Please don’t mock me.”

You feel dumb, pleading, and if your legs weren’t frozen, tight-muscled, you’d probably be packing into an Uber, by now.

“I’m not mocking you. Bein’ dead serious.” Tyson, easy smile still cool and calm, sticks a hand out, extends his pinky to promise. Level with him, you take it, exhale when he doesn’t let go: he has this weird little way of soothing, soft dark eyes puppy-wide, brows upturned.

“Let me know if I’ve read this situation wrong.” His voice is smaller than it’s ever been, than you’ve ever heard. Hands entwined, dropped to the couch now, your pinkies are pinched red, latticed together, both tight as each other. 

“You haven’t.”

The edge of his hand presses against yours. 

“Are you wet?” 

You nod, and his breath falls in a strained sigh. 

His fingers drift up to take your hand, properly, tug you closer, maybe, but your tongue lashes before you overthink it, and it stops him, freezes you both.

“Can I suck you off?”

It’s all you want, the weight of him in your mouth, and there’s no room for shyness anymore, not after his question. Tyson’s head tips back into the couch, grip plying away from the blankets, fingers flexing, his one hand squeezing yours. A little part of you thinks about those fingers, too, wants to wrap your lips around them.

“Fuck.” He nearly whimpers.

“Yeah?” You’re doe-eyed, curious. More than a little excited.

“Yeah– yes, please.” You see him swallow, nodding vacantly.

So you push the blankets away (which is okay, the air could nearly sizzle against your skin, you think, everything’s suddenly warm, everywhere), and move to kneel between his legs, and it takes all you have to keep from giggling shyly when he hands you a throw pillow, says “For your knees, y’know,” nervously. A shimmery warmth rises in your chest at the gesture.

He helps your eager hands tug his sweatpants down around his midthigh, cock bobbing free, hard and heavy, proud between his legs. Your lax mouth nearly waters at the sight– likewise, he blinks hard, watching the way your eyes widen, tongue wets your plush lips. His exhale shudders, and tension claws at his abs as you lean in on your elbows.

That tension dissolves as your hot tongue meets the head, laps tentatively at his sticky precum, and quickly, you melt into it all, spitting on the tip and lazily pulling the slick down his thick shaft with fingers that don’t quite ring around the girth of him. You tug back up to the flared crown, revelling in his tiny reactions: the slump back of his head, clipped breath, struggling to stay quiet when you hit somewhere sensitive.

He watches, enthralled, as you take him into your mouth, pretty eyes fluttering shut with every bob of your head, taking him a little deeper into the back of your mouth on every pass until he’s butting the back of your throat and you’re choking him down, clenching around him. He wishes it didn’t turn him on so fucking much, seeing the tears well up as you pull off him, a mess of sticky spit and precum lacy between his cock and your chin, your smiley mouth.

“Taste so good, Tys.” You hum, kissing gently against the velvet underside, all tongue and loose suckling at him, practically making out with his cock, the bliss of it nearly blurring his vision. 

The compliment goes straight to his dick, and Tyson slowly rings your hair tight around his fist, murmurs “Okay?” and when you nod, he squeezes, tugging at your scalp deliciously.

“Fuck my face?” You ask, oh-so-innocent, gasping when he bucks his cock towards your mouth unconsciously, smearing your mess against your cheek.

“Tongue out.”

There’s a steady sternness to his tone that pits your stomach, that you don’t have time to unpack before Tyson guides your head, slowly, at first, bringing you up and down on his cock, tongue lolling, getting you both messy, drooly. Your forearms rest on his inner thighs, lax now he’s controlling the movement, picking up pace as he gages your reactions.

Bets are off when he catches one of your hands float down between your legs, though, and if he wasn’t fighting for his life to stave off his own peak (or, if he wasn’t on JT’s poor couch, fuck) he’d call you out on it, let this escalate to something with a harsher energy, something you’re both keening for, but can’t quite have, here. 

You gag as he sinks into your throat, wet and frothy and clenching around him, jaw going blissfully numb as tears bloom, spill to sear your cheeks. Your hand ruts tentatively at your core, aimless swathes of your fingertips over your clit that only just quell the ache, but not the desperation. 

The weight of him is all-consuming, salty-sweet on your tongue, and it’s not long before he’s backing off, struggling to keep his mouth shut while you whimper and moan, gag around him, your fingers toying with your clit gently: he can see it, your arm moving, the tight rotation of your torso, kinda, and if he thinks about it, he knows he won’t last.

Tentatively, Tyson lets your head lift, hand still heavy at the crown of your skull but pressureless, and, mindlessly, your hand finds his cock in the absence of your mouth. 

“Tys.” It takes him a second to come to centre, open his eyes. You feel him throb in your hand, and try again: “Tyson.”

“Yeah. Yeah?” He blinks, once, twice, clearing his clouded head.

“Tell me this is mine.”

You whine “Tys,”, faux-pouting when he takes a second, his breath ragged, and you blink up at him, tugging hard around the head of his cock, encouraging a fresh drool of precum, making him whine. 

All at once, Tyson huffs, rolls his eyes and leans quick to grab you around the ribs and pull you up, make you crawl onto the couch with him, plucking a gaspy little laugh from you at the sudden roughness of it. 

“You’re such a little slut.” He chuckles, shakes his head, drawing a hand up to twist your hair around his fist once more— holding you level with his gaze, and your jaw gapes around a shocked smile, a fresh lick of your juices soaking your panties, your shorts, by now. You gulp, suddenly aware of the filth of it all, the cool air freezing against the mess on your face, between your legs. Something about it gives you a rush of confidence.

“Yeah, but so are you. Tell me your cock’s all mine, Tys. That this isn’t a one-time thing.”

The facetious, mean demeanour he wears melts for half a second as he processes, pulls you in to kiss you hard, open. His face goes hot, head blurred at the taste of himself heady on your tongue, the harsh, minty cut of your toothpaste still lingering.

And, with his tongue in your mouth, Tyson shoves his free hand down the front of your shorts, then yanks you back by the hair at just the right time, leaving you, tongue a little out, fighting for air, hitching a gasp as his fingers find your cunt, dripping.

“Only if this belongs to me, too.”

With one hand in your hair and the other pressed to your pussy, Tyson’s face is more serious than you’ve ever seen it. Your chest burns in the best way.

“All yours, baby.” You smile, meaning it.

Juxtaposing the roughness with which he’d yanked you onto the couch, Tyson’s hands move to guide your hips, tugging you over his lap. He reaches up, stroking your hair from your face, all the shyness he’d had earlier back in the smile he glows with, now. 

“I’ll ask you on a real date when my dick’s soft again.”

You laugh softly, hand pushing up under his hoodie, helping him tug it off: you’re indulgent in the way your hand brushes his abs, and if he notices, he says nothing.

“Better get to work then, huh?”

It takes all Tyson has not to land a sharp little slap to your ass at that, but he’s vaguely still aware of JT down the hall, and Tyson’ll be damned if he lets this be interrupted, now. It takes little more than a nudge to bunch the soft material of your shorts up to the side, and you’re so wet it’s everywhere, soaked through and it’s starting to slick up your inner thighs, a little, Tyson could nearly finish on the spot when he realises, but his fingers dig into the flesh at the junction between your ass and thigh, and he’s a little distracted. 

Your one hand steadies his cock, the other pressing on his shoulder. And you let the head catch your hole and draw yourself down, so slow it feels torturous, like it’s crushing his entire chest, and when he finally bottoms out, opens his eyes to find your teasing little smile, your hips unmoving, and, with the realisation that you’re fucking with him, he uses the squeeze he has on your ass to flip the pair of you, huffing “Fuck this.” as you yelp. Your back’s arched over the mound of blankets and pillows, tilting your hips up for him, practically presenting yourself, suddenly lewd in a way it hadn’t been moments ago, even when he was inside you. You feel your cheeks burn. 

“Don’t have time to play.” Tyson mutters.

You nearly laugh, smile so big that his frustration could nearly dissipate at the sight. Nearly. Then, you talk again.

“You really wanna ask me on that date, don’t you, Tys?”

The blunt head catches your cunt again, nudges forward, sits shallow. You gulp around the little sigh that nearly slips, blink hard, hide the beckoning pleasure, as though he won’t notice the telltale throb around the tip of his cock.

His curls sweep over his face, so you can’t see it but he rolls his eyes, his lower lip slipping, pinched red and angry, wet from where it’s been drawn between his teeth.

“Not if you’re gonna be a fuckin’ brat.”

Your hips tick, stomach turning first at his words, then at the sticky swirl, the upward drag of his cock against your clit. And your body thrums, hands shaky and numb where they nestle in your rucked up shirt, but the little vein of rebellion, of pushing still runs hot in your head.

“Mm. Bad news, then.” You manage.

“D’you ever shut up?” Tyson sighs, finally pushing in, fast and deep and filling you up and you swear you feel it in your stomach, the pressure: your hand claws mindlessly for your lower belly, feeling the way your muscles move to accommodate it, the tight fit of him. Your mouth is open, brows knit, but no sound finds its way out, too taken by the sudden pleasure. Tys barely rocks back at all before he’s trying to push deeper, satisfied at how your jaw stretches around something unintelligible, a wrecked little moan.

And he’d chirp you for it, how he’s found how to shut you up, but you’re so hot and tight, it’s all he can think about, finally sunken within you, your plush walls slick and squeezing him, so he bites down on his lip, lets his head tip back and fucks into you.

You’re lost in it, instantly, numb to everything but the tingling along your nerve endings that swirls into this depth of heat at your core, and the fire prodded, stoked by Tyson’s hard, quick thrusts, nearly bruising your insides, sending you wordless, breathless.

Once a moment has passed, he’s found a stride that has you whimpering in lieu of the moans you’d both prefer. 

(There’s something crushingly hot about this, though: the shaky breaths, the facial expressions: the flushed skin and dropped-jaw, pinched brow silent cries, there’s a desperation in it, one leaning into how you couldn’t wait, had to do this here, now. There’s no other option but to take one another apart.)

He leans forward, into you with his pelvis, a new pressure, new pace: his hips rutting against your spread thighs, fingers pulling the crooked bunch of your shorts and panties up and away, watching your folds split around the girth of him. The look in his eye is loving, almost, wearing a blushy smile as he pulls out, pushes back in, his cock coated, glistening obscenely, making these lewd noises, squishy and wet, and Tyson’s fuckin’ mesmerised. 

He reaches down on a thrust, strokes the flat of his thumb over your clit, making your thighs jolt, tremble in his hands, and you’re suddenly chasing, your legs kicking and head falling back as the feeling curls from your cunt up into your abdomen.

Tyson huffs to save a groan and asks “Close?”, as if he couldn’t tell, like your hips aren’t rocking circles under his body, your cunt clamping down on his cock, needy. 

So you nod, a little frantic, eager. You press the back of your hand to your lips, focussing on calming yourself as much as muffling yourself, as your face scrunches, the stretch of his cock inside you ribboning pleasure up, everywhere, white-hot as it glimmers along your muscles. Tyson holds the sarcasm, this time, opting to let his fingertips find your hard, slick little bud once more, circling until he feels your body tighten up, then he’s backing off, changing the pace, grinning when your chest heaves a dry sob before he starts again, buries himself to the hilt to keeping you open on his cock and thumbing at your clit.

And you want to tell him that it’s not funny, that you really wanna come, but you don’t trust yourself to say it quietly, right now, not when it’s fucking building, again, and you think you might actually cry if your back arches and he pulls away once more.

But, he knows, sees the sweat gleam your brow, the absent roll-back of your eyes, the way your fists hook, white-knuckling blankets: your throaty little whimpers turn to what he thinks could be please, please. He knows.

He doesn’t pull away, this time, and the crash of your orgasm rolls through and he’s barely thrusting anymore, instead pulling your ass up to where he rests on his haunches, shoving himself all the way inside your spasming pussy, forcing you to cream on his cock, to gush around him. 

At the too-loud crawl of his name from your fried throat, one of Tyson’s hands clamps hard over your mouth, but he smiles, enthralled, watching you lose yourself in it. You’re moving perfectly mindlessly against him, your pelvis rocking out the rippling pleasure as his fingers lighten on your clit, now slow and gentle, barely-there, but the most delicate of strokes, now, make your cunt squeeze, your whole body tauten, tremble. 

You’re so lost in it, so gone, you think you’d barely notice the sudden uptick of Tyson’s hips, cresting his peak, too, the flood of heat inside you, if not for the airless grunt, his head tipped back and abs locking up, hand pushed through his sweat-slicked curls, wild and everywhere. 

You’re glad you notice, though, as aftershocks shake you: you remember, only just, to appreciate this (even half as much as your body does: you feel your fucking heartbeat in your cunt, your muscles all warm and liquid along your limbs.). 

Tyson hums, moans, maybe, and moves his hands for your sides, holding fast, stilling you both in place ‘till your breathing finds some semblance of evenness. 

“I never wanna pull out.” Tyson’s head falls as he murmurs it, equal parts petulance and pleasure, now, he’s revelling. You find yourself nodding, agreeing. 

“You’re still fuckin’ hard, Tys.” You say, feeling it, the overstimulated throb of him— or maybe it’s you. Either way, he’s still stiff and buried to the hilt in your drooling cunt, filling you entirely. The subtlety of the pulse encompasses you, squeezes your stomach, then your pussy, around him. Tyson slumps, a little, “Huh-ha.” corralling from his mouth before anything coherent can construct itself.

“Gimme a sec.” He manages. You lift on your elbows, a little, look up at him starry-eyed, smiling. Your lips part, goldfishing, kinda, as he pulls out, slowly, spinning your head.

“I’m never getting that date, at this rate.” You chide, your knees pulling up toward your chest, and you’re blushing at how hard it is to stop your hands from reaching for him, pulling him back in: the emptiness between your hips borderline fucks with your head, how bad you miss him.

But then he’s canting the pad of his thumb over your messy slit, frictionless, playing with the torrent of his cum swirled through yours, and his mouth is opening at the sight of your used little hole pushing his cum out, and he can’t think of anything to cut back at you with other than a broken “Fuck.”.

You’re in his lap, practically, hips propped up on his knees, sticky and leaking filthily all over his bunched up sweats as his cock throbs against the cleft of your ass, and he’s softening slowly, but god, you make it tough without even trying. You’re doe-eyed and still flushed, breathing hard and Tyson can hardly take it. He swallows, blushing deep, trying to string together a series of words which will make sense, ‘cause god, he needs more of you. Can’t let this be a one-time thing. 

“My dick’s the softest it’s gonna be, baby. Come to breakfast with me, tomorrow?”

And for all you might’ve expected him to ask, now, it still fills you with butterflies, the cluelessness laced with hope which dances across his bright face. Then, you’re nodding unmistakably and ripping him down to you by his arm: a messy kiss, overjoyed, only choked out by the hard thrust of two fingers into your sensitive cunt. 

The slow rub of his fingertips at your g-spot, hard in time with the roll of his mouth against yours, feels like equal parts pleasure and promise now: this isn’t a one time thing. He pushes your hair from your face and nips at your lip and mumbles your name into your neck while he makes you come on his fingers, and you know he’s all yours.

[huggybug]

nhl teams graded on attractiveness by me, a self-proclaimed judge of all hot men

ana: B+

strongest contributors: trevor zegras, jamie drysdale

despite losing josh manson (he’s in a better place now <3) they are a solid team but there’s definitely room to improve.

ari: F

there’s is literally nobody who contributes to the hotness of this team

bos: B

strongest contributors: charlie coyle, matt grzelcyk

knowing absolutely nothing about anyone really on this team, they’re a very (slightly above) average looking team

buf: C+

strongest contributors: owen power, dylan cozens, tage thompson

there’s a few that bring the average down but overall, not bad

cgy: B

strongest contributors: matthew tkachuk, elias lindholm

look, they might not be everyone’s favourite but i think the main group of guys are all cute. however marks taken off because most of them are married i think

car: C

strongest contributors: andrei svechnikov

almost all of them look like different variations of the same average looking man

chi: B-

strongest contributors: kirby dach

honourable mention to dylan strome.

col: A+

strongest contributors: everyone except jack johnson

this one doesn’t even need an explanation

cbj: A-

strongest contributors: nick blankenburg, boone jenner, cole sillinger

their original mark was B- but then i watched that new video and bumped them up. they fly under the radar (literally because i sometimes forget they’re a team) but they’re surprisingly good looking

dal: D

strongest contributors: tyler seguin, roope hintz

i’m just not interested in them tbh

det: D-

strongest contributors: mo seider, lucas raymond

this is very generous of me

edm: D

strongest contributors: leon draisaitl, dylan holloway

these two are the only attractive ones, there’s a couple others who aren’t bad looking but… let’s just say i feel bad for oilers fans

fla: C-

strongest contributors: ben chiarot, gustav forsling

i actually got bored while i was looking through their roster photos

lak: C

strongest contributors: alex turcotte, alex iafallo

there’s a couple other decent ones but meh

min: B

strongest contributors: matt boldy, tyson jost

literally a 50/50 split. they do have potential though and the boldy/josty duo really bumps up their mark

mtl: C+

strongest contributors: josh anderson, nick suzuki, cole caufield

they kinda look like soccer players also why does cole look 12 in his headshot

nsh: C-

strongest contributors: roman josi

josi carries. they aren’t bad but also not amazing

njd: A

strongest contributors: jack hughes, ty smith, nico hischier

they have a few cute guys but then the rest are just meh. i feel like there’s a lot of old guys so that brings them down too

nyi: C

strongest contributors: anthony beauvillier, matt martin

they seem very old. if tito leaves, their mark is taking a serious hit

nyr: D-

strongest contributors: braden schneider, dryden hunt?

i actually can’t stand them so yeah😐

ott: D+

strongest contributors: josh norris, tim stützle

i literally know like 5 people on this team. they’re not bad though, honestly was pleasantly surprised when i looked at their roster

phi: F

strongest contributors: carter hart

sorry gingers just aren’t my type

pit: B

strongest contributors: sidney crosby, richard rakell, john marino

they collectively give off dilf energy and i kinda love them for it

sjs: D+

strongest contributors: thomas bordeleau, william ekland, jasper weatherby

not even bordy can save them. i don’t know anyone else on this team and i don’t think i want to anyway

sea: B+

strongest contributors: jordan eberle, matty beniers, haydn fleury

this one feels controversial but i think for the most part, they’re a fairly attractive team

stl: D-

strongest contributors: jordan kyrou

kyrou is the only one i can stand on this team and even that is being nice

tbl: D-

strongest contributors: ross colton, brandon hagel

ew

tor: D-

strongest contributors: mitch marner

this one is actually shocking, maybe if they had cuter players they’d do better in the playoffs

van: A-

strongest contributors: quinn hughes, elias pettersson, brock boeser, nils höglander

they hold a special place in my heart (would be A+ but tyler myers and brad hunt)

vgk: F

strongest contributors: brendan brisson

i think bren might be the only attractive one?

wsh: D-

strongest contributors: tom wilson

honourable mention to dilf tj oshie because i believe he’s a girl dad??

wpg: D+

strongest contributors: pierre luc dubois, nikolaj ehlers, blake wheeler

i thought pld would be the only one so props to them.

[toplinetommy]

Kill My Lonely Nights - Tyson Jost

a/n: after plotting and replotting this fic for over a month its finally here. my baby and definitely my most favorite thing ive ever written. hope everyone enjoys it as much as i do.

tagging @bqstqnbruin​ thanks for being my beta and for bouncing ideas around with me and also my fav josty whores 😇 @justjosty​ @hookingminor​ @farbutnevergone

Synopsis: tyson finally meets jt’s neighbor — and he’ll stick by her side through her ‘i’m a single and independent woman’ phase as long as jt doesn’t find out

songs: im so tired - lauv, troye sivan; better than heaven - slander; cherry on top - olmos, kyle reynolds

words: 20k+

warnings: alcohol, smut, unprotected sex​

“Tyson, you know my neighbor right?”

You roll your eyes at JT’s way of introducing the two of you, because, no, you did not know the curly-headed brunette in front of you. You had seen him in passing a few times when he was over at JT’s but you never learned his name. In fact, the only thing you knew about him was that they were teammates and you got that from deductive reasoning since he was always dressed in some sort of Avalanche merch. 

“I’m y/n,” you smile, sticking out your hand for the stranger to shake. 

“Tyson,” the no longer nameless stranger responds, a quirky smile on his lips.

“It’s nice to finally put a name to the face,” you respond, your cheeks heating up as you look over him. He’s cute in that quirky way where his head’s a mess of curls, his eyes full of joy, and his shoulders filling out the grey Avs hoodie quite nicely. 

“Same here,” Tyson agrees, shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets. You continued to gather the few things in the living room that were yours before finding your phone charger and giving JT a hug. 

“I’ll see you when you get back from Chicago yeah?”

“Yep, have a good birthday!” JT cheers, from his spot on the couch.

With that you bid Tyson and JT a goodbye, choosing to wave at Tyson instead of showing an outright affection towards the stranger. The door shuts behind you as you walk a few feet down the carpeted hallway to your own door. 

“Dude,” Tyson starts, turning his attention back on his buddy from where it was lingering on the now-closed door. 

“No-”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say!” Tyson incredulously interrupts.

“You’re gonna tell me she’s hot because, yeah, anyone can see that. She’s going through this thing she’s been calling a ‘guy cleanse’,” JT explains, putting finger quotes around guy cleanse. Tyson brushes the comment aside, not bothering to ask any more questions. If he’d want to get to know you, he knows he’d have to do it without JT’s help. JT always had this thing of being overprotective over the women in his life, especially being a guy that grew up in hockey with three little sisters.

Another week or so passes before Tyson sees you again. It’s when he’s getting into the elevator after getting dinner with his JT, and you’re just getting home from what Tyson presumes is work and maybe even the liquor store with the purse and lunch box hanging in the crease of your elbow as well as the case of Truly’s in your other hand.

“Hey, it’s y/n, right?” Tyson says in lieu of a greeting. He holds the elevator open for you as you step out, thinking of ways to keep the conversation longer than a simple greeting. 

“Yeah,” you smile, warmly at him. He can see that your hands are full as you try to shovel through your bag in search of your keys as you take another step towards your door towards the end of the hallway. “Well, uh, have a good night Tyson.”

Tyson watches as you turn away with a small smile, and suddenly he’s stumbling over his words, trying to make the moment last longer. He’s rarely ever seen you around, most times in passing in this very hallway and the occasional time JT talked to you on the phone when they were on the road. You didn’t go to games, you didn’t hang out with the team, and you were never over at JT’s when Tyson would show up.

But when he had officially met you the other week when you were leaving JT’s apartment, he was transfixed and curious about the girl JT always talked about but never brought around.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink?” You ask, nodding to the case in your hand. You’re asking as more of a common courtesy than anything else, but you can tell that he’s waiting for you to make the next move regarding this run-in with him. The peachiness of his cheeks and his hands shoved into his jacket pockets are proof of that.

“You sure?”

“Any friend of JT is a friend of mine,” you smile, opening your front door and gesturing for Tyson to go in before you.

“Yeah, okay,” Tyson smiles, taking another step towards you and reaching out for the box of Truly’s. “Let me take that for you.”

Tyson graciously takes the case from you and steps through the doorway of your apartment, suddenly losing any train of thought he once had now that he’s in an apartment he’s never been in. He sees the fridge across the way and decides he’ll just stick the drinks in there. There’s thankfully space in the fridge for them and he watches you shred your raincoat and heels by the door. “So, uh, how do you know JT? Like, I know you guys are neighbors but he’s always referring to you as his best friend. I honestly didn’t even know that you lived next to him until the other week.”

You laugh, thinking back to how you even met JT. It was nowhere near being a typical introduction between neighbors, it was honestly pretty far from that. “So, whenever he first moved here like two years ago, I was sitting in my car in the parking garage on the phone with my dad, and this car parks next to me and the driver gets out and completely dings my car. I’m talking a paint scratch that’s starting to rust now.”

“He’s pretty unaware of his space,” Tyson laughs, knowing all too well that his friend did something like that.

“And so, I get out of my car, and I confront him about it, and he apologizes and whatever, not a big deal. But then he gets off the elevator with me and I’m thinking this guy’s gotta be a creep since he’s barely talking to me but then he pulls out his keys and is unlocking the door next to mine, and now he bugs me all the time,” you smile, Tyson making space for you to go into the fridge he’s currently standing in front of. 

“You see that picture frame over there?” you nod your head to the wall your TV is mounted on. Tyson walks over to it, inspecting it and noting that neither of the people in it are you or JT. “There’s paint missing behind it because when he was helping me mount my TV he hit the wall with the drill. He got me the frame to cover it but I still haven’t gotten around to putting a picture there.”

Tyson’s eyebrows quirk up, “and how long has it been there?”

“Uh, maybe a year?” you answer, your tone making it sound more like a question as you blush. Tyson only laughs at you, fully understanding how something like that can slip from your mind. You offer him a Truly at that, him not missing an opportunity to chirp you since your flavor of choice was lime, even though his was black cherry, which in your mind was the most basic flavor there was.

He sits across from you at the island while you stand opposite of him, leaning on the granite in front of you. He can’t get enough of your laughter, finding it’s something you do quite often as the two of you share stories. You, on the other hand, have to stop yourself from blushing since he doesn’t break eye contact with you once. It’s starting to get late and you still haven’t eaten dinner, so with an empty Truly in hand, Tyson is reluctantly getting up to head home to prepare for his early practice and flight tomorrow. He doesn’t want to impose on you any further, considering you were essentially strangers an hour ago.

You wave goodbye at him as he walks down the hallway to the elevator, a smile on your face as he nearly runs into Mr. Harter, the man that lives at the end of the hallway. You laugh as he apologizes profusely, something you amount to his Canadian upbringing.

Tyson curses himself over the next few days for not getting your number, and there’s no way in hell he’s asking JT for it. He doesn’t know how he’ll go about getting it, and the possibility of him running into you to get it is slim, with the fact that the Avs have a nine-day roadie on the upper East Coast. He figures he’ll try to ask JT more about you over the course of the trip, and then hopefully weasel his way into getting it.

It’s three days into the roadie and they’re sitting next to each other on the flight from Ottawa to Toronto. JT is busy on his iPad, and Tyson looks around him, seeing Cale and Gravy reading books, and G is passed out behind him. Tyson nudges JT’s shoulder with his, JT pulls out his AirPod and looks towards his buddy.

“So, y/n, eh?” He jumps right in, watching as JT rolls his eyes and moves to put his AirPod back in. “You said she doesn’t date?”

“Correct.”

“Why’s that? She seems like she wouldn’t have any issue in that department.”

“First off, that’s gross. Secondly, even if she was dating, you aren’t allowed to try anything,” Tyson chooses to ignore that part but continues to listen anyway. “She’s just like focused on herself, I don’t know. She knows her worth and knows what she deserves. She’s been single for as long as I’ve known her. It’s no bullshit with her, in every aspect of her life.” JT shrugs his shoulders as he talks. He’s not an expert on the topic because it’s not one you really talk about with him considering it’s just not really a huge part of your life.

Tyson hums along as he listens to JT talk, trying his best not to show why he’s even asking these questions in the first place. He takes what his friend says in stride, not being one to have gone through a phase like the one you’re going through. In fact, Tyson’s never been someone to say no to a date, fully taking advantage of the pro-athlete lifestyle he’s been living for years now. JT knows this, knows what it’s like to be 22, and all eyes on you. 

He was there once, but he’s been with Sydney for over two years now. JT knows the locker room talk that goes on within hockey teams, he’s been living it his whole life. Yeah, the Denver room has been the best and the calmest when it comes to comments about guys’ dating lives, but the occasional whistle and chirp is made when one of the single guys has a story to share. The last thing he wants is to hear your name in one of those scenarios.

He doesn’t get your number during that road trip, can’t even find you on social media so he puts his efforts on pause. He even went through the list of people JT followed, your name not coming up once. Come to think of it, he doesn’t even know your last name.

Soon January is ending and February is starting, the season kicking into high gear as the all-star breaks ends and the playoff push truly begins. Tyson still hasn’t seen you around other than the occasional run-in, and you honestly haven’t given him much thought since that night in late January. Your life has always been chaotic, but still in the most organized way, and you’ve barely seen JT with the way his game schedule is laid out. But the middle of February brings Sydney to town and brings too many parties while she’s around.

It’s at Andre’s place where you see Tyson again, warm pleasantries shared between the two of you. He’s a little confused as he watches you chat with almost everyone there, the weird feeling coming from the fact that most people filling the apartment are on the Avalanche roster. He wonders if you’ve already met most of them or if you’re just that outgoing.

Tyson finally makes his way over to you, two cans in hand as he offers you the one with green lettering with a smile.

“A lime White Claw? That’s the way to my heart,” you joke, placing your hand over your heart before taking his offering.

“I was asking around to see if there were any Truly’s,” Tyson laughs, waving his hand around. “But I hope the White Claw is okay.”

“A White Claw definitely isn’t as good as a Truly but it’s a close second, thank you.”

“Right!” Tyson agrees, “People think they all taste the same but there’s a clear hierarchy of which seltzers are better than others.” You laugh along with Tyson at his comment in complete agreement. You tell him your own tier list of seltzers, starting with Truly’s and ranking the Bud Light ones as the worst.

“I’ve only had a few of them, but I’ll take your word for it,” The laughter between the two of you dies down before JT finds you, saying he’s been looking for you for a little bit.

“It’s not my fault I’m hidden by all these huge men,” you roll your eyes, pointing around the room that’s filled with men all over six feet tall.

“Did you know your neighbor was a hard seltzer connoisseur?” Tyson asks with a quirk of his eyebrow, causing you to scoff. You were nowhere being a ‘connoisseur’ of sorts.

JT takes a sip of his drink, “She’s an alcohol connoisseur period, bud.” WIth that JT disappears to go find his girlfriend, leaving the two of you alone. Tyson’s face is filled with confusion at JT’s comment, not entirely sure what his comment even meant.

“I used to bartend in college,” you answer his silent question. “Which makes me JT’s personal bartender most nights.”

“Maybe I’ll have to get you to make me a drink sometime then,” Tyson suggests. It’s a little too forward for his liking but it just slips out, and you giggle at his attempt at flirting. His tan cheeks have a pink flush to them, and you’re sure it’s not from the alcohol since most people have only been here for an hour or so.

“C’mon,” you nod your head in the direction of the kitchen. Tyson silently follows you, weaving between the people and the furniture. “I can get you that drink right now.”

Once you make it to the kitchen you look around the counters, taking note of the different types of liquors laid out. Tyson watches you as your hands move around, picking up and setting down various bottles. When you’re satisfied with your concoction, you hand him a shot glass, one in your own hand to match his.

“It’s a shooter,” you inform him. He puts trust in you, clinging your glass with his own and bringing the glass to his lips as he tips his head back. Your eyes stay on him as his tongue pokes out to swipe the extra liquid off his lips before you realize you haven’t even taken yours yet. His eyes stay locked on you as you throw your own shot back, your eyes reconnecting when you set the glass on the counter next to you.

A shiver runs through you as his eyes watch your every move. You hadn’t noticed it with any of your other previous run-ins with him but he’s intimidating in that way where his presence is radiating that good kind of confidence. You watched him, unbeknownst to him, as he made his way around the room before ever making it to you.

“So what was that you just gave me?” He asks, crossing his ankles and leaning further on the counter behind him. You move to stand next to him, your shoulder brushing his cotton-covered bicep.

“It’s called a lemon drop shot, it’s just vodka and lemon juice so nothing too special,” you shrug, turning to look up at him. “Maybe I’ll get around to making you more drinks.”

Tyson smirks lightly at your comment, his hands gripping the counter behind him. He remembers what JT told him not too long ago about you, and how you’re someone that doesn’t put up with bullshit when it comes to relationships and his heart deflates a bit. He’d much rather keep talking to you and eventually kiss you, but he knows deep down that’s not what he wants with you either. He can tell from your brief encounters that this could be way more than just a few dates, so he holds back and instead bites his lip before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

He passes it over to you, and you hesitate taking it as you look between the black phone and his brown eyes, “so we can plan a time for you to make me drinks.”

“Ah, I see, I see,” you quip back, taking the phone from his hands and opening a new message and typing in your phone number. You respond back to him on your phone, showing that you got the text and opening up the contact to save his information. “Should I put in some funny name for your contact or is Tyson good enough?”

Tyson laughs fully at that, his chest rumbling for a moment before he calms down and tells you his name is just fine for now, “but I won’t complain if you find a better name for me.” Tyson scratches the back of his head for a moment as he places his phone onto the counter next to him, trying to find the words to keep the conversation going.

You leave not too long after that, catching an Uber with JT and Sydney back to your place. Tyson stays near your side most of the night, giving you a full hug as you leave and a promise of texting you soon.

You see Tyson the next morning at brunch with JT and Sydney, his strong, muscular thighs touching yours in the small booth. You get some fancy french toast, Sydney eyeing you from where she sits across from you. She’s been a close friend of yours ever since JT introduced the two of you whenever she first visited. Her eyes keep flicking between you and Tyson and you give her a stern look, silently telling her to knock it off.

“So, y/n,” she starts, a smirk forming on her lips. “How’s the dating life?”

You scoff with a laugh at her question. She knows well enough how that aspect of your life is doing considering you text her on a pretty regular basis. You choose not to answer, the scoff you let out being enough. 

“Besides, no guy is good enough for her, right?” JT asks, looking over at you continuing his girlfriend’s train of thought. His eyes glance over at Tyson sitting next to you and Tyson ignores the look his teammate gives him. 

“You mean the idiots you always try to set me up with? The ones that don’t live in Denver?” You quip back with a raise of your eyebrows. It’s more of a joke than anything else, but Tyson doesn’t quite understand your tone and mannerisms yet.

His heartbeat speeds up momentarily, thinking that if you hadn’t had any interest in any of JT’s other friends, you definitely wouldn’t have an interest in him. Besides, he may live in Denver now, but that’s not even the whole year when you account for traveling and the offseason.

You miss it, but Tyson changes the subject anyways, which is something you’re grateful for. Brunch passes by and when the waitress comes back with two checks, you knit your eyebrows.

“Actually, could I have my own check? We aren’t together,” you stumble, cheeks heating up at the misinterpretation of yours and Tyson’s relationship.

Tyson takes the check from your outstretched hand, “it’s fine, I got it.”

He’s talking more to you than to the waitress as he smiles warmly at you. You thank him quickly, but not before saying you have enough cash to take care of the tip. He doesn’t argue, following the three of you out of the restaurant and to your car. The two of you linger a little further back than JT and Sydney, both of you reveling in the comfortable silence. 

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” You ask.

“Not really, I was probably gonna call my mom and maybe do my laundry,” Tyson answers.

“Do you want to come over and hang out instead? I’m just gonna third wheel the two of them but maybe we can find something to do that’s more interesting than laundry.”

Tyson laughs at the third wheeling comment you make, being all too familiar with being the third wheel around most of his friends. “Sure, yeah, I’ll just follow you all then?”

“That sounds good. I’ll see you in a few,” you say goodbye with a smile and a shy wave, hopping into the backseat of JT’s SUV.

Once you get home, Tyson’s knocking on your door a few minutes later with the same warm smile he seems to always have. He sheds his winter coat as he enters your apartment, throwing it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He notes the change in clothes, as you’re now wearing an olive green crewneck instead of the wrap top with flowy sleeves you were wearing at the restaurant a few moments prior.

“You a big reader?” He asks, picking up and inspecting the book that’s laid out on the kitchen island. The Power of Now, it reads on the cover. He flips through the first few pages and goes to the back cover to read the reviews.

“Sometimes, it depends on what it is, but I usually just go through phases where I read in all of my free time and then I won’t touch a book again for the next few months,” you admit with a small laugh. “That one’s really good so far though. It’s just about how to live more presently and in the moment.”

Tyson nods his head as he listens, his eyes on you as you speak, “Cale really likes reading this kind of stuff, I should tell him about it.”

“Which one is Cale, again?” You ask, mentally going through the Colorado roster. 

This causes Tyson to laugh, “JT really doesn’t bring you around much, eh.”

You laugh along with him, “not really, but that’s on me sometimes. I go to bed too early for my own liking.”

Tyson’s confused as to why he’s never really seen you before at anything. Guys on the team are always bringing their friends around if they can. At first he thought he just always missed you, but he knows he wouldn’t miss someone as carefree and beautiful as you. Nevertheless, he’s glad he’s sitting in your kitchen right now, and to top it all off, he didn't even have to ask you to hang out first.

“Do you read at all?” You ask curiously. You really knew next to nothing about the man in front of you other than that he was Canadian, played hockey, and preferred Truly’s over White Claws (his favorite flavor was still to be unknown to you).

Tyson chokes out a laugh at your question, “No. When we travel I usually play random games with Sammy and he’s been teaching me French. I still don’t know much so don’t go asking me to say anything.”

“Duly noted,” you nod. You move to the pantry, looking for a few things as you continue to respond. “Like I said, my interest in reading comes in waves and you barely speaking French is better than me only knowing English.”

You continue rifling through your pantry, pulling out everything you know you need. You’ve just finished setting all of the dry ingredients you’d need to make brownies when Tyson asks you what the hell you’re doing.

“I was thinking we could make brownies,” you respond, opening your fridge and pulling out the milk, butter, and eggs. You hear the island chair scratch against the hardwood, indicating Tyson getting up.

“Wait a second,” Tyson says causing you to turn around with a confused look on your face. “Are these the brownies Comph always bringing around that his friend makes?”

“They very much are,” you chuckle. He compliments the baked good one more time before you’re putting him to work. The two of you move seamlessly through your small kitchen, both of you sharing smiles and stories to fill the time. There’s a moment where you see a certain glimmer in his eyes paired with a small smirk and you think he’s about to pull one of his infamous Jost pranks that JT was always telling you about. He doesn’t though, and instead just nudges your hip with his. It seems like you’re looking more at him more than focusing on the flexing of his forearms as he mixes the dry ingredients.

Once it’s time to mix the dry and wet ingredients, Tyson all but misses half the bowl, causing a good chunk of it to land on your crewneck and jeans. The brown powder covered the ‘Disney World’ logo across your chest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Tyson rushes out, holding back a laugh, because of course he would embarrass himself in front of you and mess up something as simple as that. You move to the sink, shaking off the loose contents into it to help alleviate any sort of mess.

“You’re fine, I promise,” you reassure, turning around to give him a smile. He smiles nervously back at you, not fully knowing your statement was genuine or if you were trying to spare his feelings. He glanced at your chest, trying to see the damage he had done before realizing he was staring directly at your chest and his cheeks flushed. You walked back over to where he was standing, giving him another smile as you began mixing everything together. 

“Would you, uh, ever wanna grab dinner with me some time?” He asks, voice higher than normal as he speaks, his heart beating nervously for your answer. Your face falls as you hear the question and you slowly turn around to face the curly headed brunette. Tyson is a great guy, it’s obvious to everyone, and you’re not oblivious to the fact that there’s physical attraction between the two of you. It’s that Tyson is best friends with your best friend who also happens to be your neighbor.

You laugh nervously at the question, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere, before you respond, “Sure, it’s not like it’s a date or anything.” 

You brush it off, even though you’re pretty sure he was explicitly asking you out on a date. You turn your focus back to the brownies, popping them in the oven before wandering down your hallway to change into something clean. As Tyson walks over to take a seat on the couch, he sees your retreating figure as you pull your sweatshirt over your head. He stops in his tracks momentarily, seeing your bare back, the skin between your shoulder blades covered by your lacy bralette. He blinks a few too many times as he shakes any thoughts from his head and continues his path to the couch.

Your guys’ friendship quickly develops after that. The two of you starting a snapchat streak and having a long string of text messages involving various TikTok’s and memes alongside the more serious stuff. You seem to be spending more time at JT’s place when Tyson is also there and soon enough Tyson’s leaving JT’s and going the few extra feet to your place instead of home like he says he’s doing.

It’s one of those rare nights where it’s the three of you at JT’s place and you’re all catching up on the latest episode of Hell’s Kitchen. You’re pretty sure JT cheated and watched the new episode already with how quiet he’s being and how absorbed he is in his phone.

“JT, did you already fucking watch this?” You ask, whipping your head to look at the ginger in question. He’s sitting across the room from you in what he claims as ‘his chair’ while you’re sharing the sectional with Tyson, your feet in his lap. “And you wonder why I never watch shows with you. Tyson and I are going to start watching it without you.”

Tyson chuckles at that, his thighs rumbling under your ankles, his hands coming to rest atop of your shins. JT scoffs at you, unaware of your two’s newfound friendship. To him, the only time you ever saw or even talked to Tyson was when he was also around. Besides, he didn’t need to know the ins and outs of every single thing you did in a day, even if Tyson was involved in a good portion of those things.

You let JT’s previous actions of watching your show ahead slide since the episode was finally wrapping up. JT goes back to the Hulu home screen with an exaggerated yawn followed by stretching his arms above his head. It’s then he turns to his two best friends, letting them know he’s going to start heading to bed and that the two of you are more than welcome to hang out for a little while longer. He doesn’t think much of his offering, but it’s one Tyson’s thankful for if it means he gets uninterrupted time with you that isn’t revolving around the team or drinking.

It’s then he remembers how he never found you on social media, something that had bewildered him in the moment but one he forgot about once he got your phone number and snapchat. 

“So, this is gonna sound totally weird but do you have an Instagram?” He asks, infliction in his voice and ears turning pink at the question. He remembers how not too long ago he did some heavy duty deep dives into JT’s social media to see if he could find your name only to come up empty handed. Your stomach tightens and the thought of him looking for you, and you definitely don’t take it the weird way he’s insinuating.

“No, I don’t,” you respond, sitting up further in the corner of the couch, Tyson bravely holding onto your ankles. “Which definitely makes me the outlier of our generation. I had it for a while but then I kinda just got sick of it and how fake it was starting to get, so I deleted my account. I have not missed even once, too.”

He nods his head in understanding, he’s been there, especially with being a professional athlete. “I’ve been there. I deleted my twitter a while ago because every time I got on there some nobody would be in my notifications about how I was playing. I really didn’t need that, ya know? Like, I play hockey for a living and I’m very aware of when I’m underperforming. So, it was hard when I would get on my phone and see other people telling me the same things.”

Tyson’s fingers began to brush comfortably over your shins and ankles as he spoke, causing you to start slouching back into the couch. 

“I’ve gone back and forth with deleting Instagram but I just can’t seem to make a decision. Besides, I only follow my friends and musicians I like.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone,” you agree with a hum. “The biggest plus is that it gets me off my phone and I’m more absorbed with the real world. It’s all in that book I was reading a while ago that you asked about.”

Tyson remembers that conversation, a smile falling on his lips as he hands rub higher and higher on your calf. The movements are causing you to yawn not a minute later, but you try hard to keep your eyes open to continue to hang out with Tyson. “You a big music guy then?”

Tyson scoffs with a small, playful grip on your leg, “I get the aux in the locker room, so I’d say so. Not a big deal.”

You laugh at his joking manner, snuggling deeper into JT’s couch. Tyson notices how sleepy you’re becoming and he gives your leg another squeeze.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” Tyson suggests as he slips from underneath you to his feet.

You chuckle at that, considering you're more than capable to walk the few feet from JT’s door to your own. Before you can respond saying just that, Tyson’s reaching his hand for yours to help you off the couch.

“My mom raised me to be a gentleman, so I’m walking you home even if it is down the hall.”

You accept his offer, the two of you walking in silence until you’re pushing your key into the lock. You turn back to Tyson once you’ve cracked your door open, wanting to take in the silent, all-too-relationship-like feeling this scenario is. Tyson’s eyes drift from where they’re focused on your eyes to your lips, before he’s scratching the back of his head, a sign of nervousness you’ve quickly caught on to.

“Goodnight, Tyson,” you smile softly, leaning up on your sock clad toes to wrap your arms around his neck and give him a hug. His arms wrap around your middle; his back bending over at an awkward angle to properly reach you. You breathe in his musky scent as his hands spread out over the small of your back. The scruffiness of his beard against the side of your face has you giggling as you pull away. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” Tyson reciprocates your smile, walking a few steps backwards before finally turning around and heading to the elevator. Your eyes linger on his toned thighs and maybe even his butt under the cotton of his joggers as he walks the all too familiar way hockey players walk, before finally entering your apartment.

JT’s sitting on your couch this time around, rather than you sitting on his, a too large glass of wine perched in his hand as the two of you catch up. He’s been busy with morning skates and a string of back-to-backs with a road game sprinkled in the middle. It’s getting to be that part of the season where it’s ‘all gas, no breaks’ as he likes to say. They had an earlier than normal game today due to it being a national broadcast on a Sunday, so the two of you ordered take out from one of your usual spots and parked your asses on your couch for the night.

“I feel like we haven’t had best friend time in so long,” JT groans, sipping down the remnants of his wine before standing up for a refill.

“Not all of us can travel the continent on a regular basis,” you chirp with a laugh, one JT matches. The tv show murmurs in the background, it’s one you completely forgot about as JT relates stories and updates on his sisters to you.

“I still can’t believe Jesse graduates soon,” JT starts. “Like, soon when we go to Boston it won’t be the annual family trip since two of the kids are actually in the same city for a change.”

“But that’s so awesome for her, you have to remember that. How’s her season going?”

“They’re doing good, winning games and taking names, she’s really stepped into her captaincy role.” The smile on JT’s face is contagious, causing you to mirror it. You had only met his family a handful of times, only whenever they made the trip out to Denver every now and then. His sister’s, even if you didn’t talk to them regularly, were like your own at this point. JT loved to joke that you were the third sister he never wanted but still somehow ended up with. It was part of the reason he was always trying to set you up with his friends, because to him, if he already knew them, then he knew he trusted them with you. It was more of a joke when it first started over a year ago, but the guy’s he mentioned started to become more serious considerations on your end before you ended up always telling him no.

You were more than okay with being single, being independent, being a woman that never looked for male validation and instead lived life purely for yourself and the people you choose to include with you in that life. JT understood that more than anyone else, that’s why the thoughts you consistently had about Tyson were being shoved deep down inside of you in fear that JT would laugh at the idea and tell you not a chance in hell. It’s why those times you caught each other staring you never did anything about it, or how JT was still unbeknownst to the close friendship you started with him.

It’s why now there’s a silence between the two of you as you take a too-long sip of your wine, a way to stall before opening your mouth and getting JT’s opinion on all of this. You set your glass down on your thigh, your spare hand running along the stem of the glass as you start to speak, avoiding looking over at JT as you do so,

“You know how I don’t date or whatever,” you start, your lip caught between your teeth. You glance over at the redhead on the other couch, seeing him knit his eyebrows as he sets his phone down next to him.

“Yeah,” he draws out, confusion laced in his tone

“Well, I was thinking of maybe getting back out there or something,” you shrug your shoulders, unsure of how to really continue this conversation so you end up on the topic of Tyson being that someone you get back out there with.

“Did someone ask you out?” JT immediately asks with a shake of his head, wondering where all of this is coming from. His full attention is on you now and there’s no way to avoid his eyes as you respond.

“No, I was just thinking about it, I don’t know.”

“Did you, like, have someone in mind?” JT asks, the definitive knit in his forehead still there.

You purse your lips in thought. This would be the time to drop his teammate’s name you think to yourself. His name is heavy on your tongue as you take one more sip of your drink, “Tyson’s kinda cute.”

You say it simply, with a shrug in your shoulders, hoping the ease of your posture radiates towards JT. It doesn’t, just as you expect, a choked out cackle leaving his lips, before he says a harsh ‘no’. The comment deflates you, the knot in your stomach only tightening, mainly because you weren’t really asking him a question and just trying to get that thought out into the open for the first time. JT doesn’t read that as you respond back, telling him was just a thought anyways.

You drop it at that, thoughts running through your head of your close friendship with his teammate, one that’s very close to blurring that line between just friends and something more. It's a problem for another day you think, shoving the thought to the back of your mind as Tyson’s name flashes across your phone screen.

A few more weeks pass of Tyson and you hanging out at JT’s apartment, only for Tyson to follow you to your own apartment before he’d leave for the rink for his game. He slowly began going through his pre-game routine at your place, only to leave with JT under the guise that they would carpool together since his apartment building was on his way to Ball Arena.

Tyson’s cooking his pregame meal in your kitchen, something he had yet to do but when you had told him you had never eaten squash the other day, he made a point to make it his favorite way, even if it meant eating dinner at 4:30. His game day suit was hanging by his coat in your coat closet, you wouldn’t tell him but it was your favorite suit of his. The navy cashmere made the highlights in his dark brown hair pop out and was a nice contrast to his tan skin. He was taking the squash out of the oven, laughing as you made yet another comment on not knowing that was how a squash was cooked.

“What does a squash even taste like?” You ask, peering over the kitchen table to watch him as he places the pan onto the oven to cool down. The bright yellow and oranges of the fruit freak you out a bit, but the smell of garlic and parmesan cheese brings a smile to your face.

“It’s like earthy and nutty, I don’t know. I’m not a Food Network chef.”

The comment has you rolling your eyes with a laugh as you stand up from your chair to retrieve plates and silverware. 

“What are you doing?” Tyson asks with a whip of his head as his eyes follow your movements.

You look at him quizzically, pausing your movements on your tippy toes as you reach for the dinner plates, “setting the table?”

“I can do that,” Tyson starts, reaching out for the plates in your hand and setting them on the counter in front of you. “I’m the one cooking.”

“Exactly,” you reason, “And this is my apartment so I know where everything is.”

“I’m wining and dining you, well minus the wine since I have a game.” Tyson shrugs, tending to the squash on the pan and the veggies surrounding it. “That reminds me, the guys are going out after the game, you should come.”

You move around the kitchen as he speaks, filling up two glasses of water to set on the table. He plates the food as he finishes speaking and sets them on the table. It looks colorful and delicious and you’re shocked he can cook something that seems so complicated, especially since you know JT can only cook a burger and some random pasta dish.

“Well, I am going to the game so I don’t see why not,” you finally answer. You hadn’t gone out in weeks it seemed like, mainly due to your earlier than normal mornings and that you were the only single one out of most of your friends. All of your coworkers lived with their partners and were usually the type to bail on a night out so they could stay home. The few single friends you did have lived on completely different schedules than you, so they were either getting home late from work which was around the same time you’d need to call it a night, or were like you and too worried about early mornings to do anything.

But it was a Thursday, and you had taken the weekend off so it was a perfect time to catch your first Avs game of the season, even if it was already a few days into March and the season was halfway over. The both of you eat your dinner with a few laughs, Tyson telling you about how he forced himself to learn to cook over the past two years of living by himself. He even shared a few horror stories of when he lived with JT and Kerf, giving you plenty of dirt to use as blackmail if necessary. 

“Dinner was really good, thank you,” you acknowledge standing up and grabbing his plate from him.

“You liked the squash, eh?”

“It wasn’t too bad,” you reply playfully. He knew you liked it with how quickly you scarfed it down and the profuse compliments you offered him. As you clear off the dishes and load the dishwasher, Tyson disappears down the hall only to reappear dressed in his suit, save for the jacket and tie. 

“Who are you sitting with tonight? I never asked.” Tyson speaks, making the job of tying his tie look easy as he’s not even looking in the mirror to do so.

“Oh, my coworker, Amelia, and her girlfriend, Gabby,” you respond, leaning back against the counter as you watch Tyson finish up with the details of his suit like putting his cufflinks on and checking his hair in the mirror by your front door.

For a reason Tyson knows too well but ignores, a weight falling off his shoulders as he hears you saying you’re not going with a potential date. But then again, he knows you’re not dating and you more than likely would’ve declined his offer to go out afterward if that were the case. Tyson checks his watch for the time, seeing it’s about time to knock on JT’s door to grab him.

“So, I’ll see you after the game, yeah?”

“Yep, I’ll meet you and JT down by the locker rooms so we can all head out together. Maybe I’ll finally get to meet the infamous Cale.”

The Avs scoot by with a tough division win, one that’s needed to put them in first place in the Central by two points. You’re standing in the hallway of the locker rooms among the other WAG’s that you don’t really recognize due to your lack of knowledge on who’s who. Your nose is buried deep in your phone as you shoot off a text to Amelia telling her to let you know when she gets home safely when you recognize Tyson’s familiar Canadian accent followed by JT’s booming laughter. The two of them reach you, both of them giving you quick hugs before walking to the parking garage.

“Who’s jersey you got on there?” Tyson asks with a nudge of his shoulder into yours. You look down at the 19 stitched into your shoulder with a smirk.

“Only the best Av to ever play the game,” you respond, to which JT rolls his eyes. Tyson’s look of confusion doesn’t change as you answer, still pretty keen to the fact that you’ve never really talked hockey with him besides the stories about practices he’d share with you. “Never told you I didn’t like hockey, just said I never went to games.”

“I’ve tried to get her one of my jerseys and she literally told me she’d return it,” JT interrupts before Tyson can respond. You open your mouth to chirp him back but before you can, JT is calling shotgun once Tyson’s car is in view.

The bar isn’t as packed as you thought it would be, given half of the Avalanche roster was occupying more than a few booths. Andre takes a seat across from where you’re sandwiched between JT and Tyson - a seating arrangement you’re not sure how you got in.

The first round of drinks slowly turns into the third, and you’re no longer squished between two bruly hockey players since JT has found a home at the pool table with Nate and Naz. You had finally met Cale, the blush on cheeks matching Tyson’s description of them. You shared book recommendations with one another while Tyson had wandered off to the bar. It’s then you learn that Tyson’s kind of taken him under his wing, despite the very small age gap and that they live in the same building. Your eyes catch him as he chats with the bartender and a dirty blonde that’s close to his height that you very much did not recognize.

She’s all legs and has an award winning smile from what you see from fifteen away. Tyson’s turned away from you, his back facing you, and if you could see his face filled with that smile that’s showing he’s just trying to be polite to the stranger.

It’s then that you start to fully allow yourself to notice not only the physical attraction you feel towards your new friend, but the emotional one as well. It’s not overwhelming by any means, but the pit in your stomach can only be described as jealousy — a feeling you don’t have much experience with. 

You see two new glasses being set in front of them at the same time, assuming that Tyson had bought the stranger a drink. That pit in your stomach only tightens, the smile on your face from Cale’s story falling as you continue to watch them interact. 

The pair only talk for a few minutes before the girl walks away, a defeated look on her face. With he departure, you make your way across the hardwood floor to meet him at the bar, nudging his side lightly as you mirrored his stance. He smiled as you greeted him, noting that this was the first time in hours he got you all to himself. You were just as outgoing as he and JT were, always butting into conversations when you had something to say. 

“I never asked if you had fun at the game,” he asks, voice somehow still soft even in the loudness of the bar. His voice raises goosebumps on your arms, as you hum before responding.

“It was fun, definitely a good game, just a little too much third wheeling for my liking but I’ll take what I can get.”

The comment is a nod to the feeling Tyson knows all too well, one the two of you seem to always share funny stories about with a dramatic use of eye rolls. You ignore the fact that not even a few minutes prior you were plotting that girl’s death, too busy and entranced with Tyson’s presence.

The night continues to pass with just the two of you in your own little world. You find yourself up on your tiptoes, an arm resting on his muscular bicep as you lean up to speak into his ear. His lips move alongside your temple as he speaks, the scruff of his beard against your forehead causing you to giggle. You’re not even sure if JT or any of the other guys are even still around, but your bubble pops as JT calls your name. You turn your body towards the ginger, your hand on Tyson’s bicep not moving as he says that you two should find an Uber soon.

“Okay, yeah, sure. I’ll be out in a sec, Tyson was just telling me a story,” you let him know. JT knits his eyebrows at the comment but walks outside with a few of the other guys all heading home.

“How are you getting home?” You ask Tyson once you’re face to face with him again.

“Cale and I are gonna Uber back, too,” Tyson answers, his tongue swiping over his lips slowly. Your eyes watch his movement as time seems to slow down as the two of you keep your eyes focused on the others. His eyes are squintier than normal from the alcohol and you’re yours match his in that regard. You’re pretty sure he’s about to kiss you and for once, you’re actually going to let that person kiss you.

Tyson’s eyes flick behind you momentarily before you see his body semi-deflate. He steps away, your hand falling off his bicep for the first time in at least an hour as he picks up his blazer that’s draped over the stool next to him and nods towards the door.

“I think JT’s looking for you.”

Sure enough when you turn around, JT is in the doorway waving his phone in the air and pointing at it, silently telling you that the Uber is almost here. Your shoulders fall as the moment you were sure was about to happen is ruined. Tyson walks you out of the bar, into the brisk start of Spring air. You’re too busy thinking about how you most definitely would’ve let Tyson kiss you and next thing you know, your foot is slipping on the ice and you’re yelping in surprise.

Tyson catches your waist before you can even hit the cold pavement, and again, you’ve found yourself in a compromising position as Tyson’s face is mere inches from yours. You blink away the embarrassment as JT’s comment about your almost accident goes unnoticed by the both of you. You regather your stance, muttering a quiet thank you to the brunette before hugging him and waving goodbye with a soft smile.

“Dude,” Cale chastises, “You like her don’t you?”

The comment made by his building-mate has him stuttering over his words, trying to figure out an answer that’s not a straight up lie. Cale takes that as his answer, though, rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh as the two find their Uber.

“Does JT know?”

“No, because nothing’s going to happen,” Tyson answers curtly as he slumps his shoulders in his seat. “JT told me I couldn't try anything and I’m going to try and respect that. Besides, she doesn’t date so it’s not like I have a real shot or anything.”

“I don’t know, man. She seemed to jump out of her seat and end our conversation when she saw you talking to that girl.”

Cale’s comment silences the two of them for the remainder of the ride back to their building. Tyson hadn’t really paid mind to the fact that the second that girl left, you had appeared and stayed by his side for the remainder of the night. He brushes it off, blaming his inebriated mind for the overthinking before asking Cale how they’ll get his car in the morning.

Tyson wakes up to his phone dinging with a string of texts from you, a smile on his face when sees your name across his screen.

y/n: not sure what you did to me last night but this is the most hungover ive been in forever y/n: thank god i dont have work y/n: jt is still sleeping so im thinking of ditching him to go get breakfast y/n: you in? Tyson: im down Tyson: do you think we could swing by to get my car from the bar too? was gonna have cale drive me but if you can that’d be great

Getting ready for breakfast feels all too real as you do your hair and pick out an outfit before finally brushing your teeth. You tap your fingers an obnoxious amount of times against your steering wheel as you drive to Tyson’s apartment, your lip stuck between your teeth as you softly sing along to the songs flowing through your speakers.

Sitting across from him in the diner feels a little bit suffocating, the events of last night replaying in your mind. The path your eyes follow tends to keep going to his lips before you realize what you’re doing and snapping them right back up to his eyes or to the coffee in your hand. Those lips you sure you were close to kissing last night. He orders some obnoxiously healthy omelette bowl with enough eggs and potatoes on it to feed a house of four, while you get classic french toast.

You don’t miss that opportunity to chirp him, the weight finally off your shoulders as you lighten the mood. Tyson never really caught onto your weirdness, thinking it was some side effect of your hangover. 

“Is french toast your favorite food or something?” Tyson asks, mouth a little full as he finishes chewing. You knit your eyebrows in confusion, partly because yes, it is your favorite breakfast food, but why would he think that if he’s only ever seen you eat it right now in this very moment? He sees your confusion, answering your question before you can even ask it.

“You got french toast that one time we went out with JT and Sydney.”

“Oh, it is, actually,” it dawns on you then, even though that morning was over a month ago at this point. It’s sweet that he remembers that, your neck warming at his comment.

“It’s not a big deal,” Tyson shrugs, shoving another forkful of egg into his mouth. And shit, did you actually say that out loud to him? That misstep has your neck heating up even further as you take a large swig of your coffee, mainly so the large mug blocks your face from him.

“Besides,” Tyson starts with a heavy laugh. “You just about inhaled that from what I remember, so it has to be your favorite.”

You drop your jaw in shock from his very true accusation, a slight laugh coming out, “You’re a dick.”

“Hey, at least I’m a dick that paid for your meal,” Tyson acknowledges in a lighthearted tone. You smile at him at that, him sending you one right back. “And before you say you can pay for this one, this is that meal I promised you a while back when we made brownies.”

It dawns on you then, was this a date? Did you accidentally on purpose ask Tyson out on a date? Tyson can sense the wheels turning in your head and drops that topic, instead telling you all about this new artist he’s found on Spotify.

That day’s a turning point for your relationship with Tyson. You end up following him back to his place then, a strange sense of deja vu coming through. The rest of the day is spent shaking your respected hangovers on his couch, your feet perched on his lap, his body naturally leaning towards yours.

Your head’s full of what ifs as you drive the short way back to your apartment, thoughts surrounding the feelings you’ve been ignoring when it comes to why Tyson looks at you the way he does or why he’s always sending you Tik Tok’s about your newfound inside jokes. Your friendship with him is easy, he’s an easy guy to catch feelings for and an even easier guy to fully allow yourself to do that with.

The thought of your friendship with JT clouds your thoughts, though. Unsure of what you should even do considering how quickly he shot you down when all you said was that his friend was cute. You don’t think much of it, knowing that the feelings that are starting to show need to be reciprocated for you to even face that next set of problems.

Soon you’re catching yourself focusing on the number 17 jersey skating around the ice instead of 37 when you have the time to watch their games. Tyson’s eyes are the ones you’re always finding in a room and he’s the one always refilling your drink without a thought. He’s the one you text after a particularly rough day, and he does the same when the Avs snap their eight game winning record. He’s slowly taking that spot as your best friend over from his teammate, a spot you’re sure is slowly turning into more.

It’s another one of those nights where he’s the one you're constantly looking for. This time back at Andre’s apartment with the guys and few significant others as you celebrate yet another Avalanche playoff berth.

You’re drinking far less than the crowd surrounding you, fully buzzed on the atmosphere that is clinching the number one seed in the division with still so much time left in the season. Unlike the group of people that have the day off the next day, you have work, but the thought of missing this night for your two best friend’s wasn’t an option when Tyson texted you as soon as he made it to the locker room after the game was won. Tyson’s hand seems to never be empty, but you soon learn he’s been nursing the same beer since he got to Andre’s. There’s a heavy feeling of contentment washing over him as he celebrates his fourth straight playoff appearance, alongside setting a Central Division record for the fastest team to clinch.

The air between you two has that same fuzzy feeling it’s had for a few weeks now, ever since you had gone out to breakfast with him hungover. The high from the win still filling his veins, that same high radiating towards you as you continually find your way back to his side throughout the night.

Tyson catches you slipping out the door as the sun is just about finished setting and follows you a moment later. You’re leaning against the railing with your arms folded atop of it. It’s the easiest thing in the world for Tyson to step in behind you and place his hands on either side of yours, bracketing you against the cool metal. 

The wind blows through your hair, causing you to push some strands back behind your ears as you breathe heavily with Tyson’s new presence.

“You doing alright out here?”’ Tyson asks, one of his laying to rest on top of yours, you fingers interlocking with his.

“Yeah, just wanted to take advantage of Andre’s view,” you respond. Andre’s place had everything, the view of downtown Denver, the suburbs stretching outside of the skyscrapers, but he also had the best view of the mountains you had seen from a complex downtown.

The silence continues between the two of you, the sound of the Denver traffic beneath you filling it out. Tyson’s chest moves behind you with a heavy breath before breaking that silence,

“I talked to my mom this morning.”

“Yeah? How is she?”

“She’s good, but, uh, I called her to tell her about this girl,” he trails off, his chest inflating behind you again as the nerves start to tighten in his stomach. You remain silent, there’s an unspoken understanding that this is something he’s been wanting to get off his chest, something that you too feel the weight of.

“I wanted to tell her about this girl and ask her for advice because it’s complicated since she’s best friends with my best friend who’s also my teammate and I didn’t know if I should put my feelings aside for the sake of my friendship or if I shouldn’t let my friend telling me I couldn’t ask her out stand in the way of my feelings for her.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, the sudden knowledge of the weight his words have. His grip around you had tightened as he spoke, causing you to turn around in his arms slower than you would’ve liked to as your eyes find his. His hands move from the railing to rest on your hips, his grip a little tight yet still soft. Your fingers toy with the hem of his cotton t-shirt, one that accentuates his arms more than you’d like to admit.

You’re not naive, you know that this is that tipping point in your friendship that you’ve been avoiding, yet at the same time anxiously waiting for. He’s right there in front of you, all wide eyed with that playful little glimmer in his eyes and that smile that’s always plastered on his face when he’s with you. It’s the confidence in his smile as he speaks that contradicts the doubt in his eyes and the understanding he has where he knows he needs to take this all slow. He’s not just trying to win you over or get you to bed, he’s trying to show you that he’s what you deserve, that the feelings brewing inside your stomach are two sided.

All of those things are conveyed in the little things and how he hasn’t made any unwarranted moves on you and how he’s always reading the situation before trying anything.

It makes you truly let the feelings you have bubble to the surface as you open your mouth to finally respond, “I don’t think you should ignore your feelings.”

It comes out as a whisper, one where the breaths of air hit Tyson in the chin from how close you two are standing. Nothing else needs to be said, your heart racing in your chest at that first admittance of feelings. Tyson searches your eyes for any sense of doubt, making sure he’s interpreting your words correctly. His hand moves to the junction of your neck, his thumb brushing against the hollow of your cheek. Your hands trail up his sides, brushing the stray curl that’s fallen onto his forehead back in place. He leans into your touch, his nose softly brushing against yours as you close your eyes. His breath fans over your mouth and the hair on his upper lip tickles you before his lips are landing on yours. It’s slow and soft and full of fire as you kiss him back.

You pull apart breathless a few moments later, a smile on your face as you bite your lip. His smile is wider than yours, a sense of smugness behind it. His lips find their way to your forehead, placing a soft, lingering kiss there as he wraps his arms around your body and pulls you tightly to him. A few more heavy breaths are shared before his fingers trail back to your jaw, his thumb running over your bottom lip before pulling you in for another kiss.

His touches are welcome and the chill you felt earlier is gone with his presence, your stomach tightening in a million knots at the man standing before you. Everything he feels is portrayed in his soft eyes and those several moments over the past couple of months where it was just the two of you, getting to know one another much more than you thought you ever would with one of JT’s teammates. The space he gave you as he let you explain your fascination with living the life you did, one with no obsession with social media or what other people thought and one where you carefully curated the people you choose to surround yourself with.

Tyson had slowly worked his way into your heart, one that now had his name written all over it. You smile at the thought, still lost in chocolatey, brown eyes and the way he’s looking at you like the gorgeous view of the Smoky Mountains isn’t right behind you.

“We should go back inside,” you say, breaking the little bubble the two of you had just created. Tyson understands, knowing where the two of you were, knowing who’s just on the other side of the door. Neither of you make any moves to go back inside, and you bask in the cool weather, enjoying the other’s warmth before finally opening the door to the rowdiness that is a bunch of professional hockey players.

JT beckons for you when he sees you come back inside, too drunk to ask where you’ve been for the past fifteen minutes. He’s dragging you to the kitchen, begging you with his eyes to make the room a round of drinks. Tyson smiles at you from a few feet away, silently telling you he’ll find you eventually. He does, making his way to you when everyone’s drink needs are met, his presence causing your stomach to tighten even if he is standing a few feet away from you. 

Both of you lay off the drinks for the rest of the night, already tipsy enough from your drinks earlier and in a silent agreement that there’s more to talk about between the two of you once the crowd thins and everyone's on their way home. JT disappears into thin air it seems like until he’s practically yelling that he’s called an Uber for you two.

“I think I’m actually gonna stay for a little longer,” you answer, eyes drifting over to where Tyson is talking with Cale and Andre. He sees you glance over at him, sending a smile right back your way causing you to blush before telling JT he’s fine to head home and that you’ll text him when you get home.

The room starts to clear out after that, Andre’s front door opening and closing every few minutes as Uber’s are called and before you know it you’re in the back of a Kia Sorento, laughing at the lie Tyson told Cale that led to him getting an Uber by himself and your hands tightly intertwined on your lap.

You find out a few months later that he didn’t lie, he just told him that he had finally gotten the nerve to kiss you.

The elevator ride up to his apartment is full of giggles, those giggles only continuing as he fumbles through unlocking his front door. He tells you to stop making fun of him under his breath, a blush spreading from the tips of his ears to his nose.

He’s pulling you inside once the door is unlocked, causing you to lose your balance from the pull. Your laughs quiet down as he stares down at you, that smile you're familiar with nowhere to be found as he licks his lips. He’s pulling you in with those big, brown eyes of his and then you’re kissing him wildly, barely a few feet into his home.

“We should talk about this,” you mutter against his lips, not fully wanting to break away from him. He’s connecting your lips before you can continue, too addicted to the feeling of finally having his lips on yours.

“What is there to talk about?”

“Us, what this is,” you respond between kisses.

Tyson pulls away this time, resting his forehead against yours. He knows the logistics of all of this needs to be worked out, but right now he doesn’t want to think about how he’s making out with JT’s neighbor or his inevitable murder if JT finds out before one of you can tell him.

“Let’s worry about the consequences tomorrow, because right now I can’t keep my hands off of you,” he reasons, dipping his head down to place his lips right below your jaw. “And if the way you’re kissing me is any sign, then I’d say we’re on the same page about how we feel.”

You moan as Tyson’s teeth nip at the skin, his tongue poking past his lips out onto your neck and goosebumps are popping up all along your skin.

You give into him then, too intoxicated in his warmth and the taste of Bud Light on his mouth. It’s a conversation for you in the morning when you’re both nursing your hangovers over a cup of coffee. Your lips move along his hungrily, his hands gripping your face before sliding down your sides and squeezing your ass through your jeans. You tug your fingers through the long curls behind his ears, him pushing you against the nearest wall with a thud and a rattle of a picture frame.

Your lips move along his softly, the passion and fire laced in it enough to cause a wave of electricity through your veins and down to in between your thighs. He’s towering over you with his big personality and his wide shoulders and you feel like you need to get impossibly closer to him as you pull him in by the fabric of his t-shirt. His hands fall to the wall on either side of your head.

“God, I’m never gonna stop kissing you,” Tyson huffs out, causing a quick chuckle to run through your body. It’s quick because as soon as the words are out of Tyson’s mouth, his lips are already back on yours.

“You’re gonna have to stop kissing me if you want to fuck me,” you mutter out, a sly smirk on your lips as you watch Tyson’s eyes grow darker at the insuination. The hands that were bracketing you against the wall slide down to your jaw, his thumb running over your bottom lip again before pushing past your lips. You keep your eyes on his as you suck on the digit, your tongue swirling around it. His resolve slips away from you for a moment, before his other hand drags down your side until his fingers push under your top, the warm fingers ghosting over the skin of your ribs.

His breath is heavy against you, the growing bulge causing his jeans to tighten around him. You’re feeling bold then, as you feel him against your stomach with his thumb still in your mouth and his hand tight around your jaw. He’s frozen in front of you as he watches your eyes, that stupid smirk finally wiped off his face as your hands move under his shirt, your nails scraping against the tight muscles. You hold back both a comment about his abs and a moan at the feeling, all the hard work he’s put into his body clearly paying off as you push his shirt up his chest and over his head.

Your nails drag back down his chest and torso before looping in the waistband of the boxers peeking out from his jeans. His thumb falls from your mouth, the wet digit leaving a trail of your saliva on your chin as you work on pulling his jeans down. His head tips back with a low groan as his member springs free and you sink down to your knees, his hand finding purchase on the back of your head while the other is used to brace himself against the wall.

Tyson sucks in a breath as your hand reaches out to grip the base of his cock, tugging softly a few times as you lick the tip. His mouth waters at the sight of your lips wrapping around the head, your eyes looking right back up at him. You hum around him as you swallow him down, the vibrations causing a groan to escape from Tyson’s mouth. He feels euphoric, even if you haven’t had your mouth on him for more than 60 seconds. His hips involuntarily thrust forward at the wet feeling your mouth gives as you hollow your cheeks around him. 

Tyson continued to moan above you as you moved your mouth along him, both of your hands digging into the flesh of his thighs. Tyson’s hand is heavy on the back of your head, not using it to push you deeper onto him, but to ground him as he starts to see stars embarrassingly fast in his eyes.

He pulls you off him then, pulling you up to your feet to stand in front of him once again. There’s a dribble of saliva mixed with his pre-cum on your chin and he wipes it away with his thumb before pulling you in for another harsh kiss. He pushes the two of them to his bedroom, never breaking the kiss as he sheds your shirt and pushes you down onto his bed. You giggle again, the hunger in his eyes all too real as he crawls over your body until he’s hovering over you.

“You’re so fucking beautfiul,” he whispers into your ear, causing shivers to shoot down your body. He runs his hands along your bare sides up to your breasts as he kisses down your neck. His hands brush along your lace covered nipples, making you sharply inhale a breath and arch your back against him. He pulls the fabric down to expose your breasts, his lips still nipping at the skin on your collarbone. He looks down at you again, a sensual look in his eyes that you mirror. His lips attach to one of your nipples, the other being tended to by his fingers as twists and pulls the bud between his thumb and forefinger.

Your hands find purchase in the curls atop his head, pulling at the strands as he breathes a huff of cool air onto your npple before switching to the other one. He makes his way down your body painfully slow, a trail of kisses being left down your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He tugs them off just as quickly as he stripped you from your shirt, his eyes locking on the sage green thong you’re wearing and the very obvious wet patch between your legs. He’s impatient from the brief blowjob you gave him and the fact that he’s been imaging this exact moment for far too long now. His fingers dip into the strap of your underwear, his eyes finding yours and asking if this is okay. You respond with a resounding yes as he pulls the underwear off of you.

His lips leave kisses along your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders as his mouth finally makes his way to your center. His beard is rough against the skin of your thighs, a sensation only causing you to whine as he breathes over your clit.

“Tyson,” you whine, causing him to smirk before pressing his tongue to your entrance. The cool, wetness of his tongue has you catching your breath and fisting the sheets underneath you. Tyson moaned against you at the taste as he licked over you a few more times. His lips wrap around your clit, this time causing a full, throaty moan to release from your mouth. One of your hands found its way to his head, holding him impossibly closer to you, the other finding his hand as he interlocks your fingers together.

His tongue dives into your opening, fucking into you as his other arm wraps around your thigh so he can rub his thumb at your clit. His tongue licked around you entrance, alternating between that and fucking into you. His thumb stayed on your clit, rubbing circles hoping to get you to that tipping point, the one you felt nearing with every pass of his tongue over you. Your back arched off the bed, your hips pushing further into Tyson’s face as you felt your high near. Tyson continued at the same pace, pushing you over the edge as you moaned out his name.

He continued to lick softly at you, his thumb slowing down on your clit as he lifted his head up to kiss at your collarbone. The kisses he leaves along your inner thighs gives you time to catch your breathing, your chest still heaving from your orgasm. It’s short lived as his thumb on your clit slides down to your entrance, spreading your wetness around before pushing a finger into you. 

His lips make their way back to your clit with the same smirk he had on his face a few minutes ago, wrapping his lips around the bud as he moves he added another finger. You clench down him at the feeling, moans and heavy breaths of air escaping your mouth as Tyson worked his fingers against your g-spot and his mouth worked over your clit. Your hand squeezes his, the pressure becoming too much so soon after your first orgasm. It doesn’t take long for you to groan out his name again as you clench down on his fingers, your second orgasm rushing through you.

He stays down there a moment longer, but you pull him up by his hair, just wanting his lips on yours and his body hovering over you. His beard is wet from both his spit and your juices, and it has you licking your lips and craning your neck upwards. You pull him in with both of your hands, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on him.

The kiss is heavy, his hands running along your body trying to memorize every dip and curve, the heavy weight of his member on your hip. His curls tickled your forehead, the kiss turning soft as he splayed a hand on your cheek to pull you in tighter. The head of his dick brushed over your mound, a shiver running through you at the feelings, your hips bucking up towards his with a small whine.

You reach your hand down between your bodies to tug on him softly, a whine leaving Tyson’s lips, one that’s swallowed by your kisses. It’s unspoken between the two of you as pulls away from you, only to push your hand away from him and give himself a few tugs as he settles heavily between your thighs.

You share a look, one that’s gleeful and full of smiles as he licks his lips and slowly pushes into you. You moan and whimper at the feeling of him inside of you, your hands clawing at his shoulder blades to pull his body flush against your own.

“You good?” He asks, referring to if you’re ready for him to start moving.

“Yeah,” you whine, looking into his eyes smiling, “I’m good.”

There’s a pause as you answer, both of you understanding the double-meaning behind your answer. It’s more than just telling him you feel good physically, but that you feel more than that when he’s with you.

He leans in to kiss you again, starting a slow pace as he thrusts into you. He moaned out at how tight you were, how well you were taking him as he kissed you. He picked up his pace, thrusting into you harder and faster, with more purpose as he rested on his elbows above you, looking into your eyes. You always got lost in those eyes of his, as he hit your g-spot you tilted your head back, your eyes fluttering closed. They weren’t closed for long as Tyson grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him once again.

“I wanna look at you,” he muttered as he leaned back down to kiss you. Your moans filled the room as the layer of sweat started to thicken on your bodies, his chest rubbing against yours. He lifted your thigh and pushed it against your chest, the new angle causing the knots to tighten in your stomach as you felt you high nearing. Your lips found their way to his neck and down to the dips of his collarbone. Biting down into the flesh as you moan out again, Tyson’s pace quickening as he feels you clenching around him.

“I’m so close,” you moan out, Tyson hitting you deeply. He could feel himself getting close too, his hips starting to stutter as he moved inside of you. Your breasts bouncing as he pounds into you, your eyes screwing shut as your orgasm starts to wash over you. Tyson swallows your moans as he kisses you through your third orgasm.

His breaths are heavy as his orgasm comes soon after yours, spilling into you as he slows his pace down and gently lowers his body weight onto yours. You two stay like that for a few moments, catching your breaths and basking in that post-sex afterglow. He removes himself once you’ve both settled, a whimper leaving your mouth at the newfound emptiness. He disappears to his bathroom, coming right back with a washcloth as he cleans you up. You thank him as he runs the cool, wet cloth over the insides of your thighs, pulling him back for another quick kiss before he disappears into the bathroom once more.

When he gets back, he lays down next to you, pulling your body snug against his. His chest is warm and still a little sticky from the sweat. Your fingers draw aimless patterns along his bare chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss on your forehead and you feel the upturn of his lips when he pulls away. You smile up at him then, leaning up and puckering your lips, asking for a kiss. He obliges with a soft hum and rubs your arm gently before you’re falling asleep against him, a few drops of drool falling onto his chest.

The morning rolls around too quickly for your liking, the curls on Tyson’s head ticking the back of your neck. Neither of you are in a rush to move as he smiles against the bare skin of your back, a few kisses being placed there as you hum and hold his arms tighter to your torso. He’s up from bed moments later, a sweet kiss lingering on your lips as you watch his naked form emerge from bed and pull on a pair of sweats. Your eyes watch over the ripples of muscles between his shoulder blades, down his back and over his ass before he’s running around his apartment in search of your thong.

He remerges with it draped over his finger, a smirk on his lips before he flings it at you, causing a giggle to erupt from your stomach. You pull them on, a large t-shirt being tossed your way to drape over your shoulders. You follow him out to his kitchen then, a small pit in your stomach at the realization of the conversation that needs to be had, the small bubble you’re in at its popping point.

You jump onto his island counter, the coolness of the granite sending shivers down your bare legs, his back to you as he starts the coffee pot. He’s just in a pair of sweats, bright red lines on display on his back. You squeeze your legs together as you cross them, the actions of your late night antics running vividly through your mind.

He presses the warm mug into your hands, his now free hand pushing open your legs to step between them. He’s so close then, probably the closest you’ve really been to him with a sober brain. The heat from his torso radiates towards you, warming not only your skin but your insides as well as you smile at him. He’s still got that wide, goofy smile plastered on his face, the one you’ve grown to love and to look forward to seeing.

Tyson’s hands move to rest on the counter on either side of you, the close proximity between your faces causes you to set your mug down and move your hands to his shoulders.

“What’s going through your mind, pretty girl?” The new pet name has you mentally squealing, your chest tightening as your cheeks heat up.

“Just how last night I was so adamant to talk about everything, but now I’m not so sure I want to break our little bubble,” you start, the huff of breath air coming out softly as you avoid his eye contact, even if he is a few inches away from your face.

It’s hard to concentrate on relaying your feelings to him and fully opening up to a man for the first time in a long time with him standing right there in front of you, in all his shirtless glory — the defined lines of his pecs and abs, the veins protruding from his arms, and the few purple bruises you’d left on the dips of his collarbones. It’s always been hard to think straight around him, you realize, with the way his presence gives you a comforting buzz and that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

Tyson’s quiet as he watches over you, he licks his lips in thought, a silent hum of agreement coming out. He’s in the exact same boat, the outcome of this conversation not one he’s too scared of, knowing that the way he feels is reciprocated, but rather what the next step is with the best friend you two share. He’s leaning closer into you, a small smile as he places another soft kiss on your lips. It’s one you get lost in, gentle and blissful as your lips move slowly against his. He pulls away first, something he wasn’t able to do last night, before finally being able to put his thoughts into words.

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page with this. We’re taking a big risk doing this behind JT’s back and I want you to know, no matter what, the risk is worth it with you,” he starts, voice soft and still scratchy from the morning. “And I know you don’t date because you put yourself first and if that’s what you want to do then I’m okay with that, too.”

Your heart melts at the words, your hands cradling his face. Tyson’s always been better with words and feelings than you have over your short friendship with him. The metaphorical door is already wide open in front of you, it’s just a matter of taking that one more small step through it with Tyson, or shutting it and never turning back.

“I don’t date because most people don’t like having independent girls as their girlfriend’s. I put time into myself to be the best person I can be, not only for myself but for others and they don’t like that stuff,” you start to explain, your hands falling from his face to hold both of his hands. “I like you, a lot, Tys, and I want to be with you.”

He smiles wildly at that, the doubt draining from his eyes as he opens his mouth to respond.

You interrupt him though, with a huff of air as you continue speaking, “But JT’s my best friend and I don’t want to hurt him either.”

And Tyson fully understands where you’re coming from, because he’s been struggling with that for the past few months ever since he met you. He thinks back to that conversation on the plane all that time ago and how JT firmly told him to not try anything, but now as he really thinks about it, he’s not sure he meant it because of him and that it was more so because he cared for you and didn’t want to see you get hurt in general.

You can see in his eyes that same wide open door you’re thinking about, the one where you get to explore a relationship with the quirky, optimistic, competitive guy in front of you. The guy that matches your level of confidence as you, the guy that lets you be stubborn and lets you live out that stubbornness because he’s the most patient person you’ve ever met.

The decision’s easy as he stands in front of you, putting the ball in your court, your lip caught between your teeth. He’s waiting for you then, waiting for you to walk through that door or close it and walk out of his apartment. He’s hopeful, knowing that last night wasn’t a fluke and that all the kisses you’ve already shared are real and full of passion and those feelings you’ve been dancing around.

That’s when you give in, wrapping your legs around his torso and pulling him into you with that toothy smile of yours as you place your lips on his hungrily. It’s a kiss full of teeth as he smiles against you, his hands coming to cradle your face as you kiss. It’s much more addicting now that you’re sober and you fully agree with Tyson’s comment from last night about how he’s never going to want to stop kissing you.

You decide later that day that there’s no rush in telling JT, instead opting to see how things go between the two of you for a few weeks. Those two weeks are full of plenty of quality time, a coincidental home stand falling during that time meaning you get him to yourself before facing the reality that is how much he travels. You’re sure you can handle everything the new relationship can throw at you, the honeymoon phase lasting long as the two of you skirt around how you’ll tell JT whenever that time comes.

“I need to leave now if I want to leave for the rink and not see JT,” Tyson warns, prying away from your warm body in bed. You whined in response, wanting to have his warmth for just a little while longer. You let him escape from your grasp, only after asking for one too many kisses. You follow him out into your kitchen, watching him as he pulls on his shoes and finds his keys.

“You sure I can’t get you to stay for at least a cup of coffee?” You muse, giving it one more shot to spend time with him before your work week starts. You make your way to where he’s lingering in your entryway, looking extra cozy with his hood over his messy head of curls. You wrap your arms around his middle, slipping your hands under the cotton of his hoodie to feel his skin against yours. 

He leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips, giggling when you follow him as he pulls away, “I really need to get going.”

“Fine,” you hum. “I’ll see you when you get back from Dallas?”

Tyson nods his head with a hum in answer, finally pulling open your front door to get to his car downstairs in the garage without running into JT. But luck isn’t on his side this morning and he gives you one more goodbye hug and kiss in the doorway before shutting the door behind him and coming face to face with a certain redheaded teammate a few feet down.

JT’s eyebrows are knitted as he takes his key out of the lock. His mouth opens a few times in confusion before any words come out. “What was that?”

Tyson doesn’t think he’s ever been at such a loss for words as he is right now. He looks between the door he just shut and his friend a few times, trying to wrap his brain around what this scene looks like. It’s not even 8:30 in the morning on Sunday, and to anyone, this looks like the start of a walk of shame.

“Uh, y/n and I were hanging out and we fell asleep so she let me sleep in her guest room,” Tyson lies. He hopes it’s convincing, his voice didn’t waver but his hands flailed around a little more than normal when he talks and he scratched his beard, something he always does when he’s nervous.

“I’m pretty sure I just saw you kiss her,” JT explains, voice stern as he completely turns to look at Tyson. “And you don’t just kiss people goodbye.”

Tyson stumbles over an explanation for that, no logical reason coming to mind.

“You were just kissing y/n!” JT exclaims, a rise in his voice as he starts to fill in the blanks. Now he’s starting to connect the dots of your tendency to bail on him on the nights you’d normally hang out and Tyson’s lack of interest in guys’ night or after game celebrations with the team. The giggling he would hear through the wall late at night, the girly squeals, and the few times he remembered hearing the bedpost hit against your shared wall a little too hard for his liking. “You just fucking kissed my best friend after I told you to not get involved with her!”

Tyson moves to close the distance between him and his best friend, but JT takes one back, effectively cancelling it out. Tyson’s opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out the best course of action for this premature conversation. The two of you had just figured everything out in the past few days, telling JT about your newfound relationship hadn’t even come up in conversation yet.

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Barely two weeks,” Tyson stutters out, watching as JT’s face fills with more anger. “Comph, just let me explain,” he tries again, but JT just shakes his head and heads for the doorway for the stairwell instead of the elevator. It’s a huge flight of stairs given that he lives on the 11th floor of the building. He wants to follow his friend, but knows that space is what he needs and instead presses the button for the elevator and gets in, leaving him alone in his thoughts.

When he meets up with him at the rink, JT’s still avoiding him which is hard considering their stalls are only separated by one other in the locker room. Cale hadn’t even made it to the rink yet, so someone wasn’t even there to put up a wall between the two. Gabe takes notice as he walks around the room after taping his ankles, his eyebrows knitting at the fact that Tyson, who’s normally cheery even this early in the morning and bugging JT, is putting on his pads and skates with his mouth shut. 

It’s something Gabe puts in the back of his mind, just thinking that Tyson had a rough night or morning. It’s during morning skate that Gabe, and almost everyone else, notices something is off between the pair. JT doesn’t chirp him like normal when they take face-offs against one another, he’s not by his side in between drills, and JT sticks his stick out a little too far during a one-on-one, sending Tyson to the ice during a drill that no one should be falling during. Bednar thinks nothing of it, just telling Tyson to stay on his two feet. 

Practice eventually ends but the silent treatment between the two continues. JT’s uncharacteristically quiet to everyone that talks to him, something clearly on his mind. Meanwhile Tyson’s nerves are causing him to not shut up as Cale shares a story about his rough commute this morning.

As Tyson and Cale quiet down, Gabe steps in, pointing between the two of them, “What’s up with you two today?”

“Nothing,” Tyson lies quickly, not wanting anyone else to get involved in this. Even if their captain is just trying to help, Tyson’s not sure there’s anything Gabe can say to help. 

JT scoffs, tying his shoes before standing up, “He’s fucking my best friend.” Cale, who was taking him leisurely time with getting dressed suddenly stands up and crosses the room to where Gravy was, avoiding any possible conflict.

Gabe’s eyes pop out of his head as Tyson responds, “we’re not fucking.”

“So the banging into my wall last night wasn’t you?” JT asks in an accusatory tone.

“Well, we’re not like,” Tyson starts, gesturing his hands in front of his body in a way to finish that sentence, soon realizing he doesn’t want to add fuel to fire by saying he was in fact fucking his best friend last night. “It’s not just that, we’re together.”

Gabe, who thought this was probably a misunderstanding of one of Tyson’s pranks or even just JT not winning a stupid bet, is just as shocked as JT was a few hours agao when he saw two of his best friends kissing. The captain isn’t entirely sure of how to navigate this situation, one that hasn’t really happened in any of his locker rooms. He doesn’t have much else to say to the two of them other than to figure it out and that a girl shouldn’t get between two friends that are as close as they are.

With that, Tyson’s trying to apologize to JT, tell him that there’s more to the story but JT wants nothing of it, and is throwing his jacket on and running out the door. Everything in Tyson’s being wants to follow him back to his place and beg for him to hear him out, but instead he’s racing back to your place, ignoring the fact that he still has to pack for their quick road trip.

Tyson all about sprints up the 11 flights of stairs to your door, knocking on your door with urgency until the door swings open. You move to the side as you let him in, clearly seeing how frantic he is with his flushed cheeks and the excessive knocking.

“JT saw me leave this morning,” Tyson lets out, a little out of breath from his run up the stairs. Tyson’s waiting for you to respond but you’re still not getting it. “He saw me kiss you goodbye and then didn’t talk to me all practice then when Landy confronted us he was just like ‘Tyson’s fucking my best friend’ and I tried to explain but-”

“Tys,” you interrupt his rambling, taking a step forward to reach out to him. Your hands grab his in an attempt to ground him, your thumbs rubbing back and forth on the back of his hands. “It’ll be okay.”

“He literally tripped me in practice today!”

“That’s because he can be a petty asshole. He doesn’t hate you, he probably just feels betrayed because he didn't know any of this was going on.” You try to console him, pushing all of your anxieties and paranoia aside to deal with the panicking boy in front of you.

“Let me talk to him, you need to go home and pack for your road trip since I know you haven’t yet.”

“But,”

“I’ll come over right after and update you, I promise.”

WIth that, Tyson kisses you goodbye as you push him to the elevator with a promise that everything is going to be okay before giving yourself a pep talk and bursting into JT’s apartment next to yours.

He spots you before you can greet him and you can see quite a few different feelings crossing over his face.

“Oh, God, are you here to also tell me that you’re not just fucking my best friend, too?” JT scoffs, causing your heart to plummet into your ass. “I really don’t want to listen to any excuses you may have about this.”

“Stop being an asshole for just one second and let me explain,” you reprimand him, already over the fact that your so-called best friend won’t even hear you out. “How is this any different from the countless times you tried to set me up with your friends? Is this not the same thing?”

It’s a genuine question that shuts up JT, because really, it’s not much different in your eyes. For over a year now, JT’s been showing you pictures of buddies he has from back home or from college or even friends of friends that he’d think would suit you. You had always turned him down because to you, dating wasn’t something you wanted other people to really interfere with, even if some of his friends were young, successful, bachelor types.

“Because it’s Tyson,” JT answers simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You look at him, hands clenching at your sides with the vague and uninterested tone. He’s barely even looking at you as he tidies up his kitchen, something he always did when trying to fill silence.

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?” You ask incredulously. “You’ve told me a million times he’s one of the best people you’ve ever met.” You bite your tongue from adding a comment about how he is one of the best people you’ve also met.

“The other guys weren’t professional athletes, it’s pretty simple from how I see it.”

“But you could set me up with your friends from Chicago and New York and Michigan but I find one of your friends here in Denver then it’s off limits? Because he plays a sport for a living? If that’s the case then I shouldn’t be friends with you either.” It’s a low blow, you know that, but it finally catches his attention as he drops the cloth he’s wiping the counter with. His eyes finally connect with yours and it’s then he finally notices how hurt you are by the lack of emotion in both his words and his body language. There are tears in your eyes as you look up at the ceiling to try and even your breathing.

“It's an honor for anyone to have a place in my life JT and that includes you,” you continue. “Tyson understands that. He understands that I'm my own person before anything else but he’s still there when I'm stubborn. I've been single for so long and I truly know what I want, what I deserve to feel and I get that with him.”

You often don’t get this deep with the red head, but his lack of wanting to understand you has you emotional as you think of all the benefits of being with Tyson. The few months of being his friend were a perfect build up to the past few weeks of it being more, of sharing a life with someone else. 

“You know him better than most people and if you can honestly tell me he’s no good for me right now then I’ll end it,” you suggest, your heart beating fast as you wait for an answer. JT has come to be one of your best friends in your life, even if he is just your neighbor, and at this moment it’s hard to think of putting a guy between you. Even if that guy is the first guy you’ve really felt this way towards.

“I’m not gonna tell you that,” JT admits with a heavy sigh. He makes his way across the room to you before continuing. “He’s my best friend, too, and if there’s anyone that knows everything about both of you, it’s me. I guess I just felt like you were hiding a secret from me and we don’t do that, ya know? I just wish you could’ve told me.”

You laugh snidely at that, “Do you not remember like two months ago when I told you I thought Tyson was cute and you shot that down before I was even done talking?”

The wheels turn and the light bulb goes off in JT’s brain as he remembers that conversation from a while back, “I won’t confirm nor deny that I said that.”

The both of you laugh lightheartedly at that, pulling him in for a much needed hug, both of you apologizing to the other. The weight on your shoulders is liften as he pulls away, thankful for the fact that you have such an understanding person for a best friend.

“You want to watch an episode of Psych? I think we can fit one in before I have to leave.”

You contemplate it, knowing that a few miles away Tyson is in his apartment panicking as he waits for some sort of update from you. You know you need to tell him how your conversation just went, but something inside you is telling you that JT needs you to spend time with him to normalize everything.

“Sure,” you smile, walking over to his couch and laying on it long ways, forcing JT to sit by himself in his chair. You pull out your phone to text Tyson, smiling as you type out an explanation.

y/n: just finished talking to jt y/n: everything’s good but i think i need to just hang out with him to make him feel better about everything tyson: you sure? y/n: yes, ill call you when he leaves for the airport💚

Everything gets sorted out when you call Tyson an hour later, calming his nerves as you give him a detailed play-by-play of everything that was said between you and JT. The comfortable silence before you hang up is almost filled with him telling you he loves you, but he knows he needs to talk to JT first and needs to tell you in person, and not over the phone as he boards a flight.

The flight was filled with awkward air as most of the guys saw what happened with Tyson and JT in the locker room when practice ended that morning, and even if they weren’t there for that, they felt the tension between them. It’s not until a few hours later when Tyson’s doing his hair before the game when he hears a knock on his hotel door.

He swings the door open to see JT, his hands shoved in his short pockets as he stares right back at Tyson.

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, yeah,” he responds nervously, stepping out of the way to let his friend through the door. The two of them awkwardly stand a few feet away, that meme about two straight guys sitting six feet away in a hot tub because they’re not gay going through Tyson’s brain.

“I, uh, wanted to apologize about everything earlier. I’ll admit, I overreacted a bit and I shouldn’t have tripped you in practice. It was just a lot to take in, especially because I didn’t really know that you two were that close. And I feel like a bad friend now for not knowing that.”

JT’s apology is way more than what Tyson thought he would get from his friend. He knew yours and his conversation went well, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t scared JT was going to punch him or yell at him or literally anything that wasn’t an amicable conversation between two adults.

“It’s fine, man. It’s on us for keeping you in the dark on this one and I’m sorry for that. I think we barely knew what was going on until it was all happening,” Tyson starts to explain. He’s trying not to look at his feet, knowing that JT needs to see the feelings in his face, those feelings that are very much real to him.

“And it’s real for you? It’s not a game? Because I swear to God, Tyson.” JT darts, voice stern.

“God, no, this isn’t a game to me JT,” Tyson answers quickly, head shaking in disgust at the thought. “I’m not just trying to bag her and call it some accomplishment or whatever you think this is. If that was the case I wouldn’t even be having this conversation with you and you’d already hate me,” he shudders at those words, unable to ever think he could do any wrong to you. “You told me a while ago that it’s no bullshit with her and I know that because it isn’t for me either.”

JT takes a seat on the bed in the room as his friend speaks, taking it all in. It’s a lot for him to take in, but Tyson really is one of the best people he’s ever met and he has little to no doubt that he’s telling the truth about how he feels. If the tears brimming your eyes earlier in the day said anything, you feel the exact same way. The room is silent once Tyson is done talking, his nerves causing him to be quiet for once as JT figures out his next move.

“I hear one bad bad thing from y/n, then it’s over,” JT warns, Tyson nodding his head along in agreement. “And if the guys start talking about your sex life I will be cutting your dick off.”

“Got it.”

“Okay, now that that’s out of the way, how’d you get her to go for you? I’ve been trying to get her a guy for forever.”

“Easy, have you seen my charming smile?” Tyson jokes with that crooked smirk of his, happy to see that JT is already moving on from that heavy stuff and onto best friend stuff. JT rolls his eyes heavily at the joke, a light ‘shut up’ coming out as he laughs.

Tyson explains everything then, the same wide smile on his face he had when he scored his first hat trick. He tells JT about how he wined and dined you on more than one occasion, how he learned those little, obscure things about you that you caught you off guard whenever he remembered them, and most importantly, just spent uninterrupted time with you, getting to know the ins and outs of your life. To Tyson, getting you to open up to him was difficult yet still a tranquil thing to do. The latter severely outweighed the former, as the sense of serenity he felt with you would always overpower any of those harder moments.

The team returns to Denver two days later, a quick road trip to Dallas and St Louis in the books with the regular season ending within the week. You can see that it’s that time of the year on both JT and Tyson’s face, their eyes a little more sunken in with the back half push, even if they’ve already clinched the playoffs. There’s only a few more games left to round out March and the beginning of April, the guys’ still waiting on their round one opponent.

Tyson heads straight for your place when the plane touches down late Wednesday night. You’d talked to him every day for the past few days, but not being able to see him much after JT finding out caused a lot of anxiety for the both of you. The problem may be solved with that, but seeing the other would just give you that little extra push that this was the right thing to do.

Tyson enters your apartment quietly, dropping his backpack and suit jacket down onto the nearby couch as he navigates his way through your apartment in the dark. The light of your string lights in your bedroom illuminates the hallway, soft sounds coming from your phone as Tyson walks in on you laying on your side.

“Hey,” he gently greets with a smile, pausing in the doorway to admire you. You set your phone down, turning around to face the man leaning against the door frame.

You smile just as wide as he does, responding with just as gentle of a ‘hey’. That anxiety you felt over the course of the last few days instantly dissolving at the sight of the man in your doorway.

“Why’re you standing all the way over there?” You ask with a pout.

“I can’t just look at you?” Tyson laughs, making his way over to you slowly. He joins you in bed, crawling over you like he’s still not dressed in one of his expensive custom suits.

“Not when I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you complain with a giggle, the same pout still glued to your face. He places a quick kiss on your lips in response, giving into your silent ask while also erasing that puppy dog look from your face. You’d only officially been with Tyson a few weeks now, the butterflies still heavily present in your stomach everytime your lips meet his.

“Do you not have clothes to change into?” You ask, referring to the crisp white button down he’s still wearing. He nods his head no against yours,

“Only what’s dirty from the roadie. Besides, I plan on being naked here pretty soon,” he smirks playfully. The comment has you shoving him off you with a roll of your eyes, only causing him to laugh loudly at your reaction. You know he’s partly kidding, using that as an excuse to get up from bed to go to the bathroom.

When you emerge from the bathroom, he’s finally shed his clothes and is under your covers. He opens his arms for you to snuggle into him. You do, resting your head on his bicep as he wraps both of his arms back around you.

“I missed you,” you let out. “Because I didn’t know what was gonna happen when you got back with everything going on with JT.”

“I missed you, too, but I’ve always missed you when we left for road trips,” he responds, letting you in on a little secret that clues you in once again to how real this is and how long it’s truly been going on for. “He’s fine with everything, he just told me we can’t act too much like a couple around him.”

You chuckle at that because of course that was the part JT focused on when they talked. As you look up at him, your heart is full and your head still has that same fuzzy feeling it always has when you’re around him. With him you’ve never really felt lonely, something you often felt even when you were around people before him. Those love songs you once heard on the radio that annoyed you no longer do, and instead you welcome them when they play spontaneously in the car or at the bar and parties or even at Avalanche games. 

The thoughts swimming around in your head have you swinging your leg over him, straddling his hips with his hands on your waist and yours on his ribs. That doe-eyed smile he has is focused on you, a grin spreading over your face at the way everything’s worked out with him. Your heart flutters as he gently squeezes your side, a small squeak coming out. He leans up on his elbows then, admiring the view he has of you. He slowly yet full-heartedly fell for you over the time he’s known you and you can see it in the way his gaze turns soft and as the quirkiness drops from his expression.

You’ve slowly fallen in love with the man underneath you, too, and you lean down to kiss him one more time. It’s slow like they always seem to be with him in scenarios like this, where it’s just the two of you and the sounds of your breathing.

The playoffs fly by quickly with the pace they’re winning at, a WAG jacket wrapped tightly around your shoulders to every game you make it to. A new one is shoved into your hands at the start of the Stanley Cup playoffs, Mel telling you it’s a special occasion that calls for a new jacket, even if it is just for a series and even though you’ve just barely broken in your first one.

You go into that offseason with your newly crowned Stanley Cup Champion of a boyfriend, flying out to Chicago over the summer for JT’s day with the cup and spending a whole week in St. Albert when its Tyson’s turn with it.

And that picture frame you never found a picture for that’s hanging up on your wall by your TV? It’s been occupied now with a photo of you sandwiched between JT and Tyson on the ice after Game 6 against the Tampa Bay Lightning, the Cup on the ice in front of the three of you, faces full of glee with confetti falling around you.

Plus One

The pitter patter of small feet running along the hardwood floors of the hallway, followed by a squeal of ‘daddy’ has you setting your glass down and following after her. Your daughter’s giggle is heard through the house, the familiar sound of your husband dropping his bags by the front door following soon after.

“What’re you still doing up, baby girl?” Tyson chastises the four year old as you round the corner to find the two of them still by the door, your daughter in Tyson’s arms as he gives her a kiss.

“Sage said she wouldn’t go to bed until daddy came home for story time,” you answer for Sage. She only giggles in response.

“How about you go get in bed and mommy and daddy will come tell you a story in a minute?” Tyson asks, playing with her little fingers.

“Okay daddy!” She agrees instantly, running all the way up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. The brown curls she got from Tyson bounce as she runs, your heart warming at the heavy resemblance she has to her father.

“How are you doing, baby?” Tyson hums as you give him the usual welcome home kiss, his hand coming to rest on your protruding stomach.

“Good, the back pain is much more manageable now, but I’m still going to the bathroom every hour it seems like,” you shrug as you answer. He’d been on the longest road trip of the season so far, one that means the season is almost over. You’d tried extremely hard this time around to get pregnant at the right time so your next child would arrive during the offseason and not in the middle of the conference finals like your first did a few years ago.

“Soon enough we’ll have her running and occupying all of Sage’s free time,” Tyson muses, the two of you making your way to your bedroom so he could change into comfier clothes. You smile at the thought of Sage finally having a little sister to play with and hopefully become best friends with.

When you don’t get to Sage’s room fast enough, she’s racing into yours and Tyson’s room and plopping down onto your spacious bed. You join her, Tyson following, knowing that she’d much rather be sandwiched between the two of you than in her tiny bed in her own room. She leans into her dad’s side, something she’s always done, but you don’t mind — you love seeing them get so close.

“Did you bring a book, sweetie?” You ask her, taming some of her curls.

“No, tell me the story of how you met daddy again,” she proposes, causing you and Tyson to share a look. It’s her favorite story, one she asks you to relay to her at least once a week, and the one she asks for the most when Tyson’s been gone.

The two of you tell the story to her anyway, taking turns as you tell her how upset Uncle JT was about the two of you dating, all the way to the jokes he made sure to make when he gave a speech at your wedding six years ago now.

[blueskrugs]

length: 3.3k

full fic

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

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

But he was getting ahead of himself. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t,” JT points out, and, oh. 

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

Gabe, the nosy asshole, leans over Cale to give his two cents. “Josty, I think you need another beer.” Tyson glares at his unfortunately almost-empty beer bottle. He glances over at the bar again. This time, a girl catches his eye and gives him a small smile over her friend’s shoulder. She is kind of cute, Tyson supposes. Tyson heaves a sigh and elbows JT again to force him out of the booth. A small cheer goes up. He flips them off without turning around. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he breathes.

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

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

“I should go,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitates. Tyson understands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Madison says, startling Tyson. 

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

“Tyson?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you let me up?” she asks.

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

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

Tyson doesn’t pin her against the elevator wall to kiss her after the doors close behind them, but Madison can tell he wants to. She squeezes his hand, and Tyson pulls her into his side. “Little excited, huh?” Madison teases, looking at Tyson’s feet.

He wiggles his socked toes and grins at Madison. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have to go?” Tyson whines, watching Madison sit up and search for her clothes. Tyson thinks her T-shirt ended up behind his couch. Madison pauses. Tyson’s curls are a disaster, and Madison kind of wants to mess them up more. “And what exactly would we do if I stayed?” she asks, eyebrows raised. She threads her fingers into Tyson’s hair, tugs once, because she can. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pizza’s here, babe,” he says softly.

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

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

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

Madison blinks awake to find Tyson watching her. She rubs at her eyes and rolls onto her back. “Whatchu lookin’ at?” she mumbles. She turns her head back to look at Tyson. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he says now is, “Breakfast?”

december

[ivyglow]

I don’t want you like a best friend - Andre Burakovsky

A/n: Sooo, I wrote this as some kind of gift to my best friend because she loves Andre and she was trying to get me on his train (I guess she did?). She’s always hitting me with “no but you should definitely write about Tito/Andre”. Here’s your piece @skarsgardswiftie​ I hope you like it! <3 I love you sm Also, a huge shout out to @sebs-aston​ for proofreading this with such an attentive eye! You’re amazing, liv! 

Requested: yes / no

Word count: 1.9k 

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol 

Summary: you’re friends with Andre, but things are about to change after you create a TikTok account and start doing challenges that may lead to news between you and your favorite hockey player.

When it comes to capturing a moment you’re usually the person your friends think about, not simply because you’re always carrying a camera -mainly because of it-, but because you’re great with what you do -either photos or videos-. That’s also why your Instagram profile has more followers than an ordinary girl would and it’s the only place people can find you -besides e-mail-. However, that changed when your best friend -Callie- convinced you to create a TikTok account. You, of course, hated it, but she had the perfect opportunity -you were a bit tipsy, all your friends around, sunny weekend and so it goes. 

“Mikko, do you think I’m pretty?” You direct the camera to his face while looking expectantly. 

Saturday evening rolled around, the hot weather forcing your friends either to the inside of the pool or under the sunshade and their hands busy with cold drinks. It was a happy day, everyone was around, and you were enjoying the vacation. You had met half of the Hockey team as soon as you moved to Colorado and Erik, your and your brother’s hometown best friend decided you needed to know his crew and the city around. Six months later and you knew pretty much everyone and everything.

“Of course I think you’re pretty” he gives you a confused look before you turn to Tyson giggling.

“Josty, do you think I’m pretty?” you ask and he looks straight at the camera “I would give you 5 out of 10 cause you’re bro.”

You laugh and turn to Andre this time.

“Andre, do you think I’m pretty?” 

He seems taken aback by the question and unlike Tyson, he stares at you. “Of course you’re pretty.”

You keep to your task and last but not least is Nathan, he’s sitting at a table while working on some drinks and you take him by surprise by jumping in front of him. “Mac, do you think I’m pretty?”

He rolls his eyes playfully and turns his attention to you for some seconds before looking at his drink again, “I would one hundred percent date you if you were not my sisters’ best friend” 

And then your time is over. 

“So you’re a tiktoker now?” Erik sits beside you and Nathan just as you uploaded the video. He raises his eyebrows and you roll your eyes lightly, “you know I hate TikTok, but it’s fun, so…”

“She’s gonna end up famous there too”, Andre announces leaning his body on the table and motioning for Nathan to refill his drink. Your eyes roam on his big hands grasping the red cup, his cheeks red from the sun, and the way you could see his dimples when he smiled at you, his hair messy in a cute way. 

“Why do you think that?” now he has three pairs of curious eyes staring at him.

You almost chuckled when his point finger scratched his chin. His skin glowing, “I mean, you’re funny and cute…cute girls get famous on TikTok” he reasoned. 

“Is this your best, Burki?” Erik asks and for the way his lips were tight against each other you knew he wanted to laugh.

“C’mon, let them be,” Nathan said after giving the blond American a new cup, and before you could ask what was the matter Callie was calling you at the door. 

Your best friend started a rant about how she was going to get Chinese take-out for dinner and when you told her she should get Thai too -because it was Andre’s favorite- she started another rant about how you should tell him you’re in love and how it was cute the way you two functioned but also annoying. All you could do was savor your drink and mentally play a Taylor Swift song while she went on, “I mean it, y/n! Just tell him already…”

“Have you seen Andre?!” you whisper-scream to her and Callie sights rolling her eyes, “what about him?” 

Swallowing the last sip of your drink you start to draw doodles on the glass with your fingers, “I’m just y/n, he’s Andre Burakovsky”. You usually were not insecure about your looks, but it was Andre, and the fact that he was a famous and good-looking hockey player made you question how in heavens he would like you back. Hell, you were not even sure how you two ended up in such a close friendship, he always being so affectionate and listening to everything you had to say. Your friendship seemed like the most you could take from the interaction. You knew he was ‘just Andre’ too when all your friends were gathered, but being ‘just Andre’ was as amazing as being Andre Burakovsky the hockey player. 

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, y/n, and I don’t mean considering only your looks, but everything. You’re funny, smart, and always so attentive with everyone, you listen to everything and always have nice things to say, don’t you ever doubt your value, you hear me?” Callie’s words make you sit up straight in the stall and your eyes water. 

“In my defense, this is not me crying, this is tipsy me having an emotional moment”, you joke and it’s seconds before the two of you are laughing the way you used to during a John Mulaney show. 

…

It was night when you unlocked your phone only to find a bunch of notifications from TikTok, some of the comments from fans about how happy the boys seemed, but most were about the way Andre looked at you when you asked the question. According to the most liked comment “this is clearly a friends to lovers, mutual pining, unaware love and slow-burn situation” which made you giggle but also replay the video a dozen times trying to figure out if there was really something there and you were the unaware one. 

Needless to say, you weren’t able to reach a conclusion, but it felt different when you excused yourself to take a shower after spilling wine in your shirt and you felt Andre’s eyes on you all the way to the stairs. His hands on your shoulders felt heavier and the way he was attentive whenever you needed a refill or wanted a bite of food seemed more intimate and caring than ever.

Hitting the shuffle button, you chose your Taylor Swift playlist before entering the shower. The cold water cooled you off a bit, it was almost like washing out part of the alcohol in your system, but your tipsy mind kept finding evidence that Andre liked you back. 

You went through your clothes finding a floral summer dress and sipping on your wine while brushing your hair. Your body was still feeling hot and at this point, you didn’t know if it was from the sun on your face or the alcohol in your system, but when you heard the first notes of “Dress” playing you knew you were going to do something stupid, especially because your cell phone was one arm away. If someone asked you where the idea came from you wouldn’t know what to answer, and usually thinking about how you didn’t have an answer was enough to make you give up on some stupid ideas...not this one though. 

Reaching for your phone you unlocked it and walked to the body-length mirror in the room you were sharing with Callie. It took less than 2 minutes to snap a picture and send it to him and it took him less than 1 minute to answer it.

‘Woah’

‘You liked it?’ you sent back

‘Yeah, you’re looking good, cutie’ he answered just as fast, before sending a red heart emoji.

‘I don’t want you like a friend’

‘and I only bought this dress so you could take it off’

It was the exact line Taylor was singing when you reached the send button. You saw the dots appearing and disappearing and your body sobered up even more than before. 

“Fuck!” you almost voiced. How would he look at you after this? Could you pretend you confused him with someone else? Of course not, he was the only Andre you knew! And everyone knew better you were not the bold flirty type.

That was it, your secret was spilled just like your wine on your shirt earlier, but now you wouldn’t be able to clean off the stain. 

Would he believe it if you told him it was a prank to your new TikTok account?

You were lost in your thoughts before three knocks on your door startled you. And there he was when you pushed the door open. Standing with his hands inside his pockets and his hair still messy, he stared at you. It took maybe five minutes before he spoke, but it felt like an eternity considering his intense eyes studying you.

“You’re looking even better this close” for some reason his voice is low like he didn’t want anyone to hear and pop the bubble of the moment. 

You feel your body getting hotter, pretty sure your face is turning even redder, so you reach your hands to both of your cheeks. That gets a giggle out of Andre and you instantly move them to your back, your eyes now staring at his bare feet. 

All you wanted to do was bury yourself on a rabbit hole until Andre lost his memory, or you lost yours. You were thinking about the possibility of a secret society -Alice in Wonderland style- inside the rabbit hole that you could live in forever when Burki extended his hand, his palm facing you, silently asking you to put your hand in his. So you did. And it was only a blink of an eye before his body was closer, almost touching yours.

“You’re not that drunk, are you?” he questioned. 

You shook your head no and he moved his hand to your waist as a message that maybe -and only maybe- he wanted to be close too. So you moved your right one to his large shoulders. 

“I’m glad you’re not drunk…” 

“I’m just a bit hot and bothered” and dying out of shame! You screamed inside your head. 

“Oh sure you are”, he replied with a small smile playing at the corner of his pink lips. Your brows raised in confusion and before you could ask, he answered, “hot. You’re hot”.

“Does it mean you’re gonna take my dress off?” you have no idea when you got so bold, but Andre seemed amused with everything. 

“No, not tonight. You’re not drunk, but you’re a bit tipsy, I don’t want to start things like this” his fingers are in your cheekbone and you lean into him. “I’m gonna kiss you though, can I?” 

His lips, so different from his hands, were soft and hot. They found yours timidly, exploring the space while his body welcomed yours closer, he took his time before his fingers were in your hair and his tongue caught your lips. 

It felt good.

Like never before. 

For some seconds you wished to be able to capture the moment and save it forever. Repeat it in your head every day. 

Andre played with the strings of your dress, slipping it off your shoulders and you got into your tiptoes to peck his lips one last time. 

“So...I take you really liked the dress?” 

“I actually like you, the dress is a bonus” he shrugs and you giggle before finding yourself wrapped in another kiss. 

[jostystyles]

our love was made for the movies | jtc

a/n: because i am always late to everything i've ever done, here is my fic for @antoineroussel 's fic exchange! this is always such a joy to do demi, thank you <3 this fic is for @apoormansyou , i hope you enjoy!! (edit: i had this queued to post on the 31st until i realized i set it to post on july 31st 2023. im an idiot.)

warnings: swearing, tooth rotting fluff, jt being my puppet for a rom com boy, allusions to sex, fem reader pronouns

word count: 2.2k

In the movies, they always over elaborate the scene where the main characters realize they’re in love. 

There’s a soundtrack playing, usually some orchestral ballad or a top 40 love song, the camera work is exaggerated, and there’s a close up of the character smiling at a cheesy shot of their love interest doing something cute. 

But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life. 

And JT knew he was in love without all that stuff you see in the movies. 

But for the sake of the story, let’s set the scene. 

Our story starts 3 years ago at a coffee shop in Denver. Tyson had asked JT if he wanted to go after practice because he had a crush on the barista and was afraid of embarrassing himself. Naturally, JT grudgingly obliged, half because he loved his best friend and half because he was hoping Tyson would do something stupid. And something stupid he did. 

“I’m telling you bro, she’s totally into me. She gave me the biggest cinnamon roll!” Tyson gloated. JT rolled his eyes. 

“That doesn’t necessarily mean she likes you genius. She picked the one that was closest to her in the case.” He replied. 

Tyson scoffed,” Whatever man. You just can’t believe that-“ There’s the stupid. As he turned back to retaliate against JT, he ended up walking right into someone, spilling his iced latte all over them. 

JTs eyes widened as he tried to stop the inevitable, but it was too late. The girl stood dumb founded, her blouse now covered in the brownness of Tyson’s stupidity. 

“Oh, fuck, I am SO sorry ma’am.” The curly haired boy said, looking frantically around for something to clean up. 

“It’s um, it’s ok. Wouldn’t be the first time this had actually happened.” the girl laughed.

“Josty, you idiot. Go get paper towels.” JT grumbled. 

As Tyson sputtered an apology and left, JT turned to the girl who somehow didn’t seem as upset as he would’ve been given her situation. 

“I’m really sorry about him. He’s kind of an idiot.” 

She let out a laugh, and JT came to realize that his heart skipped a beat upon hearing the sound. 

“It’s ok. I have an idiot friend too. Besides, I kinda thought this shirt could use a coffee stain.”

JT chuckled, brown eyes looking up to meet her (Y/E/C) ones. In that moment he knew he was fucked. 

“I’m (Y/N) by the way.” She said, the corner of her mouth turned up into a smile.

JT swallowed a lump he didn’t know he had in his throat. “I’m uh, I’m JT.” he replied. 

JT thinks that he was going to like (Y/N).

Almost 4 months after Tyson made a fool of himself, JT had fallen quite hard for the girl from the cafe. 

As much as a klutz Tyson is, JT really had to thank him for it this time. After they had helped her clean up her shirt, Tyson had removed himself from the situation out of embarrassment. That left JT and (Y/N) to make small talk, and one thing led to another. 

Now, JT stood in the rafters of Red Rocks Arena at a Coldplay concert, with a huge smile on his face. But the smile wasn’t directed towards the band at all, no. In fact, he was staring at (Y/N). She stood at his side, full attention directed towards the band on stage. Her (Y/H/C) was bouncing at the speed she was jumping, her floral sundress pillowing it out like a cloud around her each time she rose off the ground. Her eyes were shut so tight that JT was sure she was seeing stars, and the electro lights illuminated her features. 

Growing up with two sisters, JT had watched his fair share of rom coms. He always rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of them, and the dramatic scenes where the guy finally get the girl. He never understood why Morgan squealed when Kat read her list to Patrick, or why Jesse always said her childhood crush was Jack from While You Were Sleeping. 

But now it hits him. He never understood what love was really like until this very moment. 

In this moment, he was standing with a grin on his face, watching a girl who was a stranger to him 4 months ago dance her heart out to a band he had never really paid attention to before. 

After the concert had ended, they sat on the floor at the end of JT’s bed, an open pizza box laid across their laps. (Y/N) was a little drunker than she’d like to admit, but JT had insisted he’d do the driving so she could let loose a little. 

There was a comfortable silence between the two of them, the only sound to be heard was the faint chewing of food.

Swallowing a bite, (Y/N) wiped some grease from the side of her mouth before speaking up. “Y’know, I had a really good time tonight, J. You really outdid yourself on this date.” 

JT replied with a chuckle. “I don’t really think I had much of a part in causing you fun as Chris Martin did.” 

“Ok, that may be true. But, he's not the one who bought me a tshirt and is now eating pizza and asking me about my day.” 

JT laughed again, looking to his left at her. She had a few crumbs on her face, and was looking up at him with the biggest (Y/E/C)-est eyes he’d ever seen. Her makeup was a little smudged and her hair a bit out of sorts, but he doesnt think he’d seen anything more beautiful. 

“Can I tell you something?” he said too quickly before he could think. (Y/N)’s eyebrows rose a bit in surprise. 

“Yeah, of course.” She said softly. 

Looking down, he realized that their hands were intertwined slightly, and he gave hers a squeeze before taking a deep breath. 

This was it. Now or Never. If there were boxes to check in the story of JT’s rom com, quite a few had already been checked. Denial that true love exists. Meet cute. The comedic relief best friend. Girl who changes his point of view. Moment of realization. 

Now, he was about to check another box. The love confession. It might not be a kiss in the rain, an objection at a wedding, or a first kiss in front of the building they used to work in together. But it belonged to him. This was JT writing his own story, the one where he tells about the love of his life. 

And she was sitting right next to him, looking at him with wide eyes, probably expecting the worst. 

“I’m just going to cut right to the chase. I’m not usually, like, good with words or anything, and I don’t exactly like, know how to do this. But I do know a few things. I know that Tyson is an idiot,” that elicited a laugh from (Y/N), “And without that idiot I wouldn’t have you. I know that meeting you changed my life forever. I know that we want the same things out of this. At least, I hope you feel the same as I do. And I know that we’ve only been together for like, 4 months, but I just really want you to know how I feel, even though it scares the fuck out of me and I don’t know what I’m doing. But I think I love you. Wait, no I know it. I don’t think. I know I do. Love you.” He finished, knowing that he just rambled on and probably sounded like an idiot. 

Looking up at (Y/N), he noticed that her eyes were teary. “Oh no, you’re crying. I’m sor-”

“NO! No I’m not. These are happy tears. I promise.” She cut him off. “I feel the same way. About everything. It sounds crazy, but you’ve changed my life and my outlook on a lot of things. And I want this with you, I really do. I love you too, JT.” 

JT smiled, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks and flow through his veins. In a swift motion, he threw the pizza box across the room, grabbed (Y/N), and practically threw both of them onto the bed. A soft squeal followed by a giggle came from her lips just before he captured them in a sweet yet passionate kiss.

As the kissing ensued, and their bodies grew closer together with each piece of clothing discarded, only one thought was running through his brain. 

JT really loved (Y/N). 

Now, in some stories, the movie ends with that. The lovers embrace intimately after confessing their love that was discovered throughout the story, and an upbeat love song plays as the screen fades to black and the credits roll. But this is not where JT and (Y/N)’s story ends.

It’s been 3 years since that night. Of course, there were times where it got tough, like always, but true love always comes out on top. The love story continued, and (Y/N) has been through JT’s side through it all. Their first home together, a cat named Dumpling, Jesse’s Olympic run, and Tyson’s trade. (Y/N) was there to hold JT when he cried about losing his best friend to the trade, and JT did the same for her when her friendship ended with a close friend. 

Their relationship wasn't picture perfect, but it was healthy. JT and (Y/N) were two sides of the same coin. Twin flames. Destined to be together, if you really wanted to be specific. 

They’d been through a lot of monumental things together, but nothing really compared to what was happening right now. 

(Y/N) sat in the rafters of Amelie Arena, head in her hands. “I can’t fucking watch this Jesse. I can’t look up.” 

“(Y/N), its fucking happening. JT is going to win the Stanley Cup.” Jesse replied, gripping her arm and shaking it.

Just as she finished speaking, the buzzer sounded off, signifying the Avalanche as the 2022 Stanley Cup Champions. (Y/N) jumped up, cheering at the top of her lungs and tears streaming down her face. She began to embrace each of JT’s family members in her arms, and before she knew it she was down on the ice, eyes scanning the crowd for the familiar head of bright red hair. 

JT spotted her before she saw him. His head was full of a million thoughts, but they all reduced to one as soon as he saw her. “(Y/N)!” he called out, and before he could say another word, she came running across the carpet on ice and jumping into his arms.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD. You did it baby, you fucking did it. I’m so proud of you what the fuck.” She rambled on, the tears falling from her cheeks onto his, rambling on in between kisses. 

“We did it baby. Stanley Cup champs.” JT said, voice wavering, not even realizing he was crying. 

“God, I love you so much J. I’m so proud of you.” (Y/N) said, running her fingers up and down his face, pushing tears away. 

He looked away from her for a second, seeing his fellow teammates embracing each other, and their loved ones, and even at his mom for a second. As he looked down at (Y/N) once again, he realized something. 

JT had done a lot of realizations while looking at his girlfriend throughout their relationship. But this was a big one, one that he had been pondering on for a bit of time. 

This was the part of the story where the main characters get their happy ending. The problem is resolved, the dragon is slayed, the princess is saved, whatever. JT’s happy ending was (Y/N). All the movies and the romance novels that he once found ridiculous made perfect sense, and he loved them. Because he knew what it was like to experience them, all because of her. The girl who made him believe in love. And he realized he never wanted to let that go, ever. 

“Marry me.” He said, looking at her once again.

(Y/N)’s head shot up, a surprised “What?” falling from her lips. 

“Marry me. I mean it. I don’t have a ring or anything, and this is not at all how I pictured doing this, but that’s not how anything has ever been with you. It’s always unexpected. I never expected you in my life. Or to win the Stanley Cup. But I know I never want to forget this, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, marry me?” He finished. 

“Yed, fuck yes, I’ll marry you. Oh my god.” (Y/N) babbled, as JT closed the gap between them, her hands tangling in his hair and lips burning with the scruff of his beard. 

This is where our story ends. JT and (Y/N)’s story is far from over, but this is where we have to part for now. But, this isn’t really a movie is it? This is real life. 

And JT was going to marry (Y/N), the love of his life. 

Scene. 

[FADE TO BLACK, CAMERA RISING AS “HEAD OVER HEELS” BY TEARS FOR FEARS PLAYS.]

[comphersjost]

More Than This ➸ Mikko Rantanen

its 3 am and i couldnt wait to post this. its self indulgent, all of it

You have a thing for bigger guys. And Mikko, well, he takes notice.

word count: 3.9k+

warnings: slight angst? if you squint, reader cant get off, size kink (obviously), smut, thigh riding, mutual pining if you squint, sorta best friend!jt

masterlist

You didn't know how you let JT talk you into letting him swipe through your Bumble account. And you definitely don't know how he managed to get you to let him do it while displaying your phone on his Apple TV. And what you absolutely, totally, completely did not know, was how you let him keep going when Ryan, EJ, Gabe, Mikko, Naz and some of the wives and girlfriends arrived at his and Josty’s shared apartment. 

You'd known JT for years, so your dating life wasn't exactly a new subject for you. Besides, it had seemed fun at the time, the group of you lounging around the living room as JT swipes through Bumble for you.

“Hey what about this guy? He's cute!” Gabe says. JT scrolls through the guy’s profile.

“Wait,” you said, stopping him from scrolling any further. “6’4? Swipe right.”

The group erupts into laughter at your words, though you were being completely serious. JT swipes right anyways without scrolling through the rest of “Andy”’s profile, the group cheering as you match. You lock eyes with Mikko, completely by accident, and the dark look in his eyes tells you he knows something you don't. He stands, announcing he's going to get a drink from the kitchen, but you don't miss the smirk tugging at his lips as you gulp, your eyes travel up his hulking frame. 

Your attention is pulled away by Naz saying something about a guy’s bio being “ultimate douchebag vibes”, and that’s when you decide it's been enough. You snatch your phone back from JT, disconnecting from the screen mirroring despite the protests around you. 

“You guys have snooped into my dating life enough,” you laugh, “All thanks to Comph here, but that’s enough, seriously.”

With a grumble, the group relents, allowing the conversation to progress past “6’4? Swipe right.”

-

You were staring again. 

You knew it too. You also knew that if you didn't stop soon - like, now - you were gonna get caught. Again. Just as a thought goes through your head, you feel an elbow digging into your side. 

“If you want to fuck him, just shoot your shot.” You turn to glare at Ashley, finally tearing your eyes away from the blonde brute on the other side of the bar. You reach over to smack JT with the back of your hand as he starts laughing.

“Fuck off, dude,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Even if I wanted to - which I don't, by the way - I couldn't.”

“Says who?” JT says incredulously. “Besides, don't you have a thing for big dudes?” As your oldest friend of the group (though he wasn't always your friend for as long as you've known him, he was your brother’s friend from college before you moved to Denver), JT had the most shit to talk. 

“Says my contract with your team, Jimothy.” The ginger grimaces at the nickname, but lets it slide, opting out of his usual reaction of punching the guys in the arms when they called him that. Instead he laughs again at your defensive expression and your avoidance of his question, turning to call the rest of the guys back to your table. Your glare intensifies as he gives you a shit-eating grin. 

“Technically you don't know that it says that. What's the worst that could happen, Y/N?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows in a manner that was so unlike him. Drunk JT was the worst you thought. “I'm sure he’d be down for a -” he pauses dramatically “night of passion.” 

You gag at the way he says it, at the same time you here an accented voice say.

“Who wants a night of passion?” 

You tense, not having realized the rest of the team had actually come back so quickly. You force yourself to relax and paint a playful smile on your face, turning to look at the Fin. 

“Nothing, Jimothy’s just being stupid as usual,” you say dryly, scooting over as Mikko motions for you to move further in the booth. You pretend not to notice Ashley’s shit-eating grin as Naz rolls his eyes at her antics. Luckily no one at the table says anything incriminating before the boys start up a new conversation. 

In the chaos you almost don't notice Mikko stretching, placing an arm behind you on the booth. But you do notice, and it makes you stiffen. Mikko feels your body go rigid, glancing down at you with a confused pout. He leans down for a moment until his mouth is by your ear. 

“Are you okay?” he murmurs as his hand drops to caress your shoulder in what you guessed was supposed to be a comforting manner. 

“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” you lie easily, avoiding his gaze. “Just a little on edge.” 

If it was possible his voice lowers, making you strain to hear him. “Just relax.” And - that really doesn't help, heat settling in your gut at the words. 

“Actually -” you say abruptly, finally meeting his eyes for the first time that night, “I think I’m gonna go home. I’m just not feeling it.” 

You can see Ashley watching you closely from the corner of your eye, but you don't turn to look at her. Instead you raise an eyebrow expectantly, motioning for Mikko to get up out of the booth so you could leave. He looks surprised by your sudden desire to leave - lips parted in confusion and what you thought was a hint of hurt. 

With a reluctant look on his face, Mikko slides out of the booth, stepping aside to let you slip past. You send a quick wave to the table, and after a brief goodbye, head towards the exit to wait for your Uber. You assumed Mikko sat back down as you walked away, so it surprised you when you heard Mikko call after you just as you'd begun to walk towards the curb. 

“Y/N! Wait!” 

Your step falters for a moment as you glance over your shoulder, pausin to let Mikko catch up with you. He reaches for you for a moment, before pulling back. 

“Are you okay? Seriously.” 

And like, you hate the concern in his voice. Stupid you think. Stupid accent and stupid pouty lips and stupid - 

Your thoughts are interrupted by Mikko repeating your name, softer this time, as he takes a step closer to you. Your breath hitches at you stare at him towering over you, trying to force yourself to think of anything other than how his massive hands would feel on your body. 

“Yeah,” you finally choke out, taking a step backwards towards your waiting Uber. “Yeah, I’m good, just - I'm just tired and have a lot on my plate right now.” 

You're reaching for the door before he can respond, barely catching his faint “Text me when you get home safe!” before the door is closed. You pretend not to hear him. The driver glances at you in the mirror quizzically, seemingly wanting to ask how you left Mikko Rantanen outside of a bar without so much as a goodbye, but thinks better of it, turning up the soft music on the radio as he begins the drive towards your apartment. 

You feel drained when you finally get home, showering and changing into more comfortable clothes as quickly as you can before crawling into bed. Your thoughts drift to Mikko as you close your eyes, the heat in your gut from before returning. You consider taking care of yourself, but considering you haven't been able to get off in weeks, the idea seems even more exhausting, so you let sleep overtake you. 

- 

“You didn't text me.” 

You glance up from your laptop to see Mikko standing in the aisle of the plane, his eyebrows furrowed into a slight frown. 

“What?” you say dumbly, you stare up at him, forcing your attention away from one of his enormous hands as it curls around the back of the seat in front of you. You only succeed in noticing his thighs in his basketball shorts, the chiseled muscles making your mouth go dry.

“When you left yesterday,” he clarifies, pulling your gaze away from his thighs. “I told you to text me when you got home safe.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

You're taken aback by irritation in his tone - and slightly offended. Who was he to be annoyed with you? 

“Well, I was really tired, so…” you trail off, eyes falling back to your laptop screen. You hope he takes it as an end to the conversation, and luckily, he does. 

You feel bad for being short with him, but JT and Ashley’s teasing from the night before - and, let’s face it, from months before - was getting to you. You can't help but watch Mikko’s back as he retreats, heading back to the front of the plane where he usually sat. 

You see him slump in his seat, blonde curls barely visible over the backrest, and a pang of guilt shoots through you. It’s gone the moment you catch JT’s eye, flipping him off as he grins knowingly, before shaking your head and focusing on your work. 

You didn't have time to lust over Mikko. Not when you had the job that needed your complete focus. 

The flight is short, and you arrive in Edmonton faster than you thought you would. You try to ignore Mikko’s burning stare as the players and staff exit the plane, trying your best to tune into the animated story Josty was telling JT. 

You breathe a sigh of relief once you close the door to your hotel room, finally relaxing for the first time all day. The game wasn't until tomorrow, so you knew you had time to do what you wanted - which was absolutely nothing. 

And nothing you did, lounging around in your room watching Netflix and declining an offer from JT to go out with, well, everyone. It didn't help that you knew Mikko and Mark’s room was directly next to yours, but as you heard the chaos of a group of 30 grown men, and then some, heading out for the night, you relaxed a little more. 

An idea pops into your head when the noise finally fades, your hands slipping further down your body to rest above your shorts. You were tense, and needed release - desperately. You give in to yourself, slipping your fingers under your shorts and panties, gasping as your fingers slide through your folds. You're already wet, sensitive from not having been able to cum in weeks. 

A soft whimper escapes your lips as your fingertips find your clit, rubbing gently to work yourself up. You can't help the noises that escape your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet, but easing up when you remembered that everyone had gone out. 

Your breath quickens as you rub tight, fast circles on your cunt, your back arching. Your other hand finds your breast through your thin t-shirt, pulling and pinching at your nipple. The added sensation makes you moan loudly into the empty room. 

Your hand moves faster and faster in your panties as you pinch your nipple roughly, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to keep yourself quiet - just in case. 

You're so so close, you can feel it. Your orgasm is right there, and it feels endless as you chase it. You move the hand that's playing with your breasts down to slip under your panties, sinking two fingers into your pussy. Your back arches even more at the feeling, whines escaping you now even with your lip between your teeth. You just - you need something to push you over the edge into you euphoria but - 

“Fuck!” you sob, your body collapsing back onto your bed as your hands cease their movements. You draw your hands out of your shorts, repeating “Fuck”, before resigning to the fact that you just can't cum. Tears slip down your cheeks as you attempt to catch your breath. It ached, how bad you needed to cum but you just couldn't. So you give up on, trying to find anything else to focus on. Only hours later did you find yourself falling into a restless sleep. 

- 

The knock on your door makes you jump, the sound echoing in your empty apartment. You frown as you think Who the fuck is here this late? You'd only just gotten home and settled from your trip to Edmonton, finally relaxing on your couch with Netlix already pulled up and ready to browse through. You're so caught up in wondering who could be at your door that another three heavy knocks sound at the door. 

 Impatient much? you think bitterly as you make your way to the door. 

You nearly slam it shut again when you see who's on the other side. 

“Mikko,” you say, a questioning tone to your voice. “What are you-” 

“I heard you.” His words are abrupt, cutting your sentence off. You frown, not understanding what he means. You step aside to let him come in, and he doesn't hesitate before sweeping into your apartment, slipping his shoes off and taking a seat at your couch. 

You raise your eyebrows at Mikko’s boldness as you come to stand in front of him, about to ask him to clarify what exactly it was he heard, before he answers the question for you. 

“Last night. In Edmonton.” 

Your blood runs cold, but his voice lowers, thick with intention. 

“I could hear you, when you couldn't cum.” 

“I - I -” you stutter for a moment, “I thought everyone went out last night.” 

It's not a denial of what Mikko said, and he knows it. 

“I stayed behind,” he says simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His eyes are dark, and you can't bring yourself to look away, no matter how badly you wanted to. 

“I…” You flush under his gaze, somehow both absolutely mortified by him hearing you, and curious to see what he would say. “And you're telling me this because…?” 

Mikko is silent for a few moments, mulling over his words. “Let me help you,” he finally says, his voice low and husky. “Let me help you cum.” 

You can't help the way you gasp, the desperation from the night before flaring up again. 

“Mikko I don't-” 

“Think it's a good idea?” he finishes, his hands coming to rest on your waist, pulling you closer. “I don't care. I want...I want you. I want this. I want to help you.” 

“Mikko…” 

You sound uncertain but he knows you've already made up your mind. You let out a yelp as he tugs you roughly into his lap, smashing his lips into yours. A moan escapes you immediately, god he was incredible. Mikko is big, he's so big that one of his arms wraps itself almost completely around your waist, the other coming up to cup your face, nearly covering half of it. You feel small in his lap, and you love it. 

His tongue darts in and out of your mouth, coaxing small noise from you as you grip his shoulders. It was better than you could have ever imagined, the way he bites your bottom lip and tugs back on it with a smile. You whine again as his giant hand falls to your ass, flexing over the flesh and squeezing. 

He pushes against your ass, guiding you to rock against him. You tear your lips away from him, head falling to his shoulder at the friction. Your brain is fried, unable to think of anything but the behemoth of a man in front of you. 

“God he's so painfully my type” you remember telling your friend when you first moved to Denver. You didn't tell her why. You didn't tell her it was because of his size. You didn't tell her it was because he was over a foot taller than you. And you definitely didn't tell her it was because you wanted him to use that size to his advantage with you. 

And use it he did, moving your body the way he wants against him as you whimper pathetically. Mikko maneuvers you so that you're seated on one of his massive thighs, your leggings doing next to nothing to provide a barrier between your cunt and his thigh. 

“Please,” you find yourself whining before you can stop yourself. The pressure of his leg against your clit makes you giddy, unable to think of anything but more more more. Mikko’s hand on your ass guides you, rocking your hips against him as the other caresses your hair. 

“That's it,” he spurs you on, accent thickening as he moves you, “Just like that, good girl. Feels good doesn't it?” 

You whimper again and nod against his neck, moving your hips even as he guides you. The friction feels delicious against your cunt, and you can already feel your orgasm building up. Mikko murmurs soft words of encouragement as you rut against him, the tent in his sweatpants growing tighter as more noises escape your throat. 

Logically, you knew Mikko’s size would likely match the size of his cock but - nothing could have prepared you for what you felt against your thigh as you rocked harder into him. His cock was straining against his sweats, thick and heavy as you pushed against him. 

Mikko’s hand disappears from your ass for a moment, before coming down again with a rough smack. You jolt at the sting and cry out as it only brings you closer to the edge. Your hand curls around his neck, your face smushed into his shoulder with his other hand cradling the back of your head. 

“Please, Mikko, please!” you sob into his t-shirt, so fucking close to release. You were desperate, strings of curses and his name and “pleasepleaseplease” the only words leaving your mouth. He coos gently at your desperation, bouncing his leg slightly to give you more friction. 

“I've got you, rakas,” (beloved) he murmurs lowly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “You're close aren't you?” 

“Mhm.” Your voice comes out whiny, but you could really care less, too caught up in chasing your orgasm to care how you sounded. “Mik - Mikko, please, please.” 

“That’s it,” he repeats, the hand that was cradling your head disappearing, only to come down on your ass sharply. A sob is ripped from your throat as you wind your hand into his hair and pull. “Come on, there you go, are you going to cum for me?” 

“Yes yes yesyesyes,” you babble, frantic as you seek your high. 

“Cum for me, rakas,” Mikko growls. “I want you to cum for me.”

The filthy, commanding tone he uses is enough to send you over the edge, throwing you into white-hot ecstasy as you finally - finally - achieve the release you've been craving. You're faintly aware of the scream you let out, and the tears slipping down your cheeks, but you're too focused on the pleasure you're feeling to be embarrassed - or even care, for that matter. 

Mikko holds you tight to his body as you begin to regain consciousness, rocking you slower and slower against his thigh until he stops, tugging you so that you straddle his lap instead. You're hyper aware of his cock pressing against your thigh, achingly hard. 

“You did so well,” he purrs, peppering your neck with soft, wet kisses. “You did so fucking good, you're so beautiful when you cum for me.” You whine at the words, finally finding the strength to lift your heavy head from his shoulder. 

“Sorry I ruined your shirt,” you snivel, gasping out a sob when another tremor wracks your body. Mikko pulls you back into his chest, chuckling softly. 

“That's alright, suloinen asia. (sweet thing) You did so good for me.” 

Mikko strokes your hair softly as your sobs slow to a stop, holding you tightly to him to build you back up where he shattered you. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear as his fingers caress you, the heat radiating from him lulling you into a daze. 

“Thank you,” you whisper softly, curling your hand around the back of his head. You pull back softly to look at him, and you can't help but revel in what you see. Mikko’s cheeks are pink, his lips swollen and bruised, and his eyes are blown wide with lust. He stares up at you in admiration, smiling almost shyly at your gratitude. 

“Y/N I - fuuuck,” Mikko’s words are cut off when you rock your hips against his aching cock, his hands flying to your waist. “What are you - oh - Y/N - shit -” 

“Please?” you mewl softly, pouting softly at his reprimanding stare. 

“Stop that,” he groans, his head tilting back slightly in pleasure. Whether he's talking about your pout or the way you were grinding on him - who knows. 

“Please?” you repeat, smiling triumphantly when his hands on your waist push you a little harder against his dick. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Yeah, yeah, okay, one condition.” 

“Mhm,” you hum, too distracted with roaming your eyes over Mikko’s chest and arms to pay attention. 

“Hey.” Mikko grabs your face between two fingers, squishing your cheeks together as he forces you to look at him. You stop breathing for a moment, his grip on your face unrelenting as you wait for him to tell you his condition. “My condition,” he says, “is that I want more than just this. Let me take you on a date. And no more swiping right on any other big guys on dating apps.” 

His words catch you by surprise, and you laugh loudly. Mikko lets go of your face when you do, watching you throw your head back joyfully. He's confused for a moment, but accepts your kiss, smiling against your mouth as you giggle against his. 

“Is that a yes?” he murmurs between kisses. 

“It's a hell yes,” you smile brightly, leaning into to steal another. 

“Great, now can I fuck you over the back of this couch and make you cum again or what?”

[hockeylvr59]

Honest Love Part 6 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note:  I finally got through this chapter!!! Happy dance!!! This first segment is one of my favorite pieces of this whole story so I hope you love it as much as I do. The other two were a little harder so I hope you enjoy what I came up with to flush this chapter out. 

Recap: Part 4 was the pregnancy announcement to Cale, Part 5 was Cale’s birthday. 

Warnings: cavities? This chapter is a little sweet. Mentions of drinking/tipsiness on Cale’s part. 

Word Count: 3,336

~~~~~

The fact that Cale’s birthday butted up against Halloween was always something you’d enjoyed growing up. It was almost like a perfect 2 for 1 deal - cake and ice cream one day, boatloads of candy the next. It was the innocent things you liked most about Halloween: the cute kids costumes, candy in excess, pumpkin carving, and corn mazes. Which was why today’s plans were perfect. Cale had gone for a quick practice and then around lunchtime the team was meeting at a farm that had a huge corn maze, hay rides, and lots of family friendly activities for the whole team and their families to enjoy. 

Then, after a break for trick or treating and dinner and naps, the adults were all having an adult costume party at Gabe and Mel’s full of drinking and just laid back fun. Of course, Cale was going to be the only one doing any drinking tonight, but you were going to play that off as just being the designated driver since it was kind of a birthday celebration for him in a way as well. Hopefully that would keep the team off of your scent as you and Cale weren’t ready to share the news of your pregnancy just yet, especially since neither set of parents had been looped in. 

Knowing it was going to be a late night, you were lounging on the couch trying to rest and catch up on some work you were behind on when Cale came sauntering through the door, a bright smile bringing those dimples alive. A short but sweet kiss on your lips made you smile and as you carded your fingers through his hair you felt him slide your computer out of the way, his fingers brushing against your shirt. Assuming he was just saying a silent hello to the baby you didn’t think anything of it until you felt him press something onto your skin before pulling away. 

Looking down, your face crinkled with confusion when you spotted a tiny pumpkin sticker attached to your flat stomach. 

“Why?” You asked softly, beyond confused by what was running through your boyfriend’s head right now. Cale’s cheeks flushed but his smile never wavered as he moved into the kitchen to grab a sports drink. 

“The guys were all talking about their kids costumes.” He mumbled softly between sips. “And they all sounded so cute. I thought about what we’re going to dress our baby up as next year but then I thought why wait. I know it’s a little bit big, but baby will grow into it. I’ve got skeleton stickers too but I figured that was a little too close to reality right now and therefore not really a costume.” He explained, shrugging. 

Immediately tears filled your eyes because that might just be the cutest damn thing Cale has ever said. He really went out and got stickers just so your unborn baby could have a ‘costume’ for Halloween. Wiping at your eyes you just looked up at him in awe. 

“You went out and bought stickers so our unborn baby could have a Halloween costume?” You repeated in confirmation. Cale’s cheeks flushed deeper and he mumbles that maybe it was a stupid idea. Shaking your head, you moved to stand and pull him into a hug and kiss, your shirt still pushed up to your rib cage. 

“It’s not stupid.” You assured him. “It’s endearing and probably one of the cutest things you’ve ever done.” Tipping up to kiss him you tried to reassure him. “Take a picture of our little pumpkin?” You questioned. “We have to capture baby’s first Halloween after all.” You urged. There wasn’t a bump or any physical sign that there was a baby growing inside of you but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t take a picture. Even if no one else ever saw it, you wanted to be able to look back at this memory because it would be your baby’s first picture and a reminder of how in love Cale had been with your son or daughter right from the very start. 

Though he seemed a bit reluctant, Cale nodded and moved to take a few pictures of your stickered stomach before putting his phone away. Tucking your shirt down over the sticker, leaving it intact, you moved to kiss Cale again asking if he was about ready to head out to the farm for the team family event.  With a few more reassuring kisses, Cale settled again and finally murmured that he just needed to change. You were ready yourself having gotten dressed earlier before you tried to talk yourself out of it by making excuses. You wanted to go spend the day with the team and with Cale and you certainly didn’t want to miss out on the inside jokes that were bound to crop up throughout. 

_____

Almost an hour later, Cale finally pulled the car into the farm where the team was meeting, and the feeling of the vehicle stopping for good pulled you from the little cat nap you’d been taking in the passenger seat. Cale looked over, familiar concern visible on his face, but you quickly assured him that you were good and you just needed a moment to fix your mussed hair before you could go join everyone. Cale cupped your cheek, kissing you softly before he moved to climb out of the car to stretch while you fixed a few stray hairs and flattened out your top, finally exiting the vehicle yourself. 

Though you’d just seen everyone last night, enthusiastic greetings were still exchanged and you hugged everyone before returning to your spot at Cale’s side, his hand resting along the curve of your spine. After some bickering from the boys about what they wanted to do, it was agreed that you’d start with hayrides before coming back down for the corn maze and everything else. You’d forgotten just how raucous team events could be, but it was definitely a good time, especially watching the kids run around laughing and having fun. For just a moment, you let your mind slip into daydreams about how that would be your little one laughing and exploring next year, hopefully with cheeks pink from the chill in the air. 

After the hayride which had you fighting back just a little bit of nausea, the Calvert boys pulled you and Cale into the smaller corn maze designed for kids making it a race to see how quickly they could get through it. Gabe, Mel, and Linnea joined in and you smiled watching Linnea toddle along through the corn amazed at how tall it was but fearless so long as her daddy was right behind her. Being that it was a kids’ maze it didn’t take long to complete but it was fun all the same as Gabe helped Linnea and Cale helped the Calvert kids get all their stamps to get their prize of a candy or small toy at the end. And thankfully being back on solid ground had quelled the nausea you’d felt, leaving you feeling good once more. 

As you finished the maze with the kids, Josty, JT, and Burky were racing over to pull Cale into their group to do the big corn maze as bets had been made that they could beat some of the other guys and their better halves. Assuring Cale that he should go, you murmured that you would hang out and maybe do some shopping of the farm fresh produce and that he should leave you keys. Looking over you saw Gabe and Matt being pulled to join other groups and you smiled to yourself as Mel and Courtney moved over to you with Mel holding Linnea but no sign of the Calvert boys who had insisted that they were now corn maze pros and had to go with their dad. 

“So how was Cale’s birthday?” Courtney asked, a teasing expression on her face. 

“It was good.” You replied. “He seemed to enjoy his dinner and presents so I’m happy.” Mel just sent you a teasing look like I’m sure he did enjoy his presents before speaking softly to Linnea who was babbling away. Ignoring the look you mentioned doing some produce shopping while you were here and when they both agreed, you headed over to the market portion of the farm to get some things for your respective households. Getting some fresh squash, apples, and of course some kale as well as pumpkin chai tea mix, apple butter, and some seasoned pumpkin seeds you loaded up the car before moving to meet back up with the girls. Courtney had three containers of ice cream in her hands while Mel held a tray of steaming disposable mugs in her off hand and they motioned for you to join them at a table. 

“Apple pie ice cream.” Courtney stated, answering your non-verbal question. “And then some chai lattes made with fresh farm honey to ward off the chill.” Mel added getting herself situated with Linnea. Both treats were incredibly good and you thanked them as you tried the ice cream nearly moaning at how good it was. Mel couldn’t help but laugh at the look on your face and she murmured that they sell it by the quart too if you wanted to pick some up on your way home to put in the freezer. 

“Yeah. I might have to do that.” You mumbled between bites because it was so good. 

Chatting with the girls about various things while you enjoyed your treats and waited for the guys to find their way out of the corn maze, you couldn’t help but think that this was a pretty great found family to bring a baby into. It wasn’t long before Linnea squirmed her way out of her mommy’s arms before toddling around the table to you asking you to pick her up. Snuggling the toddler happily, you teased your fingers through her hair murmuring that the only way Cale’s group wasn’t the last one out was if your boyfriend single handedly got them through it. 

Turns out that was definitely not the case and they were one of the last groups out following significantly behind Gabe and Matt’s group. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself at that, still snuggling the baby girl who refused to move from your lap even when her daddy returned. You joked with Gabe that you were stealing her and he joked back that he was sure that his young defenseman probably wouldn’t have any complaints about that. Evidently it wasn’t just the better halves that were under the impression that Cale was thinking about kids. It made keeping the little secret growing inside you that much harder but also that much more worth it. 

You were chatting with Linnea about her current favorite Disney movie when your boyfriend appeared, dropping a kiss to your head as he flopped onto the picnic table bench beside you. The little girl’s face lit up at his presence and she smiled at him just watching him, everything that she had been babbling about forgotten. 

“Did you have fun?” You asked him, giggling softly when his response was primarily a groan. Reaching out to pick a piece of corn husk out of his hair you brushed a thumb over his red cheek murmuring that next time you’d have to go with to rein the boys in. Of course, next time you’d have a tiny baby with you so that may or may not happen but Cale got the point you were trying to convey. 

After mingling with the team for a little while longer, groups started to disburse and Cale asked if you were ready to head home for a bit. Nodding, you passed a sleepy Linnea back to her daddy murmuring that she was going to nap well on the way home. Then, taking Cale’s hand you pulled yourself up from the table and sighed softly as his hands grazed your hips because they were just a bit sore from the hard bench. 

“We need to get a quart of ice cream before we go.” You murmured, pouting softly when he commented on how it would melt during the drive. “Even melted it would be good.” You insisted, pleading softly until he gave in and got a quart of ice cream packed into an empty plastic flower pot with some ice. 

“Lucky I love you.” He murmured softly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Once you taste it you’ll agree it’s worth it.” You assured him, stealing one more kiss before heading back out to the car. 

You fell asleep on the drive home, only waking when Cale unbuckled you and was moving to lift you out of the car. Though you murmured you could walk, he insisted that he had you and with your arms wrapped around his neck, it wasn’t long before you were settled onto your comfortable mattress while Cale pulled your shoes off your feet whispering for you to nap while he brought everything else upstairs. 

And nap you did. 

_____

The sun had set by the time you woke up to Cale’s lips kissing your temple and his fingers sliding along your side. 

“I made dinner.” He stated softly as you nodded and worked your way into a seated position. 

“Dinner sounds good.” You agreed, blinking at him tiredly. Cale offered a hand out to help you up and you took it, sliding onto your feet to follow him out into the kitchen. It wasn’t anything complex but it smelled good and that was really all that mattered to you. “Thanks for dinner.” 

Cale brushed your thanks off, directing you to dig in. After a moment he questioned whether you still wanted to go tonight or whether you wanted to stay home. You knew the choice was honestly up to you but at the same time you couldn’t not show because that would raise way too many questions you didn’t want to answer yet. 

“You know we have to go.” You replied softly between bites. “I promise I’m okay.” You added. “I’m just still waking up but that was a good nap. Let me get this food and a shower in me and I’ll be just fine.” The ever present look of concern was on your boyfriend’s face and you reached a hand across the table to squeeze his. “Promise. I’m good.” You repeated. “We’re going to go and you’re going to have a good time drinking with the guys so I can be the designated driver without any questions.” Cale hesitated before nodding and you knew that you were going to need to assure him again later that you were really okay. 

You asked him to tell you about his afternoon and you talked about shopping for produce and spending time with the girls and Linnea. 

“You’re really cute with her, you know that right?” He asked, taking a sip of his water. “Makes me excited to see you as a mom to our baby. She adores you.” 

“You mean like the Calvert boys adore you?” You grin. “Little pumpkin already has the best daddy.” The ways Cale’s cheeks flushed made you smile and you nudged your legs against his under the table before focusing on your plate once more. 

After dinner you moved to shower and then start to get ready for the Halloween party. Standing at the foot of your bed, you slid stockings up your legs before putting on a red skirt. Cale came into the room when you were pulling on the tight blue shirt with a maroon and gold ‘s’ emblazoned on the front. He had a similar shirt laying on the bed, but his costume certainly wasn’t as elaborate as yours. Once you had both the top and bottom halves of your costume situated, you wrapped the gold belt around your waist and grabbed the cape from the closet, leaving it on the bed while you did just a normal face of makeup with some darker lipstick. 

By the time you came out of the bathroom, Cale was dressed in black slacks and a white button up and he was slipping a partially undone tie around his neck. Stepping closer to him you reached up to undo the top few buttons of his dress shirt revealing the blue t-shirt underneath. 

“Pretty sure you have to have the buttons undone hun, otherwise this isn’t a costume at all.” You teased, reaching around him to grab the maroon heels tucked into the closet since you didn’t have the proper knee high boots. Sitting on the bed to slide them on you reached over to grab his glasses from the bedside table. “You’re also going to need these. C’mon, pretend you’re having a little fun. This costume was your idea.” You prodded, standing back up and sliding your palms down his abs. Cale was definitely a pretty sexy Clark Kent to match the superwoman - supergirl - that he always claimed you were anyway. 

Cale just looked at you making you laugh. “I know this is your least favorite part of Halloween.” You stated. “Because you’re boring like that but c’mon. We look hot.” You pressed, finally getting a small smile. 

“You certainly look hot.” Cale agreed. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” He asked, causing you to roll your eyes and nod. “Yes...now let’s go before we’re really late.” 

You were so going to pass him off to Josty and Burky and Mikko when you got there to make sure that they could get a few drinks into him and help him relax. He deserved that for sure, you just had to make sure he didn’t get so drunk that he started to get a loose tongue and spill your secret. 

____

Needless to say, your boyfriend was clingy and affectionate when tipsy, something you’d known all the way back from that time in the bar before you’d even kissed. It was crazy to think that was only seven months ago. 

Deciding that it was time to go, you left the party around 1am, dragging Cale back to the car and urging him into the passenger seat with the promise of a kiss. He’d lost his tie at some point over the course of the evening and you made a mental note to text Mel about it, sure that she would find it somewhere in her house. 

By the time you parked in the apartment garage Cale was half asleep from two days of excitement and you moved around the car after releasing his seatbelt. 

“Come on hun.” You urged, offering him a hand. “I may be dressed like Supergirl but there is no way I have her strength so you’re going to have to help me out here so we can get you to bed.” Cale looked up at you with a hazy alcohol fueled look before taking your hand, leaning into you as you guided him upstairs. 

“You’re so pretty.” He murmurs repeatedly, his word choice changing slightly with every repetition from pretty to beautiful to sexy and then finally gorgeous. Unlocking your front door you guided him in and kicked it shut behind you, locking it before dropping your keys and stepping out of your heels. 

“Time for bed.” You remind him, gently corralling him to the bedroom. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillows and you carefully helped him strip down to the t-shirt and his boxers before moving to get yourself ready. It wasn’t often that you saw Cale as relaxed as he was tonight and you were grateful to the guys for giving him a good day and letting him forget about all those worrying thoughts you knew sometimes plagued him. 

A lot was changing in your lives but with the support system you have and the love you share, it was all going to work out just fine. 

[hookingminor]

close quarters (4) - andre burakovsky

a/n: y’all I'm so fucking sorry this took so long to update school started and has really thrown me for a loop and I had some bad writer’s block and shit so I'm not super proud of this chapter but oh well the next chapter will be the final one! this isn’t proofread bc I couldn’t be bothered and I know that the hockey season doesn’t coincide with warm weather but be quiet and imagine

word count: 2,767

one / two / three / four / five

-

True to his word, Andre got smashed. It didn’t help that Mikko had asked him if you were seeing Tyson after the two of you had left together. So, Andre threw back another whiskey in record time, and everyone got the hint to not bring you up.

And what made it worse was that he knew he didn’t have any right to be upset about the situation. He chickened out and scared you off because he was stupid and didn’t know how to communicate his feelings. And it’s not like Tyson was a bad guy, but Andre didn’t think he was the right guy for you. Andre was the right guy for you.

Not that he had any justifiable reasons for thinking that.

Gabe and Mel had to give Andre a ride home after the charity dinner. It was nearly eleven in the evening and everyone had left the event, but he was still drinking. He knew it was unprofessional. All his teammates knew it was unprofessional. Odds are he’d probably get yelled at for it come Monday, but he had bigger problems to worry about right now.

“You know you did this to yourself, right?” Gabe asked after he’d safely gotten Andre into the backseat. Gabe was the only one who he’d told about this whole predicament. Andre didn’t have a lot of friends in Colorado outside of his team, and he couldn’t help but spill his guts to his captain.

Mel slapped her husband on the arm, signaling for him to shut up or at least show some sympathy, but Gabe shrugged his shoulders in defense as if to say ‘What? It’s true.’

“I know,” Andre slurred sadly, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Mel consoled with a comforting tone, “You just made a mistake and need to fix it.”

“How can I when she’s with Josty now?” Andre asked.

“Dumbass, she’s not with Josty. He’s just trying to help you out,” Gabe explained as he pulled out of the parking lot and in the direction of Andre’s apartment.

“Helping me how? By asking her on dates and sneaking out early with her?” Andre scoffed in disbelief. He saw the way his hands lingered on your back and the sly glances he thought no one saw.

“Helping you so you can finally apologize and win her over,” Gabe said, but Andre was too focused on imagining you and Tyson back at his place to really register Gabe’s words.

The rest of the ride continued with Andre ranting about you. Honestly, he didn’t remember what he said but it was probably along the lines of how beautiful you were and how he wished he would’ve kissed you. Gabe and Mel exchanged about a million looks between each other, but Andre didn’t notice. The one night they were supposed to not worry about a child, they still ended up babysitting anyway.

When Monday came, his hungover had passed, but he still felt like shit.

“Someone have a rough night?” EJ teased when Andre dropped his bag on the floor in the locker room. Andre flattened him with a glare to tell him he wasn’t in the mood. Everyone had to have known what was going on by now.

Tyson entered the locker room about five minutes after he got there, and everyone went silent. Andre didn’t look at him while he put on his gear, but he could feel the eyes of Tyson and the rest of the team burning a hole into the back of his head. When he finished lacing up his skates, he marched out of the room without another glance back.

“You dumbass,” JT said, breaking the tension that clouded the locker room. All eyes flickered over to Tyson who didn’t look like he was looking forward to getting on the ice.

“You better fix this shit, Jost,” Nate piped up from behind him, and there was a chorus of grunts of agreement in response.

“Fine, I’ll handle it!” Tyson groaned exasperatedly, “God forbid I be the only one with a romantic bone in my body.”

Once again, Tyson had to do everything himself, it seemed.

-

“I just don’t know what to do, Taylor,” you said over the phone.

“Are you still going on about this?” She whined.

“He’s so cute!” You exclaimed, “If you didn’t want me to fall for him, you shouldn’t have introduced us.”

“I didn’t think dumb hockey players were your thing,” she scoffed, “You were never interested when I offered to set you up with one back in D.C.”

“I wasn’t interested,” you emphasized, “but times have changed.”

“And you’re choosing Burky of all guys?” She asked.

“I just don’t know why he’d be so concerned about me living with him for a short period of time. I mean, I literally threw myself at him for nothing,” you replied, “Do you know if Tom said anything to him about me?”

You were met with silence as Taylor didn’t answer your question.

“So you do know something,” you accused as you moved into a sitting position, “What did he say?”

“Uh,” she started, “It wasn’t Tom, exactly, who said something.”

“Wait, what? Did you say something?” You asked.

“In my defense, I was looking out for you! I didn’t think he was your type, and I knew he’d try and make a move,” she answered defensively.

“What the hell did you tell him?”

“I may have told him to keep his hands off, and Tom may have relayed the message,” she said quietly.

“Why would you do that?” You sighed in defeat, “Do you really think I can’t look after myself?”

“No, it’s not that. I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed with the move and have Andre hitting on you and then get ghosted or led on…,” Taylor explained. You let out another sigh because you couldn’t really fault her for that. She knew hockey players better than you, so who were you to argue with that logic. And the fact was Andre could still ghost you or lead you on, you still weren’t sure, but you figured his unwarranted jealousy had to be a good sign, right?

“Well, can you back off now?” You asked finally.

“I didn’t think he’d actually follow through with this. All my threats were pretty meaningless; it’s not like I could do something about it if he did try something,” Taylor said, “but I guess if he took it seriously he must not be that bad of a guy.”

“So I have your permission?” You questioned hopefully.

“You never needed my permission in the first place,” she answered, and you could see her rolling her eyes back in D.C.

“Clearly I did if Andre wouldn’t kiss me,” you muttered, and Taylor chuckled in response.

“Oh, hold on, Taylor, I’m getting another call. I’ll talk to you later,” you said suddenly, noticing the incoming call that was interrupting your conversation. You waited for her acknowledgement before you ended the call and answered the other one.

“What do you want, Tyson?”

“You’re both idiots, and it’s time I took things into my own hands. Be ready at nine in the morning on Saturday. No, I will not be answering any questions. Dress cute but comfortable.”

And with that, he hung up the phone before you could even begin to question what the hell he meant.

-

You tried texting and calling Tyson, but he never answered your messages.

He told Andre the same thing. Well, he did get a little more information but not much. Tyson had pulled Andre off to the side on Monday after a practice of angry glares and not passing him the puck though he was instructed to.

“Listen, man, I’m gonna explain this to you once. Me and Y/N? Not a thing. She wore that dress to make you jealous because she knows you like her and that you’re a dumbass,” Tyson said quickly, and Andre had to take a few extra seconds to process what he was saying, “So what you’re going to do is pick her up on Saturday morning and take her to the farmer’s market. Get her some fucking flowers or something and buy her shit, okay? If you screw this up again, I can’t help you bounce back from that.”

Every day after practice Andre tried to ask Tyson more questions about how you were doing and if you knew about this, but Tyson reiterated the same thing he told Andre the first day: that he needed to pick you up at nine and to not dodge you if you tried to kiss him again.

So, Andre did just that. He arrived at your apartment at 8:55 on Saturday morning dressed in a casual pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt. You, however, outshone him by a mile with your flowy skirt and loose sweater.

“Oh, Andre, hello,” you greeted him curiously, “Are you here because of Tyson?” Over the past few days, you had time to process Tyson’s confusing phone call. After running over his hurried sentences in your head, you came to the conclusion that it was some kind of set-up. His use of ‘you’re both idiots’ could only be about you and Andre, and it wasn’t unlike Tyson to insert himself in other people’s business. You only hoped Andre had more choice in this than you did, otherwise you were in for an awkward morning.

“Hi, yeah, hey,” Andre stuttered out, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you blushed as he complimented you. You opened your door wider for him to enter as you retreated back into your kitchen. “What are we doing? Tyson didn’t really tell me anything except to be ready by nine.”

“Yeah, he kind of pulled me after practice and told me about this plan,” Andre explained, and you felt your shoulders sag while your smile dropped. So he didn’t get a say in this, he was here as a favor.

“I see,” you said quietly.

“But I also wanted to apologize,” he said, noticing the way you suddenly got shy, “about the whole… you know.” You did know. You had been trying to talk to him about it for weeks now to no avail.

“Listen, about that… I didn’t mean to make things weird. I misread the situation, and I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable,” you apologized after he trailed off, but Andre was shaking his head before you could finish.

“No, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Andre said, interrupting you, “You did nothing wrong. I was in my head and panicked and then it was too late…” he took a breath, “I’m sorry about that. I wanted to kiss you, and I screwed it up.” Your heart sped up a little at the last part.

“Taylor told me about how Tom said to not mess with me,” you continued.

“I was just trying to be a good friend,” he insisted, and you nodded your head.

“I know,” you replied, “I told her to back off when she told me.”

“And then the whole Tyson thing happened…” he started.

“I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t fair to make you think we were together,” you said sheepishly,  but you only felt partly sorry for doing that.

“Honestly, I needed that,” he chuckled, “He knocked some sense into me, and that’s why I’m here. To make it up to you.” Well, if Andre had finally come to his senses and wanted to make it up to you, you weren’t going to object.

“So what are we doing?” You asked, and Andre answered your question with a wide smile.

-

You spent the whole morning walking through the downtown farmer’s market with Andre. You threaded your way through the many vendors and tents that were set up in the street, stopping occasionally to buy some produce or because Andre wanted to try some local foods. He treated you to an iced coffee the minute upon entering the market, and you spent most of your time catching him up with work while he updated you with hockey.

Work was going fairly well considering you were new to the company and area, and the team was doing pretty well at the moment considering it was the beginning of the season and they had yet to be really challenged. Not that you understood much of what he was saying regarding stats, but you listened with interest anyway.

You don’t remember when it happened, but at some point you had started holding onto his arm as you worked your way through the market.

You introduced Andre to your favorite stand of any farmer’s market ever: the chili-lime mango tent. Andre didn’t care much for the spice, but you had a fun time watching him chug down the rest of his coffee while he choked on the chili.

Around eleven thirty and on your way out of the market, Andre bought you a large bouquet of sunflowers. You had left him alone for three minutes to buy some tomatoes, and when you turned around to find him, you could barely see him behind the sunflowers.

“You didn’t have to buy me this many flowers,” you chuckled when Andre returned you to your apartment. He had insisted on carrying whatever groceries you had bought there as you carried the flowers.

“Well, I never got to buy you actual flowers for our first date, so I figured I had a bit to make up for,” he smiled as you set down the bouquet on your kitchen counter.

“I didn’t know you counted that dinner as a date,” you joked, unpacking the produce you’d bought from the bags.

“It would’ve been a perfect one had I ended it properly, but I’m an idiot,” he said, “So I’m officially counting this as our first date.”

“Well, as far as first dates go, this is definitely one of the better ones I’ve been on,” you agreed. You hadn’t noticed it until then, but Andre had taken a few steps closer to you until you were nearly chest to chest. As if mirroring the same position you were in that fateful night, you couldn’t help the feeling of deja vu wash over you in waves.

Except this time you were sure he wasn’t going to run away.

“Can I kiss you?” Andre asked, reaching his hands out to pull you in by your hips.

“That depends,” you replied, “Are you going to follow through with it?” He rolled his eyes at your snarky comment and squeezed your side in response.

“I’m never going to live this down, huh?” He asked, tugging your hips flush against his as his hands moved to your lower back.

“No,” you agreed cheerily, “but to answer your question: yes you can kiss me. I’ve only been waiting three weeks now.” Connecting your hands behind his neck, you gave him the same wanton look you gave him that night.

Andre took that as his cue to lean forward, and you pushed yourself up on your toes to meet him halfway. Your lips met in a soft kiss, Andre’s lips light against yours as he tested the waters. You made the first move by gripping the back of his neck a little tighter as you pressed yourself more forcefully against him.

Andre’s hands slid up slightly over your back as you moved your mouth against his. You didn’t know if it was fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes that had passed by the time you pulled apart.

“And to think you had kept that from me for so long,” you teased almost immediately after the kiss broke.

“And you’ve ruined it,” Andre laughed as he tried to push you away in protest, but your hands were stuck behind his neck.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you whined, pressing a kiss to his cheek that was turned away from you, “I won’t bring it up again, I promise.”

“I don’t believe that,” Andre said, but he didn’t say anything as you continued to shower him with affection.

“I promise I won’t, but I can’t make any guarantees about Josty,” you repeated.

“Damn, he’s never going to let this go, is he?” Andre groaned loudly, as if he just remembered who Tyson was.

“Definitely not,” you agreed, “And you know he’s going to take credit for this.”

“He can have it,” Andre said wistfully, “As long as I can have you.”

“You have a bit of slack to pick up for making me wait forever, but I’m willing to give you a chance.”