#ive been thinking about it because she has such pretty slim fingers....

[prismbearer]

Waiting for the Lae'zel mod that trims her nails, even if just a couple, perhaps.

[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.

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Emergency! Part 3

Summary: A woman comes back from her trip from Asia but isn’t feeling the best. And is rushed to the hospital. Her symptoms are that of the flue, but worse than. The virus spreads throughout the hospital, Jack falls ill collapsing in the break room. Dean falls ill on a rescue, Cas having to rescue the original victim and his partner. The reader, having to sit by and wait and pray for her friends pull through. But turns out the original patient with the virus got better, now her body has the antibodies to fight the virus.

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean x Nurse!Reader

Word Count: 4,262

Warnings: Scary Situations, Language, Mild Angst, Fluff.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

a/n: I could use the corona virus or COVID-19 but decided to use the virus used in the Emergency! Episode of the same name. The virus being a strain of the Asian flu during a bad outbreak in the late 60’s. Also the drugs and measure mentioned are probably not accurate, I’m not a pharmacist.

a/n2: D.O.N = Director of Nursing, DOA = Dead on Arrival, BP = Blood Pressure, O2 Sat = Oxygen Saturation

~

“Dean,” Cas says, walking into the fire stations garage.

Dean was logging supplies in the squad truck when he heard Cas enter and got his attention.

“What’s up Cas?”

“When you started dating Y/N, when did you know she was the one?”

“What do you mean?”

“I really like Meg, and when she was taking care of me after that accident of mine I found that she and I have a lot in common and I want to know her more?”

“Well, Cas, it’s different for other people. Just ask Meg out. Talk to her, find out stuff about her that she likes, hates, and if you can find yourself still able to love her despite her flaws. Keep it going. Keep taking her out.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Nothing in life is simple man.”

Cas nods in agreement.

The alarm sounded in the station.

“Squad 51, someone sick. Respond. 226 south Jasper’s Avenue, cross street South Walker boulevard.”

“Back at it again.” Cas says.

“Let’s hit it.”

Dean getting into his usual spot in the squad, revving the engine to life and heading to the location.

When they arrived, another station had arrived originally.

Dean and Cas gathered their tools and headed into the residence.

“Chuck, what do you got?” Cas asked.

“Kelly McMeyers, 22, her dad said she was fine at breakfast.”

They followed Fireman Chuck through the house to the girl’s bedroom to find her on her bed, sweating, pale and in obvious discomfort and pain.

Dean placed a hand on her head.

“She’s burning up, Cas, get the thermometer.”

Cas did as told handing the thermometer to Dean.

Dean placed in the girls mouth, under her tongue. Cas handing him the blood pressure cuff.

Dean began checking her Blood pressure.

“Get the radio, we need to tell the hospital.” Dean orders.

Cas, pulls out the radio of it’s holster on his belt.

“Rampart, this is rescue 51. Rampart this is rescue five one.” Cas radios in.

 It was a normal slow day at the hospital, y/n having finished her charting, getting reading for her lunch break.

“Rampart this is rescue 51,” she heard Cas’s voice over the radio.  “Rampart this is rescue Five one.”

She picks up the hand piece to the hospital’s radio to respond.

“Go ahead 51.”

“Rampart we have a female, Kelly McMeyers, 22 years of age.” Cas transmits.

 “BP is 129 over 80, O2 Saturation is…”

Dean places a hand over her chest, watching it rise and fall. Counting in his head. But scolding with the low number he came up with.

“Did you pack the pulse Oximeter?”

“I did.” Cas says, handing it to him.

“I got to double check before I give you the wrong number.”

Dean turned on the device, and placing it on her finger.

“Still reading low, O2 Sat, 85.” Dean says.

“O2 sat is 85. Temperature is coming up…”

Dean pulls out the thermometer.”

“105.” He reads.

“Temperature is 105.”

 y/n was shocked she had a temperature that high.

“51, standby, a doctor will be with you shortly.”

“10-4.”

 “I just don’t understand, she was fine at breakfast, it happened so suddenly.” The girl’s father expressed.

“Some of these things do happen rather quickly.”

“Could be the Asian Flu?” Chuck suggests. Playing with the girl’s pet monkey.

“Well, let’s not jump to any conclusions until a doctor can see her.” Cas says.

“Kelly, sweetheart, can you hear me?” Dean asks.

The girl nods groggily.

“She’s really drowsy.” Cas mentions.

“Kelly, are you in any pain at all?” Dean asks.

“My head hurts, my chest hurts too.” She whines.

“She threw up a bit before you got here Winchester.” Chuck mentions.

 “51, this is doctor Singer.”

“Rampart, we have new information, patient is experiencing head and chest pain, she’s drowsy and vomited a few times before we arrived.”

“Alright, start IV, lidocaine, two milligrams. And just in case what she has is contagious keep contact with the patient to an absolute minimum.”

“10-4 Rampart.” Cas says.

“I’ll get the IV going, if you want to get the ambulance here Chuck.”

“Already ahead of you, they should be here by now.”

Sirens are heard in the distance, as if on cue.

“How about that timing?” Cas says.

“Alright, she’s set, lets get her to the hospital.” Dean says.

Just as more paramedics came in, Dean grabbed the equipment as Cas walked out with the patient.

Chuck still petting the monkey.

“I love monkeys, bet he’d be a cute pet to have.” He says.

“Yeah, but they’re not meant to be pets Chuck.”

“Yeah, I know. But, cute little guy, isn’t he?”

The monkey sat on his pole that stood in the room. And the monkey started walking over to Dean, walking on his shoulder, messing with his hat.

“Hey, stop,” he told the monkey while trying to shake him off gently.

The monkey got back on his pole as Dean walked out to the squad.

 At the hospital, Y/N, Doctor Singer assisted in the patient, Kelly McMeyer, as Doctor Singer preformed a spinal tap.

Just as he pulled out the needle, gathering spinal fluid, Doctor Kline walks in.

“What’d you got Bobby?”

“Possible strain of the flu, her symptoms are consistent with that of the Asian flu, but the incubation period is too fast. Her symptoms came up quick, she was fine at breakfast.”

“Do we know where she’s been lately?”

“All over southeast Asia, Kelly and her friends were part of her church’s mission trip in assisting kids in orphanages, and adoption homes. Fixing them up, helping kids get adopted. And her dad took her camping when she got back. Took her to the Black Hills in South Dakota.” y/n explained.

“That opens us up to a whole array of fevers, and of course flus. China is always riddled with noval viruses we’ve never seen nor dealt with. And of course, there’s ones we’ve dealt with her, rocky mountain spotted fever, lymes disease, or even parasitic infections. Fungal infections that could have originated from her camping trip.” Jack explained.

“Did Kelly have any kind of protection on either trip?” Jack asked.

“Her dad made sure she packed, bug spray, tick spray, and they had nets around their camp to prevent nats and other flying insects from getting in the tents.” Y/N says.

“So, in which case, we’re back to, what did she catch when she was in China. Because chances of her getting anything on the camping trip are slim I’m guessing.”

“Her dad was pretty adamant that they were covered for their trip. He didn’t want anyone getting sick.”

Jack nods.

“Let’s get some blood work, see if we can’t find the answer in there.”

“You got it doctor.” y/n says, getting her hands sanitized, and ready to draw some blood.

 “Dean, your shift was done an hour ago, go home!” His father ordered.

“Just finishing up the logs for the day.”

“Cas can finish it up for you, he at least goes home in an hour. Now go.”

“Yes sir, you sure you got this man?” Dean asks.

“Dean, I got it. Go home and rest. See you in two days.”

Dean handed Cas the papers for logging their day, what all happened, their end result. He grabbed the keys to his Impala and drove on home.

He could tell he was exhausted. At a stop light he had to really will himself to stay awake just a few more miles.

But as he got to another stop light, he knew he was too tired to be driving.

Y/N’s apartment wasn’t far. He moved lanes before her street came up and Dean drove to her apartment. Giving her a call to make sure she was either up or home.

“Hey Handsome, how was your day?” she asked.

He could hear the background of the hospital.

“Exhausting. Are you still at work?”

“Yeah, another late one. Why? Are you in the area?” she asked. Sounding concerned.

“I’m really exhausted, and I don’t think I’m gonna make it home. I was thinking on crashing at your place.”

“You can stay there Dean; my key is by my hanging plant. I think your clothes from last time are still there.”

“Thanks baby, where would I be without you?”

“Dead in a ditch because you’ve run yourself ragged, now hurry to my place and get to bed. I’ll home when I can.”

“Love you sweetheart.” He says with a tired smile, pulling into her apartment complex.

“Love you more Winchester, sleep well.” She says.

He parked his car near where she parked. Walking up tiredly up to her apartment he found her key easily.

He headed inside, placing the key back but also locking up behind him as he got himself settled.

She had since gotten a new apartment since the plane crash; sure she was farther away from the hospital, but she was closer to him by several blocks.

He had gotten out of the shower, feeling a little bit better, but he climbed into his side in her bed. Pulling the covers over him, and falling fast asleep once his head hit the pillow.

She had hurried with her charting, her replacement nurse coming in late. But at least she showed up.

She hurried to her car to get on home.

She saw Dean’s car parked next to her spot on the street. She parked her car right behind his.

She quietly entered the apartment. Leaving the lights off she navigated to her room seeing his sleeping form in her bed. Sound asleep.

She made her shower quick and simple, washing off the stress of the day and relaxing enough so she could fall easily asleep.

She climbs into bed beside him. He tossed, turning towards her, wrapping his arms around her.

Poor dude was exhausted. But Dean was no fool, he loved being the little spoon. Maybe too much. But when it was her, he didn’t care too much.

 Days followed, and the original patient began to go downhill. Her fever wasn’t breaking.

Y/N had finished getting Kelly’s vitals, updated her chart. She headed back out to the nurses station when she saw an ambulance dropping off a new patient.

“What do we have?” she asked.

“Fireman, Chuck Shirley. Stricken with a fever, 104 temp, slightly elevated BP.” One of the paramedics informed.

“He was fine at lunch time.” His wife said behind the paramedics.

“Are you his wife?” Y/N asked.

“I am, my name’s Becky.”

“Okay, I’ll escort you to the waiting room. I’ll keep you informed of your husbands situation.” y/n told her.

Becky nodded, and she was lead to the waiting room. Y/N walked back into one of the exam rooms.

Hours passed as the doctors looked over Chuck, they learned one thing in common.

He responded to Kelly McMeyers.

“I want everyone who responded to get checked out. Clearly we are up against something contagious.” Jack orders.

“I’ll get right on it.” y/n says.

 As the day wore on, Y/N had called all the stations that responded, the ambulance and even called up her boyfriend personally.

“Afternoon beautiful.” Dean answers.

“Hey babe, you responded on the Kelly McMeyers right?”

“I did, me and Cas both, why?”

“Chuck Shirley is sick with the same symptoms as Kelly, and Dr. Kline has ordered you two to come in and get checked out.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Dean, Chuck looked bad. Come in, please.” She practically whined.

“Okay, I will. Don’t worry sweetheart. I have to come down for supplies anyway, I’ll bring Cas along.”

“Thank you. See you soon.”

Just as Dean and Cas left the hospital after giving their blood samples to be checked for any virus or uprising in white blood cell count. Questions rose to how and where the original patient got sick.

“Whatever this Kelly chick has must be bad.” Dean says as he drove back to the station.

“Must be, if she didn’t get while camping then where?” Cas asks.

For a beat there was a pause.

“The same place where she got her pet monkey.” Cas says.

“You really think that monkey is the carrier?” Dean asks, unsure.

“Think about it Dean. It’s always animals in other countries that carry all these scary viruses. Swine flu came from pigs. Avian flu came from birds. The Asian flu came from, well, Asia but it was ducks. What if, this monkey one of those viruses and was somehow able to transmit it overseas?” Cas explained.

“You should really be a doctor something, damn Cas.” Dean says, impressed with the information Cas was able to share.

“Also think of the movie Outbreak.”

“Dude, that wasn’t even a real virus.”

“No, but it was a real situation that can really happen. It’s the worst case scenario. But it was a monkey carrying a mutated version of the virus.”

“I think you’re onto something Cas.” Dean says, digging around in his pockets.

“Here, call my girlfriend, tell her what you told me.”

“Okay.” Cas says.

 “Hello?”

“Y/N, it’s Cas, you got a minute?”

“How’s Dean?” she asked concerned right away.

“Oh, he’s fine, we were just talking about the victims. She brought home a pet monkey from China. And Chuck was playing with it.”

“That is actually something Cas, thanks. Is there anything else we need to know?”

“Not really, but just for the fact that this monkey might carry a virus that could kill Kelly and our friend.”

“And you’re spot on, on that. I’ll tell Jack and Bobby. Thanks Cas.”

 At the hospital, the two doctors were at the nurses station when Cas called. Their attention on her when she seemed surprised with the information he given her.

“Cas of squad 51 just told me Kelly brought home a pet monkey from China. And that Chuck played with it.”

“That’s something, Bobby, get someone to go with Kelly’s dad back to his house. Get the monkey and bring the little guy in.”

“You got it Jack.”

 Cas had handed Dean his phone back.

“You know, Cas,” he says.

Cas doesn’t say anything but has his attention.

“I kind of played with the monkey too.”

 The next following day, Kelly was slowly getting better. But Chuck was taking a turn for the worse. His fever wasn’t breaking.

Jack goes into Kelly’s room to talk to her about her monkey.

A nurse was already in the room taking care of her.

“Abaddon why aren’t you wearing your mask?”

“Oh, sorry Doctor its just—”

“No excuses, you’re taking an unnecessary risk. Not only would you be putting your life at risk, you’re putting everyone else’s lives at risk as well.”

With that she put her mask over her mouth and nose.

“Kelly,” Jack says.

She opened her eyes slowly giving the doctor his attention.

“We got your pet down in the lab. Now, was he ever sick when you had him?”

“Yes, just after I bought him. He had a bad cold, and threw up a bit too.”

“Well in order to help the fireman, and you as well, we may have to put him down so we can perform an autopsy.”

“No, you can’t!” she cried. “I don’t know what I’d do without Oreo!”

“Kelly, it’s the only chance we have at saving lives.”

The tears that built up in the girls eyes fell. Jack took his gloved finger by her cheek, brushing away the tears that fell.

“If you’re right about that,” she swallows thickly. “Then you can take Oreo.”

“Could help you too Kelly.” Abaddon says.

“I know.”

Jack gave a sad smile through his mask.

He doffed off his PPE by the door and left her room to give the go ahead.

 “Dean, we have a group of kids from Jefferson Elementary School to come in for a tour, can you help Gabe clean up the garage real quick.”

“Dad, I’m really exhausted, can you get Cas to do it?”

“It’s not like you to complain, come on now. He’s busy with the logs, come on it won’t take long.”

The alarm sounded.

“Never mind.” John says.

“Station 51, medical emergency. At the top of the Wells Fargo bank at 5535 Woodland Boulevard. Cross street Jackson Avenue.”

The men and women at station 51 jumped into action.

 At the location they climbed up the stairs after they reached the max floor the elevator would allow to go.

“What happened?” John asked one of the men working on the roof.

“Jimmy was over the edge cleaning the windows and he let out a yell, and I saw him collapse. I tried getting him on this thing but it’s jammed.”

“We’ll get him, we’ll hoist one of my paramedics down to get a line on him and we’ll bring him up.” John assured.

“I’ll go.” Dean says.

“Why don’t we just swing the lift through a window?” Cas asks.

“There wouldn’t be a safe way to do it. Just, get me down to him. Drop a line for him and he’ll be up here before you can say Bobs your uncle.” Dean says.

“Just be careful man.” Cas says.

“I will dude.”

Dean has the ropes around him, his harness, Gabe, Michael and Raphael anchored his rope as they helped lower him down.

“Okay, more slack!” Dean shouts as he got closer to the victim.

He got safely on to the lift and began to work the rope around the victim so they could lift him up.

But Dean’s vision began to spin. His hands came up to hold the support of the lift.

“Dean, you okay!?” Cas shouts from the ledge.

“Yeah!”

Dean hurries to get the rope around the victim and tries to work on tying the knot.

His dizziness got worse, and worse. Just as he was about to ask for help, Dean passes out.

His body falling off of the lift, and hangs by his harness off of the ledge.

“Try lifting him up a bit!” Cas ordered.

The three brothers tried pulling the rope slightly.

Cas could see Dean wasn’t getting any higher.

“No, stop, he’s tangled. I’m gonna have to head down there.” Cas says.

He heads over to Charlie who handed him some rope, getting the lopes around him, and working his harness on.

Cas hurries over the ledge.

Gabe, Michael, and Raphael tied Dean’s rope to hold him steady as they lowered Cas down to the lift.

“More slack!” Cas ordered as he got closer.  

Cas removed his work gloves to check the victims pulse.

“He’s in full cardiac arrest!” Cas shouts out, communicating.

Cas finishes what Dean had going. Connecting the loops around the victims arms and legs making a makeshift harness.

“Okay, lift him up!” Cas calls out.

The victim slowly rising as Gab, Michael and Raphael pulled the rope lifting the victim up.

“Dean, can you hear me man?” Cas asked, trying to lift Dean onto the lift.

He didn’t respond. He was out cold.

Cas furrowed his brow as he grew concerned for his friend.

“Okay, lift him up!” Cas ordered.

Cas seen the original victim made it over the ledge safely. And Dean began to slowly rise up to the top.

Once everyone was safely up, they got Cas up as well.

Cas helped with the cardiac victim while Charlie and the others assisted with Dean.

 Y/N sat at the nurses station charting her days work about ready to head home when an ambulance and squad approached the door.

She quickly typed up her report, saving it and sending it to her Director, she went to assist the paramedics.

Her heart dropped when she saw one of the patients being wheeled in.

“Dean.”

“Patient one was DOA, heart attack. Dean has a fever of 104.” Cas says.

“Okay, there’s an exam room open, lets get him in there. I’ll page Dr. Singer.”

“Where’s Jack?” Cas asked.

“He’s sick too. He was about to treat Kelly and Chuck when he collapsed. His fever is 103 and climbing.”

“How is Chuck?”

“Not doing well. Let’s focus on Dean please.” Y/N said, keeping the tears of fear at bay.

 Dean was all settled in a room later that night.

“Y/N.” Bobby says as he entered Dean’s room.

“Dr. Singer.”

“Your director doesn’t want you treating him. It’s against ethics.”

“I know. I’m off the clock.”

“Then what are you still doing here?”

“Oh, forgive me for staying by my boyfriend’s side.”

“Y/N, you’re D.O.N is on the other side of the this door. Relax.” He whispered.

“Bobby, I can’t think straight right now. I want to stay by his side, if that’s alright.”

“You can’t just stop everything because he’s sick. The CDC got back to us on the virus, you know this. It’s a strain of the Asian flu, a newer mutated strain. We have a drug we can use.”

She sighs, rubbing her face hard, trying to not get frustrated with herself.

“I know. I just want to know he’s going to be okay is all.”

“You love him. I know. But you have to still live life. Because that don’t stop. You got to keep going kid.”

She nods. “I’m guessing I can’t stay with him due to isolation protocol.”

“You got it. but once he’s better, you can.” She nods again.

“Please, keep me in the loop with him.”

“I’m sure Meg will. Cas was already on her case about him.”

She chuckles with a nod.

“Go home and rest. He’ll still be here tomorrow.”

She nods, leaving with a slump in her shoulders. Heading to her car. Driving quietly home.

It wasn’t until she got out of her shower, and laid in her empty bed did she let her walls come crumbling down.

A sob escaped from her, shaking her to her core.

“God, Dean. Please be okay.” She sobbed.

 The next day, she heads into work trying to focus on her patients.

She learned from one of the over night nurses that Chuck passed away.

Her anxiety already being high enough with her boyfriend being sick with the same virus, but the same virus that killed a fireman.

She headed up to Dean’s room where Meg walked out. Sweating after being in her PPE for some period of time.

“How is he?” she asks.

“Not good. His fever is not even breaking. He had the first 100 Milligrams of Idoxuridine.”

“Has it been two hours?”

“Close, it’s been about an hour and fifty minutes since last dose.”

“Give him another dose of it. Same for Jack if he’s not getting better.”

“Sure thing, I’m sure Bobby will understand.”

Y/N nodded as Meg went back inside to give Dean another dose of the drug.

Y/N headed back to the nurses station to chart her first half of the shift when her D.O.N approached the desk.

“Y/N, I was told you were by Dean’s room yet again. This time on the clock.”

“Sorry Jody, I just—”

“It’s okay, really. Bobby can be a hard ass sometimes, and I know I can be too. But my husband gets sick really easily. And I’d do the same thing you’re doing.” She says.

“Thank you…” she hesitates.

“I have your replacement coming in so you can see him and be with him. Once Donna gets here, go to him.”

“Thank you, thank you.” She says, as tears rise to the surface.

“It’s not a problem.” Jody smiles.

 Days pass as the doctors and nursing staff cared for Dean and Jack for the virus.

Y/N stayed day and night, her D.O.N giving her the week off on FMLA.

She had lost track of the days when she finally allowed herself to sleep.

Kelly was fully recovered and the doctors and nursing staff encouraged her to donate some blood so they can use her antibodies in her blood to donate to Dean and Jack so they have a fighting chance.

His fever finally broke, he was getting better. She could close her eyes and he’d still be there.

She woke that night to a hand on her head, playing with her hair.

She stirred awake to find Dean awake and well.

“Hey.” She says tiredly.

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.” He answers. “Babe, did you stay here all day?”

“Dean, it’s been a week. You’ve been out for a week.”

“Damn…but still, you’ve been here all week?”

“Yes. You scared me.” She says. Taking his hand and placing it on her cheek.

His thumb brushing against her cheekbone. Catching a tear that fell.

“Well I’m sorry for scaring you. But you’re worrying me, did you take care of yourself while you were here?”

“Not really. Haven’t been hungry. I’m not sick or anything.”

“I know, you’ve told me that you’ll get this way. Either in a good way, like an innocent way of binging your favorite show and forgot to eat. Or in a bad way, like this.”

“Let me get Meg and tell her you’re awake.”

Just as she says that, Meg comes walking in.

“Jack’s awake…oh Dean’s awake too.” She says.

“Yeah, he is.” Y/N Says tiredly.

“I’ll get Dr. Singer so we can see when you can go home. And get Y/N to a bed, she hasn’t slept much since she stayed here.”

“Really, not eating or sleeping.”

“She was worked up. who could blame her?” Meg asked.

“True.”

Meg left the room to get Bobby.

Dean not saying a word, pulls Y/N’s arm guiding her in the bed with him.

She happily got in, curling into his side.

He felt a residual tremble shudder through her body.

“Shh, I’m here baby. I’m not going anywhere.” He says.

Not even a tiny virus would tear up this team.

~

A/N: Did you enjoy? How are you liking it so far? Favorites yet? Feedback is fuel and much appreciated. :3

~

Dean Girls:

@pandazombie69​, @luci-in-trenchcoats​, @supernatural-jackles​, @becs-bunker​, @winchesters-favorite-girl​, @jayankles​, @jeaniespiehs20​, @mlovesstories​, @akshi8278​, @flamencodiva​, @anotherspnfanfic​, @megzdoodle​, @lyarr24​

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 3/23/2021

[intricate-oeuvre]

On how to be deadly || Geralt of Rivia || part X

Word count: 2.8k+

Summary: Axelia is Witcher experiment herself and has gone through same harsh Trials as Geralt, but she wasn’t so lucky with the outcome. Her vision didn’t become better. Therefore, she was rendered blind in the end. And because of that, she solely uses her Witcher senses to make her ways. Only potions can give her false sense of sight for limited time.Somewhere along the way she meets the Rivian. Who’s interested to know how she’s been killing monsters and hasn’t been killed herself yet.

Warnings: BLOOD, angst as per usual, nakedness, bad grammar

A/N: thank you for 660+followers go follow @kal-of-house-of-el​​ for future moddboards and aesthetic pictures of this story.

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

Axelia felt weak. Every single part of her body ached. Like her limbs had been filled with lead, heavy and unmovable. She was hot, probably an after effect of fever. Before letting her eyes flutter open, she let out a deep breath through her nose. She heard shuffling around her. Fabric dragging along the floor-boards and high heels clacking against them. Someone was in there with her, someone with a dress, most likely. Then she smelled dozens of herbs and scents she wasn’t entirely familiar with. Candles lit around the room. She could smell them, hear them and feel the heat radiating from them. There was still a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. From Black Blood potion.

Axelia slowly opened her eyes and scanned the room. Her witcher senses felt dull at the moment and she really couldn’t understand where she was in. It was a room, she could make out all four walls, doors on the left side corner and that was it. She couldn’t tell anything else about the room. And that made her slightly panic. Also the chattering voices coming from somewhere below her didn’t ease the nerves.

“Where am I?” Axelia asked, immediately regretting it, because it felt like sandpaper was being dragged somewhere in her throat.

“You’re awake.” Voice stated. Axelia’s eyebrows furrowed at the sound. She tilted her head slightly, listening to all the little noises and fine-tuning her senses.

Lilac and gooseberries. Handful of them.

“Yennefer.” Axelia whispered and tried to sit up.

“I would advise against it.” Yennefer stated upon hearing hiss from she-witcher. Axelia listened and didn’t move any longer.

“Why am I alive?” Axelia asked, her voice still croaky. Yennefer picked up a cup of water and holding it in her outstretched hand waited for Axelia to take it. Sorceress knew she could see, in her own way of course, but she was sure Axelia could perceive things pretty clearly.

Axelia rose her eyebrow at her, suspicious of her kindness.

“It’s just water.” Yennefer assured flatly. Axelia slowly reached for the cup, her hand trembling a little, still stiff from all the beating she had endured.

“You’re his soulmate.” Yennefer took her in. All the details about her.

Her white long hair, that was still half dirty. Her high-arched dark eyebrows that framed her milky eyes that shone like two marbles, outlined by long and dark lashes that fluttered against her high cheekbones whenever she blinked. Her pointy nose and the cupids bow that graced her upper lip in a company of plump lower lip. Her slim, yet fit and trained body that was hidden under her fabric bralette that was soaked with dried blood and her dark pants that were ripped in several places. Axelia’s long, sharp, claw-like nails that were tainted in fleshy tone to make them seamlessly blend with her fingers, making them look even longer. And couple of rings adorned those digits. Yennefer noticed the wolf medallion around her neck signifying her affiliation with Kaer Morhen. Her skin was pale, similar to Geralt’s, but at the moment covered in cleaned cuts and stiches, some dried dirt and blood covering other patches. Momentarily Yennefer wondered how she would look if she wasn’t a witcher. What was her hair like? What eyes did she have? Any freckles and/or birth marks?

“You’re the love of his life.” Axelia said, letting the hand with cup in it, rest on her lower stomach.

“I suppose you are the one who stitched me up.” Axelia glanced down at herself.

“That I did.” Yennefer stood by the end of Axelia’s bed.

“Thank you.” Axelia hummed, her nail tapping against the cup, her ears catching the sound of metal because of it.

“How does it feel to run into him all the time?” Yennefer asked. Axelia could feel that this was the only subject that sorceress wanted to talk about.

“How does it feel that he loves you and does not love me?” Axelia bit back, not wanting to really dwell on the subject. Her chin raised towards the sorceress, her try of making herself look indifferent of her own statement.

“Loves me?” Yennefer barked out a laugh, her eyes sliding around the room as her hands dug in her hips.

“He anything but run to you.” Yennefer said, her purple eyes burning at Axelia.

Putting the cup on the small table that Axelia had felt besides the bed, she sat higher up in the bed, letting her back rest against the high bed frame. Letting out a grunt of pain and flinching at her own moves. Her hand rested on her bandaged side as she sighed and tilted her head to the side. Allowing her porcelain eyes flicker up at Yennefer.

“You made him choose, didn’t you?” Axelia stated, her eyes running along the expensive dress with it’s intricate design.

“What else should have I done?” Yennefer asked, slightly irritated.

That’s why the old lady said: you choose the love of your life.

“And what did he tell you, pry tell.” Axelia hummed twirling her thumb around her fourth finger and then running in along the underside of her rings. Something she had picked up from Jaskier.

“He went after you, didn’t he?” Yennefer said with distaste again.

“It’s a soulmates thing, I do too run after him. Without knowing it.” Axelia explained.

“Oh, no. He specifically asked where you were. That was intentional.” Yennefer continued. Axelia’s eyebrows shot up. He came after her? Why?

There was a soft knock on the door and Ciri’s head appeared in the doors.

“You’re awake.” She beamed, happy to see Axelia alive and breathing.

“Indeed.” Axelia nodded, sending a small smile towards girl.

“I’ll be right back.” Ciri mumbled, her eyes sliding to Yennefer, feeling tension in the room.

“Do you love him?” Yennefer turned back to Axelia when the door closed.

“I would think so, yes.” Axelia said in a whisper, her tone soft as if she was remembering better times, fingers of her right hand resting against her lips. She couldn’t lie to herself. It was pointless. Exhausting even. She would always choose him. In million different worlds, in thousands of lifetimes, in hundreds of realities, she would always choose him, no matter what. Her stupid broken heart still waited and hoped for him to come back and mend her soul.

“Tragic.” Yennefer looked down, picking invisible dust off of her dress. After a moment, Ciri walked back in, this time Jaskier hot on her heels.

“Oh, thank the Lords, you’re alive!” Jaskier clapped his hands together.

Axelia smiled at him fondly, her right hand absentmindedly stretching to her side, Ciri’s eyes following her movement towards a dark shirt that was draped across the back of the chair. Ciri scurried to it and handed to Axelia, who only putted it across her front, shielding her bruised skin and bralette, and tucking it under her chin. Familiar scent hit her nose. With a discreet glance at it, she realized it was not hers but Geralt’s shirt.

“Jaskier, hello.” Axelia answered him, extending her left hand towards and wiggling her fingers at him. He smiled at her and reached for her hand, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles as he sank on the bed, besides her legs.

“How are you feeling?” Jaskier asked, his eyes flicking across her face, catching on every single bruise and cut that littered her features. With roll of her eyes, Yennefer sat on one of the chairs.

“I killed the monsters, didn’t I?” Axelia hummed, revealing a row of teeth as she grinned at the bard.

“You mean when Geralt brought your seemingly lifeless body here?” Jaskier leaned forward.

“Was it that bad?” Axelia chuckled, she didn’t remember a thing. She let out a small hum, her mind drifting to Geralt. What was he up to?

“He’s brooding somewhere.” Jaskier answered as if he read her mind.

“He’s kind of angry.” Ciri chirped in.

“Oh, yeah. Went with all that how could she be so stupid thing, you know, the usual.” Jaskier grinned at she-witcher.

“I don’t blame him.” Axelia whispered, her eyes sliding across the room as she heard the local girls from inn bringing up the hot water for a bath.

“You need a bath, missy.” Jaskier explained, turning her arm in his hand and rubbing at the dried dirt on her forearm.

“Bath sounds nice.” Axelia smiled up at him, feeling that whole hot bath thing was his doing.

“Thank you.” She said quietly to him, squeezing his hand in her palm in appreciative gesture.

“Of course. We’ll leave you to it.” Jaskier let go of her hand and raised one eyebrow at her, as she sat up straight and let out a huff.

“Need someone to accompany you?” he said, breaking into a grin in the end. She looked at him, her eyes big.

“Jaskier!” she hissed at him and playfully swatted his arm. He and his dumb innuendos. He laughed and helped her to stand.

“What?” He laughed making sure she won’t fall.

“Nothing, you absolute idiot.” Axelia chuckled fondly and let go of him, keeping one hand on the bed, to keep herself upright and the other still holding shirt in front of her chest.

“Glad that you’re alright.” Jaskier mumbled at her and with look at Ciri and Yennefer, left the room.

“I’ll see you later? I have so many questions.” Ciri seemed ecstatic. Axelia smiled at her, knowing that the girl wanted to know and learn more about her being a female witcher.

“Of course. I’ll send someone to fetch for you later.” Axelia patted her shoulder, her long fingers skimming down girl’s arm, because she was drawn in by a familiar fabric, that was tied around Ciri’s upper arm now.

“I told you to-” Axelia started with the furrow of her brows.

“I know. He didn’t take it. You said that he hated it.” Ciri was quick to explain. Axelia let out a soft hum at that and let her gaze drop to the floor as Ciri left the room.

“Well, then…” Yennefer stood up with a sigh. Axelia continued to stare at the floor boards, for a moment only hearing Yennefer grabbing something from the top of the dresser. Something made out of metal. Axelia’s eyes shoot up and looked at sorceress. Yennefer walked closer to Axelia, her eyes still cold and red-painted lips pulled up in dissatisfaction. She grabbed Axelia’s hand that was keeping her straight against the bed and putted the metal object in she-witcher’s palm.

“For bandages.” Yennefer leaned in to whisper in her ear. Axelia’s long fingers wrapped around the cold scissors. With one jealous and scrutinizing look at Axelia, Yennefer left the room, leaving Axelia all alone. Finally.

With a exhale she putted the shirt on the bed. Her eyes drifting to the scissors in her hand. With furrowed brows she turned them around in her hand and then with stumbles made her way to the bath that was hidden behind thick woollen drapes somewhere in the back of the room. She followed her nose and looked at all the vials and bowls that contained dozens of different scents, herbs, salts and oils. She held scissors close to her chests as her other hand slid across the soft towel. She put it closer to the bath. Then with nimble wingers she tried to get off her pants, but since it was impossible without ripping her stitches, she literally cut her pants off of herself. The she reached and untied her bralette, letting it join the cut-up pants on the ground. Axelia run her fingers along the bandages around her stomach. Her nails gently scraping against it, trying to find where Yennefer had tucked the loose end of it. Not being able to find it, she took the scissors and cut it open on the untouched side. Then peeling off it with small hiss, she threw the metal clippers and old bandages somewhere on the table, landing them near the end closer to the tub. Now standing all naked as the day she was born, except for the wolf medallion sitting snuggly in a necklace between the valley of her breasts, she glanced at the vials again. Letting her nose guide her, she picked her favourites: sandalwood oil. Generously adding it to the water. Then picking up handful of rose petals, she added them to water too. Finally, her hand grabbed soap: velvet rose scented soap. Putting the ingot on the little stool that was adorned with her towel near the bath, she looked at her hands. Carefully taking off every single ring, not wanting them to tangle in her hair, she putted them all in a perfect line on the edge of the table. Before she stepped in the bath, she looked around at the flickering candle lights. With decadent steps, she stepped closer to the body of water and raised her aching bones to let herself sit in the middle of the bath. Holding herself up by the sides of the tub, she sank in the water with a hiss.

Her knuckled turned white from the force she was using to hold herself up. Tub was big enough, so that when she was sitting in the middle of it, she could still let her legs be half-outstretched in front of her. The tub was oval shaped, long yet not wide. Taking a deep lungful, she leaned back until she was submerged under the water. And she stayed fully under the water. For a moment. Her eyes flickered open, and glanced at the rose petals that slid across the surface of the water.

Her hands slid from underneath the water and her fingers wrapped around the edges of the tub, getting ready to pull herself out from underneath the liquid.

With a gasp, she quickly sat up, her hands flying to her face to push her hair back, letting it cascade entirely behind her back. Her nails slid down her neck and stopped at her collarbone.

Then she took her time to detangle and wash her hair, using rose oil to make it softer and get rid of the smell of blood and dirt in it. Then she scrubbed her skin, carefully around the bruises and stitches. Her eyes drifting along her scars that littered her whole body. Her nails picking at older scabs and ripping them away to reveal new skin beneath. When she was almost done, she heard someone enter the room. And she froze for a second. Axelia slid to the other end of the tub as her hand shot out from the water, and snatched the scissors. Pulling them under water she sank deeper in now milk white water. Only half of her head out of the water. Her white eyes that at the moment resembled the water within the bath, shone bright as she peeked across the edge of the tub. The hand that was not holding scissors, crept out of the water and gripped the edge of the bath. Just to be ready if she needed to hoist herself out. Water dripped from her nails on the ground, as she stared at the form that was backlit behind the thick drapes. Her nose couldn’t sense a lot, since it was empowered by all the smells around the tub. But when all too familiar face peeked between curtains, Axelia rolled her eyes and sighed.

“It’s you.” She mumbled, hoisting herself higher, letting her forearm rest on the side of the tub, as the other one with the scissors was pulled out, and now dangling over the edge.

Geralt rose eyebrow at her antics. With half amused hum, he walked closer, making sure that the curtain was still neatly closed. His eyes catching on all the rings that were placed in impeccably straight line, along the edge of the table. Afterwards he walked closer and took the scissors out of Axelia’s hand and putted them somewhere on the table. Then he sat at the stool, putting the towel to the side.

Axelia didn’t move for a second, but then her nose scrunched up and she pushed herself across the tub, further away from Geralt.

“I’ll ask you to leave, good sir, if you insist of smelling that ghastly.” Axelia mumbled, pointer finger raising to slide under her nose.

“Didn’t have time to bathe exactly, when I needed to make sure you were alive.” Geralt answered her jest.

“I am now. So, you can go and have your own bath.” Axelia crossed her arms over her breasts under the water. Geralt glanced at the water, that was still sending off steam in the cooler room. And then his hand rose to undo the buttons of his shirt and pull it over his head.

“I said your own bath, Geralt.” Axelia’s hands fell to her sides. She really hoped that he was joking.

“That is my bath.” Geralt smirked at her.

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

~~~~~

tags:  @boiled-onionrings @fandomwithnolifesblog @901seconds @kingniazx @shesakillerkween @your-dreams-are-strong @stitchattacks @ayamenimthiriel @stormfire6 @mr-illegal-king @stretchkingblog97 @mikariell95 @geralt-of-motherfucking-rivia @martian-m @republicansithlord @notso-fetch @lizliz3107 @godlydolans @arsaky-lou @eternallyvenus @le-reina-asesina @alwayshave-faith @writingmi @secretsthathauntus @staringmoony​ @kenai731 @holychic @dramaticturnaway @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @mommableaubear  @seouldesire @runs-with-sciss0rs @yes-captainstark @fandomhell97 @newtdisneywho @ekaymnslvs @deansbbysblog @hoppelessdreamer @dejewskoo @sleepy-bunnie @strangerliaa @puffedchoco

NB: SORRY IF I CANT TAG YOU, TUMBLR DOESNT LET ME

[scottspack]

My Wife Has An 18 Hour Drive Fic Rec Roundup

I wanted to make a fic rec post for the insane amount of Untamed fic ive been reading anyways, and Chi @got2ghost​ is driving halfway across the country tomorrow, so there’s no time like the present to put all of the really great fics ive read over the past couple of weeks in one location! Let’s get it poppin!

Ones That Chi Already Read:

A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart (Wangxian, E, 21k)

The funny part is - and it is a little funny, even if Wei Wuxian has no one left to share the joke with - they never have. Not anything. He has never kissed any part of Lan Zhan besides his slim hands; never been even partially undressed with him anywhere besides a miserable, xuanwu-infested cave. It’s always been like this between them, this simmering need, this desperate understanding: a knowledge so deep that it lives somewhere in his bones, that if he wanted to have Lan Zhan he could have him, and if Lan Zhan wanted Wei Wuxian he could have that too. But they never have.

I found this fic on someone’s blog when they said that it was the definitive fic to read directly after finishing the series so i saved it, read it directly after finishing the series, and felt completely and wholly fulfilled by the resolution found in this fic. 10/10 cant recommend enough. 

One Rouge Spark In My Direction by hansbekhart (Lan Wangji/Xiao Xingchen/Song Lan E, 5k)

He’d thought, in Yueyang, that they’d seen something in each other, something familiar. That maybe they’d recognized something in him. But it’s been many years, and many things have happened since, and he’s guessed wrongly at other people’s hearts before. Lan Wangji looks back down at the table, at his steaming, bitter tea. He’ll beg if he has to.

In “A Lot Of Edges Called Perhaps” Wangji mentions that he has had sex before and this is the in-universe story of that time and WHEW BABY!!!! AHHHHHH!!!

Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Laz Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

Later, when he’s older, it’s this that A-Yuan will remember most: the stretch of silence, the two of them both dirty and shaking with fever, as he looked at Brother Rich, and Brother Rich looked back at him.

This is a fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui from when he brings him back from the Burial Mounds until they bring Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses after he’s resurrected. It made me cry about 18 times and I consider it fully canon in relation to the show. I reread this fic at LEAST once a week. *chefs kiss*

Seldom All They Seem by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 25k)

or, one hundred and thirty-three principles of the Gusu Lan, pertaining to the state of marriage

***

He bows to Wei Wuxian, sword in hand, sleeves falling properly. Wei Wuxian bows in return, and the sect leaders begin the opening courtesies, and for all of ten minutes Lan Wangji is under the impression that he is betrothed to a boy who is perfectly normal and acceptable apart from an unfortunate tendency to fidget with his clothes.

That impression does not last.

A canon-divergent fic exploring “what if Wangji and Wuxian were betrothed from when they were young like Yanli and the peacock?” It’s extremely good and very compelling and also made me cry multiple times. (The confrontation in the rain doesn’t get any easier even if they’re betrothed!)

Half Cloak & Half Dagger by Fahye (Lan Xichen/Meng Yao, E, 13k)

Jin Guangyao lifts his head and smiles. "I'm considering a problem."

"Can I be of any assistance with it?"

He drops a kiss on Lan Xichen's chest. With the nail of one finger he lightly traces the characters for irony on Lan Xichen's side. "Not this one, er-ge."

In the “Seldom All They Seem” universe but focused on xiyao. Has hands down the best written characterization of meng yao in any fic ive read so far. I continuously come back to this fic just to read the absolutely genius way this author writes the Head Bitch In Control of the cultivation world.

Hurricane by gdgdbaby (Wangxian, E, 6k)

"Haven't you heard?" Nie Huaisang replied, clicking his tongue, though he was clearly pleased that he could be the one to break the news. He leaned in to announce with a dramatic flourish: "Lan Wangji just took emergency family leave this past weekend."

WANGXIAN AS SPIRK STAR TREK PON FAR AU!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEWOO WEEWOO WEEWOO!!!!!!!! This was actually recced to ME by CHI and I have not stopped thinking about this fic for a full month. It’s like author gdgdbaby sat down one day and was like “Tumblr user Liv Scottspack deserves everything she wants in this life.” and then wrote this fic. Thank you author gdgdbaby, I love you.

Ones That Chi Has Yet To Read:

My Age Has Never Made Me Wise by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 63k)

“We hear that His Excellency might be married by summer’s end,” the merchant’s wife says and Wei Wuxian freezes, his heart in his throat. “The Gusu Lan sect has been buying enough red silk and brocade that the merchants in Caiyi can’t satisfy the demand.”

He feels himself grow brittle inside, like a flick of a finger to his temple might make him shatter. His ears are ringing.

“Who’s the lucky bride?” he asks despite himself. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

Or: The story of a marriage.

I LOVE THIS FIC. The absolute best kind of slow burn and I think such an extremely accurate representation of the canon material. I’m always surprised by the authors in this fandom’s ability to write shit that is so concretely grounded in the universe. This could and should be a real companion novel. Amazing. I love it.

The Year of Drought by idrilka (Wangxian, E, 24k)

Wei Ying could not be contained by the walls of the Cloud Recesses, alive again and overflowing with it, bursting like a dam in spring with the force of two lives unspent. And so he had to go. Lan Wangji understands that—he understood it when Wei Ying told him of his plans, looking at Lan Wangji above the rim of his cup with an apologetic smile, like craving freedom was something to apologize for.

Wei Ying would go, and Lan Wangji would see him off; this has always been the only way it could be.

Or: In the absence of Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji waits.

The previous fic but from Wangji’s perspective. Absolutely required reading if you read the other one. Wangji baby.......i love you.....

A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste (Jin Ling/Lan Sizhui, T, 20k)

“And,” said one of the pompous ministers, “there’s the matter of a marriage to consider as well!”

Jin Ling, who at the beginning of that sentence had expected to slam into the very last wall of his patience and lose his temper entirely, paused. “A what?”

Thing was… it wasn’t such a bad idea.

Jin Ling gets it in his head that as sect leader he should get married and sets his sights on Lan Sizhui. I cannot stress enough how FUCKING CUTE this fic is!!! Sizhui being the best boy! Jin Ling having more uncles than he knows what to do with! Jiang Cheng being the worst at relationship advice! It’s so fucking good it love it so much.

Anyway, Here’s Wuji by kakikaeru (Lan Jingyi/Lan Sizhui, T, 18k)

The melody gets a little clearer when he breaks out of the trees, and Jingyi changes course with certainty, barreling down the back hill and through the Cloud Recesses, dodging scandalized disciples left and right. He throws open the doors to the Receiving Hall without announcement and bows nearly double, eyes on the floor instead of on the shocked faces of the Mei delegation and the impenetrable gaze of the Chief Cultivator.

"Forgive this disciple," Jingyi shouts, because he's going to get punished for rule breaking regardless. "From the back hill, Hanguang-jun, there is a song in the wind!"

Lan Jingyi comes of age.

A Jingyi-central fic about Jingyi growing up and falling in love and being a hero and being the second best boy of my heart right after Sizhui. Not only is this fic sweet and romantic but it’s another one that explores a lot of interesting things within canon and all of the supporting characters are written very well and are just as interesting as second best boy Jingyi.

Ok, JiuJiu by kakikaeru (Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen, T, 16k)

Uncle's jaw works in the way that suggests he's about to say something irredeemable. Jin Ling, in a move of diplomacy he hopes the Chief Cultivator appreciates, distracts him with spicy food and his favourite subject: the incompetence of his own officials.

"I hear the lakes in the south east are having drainage problems?" he asks nonchalantly, sticking three big slices of braised pork belly into his Uncle's bowl.

Jin Ling just wants to get through the Discussion Conference with his Sect, his dignity, and his heart intact.

A follow up fic to “Anyways, Here’s Wuji.” I LOVE the Jin Ling/Ouyang Zizhen dynamic of Jin Ling having been raised by Jiang “I keep all my emotions right here and then one day I’ll die” Cheng being hopelessly charmed and smitten with Ouyang “President of the I Love Love Romance Novel Book Club” Zizhen! I LOVE IT! EXTREMELY CUTE!

This Side of Paradise by greenfionn (Wei Wuxian/Wen Qing, E, 3k)

Wei Wuxian does some very quick math in his head that goes something like this: He is pretty sure he’s in love with Lan Zhan - Lan Zhan is not here and likely never will be here - Wen Qing is here, not to mention very hot and let us not forget, actually interested in sex with him - there’s a solid chance he goes genuinely crazy or dies, or both, in the next few months and really, who wants to die a virgin?

Listen.......the fic premise is “Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing, noted bisexuals, figure life sucks enough at the Burial Mounds, they might as well have any fun they can before they die” and........I Am Looking Directly At It. It features Wen Qing bossing Wei Wuxian around and Wei Wuxian’s canon he-wants-to-be-pregnant kink. It’s........I liked it.

To The Act of Making Noise by words-writ-in-starlight (Lan Sizhui & Lan Wangji, G, 19k)

His father in white plays the song late into the night, and when A-Yuan wakes up confused and afraid, the guqin lulls him back to sleep.

Lan Sizhui hears his father play the same song every night for his whole life, and never, ever get an answer.

Another very moving and heartwarming fic about Lan Wangji raising Sizhui and Sizhui figuring out Wangji’s past and then eventually reconnecting with Wei Wuxian. It’s cute and soft and Sizhui is my best boy!

History (Proud To Call Your Own) by words-writ-in-starlight (Wen Ning, G, 5k)

“A-Yuan? Um—Lan-gongzi,” Wen Ning corrects, trying to set a good example. The children are young, seven and eight, exactly a dozen of them lined up in two crisp lines of tiny blue and white robes. Wen Ning can feel them staring at him, even though most of them have already mastered that Lan trick of neutrality. The smallest, a little girl with liquid dark eyes, is clinging to her nearest shijie’s sleeve and half-hiding. “Can I—what can I do for you?”

Wen Ning gets himself recruited for services, while he and Sizhui are visiting Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian gets a fan club.

Set in the same universe as “To The Act of Making Noise,” a very cute fic about Wen Ning finding his place in the post-canon world and being proud of his cousin Sizhui and being the world’s best substitute teacher. As the official Wen Ning Fan Club President, I had to include this.

Lan Sizhui's Guide to Courtship by Kimblydot (Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi, T, 23k)

In which Jingyi is a little oblivious, Sizhui is patient (and should have said something in the beginning), and everyone else is resigned to watching them dance around each other for far longer than necessary.

(Or: five things Sizhui tries to do in his courtship, and the one time Jingyi realizes there was one happening in the first place.)

I’ll stop describing fics about the juniors as being “cute” when they stop being SO FUCKING CUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

Grow by cafecliche (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, T, 14k)

“Okay,” Jingyi says, as Sizhui puzzles this out aloud. “Okay! So the demon has been turning its victims into children.”

“I think so,” Sizhui says.

“To make them easier prey,” Jingyi says.

“Yes,” Sizhui says.

“So—” Jingyi’s voice cracks here, “this kid is Senior Wei.”

Wei Wuxian, still tangled in his own massive robes, blinks politely at them.

(Or: Wei Wuxian is cursed on a night-hunt, and the junior quartet rapidly finds themselves in over their heads.)

What I expected to be a goofy, silly fic turned out to be extremely emotional and made me FULLY CRY! It’s a very moving fic about Sizhui coming to understand himself and Wei Wuxian a lot better AND features all of the juniors arguing over who’s turn it is to hold 6 year old Wei Wuxian. A true win/win of a fic.

Your Name, Safe In Their Mouth by astrolesbian (Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian, G, 10k)

“You’ve got a fever,” Wei Wuxian says soothingly. “You just keep still as well as you can. We’ll have you fixed up soon.”

Lan Sizhui recognizes his tone—this is the voice that Wei Wuxian uses on hurt people and young children, a very calm and no-nonsense voice that has none of the mischief and cheer of the way he sounds the rest of the time. Lan Sizhui looks up and meets his eyes, and they are dark, stormy gray, muddled and concerned.

“I’m all right,” he croaks.

“Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.”

or: lan sizhui gets sick on a night hunt. wei wuxian comforts him. they both have a lot of feelings about it.

The Wei Wuxian and Sizhui bonding fic that I so desperately desperately needed to read. Scratched the very particular itch of “but have they REALLY talked about what it means that they’re reunited after 16 years???”

Stainless by Fahye (Wangxian, E, 6k)

"I'm starting to feel," says Lan Xichen, "that this was a counterproductive suggestion."

Wei Wuxian looks down onto the pristine, tranquil cold springs of the Cloud Recesses. Sitting in the water, their bare shoulders rising like dumplings carefully spaced in a steaming-basket, are a large number of Lan disciples.

"They seem to be doing better," he says, encouragingly. "If they--oh, no, I see what you mean."

At the near bank, someone has pressed someone else against the rocks and is kissing them frantically.

It’s smut! What is getting into a new pairing if not an excuse to read sex pollen in new and exciting ways!

Sweet Night by thejillyfish (Wangxian, E, 10k)

It was like coming back to life again, like being restitched into existence, cell by cell, nerve by nerve. From the surface of his skin to the marrow of his bones, everything new and purposeful. Like being pulled back from oblivion into an embrace of pure light. A feeling of absolute asylum.

That’s what it felt like, to realize Lan Wangji was in love with him.

In-show au of “what if they just admitted they’re in love and fucked during episode 43?” Soft and romantic and hot!

Shadows In The Sun Rise by Yuu_chi (Wangxian, E, 25k)

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, voice slow and a pitch too quiet. A second later Wei Wuxian understands why. “I cannot hear.”

Or; Lan Wangji is cursed into internal isolation. Their ability to understand one another remains as unwavering as ever.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I have been thinking about this fic nonstop since I read it. It is.....fucking incredible. One of the best qualities of wangxian is that they’re so in tune with each other and able to work so cohesively with little communication and this fic is like “what if we take that and DIAL IT UP TO ELEVEN” and i was like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! 

WHEW OKAY that’s enough for right now!

I’m constantly reading new fics all the time so maybe eventually I’ll make a second one if Chi actually reads/likes any of these (they’re picky!), or if anyone else likes this list and wants updates.

TO CHI: Thank you for getting me into The Untamed! I love you! I had the best time texting you every thought that passed through my head while I watched it. I’ve loved all of the content you’ve sent me from the book and the comic. I’ve loved making fun of Yibo with you. I’ve loved being your fic taste tester. Life sucks right now but at least we have wangxian!

TO EVERYONE ELSE: If you read any of these fics please come to my DMs and talk to me about them! I have a lot of feelings and love to cry over fics! Thank you!

[hostclubtotallysaidthis]

🌃🕯🥀 with Kyoya please I love your blog btw ❤️❤️

Memory Prompts | Heavy TW for suicide and suicidal thoughts!!

🕯- A sad memory they would rather forget

Kyoya stood, staring at the wooden door with wide eyes. He didn't know if he should go in, even though he wanted to. His mother was sick and needed rest, she'd lost a lot of blood and stopped breathing. Her brunette hair was messy and greasy, and dark bags lay beneath the eyes that were so much like his.

They were always compared, looks-wise. He was a tiny version of his mother, one of the reasons why she let him keep his hair at shoulder length. He was as pretty as a little girl, as pretty as her, and it made the two of them feel... closer. Even if he went weeks without seeing her, he could just look in the mirror and see the parts of her he was given.

She always seemed to need her rest, but he had to see her now. He came so close to... She almost died, and he wouldn't have said goodbye. He wouldn't be able to hug her, kiss her cheek, and listen to her sing. It felt almost selfish to think of it in those terms, but he loved her so much and he couldn't bear to think of the hole she'd leave in his heart.

Taking hold of his resolve, he pulled open the door and stepped inside the clinical, sterile room. He knew hospital rooms had to be clean, but the smell of antiseptic and iodine was pungent, and paired with something disgustingly stale. It didn't suit her. She loved flowers, and the best perfumes, and silk sheets and... and...

"Baby boy."

Her face and voice were both warm and cotton soft when he finally let his gaze lay on her, sitting up in that awfully uncomfortable bed, but he wasn't fooled into thinking she was alright. Bandages lay thickly around her forearms, and she definitely had stitches. Her eyes were puffy, raw and red, bloodshot from the tears she must have cried when she awoke. His father had explained to him, after all, in more detail than an eight-year-old should know.

She wanted to die and was disappointed she was saved. It hurt. A searing pain wrapped around his heart when he thought about it, that none of them could convince her to stay.

Fighting his own tears, he rushed forward and climbed onto the bed, trying to be careful of the various IVs and wires attached to her slim frame. She didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him that he shouldn’t, simply cradled the back of his head and wove her fingers between the soft, black strands, kisses carefully pressed into his hair.

“It’s okay, baby boy,” She cooed, so sure that she could convince him of that. But she couldn’t, because he knew. He knew since he first saw her bleeding out on the bathroom floor.

She wasn’t okay.

🌃- A time they got to admire the beauty of a city

The suite was painfully impressive, even to a sheltered young boy raised in a mansion his whole life. Several rooms decorated in such a lush and overtly gaudy fashion which honestly disgusted his own sensibilities; a room doesn't need to be gold-gilded to show it was luxurious. He was a much bigger fan of the usual minimalism - monochromatic and glass surfaces gleaming in warm lamplight.

Still, he supposed he'd keep his mouth shut, considering the most likely outrageous cost and the fact that his father was nice enough to bring his youngest with him, opposed to his older brothers. It should be treated as an honour, even if it was simply because the other three children were too busy with their studies.

"Not that he asked me," Fuyumi had grumbled, but didn't elaborate further. She just stuck her nose back in her biology textbook, as if she hadn't uttered a single syllable.

Despite his dislike of the décor, what drew his eye was the view.

Panoramic windows lined the room, the night scenery laying beyond, and Kyoya had never seen Tokyo that beautiful. There were no stars, thanks to the light pollution, but thousands of lights were dotted around the city. Even if loud, bright, obnoxious advertisements made themselves known without a hint of apology, it was somehow captivating. Perhaps it was his lack of familiarity with cityscapes - let alone one like this - due to the Ootori estate having acres of land, but it was so absolutely breath-taking.

All he seemed to be able to do was walk over to the window in a daze, taking in every detail that became clearer the closer he came. His fingertips brushed the cool glass, his breath fogging an almost perfect, white-hued circle; it made the city beyond look even more dreamlike.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His father finally chimed in, depositing their suitcases by the sofa for the moment, "I hate the room, but this makes it all worth the tackiness of it all. Don't you agree?"

He nodded, not knowing quite what to say, and reached for the window latch, feeling the need for a little fresh air. However, it opened maybe an inch, and was stuck. He tried to force it, but his father merely took a breath.

"There's no point in trying, Kyoya," He stated, "They don't open any further. With wealth like this comes much stress and pressure, and there have been... incidents."

"Like with mum?" He replied without thinking, almost instant, and regretted it as soon as those poorly chosen words left his tongue. His father took a deep breath, and he could see his reflection in the glass, racking a hand through his hair.

“Kyoya, do you know why I took you out here?” He inquired, “I wanted you to… Get away from that for a little while. It’s not good for you.”

He didn’t argue with that. In fact, after their “conversation”, Kyoya didn’t say another word all evening, bombarded by thoughts one certainly shouldn’t utter aloud.

It’s certainly high enough. If I jumped from here, I doubt I’d ever get up again…

🥀- A memory about death and grief

Here he was, soon to disappear and leave behind... What?

Kyoya groaned, all but slamming the bottle of pills on the bathroom counter for what had to be the fifth time that hour, at least. His head couldn't shut up about killing himself, but of course he couldn't do it peacefully and with dignity. That'd be far too much to ask for Kyoya Ootori!

It certainly wasn't the first time his consideration to end it all took him to the bathroom, but it was the first time he held the sedatives in his hand, summoning the will to swallow them all. They weren't a painless death - far from - but it was convenient. Slitting wrists and throats had to have a certain precision his shaking hands wouldn't be able to muster, drowning tended to have a low success rate, as self-preservation kicks in. With pills, he could swallow them down, and then go take a nap.

While unpleasant to think about, if he aspirated his own vomit, it would at least be quick, as long as he wasn't found.

But no, all of those perfectly reasonable things weren't what were making him hesitant. He'd like to act like the weeping martyr, say how he didn't want to hurt his family, and turn away. Not to get help, of course, because if you truly were the golden-hearted sob story, then your issues would dissolve into thin air and you'd just be happy again.

No, he's hesitant for fully selfish reasons.

Legacy is such an important thing, and what has he accomplished in his thirteen years of yearning? Nothing of note. He doesn't have friends, he's a good student but thoroughly average for an Ootori, no extra curriculars or talents that would make others think "Oh, he's that kid!"

Will the servants set a place for him at the table, before removing the cutlery and continuing their day a little more melancholic? Will his brothers miss him? Will Fuyumi cry over him? Will his father soldier through with his usual stoicism, before finally breaking down in the privacy of his office?

He can't imagine that. He can't imagine any thoughts of him after he walks out of his life. Because why would they? He can't imagine anyone truly caring anymore. He was too sad, too lethargic, too cold. His pretty looks also seemed to slip through his fingers like the dry, brittle strands of hair that fell from his hair. Even the vainest, shallowest of reasons to notice someone had abandoned him. He wouldn't even mind it if he was purely ornamental to someone, not anymore.

He growled deep in his throat, bile creeping up, and his chest was far too tight. He didn't know what he wanted - leave and be unremarkable, or struggle on and suffer. He wanted to rest, to stop fighting for once. Leave the battlefield for new planes.

But no. He couldn't. Not until he could say that people would at least call his death a shame - and mean it. A star turning supernova before imploding.

Yeah, right; like that could ever happen. 

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Pay It Forward

A/N: I’ve been stuck in a car for five hours so here have a shitty one shot for a dead fucking fandom because I know who I am and so should y’all at this point

Caaron AU, One Shot - Gas Station Meeting

*

A thousand miles down.

Carson tosses the bundle of road snacks onto the counter, including several bags of chips, a handful of slim Jim’s, and at least six bottles of water. He’s not sure if it’s the obnoxious fluorescent lights in the grimy gas station or the lack of proper sleep or exhaustion from driving so long but his head is pounding like a motherfucker.

A thousand to go.

“How much does that come out to?” He asks the cashier, digging in his pocket for the wad of cash he still has left.

“Seventeen sixteen.”

“Okay.” He exhales, does a couple of quick calculations in his head to determine how much he can spend and still have enough for the tank of gas he needs after this one is depleted. He has enough. Barely, but enough. “Can I add forty to number six?”

The cashier barely gives a puzzled glance outside. “Uh, I think your friend beat you to it.”

Friend? Carson doesn’t have any friends.

“What?” She points, and Carson follows her finger with his gaze to see some asshole who, based on his pink patterned pants and oversized denim jacket, looks like he was plucked right out of a John Hughes script pumping gas into his car.

Before he knows it, Carson hears the tinkling bell of the door ring as he’s bursting through it in a panic. “Hey!” He shouts, bolting towards the strange boy.

Said stranger just gives him an annoyingly charming smile and waves, still leaning against Carson’s car, still filling it up. “Hey,” he responds much too passively for Carson’s taste, like Carson’s anger just rolls right off him.

In Clover, Carson hadn’t had much hold over the likes of Claire Matthews and company, but he’d taken pleasure in the way they’d writhe underneath his sharp tongue.

“I know it’s a piece of shit,” he starts. “But it’s my piece of shit, and I’m not about to let some Wham looking douchebag take it from me.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “I’m not trying to steal your car, dude.”

“Then what, might I ask, are you doing?”

“I’m doing that whole pay it forward thing you read about on Facebook and stuff.”

“Why the hell would you do something like that?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “To be nice, I guess.”

Carson stares at him disbelievingly. He knows from personal experience that people just don’t just do things to be nice. People do a lot of things for a lot of reasons; sex, drugs, personal gain, getting into one of the Big Ten universities—but not to be fucking nice.

“Aaron.” The stranger says, just as irritatingly serene as the rest of the conversation, pulling Carson out of his own thoughts and extending his hand towards him.

Carson doesn’t take it, just keeps staring suspiciously as Aaron pulls out the nozzle from the gas socket and places back on the handle.

“Why are you really doing this?” He asks.

“Like I said, to be nice.”

Carson scoffs incredulously. “Why are you so calm all the time?” He asks, because nobody could possibly exist in this crappy world and have such a laid back demeanor.

“I think a better question is why are you so worked up over somebody trying to do you a favor.”

“Because I don’t want to owe anybody one.” He snaps back.

“You don’t,” Aaron says simply and Carson wants to smack the cocky grin right off his face. “Alright,” he admits. “You wanna know why I really paid for your gas...?” He trails off, hoping for a name.

He finds himself giving one, despite himself. “Carson. And please, enlighten me.”

“Carson.” Aaron finishes, and though he’s never heard his own name roll off of someone’s tongue without any sense of loathing in it, Carson is mildly surprised when he doesn’t entirely hate it. “I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen, so I’ve spent my fair share of days living in a car...” he looks pointedly at Carson’s. “And what that looks like.”

“I’m not living in my car.” He spits defensively.

“Summer vacationing?”

Carson just glares at him.

“I’m not living in my car.” He repeats. “It’s just taking a little longer to get to Illinois than I anticipated and I don’t see reason to waste money on a shitty motel when I have an equally shitty backseat—“ he stops himself suddenly, coming to the realization that he doesn’t owe this boy he’s knows for less than ten minutes any explanations... despite his desire to give him one. “I don’t have time for this.” He mutters and circles around to the driver’s side.

Aaron goes around the other side and reaches out for Carson’s wrist. “Wait.” He pleads, and Carson actively chooses to ignore the fact that’s it’s not the worst sensation he’s ever felt.

“What?” He hisses instead.

“You intrigue me.”

Carson snorts at that. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yeah, well I’d like to change that.” Carson rolls his eyes. “What kind of car is it? I can’t really tell.”

“Because of the rust?” Carson huffs. “Yeah, neither can I. It was my grandpa’s.”

“Vintage. Righteous,” Aaron responds, nodding in approval.

“Righteous?” Carson cocks an eyebrow, trying for judgement but it comes off as amusement. “You’ve got to be kidding. Who the hell talks like that?”

Aaron just shrugs. “I’m into the whole vintage thing, sue me.”

“Really?” He asks sarcastically. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Hey, don’t knock the eighties!” Aaron laughs. He hops—fucking hops—onto the hood of Carson’s car. Clearly this guy has no sense of boundaries. “If I could live in any decade forever, it would definitely be the eighties.”

Carson knows he would normally tell this guy to fuck right off, but the sarcastic remark lying dormant on his tongue is much too tempting. “Sure, as long as you’re not too fond of medical advances, human rights, or technology.”

“It’s about the aesthetic! The movies, the music, the style—“

“The blatant racism!” Carson mocks his excitement.

He points a finger at the skeptic boy. “You can’t tell me that the ending of Say Anything doesn’t make you just swoon.”

“Nothing makes me swoon.”

“Or that Thriller doesn’t make you want to bust a move.”

“How is that a real sentence that just came out of your mouth?”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “Come on, there’s gotta be something that gets you psyched about life!”

Carson lolls his eyes and head upward, like he’s searching for an answer. “I guess... I guess I’m pretty passionate about writing.”

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Aaron practically shouts. Carson will be damned if he admits that his ridiculously charming smile fills his stomach with butterflies. “What do you write?”

“Journalism. I think that as a society, at the very least, we owe it to each other to bring certain truths to light.”

“That’s really cool. I’m sure I’ll see your name on a prestigious journal one day.” His grin widens. “You said you’re heading to Illinois?”

“Yeah...” he feels his walls coming down around this Aaron character and instinctively bricks them back up. “So?”

“Chicago.” He digs his hands into his pockets casually. “What’s taking you all the way to Illinois? Long way from Denver.”

Carson knows he shouldn’t tell a complete stranger such details about his life, but he does anyways. “School. Northwestern.”

“Ah, for that journalism stuff you were talking about?”

Carson nods.

“Ive got a band there—in Chicago, I mean.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“But you wanted to.” Aaron says, perky and honest. “If you’d let your guard down.”

Carson doesn’t correct him. “Fifteen minutes and you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

“What put them there?”

He has no clue why he acknowledges the question with an answer, but he does. “I’m from a small town, and people from small towns don’t take too kindly to big ideas.“

He has no clue why he acknowledges the question with an answer, but he does. “I’m from a small town, and people from small towns don’t take too kindly to big ideas.“

Aaron just seems like such an open and honest person, it feels almost blasphemous to not return the favor.

“Tell me about it.” Aaron snorts. “Where’re you from?”

“Clovis.”

“Sweet, I’m from Fresno.” He leans in towards the other boy. “Practically next door neighbors. Weird we haven’t met yet.”

“You mispronounced fortunate.”

Aaron just laughs and part of Carson wants to yell in frustration because that’s not how you’re supposed to react to snark, but an even bigger part of him is impressed and, for a lack of a better word... intrigued.

He sighs and realizes that nothing short of divine intervention is gonna deter this guy from trying to be his friend. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

Aaron just shrugs. “Life’s short. You’re hot.”

Carson freezes. He’s not expecting that. Is that what this whole conversation had been? Aaron flirting with him?

A lame “Oh.” is all he—the Carson Phillips known for his way with words—can muster up.

Aaron plows right on with the conversation.

“Like I said,” he starts, hopping off Carson’s hood. “You don’t owe me anything, but if you’re feeling particularly grateful, I’ll accept your phone number in lieu of a thank you.”

“What will you take in lieu of a fuck off?” Carson claps back instinctively. He finds himself immediately regretting it.

Aaron throws his hands up in surrender and heads back his own car. “Alright, I can take a hint.”

A smile tugs at Carson’s lips. “Actually, you kind of can’t.” But there’s no sting left in his voice. He shakes his head. “Sorry... old habits.” He rests his head on the top of his car while Aaron nods understandingly.

“Don’t even worry about it.” Aaron hops into the drivers seat of his car and throws a carefree wave towards Carson. “I’ll see you around, Carson.”

He hears the ignition spark and watches Aaron’s car roll forward with a strange... fascination.

With the exception of Malerie, he’s never held a conversation with someone that lasted more than a few words, but here he was, staring after a stranger he’d just talked with for nearly a half hour.

His skepticism is screaming for him to just get in his car and drive away. He doesn’t need anybody. And he especially doesn’t need some pretentious dickwad who thinks that paying for his gas is gonna get him a phone number and wears ridiculously out of style clothes and says things like righteous—

He tosses his head back. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He mutters and before he knows what he’s doing he’s slamming his hands down on the hood of Aaron’s car in a valiant attempt to keep him from leaving.

“Wait!”

Aaron slams on the break and sticks his head out the window, a stupid grin on his face. “Are you crazy!?”

Carson just huffs. “Do you want that number or not?”

*

When Aaron’s finally left, Carson finds himself back in the gas station to actually pay for the food he’d abandoned on the counter. He’s about to leave when a nagging feeling stops him and forces him to turn around.

It’s not much, but it’s all he can afford.

Carson slaps twenty down on the counter.

“This is for the next dipshit who comes in here looking for gas.”

[settolow]

Heartbreakers (Jay Park x reader)

Strangers pt. IV

Genre: Angst

Word count: 1,260

Characters: reader, Jay Park

Author’s note: Hello! Here is the fourth part of the story. Thank you so much for the support . All of your comments are really appreciated <3 Pleaseee like or comment if you like this part as well <3

................................................................................................................................

As soon as you got the message about his ex girlfriend getting in touch with him, you immediately assumed the worst, and thus you supposed he was going to go back together with her and forget about you altogether. However you soon realized that Jay Park was thoroughly selfish person who did not take in consideration anyone’s feelings but his.

That’s how you found yourself sitting in his AOMG office while he ranted about how his date with the ex turned and how she has changed over the years they’ve been apart.

You didn’t give a flying shit about that.

How oblivious could he be to not see how you were spacing out during his never ending monologue. You stopped listening to him from the moment he started feeding you with generic bullshit like “she’s different now”, “she’s ready for a serious relationship”, “she wants us to start anew”.

Complete bull crap.

“...tomorrow night,” he said, followed by a long break.

You came back from your thoughts just to find him staring at the wall with a dumb expression on his face. The dumb expression every person in love has.

“Great,” you retorted, standing up from your seat. “I’ll be going now.”

“Alright,” you heard him say as you made your way towards the door. “Are we still hanging out tonight?”

Did you really want to hang out with him?

Was that even a question? Of course you did. You really really liked him. The feelings were strong enough for you to sit through stupid speeches that made you feel lumps in your throat and tears prickling at the corner of your eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” you mustered to say. “See you.”

Sure enough, when the time came and he was supposed to come over to your house, instead of hearing the familiar knock on the door, you were greeted with a bunch of messages from no one other than Jay.

Of course he had to cancel your usual hangout and most probably the work at the studio was not related to any song. In fact, you were absolutely sure his work for the night contained clothes scattered on the floor and moans. None of them would be coming from you most definitely.

That thought itself filled you with hatred which wasn’t directed towards Jay or his new girl. Ok...maybe a little. But most of it was directed painfully at you. It was your fault for giving him the impression that you were a disposable item in his life, or an option he always had. You ended up breaking you own heart by exaggerating your place in his life.

You spent the night thinking about that. The thoughts ate you alive and by the time the sky began to lighten up with the promise of a new day, your mind was venturing dangerously close to a decision you knew you were going to regret later and thus, you temporarily pushed it to the back of your mind.

Your were too tired to leave your house, but the thought of you staying another minute alone with your malicious mind was enough to determine you to get ready for university.

As you took a seat in the subway, you fished your phone out of your bag and because you were a complete masochist, you scrolled through Jay Park’s Instagram tag.

Surprise, surprise! The were are bunch of photos and articles about him leaving the club hand in hand with a mysterious girl. It didn’t take long for the fangirls to identify her. Five minutes later your were scrolling down her Instagram profile. The fact that she was a model was disappointing but absolutely not surprising. Sighing, you put your phone back in your pocket as you’ve seen enough things to make you suffer for a day.

Later that day your phone lit up with a message from the devil himself.

You wanted to refuse his invitation, you really did, but your stupid reckless heart still held onto the thought that he may have somewhere deep inside him some feelings for you.

It was close to ten o clock when you exited the house. Of course the chances of you seeing her at the party were pretty high thus you made the act of avoiding her your goal for the night.

The AOMG building was packed with people, most of them famous in the music industry. You were able to recognize most of them as you made your way towards Jay who had his back turned on you. Some of the guys would throw you flirtatious looks while some of them looked at you pensively since you were probably the only person in that building who was not a celebrity.

You extended your arms towards Jay, intending to tap him on the shoulder when you saw her standing in his proximity, an expensive dress hugging her slim body. As soon as her eyes met yours, a disgusted expression appeared on her face. As a response, you smiled at her and tapped Jay on the shoulder, making him turn in your direction. His eyes widened for a moment as if he was surprised to see you there.

“Y/n, you came,” he smiled and that was all.

You were used to him hugging you or at least him looking you in the eyes for more than two seconds however, in that particular moment he seemed unnerved.

“You invited me, remember?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m glad you’re here. I hope you’ll have a bangin’ time.”

With that he turned his back to you and continued whatever he was doing before you came leaving you utterly speechless.

You could not believe your eyes the way he treated you like a random groupie. Instead of feeling sad, you were seething. With the corner of your eyes you caught a glimpse of Jay’s girlfriend who looked smug as hell.

Before turning on your heels and leaving the party, you smiled and showed her the middle finger just for shits and giggles.

You made your way through the crowd ready to get the hell out of there when somebody caught your hand.

Wonjae was standing in front of you, with a look of pity on his face. You didn’t need that, in fact, you no longer knew what you needed.

“Hey,” he smiled shyly. “I know you.”

“Let me guess...you know me as Jay’s puppy,” you frowned.

“No, no. I actually know you as the friend Jay never deserved but got anyways because he’s Jay Park.”

You grimaced and immediately looked away. You felt like you didn’t deserve his kindness since everything was your fault. It was your and your childish hope that got you into the clusterfuck.

“I don’t think so,” you retorted. “I’m sorry if I sound like a bitch, but in this moment I want to be anywhere but here.”

Although Wonjae seemed like a scary guy, he was actually an angel walking on earth. He was attentive and friendly to the point you forgot about your heartbreaking night. While you left the party to hang out with him, you realized that you must accept the ending of something in order to start something new. Something better.

That’s how you ended up on your car at three in the morning singing duets with him and talking about the meaning of life.

You wanted to immortalize the moment and so you did.

“Send me the picture you just took,” you said.

“Tag me,” he responded, giving you a look of camaraderie.

However, sometimes every action had its repercussion...

Please like of comment if you enjoyed this. Thank you so much for reading! 

Part III

Part II

Part I

------------------------------------------ Part V -----------------------------------------------

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: 5 Relationships & Angus MacGyver

What it says on the tin: Mac/Jack, Mac/Riley, Mac/Bozer, Mac/Cage and Mac/Thornton. Or, 5 relationships I haven’t written about yet. NSFW!

I.

Mac laughs out loud when Jack lifts him up and slams him against the tiled wall of the tiny shower stall. He wraps his legs around Jack’s waist and his arms around Jack’s neck and he kisses his lover hard.

“You seem very… eager today,” he whispers against Jack’s lips when they both come up for air.

Growling, Jack bites Mac’s lower lip. “Today in the field, when you told that head honcho to fuck off… God, that was so hot!”

Laughing again, Mac nibbles at Jack’s lips, returning the attention. “I never told anyone to fuck off, Jack, that would be rude.”

Jack runs his rough hands down Mac’s sides to grip his ass, kneading firmly. “Yeah, whatever it was that you told him, he got all purple in the face, so it was as close to ‘fuck off’ as you get, hoss. I love it when you stand up to authority figures. It makes me all…”

“Horny?” Mac finishes for him, whispering into his ear, licking it delicately.

“God, yes!” Jack moans, thrusting hard against him.

With another soft laugh, Mac responds just as enthusiastically.

They almost drown in the shower. It’s so worth it.

II.

Every time Mac stays over, she wakes up to breakfast in bed. It’s the only thing he knows how to make, anything else coming out of a cooking pot he even looks at needs to be treated as hazardous material, Riley knows.

So, they eat breakfast in bed, stealing bits and pieces from each other’s plates - and then they make love again, slow and gentle this time, she wants to be able to walk straight, thank you very much.

And when Mac’s done licking the corner of her mouth, chasing after the sweet taste of marmalade there, he asks, “What do you think Jack would say to this?”

Riley laughs, carding her fingers through his blond hair. “I prefer not to think of Jack when I’m in bed with you.”

He laughs, too. “I can’t argue with that. Still.” His face turns a little serious, then, and stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, he says, “He loves you like his own daughter. I wonder if he would consider me good enough for you.”

“Not that he has any say in this,” Riley responds, “but if he did… Mac, maybe you haven’t noticed but he pretty much worships the ground you walk on. He would be very happy for us.”

He stares down at her for a moment. “Then maybe we should tell him? About us? I hate lying to him.”

Riley pauses, startled. “You think it’s time? Once we tell him, there’s no going back. No backing out of… this without consequences.”

Mac smiles, kissing her lips, just a soft, sweet touch. “I don’t want to back out of… this.”

She studies him carefully for several heartbeats, then she gives him a slow, happy smile. “Alright, then. Into the lion’s den. But first…” She wraps her legs around his waist, and running her hands up his back, digging her fingernails into his skin, she drags him down against her.

He lets himself be dragged, gladly.

III.

They roll away from each other, sweaty and satiated and breathing hard, and then they lie there, in Bozer’s bed, sprawled and with their limbs akimbo, staring up at the ceiling.

“Man, you think it’s weird?” Bozer asks after a while, when his heart finally stops galloping.

Mac turns his head to look at him. “What is?” he asks, amused.

Bozer waves his hand. “This. Us. This… ‘friends with benefits’ thing. We’ve been doing this, on and off, for… running on ten years now? You don’t think it’s weird?”

Still smiling, used to Bozer’s post-coital self-doubts, Mac asks back, “You do?”

Bozer scrunches his nose. “I don’t know. It’s like that thing I saw on-line. ‘Is it still bromance if we’re banging?’”

This time, Mac laughs out loud. “Bro-what?”

“Bro-mance,” Bozer pronunciates carefully. “Like Wikipedia says, it’s ‘an exceptionally tight affectional, homosocial male bonding relationship exceeding that of usual friendship--’”

“Which we have,” Mac points out.

“But it shouldn’t be sexual!” Bozer points out in return. “This is starting to feel more like a romance than bromance to me. What if I’m losing my game?” His eyes widen.

Grinning, Mac asks, “You planning on giving up your romantic exploits with the opposite sex and pledging your undying love to me?”

Bozer frowns at him. “Hell no. Don’t get me wrong, Mac, I love you and the sex is ah-mazing, but I’m a ladies man!”

Now Mac can only shake his head at his friend’s… logic. Only to Bozer would something like this make sense. “Alright. Then I promise you, our bromance is safe. No romance in sight.”

Bozer actually looks relieved. “Good. Friends with benefits it is, then,” he says, nodding firmly. Then he pauses and throws Mac a sideways look. “Speaking of which, can we work on those benefits some more? ‘Little Bozer’ is starting to come back alive again!”

Mac’s guffaw is silenced with a kiss.

IV.

His relationship with Samantha Cage is a relationship of firsts, Mac realizes, as she wraps her deceptively slim yet finely muscled arms around his midriff from behind, pulling him close, tucking their naked bodies together as they lie on their sides, resting after a lazy afternoon sex.

“You know, I have never done this before, with anyone,” Mac whispers in a slightly raspy voice. It’s amazing what Sam knows about sex, how she always manages to wring the last drops of stamina out of him.

“What?” she whispers back, giving his ear a quick, sharp bite.

He shivers, pressing back against her. “Many things, the, uh, kin-kinky things.” He trips over his words because she starts running her left hand down his chest, down his stomach, lower and lower. He gasps, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Yes?” Sam prompts, sensing he’s not done talking yet - but leaving her hand where it is, stroking and squeezing.

God, it’s so hard to concentrate. What-what was he talking about? Oh, yes. “But-but it’s not just that. It’s the other stuff, too.” He falls silent, gripping her right arm, the one she wrapped around his waist to hold him still because her touches are making his whole body twitch involuntarily.

“Like?” she prompts again, pushing her leg between his from behind.

“Like this,” he says, squeezing her right hand and entwining their fingers. “I’ve never been the... little spoon, to anyone.” He realizes he’s moving to the rhythm of her strokes, he can’t help it. This time, she lets him.

“Well,” Sam says, her grin evident in the tone of her voice, “then it was time, don’t you think?” Then she lowers her voice, breathing against his ear, “Believe me, you’re a natural.”

And with a soft moan, Mac succumbs.

V.

Patricia leans back against her pillow, propped up against the head of her luxuriously wide bed. The thin white sheet’s pooled in her lap, barely covering her naked body, still a little sweat-soaked but slowly cooling down. She reaches out for the half-filled glass of wine on her bedside table and as she takes a sip, she looks to her right - at Mac, at her lover.

He’s asleep, lying on his stomach. With dark satisfaction she stares down at his naked back, at the angry red scratches she left there while they fucked. Fucked, it was no lovemaking, at least not to her, he probably thinks otherwise. For all his genius, his heart’s really soft. Too soft, she thinks.

Mac’s not the first young lover she’s taken - she likes them young and able to keep up with her - but he is special, in a certain way. He’s James MacGyver’s son. Oversight’s son. Her safeguard. Her leverage. And a fantastic fuck to that, of course, which doesn’t hurt. She wonders what Jack would think about their arrangement, how James would react. It amuses her.

Patricia empties her glass and sets it aside. She’s still not satiated, not yet. She reaches out for him and bites his shoulder, hard, to wake him up. He can sleep later, when she’s done.

[yxlenas]

To Speak A Lesser Thing

pt 1/?

AO3

Octavia is still clinging to Clarke’s hand with a desperation she doesn’t understand when the mob comes for Illian and drags him towards the burning Ark. She doesn’t see where they take him, or if they kill him, but she doesn’t care. She’s so tired. The muscles in her neck relax and her head flops back over Bellamy’s forearm, her fingers slipping through Clarke’s and out from where she’s lodged them under Bellamy’s jacket collar. Pain hits her over and over, waves of the stuff like the sea out near Luna’s rig. She bites her lip until she tastes blood.

“O?”

“M’fine.”

She’s not. She feels like she got trampled. Bellamy cups the back of her neck, bringing her head up to rest on his shoulder, and Clarke crouches in front of her, the light of the fire making her glow around the edges. Maybe it’s just the trauma. Or the blood loss. Octavia isn’t sure.

“How many fingers.”

“Three.”

“Well, if she has a concussion, it’s a minor one.”

Octavia digs her teeth into her tongue in an effort to stop from screaming as Bellamy shifts her body so Clarke can probe at things. Something in her lower half grinds together, pain shoots up her spine, and she bites down harder. Bellamy forces her jaw open. She moans, back arching. Clarke is unwrapping her bandages. It fucking hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts. Her brother cradles her a little tighter, his cheek resting on her hair.

“Stop, O. Be still.”

Octavia doesn’t quite pass out in her brother’s arms, but she drifts. It hurts too much, all over, for her to really sleep so she doesn’t, just lays there, limp, against his chest. There’s a hand in her hair sometimes, a low, smooth voice in her ear.

“She’s bleeding again. The blast tore most of her stitches.”

It also made her lungs feel like someone filled them with dirt and rocks. She wishes she were coherent enough to tell Clarke that, but she can’t, because whenever she opens her mouth all that comes out is wheezy, choking coughs.

“Her fingers-”

“I know-”

Octavia moans, trying to form words. She wants to tell them that she’s cold, that it hurts, that she can’t breathe without shooting pains in her chest. Her brother murmurs in her ear.

“You’re alright, O. When the fire goes out we’ll get you fixed up.”

Niylah and the sight of her on her back in the flames clings to the front of Octavia’s brain. She thinks she cries for her at one point, begs her to be alright. She’s not sure. It hurts.

“Here, get the oxygen mask on her before we move her, Bellamy, she’s blue.”

And then she’s being lifted and it isn’t her brother, Octavia cracks open an eye just to check, it’s Kane cradling her. The sun, it must be midday, hurts her head.

“You…”

“Save your strength.”

Her voice sounds strange and weak in her own head. She needs to apologize to him. She was reckless. Her recklessness got her killed-wait, no, she’s still alive. Almost killed. It hurts. Indra. Indra was threatened. Is she still alive? She doesn’t know. Someone, Clarke maybe? Whoever it is is blonde and thin and too tall to be Clarke, Niylah, Niylah is fine, alive- her head hurts. She stops thinking. It doesn’t help.

“Hurts.”

“I know, Octavia. I’m starting an IV right now.”

Something tight around her bicep. A pinch. She whines. Her brother’s hand strokes her cheek.

“I’m going to give her something to sleep. I need to redo those stitches and she needs rest and I know she’s been awake the whole night.”

“Clarke, do you think that’s wise?”

That’s Indra. Octavia reaches blindly. A hand, smooth, small, calloused, wraps around her wrist and guides it back onto the mattress.

“Yes.”

“Okteivia. Relax.”

It hurts too much. There’s something cold flooding her veins and she can taste saline and the acrid tang of pain medication. It still hurts, and she’s still cold, but she’s suddenly too exhausted to care. Someone crawls onto the cot with her, lifting her into a lap. She’s not sure who it is, she’s too fuzzy. Her head hurts. She lets it fall onto a slim shoulder, sick, tired, in pain. Exhausted. The black behind her eyes swims. Somewhere around her, Indra is singing a lullaby. She’s never heard Indra sing before. Octavia feels her tired heart beat a little harder and she sinks into the warmth behind her as hands begin to tug at her shirt and spread stinging venom over her stab wound.

Octavia falls asleep.

~

She wakes up because she’s thirsty. She’s not in her bed, not in Polis, she’s somewhere else that her brain is less familiar with but that makes her groan all the same. Medbay. She can’t move her torso or either leg from the hip, and there’s quite the cluster of tubes in her body. Two in her arm. She can feel something in her chest and something snaking down her leg and fuck, she does not want to know.

She remembers what happened, it’s not that she doesn’t, she just doesn’t really feel like knowing what the damage is. She’s tired. She’s numb. She does not care what is currently wrong with her. She wants water, and she wants to go back to sleep until the world ends.

Knowing Clarke Griffin, she’s only going to get one of those things.

“Clarke.”

Her voice sounds like shit. She coughs.

“Clarke.”

Clarke doesn’t appear, but Niylah does, carrying a cup and a syringe with what Octavia dearly hopes is pain medicine.

“How are you feeling?”

Octavia shifts, whines at the pain, and rolls her head across the pillow. Niylah sets the cup down and goes to stick the needle into the tube in Octavia’s hand. It’s definitely pain medicine. The floating feeling hits her right away.

“Thirsty.”

Niylah presses a spoon to her lips. Ice chips. Octavia rolls her eyes at the excessive caution that comes with giving someone ice chips but takes them off the spoon anyways, sighing at the feeling of moisture in her mouth.

“You’re in pretty bad shape.”

“And you?”

Niylah startles, frowning and settling in the chair by Octavia’s bed. She looks exhausted, bags under her eyes, soot still clinging to her hair. She’d changed her clothes. Octavia notes sleepily that Niylah looks really good in blue.

“What do you mean?”

She’s clinging to consciousness as the medication draws her under, desperate to get an answer. Niylah got hurt because of her. Illian hurt her because of Octavia.

“You got, um, you know..”

“I’m fine. A little bruised, some smoke inhalation, but I’ll recover.”

Her eyes are half lidded. Niylah is surrounded by haze.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Octavia can feel her words slurring together and she is annoyed.

“Illian…”

A cloth dabs at her face. Niylah laughs, a light sound, like the windchimes Raven made.

~

“You broke your pelvis. They had to cut you open to fix it, and there are screws in there. Holding you together. Along with stitches which are also holding you together.”

“Is that why I can’t move at the hips?”

Niylah fixes her with a look, daring her to say she’s been trying to move from the hips or even her lower back which, conveniently, has hairline fractures in it. Turns out falling off a cliff does a lot of damage, and the blast from Illian’s fireball had turned fractures in her pelvis that they’d missed into full on breaks. Octavia hates it. When she’s awake, which is becoming more and more frequent, she can’t move almost at all. Can’t go to the bathroom, can’t spar, can barely even move her arms off the mattress because if she does, it tugs her stitches and aggravates her injured back.

“Yes and if you know what’s good for you you won’t try, got it?”

Octavia rolls her eyes. Indra, sitting in a chair to her left, slaps the back of her head where it protrudes from her stack of pillows.

“Listen. You want to almost kill yourself a third time this week because you didn’t listen?”

She’s irritable. Bellamy is what calms her down, surprisingly. He sits by her bed when she’s being prickly, getting anxious, and he reads to her, or has her read out loud. It’s an old trick from back on the Ark and the part of Octavia that wants to leave the scared little girl behind hates that it still works, but the part of her that is injured and in pain clings to the comfort.

The mob that dragged him towards the fire must not kill Illian, because he’s there whenever she wakes up, zip tied to the bars of his cot and looking like he got the shit kicked out of him, which he did. He tries to talk to her, sometimes. She ignores him. She has nothing to say to him. She feels a strange, aching jealousy in her chest when he smiles at Niylah after she brings him food or water, or changes his bandages. She doesn’t shove it down but lets it fester. She wants to hate Illian, she really does, but she’s too- she doesn’t really know what she is, if Octavia is honest with herself, which she tries really hard not to be.

Word spreads that she’s doing better within hours of her first bout of consciousness, and her corner of medbay fills with visitors before she’s ready for anyone. She hasn’t seen her friends since before the City of Light fell, but she doesn’t want them to see her, not like this, not weak and bruised and barely able to sit up. She doesn’t seem to have much choice in the matter, because the next time she wakes up they’re all tumbling into medbay one after the other, crowding around her bed. It makes her itchy, claustrophobic. She hates it. She wants to send them away, wants Niylah to act on her clear irritation at the crowd in medbay, but there’s a guilt in her chest that doesn’t let her. Octavia hasn’t been around, hasn’t even been in contact, since a lot of really horrible shit happened. And they all seem so excited and relieved to see her breathing and in mostly one piece. She doesn’t have the heart to kick them out. She wishes she did though.

Jasper makes her uncomfortable. She feels guilty about it but the emptiness in his eyes, despite his constant off color jokes, rivals her own and Octavia can’t deal with it. She can’t. It’s terrifying and it makes her feel sick inside, dirty. It’s also seductive. Octavia wants to know what she can do to give up like that, deep in the pit of her belly. She doesn’t ask. Just smiles at him weakly and reaches out to squeeze his hand. When they all leave, Harper pressing a kiss to her cheek, Octavia tries to sleep away her desire to feel what Jasper is feeling. It doesn’t work.

In the days and hours following the visit, she thinks about it almost constantly, Jasper’s complete lack of concern for the end of the world and his own life, and the more she thinks about it the more it infects her, sliding under her skin and strangling her. Niylah is the only spot of sun. Clarke is gone, and her brother is in and out of medbay less and less as Praimfaya grows ever closer. Indra has returned to Polis. Octavia swallows, feels loneliness as clearly as she feels the pull of her stitches when Niylah has her manipulate the muscles in her arms and stomach.

Niylah’s changing her bandages when Octavia reaches for her wrist, gripping it between fingers that are still frustratingly weak. Niylah looks up at her, the slant of her nose catching the gray light from outside. Octavia keeps holding on.

“You alright?”

She nods, jerkily. She can play her reaction off on the pain. The bandage over her stab wound had been stuck to the stitches in places. It tugged something awful as Niylah had peeled it away. Niylah laces their fingers, the gauze forgotten on the sheets of the cot.

“You’re not alright. Talk to me, Okteivia.”

She shakes her head, tracing jagged patterns on her thigh. Her brother had found a pair of soft sleep pants for her, and a worn shirt, and helped her wash the blood and dirt and sweat off of herself before heading out on a scouting mission. She wishes he had stayed. She’s swimming in a sea of terror and guilt and self hatred and she’s barely keeping her head above water and Bellamy is an excellent life raft. She feels bare without her layers of leather, her sword, her tight ponytail. For the first time since Lincoln died, Octavia is truly exposed. Niylah taps between her furrowed eyebrows, smoothing the wrinkles with her thumb and a soft, gentle smile.

“Tell me what’s happening in that head, hmm?”

“Do you-” she swallows. Her mouth is dry. She doesn’t know why she’s asking this, but she needs to know. She has to. Her chest is tight, her breathing shallow, “do you think people can change?”

“Yes, of course. People change all the time.”

Silent tears make tracks on her cheeks. Niylah finishes bandaging her middle back up and changing the gauze pads that cover the stitches near her hips and the swell of her back. Octavia feels like the patchwork doll she had as a child. Disjointed, cobbled together. Almost ephemeral. She doesn’t believe Niylah. She can’t change. She can’t. She’s stuck. She doesn’t feel real. She doesn’t realize that she’s hyperventilating until Niylah leaves her to come back with a needle seconds later. A hand cups her face, stroking away sweat sticky hair. She wants to braid it, but it hurts to hold her arms up like that for more than a few seconds and she’s too proud to ask anyone else.

“Can I give you something? It’ll help you sleep.”

She nods. Niylah tugs at the waistband of her sweatpants and there’s a prick in the soft skin of her bruised thigh. She whimpers.

Niylah holds her hand until the drug takes her.

~

She’s doing her PT exercises when the men come for Illian a second time, likely to finish what they started the first time. Octavia looks anywhere but at him as he’s marched out of medbay, because he almost killed her with that stupid fucking stunt and definitely doomed the entire human race, and she understands the anger and the need for revenge the mob has. It doesn’t mean she helps them. She doesn’t stop them from dragging him out, either, but she doesn’t help them with it. She doesn’t need even more blood on her hands. She huddles back onto her cot, hides her face in the blankets, and pretends she’s asleep. A voice in the back of her skull that sounds distinctly like Kane whispers to her that by not helping, she’s compliant. She’s compliant, and Illian’s blood is still on her hands even if she doesn’t help pull the damn trigger. Octavia bites her lip until it bleeds to shut the voice up.

When the gunshot rings out, she flinches, buries her head farther into the covers, and tries not to think about the last time shots rang out against the metal walls of this fucking tomb they’re living in.

[hazeinart]

Peter’s mom (Single Dad AU)

this will be hard to understand if you haven’t read any of the #Single dad AU so please read them before reading this.

This event happened days before Peter confronted his dad and after the diaper incident... hopefully you guys won't get confused by it.

THANK YOU AND ENJOY!

**********

It was his idea to talk himself and Rhodey into the idea of deciding to confront the mother of his child. And yes, he had to talk himself into it, serious personal conversations isn’t one of his best skill especially with a person who was basically a stranger. To Rhodey it was more of Tony’s conversational argument with himself while Rhodey listens, or half listening while nodding every now and then.

“Are you even listening to me!?” Tony snapped at him.

Rhodey just shrugs at him. “Tones, I would comment on your dilemma if you weren’t already arguing   with yourself. And if you really wanted my opinion and actually take it then I think its best that you talk to her. You could ask her about Peter, about his health situations or genes that you have to worry about and other stuff… plus it would be easier for you to transfer peter to fully be in your custody if you asked help from her” Tony opens his mouth as he tries to interject but was cut off before he even made a sound. “AND if ever she changes her mind it is her decision. She has her rights…She is the mother of your child. I know how it sounds Tones but it is the truth. I don’t want to give Peter to her as much as you do. So if we really wanted Peter to stay you can always open a court case against her”.

“So it’s a ‘we’ now” Rhodey rolled his eyes over the teasing Billionaire.

Tony had to think for a minute because it is a serious moment, a very serious moment concerning his child. He made a thin line with his lips as he scrunches his eyebrows together while fiddling with his long sleeves. Rhodey stared at him for a long time. He was quite anxious himself of the possibility of Peter’s mother wanting to claim him back was a 50/50 chance and it is pretty big chance. Tony took in a deep breath and let out a sigh.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

Rhodey promised to be up with him throughout the night but he couldn’t even last three hours before snoring in Tony’s couch. Tony snorted at his best friend before wrapping him in a blanket and giving him chaste kiss on his cheek.

It took even lesser than two hours before Tony started to get impatient and walked around the apartment. He couldn’t stop walking around and over thinking till it was quarter to 5 and it only made his over thinking even worse. He was now biting his nails and tugging his hair from his skull in frustration.

He checked the time again and saw that it was 5:53. He went straight to the door and peeped through the peeping hole and saw nothing so he waited. It took around 20 minutes before he a sees the beautiful golden hair and stunning emerald eyes that he thought he’d never see again. He immediately opened the door startling the woman who was bending down to leave a letter that she was holding in her hand.

Tony didn’t know what to say all he could let out was the name of his old flame. “Joanna…”

She stood up and gave a sad smile.

“Hi Tony” Her voice sounded hoarse and faint.

“W-Why?” Tony clenched his fist in frustration. “You w-were the girl that I-I slept with during that D-DAY YOU BROKE UP WITH ME!? Why do this to me!? Why break up with me and sleep with me the same night and then come back and leave me OUR CHILD without even showing your FACE!? I had loved you so much! I never loved anyone as I did with you and you just toyed with me in a sick weird way! And what’s upsetting about this is that I never stopped loving you even until now… no matter how much Rhodey told me to forget about you… how many girls I’ve slept with just to forget about you… so why…. I just don’t… I can’t understand why you did this to me…. How I deserve this from you… What I’ve done during our relationship to play me like some game…”

He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was afraid to see another woman had just toyed with him like Sunset did; another woman had just turned him into a great fool. Maybe he was a great fool for falling for women who likes to break his heart like it was made of glass.

His eyes flew open as he felt cold fingers grazing his cheek bones. His eyes met glossy emerald. He felt like he could melt in them at any moment with those eyes. The hair he curled with his fingers every time he woke up in her arms. Tony blinked. The palms of her hands were like ice and her lips where pale and quivering. Tears were flowing leaving those eyes that he loved. He couldn’t help bet wipe them from her cheeks like it was the natural thing to do.

“Oh, my sweet… *gasp* I-I never wanted to *gasp* wanted to leave you…. *gasp*” She hid her emeralds as he let out deep haggard breaths. “Can I c-come in? *gasp* I-I need to S-sit…”

He led her in his apartment and closed the door. He helped her sit down in the dining room. She gave short fast breaths but it slowed down and steadied. He noticed how frail her body was and how pale she looked and how she was shaking with her clenched fist. He wanted to sit down beside her and caress her arm as he whispers how everything is ok and how it’s fine but it’s not. So he stood there waiting for her to calm down. She looked up at him and he sees the dark circle under her eyes. She looked tired.

“Tony, I never wanted to leave you. I never… never stopped loving you. I-I didn’t intend to toy with you. That day I left you… I decided to leave you for good…because I… but I just… I wanted to remember how you felt… That’s why I tailed you and I saw you… you were drunk and flirting with…” Her eyes grew darker as she gritted her teeth. “Almost every man/woman who passes by… so I went to talk to you and with you so drunk… you couldn’t even realize it was me… so I took the chance to feel you for the last time… to treasure you for the last time… And I didn’t expect… didn’t expect that I’d get pregnant… I was confused when I knew about it… I was happy yet I was…. Tony I…” She gave out a heavy sigh and looked away. “I… I’ve been d-diagnosed with Secondary Lung Cancer… That’s the reason I broke up with you because I didn’t want to let you see me like this… And that’s the reason I was devastated when I had him… I thought… I thought I wouldn’t live to have him… I thought I wouldn’t live to get to that 9 months… The doctors told me the chances of me living to have him were slim…. But I somehow made it… although it doesn’t mean I’d live to see him grow up… I didn’t want him to live without a parent so I came here”

Tony sat down. It was too much to process and he needed to sit down. He looked at her. She was still staring at her hands, too ashamed to look up at him.

“So you came here and thought that my 18 year old ass… who parties like its god damn 1969 would take a child from a one night stand not knowing who the woman was… And treasure him and take care of him and try to be a better father than my dad ever was…”

She looked up. “And I was right”

He took her hand that was resting on the table and held onto her.

“And you were right”

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

Joanna died six days after. Tony spent those six days beside her and brought Peter every day with him. And Rhodey was there to support them. She never wanted to go to the hospital so his father had nurses and doctors visit her in her room. Tony spent those days calling her darling like he used to and making her smile like he used to. And now Peter was making her smile too. She smiled like she had never lived before whispering to them how happy she is with her boys but even with her eyes shining like a beautiful meadow or like the tales of the great emerald city turned real with her glimmering like that. Yet she refused to eat or drink. She had already refused days before and the toll of it was catching up with her. She swatted every any nurse or doctor that came to her to give her an IV bag or feeding tube. She would go wild and Tony had to step away from the room to cradle peter in his arms to stop him from crying. And she had begged the doctor, her father, her mother, and even Tony. She was already very tired and very weak. She wanted to rest. They stopped trying to administer any meds she’d go against and she started to slow down.

Tony brushed her hair from her face and kissed her lips.

“I promise to try and be great father”

“You already are” She smiled at him lazily.

“I love you so much, darling” He gave her another deep kiss then kissed her all over her face as tears flowed down.

“I love you too, sweetheart” He rested his forehead against hers as she caressed his cheeks.

When she had Peter in her arms, she held him close and stared at her beautiful baby. She pressed a long kiss on his forehead then whispered.

“Don’t torment your father so much and watch over him for me. I’ll be watching over you little one. I’ll always be by your side. I love you so much, pumpkin” She gently held his little hand and kissed it. She wanted to see her son grow up like any mother would be but she knew if she stayed any longer she would look much more worse than now. And Peter would have to see all that and she has to see Peter’s painful gaze as her lights flicker. She doesn’t want that. Nobody does.

It was the longest and yet also the shortest six days of Tony’s life.

Joanna died in her sleep. Tony woke her up the next day but her eyes remained closed and her body was cold as ice. Tony broke down. He had asked Rhodey to take care of Peter while he was gone. When he came back the next day, he decided to confront his father about Peter. And so Rhodey and Tony drove to the Stark mansion and promised to Joanna’s parents that they would come back for her burial.

Tony closes his eyes as they drove off. He tries to remember every beautiful memory he has of her only to remember the bittersweet memories he had made on those 6 days.

*********

I found Joanna Nivena was befitting for this role. Since She was Tony’s first fiance in 616

@jadepc @maddogkanine

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[lesbians-all-the-way-down]

Original lil one-shot. Afterlife fic. Sorrel & Ivy meet Remus & Rainey (Mostly rambling)

I couldn't explain what I felt, looking at the two women.

They were familiar, my heart felt too full looking at both of them, there together.

One with golden hair that fell down her back, and glasses slipping down her nose as she tilted her head downwards- the other woman whispering something in her ear.

She looked almost identical to how Carlisle would have, if she didn't pierce her face, and dye her hair. All of their facial features were the same.

The other woman's hair was blue, but her face was soft, slightly rounded, but not to the point it was a circle.

She looked like Rue, but with piercings and tattoos. And that meant she looked like me.

They smiled as they interacted, and I smiled as I watched them. Almost reaching for Ivy, who I knew was beside me, but I couldn't see, when I was too busy staring.

"Ives- do they- do you recognize them?"

"I do. They look like Grandma Remus. And Rainey. Do you think-"

"The afterlife's huge- how did- I didn't think we'd see them. Do you- do you think they can see us?"

The thought, the possiblity, had been in the back of my head our entire journey.

I hadn't stopped thinking that maybe after I'd get to see the people that made me, and loved me, for the short time we had together.

That I'd get to meet them in a way I'd remember.

"I think they're distracted, but if they weren't, yes. I think the could see us. Everyone else could."

I nodded, still looking only at them. Not at Ivy.

I started moving, "Go home, Ivy. I'll follow you. But I need to meet them first."

"No. Sorrel. What if you don't make it back?"

"No one will miss me. I don't have parents, but I could. Jamie will be broken if she loses you. And Harper too. I will follow you, I promise. But that's my mom. And mama."

"And they're my grandparents."

"Someone needs to get back home, to explain in case something happens."

"I'm not leaving you. Now let's go."

I only saw her then because she stood in front of me, going up to the two women. And not going home like I expected.

She walked to them, her back straight- almost to the point of making her seem taller, and I heard her talk.

"Remus?" The golden haired one looked up, away from where her wife was murmuring in her ear. "Rainey?"

"Ivy?" It was the golden haired one. It was Remus, clearly, when not only did she look like her, but she knew who she was so quickly.

"yeah how- how did you know?"

"You look exactly like James. But shorter, somehow." She laughed, and the sound felt like coming home to a place that had been destroyed- you felt all the love you once had. The warmth it once provided you with. But it was mixed with a crushing grief. Everything you'd lost staring you in the face. And reminding you.

When her laughter subsided she touched Ivy's chin, her touch clearly gentle. "What happened?"

"Nothing- or not- not nothing. We're alive-"

"we're?" It was Rainey, who looked past her, and get bright purple eyes landed on me.

"Sorrel?"

I nodded from where I was watching. But I didn't approach.

She did, though. And so did Remus. Ivy with them.

"You're so big. You're all grown up. You must be in college." Rainey was cooing over me, and it was clear Remus was feeling the same way. For both me, and Ivy.

"how did you know I wasn't Rue? Everyone always confuses us." I wanted to say something else. To tell them about me. To just hold them. To tell them I loved them.

But I didn't. I couldn't. It was like I was starstruck.

"Rue has my eyes. She always has. But yours are blue. And not- not like Will's. Like your mom's. I don't- I don't know how. But you've always had hers."

That was true. Almost all of us were blue eyed children. Almost all of us with the same identical shade too. It was just the three who's eyes weren't blue at all that didn't. And Will, who's eyes were several shades darker.

I miss you, I wanted to say.

"I go to a school for the Arts. I- I dance. Ballet. I- I think they're disappointed in you." I told her.

I heard the most about my mama from James, and all my other siblings.

But I also heard about her from the teachers at the school- some had danced with her. It was always an example of what not to do, though.

She was at the top, young and promising, and then she just left.

'don't do that' 'we lost a good dancer.' they liked to mention she was accepted into the school with a full scholarship, before she declined and left dance all together.

I was surprised I got In at all, when they had seemed to have such a grudge against my name.

"I didn't know I made such an impact in the dance world that they'd talk about me, still. And they wouldn't want me, if they knew what I looked like."

"What do you mean? You look like you." It felt weird as I said it- how was I to say what she looked like? She was new to me. It was like telling a stranger they looked as they always did.

"I used to be pretty, like you, until I ruined it.

"You are so beautiful, Sorrel, you grew up to be an amazing woman."

She stopped looking at me, and looked at Ivy, "And you grew up to be fantastic. Remus is right, you look exactly like your mother."

Ivy nodded. Taking the compliments from people she desperately wished to know.

"You don't know me," I said, instead of taking my mother's nice words to heart. "You don't know what I've grown up to be, you weren't there."

"And we're sorry about that, Sor." I wanted to flinch away from Remus, and from the nickname no one used for me, but I'd been told my mom had. Something special- and now that she was dead, sacred.

"We wanted to see you grow up. I wish I could've been there for Carlisle, when Jace was sick. I was supposed to babysit you, Ivy, the week I was hospitalized.

"And Sorrel, Mon Amour, I wanted nothing more than to take care of you. You're my baby. You always have been. When I was sick I spent all the time I could with you, so that I would know the exact shade of your eyes even with my eyes closed.

"No one wanted to leave you. Not me, and not your mama.” 

“There wasn’t a choice in it, we didn’t walk out, we-”

 “Died. I know.” I cut Rainey off, from where she was adding to her wife’s statement.

Looking at them felt like someone was taking a knife and cutting through my chest, with faces I recognized but only from photos, And voices I’d imagined telling me stories since Jamie explained that she wasn’t my mother. 

But is that what they were? I was finally with them, I could finally hear those voices- Remus calling me Sor like everyone said she did. They weren’t ‘mom’ and ‘mama’ in my head. 

“I’m sorry. I-”  

“It’s okay, we get it. You feel abandoned.” Ivy was being awfully quiet- was she not the one that approached? That had refused to leave without seeing them too? I looked back at her, instead of having to look at Remus- who’s eyes now looked at me sadly, but really were mine, and Ivy’s too. 

If they were so quick to hold me as and love me as their daughter why couldn’t I love them as my moms?

“Is Jace here?” So many words from my mouth, just deflecting. No, ‘I love you’s or ‘I miss you’s. But everything and anything else. “Do you get to see both your granddaughters?” 

“Yeah, she’s at home, with everyone else. She looks like her mom, like Ivy does.” Remus paused for a second- I would’ve assumed it was the end of her sentence, but her mouth was left slightly open, and her eyes widened as she looked to Ivy. “You- you should meet Ivy, She’s with Alice, but she would want to meet you. I told her about you when I first saw her, she asked about your mom immediately. I think she’d love to see you.” 

Ivy’s short bob fell like curtains in front of her face as she nodded. “I would love to meet her too. Someone who had meant so much to my mom.” 

“She did,” I watched Remus put her hand on her cheek, watching the tanned hand, her long slim fingers just a couple shades darker than Ivy’s pale, pale skin- she hadn’t touched me, yet. Neither had Rainey. “They were inseparable. Like it looks like you two are.” 

She reached for Rainey’s hand, gently pulling the other from her granddaughters face. “We can lead you to her.” 

Ivy nodded enthusiasm in every muscle, with a growing smile on her face. 

“Fantastic,” Remus’s voice was soft, as she turned, and starting walking away, her wife directly beside her and granddaughter just behind. 

I was farther behind. Was I included in this offer? Had they decided that I was a waste of a daughter, and Ivy would be a perfect replacement? 

I followed, but hesitantly. Until Rainey half turned around, and smiled. “You coming, Sorrel?” 

[thebabymamachronicles]

Jaxson’s Birth Story

It all started on Sunday evening (November 12). I ate dinner and went to my room to watch tv before taking a shower and calling it a night. After about an hour of tv, I started to feel a little yucky. My stomach just wasn’t having it so I made my way to the bathroom. Over and over. Horrific diarrhea. I wasn’t aware I even had that much of anything (other than organs) in my body. But that wasn’t all. I spent an hour running from my bed to the bathroom and another hour after that laying on the floor, throwing up my entire dinner, and having terrible back pain. I couldn’t sit still but I couldn’t find a comfortable position either so there was a lot of wiggling going on. At one point I had my feet in the bathtub while I sat on the toilet and leaned back on the counter behind me.

It was a weird type of pain. I could stand it but I definitely wasn’t comfortable. It was also pretty irritating not being able to stay in one position for very long. I was constantly moving. Even when I would get on my bed (which I love very much and would consider to be very comfortable on any other day) I would be turning from one side to another (wishing I could instead be sitting long enough to take a warm bath) about every ten to fifteen seconds.

Through this whole terrible experience, my poor mother is running around the house, gathering the remainder of the things I hadn’t put in my hospital bag yet, and trying to convince me to go to the hospital while I was convinced this wasn’t that.

Finally, after two hours, I finally decided that this pain and the constant trips to the bathroom weren’t normal and I wasn’t going to suffer through it all night. I called my mom into the room and said I was ready to go to the hospital (while I secretly hoped we’d be home within the hour with doctors orders for bed rest). She went to pick up the car from around the corner. By the time she returned for the last few items I had planted myself back on the toilet. This time there was blood in the toilet. Yikes. At this point, I’m realizing that it might actually be THAT TIME and I’m horrified. I thought I still had a week left.

Getting off the toilet this time was the hardest yet. I grabbed my undies, pants, and a pair of flip-flops and slowly made my way downstairs and to the car.

The ride from the house to the hospital was only about fifteen minutes but it felt like a lifetime. I tried my best to keep still because it was easier to handle the pain that way but I felt every bump, every turn, every stop. The whole time that I was in the car I was thinking about the epidural. I was so ready. I could handle the pain for a little bit longer but I wasn’t going to go through the whole ordeal without some kind of pain meds. The original plan was to do it without the meds but in the car I felt like I could just hop in a hole and die.

When we finally get to the hospital, my mom goes inside then a security guard brings a wheelchair to the car. Unfortunately, he doesn’t put down the footrests and I discover they are locked so I have to waste precious energy holding up my feet so my poor choice in footwear doesn’t come off and leave me barefoot on the nasty, germy emergency room lobby floor (yeah, I might be a germaphobe).

When I get to L&D, the receptionist (nurse? I honestly don’t know) asked me to get out of the wheelchair then proceeded to ask me a million questions. I’m obviously in pain but she still had to have me stand to ask these questions.

(I know I shouldn’t be upset that she asked me questions. She was just doing her job. But I was registered in the hospital’s files early because of a birthing class that I took at the hospital so she could’ve found my information and given me a room a little more quickly.)

I was high key upset. But eventually (probably ten minutes later (a small eternity when you’re in that much pain) I was taken to a delivery room and asked to leave a urine sample (my least favorite hobby of the whole pregnancy experience). Unfortunately, I had been on the toilet for a little too long and couldn’t have even left a sample if I did enjoy that hobby. Once again, I was writhing on the toilet.

Side note: the toilet was my most popular seat for the night.

So after sitting on the toilet for a few more moments of uninterrupted pain, I was asked to strip down, put on a gown, then move to the bed. The good nurse (I’m calling her that because she’s the only one I liked) put in an IV so perfectly that I didn’t even feel it. Or maybe I didn’t feel it because I was in so much other pain.

The resident came in soon after to check my cervix. Of course, at this point, I’m not a single bit uncomfortable with someone’s fingers in my vagina. I have other more urgent concerns. But then she leaves the room and returns with another nurse to check my cervix again. Now I’m becoming a little nervous but trying to keep my eye on the prize: the epidural. But let’s be real. Why would they need two people to check my cervix?

The resident turned to the nurse for a second opinion. “Are you getting what I’m getting?” I’m curious if she was trying to make me nervous. If she was then it definitely worked.

“I got ten centimeters.” The nurse responded. At this point my mother grabs my hand, probably knowing what they were about to say.

“So did I.” The resident now turns to me. “It seems you’re fully dilated so we’re going to find the doctor on call and get you ready to push. This baby is on his way. Do you have any questions?” At this moment only one came to my mind.

“Any chance I can still get that epidural?” *fingers crossed*

“I’m sorry, ma’am. You are too far along for that.” At that moment I could’ve definitely cried. And when I say I could’ve cried I mean I could have bawled. Bawled my eyes out. After the terrible pain, I had been looking forward to this epidural. Being denied the epidural was causing me new pain.

Soon the doctor on call arrives and my legs are put in these weird plastic blue stirrups. They wrap the monitors around my belly. For a moment I’m relieved to hear my little guys heartbeat. I wasn’t worried about him but it was encouraging to have reassurance that even though I was in a lot of pain, I would soon have my little man in my arms.

“Okay, your contractions are coming along pretty well and it looks like you’ll be getting an urge to push soon. Let us know when you feel ready to push.” I can barely remember who even said that. At this point, I’m getting pretty nervous. My first thought was “Am I really about to do this?”. It honestly didn’t feel like this was more than a dream. I mean a few hours earlier I had been at home eating dinner like any other day and now I’m about to have a baby. Like really actually have a baby.

So let’s be completely honest here. When women talk about having babies, it sounds like the scariest and most painful thing in the world. (I had also recently read an article about how California has a pretty high rate of deaths during delivery and of course that freaked me out as well.) So by this point in my birthing experience, I’m starting to have mixed feelings.

Yes, I’ve heard a million stories about women having terrible experiences. My own mother was in labor for over 24 hours with my sister. I was expecting to have a similar experience. However, I had only labored for two hours and I did it at home. My pain tolerance is obviously pretty high if I thought that it was truly just back pain and diarrhea.

On the contrary, I know that pushing is going to be a real challenge. Everyone has seen at least one scene in a movie or on tv of a woman screaming while she is pushing. They say that if you’re in good shape it can be easier but after the most recent move my walks became less frequent and my lethargy became more extreme. The chances of the baby basically falling out seemed pretty slim.

Another concern of mine at this point is that I have no idea what a contraction is supposed to feel like and how I’m supposed to tell if I even have the urge to push. They don’t exactly teach these things in health class or even in birthing classes. So there I am in the delivery room with my legs in the stirrups, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to proceed from there. Why is there not some type of class on that? It seems like there is a class or a book on damn near everything else. So there I am, in the stirrups, waiting. When I finally feel like I’m feeling what I imagine a contraction feels like I have to interrupt their loud conversation. It kind of felt like no one was paying attention to me or taking me seriously. Like I know you see this all the time but that should not normalize the amount of pain I’m in or the urgency I’m feeling to get this baby out.

Now the hard part. They tell me that I need to push for ten seconds, three times per contraction. Luckily, the good nurse tells me that I should push like I’m taking a dump. I consider asking the other nurses and doctor why they couldn’t have mentioned that before. But that would take more energy than I’d like to waste at this point so I just close my eyes and take a deep breath. 

The rest is a bit blurry. I can remember not liking their strategy. I could have gotten him out so much faster if I was doing five seconds of pushing for six rounds. I also was upset because one of the nurses told me not to scream or yell during my pushing to save energy. Yes, I understand that you think I should use my energy in some other type of way but I think I should do whatever I want to get this baby out. “Don’t tell a woman in labor what to do unless she asks for advice” should be the number one rule they teach you. 

After forty minutes of pushing, Jaxson’s head came out and he started crying before his body even came out. He had a strong pair of lungs and I can remember being so proud of that. The first thing I said was “I can’t believe I just did that.” When he was out they cleaned him up and put him on my chest. He was the most beautiful baby that I’d ever seen. He weighed 8 pounds and 7.2 ounces. I wasn’t counting on him being so big and was impressed by myself. 

Looking back on the experience, I know that I was lucky to have gotten through the whole experience in less than four hours, especially with a relatively large baby and no drugs. I still wish that I could’ve had the epidural but I’m proud of myself and sure that if I ever have a baby it’ll probably just slide out. However, I don’t regret anything about the experience (other than the nursing staff) and I’m thrilled to have my beautiful boy on the outside.

[tobedeletedwayward]

Fruition || Jimin

Request:

Summary:  Guys and girls can be friends without talking much. Guys and girls can be roommates without falling in love. Park Jimin likes to prove you and the facts of life wrong form time to time.

Word Count: 2,603 I THINK THIS IS  THE LONGEST THING IVE WRIRTTEN AHSDAH

A/N: Ahaha guess who crawled out of their cave? This loser. Sorry for being AWOL these past few weeks, Imma be real and say that it was not a pretty picture up in my head . In order to make up for that, I am clearing the To Do List, starting with this request. It’s not as intimate as the request outlined but damn if it isn’t cute. Enjoy, and sorry again~

Go in there [Y/N], just get it over and done with.

‘But I can’t...’

Why are you so freaked out? You won’t be bothering them, hell maybe you’ll be helping!

‘It sounds really serious, I can’t interrupt them – that’s just rude.’

It’s your own fucking apartment. Just walk in there and ignore them as you pass by!

Your internal monologue ended as you sighed at your own stupidity. Of all the counter arguments you had come up with over the past ten minutes, nothing would be the logic your own mind bestowed upon you.

With a definitive huff you pulled your keys from your bag and went to unlock your front door, only to have it thrown open by an angered yet familiar woman. She blinked once, then twice, and let the anger dissipate momentarily to greet you.

“[Y/N], always good to see you.”

“Same goes to you Soomin.” You answered politely, watching as she turned around and spat out another aggressive farewell to the person inside before barrelling past you down the stairwell.

When the heavy footfalls faded into the air, you finally willed yourself to look into your apartment, ready for whatever mess you knew you’d be cleaning up.

The cushions were thrown off the couch and the pile of textbooks you’d left earlier that morning were strewn across the floor. There wasn’t a distinct pattern; rather it seemed that whoever threw them had been aiming at someone rather than something.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the worst battleground you had come across.

“I...will clean this one up...”

You let your gaze wander to your roommate, one of his hands resting on his hip while the other ruffled his dark hair. You shrugged.

“Whatever man, it’s your break up.” You answered with fake apathy.

Jimin chuckled, thankful that you didn’t give him the sympathetic bullshit most people tended to dish out in these circumstances.

“If you do need to have a good cry, there’s ice cream in the freezer. Go nuts.”

With a final smile, you exited the lounger room and retreated into your bedroom for the evening.

You didn’t catch the endearing smile plastered across your roommate’s face.

“Why did you tell me Jimin and Soomin broke up?”

“I didn’t think it was that important.”

“Of course it is- you’re his roommate and you have details!”

You didn’t bother answering, instead opting to keep your eyes on the required reading for your lecture the following day.

“I’m not fuelling that weird gossiper tendency you have when it comes to him, [Y/F/N],” you deadpanned, “besides you heard it from Soomin herself and she obviously isn’t being discreet about it, acting like its big news and all.”

[Y/F/N] rolled their eyes at you, directing their full attention back towards their own textbook for a brief second, all before glaring at you once more.

“Do you know why they broke up though? Like, you had to have heard something about it from either of them?”

‘Oh you don’t even know the half...’ You thought, replaying the many conversation you had heard that day and the many that had culminated towards their breaking point in the weeks prior.

“I don’t know, it was probably similar to Jimin’s last break up with Jane or whatever.” You answered vaguely, much to [Y/F/N]’s dismay

They knew you had answers, but you weren’t the type to eavesdrop and tell. Especially considering the fact that breakup territory wasn’t your place – even if around a quarter of their fight revolved around you and your roommate’s friendship

It fell silent between you both, only being broken up by the sounds of pens scratching across paper or the shifting of wooden legs across tiles.

The quiet wouldn’t last for long though, you knew that much. [Y/F/N] was too curious and inquisitive in all the wrong ways.

The quiet had lasted a solid four hours and was broken by the time you had agreed to grab a late dinner with them.

You wouldn’t admit that you were impressed with their newfound self restraint.

“Okay but doesn’t Jimin talk to you about things? What kind of roommate doesn’t talk about something like this?”

“Pretty sure that wasn’t in the ad he put up when he was looking for a roomie.” You flicked through the menu, eyes dancing across the words. “You’re good with Set B right cause I’m in the mood for beef.”

[Y/F/N] ignored you.

“So you don’t talk to each other at all?”

“Of course we talk; we’re friends, we just don’t intrude on each other’s personal lives like that.”

“Then what’s the point in being friends if you don’t know what’s going on in their lives.”

“It’s about respecting each other’s privacy and boundaries.”

“It’s boring.”

“It’s polite.”

[Y/F/N] groaned at your response, a few heads turning at the sudden intrusion of noise. You nodded apologetically towards the other patrons before redirecting your attention to your friend.

“What is it you want from me [Y/F/N]? Do you want me to exploit my situation so you can help fuel the gossip wheel that only ever seems to turn whenever Park Jimin is involved? If that’s it, then you’ll have to find someone else to do the dirty work.”

You locked eyes for a while, only yielding when something hit you directly in the right shin that rested underneath the table. You yelped in pain, quickly checking to see their foot still aimed in your direction.

“Listen, [Y/N],” they began, “you wanna know what the common thing is that all of Jimin’s exes have said about their breakups?”

You didn’t answer.

You had a pretty good understanding from things you’d always overheard; Jimin was always busy, Jimin had some habits that weren’t particularly favourable, Jimin had some form of attention on him whether he wanted it or not, and Jimin should move in with them since it made more sense for people romantically involved to live together rather than random people who wanted to save some money while they studied.

[Y/F/N] sighed, leaning forward on the table with their elbows dangerously close to the inactive grill. “They’ve all said that you were the main reason.”

You pressed a finger against your companion’s forehead, watching in wrinkle as you applied pressure. “Yeah, because they want to live with him since they’re the one dating him.” You answered. “They’ve also said Jimin rolls in his sleep and whacks them in the face – that’s another solid reason to dump someone if you ask me.”

“You’re an absolute idiot.”

“Thank you, can we order Set B now?”

“[Y/N]-” There was a hint of a small vein protruding from their forehead in frustration, and you tried not to laugh lest they lash out at you. They sighed and regained what they had left of their composure.

“They’ve all said you always come between them, and that Jimin always sides with you which are why they break up in the first place. And that’s why I always ask about it; because there’s something going on that you don’t know about. And I’m worried that your name will keep getting dragged around without you fighting back.”

Your narrowed your eyes at them. “If I wanted a trope-y love story I would be at home watching one of my shows.” You retorted, making them groan at your stubbornness.

“You aren’t denying the possibility of it-”

“And it’s such a slim possibility that I don’t even want to consider it because it’s stupid.” You dropped the menu in front of you, exasperated at your friend’s look of disbelief. “At best, we’re tier 1 friends meaning that whatever Fanfiction story you’re brewing in your head is impossible.”

“It makes sense though, doesn’t it? Even if it’s not a full blown romantic attraction that he has, he has to like you more than a friend or a roommate since every girlfriend has – for lack of a better phrase – seen you as a problem.” You huffed, indignant at her explanation. You didn’t want to admit it, but they had a point. Your name frequented these arguments too much, but you still refused to believe the theory entirely.

“Next time, be up front with me if you’re worried so I don’t start resenting being friends with you.”

A thankful smile appeared on their face and they yielded, slinking back into their seat comfortably. They leant over and pressed the button to alert the waiter that they were ready to order. “I’m good with Set B, as long as we get an extra lunchbox.” They determined. You rolled your eyes and nodded in agreement, knowing that compliance was the best option.

“But really,” they continued with a tight lipped smile, “I’m concerned. Even if what his exes are saying isn’t true, you have to admit that it’s a little strange that you’re constantly getting blamed despite not being as close to the guy as you say you are.”

You didn’t reply because, in one way or another, they had a point.

Jimin entered the apartment some time after 9pm, earlier than usual but by no means strange in nature. Ever since the break up, you discovered that he would much rather prefer to stay inside than to go out with friends as an artificial means of ‘bouncing back’.

You didn’t bother to greet him verbally, simply offering him a nod as you watched the faint outline of his body disappear and reappear form your peripherals.

The soft whirr of the microwave resonated beyond the kitchenette wall. “I didn’t expect you to be relaxing so late in the semester. What’s this about?” Teased Jimin, you could hear his smirk. You shrugged, adjusting the blanket on your front and remaining focused on the screen.

“Actually made headway with my work today, felt like I deserved a break.” You answered. The couch dipped to your left and you felt one of Jimin’s hands tug at the fabric you had claimed as your own. “How was your day? Anything exciting?”

“Submitted that Psych paper I was working on, now I’m in the clear until finals.” He replied, huffing slightly when the fabric refused to budge. The microwave beeped obnoxiously forcing Jimin to stand and retrieved whatever he had heated up. “You gonna be a good roomie and share the blanket or not?”

You scoffed. “I already let you dip into my ice cream stash – I’m clear from being giving for the next few weeks.

Jimin entered once more with a plate of leftovers and pouted at you childishly as he plopped back down. You offered a corner out of spite. He draped it across his knee half-heartedly.

It was quiet between you both, only the sounds from the show playing in front of you filling the atmosphere for most of the night. It was only broken by Jimin’s soft voice around an hour after he had arrived back.

“No one has been bugging you about me, right?”

There was a part of you that wanted to mention [Y/F/N] despite her inquiries being purely out of concern, but a larger part dismissed that and attempted to hone in on the underlying meaning of his words.

“Nope,” you were sure to pop the final syllable, “why? Is something up?”

He shook his head and shrugged, murmuring a “Just curious” under his breath. You looked at him curiously from the corner of your eye, wondering when you could bring up the query that had arisen in your mind.

Three days later, Jimin had cleared the concerns you did not wish to voice.

You had spent the three days that had passed nesting in your room, hidden away from the world because (1) you had hit a major roadblock with your assignment and needed to get it done and (2) Jimin had been getting too antsy for your own liking.

Thankfully, he had respected the boundaries of your bedroom just as you would do with him, which meant that you were to avoid him very well.

At least, that was what you had thought. Instead, in a moment of weakness, your roommate had cornered you in the kitchen.

You jumped in surprise when you turned around, almost dropping your cup noodles in the process. Jimin stood in front of you with his arms folded across his chest, leaning back against the counter and tufts of hair covering his forehead haphazardly.

“Word of warning next time-”

“Go on a date with me.”

You almost dropped your noodles in surprise, instead choosing to blink almost animatedly at him. “Pardon?”

“I want to take you out on a date,” he repeated with clear enunciation, “will you go out with me?”

Normal moments of silence between the two of you were comfortable, natural, and often felt like a hug. The one that hung between you in that moment was anything but. It was cold and clammy – nervous.

It took a while to formulate an adequate response, and you remained standing with a neutral expression. “I’m not your rebound, Jimin.”

He shifted his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet, arms still crossed. “You aren’t, trust me on this.”

“This is by definition a rebound-”

“Rebounds are most likely gonna happen with people you don’t care about and the last time I checked, I liked you.”

You opened and closed your mouth repeatedly, unsure of how to properly answer. From the bottom of your vision, you noticed the noodles still in your grasp despite losing all feeling in your fingers from the sheer heat emanating from the container.

Yes, the container.

Definitely not your cheeks or your arms or your body in general.

Another second of silence followed before you piped up. “You don’t like me, shut up.”

Good job, [Y/N].

Jimin scoffed. “You can’t tell me who I can and cannot like.”

“I can when that person is me!”

Jimin took a step towards you. You stepped back. Some of the soup splashed over the edge of the container.

“Look, I have feelings for you.” He admitted, unfolding his arms. “Are they serious? I don’t know. Do they make sense? No, but when do emotions ever do? Am I going to throw away a pretty good living arrangement to try and figure it out? Yeah, I am. Because there is something between us [Y/N] and I want to know what it is... I want to know if you feel the same, or at the very least feel just as confused as I feel right now.”

Another step, toes barely touching on the cold tile.

“One date, and if anything does happen then we figure it out from there... All I know is that I like you and I want to give this a decent shot.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for some sort of sign that signalled the answer he was hoping for. You remained still, eagerly looking back at him attempting to find any trace of a lie or joke within his features.

You found none.

And you wanted to punch [Y/F/N] for being right.

“One date.”

His eyes widened in surprise and you shifted back again.

“After you submit that paper?” He asked. You nodded. “Keep your schedule free, then.”

His kiss came as quickly as it went, plush lips against your cheek in a chaste and innocent gesture that left your eyes wide. He moved away, nodding once more before leaving you alone to your food.

You glanced down. The noodles had puffed up a lot. You frowned in discomfort.

Discomfort at your somewhat soiled food.

Definitely not that the way your heart had begun to beat faster at the minute interaction.

Definitely not.

[cooperjones2020]

What’s Past is Prologue, What to Come, pt. 6

Summary: He wanted to hit whoever made Betty cry. He wanted to hit Betty so she’d keep crying. Interrelated vignettes from Jughead Jones’s obsession with Betty Cooper. Dark!Jug, Creepy!Jug, Stalker!Jug, generally Sociopathic!Jug.

A/N: Complete :) There’ll be one more one-shot to tie-off the series posted on Friday. But it will be more along the lines of Marked than of this fic. Prepare yourselves, because Dark!Betty comes out to play.

TW: implied violence (for this chapter specifically, check the other tags on ao3)

(parts one / two / three / four / five)

ao3—> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11394858/chapters/26675151

Every town has one. The house on the haunted hill all the kids avoid. Now that Jason was buried in the earth, it would only be a matter of time until something poisonous bloomed in that long, cold shadow cast by his death. Whatever grew in the rich black soil of the Blossoms’ garden always found its way to the town. Whether it was murder or love or secrets or lies.

He loved the murder board. He loved that Betty had touched every single piece of it. Earlier, when he was in the Blue and Gold office alone, he had run his fingers over every photograph, every scrap of paper, every tangled strand of red string, willing his fingertips to absorb the oils from her skin.

After the memorial, after Betty cornered her father about his conversation with Clifford Blossom, they returned to the office to regroup. He leaned back against a desk and watched her a few feet away from him as she grappled with the splintered fragments of her family.

“Juggie, I feel like I don’t even know who my mom and dad are anymore.”

“Betty,” he stood and moved toward the murder board. “If your parents lied about Jason and Polly, there’s probably more that they lied about.” He turned back to look at her.

“What do you mean?” She moved to follow him. He’d dealt with Trev, but now he wanted something from her. Some sign that they were in this together.

“Your dad said he would do anything to protect Polly. So the next logical question is, how far would he go to protect her?” He turned to the table in front of the board and grabbed an index card.

“Jughead, whoever broke into Sheriff Keller’s house and stole all his evidence wasn’t at the drive-in.” She looked at him with her big green eyes shining. He could imagine the look of the tears he knew she was holding back. “My dad wasn’t at the drive-in.” He handed her the index card and watched to see what she would do. With just a moment of hesitation, she pinned it right smack dab in the center, below Jason’s yearbook picture. God, he was proud of her. He pushed her over that barrier and she let him. He wanted to scoop her up in a hug and to devour her.

Instead, he said, “We need to talk to Polly.” Betty took a deep breath and gave him a wobbly nod. His heart slowed and beat thickly, as if submerged in maple syrup, as he watched her. The string between her and her parents was pulled taut. It would be easy to snip. It would be one more string he could hoard for himself.

On the first night he spent in the janitor’s closet at school, after the drive-in closed, the third thing he did was seek out Betty’s locker. He’d stolen a set of maintenance keys a few weeks ago and had a copy to the school’s front doors made, just in case. The drive-in had a cot, but it didn’t have a shower. And they’d stopped running water to the bathrooms at the campground when it had closed for the season on the first of September.

So the first thing he did was take a shower. The second thing he did was break into the cafeteria kitchen and scrounge up some dinner. Then he headed down the hallway with the science classrooms.

She’d had the same combination since sixth grade: Polly’s birthday. He rummaged through her locker for anything new, anything that could add to the store of Betty Cooper trivia he kept locked inside him.

He already knew about the Neosporin in the pink pencil box on the top shelf. But when he opened it, the tube was almost empty. It might have been that way for a while. There’s no way she’d used that much this early into the school year—she probably brought an old half-used tube from home anyway.  But still. He wanted to slice the scars off her palms.

He replaced the pencil box and reached for the stack of notes besides it. He unfolded their intricate shapes and pressed them flat before scanning each one. All from Veronica and Kevin. All useless.

“No one cares you can’t get dick, Kev,” he whispered under his breath as he struggled to re-fold the notes.

Then, he reached over her school books and slid his hand down the back wall of the locker to see if anything had fallen. But rather than the detritus of further notes and to-do lists he expected, he found two slim books. One, the worn copy of The Story of O he’d caught her reading a few weeks ago. He hadn’t believed the story she fed Cheryl about writing an exposé on book banning. So he pocketed it to look at later, in the luxury of his closet. The other, the small pink book he recognized as her diary. Jackpot.

It was only about a two-thirds full but the last entry seemed to be from a few days before — a description of her showdown with Archie outside Pop’s. Odd. She normally wrote in it every day. He flipped back to the first entry, the day she arrived in LA, and began to scan, until his own name grabbed his attention.

I finally got Jug to talk to me. He’s been avoiding me since I got back. I don’t know what happened with him and Arch over the summer — though it seems to be better now — but he better get it through his thick skull that Archie has no business in our relationship. Whatever Archie did to him doesn’t affect him and me. He looks skinnier. Last night at Pop’s, I convinced him I was full so he’d eat the rest of my fries. I wonder if he’d be offended if I offered to pack him a lunch. A lump formed in his throat that he didn’t understand. But when he turned the page, the rest of the entry devolved into a description of cheerleading routines.

A few pages later something else caught his eye:

I think some of my clothes have gone missing. If Polly were here, I’d swear she’d stolen them, but she’s not so that can’t be it.

Sometime around early September, mentions of Archie, and especially her feelings for Archie, had dropped off sharply. Simultaneously, her mentions of him had grown. He tried not to read anything into it. It was probably just because of the paper. He was around her more so of course she would think about him more. Write about him more.

But then,

Dear Diary,

It happened again. I’m losing time. I remember talking to Chuck at Pop’s and making the plan with Veronica and Ethel. But I don’t remember showing up at Ethel’s house. I don’t remember calling him Jason. And I don’t know where I got the black wig.

This hasn’t happened since I was in LA. I had hoped it was some freaky coincidence brought on by not enough humidity and too much green juice. I don’t know what to do or who I can even tell.

Who will I be if I let go?

Sometimes Jughead looks at me as if he knows.

That was it. She ended the entry and then the next one was about Archie and Grundy. Fuck.

Channeling all his darkness into his obsession with Betty Cooper allowed Jughead to maintain a thin veneer of normalcy. That she might be doing the same to him…

The needy beast of a thing in his chest roared to life.

Most days, he does a pretty good job at seeming normal. Well, not normal. Reggie likes to call him things like Donnie Darko and Wednesday Adams, but, still, he manages to keep most of his darkness on the inside.

But all of these days from the past swirl in Jughead’s mind as he lets himself into the Andrews’ garage and commandeers Fred’s ladder. The day he met Betty. The day Betty burned her arm making him cookies. The day she got grounded for losing her American Girl doll. The day he set Nancy Drew on fire. The first day he saw her topless. The day she drove away from Riverdale in a wood-panelled station wagon. The day she asked him to join her on the Blue and Gold. The day the drive-in closed. The day he found her diary. The day she went on a “date” with Trev Brown.

Polly had accidentally scratched Betty’s cheek when the orderlies were dragging her out of their hug earlier. Jughead spent the car ride home fighting the urge to lick the blood off her face.

She would pine after Archie. She would “date” Trev. She would kiss Veronica. But her darkness is his. Today, she will pick him. He has a plan.

She sits at her vanity, fingering her necklace and staring at the floor when Jughead gets to the top of the ladder beneath her window. He wraps gently on the closed glass and her head turns, ponytail whipping behind her. He can tell she’s surprised, but her face quickly gives way to a smile as she rushes over to open the window.

“Hey there, Juliet. Nurse off duty?” She steps back so he can climb in. “You haven’t gone full ‘Yellow Wallpaper’ on me yet, have you?”

Betty’s voice is rough, as if she’s been crying. “They’re crazy. My parents are crazy.”

“They’re parents. They’re all crazy.”

“No, but what if—what if Polly is too?” Betty stammers. “The way she was talking to me, the way she looked at me. And now all I can think is, maybe I’m crazy like they are.” She’s spiralling. Jughead puts a hand on shoulder and he feels some of the tension drain out as she sighs, as his touch does that to her.

“Hey. We’re all crazy.” He looks into her eyes, willing her to know what he knows. To know they’re alike. She smiles at him and looks at the floor.

When he speaks, her eyes drift back up. “We’re not our parents, Betty. We’re not our families.” He might be imagining it, but he thinks her eyes pause on his lips on their journey back to the floor. “Also—”

“What?” she whispers. She stares into his eyes again as he flicks his gaze all over her face. “What?” she asks again, louder. She smiles at him with half of her mouth and raises one eyebrow.

He takes her face in his hands and kisses her. When she doesn’t pull back right away, the monster inside him cheers. Then when she kisses him back, he sighs and it settles into a contented purr.

She breaks the kiss, “The car!”

He smiles at her and raises his eyebrows. “Wow. That’s what you were thinking about in the middle of our moment?” If he hadn’t just felt the insistent pressure of her lips against his own, he’d be more upset. But he knows, better than anyone now, how Betty’s mind works.

“No. Polly talked about a car Jason had stashed for them down Route 40. Near some sign? If we can find it, we can confirm Polly’s story.”

“Well, one way or another.”

“I need to know, Juggie.” Then she leans forward and presses another soft kiss against his lips. He’d do anything for her. He’d kill for her. Of course he’ll go looking for the damn car with her. Because now, he’s got her. He’s finally got the real life Betty doll.

[togashimiko]

title: persephone and hades

pairing: ayahina

word count: 1397 

“you spend the springs saying her name in your sleep. in the winter, she keeps your bones burning. she keeps your heart warm.” (x)

i. he watches her often, the girl with sunshine in her movements. he’s only aware of her name (mostly thanks to role call) and not much else. but what he is aware of — so painfully aware of — is the way his heart beats with a new sense of reverence when he sees her. he first takes notice of her the day she gets transferred into his english class, she was a year younger but they bumped her up because she was excelling too fast, or some bullshit like that.

she sits next to him in class. the first time he notices her he thinks that she has pretty caramel hair and honey freckled eyes, and then he notices that she looks a bit lonely. and that loneliness looked so out of place on a girl like her. ayato pouts at this.

ayato thinks about saying hi to her one day, she’s not even a foot away from him. but every time she sits down the distance between them seems so apparent that he just stares ahead pretending she doesn’t exist. it’s better this way. she’s gentle; her soul is dipped in honey and gold — tantalizing his own starved soul.

today they were supposed to be doing partner work. he watches the girl, hinami, look around for her usual partner. she frowns when her friend is nowhere in sight. and so she turns on him,

“be my partner ayato?”she asks in a really quiet voice, and the weirdest thing was that she knew his name. he nods and she pulls her chair over (closing the gap) and he can smell a hint of vanilla on her. he decides vanilla is his favorite smell.

“so, where should we begin....” she keeps talking but he’s lost in the freckles dusting her cheeks.

“ayato?” she whines and he focuses.

“I’m sorry...I was zoning out.”

“clearly.” she says a bit annoyed. and even annoyed with him she looked cute. he wonders how he never noticed her all these years.

but he’s glad he did.

ii. “tutor me?” ayato almost laughs. but hinami just frowns proving her point to be of the highest severity. he stops laughing but he still finds the notion ridiculous. yeah he was bad at school and yeah she was smart, but that didn’t mean anything. not to him.

“you’re failing.” she tells him, a little to blunt for a girl as gentle as her. which doesn’t really surprise him, what does take him by surprise however is that she was aware of this. his expression darkens for a second before he realizes she was trying to do something good for him, he takes a breath and reigns in his anger issues.

“how do you know?”

“I help grade things for the teacher, and I saw your grades.” she admits like it wasn’t a total invasion of his privacy. now he was angry and embarrassed.

“well, I don’t need your help.” he responds, a bit harsher than he really intended. but he was annoyed at her for trying to structure his life. she barely knew him, what did she care?

“fine, but if you change your mind, here’s my number.” she writes it in the corner of his notebook cover. then she takes her bags and leaves him alone in the classroom.

iii. “hinami.” ayato says the next day, she glances up from a heavy looking novel. a look of curiosity passes over her features, ayato feels nervous under her stare. “I’m sorry about yesterday, I was being an asshole. I actually do kinda need some help...” his voice trails off.

“hmmmm….” she places a slim finger to her lips pretending to be actually considering his offer. but then a smile breaks out and her eyes gleam like the sun in the middle of a summer day. “yes, I will.”

if he were honest he only agreed to her tutoring him because he wanted to get to know her. he’s curious about a girl who seemed so genuinely kind to a boy like him. hinami has picked up her novel again but she glances up over the rim:

“meet me in the library at 5 tonight, we can study then.” ayato just nods.

class begins and all ayato can think about is seeing her later.

it was an odd feeling and he wasn’t sure what to call it (love, happiness, desire, longing). it was as if his she had turned on the light in his soul, a soft glow it was but glow it did. his fascination with her shook his very core.

iv. ayato finds her sitting in the library; books spread across the table, papers scattered, and a whole bag of different markers and pens. impressive. he takes the seat next to her and she looks up, a weary look on her face. he wonders why she looked so tired, but then a smile takes over her features and he thinks things are okay.

“ready?”

“hm.”

she opens one of the books and suddenly she’s not his classmate (who he has a slight crush on) she’s a professor with years of knowledge behind those honey dipped eyes. the ways she’s explaining things to him is nothing like the monotone and straight laced way he was used to being taught. she explains complex things on simple levels, piece by piece, till the whole structure is clear to him.

“are you getting any of this? I can explain more if you need.” she asks, a bit out of breath — she was such a fast talker.

“actually...actually yeah.” he nods. her smile is slight but he notices a sort of pride in this smile. it must mean a lot to her, to be this smart.

“shall we keep going?”

“yeah.”

v. weeks pass of this, her teaching and him learning. his grades are improving and he finds himself in less trouble — mostly because he spends a lot of time studying with her. while he’s pleased with his steady Bs seeing her so often wasn’t just to maintain these grades. he just found himself enjoying her company.

today he’s running late to meet her and when he gets there he sees she’s been crying. he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of how lonely she looked, and how she seemed weary that first day.

“hina?” he asks quietly, “you okay?” he’s never been much of a comforter and he’s not quite sure how to even go about it. should he hug her? no, they’re not that close. maybe put his hand on her shoulder? yeah, that’s friendly. and with his mind made up he walks closer and puts his hand on her shoulder. “hina?”

“it’s...it’s nothing.” she assures him with a quick smile and a nod. but this time he’s not so easily fooled by her smile.

“clearly it’s not.”

“...I don’t have anyone.” she mumbles. ayato frowns not sure if she meant she didn’t have friends, because he’s seen her talking to a couple of people and she seemed well liked. “my-my parents just died and...I’m all alone now.”

oh.

“my parents are dead too.” he says. but once the words leave his mouth he realizes how dumb that sounded. he should be consoling her and not making things about him and he should-

“you understand.” she says, she sounds relieved. he feels her hand cover his and his heart soars. ayato nods and he sees a real smile come to life on her face.

“feel better?” he asks nervously. she nods and opens a rather large looking book.

“midterms are coming up,” she wipes the last of her tears off her pink stained cheeks, a smile slowly peeks, “let’s get going.” she shoves the book across the table and ayato internally groans. but he’d rather be painstakingly studying with her than seeing her cry. he’d read a book on quantum physics if it meant she’d never cry again.

vi. “I’m glad I met you.” ayato says one day, months later. she was no longer just his tutor, they were now close friends.

“I’m glad I met you too.” she replies.