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storiesbymads · 3 years

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GIVE IT UP ( tyson jost . )

You find yourself at your ex’s house party despite the fact that you’ve pretty much convinced him and yourself that you hate him. Apparently, he’s not that fond of you either. At least, that’s what he wants you to think.

warnings: smut, hate sex, unprotected sex

wc: 2.6k

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It was shocking of how quickly the sweet boy who once would’ve done anything to see you smile turned into the man before you that managed to get a rise out of you without even directly speaking to you.

Granted, most of that was your fault. All he’d wanted was a break, a few weeks, maybe a month apart to think things over. You’d been the one to suggest a full breakup.

“Tys-“ you stopped yourself. “Tyson.”

His pacing stalled, the hand that had been furiously running through his curls fell to rest on his hip as he turned to face where you were sitting on the couch. The couch you’d helped him pick out when he’d first moved into this apartment. The one he’d first kissed you on three years ago, though it was a bit more beat up now than it had been then. It was a faded blue in color now.

“What,” he halfway snapped. The tone of his voice caused you to flinch at his words, which almost sent Tyson into a deeper downward spiral had he not been so desperate to get through this evening without you killing each other.

“You know this isn’t working,” you said. “Not like it used to.”

“Then why are you fighting with me about taking a few weeks to figure things out,” he sighed before moving to sit on the matching ottoman in front of you.

“Please don’t make me say it out loud,” you said. Your jaw was trembling as you didn’t know how much longer you could keep looking him in the eye without breaking down.

Tyson’s hands were quick to start rubbing his eyes, almost painfully so as the heels of them dug in.

“You don’t mean it,” he whispered.

“Tyson.”

“I still love you,” he sighed.

“We had a great run, yeah?” you smiled sadly at him as you picked yourself up off the couch. “I’ll be back to get my things in the next week or so.”

And that probably would’ve been the end of it had Andre not been your best friend. He was, and he claimed, the best guy in your life before Tyson and he was going to stay that way after Tyson.

Sure, parties were awkward but it was nothing you couldn’t get through without a couple girl friends and some distance. And a handle of pink whitney.

“You’re kidding!” you gasped as your old college roommate gushed about her new boyfriend and their bedroom antics. “There’s no way you let him do that!”

“Long time no see, sunshine,” a familiar brown haired swede said as he pulled you into his side by the hip. You could tell the drink in his hand was far from his first based on the slur of his words and the way the snapback was situated sideways on his head.

“Hey, Dre,” you said before pecking his cheek quickly and sipping on the drink in your own hand. Contrary to your usual party behavior, you were only about half of the way through your first.

“Yeah, sunshine,” you heard Tyson say from behind you. The smile on your face wiped away into a scowl within seconds. “Long time no see.”

You opted to ignore him, continuing your conversation with your roommate, Savannah, as Andre left your side to join the beer pong game in the corner.

“Aw, c’mon. It’s not my fault you’re desperate enough to come to your ex’s house party,” he mocked as he shuffled his way closer to you.

“Aw, it’s not my fault your other eye’s just begging for a matching shiner,” you cooed. You could feel his breath against your pulse point as he leaned in closer.

“Think you have it in you?” he asked, voice grovely as it dropped an octave. Scoffing, you pushed away from him in search of anyone else to talk to. You couldn’t stand the fact that he was still able to jump start your heart rate after all these years, especially after all the things he’s said to you after you’d broken up.

You shouldn’t even be going to this part. You wouldn’t be had Andre not literally dragged you into his car with a promise that you wouldn’t even see Tyson, let alone have to speak to him.

“You haven’t been out in months, sunshine,” he said as he pulled out of your apartment complex. “We miss you.”

“You missed me,” you sighed, pulling your head up from where it was resting against the cool glass of the window.

“The team misses you,” he said, temporarily taking his hand off the wheel to pinch your hip. The team minus Tyson, you thought.

The party itself was fine for a while. You’d practically attached yourself to Andre’s side, not that he was complaining. He was just glad to have you in a social situation again. You were actually having fun for the first time in a while playing flip cup with some of the guys. Tyson had practically slipped your mind, another first.

Until he decided to, rather harshly, drag you away from the table.

“What are you doing here?” he rushed out as he clicked the lock on the bathroom door.

“Dre- Andre invited me,” you stuttered. The party was still going strong outside the room and you could feel the bass through the floor.

“God, I haven’t seen you in months and you’re here because my teammate invited you?” he scoffed. The shock in his eyes had since shifted to something more of disgust.

“We broke up, Tyson,” you said.

“Exactly! We broke up!” he said, throwing his hand up in the air. Your eyes stayed glued to the lock behind him.

“I didn’t come here to see you,” you said, though it came out more like a whimper. You swore you saw something crack in Tyson’s eyes before his resolve went back up.

“That’s rich, even coming from you.”

“God, you’re such a dick, Jost,” you pushed past him, wiping a tear away before it had the chance to fall as you unlocked the bathroom door.

You hated him. You hated him.

Thankfully the kitchen was empty when you found yourself there. You weren’t looking for anything, your cup was still mostly full.

How was Tyson always able to find you in a crowd? Even when you were actively avoiding him like the plague, he somehow managed to sneak up behind you and send your head into a downward spiral.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing thinking so much at a party,” an unfamiliar voice said from beside you, pulling you from your daze.

“I’m not-“ you cut yourself off. “It’s just…”

“Whoa, don’t burst a blood vessel,” he smiled at you. His comment was awkward at best, but the soft look in his eyes made up for it. He was cute.

“Sorry,” you chuckled. “I’m Y/N.”

“Jason,” he responded, clinking your red cups together in a fake toast.

Jason, you learned, was a bartender at the Star Bar in downtown Denver. Though, that was a temporary job as he worked on his masters in biochemistry. You ended up telling him a story about the time you found yourself being escorted out of said Star Bar from dancing on the bar.

“If you’ll excuse me, I really have to go to the ladie’s room,” you said, starting to walk past him in the now crowded kitchen before turning back to face the blond. “Would you mind holding my drink?”

“Sure,” Jason said, even going as far as putting his own drink down so that he could cover the top of yours fully with his hand. Maybe this party hadn’t gone completely to shit.

The line to the bathroom was nonexistent and you’d managed to finish your business in record time. You checked your appearance in the mirror before clicking the lock on the bathroom door and opening it to see the one person you really wished you hadn’t.

He pushed his way through, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

“What are you doing, Jost? Let me out,” you said.

“You really think you can come here and flirt with some random guy in my kitchen?” he scoffed. With every word he took another half step closer to you until your back was pressed against the far wall.

“What do you mean your kitchen?”

“Did Dre not tell you? Can’t believe this is the fourth time you’ve been here and you didn’t even know who’s apartment it was. I think that’s a little rude, if you ask me,” he cooed. Four times; he was counting. He’d made a mental note every time you’d been sitting on his couch and he’d been too fucked up about it to do anything.

His knee pushed your thighs apart as his hands found solace on the wall beside your head. You felt the sudden urge to spit in his face. Or to let him spit in yours.

This was much more possessive than he’d ever acted when you were together. Granted, he hasn’t acted the same way he’d been when you were together in the year and a half you’d been apart.

“Answer me,” he hummed. “It’s rude isn’t it.”

You tilted your head to the side in response only for Tyson’s thigh to press up further so that it was resting against your core. You took the sudden close proximity between the two of you to gauge the changes in his features. Most obviously was the beard he was sporting now, he’d never been able to accomplish more than a patch here or there while you were dating despite his best efforts. His shoulders were more filled out now, too, and his curls looked longer. He looked more… mature, if that was the word for it.

“Answer me,” he tutted. “Or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?”

“You’re a lot bolder than I remember, Jost,” you gasped. There was a definite wet spot growing in your underwear at the rasp in his tone.

“You’re just as annoying,” he said before one of his hands found your hip. His mouth came crashing against yours an instant later, a rough mess of teeth clanging together as he popped the button on your jean shorts. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll fuck that out of you, too.”

The comment caused a gasp to slip past your lips as he removed his knee so that he could tug your bottoms to your ankles in one fell swoop. His fingers were quick in replacing the delicious pressure against your clit, circling the nub with the pad of his finger.

“Do you still make those pretty little noises you used to make?” he asked, only to pull a whimper out of you not even a second later when he slipped a finger into your hole.

“You’re still a dick,” you moaned as you dropped your head to rest against his shoulder. You bit down on the cotton of his t-shirt to conceal the whimper of emptiness as Tyson slipped his finger out of you so that he could push the band of his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to slip out.

“Yeah? And you’re about to cum all over it.”

The string of profanities that followed from your part were involuntary.

He pushed into you slowly until he was halfway in before snapping his hips forward in one quick motion so that your pelvic bones were pressed together. You hadn’t felt this full since… Well, since him.

“Fucking-“ he hissed. “I forgot how tight you were.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he started thrusting his hips. You would’ve been able to admire it longer had your eyes not rolled into the back of your head. Your hand slipped down between your bodies to rub your clit only to be swatted away and replaced by Tyson’s a moment later.

His name rolled off your tongue like a chant as you felt your orgasm building with each pump of his hips.

“I’m gonna cum, holy shit,” you said.

“That’s right, baby. Cum all over my cock,” he said. The rhythm of his thrusts was getting sloppier by the second and you could tell he was getting close. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where do you want it?”

“What?” you asked, head still very hazy from the impending orgasm.

“I can’t cum inside you—shit,” his thrusts slowed. “Where do you want it?”

“I’m on the pill,” you rushed out in hopes that he’d start fucking you again. The thought alone almost had him falling apart.

“Holy shit, ok,” he mumbled before picking up his thrusts once again. It was a step the two of you hadn’t taken before, and he was dying to see his cum drip out of you.

“Fuck, Tys,” the words came out rushed as your high washed over you. Tyson came soon after as ropes of it coated your walls in hot spurts.

Your senses came back to you as you came back down. What the fuck were you doing? Why did you allow yourself to hook up with the ex you were still pretty sure you hated in a bathroom.

“I-I’ve gotta go,” you said, pushing Tyson off, and subsequently out, of you so that you could pull up your shorts and button them.

“Wait, Y/N,” the flustered, blushing Tyson you thought you’d never see again made an appearance as you threw the bathroom door open just as he tucked himself back into his boxers. The fly of his blue jeans was undone as he chased you out of the bathroom, practically begging you to stop as he followed you out the front door.

“Leave me alone, Jost,” you scoffed as you watched him zip his pants out of the corner of your eye.

“There’s no way you’re gonna go back to hating me after that,” he said. You could feel his cum dripping into your panties as he spoke.

“We made our decision last year. We should’ve left it at that,” you shivered in the open exterior of his apartment complex, silently cursing yourself for thinking a jacket would ruin your outfit.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” a dry chuckle slipped from his lips. “After all of that? After a year and a half of pretending, you can’t admit it?”

“I wasn’t pretending-“

“Like hell you weren’t. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret even mentioning the idea of a break between us. What we had doesn‘t just go away,” he took a step towards you. You could still hear the music from inside his place, though it was fainter now and still half-muffled by the various conversations just past the front door.

“We weren’t working out,” you said, though it came out as more of a squeak.

“You and I both know we could’ve worked on it. We were stupid to let what we had go over nothing,” he said. “I miss you.”

Your resolve was breaking more with every word.

“Jost, what if this doesn’t work?” you asked, allowing him to get close enough to take your hand in his. It was quite the contrast to the way he’d been with you not even ten minutes ago.

“Would you stop calling me that?” his features were screwed tight as he asked. “You only call me that when you’re mad at me.”

“Tyson,” you said, only to be greeted with a knowing look in his brown eyes. “Tys.”

“We’re gonna work out,” he said. “We’re gonna work out because…”

“Because?”

“Because I still love you. And I’m not letting you go again,” his voice had lowered to a whisper and it shook and his forehead was dangerously close to resting against yours. Within the span of an hour, he’d transformed back into the shy boy you’d given your heart to three years ago on his blue couch.

“Ok,” you whispered back, closing the distance and resting your foreheads against each other only for Tyson to bridge the gap completely with a tilted head to plant his lips against your own.

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nelipot · 6 years

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My First Summer in Boone: A Love Letter

Perched in my favorite swing overlooking the mountains during the moon-rise tonight, my heart was tender with gratitude not only for the immaculate beauty before me, but for all the sweet faces and warm feelings shared from my waking moments of this stunner of a spring day. I'm reminded that it's easier to feel these happy feelings when everywhere the earth seems to be falling in love with herself all over again. That's the beauty of springtime.

I have long mistaken Asheville as my True North. I guess for the better part of 16 years “The Paris of the South” was mine and I was hers. But no longer. For this, I'm finally grateful. Maybe I've outgrown Asheville or, more likely, Asheville has outgrown me.

Little did I know four short months ago, resting just 99 miles to the north, Boone was calling me home. Perhaps the High Country was always my Northern Star, it just took a few years for me to reconcile this truth.

My birthplace of Southern Pines, North Carolina, never felt like home to me as I spent the better part of my childhood in Savannah, Georgia. And although I adore that “pretty lady with a dirty face,” as Lady Astor aptly called her once, Savannah, too, never satisfied my deep need to wander and explore. You can only go so far out into the Atlantic Ocean before you drown. But in these Blue Ridge Mountains you can get lost for days and still never have enough years of life left to uncover every secret cove, every mossy spring, every canopied forest. The mountains are endless and I knew they were my home the first time I laid my widened eyes upon them when I was a small child. It was like I was born anew. I could never get enough. I hope I never will.

The solitary week at camp in Asheville each summer of my childhood only made me long for the Blue Ridges more. My college summers spent in Brevard working at Camp Kahdalea didn't satiate my hunger for this stunning landscape and so Asheville quickly became my adult home. New York City, Los Angeles, and Virginia called me away for a time, but I always found my way back to the mountains of Western North Carolina. There has never been a place I've loved more or longed for more deeply. My brief love affairs with other cities and other countries never matched my ache for home.

It devastates me still that Asheville has succumbed to a capitalist culture that has all but defiled her beauty and exploited her native loves, but Boone somehow remains set apart in its simplicity and core wild beauty. I know I'm lucky that I first discovered this magical place for a time between 2010 and 2012, and though I left, how perfectly nourishing it feels that Boone has called me back in 2018.

I'll not soon forget the Craigslist ad I placed in late April 2010: “Writer Seeks Sublet for Summer in Boone.” Alex, who would become one of my favorite humans, answered within hours, and a week later, I was driving with all my earthly belongings jam packed into a rental car, for the wilds of Watauga County. That summer, Stephen, Jason, and I shared what we lovingly called, “The Creekshack,” on the banks of Winklers Creek.

The afternoon of my arrival was hysterically funny in retrospect. Here I was, newly 30-years-old, being thoroughly sussed out by a gaggle of college undergrads, who tested my music, travel, and foraging knowledge with innocent questions, but equally critical eyes.

Alex, who I was subletting from while I worked on my manuscript, had no skin in the game. I was taking over his rent for the summer as he traipsed out west with his geology crew. Stephen and Jason had more to lose: They were going to have to live with me all summer.

Alex gave me a tour of the house, replete with a 2-story A-frame living room from which a solitary rope swing hung from the highest beam. I noted a record player, the makeshift photography dark room in the upstairs bathroom tub, the screen printing materials for t-shirts and posters, the chalkboard filled with notes hanging from the wall of the back porch, a bookshelf lined with titles I adored and old cameras, and a chicken coop in progress next to the vegetable garden. “Perfect,” I thought.

Jason arrived home next, a mop of golden curls fell from his helmet as he dismounted his motorcycle. He was all bespectacled grins and schoolboy laughs and I felt instantly akin to him. He was older than the other guys, a true blue Virginian, an orphan of his family of origin, like me, we chatted about our travels and mutual love of Bill Withers for a good while. A large tattoo of a goddess snaked up his right calf. Jason was always full of surprises. He still is.

Stephen arrived home last. I can see him now, carving the steep road on his longboard and seemingly floating off it to the unkempt grass in the front yard. His piercing blue eyes cut me to the quick. Stephen was the most skeptical of me, that much was clear. But we delighted in the discovery that we shared the same hometown, Savannah, and he was soon fixing my bike. (And I quickly learned that keeping fresh flowers in the house – usually peonies “permanently borrowed” from the apartment complex nearby - would stave off his grumpiness.)

The guys wasted no time in acquainting me with Boone. In a matter of hours, we were off on our bikes, cutting the hills up to town for the monthly art crawl. We stopped by the beer store first, filling our backpacks with cans and chocolate and hunks of cheese. I followed them like the adopted older sister I'd quickly become, the guys proudly introducing me to their friends like we'd known each other for years.

We gazed at student paintings in one studio, modern art in another, a free live band was killing it in the coffee shop that would soon become my other living room. Later, Stephen and Alex stayed back to flirt with a few girls on Hippie Hill while Jason and I made our way back home early as he had work in the morning and I was tired from my journey earlier that day.

Eventually, we all found ourselves by the fire in the stone fireplace that night. Sharing hot tea, we mulled over our plans for the months ahead. One of the girls, and there were many who vied for these fine young cannibal's attention that summer, dropped by to meet “the only girl that ever lived at the Creekshack.” She marveled at the cleanliness of the bathroom. I honestly couldn't imagine what that scummy mess must've looked like before it was “clean,” but I was touched by their special effort.

I remember falling into a buzzed-happy sort of haze that night, sleeping on the lofted area outside the upstairs bedroom, with the creek just outside the window, lulling me into a dreamless sleep.

The next day, Alex and I awoke early to pick up our new chickens at the Watauga County Farmers Market, silly on the kerosene-strong cowboy coffee we brought in mason jars with us from home. I've been to many a market over the years, but this one was special. Everyone seemed to know one another, farmers were more likely to cut special deals for friends and neighbors, and a local baker gifted me a special cheddar cheese and ramp sourdough loaf as a welcome gift. I was in awe of their kindness and good humor. And driving home with a backseat full of crated chickens was hilarious. Though we'd known each other for less than 24 hours, Alex and I were suddenly parents. And, oh, were we proud!

The summer of 2010 would find us hosting couch surfers and Appalachian Trail Thru Hikers and folks biking the Blue Ridge Parkway from one end to the other.

We watched nearly every World Cup Match together, huddled in some bar at 11 a.m., drinking Guinness, and yelling at the screen.

When someone's bike tire busted a flat, one of us would run out late into the night, utilizing Stephen's car we all shared, to rescue a fallen comrade from the side of some darkened mountain road.

Co-parenting our chickens like proud first-time parents always do, we cooed over their nesting boxes filled with eggs and we wept together, too, when our favorite girl, Doc Watson, was killed in the night by a blood-thirsty mink.

Initially, Jason occupied the bedroom downstairs alone and Stephen and I slept in separate beds in the bedroom we shared upstairs. Before long, we were soon fashioning two bunk beds upstairs so Jason wouldn't miss out on the late night heart-to-heart chats and laughter. The empty downstairs bedroom became the study by day and the “love me tender room” at night, in case anyone wanted to bring a lover home... which, surprisingly, no one ever did.

One of my favorite days started out with us all in crusty moods as we'd been socked in by wall-to-wall rain for over a week. Stephen, being the eccentric creature we all loved, decided to dress in a ridiculous selection of clothes taken from our individual closets. Jason and I also put on silly outfits and we silently made our way to the front porch to indulge in hours of “Mexican Train,” a dominoes game that Stephen was always winning. Jason and I, the perma-losers, never minded.

We pooled our food to make a “trash skillet” for breakfast: Usually fresh eggs from the girls, russet and sweet potatoes, onions, garlic, bell peppers, turmeric, cumin, and curry. Deeeelicious.

The sun decided to reappear early that afternoon, so we soon set up shop in the creek. Putting lawn chairs in the shallow end of the water, we chilled our beers by tethering them to a string creekside and read books in contented quiet.

Jason, Stephen, and I raced our bikes to the Appalachian State University campus in the early evening to pick Juneberries for our pancake feast planned for later that night. We'd also packed broken plates and Mason jars to throw at the demolition site that would soon be replaced by new dormitories.

I guess our pent up aggression wasn't fully exorcised when we shattered glass and ceramic at the demo site. As Jason and I were preparing pancakes, Stephen whistled at us from his perch on the kitchen table. We both looked at him and immediately noticed that crazed gleam in his eyes, with which I’d soon grow familiar. Without a word, he walked over to the utility shelf and slowly pushed a tin full of nails onto the floor. Suppressing my laughter, I opened the freezer and pushed out 2 dozen bananas we'd “freeganed” from the local grocery store dumpster the night before. They fell with a dull thud to the floor. Jason, catching on to the fact that we aimed to make a huge mess, ambled over to the study and upended a jar of marbles, sending them spilling across the kitchen and into the living room.

It didn't take us long to trash the kitchen, sending us into fits of laughter, covered in flour with melting banana goop in everyone's ear holes. We laughed long and hard until we realized we had a massive mess on our hands. So, I put Simon and Garfunkel's “The Sound of Silence” album on the record player and we danced about our individual tasks of making the kitchen shine more than ever before with wide grins plastered on each of our faces.

It was a magical day.

There were many magical days at the Creekshack.

We broke. We healed. We broke again. We held each other.

Brett, Peter, and Garrett would soon become permanent fixtures at our house. They played guitar by the bonfire along Winklers Creek late into the evening, the spring peepers slowly abating their eve-light song.

After our friends left for the night, we'd often pull our mattresses down to the back porch and sleep outside under the stars, head-to-head, breathing in tandem. I often read aloud to the guys by candlelight until they drifted off to sleep. I remember marveling over their slumbering heads, a sisterly kind of pride and affection consumed me.

How many hours did I clock, coffee in hand, swinging from the kitchen beam listening to Bon Iver's “For Emma, Forever Ago” scratching out aching tomes from the record player that summer? There are too many to count.

I was Wendy for a summer, those precious men friends were the Lost Boys, and the Creekshack was our Neverland.

At the end of the summer, Alex returned from his adventures. My sublet was over, but I decided to stay in Boone, so I moved to a community house, Iris Lane, just above downtown. The guys and I grew closer. The Creekshack was my home, too. I’d spend the entire following summer there again before I moved to my solitary cabin off the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Those years would find us hosting dance parties, broadcasting movies on the outside wall of the Creekshack, a most memorable Thanksgiving shared in Baltimore with Alex’s family, making road trips to visit Jason when he moved to D.C, Stephen and his girlfriend giving birth to a baby boy in the yurt along Winklers Creek. Jason and his amazing Australian partner, Sophie, would visit me and my new baby in Asheville a few years later. Our bond remains strong.

That remarkable summer was eight years ago this May, and every time we talk, we still marvel at those precious few months we shared together. I can only hope the memories we made there will last lifetimes.

The Summer of 2010 glued us together in a way that the innocence of youth tends to do. Sometimes I long for the way I felt that summer. Though, I'm always grateful that we had that time. We lived it. We shared it. Those dreamy early months of my first year in Boone were brief, but they sustain me even still. They remind me that magic still exists.

Of course, in the end, Wendy let the Lost Boys fly away. In the animated film, our last glimpse of Wendy shows her at the window, watching them recede into the night until they are as small as stars. And although I know that Alex now lives in California, Stephen returned to Savannah, and Jason calls Australia home, whenever these beautiful men cross my mind as I drift off to sleep, they are the Lost Boys and I am Wendy, back in Boone, blowing them kisses as they float into the distance, forever shining brightly among the stars.

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