#Jost on the other hand

[exilethegame]

I can’t get this picture out of my head of Nikke (or anyone really) petting the Commander on the head in their wolf form 😔 wouldn't that be cute lolol

Ironically enough Nikke is absolutely terrified of werewolves but I'm sure he'll power through it eventually...

[lemoncrushh]

Live From New York

Summary: Harry's on SNL and he gets a little jealous when he thinks you're not there for him.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1313

A/N: Super silly blurb from 2017 after Harry was on SNL. This was a request (some requests were oddly specific back then lol) that you have a bit of a crush on Colin Jost and Michael Che. It also helps that you know a couple of Rolling Stones songs that are mentioned at the end.

We gotta get away from here...

Harry's lyrics were still ringing in your ears as you watched the stage being set up for the next skit. Your stomach flipped when you realized it was going to be the Weekend Update segment. You liked this skit in particular, having always had a little secret crush on Colin Jost and Michael Che. Perhaps it was their humor, and the way they would sometimes roast each other that got your juices flowing, but they always managed to crack you up.

"Hey, come with me," you heard to your left.

You turned your head in time to see Harry walking toward the dressing room. Hesitantly, you followed him, quickly returning your focus to the monitor set up on the wall.

"Sit with me for a minute," he requested, beckoning you to the sofa where he sat.

Smiling, you did what he asked, taking his hand. "You were great."

"Yeah?" he grinned.

"Mmm hmm," you nodded. "I especially liked seeing you in that white Mick Jagger suit."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe I should add one to my wardrobe."

You scooted closer to him, hiking up your leg to lightly brush against his.

"I wouldn't be against it."

Just as Harry leaned in for a kiss, your peripheral vision caught sight of Colin and Michael on the screen.

"Oh!" you squeaked. "This is my favorite!"

"Um...alright," Harry paused as you sat up.

You thought he might've mumbled something under his breath, but then someone else entered the room to tell him to get ready for the next skit. He rose from the couch as you continued to watch the segment, giggling at everything the two comedians said. When it was over, you noticed Harry had left the room. You felt a little guilty, knowing this was his special night and you'd been ogling over two other men. Determined you find him to wish him luck on his next skit, you opened the dressing room door. Just as you stepped out, Colin and Michael were walking down the hall.

"Oh my god, you guys...I love you, you're amazing!" you exclaimed, the word vomit escaping your throat before you had a chance to stop it.

The two men stopped to thank you, and you chatted for longer than you'd expected. So long, in fact, that you missed Harry's next skit. He was just walking off the stage when you caught up to him.

"That was great," you lied, though you were sure it had been considering the comedic faux beard he had on.

"Really?" he asked with sarcasm and a deadpan stare. He knew you hadn't seen one second of the skit.

Unable to speak, you watched as he walked past you to the dressing room. You stood frozen, feeling more guilt ooze throughout your body than you thought possible. You'd hurt him.

"Harry," you muttered when you entered the dressing room.

No response.

"Harry, I'm sorry," you added.

Nothing.

You stepped closer to him, his back to you as he pulled on his slacks.

"Say something."

"'s nothing to say Y/N. You obviously had something more important to do than to be there for me."

"Harry, that's not fair," you argued. "I was there for you. I mean...I'm here! For you!"

He finally turned then, his eyebrow raised in question. "Really?"

"Yes!" When he just continued to glare at you, you shook your head, throwing your hands up. "I can't believe this."

"Can't believe what?"

"You can't be jealous because I was excited to see Colin and Michael."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not jealous."

"Then what is it?"

Harry sighed, dropping his shoulders. "I'm just upset that you missed the skit."

"I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to. You're right, I got caught up in the excitement, but I truly did not do it on purpose. You're the one I'm here for. You're the one I'm immensely proud of! You're the one I'm in love with!"

The last sentence slipped out unwillingly. You couldn't take it back, but you also knew you didn't want to. Harry stared at you, his jaw set but his eyes softening. Then he separated the space between you in one stride, pulling you into his arms and kissing you on the mouth.

"I'm so in love with you," he whispered when your lips separated. He pressed his forehead to yours, cupping your face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" you choked.

"For..." he paused, "for doubting you."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I should have been more considerate. I know you're nervous."

Harry chuckled, stepping back on his heels. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not blatantly," you grinned, running your hands up and down his arms. "But yeah, I can tell."

"'m so bloody nervous, 'm shaking."

"Well, babe, it's live TV. Of course you are! But you're doing amazing, and I'm so so proud of you."

"I still have another song to sing," he remarked.

"And I'm gonna be watching. I promise."

Oh tell me something I don't already know...

The second performance had gone well, and if anyone had really been paying attention, they could hear your claps and cheers the loudest.

You followed Harry back into the dressing room after the finale and credit roll where he had not surprisingly hugged every single member of the crew. You smiled when you sat on the sofa and watched him get undressed.

"So are you as proud of yourself as I am?"

He flashed his dimpled grin and shrugged. "Maybe."

"Are we going to the after party?" you asked cautiously. He hadn't mentioned it, but you'd heard there was one. You didn't want to rock the boat though, after what had happened earlier.

"Do you want to?"

You cocked your head nonchalantly. "It's your call. I'm fine with it. Either way."

Harry smirked. "You're funny."

"Me? Why am I funny?"

"You're trying not to get too excited again. But I know you."

"It's whatever you want, Harry, really. I was just wondering."

Smiling, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "We can go. I just have to do something first."

"Okay. What's that?"

"Just a minute."

Harry turned toward the rack of clothes at the far end of the room. Then with a smug look on his face, he took something off a hanger, turning again swiftly so you couldn't see. But as soon as he stepped into the trousers, you knew what it was.

"Oh God," you giggled.

Harry looked back at you with a shit-eating grin before pulling on the shirt and jacket.

"C'mere, Mick," you beckoned.

"Wait, I don't have my wig on."

"Don't need it," you commented. "I just want the suit."

Harry finally turned around then to face you, making you grin from ear to ear.

"There he is," you murmured low. "My Midnight Rambler."

"Oh, Jesus," he scoffed which only caused you to giggle more.

"I said, come here," you demanded in a seductive tone.

"Yes, ma'am."

You rose from the sofa as he stepped closer to you. Pulling on the lapels of his jacket, you kissed him on the neck, your tongue licking and sucking his skin, sticky with perspiration.

"Hmm," Harry sounded, turning on his Mick Jagger impression once again. "Looks like someone wants some manky panky."

You laughed under your breath, pulling him backwards towards the couch. Sitting down, you urged him to come with you as you kissed his lips.

"What exactly is manky panky?" you asked. "I thought it was hanky panky."

"I dunno. Is it?"

You laughed harder, sliding your hands down his chest to unfasten the two remaining buttons.

"You fucking Brits," you mocked.

Harry lifted himself up to look you in the eye. "You know what this makes you then, don't you?"

"What?"

"A Starfucker."

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[ctimenefic]

don't like a gold rush

sometimes you watch a video of James Vowles calling Alex special and your mind goes blank and three weeks later you have 6k

everlasting thanks to @latecomersprivilege for cheerleading, proofreading, and encouraging my crimes

don't like a gold rush Rated Explicit Fandom F1 RPF Pairing Alexander Albon/George Russell 5,951 words In which Alex having a good boss for once drives George absolutely mad.

First part below:

James Vowles is the best thing that could have happened for Williams. Well, the best in 2023, second overall - second to signing Alex. George truly believes that, has said it often, loudly, to anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby with a microphone. Even as the spectre of getting caught in the Albon DRS train gets ever closer, even as the W14 lets him down at every turn, he’s still got a massive soft spot for his old team. He wants the best for them. He wants the best for Alex.

And James as a boss is everything Horner wasn’t, as far as George can tell. Even-tempered. Even-handed. Kind. George has been in the Mercedes orbit long enough to see that. James wasn’t the type to talk down to a fourteen-year-old touring a garage with eyes like saucers. Instead he offered a steadiness even Toto couldn’t match. His good opinion had been worth having, and George had fought to get it.

He likes James, for Christsakes.

So, it’s something of a surprise to find himself grinding his teeth as Alex gets second-beer tipsy and starts waxing poetic about what a difference he’s made to the team.

They’ve got a small table at the back of a footie pub in London, where not a single regular is under 60 and clearly no one gives two shits about Formula One. It’s not built for tall men; their knees jam up against each other. George is slightly too warm in his jumper and coat, prickles of heat across the back of his shoulders. And his molars ache as Alex keeps going on about bloody James Vowles.

“Some of it’s the car, obviously, and the calendar,” Alex is saying, too media-trained to not add context and caveats in any declaration, “but James is just- like, no offence to Jost, but- he gets it. It’s like we’re all going in the same direction. Points aren’t a fucking miracle anymore, it’s expected, but not in a bad way, you know?”

“Don’t rule out the driver,” George adds, because he’s pathetic, really, weak for the indulgent eyeroll and grin Alex throws him to hide the genuine pleased flush of a compliment. And, because, well. It can’t all be James.

He’s not blind to the fact Alex has dragged Williams higher than he ever managed. And yes, it’s a different car, a different set up, but Alex is fucking quick, and it’s about time someone else noticed.

“No, but really, it’s- Look, I’m not saying it’s perfect, I’m sure Logan has something to say about his contract renewal, but I’ve never had a boss who takes care of the team like he does. It’s nice,” Alex finishes, with that half-shrug he adopts to couch his opinions in nonchalance. George knows him too well to fall for it.

Something hot and slick and sour coats the inside of his chest cavity, roiling up from his belly. He necks the rest of his pint before it can escape over his tongue. “He takes care of you?” he manages, and it almost sounds normal, squeezed out of his throat like that, everything else trapped behind his teeth.

A glint comes into Alex’s eye. “I’m sure it’s not the full Toto Wolff experience-”

“Piss off.”

“-holidaying together, sharing a crossword, father-son fishing trips-”

“Piss off!”

“But, yeah. Logan more, obviously, he needs it more. But- you know after Silverstone, after you pointed out the shoulder thing, he had them look at the seat again? That kind of thing.”

Of course George remembers Silverstone. He’d joked about it, under the watchful eyes of the press and a Williams PR woman who knew him far too well, because Alex hated when George made a sincere fuss, but he could just about get away with taking the piss.

It’s good, he reminds himself, that James doesn’t want the car to shake his drivers to pieces. But that doesn’t stop the sudden blinding vision of James pressing a bandage against Alex’s skin.

George had done it, back in the summer, when Alex had tripped on their run and the jerk of the fall had reopened the scar from the seat. George had only had these stupid Superdrug plasters, all too small, so he’d had to line three up, carefully overlap them and smooth them down so they wouldn’t ruck up into a mess when Alex rolled his shoulders. Alex had said he was making too much of a fuss then as well, but he’d shivered as George ran a thumb around the edge of each plaster to check the seal.

It hadn’t been normal for George, obviously, having his best mate half-naked in his bathroom, the mirror too big for comfort, all of his face there to be seen as he touched Alex’s skin. But. But the thought of James doing the same makes George’s fingers tighten on his glass. And he knows, logically, that it didn’t happen; that Williams has a medic, that Alex has a trainer, that there’s half a dozen people on the team who take care of Alex. Who have that in their job descriptions.

He just- Christ. He wants it to be him.

“I’m glad, mate,” he lies. Swallows. Makes himself hold Alex’s gaze when he responds with his ducked-head smile. But he nudges the conversation on so he doesn’t have to keep lying, swaps the wildest rumours he can with Alex’s - Charles to Red Bull, Lewis to Ferrari, Fernando collecting a seat on every team like he’s filling out a Pokedex. The caustic burn lingers in the back of his throat, despite four pints and a packet of crisps. Read the rest on AO3

[butgilinsky]

i should’ve fought harder | tj

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

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

word count; 5k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t mean that-”

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

“Tyson, please-”

“Just get the fuck out, y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

“Y/n, listen-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thenighthekate]

could you do an angst to fluff with tom based off the way i loved you by taylor swift? if your comfortable with it or have time!! <3.

The way I loved you ( t.k. )

And my heart does not beat. It is still inside my chest. My tears keep on falling and my head will not rest.

There were many ways to love someone. Stolen kisses, morning hugs, late night dinner. The bond between two people only growing stronger with every conversation they had, but ours only seemed to crumble. With every forceful peck, strained embrace, silent meal, the bond in between us quietly disappeared.

He wasn't bad, wasn't the best, but neither was I. We had our problems and once we got out of our honeymoon phase they only seemed to worsen. With every day our arguments grew stronger, louder, the fire in our eyes glowing brighter as our voices raised. It was our new life, we loved each other, just not the same way we used to.

In all honesty I was getting so used to our new reality that when it all flipped I could only cry.

I missed our contact, even when all of it resulted in screaming and crying. Driving down the highway with music blasting just to avoid each other, toxic, but we atleast saw one another. Now it was like we didn't exist, just two separate people living together in what felt like far too small of a house.

The moon was shining that night, rays of silver breaking through the heavy rain that hit the cars windows. It was silent, no obnoxiously loud music that could cover our thoughts, only our breathing filling the empty spaces.

I was staring straight ahead and with a few stolen glances I figured that Tom was too, his brows scrunched, hands tightly gripping the wheel as he looked down the road. He was deep in thought, whatever clouding his mind making him softly shake his head. I didn't pay any attention to it until the car slowed down, drifting to the side of the street and rolling to a stop.

Silence indulged us two as I looked around for any clues, anything that would tell me if something was wrong. " Did something happen to the car-"

" We need to talk." His hands let go of the wheel slightly, his gaze still fixated in front of him. I knew what those words meant, I knew that he wanted to go deep on anything that was bothering us, anything that made us be where we are. " We can't keep going like this. I'm tired of living in this hole, I mean we don't talk, we live two separate lives. We sleep in the same fucking bed, but yet we're different." His rant was pretty short, half of which he looked me in the eye. I could see the sadness behind them, the clear desperation to make things work, fix whatever was broken.

" I don't know what happened to us." There was no cheating, no huge arguments, the lust between us jost slowly seemed to burn out. My fingers played with each other, anxiety filling my brain as it poured out into my words. " I love you, but we can't fix anything if we don't even know what started it."

We stared at one another silently, our eyes in a way almost communicating. " It's either this or we break up."

I knew it, he knew it, but yet something was tugging on both of our hearts, not letting us go with the latter.

In a moment of what felt like a spell was put over us we leaned in, our lips connecting and fighting against each other. This was the first real kiss in a while, no small peck or a smooch presented in front of family to make them know of our so called love. Minutes were shared as our hands traveled bodies, skin blushing and heat rising, I missed this. I missed moments like these, our love for one another just spilling past our edges making us swim in the softly sweet feeling. I missed our dancing in the rain, laughter coming straight from our throats as we got drenched from the water above. I missed us.

We separated with deep breaths trying to catch air back into our lungs, his hands holding mine as we stared into each other's eyes. His palm while clenched around mine raised up, his soft lips planting a sweet kiss on top of my knuckles. " I love you. I promise that whatever was fucked up will be fixed." And for the first time in months I could actually see a light for our future.

[senditcolton]

maybe this Christmastime, you'll realize

song inspo: santa doesn't know you like i do word count: 3k warnings: none, just pure holiday fluff (christmas centric)

a/n: i'm back!! and what better way to celebrate the conclusion of my graduate degree by giving you all a barely edited, written last night, self-indulgent fic to feed my delusion of Tyson Jost being madly in love with me. glad to be back and can't wait to write for you all again!!

The heat that blasts from the oven is a welcome sensation, considering that your old apartment often struggled to keep in the warmth from your central heating. You lean in, your oven mitt clad hand reaching and grasping the cookie sheet.

You’d be the first to admit that you weren’t much of a baker. That was never your ‘job’ during holidays with your family. But you figured you would try this year since you wouldn’t have the opportunity to enjoy the homemade goodies your family crafted.

That was the reason you chose to bake cookies. The reason you chose to bake almond butter cookies was because of someone else. Someone who also wasn’t able to enjoy the comforts of home this year.

As if he could hear your thoughts, a knock echoes through your apartment. You quickly finish transferring the cookies from the still hot baking sheet onto the cooling rack before wiping off your hands and running towards the front door. You swing open the worn wood and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips when you see Tyson standing there.

“Hey. Happy Christmas Eve Eve.”

“Is that the official name?” he laughs, walking into your apartment like it was his own. Which considering how often he was over at your place, it might as well be.

“You haven’t seen that episode of Friends?”

“Guess not,” he shrugs, taking off his coat. “Smells nice in here.”

“Thanks. I tried my hand at baking.”

“And you didn’t burn the apartment down?” he smiles and you wish you could stop the way your knees weaken at the sight.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” you laugh, playfully shoving his shoulder. “You better be nice to me or else you won’t get any almond butter cookies.” This time, you didn’t want to stop the trill of your heart at the way his eyes brightened at your words.

“Almond butter?”

“Yeah,” you nod towards the kitchen, a silent invitation for him. He took your encouragement in stride, breezing into the other room and you were thankful that he was out of earshot when you said your next words.

“I made them just for you.”

You did. You also opened your home to him, welcoming him any day during this, the week of Christmas. But that was just because you didn’t want him to be lonely. That was all. That was the only reason.

It definitely wasn’t because of the crush you had been harboring for him since the first day you met.

No, absolutely not.

You take a deep breath before following Tyson into the kitchen, turning the corner only to find him already munching on a cookie, a grin on his face and some crumbs stuck on his facial hair.

“I know they’re probably not as good as Grandma Jost’s but –” Tyson cuts you off with a gentle call of your name.

“Stop. These are delicious. You did a really good job.”

“Thanks,” you say. It’s only then that you spy the backpack that he carried in with him, one that was now placed on your kitchen table. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” Tyson says, as if he just remembered it himself. You are even more curious when you see the blush spread on his cheeks, the rosy color having nothing to do with the lingering cold from outside. “I need your help.”

“Okay?”

“You mentioned that you were in charge of wrapping presents at your house for the holidays. And I’m really bad at it. I mean, usually I struggle through it or just put everyone’s gifts in bags…”

You gently interrupt his explanation with a laugh of your own, your brain goes over all the gifts Tyson has given you; mostly presented to you in gift bags.

“But since I can’t go home this year, I kind of want to – I don’t know – make more of an effort. Make it more exciting for whenever my family does get their presents. If that makes any sense.”

“That makes perfect sense, Tyson,” you reply. “Sit. Eat your cookies. I’ll get the wrapping paper.”

Only a few short moments pass before you find yourself sitting next to Tyson, wrapping the stockpile of presents he brought over and listening to him talk about anything and everything: details about the gift you were currently wrapping, his shopping adventures, the hockey season so far, friend and family updates, anything. You occasionally interrupt with questions about how he wants the presents decorated but he gives you a lot of creative freedom which you slightly admonish him for.

“Tyson, they should feel like they’re from you.”

“I’ll pick out the bows.”

That was how you continued, your focus on the folds and creases of the paper in front of you while Tyson talked.

You had gone through most of the gift he presented to you, your concentration entirely on the folding and taping that you perfected long ago. Tyson had gone quiet for a moment but you weren’t that concerned as you were still able to hear him rustling around in the bag that held all your bows, finding whatever color he chose for the current gift. You are just about to put the last piece of tape on when you feel Tyson’s fingers gently press against your head.

Your eyes snap back to him, only to see that adorable crooked grin on his face. You are pretty sure you knew what happened and your thoughts are only confirmed as you reach up and feel the paper of the bow pressed onto your hair.

“Is this the one you want for this gift?”

“It looks pretty cute on you,” he says and you once again have to force yourself to take a deep breath before your body acts of its own volition, revealing your feelings in probably the worst way.

“I’m sure it’ll look much better on the present,” you quip, taking it off your hair and replacing the tape before sticking it onto the silver paper. “Ta-da!” You push the present off to the side, adding to the slowly growing pile. “What’s next?”

You turn your attention to Tyson, but this time, he’s the one distracted. His fingers tap against his phone,  typing out few quick messages, a small grin appearing on his face occasionally. You wait for a few minutes, just watching him until he feels your gaze and looks up towards you.

“Huh?”

“Which present is next?”

“Oh, last one,” he says, pulling the final gift out of his backpack and handing it to you. “This one is for Kacey.”

“Was that who you were texting?”

“No um, that was Mikayla. She’s this girl I matched with on a dating app a little while ago. We’re just getting last minute details ready before our date tonight.”

His words give you literal pause as your scissors stall on the wrapping paper, your smooth precise cut turning into a jagged edge.  

“Tonight?” you ask, your question answered with an affirmative hum from him. You try to act nonchalant, a shrug lifting your shoulders as you attempt to focus back on the task at hand. “Seems a little odd – so close to Christmas.”

“Yeah, but it was the best day for her and I don’t have anywhere else to be, y’know?”

You try not to let his words sting, knowing he doesn’t mean them maliciously. He wasn’t with his family and you were just a friend. He didn’t have any commitments because he wasn’t committed to you. That was the simple truth.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, forcing your attention onto the cherry red wrapping paper in your hands; the one thing you could control. “I think a gold bow would look good on this one.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Tyson replies, typing out one last quick message before diving back into the bag to find the color you requested.

A few short minutes later, the presents are wrapped and placed back into Tyson’s pack, safe and ready for their return to his apartment. You watched from your couch as his throws his coat over his broad frame before swinging the backpack onto his shoulder.

“If you want, you can always come over tomorrow. I need some help finishing off those cookies,” you playfully tease, trying not to let your heart get too attached to the idea of spending Christmas Eve with him next to you.

“I might take you up on that,” Tyson says, shooting you a gentle smile before opening your door and leaving, the chill sneaking in from the outside and finding a way to wrap around your heart.

You know you had no right to be upset. Tyson wasn’t yours. He didn’t know the way you felt about him and there was no certainty that he would even share your feelings. He might only ever see you as a friend and if that was the case… he should be free to find someone who does love him.

But there was this stubborn part of you that couldn’t imagine anyone else loving Tyson as much as you loved him. You’ve been there through the good and bad. You knew his favorite songs. You knew how to make him laugh. And you would always pick up when he called.

Who else could say that?

You sigh, gently telling yourself that there was nothing you could do about it tonight.

Perhaps Christmas Eve might bring forth some holiday magic. Or maybe you should just throw in the towel, pray for New Year’s to come quickly so you could leave this heartache behind along with the holiday season.

You weren’t sure which to wish for so you just crawled into bed, feeling bluer that ever before as you fell asleep, trying not to think of someone else’s lips pressed against Tyson’s.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The lights in the tree blurred as you try to hold back you tears. You always seemed to cry during the holidays; you never really knew why. It just always came about this time of year. ‘Tis the season, right?

But this year, you could pinpoint the exact person that caused your tears to fall. Tyson Jost. The worst part about it was that it wasn’t even his fault that you were crying. It was all yours.

You woke up after a listless night of sleeping. When you went to check your phone, you hoped to see a message from Tyson but to your disappointment but not surprise, there was no notification on your screen. You managed to roll yourself out from underneath your covers and go about your morning routine before sending a text to him, saying that you hoped his date went well and that the offer to come over tonight was still on the table.

That was over twelve hours ago and all you received was radio silence from him.

Perhaps that is why you found yourself curled up underneath your tree, staring up at the lights in the boughs, trying to push back tears. It was a stupid reason to cry just like it was stupid to fall for your best friend. Stupid to think that he could ever see you as anything more. Stupid to think that maybe this Christmas would be the one where it all changed.

Stupid to spend your money on a new watch, wrap it up for him with a note documenting your feelings in the hope that he would open it tonight, here, underneath your tree while you both ate the cookies you made specifically for him.

Your fingers trace over the silk ribbon, fidgeting with the bow as the minutes tick by, your hope dwindling with them.

The receipt for it was still in your closet in one of your purses. You could return it on Tuesday, pretend like you never had this grand scheme and go back to being friends with Tyson. Give yourself another year to get over him. Maybe next year you finally would.

A heavy sigh escapes you as you spare one last glance down at the parcel in your hands before placing it back underneath the tree with all the other presents that your friends and family had sent to you.

It was a silly idea, an almost childish Christmas dream and now, you had to wake up. Tyson was dating other people and sooner or later, he would find someone who could give him everything you could and possibly more. Perhaps he found her last night and woke up this morning to her curled up in his arms and that feeling of love just struck him and if so, there was nothing you could do and –

The knock on your door startles you out of your spiraling thoughts, your hand hitting a few ornaments hanging down from the branches. You quickly grab them, stabilizing the fragile decor before you lift yourself off the floor, your blanket pooling beneath you before you wander to the front door.

You had no idea who was knocking at this time of night but you must have been too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to care because you opened the door without a second thought. It took you a minute to fully register the person standing on your doorstep but when you saw those chocolate curls and those big brown eyes, you feel a sense of calm sweep over you.

Tyson always pulled that feeling from you. Even when he showed up unannounced on Christmas Eve.

Although you were happy to see him, the expression on your face was one of confusion. Why was he here, now, without a word of warning, after ignoring you for almost a full 24 hours? You are about to ask those questions but before you could get a word out, Tyson speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

His words catch you off-guard, the meaning behind them not yet clear to you.

“For what?” you ask him. Your breath shallows as he turns his gaze to you and you are struck by the earnestness reflecting in his eyes.

“For not seeing you,” he replies, stepping over the threshold of your apartment and closer to you. “For not seeing how wonderful and amazing and beautiful you are.”

“Wha – what’s happening?” you question, his words sending shockwaves through your body.

“I think a part of me always knew; that you were the one. But I ignored it for whatever reason. Fear, indifference, whatever. But last night, when I was on a date with another girl, all I could think about was you. How you make me laugh, make me smile. Pick me up and encourage me when I’m down. Do silly inconsequential things for me without expecting anything in return.”

Tyson continues to speak, becoming more assured and confident with every word, punctuating each sentence with a step closer to you.

“How you went out of your way to make cookies that remind me of home so I would feel less alone this holiday season. No one else has done anything like that for me.”

You had to be hallucinating or dreaming or something. This felt straight out of goddamn Hallmark movie – it couldn’t be real life. It was a fantasy brought on by sugar and heartache. But when Tyson reaches out to you, gently grasping your hands in his, you can feel the warmth of his touch run through you, warm and as real as it ever was.

“And I realized last night, alone in my bed, that I didn’t need the cookies, the presents, the bows and ribbons to feel like I was home,” Tyson confesses, his voice becoming softer as he pulls you closer. “Whenever I’m with you… that’s when I’m home. You are home to me. And I’m sorry for not being able to tell you sooner. I’m sorry it took this long for me to realize it.”

Tyson silences, looking into your eyes and you know he’s waiting for your answer but you were still trying to fully understand this whole situation. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that the man in front of you, the man that you had a crush for almost an entire year, just came to your house in the middle of the night and confessed his feelings to you.

Your body slightly jumps at the sound of your front door closing, the breeze pulling it shut but Tyson gently rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands, soothing you. A small jingle of a bell sounds from above you, brought on by the gust of air from the door. The noise pulls both you and Tyson’s attention away from each other towards the ceiling and you feel your cheeks warm at the sight of the green leaves with white berries, tied together with ribbon, hanging above you. The warmth intensifies as Tyson turns his gaze on you once again, that mischievous look in his eyes.

“Mistletoe? Really?”

“It’s tradition,” you mutter, your tongue finally being able to twist itself into words.

“Well, it is Christmas after all. I guess we shouldn’t break tradition,” he grins.

You force yourself to breathe as Tyson leans closer to you, your eyes fluttering shut when you feel his forehead press against yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your cheeks but his movements stall and when you don’t feel the gentle press of his lips against yours, you slowly reopen your eyes.

Tyson is still standing there, his lips only mere centimeters away from yours. It’s only then that you realize you’ve never given him a response to his confession. Haven’t yet told him that it was everything that you had been hoping to hear from him. But how could you possibly respond when it didn’t feel like there were words in the English language to describe the depth of your feelings?

The answer was simple.

You respond by lifting yourself up those final inches and pressing your lips against his. You pour every emotion you felt into that kiss and you could feel a piece of you settle when Tyson kissed you back with as much passion.

And you knew that this – wrapped up in Tyson’s arms underneath the mistletoe, his lips against yours – was the best present you could have ever received this year.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Link sighed, listening to the crickets as he laid in the grass. Sonia was napping peacefully, a gentle, grounding weight pressed against his chest as she laid on top of him. Occasionally he tipped his head to kiss her hair, smiling at the golden curls.

They’d played all afternoon and into the evening, which technically meant she’d missed her afternoon nap. That would likely come back to bite him (or the nannies), but she was sleeping now, right? He couldn’t say no to her, honestly – they were having so much fun, and he… well, it seemed he had little impulse control when it came to his daughter. Perhaps they were both toddlers, he mused with a smile.

His mind wandered as he rested. His recent visit to Hemisi was still weighing him down, frustrating and freeing and terrifying and painful as it was. He didn’t particularly like that he couldn’t remember what had happened after they’d started drinking (surely… surely nothing too terrible—as wild as Hemisi could be, his dear friend also had principles as well… and they’d woken up in separate rooms, fully dressed…), hated that he’d let himself lose control like that, hated it even more knowing that Zelda had likely figured it would happen.

Zelda. He still couldn’t believe she’d—how could she—

Link bit his lip. He didn’t know why he was surprised, honestly. Zelda had been ordering him around since their marriage, since he’d enslaved himself and then made himself thoroughly useless.

He knew he hadn’t been doing the queen any favors. His mere acceptance of the proposal had helped her, of course—the Sheikah had been brought back into unity, the Sage of Shadow had pledged her loyalty to Zelda as a result, the people had seen it as a sign of destiny itself that everything would be fine—but since then… he’d only just recently started to step up once more. He knew that. He wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t like Zelda hadn’t been struggling and trying to rebuild a nation by herself.

But it still hurt that she would start treating him like she did the nobles. Link wasn’t an enemy, damn it. It wasn’t the fact that she’d sent him to the desert that bothered him, it was that she’d had an ulterior motive without telling him, and she’d wanted to manipulate Hemisi as well. He would not stand for that.

Sighing, the king consort rested his hand overtop his daughter’s back, trying to settle himself and only feeling bitter. He’d thought maybe their relationship was improving after he’d finally started helping, after the incident with House Ishita. He supposed he’d been wrong.

Perhaps I’m just not doing enough, an old, familiar anxiety whispered. He ignored it. That anxiety had driven him to tear himself apart his entire life, seeking the approval of others. He was sick of it. He was so sick of it.

It was foolish to assume everything would be fine. Almost four years had passed since their wedding, and neither of them had really been an admirable spouse. But as he looked down at his daughter once more, Link felt his heart soften a little. At least something good has come of it.

His mind betrayed him a moment, thoughts lingering on Hemisi for too long, wondering what it would have been like to have children with her, and he shook his head as his hand slid off his daughter. It did him no good to linger on such sentiments. He knew that by now. Why couldn’t he just accept the position he was stuck in, that he’d put himself in? Why did he have to be so angry, so hurt, so lonely? Fear gripped at his heart as he looked away from Sonia, the same fear that partly drove him to avoid her when she’d been born, because what if he took that hurt and anger out on her? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It wasn’t her fault she was born into these circumstances.

He should have never gone to the desert.

Footsteps approached, moving at a pace that put him on edge. It wasn’t quite running, but it certainly wasn’t a casual gait.

“Your Majesty,” a guard called as he approached.

Link sat up immediately, holding Sonia so she wouldn’t be too jostled, face hardening. This couldn’t be good.

“Sire, it’s—it’s the queen,” the guard stammered breathlessly. “She’s collapsed—”

Before the guard could get another word out, Link was on his feet. “What happened? Where is she?”

Link heard council room and then taken to her quarters and moved quickly, handing off his half-asleep daughter to the nanny at the entrance to the castle. It didn’t take him long to reach Zelda’s room, and he saw her laying in bed looking paler than ever, Lady Impa at her side with a hand on her forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Link asked as he approached the bed.

“The healer said she’s sick and worn herself out,” Lady Impa answered.

“I’m f-fine,” Zelda mumbled, looking anything but fine. Her usually perfect curls were plastered to sweaty skin, bags under her eyes, face drawn and exhausted. “You can go, Link.”

Link glared at her. “I’m not leaving. You look awful.”

Zelda’s brow furrowed a little, eyes remaining closed, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m ordering you to leave.”

Link felt his body stiffen, irritated and hurt. He wasn’t going to leave her while she was like this! But she clearly didn’t want to deal with him, and just her having the gall to order him around—

Link bit his tongue while Lady Impa looked between the royal couple, worry and sympathy in her gaze. It wasn’t her place to speak up against the queen, and she knew that. Link, however, was reaching a point where he didn’t care anymore, where he didn’t want to keep repeating this cycle any longer, and he knew exactly how to get to her.

“You’re keeping Lady Impa from her duties,” Link said curtly.

Impa immediately stiffened. “Taking care of you two is my duty, Link.”

“As are the Sheikah,” Link reminded her firmly as he watched Zelda open her eyes. “I don’t really do much around the castle, in case you hadn’t noticed, except for take care of the royal family. Given that Zelda falls into that category, it makes more sense for me to care for her so you can continue helping others. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Majesty?”

The queen frowned further. Link smiled. He had her and he knew it, and it made him feel vindicated; it was fairly common throughout his life for people to assume he couldn’t think for himself because of his quiet and obedient nature, and he knew Zelda had probably started assuming the same, so it felt good to prove her wrong. Just because he bowed over to her all the time didn’t mean he was a fool.

When the queen couldn’t come up with an argument, Link waved Impa off. “Just tell me what she needs. I’ll handle it.”

His chief sighed, glancing at Zelda once more, and then rose. Link knew that Impa was just as fiercely protective and caring for Zelda as she was for him, if not more so, but if finding a way to essentially get her out was the only way for him to take care of the queen, then he would do it. He’d apologize to her later.

“The healer’s convinced it’s just a bad cold, but given…” Impa stopped, glancing at the queen once more. “She’s… just overworked herself.”

Link watched the Sheikah chief quietly. There was more to it than that. He didn’t push, though. Not yet. Nodding, he thanked her and then sat at Zelda’s side.

“I don’t need anything,” the queen said quietly, tiredly, as Lady Impa looked at them one last time from the doorway.

“Your Majesty,” Impa called from where she was half out of the room. “Please, just… let him help you.”

Link glanced over at his chief, giving a small nod of gratitude, and then she left, closing the door behind her. The pair was silent, and Link suddenly wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. The last time they’d spoken was when he’d snapped at her in the throne room upon his return from Gerudo Desert, and that had been a week ago.

He definitely had no right to be here. But he also knew Zelda, like him, would hardly accept help from anyone. She somehow trusted people even less than he did.

“You know, when I was younger I fell prey to the same issues,” Link noted, leaning back in the chair. “I pushed myself too much, and I… learned it didn’t do me much good to not accept help.”

His heart twisted for a moment, recalling that the help came from Hemisi and Merovar, from Ganondorf. That had been a lifetime ago.

He still wondered if that monster had ever cared at all. Probably not. It didn’t matter anymore, anyway. He was gone, and with his soul split into four pieces, the primordial evil that he’d bound himself to would never return, either.

It shouldn’t still hurt, after all these years, should it?

Link shook his head. Not now. It wasn’t like Hemisi didn’t have it infinitely worse than him. He had no right to mourn anymore.

“Spare me your anecdote,” Zelda snapped tiredly. “I know I got myself into this. I’m not a child.”

“You’re right,” Link bit back. “You’re not a child, yet you choose to act like one.”

Zelda sat up, eyes opening, glaring at him weakly. “I’m not the one who lost my temper last week.”

“I’m not the one who lied to my spouse, manipulating her to make someone else fall in line with my wishes,” Link retorted before realizing this was quickly spiraling in the wrong direction. He took a calming breath, slow and steady. “Look. I… I still don’t agree with what you did. But can we put that aside to just focus on now? It doesn’t matter our opinions on what happened, you’re sick and you need to rest.”

“I don’t see how that involves you.”

“Perhaps because you look like you can hardly get out of bed,” Link snapped. “Perhaps because you probably will not be able to attend to your duties in the morning—”

“I will attend to my duties in the morning,” Zelda insisted, laying back down, voice shaking, and though she glared defiantly at the canopy of the bed, he could see fear starting to trickle in. She looked on the verge of tears.

Link didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to get through to her. He tried for one of her redeeming qualities. “Look. Hyrule needs you to be strong, but you can’t always do that all the time. The best way you can help your people is to rest.”

Zelda’s lip wobbled, and she closed her eyes as the tears quietly slid down the sides of her face. Link slipped a hand into hers, and thankfully she didn’t pull away.

“C-can… can I see Sonia?” She asked quietly.

Link’s thumb traced along the back of her hand. “In the morning, okay?”

For once, she didn’t argue. But the tears continued to fall.

Link frowned at it, feeling his chest hurt. As much as they didn’t get along, he hated seeing her like this. “I’m sorry.”

Zelda started to sob. Link’s eyes widened a little, alarmed, and he pulled away from her touch to grab a handkerchief for her. Helping the queen sit up, he let her lean against him as she buried her face in the cloth.

“I’m a—a t-terrible mother,” she cried.

Link wasn’t quite sure what to say all of a sudden. Zelda did try to be there for Sonia, but honestly the couple spent so much time avoiding each other that he wasn’t entirely sure how often she saw her. Sonia did talk about her mother, though, so that had to count for something. “She loves you, Zelda.”

The queen cried even harder, losing all composure, and Link finally just wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly.

“I don’t—I don’t know if I—if I can do this again,” she gasped between sobs.

Do… again…? Link stiffened, glancing down at his wife. “Are… are you pregnant?”

Zelda tried to halt her tears and cries, tensing up, but there was no denying it now. It explained her cold, defensive demeanor, her sudden burst of emotion, Impa’s hesitancy to leave. She was not only pregnant, she hadn’t wanted him to know.

Link swallowed, blood freezing.

That had to be the case, didn’t it? They hadn’t been physically intimate since their tour of Hyrule, and that was months ago. She must have known for a while, based on what little he did know of the process.

Unless, of course, she had found someone else to take to her bed, and that was why she had sent Link to be with Hemisi. He wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or not. But no, it made no sense – Zelda didn’t trust anyone enough to let a man into her life like that. The only reason she and Link had a daughter was out of duty.

So the child was his. And she’d hidden it from him.

Link took another steadying breath as so many different thoughts washed over him. He bypassed that initial realization, just thinking about the fact that she was pregnant again.

Could either of them handle that?

He supposed they had to. Their actions had created the baby, after all. His actions more than anything – although Zelda had never said no to his advances, he had always been the one to instigate them on their trip across the kingdom, a means of physical release from being paraded around like a doll.

This was his fault.

Well. Technically, Zelda had been the insistent one for their first child, had always been the one to push for the matter. So… he supposed this evened things out?

Her first pregnancy. Sonia. Link hadn’t even looked at Zelda since finding out she was pregnant, not until that awful baby shower. He hadn’t looked at his daughter until six months after her birth.

Link swallowed, overwhelmed, and held her more tightly. “You’re not doing it alone this time.”

Zelda glanced up at him, fear dissolving into pure, utter vulnerability. She was so exhausted. He felt all the worse seeing it. Link tried to smile, and it only made her cry once more, burying her face into his neck.

Link hushed her gently, closing his eyes, heart racing, reeling at the fact that this was how he found out, that she was actually willing to hide it from him. Just how broken was their trust if…?

He should know better. She’d manipulated him anyway, time and again, steadily growing subtler and seemingly more sinister as a result. How was this any different?

It involved their child. That was how it was different.

Link hadn’t been involved with Zelda’s pregnancy with Sonia. He’d been too lost in himself. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t bothered to tell him. It stung either way, even more so because Lady Impa clearly had known for a while; she’d been glued to the queen’s side for weeks.

He swallowed, swallowed the hurt and frustration, the regret and shame, the fear of bringing another child into this chaos, and rested his cheek against her hair. “Get some sleep, my queen. I’ve got you.”

[blueskrugs]

Written in the Sand | Tyson Jost

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

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

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

length: 29.8k words (lol)

this fic has now been broken into chapters for easier reading 

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

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

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

But he was getting ahead of himself. 

November

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t,” JT points out, and, oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he breathes.

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

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

“I should go,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitates. Tyson understands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” Madison says, startling Tyson. 

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

“Tyson?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you let me up?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

He wiggles his socked toes and grins at Madison. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pizza’s here, babe,” he says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he says now is, “Breakfast?” 

December

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tyson?” she says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyson closes his eyes and drains his glass of champagne. 

January

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

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

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

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

“Did I wake you?” she teases. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, I know.”

February

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Delete that,” she whines.

“Absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March

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

All this and they didn’t even fucking win. 

“Want me to call your mom?” JT asks. 

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

He should probably text Madison, too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyson shuts up and drinks his smoothie. 

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

He doesn’t know when she learned where everything goes.

They work around each other in silence for a while. Tyson stops a few times and watches the confidence and comfort with which Madison moves around his apartment. He likes it more than he should, probably. 

He’s got clothes in the dryer when he realizes he should’ve left already. He’d gotten a lot of work done the night before, and he’s got more appointments for when they get back to Denver at the end of the week.

He looks around his half-cleaned apartment in despair. He’d managed to pack enough to get by, he thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to borrow socks from JT on a road trip, anyway. Madison must see the look on his face, because she walks over to Tyson. He looks down at her as she places her hands on his hips.

“Go, I can handle the rest of this,” she says. They’d made good progress, but most of Tyson’s laundry—anything that hadn’t gotten immediately packed—still needs to be folded. “Just leave me the apartment key. I’ll finish up, and make sure everything’s locked up. Promise,” she tells him.

Tyson can’t ask her to do that, and he tells her as much. That’s like. Girlfriend shit. He doesn’t say that part. 

What he ends up saying is, “Are you sure? You really don’t have to.” 

Madison leans up on tiptoes to press a quick close-mouthed kiss to Tyson’s lips. “I know. But I want to help you, babe. Let me help you.” 

Tyson sighs. This isn’t a fight he’s going to win. Madison watches him with something like satisfaction on her face as he finds his keys, carefully unhooks his apartment key and hands it over, but there’s something soft in her eyes, too. Tyson can’t bear to think too hard about what that look means, so he steps around Madison and goes to grab his bags.

Tyson gives her a quick kiss on his way past. He wants nothing more than to kiss her properly, like she deserves, but he doesn’t think his jaw could handle that. Madison grabs Tyson’s wrist before he can get far. He turns to look at her again, a question on the tip of his tongue, when she slips a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down to kiss him again. It’s almost desperate, but slow and gentle. Tyson lets himself get lost in it for a second. Madison squeezes his neck once before she pulls away. She gives him a soft smile. Tyson presses his forehead to hers for another second before he regretfully pulls away. 

“See you in a few days,” she whispers. 

Tyson deserves all the chirps he gets for being late.

The road trip fucking sucks, to say the least. Tyson’s jaw hurts more often than it doesn’t, and he ends up with more penalty minutes than points. He’s looking forward to going home and sleeping in his own bed for a minimum of twelve hours.

He panics, too, a little. It’s become startlingly obvious that he’s fucking head over heels for Madison, and he has no clue what to do about it. They’ve got a good thing going, he thinks, and he doesn’t want to mess with it, really. He doesn’t really want things to stay how they are, either. 

So, panic. He thinks about JT calling Madison his girlfriend, just a few days before. He thinks of his own realization that the lines between hooking up and relationship have become blurred. What he needs is distance, some clarity. The time difference between Denver and the East Coast is an easy enough excuse to start; they’re busy, and it’s easy to let texts from Madison go unanswered for a few hours, or a few hours longer than a few hours. 

Madison must get the hint, because her texts peter out after a few days. 

Tyson is trying to find his keys in his carry-on bag as they step off the plane when he remembers that he left them with Madison so she could lock up his apartment for him. He’s locked out of his apartment and being iced out by Madison, and all he really wants is to go to sleep and not talk to anyone.

He sheepishly calls Madison as he leaves the airport. She sounds normal when she answers, and she doesn’t hesitate to say, “Sure,” when he asks if he can pick up his keys. Tyson climbs into his car tiredly and puts Madison’s address into his phone GPS.

Tyson’s only been to Madison’s place a few times. He hasn’t realized until now that he usually prefers having her over at his apartment. He likes seeing her there, forcing him to make room for herself in his life, at ease in his bed. He shakes those thoughts off. 

Madison makes him wait when he knocks on her apartment door. He stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. Finally, after what feels like forever, Madison swings the door open. She doesn’t move back to let Tyson in, keys already in her hand. 

“Hi,” Tyson breathes. Madison raises an eyebrow at him. Tyson gets the sudden urge to apologize. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Thanks again, uh, for helping me with everything,” he says eventually. “I owe you.” He hasn’t seen his apartment yet, obviously, but he knows Madison left it cleaner than it’s been since he moved in, probably. Madison’s breath catches. That was the wrong thing to say. “No, you don’t, Tyson,” she says shortly. She tosses Tyson his keys. He’s not expecting it and fumbles them. The sound of them hitting the ground is deafening. Tyson’s exhausted, and he’s only so strong.

“Can I come in?” he asks. “Please?”

Madison regards him. Tyson looks pathetic, if she’s being honest with herself, worn-out and worn-down. His swelling has gone down since she last saw him, but he looks uncomfortable. She gets the feeling it’s not just about his jaw. She, too, is only so strong. “C’mere,” she says, finally stepping back and opening the door wider. Tyson’s so relieved he could cry.

Tyson ends up collapsing in Madison’s bed and sleeps for twelve hours, face buried in a pillow that smells like her. So much for getting some distance. 

Madison’s waiting outside Tyson’s apartment door when he gets home after beating Calgary a few nights later. Tyson’s tired, and cold, but he feels himself grinning when he sees her. She’s leaning casually against his door frame, playing idly on her phone, but she’s wearing one of Tyson’s hoodies. He wants nothing more than to kiss her right there, but he settles for bumping her out of the way with his hip so he can unlock his front door.

“What if JT had come home with me, huh? Or Cale?” Tyson asks instead of saying hello. She follows him inside and locks the door behind her. Tyson busies himself with his coat so he doesn’t blurt out something dumb. He and JT weren’t quite as inseparable as they used to be, but it could happen. And Cale only lived a few floors away. Though, now that Tyson thought of it, he hadn’t been inviting teammates over after games very much lately, not when there was usually someone else waiting for him.

He’s seen Madison since they got back from their road trip, but he misses her so much when she’s not around now. He can’t get enough of her. That probably means something. He’s working on it. Sort of. 

“Hello to you, too, Tys,” she scoffs, kicking off her shoes. She carefully aims one at Tyson’s shin.

“Hey, hey, watch the suit pants,” he protests. He gives in and steps closer to her, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her into him. He allows himself a quick kiss, just a chaste one, forcing himself to pull away before either of them can deepen it.

She pouts at him. Tyson allows himself one more kiss. He is beginning to realize that he is so, so fucked.

Tyson strips off his suit jacket as he heads towards the kitchen. She trails after him. Tyson swings around to walk backwards so he can face her. He immediately bumps into the doorway to the kitchen and stumbles. He doesn’t turn back around.

“Snack first,” he says. He doesn’t say what comes next, but he’s pretty sure they both know.

“Didn’t you eat after the game at the Can?” she asks. Tyson drops his suit jacket on one of his kitchen chairs. She picks it up with a sigh and a small smile before draping it nicely over the back of the chair instead. 

Tyson turns back around, intent on digging through his fridge. “Well, yeah, but—” He freezes. Blinks. There are balloons tied to the faucet of his sink. Next to them, a cookie cake and two wrapped presents. Tyson peers closer at the cookie cake. Happy birthday, Tys! It reads, in looping cursive. 

Tyson turns slowly back to face her. She looks shy, biting her lip and watching Tyson with something like nervousness written across her face. Tyson feels guilty, suddenly, for the way he tried to put distance between them just a few days before. 

“How did you—When?” Tyson gets out. She doesn’t look any less nervous, he realizes, and he rushes over to hug her.

She holds up a familiar key when he lets her go, the beginnings of a smile on her face, now. “Cale slipped me your spare key,” she explains. “I snuck in after you left for the game this afternoon, after I got off work.” 

Tyson had completely forgotten that he and Cale had swapped spares when they ended up living in the same building. The idea was to save them from the potential embarrassment of locking your keys in your apartment, but apparently Cale was using his for more nefarious purposes now. 

Madison had been surprised at how easy it had all been. She doesn’t even remember when she got Cale’s number, but he had readily agreed to help her out some. She’d even considered sticking around and surprising Tyson when he got home, but she still wasn’t quite sure how he’d react. She couldn’t tell with him sometimes.

Tyson has to kiss her. She giggles, breathless, when he pulls away.

“Well, now I know what we’re eating for a snack,” Tyson says, taking her hand and dragging her towards the island. He only lets go long enough to dig through a drawer for a knife and to tear off two paper towels. He cuts two large slices and hands one to her. He shoves a bite of cookie cake in his mouth before he says, I love you.

She hops up on the counter when they’ve both finished their slices, swinging her feet into the cabinets. Tyson steps between her legs and kisses her again, because he can. He reaches behind her and picks up one of the wrapped packages. It’s small, light. He flips it over once in his hands. “Hey, your birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” she says, swiping for the present. 

Tyson holds it out of her reach, and she wraps her legs around his waist, pressing him close against her. Tyson takes a deep breath.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he says. He sticks a finger underneath a flap in the wrapping paper. He really hadn’t been expecting anything.

She shrugs. “It’s stupid,” she says. 

“Good thing I like stupid,” Tyson counters. He tears into the wrapping paper properly, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. He’s left with a small book. “It’s a ukulele book?” 

“It’s sheet music, so you can finally stop playing the same three songs all the time,” she says.

Tyson realizes he hasn’t said anything else. He stops staring and sets the book aside. “It’s perfect, not stupid,” he says. She tilts her chin for another kiss. Who is he to say no? “Thank you,” he murmurs against her lips. He reaches for the second present, still kissing her. She groans at him.

Tyson tears into the second present just as eagerly as the first. She’s laughing at him, and this time he crumples the wrapping paper up and tosses it at her face. It’s just a case of beer, Tyson’s favorite. He hadn’t realized she noticed it was always stocked in his fridge. 

Her legs are still wrapped around his waist, and Tyson presses closer, as close as he can get. The counter digs into the tops of his thighs, but he’s too busy making out to care. She slides her hands into his hair. She tastes like cookie cake and peppermint Chapstick; Tyson would kiss her forever if he could. 

Speaking of. They fell over the last time Tyson tried to carry her to his bedroom, but he slides his hands underneath her thighs, anyway, tugging her off the counter. She slips down, still pinned between Tyson and the countertop, still kissing him languidly. 

“Gonna actually move at any point?” she eventually asks, pulling away to press her forehead to Tyson’s. 

Tyson pretends to think about it. “I mean, we don’t have to go to bed,” he says. Not being on a bed hadn’t stopped them before.

She pushes on Tyson’s chest, and he goes, laughing. She lets herself be dragged to Tyson’s room, kicking the door shut behind her. 

It’s late by the time they tumble into bed for real. She’s in one of Tyson’s shirts, and nothing else. If Tyson weren’t actually exhausted, he’d be considering round two. He had nearly gotten caught while they were cleaning up in the bathroom after round one, sleepily staring as she took off her makeup and brushed her teeth—a bottle of her makeup remover and her toothbrush live on Tyson’s sink, and have for months. Tyson tries not to look into it too much. 

“What?” she’d asked, catching Tyson’s eye in the mirror.

He had shaken himself. “Nothing,” he said, giving her a sleepy grin. He pressed a kiss to her temple as he slipped out of the bathroom.

Madison watches him go. She’s trying to decipher that look in his eyes. His face was soft, fond behind drowsy eyes. She realizes she’s frozen with her toothbrush still in her mouth. Tyson’s waiting for her. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling fan, rotating slowly above him, when she emerges and slips under the covers next to him. Her toes are cold where she presses them to Tyson’s leg, and he swears under his breath, even as he reaches across the bed to pull her closer. He presses a kiss to her hair and rests his chin on top of her head. Madison hides a smile in his chest. 

Tyson wakes up slowly the next morning. It’s still early, the sunlight filtering through his curtains the hazy grey of dawn. Madison’s still asleep next to him when he rolls over. Tyson dares to pull her closer until she’s tucked underneath his chin again. Madison stirs a little, making a soft noise and pressing closer. She pulls back and blinks sleepily up at Tyson.

“Happy birthday, Tyson,” she murmurs. 

Tyson grins at her and brushes a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. He kisses her quickly, and she makes a soft noise and leans into it before yawning. “Thank you,” Tyson whispers back. “Now go back to sleep.” 

Madison grumbles, but snuggles back in, pressing her nose to Tyson’s collarbone. 

It’s brighter out when Tyson next blinks himself awake. Madison’s already awake this time, scrolling quietly on her phone, but she sets it aside when she sees Tyson look at her. He rolls so he can prop himself up on one hand, leaning over Madison. She grins up at him, reaches to slide her fingers into Tyson’s hair.

Tyson has practice today, and then they’re leaving again. Those things aren’t important right now, though. What’s important is Madison’s mouth opening up to his, the pressure of her knee against his hip, the feel of her skin underneath his fingers when he slips a hand below her shirt. 

It takes them a while to get out of bed. 

Madison moves easily around Tyson when they finally make it into the kitchen. Tyson makes Madison coffee the way she likes it and mans the toaster while Madison makes them both eggs. She showers—Tyson bought all of her shower products weeks ago—while Tyson gets dressed. Tyson perches on the bathroom counter and watches while she does her makeup. She catches him looking at her.

“What?” she asks. She pushes her hair out of her face nervously. 

“Uh,” Tyson says. He had gotten caught up, wasn’t really thinking about anything, distracted by thoughts of how easily Madison moves through his space, by his side.

“Tyson,” Madison says, impatient.

“Do you, uh, maybe wanna go on a date with me?” Tyson manages. 

“Tys, you’re leaving on a road trip in,” she checks the time on her phone, “like four hours.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Okay, but we’ll be back in a few days. What about then?”

Madison smiles. “We’ll see, ask me when you get back.” 

“That’s not a real answer,” Tyson says. He can hear himself whining. He needs this answer before he can board a plane, though. He grabs her wrist and tugs her closer. “C’mon, am I really that bad?”

She goes easily into Tyson’s side. She pretends to think about it for a moment—too long for Tyson’s nerves—before relenting. “When you get back,” she says. She goes up on her toes to kiss Tyson’s cheek. “Now get out of here before you’re late to practice.”

They don’t get to go on that date.

He’s in California when he gets the call. Minnesota. It’s not like he didn’t see it coming. The deadline’s coming up in, like, a week, and besides. He’d asked for a trade, hadn’t he? He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone before he’s back on a plane, this time to St. Paul. 

He calls his mom first, asks if she’ll pack him some shit from his apartment in Denver. He was supposed to be back in just a few days. 

“I don’t have any clothes for fucking Minnesota,” he complains, his one moment of self-appointed wallowing. He’ll be happy about this, probably, he just needs to process it.

He doesn’t think about it when he turns his phone off before getting on the plane. He’s met by some people from the Wild—the team, his team, now—at the airport in St. Paul, hustled to a hotel near Xcel Center with his meager belongings and left to “settle in.” He’s expected at morning skate tomorrow; his jaw aches.

They’ve put him up in a nice hotel downtown. He can see a river—the Mississippi, he thinks— out his window. His phone’s still off, tossed on the bed when he came in. He swipes it off the comforter and powers it back on, shoving it and a room key in his pocket on his way out the door. 

His hotel room is too stuffy, too small. He takes the stairs and pushes his way outside. He can see the Xcel Center a few blocks away, and he turns his back to it, starts walking. He has no idea where he is or where he’s going. He hopes no one recognizes him. 

It’s not long before he finds himself in a park alongside the river. It’s quiet, and no one looks twice at him as he finds an empty bench and finally pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his notifications: texts from Kacey and his grandpa—he’ll have to respond to them—dozens from his—former—teammates on the Avs that he ignores, a handful from numbers he doesn’t have saved, Wild players introducing themselves and welcoming him to the team—he’ll have to make some new contacts. He swipes everything away to deal with later, once his head stops spinning. He pauses on one text, the only one he’d really been looking for.

So much for that date, huh. it says. She’s added a broken heart emoji to soften the blow. Then, an hour later, call me when you get the chance. Another emoji at the end, a black heart, even though Tyson’s told her repeatedly that he can mostly tell colors apart.

He already knows what she’s going to say. Can you get broken up with before you’re even dating? How do you make friends-with-benefits work long-distance? Tyson’s not in the mood for that conversation, doesn’t know if he ever will be. He swipes away her notifications, too. 

Minnesota is chilly, and Tyson’s fingertips are a little numb by the time his hotel room door slams behind him later. It’s getting dark. He should order dinner. He should do a lot of things, actually. He lets himself wallow for a few more minutes, flopped on his back in the center of the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.

He halfheartedly peruses the room service menu on his nightstand before calling something in. He’s not even sure what he ordered. 

Tyson’s woken up by knocking on his door. He blinks awake and stumbles blearily out of bed. It’s fully dark in his room now. Room service knocks on his door again. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Tyson grumbles, not even loud enough to be heard, probably. 

His food is lukewarm at best by the time he gets everything spread out on the little desk in his room. Tyson picks at it more than he eats it.

Back in Denver, Madison’s phone doesn’t ring. She figured Tyson would be busy and exhausted by the time he made it to Minnesota. She wants to check in, but her messages show that they’ve been read. He’s made it clear that he’s not in the mood to chat. 

It’s fine. He’s allowed to be upset over all this. Madison had just thought that they’d made it far enough in their relationship—whatever that relationship was—that she wouldn’t get stonewalled the second something serious happened. 

She hasn’t had a chance to return Tyson’s spare key to Cale yet. She’d stayed behind after Tyson left for the airport on his birthday to clean up some of the disaster they’d left behind the night before. She was going to give it back when they got home. Except now Tyson’s not coming home, and she isn’t sure he’ll speak to her again, either. 

She tries to convince herself she’s not hurt by it. 

Madison sneaks back into Tyson’s apartment the day after the trade. She’s collected some of Tyson’s clothes over the last few months, and she should pick up her own belongings that have become scattered across his apartment. She’s not sure how Tyson’s going to get the rest of his stuff to Minnesota, but she knows it’s not her problem. Tyson’s made that clear. 

She opens the text thread with Tys 🖤 again anyway. No new messages. She starts to type, to ask how Tyson’s doing, if he wants to talk, but she deletes it all. She closes her text thread with him again.

Madison wanders around the apartment, collecting things she recognizes as her own: her toothbrush, a half dozen ponytail holders that Tyson delights in tearing out of her hair to make out, the makeup remover that Tyson bought after she fell asleep there the first time and left makeup all over his pillowcase. She leaves the clothes she dug out of her closet and drawers folded on the end of his bed. She keeps one of his hoodies, because it’s comfy and it smells like him. It’s an Avs hoodie, anyway; it’s not like he’ll need it. The cookie cake she bought for his birthday is still sitting on the counter. They’d eaten it with breakfast on his actual birthday, but it was otherwise untouched. She figures someone will be by soon to pack up his apartment. She leaves it on the counter for them, whoever it is.

She locks the door behind her. It feels final in a way that she hates. 

Tyson drags himself to morning skate early the next morning. He doesn’t feel like he slept much, though he fell asleep before he ever got around to responding to anyone’s texts. He makes no less than four wrong turns trying to find the home locker room in Xcel Center. The equipment staff has a locker set up for him already, all of his new gear waiting for him when he finds it. Tyson stares at the white practice jersey for a long moment, the green helmet already fitted with his full face shield and new number. He’s the only one in the locker room so far.

Tyson feels himself smile for the first time in what feels like days. 

Skate passes in a blur. Tyson throws himself into everything the coaches ask of him, trying his best to learn a new team on the fly. His muscles ache from all the travel in the last few days and the lack of sleep, but he leans into the pain with a grin. It’s fun, in a weird way, and everyone’s quick to chirp Tyson, make him feel like he’s already a real part of the team. 

Madison watches the Wild’s game that night. Tyson’s still in his little fishbowl after the broken jaw, and Madison winces every time he takes a check, even though she knows he’s fine, really. Minnesota wins. She doesn’t watch any of their other games, or follow Minnesota on any socials. She considers blocking Tyson’s phone number, the last message she sent to him still sitting open and unreplied to. 

She can’t bring herself to do it. 

Tyson’s mom, ever the lifesaver, arrives a few days later with most of the contents of his closet in tow. She’s also brought the cookie cake Madison had bought him for his birthday. It’s half-eaten and stale, now, reading only “-hday, Tys!” He eats a piece, anyway, and his mom doesn’t ask who bought it for him. She doesn’t ask any questions, actually, which Tyson is grateful for. He’s told her bits and pieces about Madison over the last few months, but he hasn’t told her how he’s fallen in love. It doesn’t matter now.

Tyson’s trying to unpack, give himself some semblance of “home” in his stale hotel room, when a piece of paper falls out of the pocket of one of his suit jackets. He picks it up and carefully unfolds it, though he already knows what it says. good luck tonight! ♡ in Madison’s pretty cursive. She’d tucked it into his suit before a game in January, and Tyson had scored a goal that night. He slipped it back in the inside pocket of the suit jacket. Maybe it’ll bring him luck in Minnesota, too. 

Madison’s phone rings late one night, a few weeks after Tyson’s been traded. It’s the first time she’s heard from him since he left Denver. She squints at her phone screen in the dark, debating ignoring it. Tyson’s face grins up at her, a stupid selfie he had taken ages ago. She swipes to answer with a sigh.

“Tyson, if you’re just calling because you’re drunk or something, I swear—” she starts. She’s not really sure what she’ll do to Tyson, actually, so she trails off. 

Tyson’s quiet on the other end of the line. Madison hears him take a shaky breath, but he still doesn’t speak for a long moment. “The Avs are in town,” he says finally. “Game’s tomorrow night,” he adds. 

Madison hasn’t really been paying attention to either team’s schedule lately. She hasn’t had much reason to. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say here, what’s the right answer to comfort Tyson. She might’ve once, but she feels wrong-footed now, unsure of where they stand.

“You gonna see anyone?” she asks.

Tyson huffs. “Yeah, I got dinner with some of them tonight.” He pauses. “They’re still my friends, y’know, it’s not like they’re the ones who traded me.”

Madison hums, something like agreement. She thinks she can hear the hurt in Tyson’s voice, even though he’s trying to hide it. He’s still talking. “I’ve just…never had to play against my best friends like this before.”

“Oh, Tys,” Madison says softly. “That sucks, babe.” The familiar endearment slips out before she can stop herself. 

“Yeah, it sucks alright,” Tyson agrees. He’s quiet again. “Wish you could be here, too. Miss you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Madison says. With the game tomorrow, Tyson might not be drunk, but it’s late, and he’s wallowing in missing his friends. She doesn’t think she really qualifies as that anymore.

“What do you mean?” Tyson asks, indignant. “Of course I mean it.”

“Is that why this is the first time we’ve spoken since you got traded? Two weeks ago?” Madison’s angry, suddenly; that small spark of hurt she’s been trying to bury flares into fury. 

She can practically hear Tyson’s wince on the other end of the line. It’s too late to be arguing, but this is where they’re at now. 

“Sorry for not wanting to get dumped hours after I got shipped off to fucking Minnesota,” Tyson snaps back, but he sounds tired. The fight leaves Madison just as quickly as it appeared. “Who said anything about breaking up?”

Tyson’s quiet. Madison can picture the way his eyebrows furrow when he’s thinking too hard. “You asked me to call you!”

“I asked you to call me because I wanted to check on you, dumbass.” Madison rubs at her eyes. They should both be asleep, but now she feels too awake to hang up, to end this conversation. She might be annoyed, but it’s the first time she’s heard Tyson’s voice in weeks. She’s missed it, though she’s not about to admit that right now. “How can I even break up with a guy I’ve never been on a real date with?” she asks.

“Oh.” 

“It’s been a wild fucking month for you, Tys, I wanted to talk to you and see how you were handling shit,” Madison continues.

Tyson realizes now might not be the best time to admit that he’d requested a trade. This had still blindsided him, somehow. He considers switching to a FaceTime call. He desperately wants to see Madison’s face, the next best thing to being with her right now, getting to touch her. He winces again when she sniffles on the other end of the line. He’d been lonely when he called her, expecting some sympathy, not the anger he was met with. 

He guesses he probably should’ve considered she’d be mad at him after moving over 900 miles away and then giving her radio silence for two weeks, actually. He taps the FaceTime button a little harder than necessary. He’s almost surprised when Madison accepts the request.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been busy,” he says weakly. “I didn’t think—I just figured you were wanting to tell me that we couldn’t keep doing this.” It seems obvious given the distance, but Tyson really hadn’t been in the mood to get effectively broken up with twice in one day. 

Madison’s eyes burn as she swipes at them, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the late hour, or if she’s about to cry. 

Tyson realizes something. “Besides, you had just gotten spooked and tried to slow things down, I didn’t think you’d want to jump from just hooking up to long-distance.” It’s too dark for him to tell if she’s crying. He hopes she isn’t. 

“That was—” Madison starts to protest. But Tyson’s right. It had only been a few weeks since she’d panicked about how fast they were headed towards a real relationship. That had been before the broken jaw, before Tyson’s birthday, before he got traded. Before Madison had the chance to realize just how much she cared about Tyson, and liked Tyson, and how much she missed him when he wasn’t just a text away.

“I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend for real, you know? On that date? But then I was in Minnesota, and I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to anyone, and I wasn’t ready to talk about anything.” Madison opens her mouth to argue more, but Tyson cuts her off. “You want to know how I’m handling shit? Not well,” he admits.

Hockey is hockey, but he’s not sure Minnesota will ever feel like home the way Denver still does. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Madison blurts.

Tyson laughs in spite of himself. “So many things,” he says. It’s easy, for a second, to forget they’re arguing. Fuck, he wishes Madison were with him, and not for the first, or the third, or the tenth time since he’s been in Minnesota. “I guess I should’ve texted instead of shutting you out, huh? I just never knew what to say.”

“You’re an idiot,” Madison says softly. “I really did just want to check on you. But you left me on read, and then a few days had passed, so I guess you’d made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to talk. I didn’t even think about worrying about our future then.” 

Tyson squeezes his eyes shut. He’s blurry on Madison’s phone screen, but she can tell his hair is a disaster, like he’s been anxiously pulling on his curls.

“Did I accidentally break up with you to avoid being broken up with?” he asks. He sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter. Or maybe tears. Madison can’t quite tell, actually. 

“Mmm, I think so, babe,” Madison says. She rolls over in bed, stifling a yawn. It’s late in Denver, but it’s even later in St. Paul, she thinks. “Hey, you need to sleep. “You’ve gotta beat the Avs tomorrow.” She glances at the clock in the corner of her screen. “Well. Today, I guess.”

Tyson sticks his tongue out at her, but he snuggles deeper into his pillows. “Can I call you later?” His voice is small.

“Yeah, Tys.” They’ve got a lot more to talk about. “Say hi to JT and Cale for me, yeah?” she says.

Tyson grins at her. He stops himself from saying, “I love you,” before he hangs up, but only barely, settling on, “Good night,” instead. There’s still time for the other one, he thinks

The game is…fine. They slap a microphone on Tyson before he goes out on the ice, and it’s definitely weird facing off against some of his best friends, but he gets through it. He doesn’t score, but he doesn’t land in the penalty box either, so. He spends some time attempting to chirp an exasperated EJ that he’ll probably get made fun of for later. Oh, and the Wild win. Tyson guesses it’s an okay night, after all. 

Tyson misses Denver, misses playing at the Can, but after facing off against his friends on the still-unfamiliar ice in Minnesota, he’s not sure he can handle returning. 

Madison finds herself watching the Avs game for the first time in weeks, but she’s not watching for them. She’s paying attention to all of Tyson’s shifts, and she realizes halfway through the game that she’s completely rooting against the Avs. 

The final buzzer has barely blown when she’s pulling out her phone to text Tyson. She hesitates for a moment, unsure of the right thing to say. She feels like they finally made progress last night after Tyson stonewalled her for weeks, but they’re still a half dozen steps behind where they were in the beginning of March. She somehow knows more than she did before Tyson called her, but she feels like she understands their relationship even less now. 

She must type four or five messages before she settles on, great win :) 🖤. She kind of hates it as soon as she sends it, but she can’t take it back. She tosses her phone to the other end of the couch before she can obsess over waiting for Tyson to text her back. She doesn’t have to wait long, though, before her phone is vibrating near her feet. She takes one breath, then another, before scrambling for her phone again. Tyson’s texted back, thanks babe. Then, less than a minute later, wish you were here. 

Madison stares at her phone, chewing on her bottom lip. She doesn’t know the right thing to say once again. ‘Me too’ feels too earnest, ‘wish you were still here instead’ feels mean somehow. She still doesn’t know when she’ll see Tyson again, if she’ll see Tyson again. All she has is a version of Tyson through a screen. Her thumb hovers over the call button. Tyson’s probably busy with post-game stuff, Madison reminds herself. She misses his voice, though.

She finally settles on: :). She waits anxiously until Tyson has read it before sending: Call me later?

She checked the Wild’s schedule already; they’re in town for a few more days. Tyson will probably be heading straight home—wherever “home” is these days— after the game. She spares a moment to wonder about the future of Tyson’s old apartment in Denver. She wonders if it’s been emptied out yet, wiped clean of all traces of Tyson, of them. That had been home to Tyson, and it had almost started to feel like home to Madison, too. 

Tyson sends her back a thumbs up emoji and an emoji with its tongue sticking out. Madison rolls her eyes fondly and tosses her phone back to the end of her couch. 

She’s dozing when her phone rings. Half-asleep, she fumbles for it before answering. “‘Lo?” she mumbles. 

Tyson chuckles softly at her. “You asked me to call you and then fell asleep,” he says, tsk-ing. 

Madison sticks her tongue out at him, even though he can’t see her. “Shut up, it’s late,” she whines. 

“Then go to bed, Mads,” Tyson tells her. She can tell he’s trying not to laugh at her.

Madison feels like a toddler protesting bedtime, but she says, “No! I wanna talk to you.”

Tyson laughs again. “Okay, are you at least in bed already?”

“...No.”

“Go brush your teeth, and get in bed, yeah? We can keep talking then.”

Madison sighs but heaves herself off her couch and into her bathroom. Tyson starts chatting as she walks, mindless stuff, like the weather in St. Paul, or how bored he is of living in a hotel room still. Madison puts him on speaker and sets her phone next to the sink so she can keep listening while she washes her face and brushes her teeth. It almost feels like getting ready for bed alongside Tyson again, elbowing each other for space in front of his bathroom mirror. 

He falls quiet as she crawls underneath her blankets. Madison stifles a yawn.

“How was it?” she asks.

“The game?” Madison nods, forgetting again that Tyson can’t see her. Tyson continues anyway. “I mean, it was fine, I guess. We won, so.”

“Just fine?” Madison prods.

Tyson hesitates. “Weird,” he says after a few seconds. “It was weird. Feels like a Twilight Zone episode, honestly. Like I woke up one day in some other life that everyone else swears didn’t happen. Like, you get traded, and everyone expects you to immediately fit in with this new locker room, and be all in with your new team. As if all the games played with your friends never even happened.”

Madison doesn’t know what to say to that. It must be weird to have to effectively sever all ties with your best friends. To know and trust the face across the faceoff dot from you. She probably couldn’t handle it if she were in Tyson’s place,

“I’m sorry, Tys,” she murmurs, for lack of anything better to say. “It’s business, but business is shitty.” 

Tyson huffs in agreement. Madison’s wearing the hoodie she stole from Tyson, and she tucks her nose underneath the collar. It doesn’t smell like Tyson any more. 

“Hey, is now a bad time to ask if we can have phone sex?” Tyson asks.

Madison bursts out laughing. “Yes, Tyson, it’s a terrible time.” Tyson whines a little at her. “Though,” she adds, “I am wearing one of your hoodies.”

Tyson groans. The few times Madison had worn something of his around him, it usually wasn’t long before the clothes ended up back on the floor.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he says. His voice is muffled like he’s buried his head underneath a pillow.

Madison yawns again.

“You need to go to sleep,” Tyson tells her gently.

“No,” Madison protests again. “Tell me more about Minnesota,” she pleads. “I’ve missed listening to you.”

Madison can’t read Tyson’s moment of silence, but he starts doing as he’s told, telling Madison more about his hotel, about the food in the locker room after games at Xcel Center and how different it is from Denver, about all the different personalities on the team, until Madison falls asleep. 

Madison wakes up to a dead phone. She plugs it in while she showers, and she immediately checks her call log. Tyson had kept talking for well over an hour. He texted her, too, after he’d hung up. Miss you, promise we’ll talk more soon.

Madison responds the only way she knows how: 🖤.

April

The end of the season passes in a blur after that. Tyson settles in as best he can, but he feels like he barely has time to catch his breath. With the end of the season and the playoffs looming, there’s no time for Tyson to find a real place to live, so he’s still holed up in the hotel, living out of suitcases.

Time moves differently in hotels, he swears, the days blurring into one another. Tyson no longer knows what day it is; it’s only travel day, or game day, or rarely, a day off. 

The Wild are winning more than they lose, and Tyson manages to pick up some points here and there. It could be worse. At least it’s not, like, Buffalo. 

The team goes on the road for the first time since he got there, and it’s a good chance for Tyson to get to know everyone a little better, spend some time out of his generic hotel room—even if he goes back to another generic hotel room after each dinner out with the guys. He makes a point to call Madison as much as he can, which is almost every night after he crashes into bed and turns on some shitty TV. 

Their phone calls end up lasting for hours. Tyson realizes that he and Madison spent more time hooking up than really getting to know each other. It’s nice to take the time to just talk and learn things about Madison. Tyson feels himself falling in love more with each phone call.

Tyson talks about his family—his sister, his mom, his grandparents. How much he misses them with the long seasons away. How much he’s looking forward to going home to Alberta when the season ends. He doesn’t tell Madison that he wants to bring her home with him this summer, not yet. 

Madison tells Tyson about everything: her job (graphic design and marketing for a local business Tyson vaguely thinks he recognizes), her family (two sisters, one of whom Tyson briefly met), and her favorite movies (Lord of the Rings, but Tyson could have guessed that). When she tells him she likes to bake, Tyson immediately demands that she sends him some. He’s not even sure if he can get mail at the hotel, actually. Not important.

Tyson throws himself into hockey, though he’s not sure how much it shows. He’s determined to make this work, to stick and make a difference in Minnesota the way he never quite could in Colorado. He tells Madison this, too, voicing fears about his future in hockey that he’s never even let himself think about too much. 

The Wild plays the Avalanche again in St. Paul on the last day of the season. Tyson’s dreading it. He’s privately more than a little glad that they’re not playing the Avs in the first round, but he still can’t help but feel like he should be there instead, still on a powerhouse team poised to take on the postseason, not the underdogs.

Tyson calls Madison a week before the game, laying in bed, fresh off a single assist in back to back wins against Vancouver and Seattle. Tyson can hear the smile in Madison’s voice when she answers. Tyson’s chest hurts with how much he misses her.

Which is probably why he blurts, “Can you come to Minnesota?” 

Madison’s quiet for so long Tyson pulls his phone away from his ear to make sure the call didn’t disconnect. 

Finally, she says, “Tyson, I can’t just drop everything and fly to Minnesota.” “No, I know, I just meant next week,” he says. “We play the Avs again.”

Madison knows that, this time. She’s actually started paying attention to the Wild—mostly just Tyson, though—since April started.

“That’s a Friday night, Tys,” she tells him. “I’d have to take off work for the day.” She could, probably, without too much fuss. She just wants to hear Tyson beg a little. She’s still a tiny bit hurt by the way he stonewalled her after the trade. 

“I’ll pay for your plane ticket!” Tyson adds. That wasn’t really Madison’s point. “I really want you to be there, I need to see you again.” 

Madison already knows she can’t tell Tyson no. She sighs and drags her laptop towards her. She starts searching for plane tickets. “Just for the game on Friday, or am I allowed to stay the whole weekend?” she asks.

Tyson scoffs. “Like I’d let you leave after one night when I haven’t seen you in two like two months.” He’s already planning on only leaving the hotel room except for practice and maybe to finally take Madison on an actual date. Actually: “Hey, pack something nice to wear. I still owe you a date.”

Madison laughs. “How nice are we talking?”

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna wine and dine you so hard,” Tyson says, breaking off into laughter before he can even finish the sentence. 

Madison spends the next week, alternating between excited and anxious. Excited because she hasn’t seen Tyson in weeks, and she can’t wait to be able to kiss him again. She’s not sure why she’s even worried. She and Tyson have already spent months doing almost everything couples do, just without the label. They already know they work well together. Adding a label shouldn’t change things. 

She goes out and buys a new dress the day before her flight, after frantically deciding that nothing in her closet was good enough for a first date.

“He already knows what you look like,” her sister Emma points out. “It’s not like you have to worry about him liking you. Also, he’s colorblind.”

Madison ignores her (annoyingly correct) sister and spends almost over an hour in the mall. She carefully packs the new dress at the top of her suitcase before zipping it up and leaving it by her front door. She’s so excited she can hardly sleep.

It’s not a long flight from Denver to Minnesota, but Madison’s not used to flying, and the whole affair has her stressed beyond belief. It takes her unbelievably long to find her gate, and even though she got to KDEN plenty early, she still worries that she’ll be late. It’s a relief when she can finally settle in her seat. She turns on a Disney movie she doesn’t really watch and counts the minutes until she can see Tyson again.

Except then she can’t find her luggage, and Tyson’s supposed to be picking her up and isn’t answering her texts. It takes her twenty minutes to find out that another passenger mistakenly took her suitcase and has brought it back, and Tyson still hasn’t responded to tell her that he’s waiting.

She makes her way outside anyway, following the signs towards parking. Her hands are too full with her carry-on and suitcase to reach for her phone to call Tyson, but when she steps outside her terminal, she recognizes the person behind the wheel of a car just pulling up to the curb.

Tyson has the car in park and is jumping out before Madison can take another step. She’s so overwhelmed she bursts into tears.

She drops her bags to launch herself at Tyson, wrapping her arms around his neck. He doesn’t stumble, just slides his arms around her waist and hugs her back.

“Whoa, whoa, why the tears?” he asks, wiping one away with his thumb. 

“I just really missed you,” Madison mumbles into his shirt.

Tyson presses a kiss to her hair. He unwraps one hand and reaches for the handle of Madison’s suitcase. “Well, let’s get you in the car, and then we can talk, yeah?” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer, letting go of Madison fully to swing her suitcase into the trunk. Madison slips into the passenger seat while he throws her carry-on in, too, before he’s jogging back to the driver’s side. He leans across the console to kiss Madison’s cheek.

“Missed you, too, by the way,” he says.

Madison feels silly for crying now. Everything always seems better when Tyson’s around, and right now is no exception, with the windows rolled down and Tyson singing loudly—and badly—to the song on the radio. Tyson reaches for Madison’s hand, and she lets him slip his fingers between hers. Something restless in Madison’s chest settles when he touches her. 

They don’t much as Tyson drives, the city flashing by out the car windows. It’s been ages since they saw each other, but they talk almost every day; there’s not much to catch up on. Madison likes it, the comfortable quiet between two people who know each other well. 

Tyson apologizes for the fact that he’s still living in a hotel on the elevator ride up to his room. 

“Tyson, I don’t care where you’re living, I’m just glad to be able to see you again,” she tells him.

Tyson blushes, but he also boxes her in against the elevator wall to kiss her properly for the first time since she got off the plane. Madison trails after him as he heads down the hallway and pushes open his hotel room door with a dorky sweep of his arm. 

The room’s bigger than Madison expected, with a kitchenette that doesn’t look like it’s been used at all, and a little couch and desk near the TV. Madison can see the bed, sheets rumpled and twisted like Tyson has never bothered to make it in the weeks he’s been here. Tyson’s watching Madison survey the room like he’s nervous. 

“So, what’s next?” Madison asks. 

With the game last night, Tyson didn’t have skate today, but she’s familiar enough with his game day routine to know he should probably be napping soon. She could go for a nap herself. Madison doesn’t wait for an answer, just dumps her carry-on bag on the couch and wanders over to the bed. Tyson follows, still rolling Madison’s suitcase behind him. Madison flops backwards onto the bed. The sheets smell like Tyson.

“Well?” she asks, raising one eyebrow at him.

Tyson scrambles onto the bed after her. He drops to his elbows above Madison and leans down to kiss her, eager and not exactly gentle. Madison reaches up to thread her fingers into his curls. She runs her fingers through his hair once, twice, before closing her hand and tugging. Tyson groans into her mouth, but he gentles the kiss. They make out until they’re both breathless, and Tyson has to pull away. 

“I really should nap,” he says once he catches his breath. Madison tilts her chin up for another kiss. Tyson rolls his eyes but obliges, just a quick peck. He shifts his weight to one hand and pinches the outside of Madison’s thigh with the other. “C’mon, I wanna cuddle.”

They both clamber up the bed until Madison can collapse onto the pillows. Tyson collapses on top of her. 

“Oof, bud, what the hell,” she manages. Tyson’s heavy, and it’s hard to breathe. 

“Told you I wanted to cuddle,” Tyson says back, face smushed into Madison’s collarbone.

Madison pokes Tyson in the ribs, then again, harder, when he doesn’t react, until he sighs and squirms off her. Her reprieve doesn’t long, though, because Tyson immediately reaches out for Madison and pulls her close. She rolls onto her side to face him, and he grins at her. 

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him.

Tyson’s grin only grows. “Yeah, but you like me.”

Madison slides a hand around the back of Tyson’s neck and kisses him. 

When Tyson's alarm goes off later, they’ve shifted in their sleep, and Tyson’s half-laying on top of Madison again. He slaps at his phone without moving and somehow manages to snooze the alarm. 

“Not ready yet,” Madison mumbles, wrapping an arm around Tyson and keeping him close. He huffs a laugh against Madison’s skin. 

“I’ve gotta get ready, baby,” he says. He kisses Madison’s shoulder.

Madison should probably get up, too. She wants to shower the plane funk off and make herself presentable for the game. But Tyson’s bed is really comfy. Tyson rolls off of her, and Madison whines at the loss of her human blanket.

Tyson shoots her an amused look. He leans back over Madison to kiss her one more time, but he avoids her attempts at dragging him back to bed. Madison pouts up at him. It doesn’t work. She watches from the bed as Tyson gets dressed in his gameday suit. He kisses her goodbye before he leaves. 

Left alone in the eerie silence of the hotel, Madison forces herself out of bed and into the shower. She brings her Bluetooth speaker with her, blasting one of her playlists loud enough to be heard over the water. She emerges in a cloud of steam to dig through her suitcase for the outfit she’d packed for tonight. She doesn’t own anything Wild-branded, and she doesn’t think wearing Tyson’s old Avalanche hoodie would go over too well. She’d had to buy something new for this, too: an amazing fleece-lined green corduroy jacket that she’d probably live in come fall. 

She takes the opportunity to poke around the hotel room a little, looking for traces of Tyson in the unfamiliar space. One of the blankets from his apartment was thrown carelessly across the foot of the bed. His ukulele sits on top of the desk. Madison hangs her date-night dress up in the little closet and finds her own good luck note to Tyson taped to the door. The kitchenette is full of Tyson’s snacks, including some of Madison’s favorites. It’s not much, but it’s enough. 

Madison eventually makes her way to the Xcel Center. She’s met by someone’s significant other outside—it’s a blur of faces and names she can hardly keep track of—before they head to their seats. She’d gotten used to the atmosphere at The Can, and Xcel Center is different but the same. It’s easy enough to settle into the rhythm of the game and the crowd. The game is wild from puck drop, but Minnesota manages to pull out a win. Tyson even scores the game winning goal. 

She follows the rest of the girls downstairs to the family room after the game. She’s restless, full of energy after the game, with no outlet for it. She all but tackles Tyson when he pokes his head in, stripped down to his base layers, but his curls still plastered to his head with sweat. 

“Whoa,” he says, steadying her as they tumble out into the hallway. He’s grinning at her, cheeks pink. He lets Madison pin him up against the wall opposite them. “Hi.”

Madison kisses him, before she can blurt something embarrassing, like, “I love you,” or, “That goal was hot.” Tyson makes a surprised noise into her mouth but kisses back easily, his hands tightening on her hips. He pulls away after a minute.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he whispers, kissing her temple. Louder, he says, “JT has requested to see you.”

Madison’s a little surprised, but pleased, to hear that. She’s hung out with JT a handful of times since she met him back in January, but she doesn’t think she’s talked to him since Tyson got traded. It had always felt more like JT was just a friend of a friend she got along with.

Tyson drags her down the halls towards the visitors’ locker room, JT’s already waiting for them, leaning against the door frame and messing around on his phone. Unlike Tyson, he’s dressed in clean clothes. He looks up as they approach and grins at them. Tyson doesn’t let go of Madison’s hand. 

JT ropes Madison into a one-armed hug. “Think you’re Josty’s good luck charm. He’s scored twice now at games you’ve been to.” Tyson sticks his tongue out at JT.

Someone from inside the locker room yells Tyson’s name, and he’s momentarily distracted. JT leans in closer to Madison.

“Take care of our boy, yeah?” he says, quietly so Tyson, who’s still talking to someone else, won’t hear. “He needs you.” 

Madison’s not sure how to respond to that. She’s saved by Tyson remembering they’re there. JT smacks a kiss to Madison’s cheek and nudges her back towards Tyson. 

“See you around?” he asks Tyson.

“C’mon, you know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Madison watches them hug, and then Tyson’s leading her back down the maze of hallways. He says something to her before dropping her off outside the family room, but she doesn’t really hear it, lost in her own thoughts, thinking about JT’s words.

She’s still thinking about what JT said when Tyson rejoins her, as they make their way back to the hotel, up the elevator and into Tyson’s hotel room. She and Tyson move quietly, easily, around each other as they start to change out of their game-day clothes. She’s still lost in her thoughts when Tyson hooks his chin over her shoulder, startling her as she’s taking her makeup off. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He looks worried. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

Madison shrugs. “Nothing.”

Madison watches in the mirror as Tyson’s brow furrows further. “Did something happen?” Madison knows he’d been worried about how the Wild WAGs would receive her.

She shrugs Tyson’s chin off her shoulder, suddenly annoyed. “No, Tys, nothing happened.”

Nothing did happen, unless you count JT Compher’s casual words sending Madison into a spiral. 

Tyson slides between Madison and the sink. He crosses his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

Madison rolls her eyes, but gives Tyson a quick peck, before hip checking him out of the way so she can brush her teeth. Tyson watches, still suspicious. Madison ushers him towards the bed. He sits and drags Madison into his lap. He frowns up at her.

“Tys, really. Everything was just overwhelming, I guess.” Also not a lie; she’d never been to a hockey game as Tyson’s girlfriend—or, almost-girlfriend—and everything had been overwhelming in a way she hadn’t expected. Most things had been the same, but sitting with the rest of the wives and girlfriends and listening to them ask her questions about her life and job had almost felt like a well-meaning interrogation. 

“Promise?”

Madison kisses Tyson, slow and gentle. “Promise.”

She yelps when Tyson flips them suddenly. He rolls on top of her, propping himself up on his hands. Madison can tell that he’s not letting this go.

“Then what’s wrong?” He chews nervously on his lower lip for a moment. “And don’t say nothing, I know you’re lying.” 

Madison huffs. “Just something JT said.” She shoves at Tyson’s shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. His glasses are crooked from his acrobatics, and Madison reaches up to adjust those next. He swats at her hand.

“I’ll kill him,” he says confidently.

“First, I think JT would beat you in a fight,” Madison says. Tyson makes a noise of protest, and Madison slaps a hand over his mouth. “Second, it wasn’t anything bad, I don’t know, just made me think.”

Tyson pries Madison’s hand away. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” he says.

He’s distracted enough that Madison can hook a leg over his hips and flip them back over. She settles across his lap as Tyson blinks dazedly up at her.

“He asked me to take care of you, said you need me, whatever.” Madison’s trying to brush it off, as if she hadn’t spent hours thinking about it, as if she doesn’t feel uncomfortably seen. Far too vulnerable for something that was supposed to just be a hook-up way back in November. 

They’ve come a long way since November.

Tyson’s face clears. “What do you mean, ‘whatever?’” He surges up to kiss Madison before he continues. “Of course I need you. I fucking miss you constantly. I’ve wanted literally nothing but to be around you, like, all the time since, like, December.”

“Oh.” Madison should have realized that, maybe. It’s different to hear Tyson lay it out like that. “I didn’t realize,” she whispers. Tyson grins up at her. “You did kinda ghost me for a while there,” she points out.

Tyson groans. “I am never gonna hear the end of that, am I?” He runs his fingers through Madison’s hair, tugs a little at the ends. “I panicked because I was terrified of losing you, remember?” He punctuates his sentence with another gentle kiss. His hand slips from Madison’s hair to her waist, underneath her T-shirt. He’s missed the feeling of her underneath his hands. An emotion Madison can’t read crosses his face for a second before he says, “Do you—do you not—?” Feel the same way, is what he means to say, but can’t quite get out.

Madison understands him, anyway. “No, God, Tyson, no.” She hesitates; she supposes they’re laying it all on the line here. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Tyson surprises her by bursting out laughing. Hurt, Madison tries to squirm out of Tyson’s lap, but he reels her in and kisses her until she melts into his hands.

“Baby, I’ve been in love with you since you showed up at my door for a Lord of the Rings marathon.” He giggles a little and kisses Madison’s nose. “We’ve done this all backwards, haven’t we?” 

Madison giggles a little too and nods. “I don’t think we’re very good at all this,” she whispers.

Tyson shakes his head, still laughing. “We’ll get better. I mean, look at us, we’re already communicating more!”

Madison kissed him again to shut him up, but by then they were both too busy laughing to take it much farther. Madison collapses to the sheets next to Tyson, letting herself dissolve into giggles. It feels good to laugh like this with Tyson, the last bit of uneasy tension Madison didn’t even know existed disappearing at last. Madison feels delirious with it: the stress of the last few weeks, the long day of travel and hockey, the raw vulnerability of finally being honest with Tyson.

They laugh for longer than the situation warrants. Tyson eventually heaves a sigh and turns his head on his pillow to look at Madison, eyes uncharacteristically serious. Madison sucks in a breath and forces herself to stop laughing.

“I mean it, you know,” Tyson says. “I’ve been falling for you for a long time.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, props himself up on an elbow. “I guess this means you’re officially my girlfriend now, huh?”

“Huh, guess so.” Tyson beams at her. “Don’t think this gets you out of wining and dining me tomorrow, though,” she threatens. 

Tyson leans down to kiss Madison. “I don’t put out on the first date,” he murmurs.

Madison drags him closer, slots her mouth against his again. “Bit late for that, babe.”

Madison wakes up late the next morning, bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. Tyson’s already awake, sitting up against the headboard and fucking around on his phone. He never got dressed besides finding his boxers, and his glasses are slipping down his nose. He grins down at her when he realizes she’s awake. 

“You’re a dork,” Madison says, rolling over to bury her face in a pillow again. Tyson pokes her shoulder blade, and she turns her head enough to glare at him. 

“Brunch in bed, or go somewhere?” Tyson asks, poking Madison again.

Madison’s not wearing anything, either, and she’d have to shower and fix her hair before they could leave the hotel room. “Bed,” she says, burrowing back into her pillow. Actually, it might be one of Tyson’s pillows. It’s hers now.

Tyson chuckles and rolls out of bed to hunt down the room service menu. He orders a bunch of stuff that they can share, but makes sure to include an omelet for Madison. He learned a while ago that she always has to have an omelet with breakfast. He’s also learned not to question it. He jumps back onto the bed. Madison bounces with it, and turns once more to glare at him. 

Her hair’s a disaster, and Tyson thinks he can see a hickey he left low on her neck. He loves her so much. He remembers he can tell her that now.

“I love you,” he blurts. Madison’s face softens. “Also, breakfast in thirty.” He tugs a little on the sheet where it’s slipping down Madison’s shoulders. “Plenty of time for…”

“For what, Tyson?” Madison asks. She’s laughing, now, and she rolls over, letting Tyson slide between her thighs and kiss her, slow and easy. 

He has to fish his boxers out of the sheets again when room service knocks on the door, but it’s worth it.

Madison drags herself out of bed after they eat. Tyson’s promised her plans all day, so she and Tyson take turns showering and making themselves presentable. Tyson holds Madison’s hand from the door of the hotel room until they reach his car, and even then, he only lets go after he opens the door for her and kisses her on the cheek.

It’s a warm spring day, and Tyson drives with the windows down through downtown St. Paul. He refuses to tell Madison where he’s taking her.

“Can we at least get coffee if you’re going to kidnap me?” Madison whines.

“I don’t think it’s kidnapping if you willingly got in the car,” Tyson points out mildly. He pulls into the next Starbucks drive-thru he sees, though, so Madison’s pretty sure she wins the argument.

Placated with caffeine, she stops pestering Tyson for details, but it’s only another few minutes before he’s turning into a parking lot for Como Park Zoo.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Madison asks. She’d idly mentioned, a while ago, that she wanted to visit the Denver Zoo when it got warmer. She had no idea that Tyson would remember that.

Tyson smirks at her. “I think it’s a little smaller than Denver Zoo—”

Madison cuts him off. “Shut up, it’s gonna be great.”

And it is great. Madison all but runs between animal exhibits, and Tyson’s more than happy to be dragged along by the hand, even though he thinks his nose is getting sunburned. They entertain themselves by naming the animals after his old teammates.

“You can’t name them all EJ,” Madison says at one point. 

“Well, why not?” Tyson argues. Madison…doesn’t have a good argument for that, actually.

There’s gardens, too, and they wander through those after they’ve looped around the zoo, holding hands the whole time. Madison’s pretty sure she enjoys the flowers more than Tyson, but he waits good-naturedly when she stops to point out a pretty flower or to take some pictures. It all feels like a date, which Madison supposes it is, actually.

“Hey, wait,” Tyson says suddenly, after Madison stands back up from taking a photo. “We should get a picture of us.” He snatches Madison’s phone from her hand. 

There’s an older couple nearby, and Tyson approaches them with a smile. Madison can hear him asking if one of them would mind, “taking a picture of me and my girlfriend?” She’s sure she’s blushing when Tyson comes back over and winds an arm around her waist. She smiles obligingly at the camera next to Tyson, and doesn’t even flinch when he turns and smacks a kiss to her cheek for the last one.

Tyson’s gracious and sweet as he takes Madison’s phone back, but he turns on Madison with an evil glint in his eye.

“Shut up,” Madison says, turning and walking away from Tyson so he can’t see that she’s still blushing.

Tyson jogs to keep up, spinning around and walking backwards so he can keep smirking at Madison. “You liked hearing me call you my girlfriend, huh?”

“Shut up,” Madison says again.

Tyson steps in front of Madison suddenly, blocking her path completely. She bumps into him. He’s still grinning. “Get used to it fast, because I can’t wait to tell everyone you’re my girlfriend.” Madison claps a hand over his mouth before he can literally start yelling about it. Tyson pries her hand away and uses it to pull her in for a kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs. The novelty of hearing that from Tyson hasn’t worn off, either.

Madison kisses him again because she can. 

They head out not long after that. Tyson starts insisting that they can’t be late for their dinner reservation, even though it’s still early afternoon. Madison lets him take her by the hand again and all but drag her back to the car. 

She’s suddenly tired once she’s sitting back in the passenger seat, the sun and the walking catching up to her. She rests her head on the window while Tyson drives, fighting back a yawn. Tyson still catches her, and he reaches across to poke her in the thigh. She swats half-heartedly at his hand.

“Do I have time to take a nap?” Madison murmurs.

“What? No way!” He pokes Madison harder. “I’m supposed to be wining and dining you, remember?” 

“But I’m sleepy,” Madison whines. She’ll rally, probably; she needs to complain a little first. Tyson pokes her harder.

“That’s not allowed,” Tyson says. It’s not a long drive back to the hotel, and they’re most of the way back there already. Tyson checks the time on the dashboard. There’s still a few hours before their dinner reservation. “Okay, how about a mini nap?” he allows. “But we’re setting like three alarms.” 

It’s important to him that he still gets this first date right, even if they have done their entire relationship backwards. They got to the right place in the end, though, right?

Madison crashes into bed as soon as they’re back in the room. Tyson considers her for a moment. She’s already wriggled under the sheets, but she’s lying directly in the middle of the bed.

Tyson collapses on top of Madison. He catches himself at the last second so he doesn’t completely crush her, because he’s nice like that. Madison giggles, but she squirms and tries to elbow Tyson.

Her voice is muffled into the pillow as she tries to say, “Get off me.”

Tyson lets his weight press her further into the mattress. “Nope, ‘m comfy.” He does fish his phone out of his pocket to set an alarm and roll off Madison. He pulls Madison close as soon as he lands on his side next to her. “Shh, sleep now.”

They’re both jolted awake half an hour later when Tyson’s alarm goes off. Madison whines and presses closer. Tyson kisses the top of her head where she’s tucked under his chin.

“We need to get up,” Tyson whispers. Madison blinks sleepily up at him. 

Tyson forces himself to disentangle himself from Madison. When she doesn’t get up after him, he grabs her by the ankles and drags her to the end of the bed, ignoring her laughter and shrieks.

Tyson follows Madison into the bathroom after she digs her makeup bag and curling iron out of her suitcase, plops himself down on the marble countertop of the sink. Madison raises her eyebrow at him as she plugs the curling iron in and turns it on. Tyson beams at her.

“I wanna watch,” Tyson says simply, still smiling innocently.

He does watch, intent on Madison as she starts to section her hair.

“What’s that for?” he asks. He hands Madison a hair clip.

She brandishes the curling iron at him. “So it’s easier to curl.” 

Tyson’s quiet for a few more minutes before he slides Madison’s makeup bag closer and starts pawing through it. He pulls items out one by one and starts asking questions, mostly more of, “What’s this for?”—a makeup sponge, eyeliner, one of those jumbo eyeshadow crayons—until most of the contents of Madison’s makeup bag are strewn across the counter around Tyson. 

“Are you proud of yourself?” Madison teases. Tyson snaps a compact of blush shut, surveys the damage he’s done. Madison’s momentarily distracted by Tyson’s shenanigans, and one of her fingers brushes across the hot barrel of the curling iron. “Ah, shit,” she hisses.

Tyson’s immediately serious. “Are you okay?” He grabs at Madison’s hand, bringing it close to his face to inspect her finger. Madison bites her lip to keep from laughing. Tyson frowns before carefully pulling Madison’s finger to his lips, kissing it gently. “There. All better.” 

“I love you,” Madison hears herself saying. She’s not used to being able to just say it. Tyson beams at her again.

Tyson behaves himself while Madison finishes her hair and makeup, though he does giggle at the faces Madison pulls while she’s trying to apply mascara. He even helps put away all the makeup he got out. He finally hops off the counter to start getting ready himself.

Madison grabs his wrist when he reaches for the bottle of hair gel. “Nope, I’m rescinding your gel privileges.” She dies a little inside every time she sees a new photo of Tyson and his curls smothered in gel. Tyson squirms, trying to free his hand; Madison tightens her grip.

“Just a little?” Tyson pleads. 

“No, I like your curls!” For emphasis, Madison cards her free hand through Tyson’s curls.

Tyson grumbles at her and tries to tamp his hair back down. “You’re gonna make it frizzy,” he complains. Madison is still tightly holding onto his wrist. “Ugh, fine, but just for tonight.” 

Madison releases his wrist and kisses Tyson’s cheek as she steps past him out of the bathroom. Tyson blinks at himself in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened.

Madison’s changed into a dress when Tyson finally makes his way out of the bathroom, too, sitting on the edge of the bed to slide on a pair of heels. She watches Tyson change with a small smile on her face. Tyson takes Madison’s hand and pulls her to her feet, twirling her once before pulling her close for a kiss.

“Let’s fucking do this,” Tyson says, and Madison has to laugh.

Dinner is pretty nice, as first dates go. Tyson picked a good restaurant—good food, nice environment, but not so fancy Madison feels out of her depth—and Madison already knows that he’s good for conversation. The good thing about falling in love before you actually start dating is that you’ve already gotten the awkwardness and discomfort out of the way already, Madison supposes.

She’s even mostly immune to the sad eyes Tyson directs at her as he pleads his case for getting dessert. Mostly. (They end up splitting a slice of tiramisu.)

The weekend passes too quickly. Madison blinks and suddenly she’s standing in the middle of Tyson’s hotel room, trying to figure out if she’s forgotten to re-pack anything. 

“Stay,” Tyson begs. “A few more days, through the beginning of the series.”

“Tyson, I can’t, I have to get back to Denver for work, you know that.”

Tyson does know that, but he also hates coming back to a dark and empty hotel room every night after games. He tries to tackle Madison to the bed, but she side-steps Tyson and crosses her arms at him, disapproval in her eyes. Tyson feels a bit like a scolded child for a moment. 

“What if I refuse to drive you to the airport, huh? Then you’ll have to stay.” Tyson knows it’s a weak argument, but he’s desperate here. 

Madison’s glare softens. She cups Tyson’s face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Tyson, but I really have to go. I’ll see you soon, okay? We’ll figure something out.” She punctuates this with a kiss. Tyson leans into it, his hands tight on Madison’s waist. 

“Soon,” Tyson repeats. “I love you,” he adds.

Madison kisses him again, and Tyson slips a hand beneath her shirt, her skin warm beneath his hand. She shudders and kisses him harder. They both startle when the alarm Madison set to make sure they leave for the airport on time goes off. Tyson tries to follow her when she pulls away to silence it.

“Time to go,” Madison says sadly.

After Tyson drops Madison off at Departures, he’s grateful that she’s not there to see him wipe away some tears. 

May

Madison sees the Avs’ WAG jackets on Instagram the night they start the first round. The WIld had played the night before, an ugly loss Madison hadn’t been able to tear her attention away from. She could have had one of those jackets, sitting next to Syd and all the other girls. Instead, she’s back in her apartment in Denver, alone. 

She wishes she could have stayed in Minnesota with Tyson for the first two games of the series. She gets a text from Tyson after the game that’s just a thumbs down emoji. Madison “dislikes” it out of solidarity. Tyson doesn’t call her that night. Madison has to remind herself that it’s okay, that they don’t have to talk all the time.

She watches anxiously two nights later as the Wild drag out a win, clutching a glass of wine for emotional support the whole time. 

Before she can think too hard about it, Madison’s opening her laptop. She’s in the middle of searching flights to St. Louis when her phone rings. It’s Tyson, and Madison doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“I miss you,” she says, before Tyson can get a greeting out. She has perhaps had a little too much wine. 

He chuckles. “It’s been less than a week, baby.” But then he adds, “I miss you, too.”

Madison shoves her laptop away and flops backwards on her bed. Last minute plane tickets are so expensive. So are playoff hockey tickets, apparently. She wonders if it would be easier to just drive to St. Louis.

“Wish I could be there,” she says next, even though she had just turned down Tyson when he’d asked her to stay. 

“Yeah, me too,” Tyson says after a beat. He doesn’t offer to fly Madison out again, though Madison can tell he wants to.

She doesn’t tell him that she’s only a few clicks away from buying herself tickets and meeting him in Missouri. Though she should probably do it while she’s not sober, before she can talk herself out of it in the morning. 

“Oh, good game, by the way,” Madison remembers to say.

Tyson huffs. “Are you already in bed?” Tyson asks. Madison can hear him banging around his hotel room, tinny and muffled where her phone has slid off her pillow. 

“Sorta,” Madison tells him. She pulls her laptop closer again. She could fly out after work and make it to the arena without missing too much of the game, probably. She winces again at the outrageous prices for the game. There aren’t even any good seats left.

Tyson speaks again. “Go to sleep, we can talk in the morning. I just wanted to say good night to you.” 

“In a minute,” she whines. She’s trying to remember her credit card number without having to get up and dig it out of her purse.

Tyson must hear her keyboard clacking. “What are you still doing on your computer?”

“Online shopping,” Madison lies. Well, half-lies. She is spending plenty of money right now. She triple-checks that her flight is booked correctly and that she purchased the ticket for the game before she finally slams her laptop shut and tosses it aside. “There, I’m done,” she tells Tyson.

“Buy anything good?” Tyson asks through a yawn. 

“Hope so, we’ll see.”

On Friday, Madison rushes off the plane, rushes through baggage claim, and rushes through renting a car. She’s cutting it close on time, with less than half an hour until puck drop. She drives as carefully and quickly as she can on the unfamiliar roads to the arena, one eye on the clock the whole time. The streets and parking around Enterprise Center are a fucking nightmare, but when she finally parks and makes it to the front doors, there’s still lines of people milling about, waiting to get in, too.

Madison checks her watch. Puck dropped five minutes ago. She pushes around a group of people who are somehow already drunk and towards the front of a line. All hockey arenas are the same, in a way, but Madison is immediately overwhelmed and disoriented. The first period is half over by the time she manages to get to the upper level and settle in her seat, but at least she finally made it. 

Madison takes a photo of the ice and texts it to Tyson with her usual black heart emoji. He’ll see it eventually. 

Madison has to keep herself from cheering too loudly for every Wild goal, surrounded by Blues fans as she is, and she’s probably one of the only people in the arena who’s happy when the Wild manage a neat win. 

She follows the throngs of people outside and back to her rental car. She has a text from Tyson waiting for her, just a string of exclamation marks. Another text comes through while she’s waiting for traffic to thin out, a request for Madison to call Tyson in all capital letters. Tyson’s breathless when he answers Madison’s call. “What the hell are you doing in St. Louis?” 

“Surprise?” Madison says weakly. 

Tyson laughs. “Hell of a surprise, babe.” He must pull his phone away from his ear, because Madison can still hear him speaking, but distantly. “Hang on, I’m trying to get you the address of the hotel, you can meet me there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Madison says. Tyson’s gone again, not really listening.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’ll text you where to go, and I’ll see you soon, okay?” He hangs up without letting Madison reply, but he texts again seconds later with the name and address of the team hotel. 

Madison is anxiously idling in the hotel driveway when the team bus pulls in behind her. Tyson bounds off the bus almost before it comes to a full stop, and he races over to Madison’s car door and taps on the window.

Madison rolls down the window. “And what if it hadn’t been me in the car?” she teases.

Tyson is reaching through the now-open window to try and unlock the door, his tongue sticking out the way it does when he’s focusing on the ice. “I would have apologized. A lot.” He successfully presses the unlock button and yanks the car door open. “Come here, come here,” he says.

Madison laughs and climbs out of the car. Both of her feet aren’t even out of the car before Tyson’s sweeping her up in a hug so tight she swears she can feel her ribs shift. He sets her down and immediately cups her face.

“You’re here, I can’t believe you’re here.” Tyson narrows his eyes, and he squishes Madison’s cheeks where he’s still holding her face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming.” 

Madison pries Tyson’s hands away enough to talk. “I wanted to surprise you.” Tyson’s teammates are still filtering off the bus, and they should probably move inside, too. “Can you let go of me so I can get my bag out of the trunk?” she asks.

Tyson considers this. He slides one hand down Madison’s arm until he can tangle their fingers together. He also leans into the car and deftly turns it off, holding the keys up with a grin. He nudges the door shut. “We can get your bag out of the trunk.” He proceeds to drag Madison around to the back of the car and drags her suitcase out of the back with his free hand. He stares between the suitcase in his hand and the open trunk before Madison takes pity on him and slams the trunk shut.

Madison hangs back while Tyson hands the car keys off to a valet, and then he’s dragging her towards the elevators, happily rolling Madison’s suitcase in front of him. At least the rest of the Wild players have all disappeared, sparing Madison from their stares and jeers. She tucks herself closer to Tyson in the elevator, suddenly self-conscious. Tyson kisses her temple.

Madison is suddenly exhausted as soon as they enter Tyson’s room. Tyson flips the light on as Madison kicks off her shoes. Tyson left the curtains open earlier, and Madison can see the Arch, lit up above the river, through the window. She’s too tired to give it more than a half-hearted glance on her way to face-planting into the pillows. 

Tyson’s laughing when she rolls over and brushes her hair out of her face. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here,” he says, jumping onto the bed next to Madison, and, really, that’s all that matters.

The Wild lose the next game at Enterprise, and Madison holds Tyson tightly for a long time in the hall outside the locker room before he has to get on a plane. They lose again at home, then yet again back in St. Louis. 

Just like that, hockey season is over. 

Tyson calls Madison after the last game. He sounds like he’s been crying, but he tries to be cheerful for Madison. She just wishes she could hug him, but she’s back in Denver. She knows the Avs swept the Predators already, and they’ll be facing St. Louis next. It’s not difficult to imagine how Tyson feels about that. 

“Come home with me,” Tyson blurts. He’s on the phone with Madison, getting ready to leave his Minnesota hotel room behind. He survived locker cleanout and exit interviews, and now he’s ready to sleep for about a week.

Madison, in the middle of complaining at work, freezes. “I—what?” She takes another moment to process. “Aren’t you coming back to Denver first?” Madison knows his apartment sits half-abandoned, filled with things too difficult or unnecessary to move after the trade. 

“Well, yeah, but like, after. You should come home with me,” Tyson repeats. He’s been dying to introduce her to his mom for months. He hopes his mom likes Madison as much as he does. He is a little worried about his sanity if Madison and Kacey get along as well as he thinks they will, though. 

“I’ve never been to Canada before,” Madison says thoughtfully. She’s barely travelled abroad at all, except for one trip to the UK after she graduated high school. Her passport has been collecting dust since then. 

“So you’ll come?” Tyson asks. 

“Is there even anything to do in Edmonton?” Madison teases.

“There’s so much to do, like—” Tyson pauses. It’s been a while since he’s had to play tourist back home. Madison is giggling on the other end of the line. “Shut up, we’ll figure something out.”

Tyson feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in months when he steps out of the airport in Denver. He wonders if any place will ever feel like home the way Denver does.

Tyson had managed to wheedle JT into picking him up, and he even brought coffee. Tyson ignores the way it almost feels like an apology. JT has nothing to be apologizing for, but Tyson just sips his coffee. 

The apartment smells stale when they walk in. Tyson’s mom had done a good job of cleaning for him, at least, and there aren’t any dirty dishes still stacked in the sink. He and JT are quiet as they walk through the apartment, opening windows. Tyson feels like he’s walking through someone else’s life. He stares for too long at his bed, freshly made and untouched for weeks. 

He shakes it off and goes to find the moving boxes.

“So, this is it, huh?” JT says.

He could be talking about all the boxes they’ve spent the last few hours filling boxes and separating them into piles to be shipped off to Minnesota—Tyson finally signed a lease for an apartment there—or to be sent back home for his family to deal with. An alarming amount of Tyson’s clothes is Avalanche-branded gear, and more of it got packed away to keep than Tyson is willing to admit. 

He could also be talking about the end of everything they’ve known together in Denver. Tyson’s spent years accepting the fact that hockey is a business before everything else, has gotten used to the revolving door of teammates each season. It’s been a long time since Rookie House days with Kerf. Tyson is going to walk out that apartment door, and he’s never going to be able to go back. A chapter—or book, really—in the story of his life ended for good. 

Tyson sighs. “This is it.”

The apartment is stripped bare when Madison steps through the door, left unlocked by JT and Tyson.

She drops her laptop bag and kicks off her shoes, saying, “You should be more careful, anybody could just walk in here.”

Tyson drops the box he’s holding and whirls around. Madison winces as its contents rattle. There’s no time to say anything else before Tyson is bounding across the room and wrapping her in a huge hug. 

“What, no hug for me?” JT asks from somewhere behind them. Tyson turns to glare at him, but Madison shoots him a smile.

“Hey, JT,” she says. She lets JT drape an arm around her in a half-hug.

“Betrayal,” Tyson says. He is ignored. 

They leave most of the boxes for the moving company to deal with. Madison bundles Tyson into her car with his bags of clothes, complaining the whole time about wanting dinner. She lets Tyson hold her hand across the console as she drives him to her apartment. 

It’s not the first time Tyson’s been to Madison’s apartment, but it still feels strange to be there instead of his own. They’ve spent so much time there the past few months, watching movies on the couch, doing things other than sleeping in the bed. He misses it already, all the memories they made as they fumbled their way into a relationship. 

He says as much to Madison, expecting her to tease him for something so objectively dumb—to miss an apartment he lived in half of the time for like six months—but the look she gives him is almost sad.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” she says. Tyson pulls her in by the hips, letting her lean her weight on him. “But I guess we’ll just have to keep making more memories, yeah?” 

Later that night, tangled up in Madison’s sheets, Tyson stares at the dark ceiling. He can feel Madison, looking rumpled and in his shirt, watching him. She nudges his calf with her toes. He doesn’t look at her, focused on keeping his eyes from welling up. Then Madison’s hand is on his cheek, turning his head towards her.

“How you doin’, bud?” 

Tyson lets Madison pull him close and hold him tightly. He slides a hand under her shirt and to the bare skin of her hip, just feeling the comforting warmth of her skin. 

“What if it’s never like this again?” Tyson whispers back. This—Denver and the Avalanche, friends who become family; Madison in bed next to him, loving him and wearing his clothes. Minnesota had been okay, but Tyson worked his ass off and never felt settled. Maybe it was the endless hotel life, maybe it was the team, maybe it was him. He feels like a child, begging his mom to tell him everything was going to be okay. 

Madison doesn’t know how to comfort Tyson. It probably never will be like this again. Madison can’t see the future, and she can’t promise Tyson anything, either. “I don’t know, baby,” Madison admits. “I don’t know.” 

Tyson doesn’t cry, but they both lay awake for a long time. 

June

They fly into Edmonton together on Friday. Tyson seems nervous the whole flight and all the way through the airport. At baggage claim, as they wait for their suitcases, Madison turns on him.

“What’s up with you?” she asks. Tyson blinks at her like he forgot she was there. “You’re not seriously this worried about me meeting your family, are you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know!” Tyson crosses his arms. He’s pretty sure his suitcase just spun past them on the carousel. He lowers his voice. “I don’t really bring girls home, I don’t know. I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

“Oh, Tys. It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Madison tosses her hair, and Tyson manages a weak smile. “Your family is going to love me so much they’ll forget you even exist.”

“Hey!”

Tyson had lobbied hard for taking an Uber from the airport, to give Madison and himself a few last moments of peace before a week with his family, but his mom had put her foot down and insisted on picking them up. She’s already idling at the curb when they step out of the airport.

Madison calls shotgun, leaving Tyson to throw their suitcases in the trunk and slide into the backseat. His mom is in the middle of telling Madison, “Call me Laura, please!” Madison turns in her seat to grin at Tyson as his mom pulls away and starts driving out of the airport. She refrains from grilling Madison on the short drive home, something Tyson is grateful for. He zones out while Madison explains where she grew up and what she does and lets himself relax back into his seat.

Before he knows it, they’re pulling up to the house, and Kacey is sprinting out the front door to greet them. Tyson groans, but he eagerly shoves his car door open before the car is in park and lets Kacey jump on him. 

Madison gets out of the car at a more leisurely—and sane—pace, and Kacey turns to wrap her in a hug as soon as she lets go of Tyson.

“I’m Kacey,” she says, pulling away and gripping Madison by the shoulders. “The better Jost sibling.”

Tyson pulls on Kacey’s ponytail. She smacks him in the chest without turning around. Tyson’s about to lunge and get Kacey in a headlock when their mom yells, “Behave,” at them from the front door.

Madison’s looking faintly overwhelmed. Tyson mouths “You okay?” at her over Kacey’s shoulder. Madison just grins and lets Kacey grab her by the hand and drag her inside. He’s pretty sure he hears Kacey telling her how much their grandparents can’t wait to meet her as they go. He shakes his head and retrieves their luggage from the trunk.

He’s missed all the introductions by the time he makes it inside. Madison sits on the couch next to Kacey, the spot on Madison’s other side left conspicuously open. Tyson ignores Kacey’s smirk and plops himself down next to Madison. 

“So, how did you two meet?” Tyson’s grandpa asks.

Tyson refrains from glaring at him. Madison laughs next to him.

“He picked me up in a bar, and I had no idea he was a hockey player,” she says. Tyson had almost forgotten about that part. “We kinda just…kept seeing each other after that.” 

That’s a delicate way of putting it.

“So you’re the reason Tyson ditched us over Christmas, huh?” Kacey asks next. She’s smirking again, directed straight at Tyson over Madison’s head. Tyson has not forgotten that part, struggling to lie to Kacey and his mom.

“Kacey!” Tyson and his mom both protest, but Madison just laughs again. Something about the question melts all of the tension out of her shoulders. She turns a little to lean against Tyson.

“Yeah, that was me,” Madison says. Tyson can’t see her face, but she doesn’t sound very sheepish. She tilts her chin to look up at Tyson. “I should’ve known something was up when he couldn’t go more than a few days without seeing me.” “Hey,” Tyson protests again, weakly. She’s right, though. They really should have figured out their shit sooner, but they got to the right place eventually. 

Conversation drifts away from the topic of their relationship after that. Tyson drapes an arm across Madison’s shoulders. After a while of catching up—Tyson and hockey season, or Kacey and her school year—mixed in with his family asking Madison questions to get to know her better, Tyson’s mom and grandma head to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

Madison tries to follow and offer to help, but Tyson tightens his arm around her. He kisses her forehead, whispering, “Stay here,” into her hair. Madison stays.

They’re getting ready for bed later—banished to separate rooms, of course—when Madison notices Tyson getting nervous again.

“What’s up?” Madison asks, sliding between him and the bathroom sink. They’re pushing it, probably, spending this long in the bathroom with the door closed. 

Tyson shrugs. “Worried about you and Kacey spending all night gossiping.” They’d really hit it off over dinner, which Tyson is simultaneously grateful for and horrified by. From the look Madison gives him, she’s not buying it. “It’s just…the Avs are in town tomorrow night, and I got tickets, and you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, but I want to go, and—”

Madison cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. “Tyson, I’d love to go to the game with you.”

Tyson relaxes again, and Madison moves her hand. Tyson takes the opportunity to bully her up against the sink and kiss her. Tyson’s just getting into it when Kacey bangs on the bathroom door. He’s pretty sure he accidentally bites Madison’s lip when he jerks away. Madison grumbles at him, but she ducks around him to open the door. Tyson tries not to whine about it.

Going to the game together the next night is strange. Tyson hasn’t been to Rogers Place and not been playing a game since he was a kid, probably. Madison had never really been to a hockey game before she’d met Tyson, and she’s definitely never gone to a game with Tyson. 

They mostly go unnoticed, except for a handful of people who stop Tyson and ask for a picture. Madison hangs back while he politely smiles at the camera. It’s easy to fade into the crush of the crowd, and Tyson keeps a tight hold and Madison’s hand as they make their way through the concourse and to their seats.

After that, it’s just like any other hockey game. Cheering for the Avalanche is familiar, even if the way Tyson is squeezing Madison’s hand at every single scoring chance is not. She’d tease him for his nervousness, especially because the Avalanche are winning easily, except for the fact that she knows it had to be hard for him to come out tonight. To cheer for his old team, his friends, knowing that with every win they’re one step closer to something he can’t be a part of. 

So she lets him hold her hand as tightly as he wants. It’s the best she can offer. 

They don’t linger after the game. Tyson seems eager to escape the arena, and Madison lets him lead her back to the car. He puts on a Spotify playlist and turns the volume up loud, but he’s mostly quiet on the drive to the house, one hand on the wheel, one hand on Madison’s thigh.

Madison gets caught up talking to Laura when they get to the house, and she loses track of Tyson for a while. He’s not upstairs in his old bedroom, or even bugging Kacey in her bedroom. Madison ventures outside. Tyson has dragged a lawn chair out to the driveway, but he’s laying on his back on the cold concrete, staring up at the dim stars. The moon is just a sliver in the sky. 

Madison nudges him with her foot. He wraps a hand around her ankle, squeezes once.

“You alive down there?”

Tyson makes a sound that almost passes for a laugh. Madison is pretty sure his eyes are wet, shiny in the dark. Madison lays down next to him. The concrete is hard against her shoulder blades, and it feels damp through her thin T-shirt. 

“This fucking sucks,” Tyson says. It’s too loud for how late it is, and his voice echoes a little around the quiet street. He rubs a hand angrily across his face. “I want to be out there, playing for the Cup, not fucking sitting in the arena watching them. I guess I should be happy for them because they’re my friends, you know? But I kinda want to hate them, too.” He’s quiet for a moment. He reaches for Madison’s hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm, before settling their clasped hands on his chest. “I might not have asked for a trade if I had known it would be this shitty,” he admits.

“It’s okay to be mad, Tyson,” Madison says gently.

“It’s not—I don’t know if I’m mad. I wish I could be.”

“It’s okay to be sad, too,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, voice thick. 

They’re both quiet for so long, Madison’s half-certain Tyson’s fallen asleep, if not for his occasional sniffle. He sits up after a while, still holding Madison’s hand. Even in the dark, Madison can see him yawn.

“Ready for bed?” Madison asks.

Tyson nods. “D’you think I can sneak you into my bed?”

He pulls Madison to her feet as she lets out a startled laugh. Tyson kisses her quiet. “I’m willing to get in trouble if you are.”

The house is dark when they slip back inside. They giggle their way through brushing their teeth, close together at the bathroom sink, elbows bumping. Tyson shushes her loudly as they tiptoe carefully down the hall. Madison’s pretty sure he’s being louder than her, but whatever.

Madison wakes to an empty bed and late morning sunlight. She can hear Tyson’s voice drifting up the stairs. That boy truly does not know how to be quiet. Madison has an Instagram notification when she swipes her phone off the bedside table: josty17 has tagged you in a post. Madison frowns and unlocks her phone, wondering what unflattering photo of her Tyson took. Instead, it’s a photo Kacey or Laura must have taken the morning before. Madison’s laying on top of Tyson on the couch, Tyson visibly complaining that he’s being squished, despite the fact that he had pulled Madison on top of him. He captioned it with a black heart emoji. 

Madison makes her way downstairs. Tyson sits at the kitchen table, arguing with Kacey over something stupid. He reaches a hand out for Madison without stopping whatever he’s ranting about. There’s a fresh mug of coffee in his hand, already doctored the way Madison likes it. Tyson uses his now-free hand to loop around Madison’s waist and tug her onto his lap. She hooks her arms around Tyson’s neck and sips her coffee, content to listen to this argument, even though she’s still not sure what they’re arguing about. She thinks she hears something about which fruit would make the best weapon. 

It might not be easy, but Madison thinks they’ll be just fine.

[12-seconds-to-live]

Home

pairing - f1drivers/2022 x fem!driver

warnings - death, grieving

Why does it take a minute to say hello and forever to say goodbye?

May 29 - Mónaco GP

“Any plans after the race” I asked my teammate, Alex

“Well, there’s always the Red Bull afterparty, you know that is almost a tradition, even if you DNF” I look at him and nod.

“Yeah, I can’t handle too much, not after dealing with a very drunk Charles and Lando, no thank you”

“C’mon, we need a little bit of fun. And we’re expecting the best from you, you’re Mrs. P3 today and can finish as Mrs. P1″

Safe to say that Monaco it’s not my favourite GP. Reason: none but today it’s raining and I prefer a sunny Mónaco. Who knows, maybe I want to look for a really cute french around Mónaco harbor.

Nah

Not me at the moment

"Oh, shuss. I’m feeling confident buuuut...let’s see. We have a little meeting with Jost and then get ready”

“Cool, see you”

I walked to my motorhome and for a moment I feel like everybody was looking at me in a weird way. I ignored it and changed in my race suit getting race before the race. The reunion got cancelled and the FIA scheduled for a little debrief, weird.

 As I go inside the room, I am looking for Alex, seems that everybody is in a rush. Being in front row in Mónaco is a big achievement and being in a Williams is like touching gold, so I can mess this up

“Alice...Al...¡Alice!” Alex is shaking my shoulder. Lando and Daniel, who are in front of us, are looking at me trying to gain my attention

“What...I get lost in my thoughts, sorry” I look around and every driver where looking at me “Why is everybody looking at me? For the record, I got a shower in the morning” The looks in their eyes are the same when my mom told that my hamster died when I was 8 years old...

No

Not that look

I’m not ready

I’ve never been

“We need you in your motorhome then you decide if you want to race” started Lewis with a sad expression on his face

“What ever it is...I’m okay if you tell me...I mean, we tell each other our stuff...sometimes...I...I” Alex take my hand and squeeze it, his eyes are a bit watery, so are Lando’s, so as Pierre’s, so as Sebastian’s

So as mine

No

I wanna run from here

“Tell me already, I can deal with your faces right now as much as I love you all” Sebastian was crying, Alex’s face is something that I would never forget and his next words were like a whisper, an arrow to my heart, worst that a heartbroken.

I got up, ignoring their voices, their screams, I have no place to go, my legs are functioning alone. It’s still raining and the way to the paddock is alone, no one and there’s tears running down, I looked to the grey sky and then to my feet

What now?

I sit on the floor, looking to knowhere. Being a thousand kilometers far from home and being an only child and deciding to leave was the greatest sacrifice for my mom, saying goodbye and know, all that distance just for set myself in my biggest dream, but she’s not here today and she’s not going to be tomorrow

Not anymore

How is it now that somehow I am felling like the biggest looser?

Like, doesn’t matter anymore.

“I’m sorry mom, forgive me. But I know that I have to let you go. I'm giving up and... and I guess this is where we say goodbye, I hope to be alright, someday I'll be fine, it’s just... not tonight” I heard a lot of steps and the boys where standing in front of me with their umbrellas and Carlos have a bouquette of red roses, Yuki offers me his hand so I can stand.

Charles look at me “We are with you and even If you feel you’re alone, you’re wrong. You have 19 brothers that are going to hold your hand till the day we die. We know how close you were, we knew her and she loves you”

“She’s proud, so are we” Said Sebastian “It’s not correct for me to send you racing today but If you feel strong enough to do it for her, we’re with you, If not...well, we’re still with you, till the end of the line”

I look at them. I still have a home, they’re home

“Promise me to stay?” I asked 

“Always” All of them start hugging me and telling me that they are here for me and more lovely words. 

“Boys, It’s race time. Let’s go” I smiled and headed with Alex to our garage. I changed my suit and get ready. This is for mom, Even if i get in the bottom, this is for my number one fan. My get in the car and thumbs up to everybody. I’m okay, I’m okay

I’ll be okay

“Radio check”

“Loud and clear” I answered to Andrew, my race engineer, 

“Okay Alice, let’s do what you do best, I give you my condolences and I tell you that this is your race, do it for your mom, today she’s looking after you...as always, kid” 

“Thank you. My mom is now an angel, let’s get that P1” I smiled and the moment we expected, lights out.

With an end time of 01:13:521, I passed the chekered flag and all of the screams of the fans and my team holding a big board with my mom’s name on it and a P1. This is definitelly a race to remember. There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief, my mom is gonna be forever, even she can’t call me as she ever did or wait for me at the airport, her memory and all the time she spend taking care and helping me is something that stays.

I placed the car in front of the P1, I go out of the car and put my hands in my face, not realizing this and I saw everybody clapping at me, Checo and Lewis, stand by my side and in the big screen located at the podium a photo of my mom was present. I kneel crying. Lewis kneel by my side and then hug me, Checo did the same, I look up and the rest of the boy were there with happy faces.

I look at Lewis, we took off out helmets and balaclavas. I smiled and run to hug my team. Everybody  is cheering, joyful. I run to the boys and hug Max and then all of them join

“My home is here, thank you” 

“Anytime, A” said Mick

“Lovely and cheessy but someone needs a shower” said George and we started laughing. “Go for your trophy miss” 

“What a way to kill the moment George” Alex said, he hug me and jump with me “I must be a wizard, Mrs. P1″

“First of many, you’ll see” I follow Checo and Lewis to the podium. I look up to the sky, how gratefull I am for living my dream, being the best on it. And still...she’ll always be here. I shake the champagne and enjoy the moment with the others. My second family is here, smiling at me, clapping, cheering, laughing, all the happy ways to show me how much I mean to them.

At the end

Home is  were my 19 brothers are. And I’m glad that I’m always there

[mikkomacko]

A/n: There's not nearly enough dad Josty content on this app so here's this little piece. No idea what to name it but I hope y'all enjoy it!

Pairing: Tyson Jost x female reader

Warnings: none (mentions of the tr*de but other than that it's just fluff )

Tyson's flight arrives late. The first cold front of the season has moved in over the weekend, settled over Minnesota and casted everything in a bitter chill. The storm isn't bad enough to delay the flight but just enough to slow them down. The estimated arrival of 7 p.m. had fallen back to closer to midnight and any hope he had of spending time with his family tonight flew out the window. He knows the schedule, has it memorized and saved in his phone just in case. Bedtime was 8:30 sometimes 9 if the baby slept a lot that day. He missed that window by about three hours and has a feeling he'll be coming home to a dark, slumbering house tonight.

Even so he was anxious to get home, barely mumbling goodbyes to Duhaime and Boldy as he was gathering his suitcase and duffle before beelining towards his car. He's barely thrown on his seatbelt and turned on the heater before he's pulling out of his spot and hitting the mostly empty highway, beginning the unbearably long journey home (it's really not that far of a drive, maybe 30 minutes with traffic, but tonight it feels like he was moving at a snail's pace). His eye catches the car seat in the rearview mirror and he glances back behind his passenger seat to see the stuffed moose she loves laying on the seat. Pressing a little harder on the gas, he attempts to distract himself with the radio, finding the Christmas station and turning up the volume until it'll all he can hear. Halloween has just barely crept by and you may tease him for how quickly he moves into Christmas mode but he doesn't care. American Thanksgiving isn't something he really cares about (and really no one should care about it in the way they do) so he's unashamed in his holiday spirit.

He's only registered about a song and a half in his brain before he's pulling into the parking garage of the building, gaze searching the concrete complex for your vehicle. He finds it immediately, the faded Avs sticker on the back window sticking out like a sore thumb, and his parking spot empty besides yours.

Tyson wastes no time in pulling into the spot and shutting the engine off. He ignores the bags in the back as he collects his wallet and keys, hastily climbing out of the vehicle and beelining for the elevator. He barely has the sense to lock the car over his shoulder as he impatiently taps at the up button. And he's just as impatient when the doors open, Tyson stepping in and immediately pressing the button for the penthouse.

Counting the dinging floors in his head, Tyson taps the toe of his shoe as the elevator climbs up and up, bringing him to you. When the doors finally open he's greeted with the dark green front door of your place, welcome mat beckoning him closer.

~

"You decorated." He murmurs into your lips, smiling.

"You decorated." He murmurs into your lips, smiling.

"You decorated." He murmurs into your lips, smiling.

"Yeah. Figured you'd like it."

He nods and momentarily kisses you again. "I do. Know I love Christmas."

"Considerate it a gift for that fight of yours."

He pulls back to get a better look at your face, notices the teasing smile on your lips and quirks a curious eyebrow.

"Ya liked that, eh?"

You bite your bottom lip and giggle quietly, dropping your hands to rest on his shoulders. "Loved it. You should fight assholes more often."

He laughs then too, but shrugs as if it were no big deal. "Making the world a better place for my daughter one Blackhawk at a time."

Just as he expected, you laugh a bit louder at that and he finds himself reaching up to caress your smiling face for just a moment.

"Edmonton next maybe?"

He wants to laugh at your rebuttal but his loyalty to his childhood team weighs heavier so he pouts instead and joking whines, "Hey...."

You cut him off with a kiss to his cheek, stroking the side of his neck lovingly and watching the way his eyes flutter shut for a beat. As soon as he meets your gaze again, you nudge your head towards the other side of the couch.

"Your muse is patiently awaiting her glove dropping daddy."

Tyson perks up even more at that, already looking over your shoulder to the playpen he had set up before he left. "She's up?"

"No," You say sweetly, running your thumb over his jaw, before stepping back and removing your hands from him "but you can wake her if you promise to get her back to sleep."

He doesn't hesitate to nudge you to the side so he can cut across the living room, stepping over the extra Christmas blankets and pillows you've left on the floor. He reaches the play pen, a smile taking over his face as he peers down at his sleeping baby. She's bundled in the sleep sack Tyson's mom gifted them, the fabric fisted in one of her tiny hands while she drools on the other.

He almost feels bad for wanting to wake her, to see those big brown eyes she'd stolen from him and kiss the little button nose that matches yours, but it's been so long since he's seen her and he thinks he's starting to forgot what it felt like to have her curled into his chest. Eager but gentle, Tyson reaches down and slips a hand under her bottom and head, carefully bringing her up into his arms.

"Hi sweet girl," he whispers, wincing when her face scrunches up for a moment. He's waiting for a cry to erupt from her but she just settles into the crook of his elbow, nosing her face into the fabric of his sweatshirt. "Oh look at you."

He turns to find you admiring them with a watery smile, eyes shining in the twinkling Christmas lights with tears you've had a hard time stopping ever since you were pregnant. Despite how emotional you've become, he doesn't worry because he can read it all over your face that they're happy tears, probably even relieved tears. He knew how nervous you were for his first long road trip, the both of you so used to being side-by-side and he's sure that the weight he felt lift off of him earlier has now left you too.

"Come here," he murmurs to you, outstretching his left arm and wiggling his fingers. You let him pull you into his chest too, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and laying your head on his shoulder. Like the baby girl snoring in his arm, you burrow into his sweater, your nose slipping under the bunched fabric of his hood. He can't help but smile.

"You did it babe," he soothes, tickling his fingers down your spine. "This parenting thing is working out pretty good, eh?"

He feels you nod, pulling you in tighter just to remind you that he's always got you, and you return the sentiment by slipping your fingers under his hoodie and shirt, warm fingers ghosting over the soft skin of his back.

"Its good to know we can survive your away games," you whisper, titling your head down to admire your daughter. "but we prefer when you're here."

He laughs a bit, feels his chest swell up with pride and somehow pulls you even closer when you look up and steal a kiss from his lips.

Tyson hums his agreement. "Me too baby. Missed my girls so much."

He's lost in you for a moment or two, taking in the warmth of your gaze and the smell of your honey perfume. You've got purple bags under your eyes, you're smile lazy at the corners but even when the obvious exhaustion on your features you look happy and he can't think of a better look on you. He likes when you're happy, in general, but especially when you're with him.

Leaning in, Tyson butts his nose against yours before pressing a delicate kiss to your cheekbone. That smile he loves so much grows, you're eyes fluttering shut and he inches closer to your lips-

A tiny hands tugs at the string in his hoodie, yanking until the collar tightens uncomfortably around his neck and his hood sits at an awkward angle on his shoulders. You laugh softly as a loud cry breaks out, demanding his attention, and he reluctantly let's you take a step back.

"Oh no dad," you tease, poking at his side "someone's not happy with you."

He huffs out a laugh, moving the baby so she's sitting up against his shoulder. Patting at her back, Tyson begins to walk her in circles around the living room as you disappear into the kitchen. Her cries quickly quiet to sniffles, little hiccups echoing in his ear and he presses a kiss to the side of her head, smiling at how soft her thin brown hair is and how long it's gotten in his short time away.

"Don't be mad at me sweetheart," he pleads "I just missed you so much."

She turns to him, entrapped by the sound of his voice. Her cheeks and nose are red and moist, mouth puckered into a frown but those big brown eyes look at him with awe, the way they always have. From the moment she was born she knew his voice, familiar with it after countless nights of him telling her silly little stories and game summaries through whatever oversized t-shirt you'd stolen from him as a substitute for your maternity clothes. He smiles at her, hooks the sleeve of his hoodie over his fingers and wipes away the mess of tears and dribble on her little face.

"There she is!" He coos, booping her nose "ya miss me too, eh? Watch my games with momma? Bet you helped her put up all these lights too huh?"

She kicks her legs into his side, the frown on her face melting away as she hangs on his every word. Afraid she'll begin wailing again if he stops, Tyson keeps babbling nonsense to her.

"The boys kept asking for you. Want me to take you practice in a couple days but I don't think I want to share my special girl. Plus momma won't let you wear Minny colors and they'll try and put you in a jersey I just know it-"

"You keep my baby far away from Dewey and those other crazies," you say upon returning to the living room, a bottle of warmed breast milk in hand "They're gonna try and convince her Marcus is the moose and I won't have that."

Tyson laughs, knowing if he really wanted to take her to practice you'd allow it and you'd even let her wear the #10 onesie Jared had gifted her after the trade. As if agreeing with you, she babbles happily and he wonders if she's just excited to see her baba or if she recognizes the nickname of her favorite uncle Mikko.

You hand him the bottle, kissing his cheek and then hers before returning to sorting through Christmas boxes. Tyson settles into the empty spot on the couch, cradling her in the crook of his elbow again.

"Ladies sticking together I see," he tells her, chuckling when he brings the bottle to her lips and she eagerly grabs at it. She hasn't quite got the hang of holding it herself, but she loves fidgeting with his fingers as he feeds her, stroking over his knuckles and pinching at the back of his hand.

"That's good," he continues "Momma needs all the backup she can get. Me and your uncles are a bit of a handful."

He looks up when you laugh, watching you work to untangle a ball of multicolored lights. "A bit? I'm just thankful I'm not surrounded by another boy."

He grins. "Yet."

You raise an eyebrow at him, lips pursed in amusement for a second before shrugging. "No boys yet."

"But soon," he presses "right?"

He adjusts his grip on the bottle, still grinning innocently as you roll your eyes but nod.

"Soon."

He waits a beat, let's your attention go back to the mess of lights in your lap before continuing.

"Like tomorrow maybe?"

"Don't push it Jost." You warn.

"What if I put it on my Christmas list?"

"You're a grown man and a father, you don't get a Christmas list."

"Fine. For my winter solstice wish then."

He chuckles at the look on your face, a bit annoyed but more amused.

"Keep bugging and it'll get left off your birthday list too Tyson."

He pouts dramatically, waits for you to peer up at him through your eyelashes before flashing his best puppy dog eyes at you. You drop your left eye into a wink, teasingly and he feels heat rush to his cheeks.

God he's glad to be home.

[ilyasorokinn]

welcome to new york , tyson jost

note, i am sad once again, but not as sad as i was when he was first t-worded to minnesota. as always, i am wishing tyson the best of luck with his new team and will forever support him wherever he goes. another note, this fic is part of “the jost family” series. check out this masterlist. pair, tyson jost x reader summary, tyson jost gets signed with a new team. warnings, children, pain, dramatics word count, 1303 words

(gif not mine)

Tyson getting placed on waivers was so out of left field, you didn't even see it coming. Tyson let you know that it would happen a couple of hours before it was announced so you could process it.

The thought of having to uproot your entire life again stressed you out. Even if he wasn't signed with a team and was signed to the AHL team, that was still in a different state.

You sat both Noah and Rory down on the couch, "So, we have some news for you." You and Tyson both looked at each other nervously.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Well, we have some news." Tyson let out a nervous breath, "I got put on waivers." They both looked confused, "Do you know what that means?" Noah both shook his head while Rory still looked confused, "Well, it means that..." He was clearly struggling to find the words as he looked over at you.

"Well, it means that the Wild are letting other teams sign daddy." You explained, which didn't help due to the perplexed look on your children's faces.

"They're letting me go, bud." Tyson cut in, "And it means that any other team in the league has a chance to sign me in the next day."

"We have to move again?" Noah asked, his eyes filling with tears and his bottom lip wobbled.

"I'm sorry, buddy." Tyson picked him up and sat him in his lap, hugging him.

"But we just got here."

"I know." You could tell Tyson was beating himself up about the whole waivers thing. Rory climbed off the couch and waddled over to you, seeking comfort in your arms.

The entire rest of the day, you tried to do things that would occupy your mind and most definitely avoided social media. You ordered food in and watched movies for the rest of the night, or until Noah fell asleep.

You looked over at Tyson and could see the cogs turning in his head, "Hey." He looked over at you, "Stop doing whatever you're doing. Stop blaming yourself, 'cause it sure as hell isn't your fault." He nodded but looked unconvinced as he looked down at his lap.

The most you could do with a sleeping child in your arms was reach over and grab his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He looked over at you, "We're not done talking about this."

-

Before you both went to bed, you had a long and lengthy talk about what you would do if he were to get signed to a new team. If it was in America, you would fly out with him, wherever that might've been, and stay with him for a few days to watch him officially sign and watch his first game, then go home.

If it was a Canadian team, he would fly out alone and sign by himself, but you would watch from home, cheering him on.

The next morning, you continued with the game routine as the day before, doing tasks that would take your mind off of the anxiety coursing through your veins.

Noah was pretty much oblivious to the stress you and Tyson were both having, which was for the better. You didn't want him to worry about that.

You were halfway through your second movie of the morning when Tyson's phone buzzed on the table. You and he immediately looked over at each other before he picked it up.

He read the caller ID, then looked over at you and nodded, "I gotta take this." He stood up and walked into the kitchen. You looked down at Rory and Noah, who were already looking at you.

"Nordy?" Rory asked. Nordy was the Wild's mascot, and the easiest way to explain to her that daddy was on a business call was just to tell her that it was Nordy.

"Yeah, it's Nordy." You kissed her head as you all turned your attention back to the TV. A few minutes later, Tyson came back into the room, looking a lot less stressed and nervous.

"So? What's the word?"

"We're gonna need to pack a few bags." He told you.

"We're still in the States?" You asked.

"Buffalo." He smiled, "We're going to New York."

You let out a breath that had been waiting to be let out since yesterday, "We're going to New York." You chuckled.

"Alexa, play "Welcome to New York." The intro to the Taylor Swift song began playing and before you could even blink, Tyson grabbed your hand and pulled you off the couch, and started rocking back and forth dramatically to the music.

Rory and Noah joined in, dancing around you and Tyson as the music kept playing and even after "Welcome to New York" stopped playing. The rest of the morning was filled with more laughter, a great shift from the day before.

-

After lunch, you were packing a few bags and flew off to New York, where you were greeted warmly at the airport by Sabretooth, the mascot, and a few other members of the Sabres staff.

After getting changed, you headed over to the arena to officially sign the papers. Photos were taken of him shaking hands with the owners and all the important people and his new captain.

After getting all the important stuff out of the way, Kyle Okposo, the Sabres captain, turned to Rory and Noah, "Welcome to the team, guys." He bent down to their height and gave them high fives. You knew cameras were on you but kept your focus on Rory and Noah.

"As a welcome to the team, we got you a couple of things." Someone walked over with two bags in hand and handed them to Kyle. He pulled out two Sabretooth stuffed animals and handed them to both kids.

"Look, mommy." Rory turned around to you and showed you her new stuffie.

"Wow, look at that." You bent down next to both of them as he pulled the next thing out. Two jerseys with 'Jost' and '17' on the back, "These are for you two." He handed one to Noah and the other to Rory.

You looked over at Tyson, a shocked look on your face when you saw the number on the back of the jersey. He only smiled and nodded.

-

There was a game on the day you flew into Buffalo, but things were too last minute, so Tyson's Buffalo Sabres debut was pushed back a few days.

While Tyson trained with the team, you made a quick trip to the store to create a sign with Noah and Rory. You wrote 'Welcome dad. We love you!' then let Noah and Rory draw all over it.

You got them changed into their new jerseys and bundled in many layers before heading off to the arena. You got through security and got your family passes, then made your way down to the glass.

You sat in the seat in front of the glass, Rory in your lap, while Noah stood in front of you, holding the sign.

The lights dimmed, and you watched as, one by one, each of them skated out. You waited until you saw Tyson skate out, "There he is." You pointed this out to both kids.

Noah held the sign up higher, trying to get his father's attention. Tyson looked around every side of the glass before he finally clocked you, and he skated up.

Noah beamed brightly as he and his dad did their special little rituals. Before he skated off, he tossed a puck over the glass for Noah, then one for Rory.

You caught them both and handed them to each child, before looking back up and Tyson, and blowing him a kiss. He smiled and blew an exaggerated, dramatic one back to you.

-

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i also don't know if he's number 17, but I'm really hoping he is. he can't be 10 cause someone else is also 10, so we can only hope he's number 17 again :)

[exilethegame]

k but what would your characters do if Commander gave them a box to look after but they were told whatever they do, do NOT look inside?

hmmm now I'm curious what MC is putting in there

Vethna: I think this depends on MC's personality. If MC is genuine, they'd really want to look, and they'd probably just pout a lot, but they wouldn't. If MC was stoic or aggressive, Vethna would take it a lot more seriously and just not look at all-- they'd probably assume it's something bad or dangerous. And if MC is sarcastic, they'll immediately open it the second MC even kinda turns away, fully expecting it to just be empty or something stupid.

Nikke: Would depend on MC's body language! If MC read as being super serious, he probably wouldn't open it and would smack other people's hands away who try to. Definitely spends the entire time wondering what the actual fuck is inside the box. If MC is just screwing with him, and he'll know if they are (trust me), then he'll be like "Oh, yeah for sure, mhm, whatever you say Captain," super sarcastically and then just immediately rip the top off.

Jost: "Okay." (Proceeds to do exactly as asked and hold it until MC comes back for it. If MC never does... oh well.)

Amilia: Asks a billion questions as to why she cannot open the box. Is there something hidden in there? Is it dangerous? Is it a gift? For her or someone else? Is it something embarrassing? Does peeking through a gap in the lid but otherwise keeping the lid on count as opening...?If she's super close with MC, she won't open it, but she'll be oh, so very restless about it. Otherwise... yeah, she's peeking. Sorry. Choose someone more responsible!

Sabir: "Okay... why...?" Would not look in it, even if he thinks it's a prank. Would be very suspicious about the box regardless. Proceeds to try and subtly ask MC in a million different ways what is in the box and will not stop prodding until MC tells him. I mean this could literally last for years. MC forgets about it and then they'll be hanging out years later, MC confiding in him, and Sabir will just... "you know what ELSE was a secretive, sensitive topic...?"

Syfyn: Raises a brow, stares at the box, then takes it and does as asked. I don't think she'd care what's in the box, or if there even is anything in the box. Like even if MC was just pranking her and it was empty, she'd still carry it around. She'd probably know it was empty too and just be like "man I wonder why this empty box is so important to MC. I better keep it safe for them."

Freedom: Why would you even do that. Why. You could literally hand them Pandora's box, make it clear it's Pandora's box, and Freedom would be like "oh that's sick" and then pop the top right off.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Febuwhump Day 4

Knife to Throat – Med OC/TBB

Warnings: Good bit of blood in this one, and a fair bit of cursing. Kinda flirting with death a bit, and some light fluff that goes with it. Knife wound and subsequent medical procedures.

WC: 2,211

I didn’t even pause; foolishly oblivious as I raced eagerly up the ramp that had long since come to symbolize home. We’d been on foot for four days infiltrating an independent outpost believed to be hosting Separatists. From what Tech and Echo were able to tell from pouring through data at numerous servers, those fears seemed unwarranted. I almost wished they had found proof. An absence of evidence isn’t the same as innocence, so we’d stayed long past our initial plans to be sure nothing was missed.

Hungry, tired, sore, and desperate for a long date in the sonic, as soon as that final hill came into view, I pushed ahead of the others, threatening them with the kind of violence only a medic was capable of if any of them tried to pry me from the fresher before I saw fit to leave. I should have stayed with them. I should have wondered over the oddity of finding the ramp already ajar, but all I saw was the welcoming invitation of comfort, and I didn’t hesitate.

Lips tensing against a smirk, I hazardously littered the floor with my freshly shed armor with each step nearer to the fresher, knowing how it would make Crosshair scowl. I’d just reached for the hem of my shirt when tendrils of ice shot down my spine. The too-thin skin veiling those precious, delicate arteries crawled beneath the freezing length of metal pressing carelessly just beneath my jaw.

The air caught in my throat, muscles snapping taut. Wide eyes darted over the empty hall stretching before me, lingering on the open doorway leading to the bunks where what supplies we’d left had been tossed to the floor. Chest bucking beneath fluttering gasps, I felt my head shift ever so slightly to the side, overcome by that instinctual need to see them, to grant myself some deeper understanding of the danger, but a hand clawed into my hair, wrenching my neck upright and tearing a choked whimper of pain from me.

“Doc?” Hunter called, word lilting between confusion and concern. He must have heard me. Could he smell the panic flooding my veins? Could he hear the rabbiting pace of my heartbeat?

“Stay back!” A man roared inches from my ear, voice shrill with madness and terror. The sudden depth of silence seemed only to mock the trembling stutter of my breaths.

“Alright. We can-” My words broke in a sharp whimper as that knife pressed harshly into me, just enough to slice through that first layer of skin and send bursts of icy panic surging through screaming nerves.

“Okay!” Hunter shouted. I’d never heard him afraid before… that realization threatened to strip me of whatever sliver of control I was clinging to. “Just tell us what you want!” I felt the man trembling against me, felt it in every flinch of the knife dancing beneath my jaw. He’d hit the external jugular vein first. Maybe the retromandibular or facial veins if his arm tensed… though the superficial cervical artery was dangerous close as well. I couldn’t keep myself from naming them, from itemizing; calculating the severity of the damage, how quickly I’d bleed out.

“Drop your weapons!” He shrieked. The chorus of thuds sounded in mere seconds. “All of them!” He added, voice cracking.

“We have done exactly as you instructed.” Tech’s carefully mediated voice answered.

“Step back! I swear, if anyone tries anything!”

“Alright.” Tech replied in that same calm. “You’re in control here. We’ve backed away from our weapons. What is it you want?”

“What do I…” He nearly sobbed, body curling against mine for just a moment before forcing himself straight. “What I want is for you keep your karking war far away from my home!” The way he jostled me as he screamed sent the blade just that much deeper, and every fiber of my being seemed to focus on the strange heat trailing down my neck.

“We are!” Echo… Gods, the terror in his cry twisted my stomach into knots. “We’re-”

“Liar!” The man screeched, arm tensing. It didn’t feel like pain… it was just… cold… A terrible cold that made the heat sliding over my collarbone all the more wrong. “First those damn machines came! My sister didn’t even know what they were! They didn’t need to kill her! And now you kriffing meatdroids show up! How long before this whole place turns into a karking wasteland because of some kriffing war we never wanted any part of?!”

“I understand you’re angry.”

“You don’t understand a damn thing!” My legs staggered beneath me as he hauled me with him toward the ramp, wide eyes cringing against the suddenly blinding light, but I fought desperately to see through that burning glare, to find them amidst the white. Tech was the closest, barely five yards away, arms raised above his head. Hunter and Echo stood mere steps behind him with Wrecker towering just beyond them.

“How could you?!” The man continued, sobbing, “You’re no better than those kriffing machines! All you know is how to destroy! You don’t… you don’t understand… not… not yet.” The way his voice quieted, as though finally grasping the answer to some illusive, vital mystery… I barely had time to gasp before that terrible cold buried deeper into my neck just as a flash of light hissed past me, the very air burning in its wake.

The chorus of shouting should have been unintelligible as the sudden deadweight of the man dragged me down with him, but my mind seemed determined to commit everything to memory; the terror in Wrecker’s wordless shout, the rage in Hunter’s plea, the dread and sorrow in how Echo called my name… Even Tech’s voice lost some of his infallible steadiness as he immediately itemized what they needed to do. And Crosshair… Even amidst the chaos, my eyes seemed drawn to those gleaming curls of silver as he sprinted toward me.

“Hunter, get the medbag! Echo, prep the ship for takeoff! Wrecker, on my lead, you’ll need to carry them inside!” Shock. Some distant whisper told me I was going into shock. That’s why everything was so cold, why my body shook so violently despite the glaring heat from that blinding sun overhead.

I heard the whimper catch in my throat before even realizing Tech had dropped to his knees at my side, hands effortlessly pushing mine away before pressing mercilessly against my throat. Only then did the pain finally register, poisoning my every thought, worsening with each stolen breath. No… no-no-no, I knew this – I knew what to do. I vainly fought against the frantic seizing of my diaphragm, lips trembling as my jaw fought to open, vaguely aware of Hunter digging through my bag and handing bandages to his brother.

“Please do not try to speak.” Tech instructed, and I couldn’t help but quiet beneath the comfort of his usual calm. “I assure you: it feels worse than it is. There is no arterial bleeding, and the wound isn’t deep enough to be life-threatening if properly treated.” If treated properly… Despite everything, despite the deep hurt throbbing down my neck with each beat of my pounding heart, despite the lingering panic of helplessness and the shame for letting myself fall into such a stupid position to begin with; despite all of it, a tiny chuckle escaped me. The surprise that flashed over Tech’s face lasted barely a second before returning his focus to keeping me alive.

Severed flesh and raw nerves balked as he quickly slid a thick wad of gauze beneath his hand before redoubling the pressure. My torso bucked, body violently demanding I fight to escape him, heel dragging uselessly over the metal floors. It was all I could do to ball my hands into fists lest they claw at his forearm in some futile plight for relief. The too-quick thudding of my heartbeat reverberated throughout my body in deafening booms, skin itching and muscles twitching beneath a deep sense of wrong as my lungs worked frantically to compensate for the lost blood blooming through the white bandage to continue a steady metronome as heavy droplets plinked onto the puddle slowly spreading out below me.

“Hey-hey! Stay with us, Doc!” Hunter’s sudden order ripped my attention back to the frantic movement around me. Tech still held one hand firmly to my neck, while his other slipped beneath me to cradle my head. I only vaguely felt Wrecker cross my arms over my chest before carefully sliding his arms beneath my shoulders and knees. On some silent signal, they moved in perfect unison, lifting me as though I was weightless. Floating. Some fleeting thought cringed at the mess left in our wake; the crimson beads like a trail of breadcrumbs leading through the entirety of the ship. Poor Hunter would likely taste the sharp tang of iron for weeks no matter how carefully we cleaned.

“Doc! Look at me, Doc – keep your eyes open!” The Sergeant barked, that worry again seeping through his smoky voice. My chest jerking beneath a sharp gasp, desperate to refill starving lungs as though I’d simply forgotten to breathe. Breathe. Keep… keep breathing. It was getting hard to think, to hold onto one train of thought long enough to make sense of it. Hunter. I could feel the rough calluses of his hands against my cheeks, felt the blessed heat of him sinking into chilled skin.

Lazily, my eyes wandered over the stunning amber of his skin, lingering over each nick from some long-healed injury, roamed over the waves of nearly black hair rolling down that thick neck, noted the dirt collected in the nooks and valleys of tendons from too long in the field, how droplets of sweat left networks of trails cascading down to the damp fabric of his blacks. Gaze traveling listlessly past the smudged red of his shoulder, some part of me recognized the medbay, rationalized that I wasn’t floating – that I never had been – that Wrecker had carried me through the ship so Tech could better treat the still bleeding gash in my neck… that I was already beginning to slip in and out of consciousness and we were days from the nearest Republic base.

Think. I knew what to do to fix this. I knew how to stabilize severe blood loss and staunch venous bleeding. This was my medbay. My job. My life. I knew how to fix this. My jaw shifted sluggishly, muscles straining to remember how to function as my body spiraled, air barely wheezing in that first attempt at speech.

“Easy, Doc – don’t try to talk. Just stay with us, okay? Tech knows what he’s doing.” His voice dropped into a murmur, hands shifting slightly against me. I barely felt the prick of the autoinjector, but the sudden flood of heat brought with it its own panic. Jaw snapping shut, my muscles went taut, eyes going wide as I tried to still the violent restlessness driving me to move.

“Whoa, easy – you need to keep still.” He instructed, hold becoming ever so slightly restrictive.

“That was a stimulant to help your body begin replacing lost red blood cells.” Tech stated, and I could hear a weariness in his voice. “The bleeding has mostly stopped, but we’re en route to The Dominator. Their medical facilities are far superior to ours.” I couldn’t help but take offense to the statement, and Hunter let out a quiet laugh.

“They’re a capital ship. Kind of hard to compete with that.” He offered with a smirk. The initial jitteriness from the stimulant was quickly beginning to settle, mind slowly returning to some level of awareness, and that earlier shame stole over me.

“M… ‘m s’ry.” The broken attempts at speech slurred over swollen lips, brows drawn together as I forced myself to meet Hunter’s eyes. His shoulders sank beneath a heavy sigh, hands slipping away to rest briefly atop the cot before pushing himself to stand up straight.

“That situation could have been handled better by all of us. We’ll talk about it after you’re back on your feet. For now, I’m pulling rank,” I couldn’t help the small smile that crept over my lips at the mischievous glint in his eyes, “You’re on bed rest until a doc from The Dominator clears you. Tech’s acting medic until then, which means you follow his orders – whatever he says. Got it?” From how he laughed at the deadpan glare that instantly soured my face, I didn’t doubt this was secretly some punishment for my carelessness.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about that.” Tech retorted, hands working a washrag over his fingers in an attempt to rid his skin of blood already beginning to flake. With a slow breath, I merely shot the pilot a grateful smile before letting my eyes close, the heaviness of my body pressing me limply into the thin padding of the medical cot. After a moment’s stillness, I felt a hand settle lightly over my arm, drawing my attention back just before sleep could overtake me. Tech’s eyes stared carefully into the mattress just below my ear for a long while before, without a word, turning quickly away and treading through the medbay doors.

Fanart!! - by @mythical-illustrator

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[zuucc]

MORE THAN A VANVOUVER SUNSET: What if…

… Mat had given in?

Summary: What If Mat had given into Emma, that night in his car? What if he’d thrown his principles out the window and given into what they both wanted so badly? This story is a spin on what would’ve happened in Mat’s car that night after their trip to Sunset Beach - the trip that definitely was not a date - if Mat hadn’t been so stubborn, and so adamant about taking her on a date first.

Warnings: Smut, more cursing than actual sentences

Word Count: 3600 (including excerpt)

Author’s note: I wrote the first 50.000 words to More Than a Vancouver Sunset when I was supposed to be writing my bachelors thesis. That´s just about three years ago now, which is just mind blowing on its own. The fact that this story still spins through my head still, is maybe even worse? Anyways, I’ve got a week long exam and just like before, that makes me want to write everything but that. It´s not like MTAVS doesn’t have enough smut as it is, but banging my head against table has got me coming up with all kinds of shit. Needless to say - it’s spicy. I know I’m not really on here anymore, and for most people I’m just someone you’ll occasionally see on someone’s Mat Barzal, Tyson Jost or William Nylander fic rec list. I don’t even think half the people I used to talk to on here back then are still here, but I hope this finds someone who’s interested. And this could be read as a stand alone, you do not have to have read the 80k nightmare that is More Than a Vancouver Sunset to read this.

I hope you enjoy.

In cursive, you will find an extract from More Than a Vancouver Sunset, with what leads up to this story. If you haven’t read the full story - Mat has previously stated that Emma is not the kind of girl he’d just fuck, he would like to take her on a date first. He’s brought her to watch the sunset at the beach, but didn’t call it date out of fear. Though it really feels like a date to Emma and he did end up kissing her.

~

His hand started laced with hers, their fingers intertwined, resting in her lap as they began the drive back home. The conversation flowed freely, and it hit Mat square in the chest that though their lives had taken completely different paths after high school, they still shared many of the same experiences and they still had so much in common – hell they’d even ended up in the same city. Soon, his hand was gripping her thigh lightly and Emma’s own hand curled around his wrist, moving back and forth in a soothing manner. 

“I have to admit, my crush on you came back pretty quickly,” he hummed, looking over at her for a split second before he turned his attention back to the road ahead, causing Emma to laugh. 

“Yeah, a little faster than I’d like to admit,” she agreed, and Mat nodded along. He was pulling onto her street, but he didn’t want to let her go just yet. The digital clock on his dash had pushed past eleven and Emma’s parents’ house was dark when he pulled into the driveway. He turned the car off, already knowing that he wouldn’t just be saying goodbye and backing out again. He looked over at the beautiful girl sitting next to him, and she was already looking back at him. They both smiled, looking at each other for way too long before they both burst out in giggles. They’d talked non stop all the way back and now it seemed that they were both out of words. 

“Come here,” Mat chuckled, pulling her closer by her hand and meeting her halfway. They both smiled into the short kiss, their eyes meeting for a second before their lips did, though this time the kiss was loaded with all the sexual tension that had seemed to make the air thick all around them. Emma’s nose brushed against Mat’s before the kiss deepened, the open mouthed kiss sending warmth through both their bodies. While Emma slid her hands up his chest, Mat’s dropped to her thighs, his grip a bit tighter and moving a bit higher than where it had been on the way home. 

Mat hummed into the kiss when her hands slid back to his neck, her fingers instantly moving into his thick hair and curling into fists. Their tongues met in a slow slide against each other, sending a wave of want crashing between Emma’s thighs, as she moaned into the kiss – not even embarrassed at the sound, simply just wanting his lips on hers, or anywhere else on her body – that’d be fine too, and his hands roaming. Mat could feel his pants getting tighter with every kiss they shared and Emma seemed to get more impatient; little moans slipping past her lips, her fingers clenching in his hair, doing everything she could to press herself closer to him, only to be stopped by the center console. Mat reached for the little button on the side of his seat, taking his seat the last few inches back. 

“What are you doing?” Emma asked, not pulling far away, her lips still moving against his while she spoke. 

“Just come here,” he hummed, kissing her hard but quick as he placed one hand on the back of her thigh and the other sliding across her back to curl around her waist. He pulled her body closer to his before he simply lifted her over the center console with very little help and effort from Emma, letting her straddle his lap. That in itself had Emma grinding her hips down onto his immediately, making a groan escape his throat in unison with the moan she pressed against his mouth. 

“Fuck, Em,” Mat said, groaning into her kiss, his hands on her hips as she ground against him. The shortened version of her name falling from his lips along with his hardening member under her, hit her perfectly between her legs whenever she rolled her hips over his, and it was pushing her further along the road to desperation. His hands moved slowly up her sides as their lips slotted together, so slowly it nearly had Emma placing her hands on his to push them to where she wanted them most. He pulled away from her lips, his own glistening and swollen as he looked up at her with dark, lust-filled eyes. Emma looked back at him with the same look on her face, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly and Mat’s attention was caught, his hands finally covering her breasts. He kissed her deeply, but only for a few seconds before he started a trail down the side of her neck as Emma pushed her hair back out of the way for him. 

“Let me take you out on a date,” he spoke, his lips moving against the sensitive skin right beneath the line of her jaw. One of his arms wrapped around her waist while the other stayed on her boob, massaging it in his hand. Emma’s neck craned back to let him have as much space as possible, her hand fisted in his dark curls. 

“I thought this was a date,” She breathed, her body pressing against his, desperate to be with him – desperate to have him naked against her, desperate for him to be inside her. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head against her as he kept leaving kisses down her neck. Emma moaned as he found a particularly sensitive spot. She rolled her hips into his and she could feel him fully hard beneath her. She was sure the particularly nice thong she’d decided to wear was soaked through. 

“You don’t have to take me out first – before you fuck me,” she moaned, clenching her fist in his hair. The words falling from her mouth along with the pull of his hair had Mat groaning and pulling back from where he’d been leaving kisses on her skin.

“I’ll take you out – tomorrow,” he said, making Emma swallow hard. He really wasn’t going to fuck her tonight, and she didn’t know how to deal with the fire burning in the pit of her stomach. She pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes. They were both breathing hard. 

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” she sighed, brushing her nose against his. Matt chuckled, kissing her lightly, but long enough to leave a tingle on her lips. 

“I’m sure you can feel what you’re doing to me,” he breathed, placing his hands on her hips and pushing her against him. A breathy moan fell from her lips, making a soft smile tug on his. 

“I’m so wet right now, I’ll probably leave a mark on your pants,” Emma told him, not even embarrassed about it. He was wearing a pair of dark green cargo pants that did wonders for both his ass and his thighs, so no, she wasn’t going to be embarrassed about leaving a mark on them. Not when he was making her feel like this. 

“You can’t just say that,” he groaned, letting his head fall back on the headrest. Emma smirked, trailing her fingers down his chest, towards his abs. Mat locked his gaze to her fingers, following them down his torso all the way until it slipped under his t-shirt. He looked up at her again as her hand flattened out over his abs. 

“And you can’t just look like this, and kiss me like that, and expect me to not be wet for you,” she dared, feeling brave and risky now. She was horny, and she’d practically begged for him to fuck her already, so she had nothing to lose. This time it was Mat who smirked.

“What made you decide to wear this dress tonight?” he asked, his smirk turning cocky as his hands moved from her hips to her thighs. Emma smiled, looking out the window for a second to compose herself. 

“I like the way it fits around my hips,” she grinned. He somehow managed to look even more smug than he already was with his fingers curling around the side of her thighs, pulling her just a little bit closer. 

“So, you did this on purpose?” he asked then, his hands moving back to her hips, but this time under her dress. His thumb rubbing back and forth on a spot right beneath one of the double bands on her thong, and then slipping under it just to tease. 

“I did – I even put on nice underwear for you,” she said. He could hear the hitch in her breath when he pulled his thumb away and let the band smack back on her skin. 

“You’re not even wearing a bra,” he smirked, having already figured that out when she climbed into the car hours ago now and he’d sure gotten it confirmed when he had his hands on her earlier, only feeling the thin material between his hands and her boobs. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not wearing a nice pair of undies, though,” she smirked back, finding his smug expression faltering just a little bit. With his attention fully on her, Emma moved her hand out from under his shirt, finding the hem of her dress instead and lifting it just enough for him to see the white lace covering her most intimate part, and the two bands sitting high on her hips. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, letting his hands fall back down to her thighs, his thumb sliding underneath the lacy fabric. He looked up to meet her stare, keeping eye contact as the finger slipped further down to where the material was actually soaked. Pushing the thong to the side, he let his finger slide through her slit, watching her as her mouth fell open and her eyes closed. 

“I thought you had to take me on a date first,” she breathed, letting her head fall to rest her forehead against his, her fingers finding their place in his hair again. 

“That was just before fucking you,” he smirked, though through his tone it was clear that he was nearly as affected as she was. Emma moaned as he slipped closer to her hole, almost falling against him. Their noses brushed against each other and their lips met just as he slid one long finger into her. The desperate moan vibrating against his lips sent blood rushing towards his dick, even if he’d been hard for a long time already and he could feel himself twitching in his pants. The moan that followed when he pressed another finger into her had him wondering what sounds she was going to make when he’d get to push his length into her. He would’ve fucked her right there in the front seat of his car if he hadn’t been so fucking stubborn. But there was the fact that he didn’t want to have sex with her for the first time in his car in her parents’ driveway. He wasn’t really much of a romantic, but he’d like to take his time with her – in a bed. 

“Fuck, Mat,” she groaned, her lips capturing his before she pushed her tongue against his. Oh, what she’d do to have his tongue between her legs right now. Mat loved the way she said his name, and he looked forward to hearing her moan it again as he placed his thumb on her clit and started rubbing circles. He started pumping his fingers in and out of her, her juices running down his fingers and making him want nothing more than to lick it all up. Her mouth fell open as he curled his fingers inside of her, her head falling back as a string of moans left her lips. 

“Just want to taste you, baby,” he mumbled as she gasped at the loss of his fingers, her eyes heavy as she followed them into his mouth, his lips locking around the two long fingers dripping with her arousal. The pet name sent another wave crashing through her body, and that, along with the sight of Mat licking her juices off his fingers, had her falling forward, her lips and tongue against his as soon as his fingers were pushing back inside her. The taste of herself mixed with what she learned was the taste of Mat, was something she could definitely get used to. 

“Oh my god,” she moaned against his lips, the feeling of his fingers deep inside her too much, yet far from enough all at the same time. She pulled away from his kiss and immediately reached for the straps of her dress that were tied in little bows on her shoulder, tugging at their ends and letting the front fall down to expose her bare chest.

“It’s too fucking hot in here,” she whined, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Mat’s lips hung slightly open, lips burning red and and glistening from kissing her. His eyes were dark and lustful, alternating between her face and her naked chest, her pink nipples begging him to touch them.

“You are unbelievable,” he mutters, more so to himself than to Emma. She grins, unsure if it’s her body or her persistence he’s referring to, but happy with herself either way. She grips his t-shirt in her fist and pulls him closer, pushing up on her knees in order to let him fit his mouth around her nipples. The moans erupting from her throat were so desperate that she’d normally be embarrassed, but she was desperate and she couldn’t care less in that moment.

“Fuck, Emma,” he cursed again. She’d started meeting him halfway as she fucked herself onto his fingers, meeting his knuckles as he thrusted the length of his fingers into her.

“You’re really making me do this, huh?” He asked, more so rethorically. His words were barely audible as he dragged his lips from one of her boobs to leave a trail of wet kisses up to her collarbones.

“What?” Emma breathed, too focused on the feeling that was filling her body and gathering into a big ball of pleasure in her lower stomach, begging to explode.

“You’re making me break my promise, baby,” he whispered, his lips having made their way up her neck, stopping right beneath her ear. He couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to be inside her. Never before had he wanted something so badly. Sure, he could make her come with his fingers, and she would be somewhat satisfied, but the way she was begging for him? It did things for his ego that he couldn’t really explain and he needed to give her what she wanted - what they both wanted. He’d never felt so wanted by anyone. And truthfully, it was starting to hurt with how incredibly hard she was making him.

“Fuck, really?” She nearly cried, gasping as he pulled his fingers out of her. His fingers were wet with her arousal, but neither of them cared when he placed both hands on her hips and pushed back on his thighs. He nodded to answer her question.

Emma hurried to get her hands on the waistband of his pants, opening the button and pulling down the zipper as fast as she could. Simultaneously, Mat slipped his thumbs into both his pants and his boxers, ready to pull them down as soon as she’d gotten them open. Emma cursed again as his erection finally sprung free and slapped against his abs - his t-shirt having ridden up ages ago.

“Fuck, Emma, come here,” he begged, reaching out to grab her hip to pull her closer with the one hand and finding the button on the side of his seat, reclining it in order to make the ordeal easier. It would’ve been easier to move to the backseat, or just sneak into Emma’s bedroom, but right now this just needed to happen as fast as possible. He needed to be inside her as fast as possible.

“Oh god,” Emma breathed as she maneuvered her legs in the tight space, watching him spit into his hand before wrapping it around his dick and lathering it up.

“Come,” he demanded, and Emma felt herself fall towards him. Her hands found his sturdy shoulders and she lifted herself up from his lap for him to finally line himself up with her opening.

“Fuck, Mat,” she sighed as he pulled her underwear aside and let his tip run through her slit. They both moaned in relief as she finally sunk down onto him.

“I just need you to know- fuck,” Mat started, but interrupted himself as she lifted herself off of him before quickly sinking back down. Emma wanted nothing more than to cover his lips with hers and just get lost in it, but it seemed like he needed to get something off his chest.

“I want you, in every single way,” he went on, stopping to breathe and curse to himself. His hands had found their way back to her, one hand on her hip and the other was gripping her ass, helping her keep a steady rhythm as she rode him.

“Not just like this. But god do I want this, too,” he managed to tell her. Emma’s lips spread into a wide smile, feeling full in every single sense of the word.

“Me too, Mat, me too,” she agreed, leaning her forehead to his and very willingly complying when he pressed his lips to hers. Everything that had happened between them up until then had happened fast, and so had this. But Emma knew it was right, even if it was absolutely terrifying at the same time. Emma’s fingers fisted into the thick locks of hair on the back of his head, and their tongues finally met. They made out desperately as their hips met repeatedly, Mat planting his feet into the floor of the car to be able to meet her hips every single time she came sinking down on him.

“I’m so close, Mat,” Emma sighed, adjusting her feet on the side of the seat to be able to up her speed.

“Me too, baby,” Mat agreed, letting his head fall back to watch her as she sat spread out on top of him, her chest glistening with sweat and her arousal having spread out on her inner thighs and Mat, too. One of her legs were extended over the middle console and into the passenger seat and that way Mat could see the way he was buried inside her, how he was covered in her juices. His thumb found its way to her clit and he watched her close her eyes in pleasure, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip.

“Oh, god, now,” she cried, pushing herself forward to fall against him again. They’d never done this before, but somehow Mat knew what she meant. His arms wound around her, holding her close to him, as he thrusted up into her with all the power he had as she moaned and clawed herself to him - leaving marks on his shoulder as she finally came. He didn’t let go himself until he could hear her moans slowing down and coming to an end.

“Fuck, Mat, that was just… Wow,” Emma managed to say, still breathing heavily. She lifted her head from where she’d collapsed into his shoulder, a wide smile spreading on her lips when she pulled back and saw the one already on his lips.

“I know, I’m… I’m glad we did that,” he admitted, even though he had been so adamant on waiting til after he’d taken her on a date.

“Me too,” Emma laughed, relaxing into his lap again. The feeling of his softening dick inside her was warm and comfortable.

“To be fair, I really thought that was a date,” she grinned and Mat shook his head with an embarrassed smile on his lips. A blush crept up his already pink neck - Emma might not be able to see it with how hot they both were, but he could feel the blush settle on his neck and cheeks.

“It was supposed to be, but when I saw you this morning I just didn’t have the balls to call it that,” he admitted, his hands were running up and down the outside of her thighs as they spoke.

“You didn’t have to call it that, Mat. You didn’t have to say the word date for me to understand that the guy who’s been flirting with me for weeks and even told me that he wants to take me on a date and then fuck me, is asking me on a date when he’s asking me to come watch the fucking sunset at the beach. Like, I thought we’d established that I am quite smart a long time ago,” Emma laughed, and Mat had to cover his face with his hands as he laughed along. She was right, it definitely sounded like a date.

“So, if it makes you feel better, we can just say that it was a date,” she shrugged, smiling that gorgeous smile that Mat had been falling for every single time he’d seen her since he was assigned seats next to her in high school.

“Okay, fine. But I’m still taking you out tomorrow,” he grinned.

“I’m not gonna stop you,” Emma mirrored his smile, leaning forward to press her lips to his again.

“I meant it though, what I said about wanting everything, not just sex,” he reminded her, struggling to keep eye contact as he said it. It was important to him that she knew how he felt. She was more than just a one time thing.

“I know, Mat. Me too,” she said, kissing him once more.

“But I really do want the sex, too,” he smiled cheekily, making Emma throw her head back laughing.

“Me too,” she agreed, leaning in again for a deep kiss.

[veenvss]

autumn court

the family , 1/7

2 , dawn

The courts have always fascinated me but while reading and looking at the map I always thought that the worldbuilding was too rushed or too simplistic. So, I have decided to reimagine the courts in a way that makes more sense to me. Who knows? I may end up using these in the future for a book of my own.

I'm going to start this alphabetically, as I do most things, so the first court I'm looking at is the Autumn Court.

As of the start of ACOTAR and seemingly quite a few years before the start of the story, the High Lord is Beron Vanserra. He has a wife and seven sons, two of which are dead. We never get told the names of Beron's family, except his eldest son, Eris, and his seemingly youngest son, Lucien. Fascinatingly, Beron's family name is one of the only family names we ever learn about in the series. Since it's so unique, I'm going to start with that.

With a quick google search and most likely inaccurate information, Beron is a German name, and the Autumn Court is full of forests which I like to think is just stereotypical, but also useful. In a quick list, I've assigned these names to his family:

FRIEDERIKE SOMMER- "peaceful ruler" "summer". From a noble family who ruled over farmlands in the southwest of the court. As a child, she was known as Fritzi, a sweet little girl who loved animals. Some even rumoured that she could communicate with them. Once her father married her off, she lost that childlike charm too early. At the beginning of her marriage, she was occasionally called Frieda by her husband, in an attempt to lack the animosity that was between them, however rumours of an old love removed even the bleakest attempts at friendliness.

EKKEHARD VANSERRA- "blade, hard" The eldest son was born a year after the wedding. As the eldest and most powerful he has the most responsibility and loyalty from other court members. According to many, he's the son with the most likely chance of becoming the next High Lord once Beron dies. As a child, and in private, he was often called Eike by his mother. Growing up, he changed a lot with the environment around him. Names as power, so he changed his to protect himself, and the memories of his glowing mother from when he was a child. To everyone but his favourite, he is known as Eris, a direct target to his father, as it's a name chosen from the Day Court, who the Autumn Court has a mysterious quarrel with..

MEINRAD VANSERRA- "power, advice" The second son, born a while after his brother. During adulthood, he has been sent away to look over a town on the other side of the court.

SIEGFRIED VANSERRA- "victory, peace" As the third son, he was often wrangled as a part of the brood, so he fought to make a name for himself. He was often seen as a violent man, encouraging fights and often inflicting punishments by his own hand, a vast difference to his mother's little Sigi. However, he was one of the brothers last seen following the exile through the borders to Spring.

KUNIBERT VANSERRA- "royal, bright" He didn't particularly have much going for him. He wasn't as powerful as Ekkehard, or as violent as Siegfried. He was often seen following the stronger brothers around, and often it was the violent ones so he could hide how cowardly he truly was, even if it meant following them into the claws of a lawful, foreign High Lord.

OTMAR VANSERRA- "wealth, famous" As a child, he was often soft and polite. He offered food to orphaned children and he liked to read in the gardens rather than force his title onto unwilling people. Once his brothers were murdered, he didn't have much choice but to change.

JOST VANSERRA- "lord" As the youngest Vanserra son for a long while, he had the least opportunities and the least hope for a powerful future. He remained amicable with his brothers, and, undoubtedly has the least amount of enemies, always following his brothers' unanimous decisions.

LEVIN VANSERRA- "beloved, friend" Born with a long period between his brothers, mysteriously after the Lady's long walks stopped, and a new period of violence set in the court. Disliked by all except his mother, he grew up in isolation, unable to visit his true father who was kept away from him. He was rarely trained and barely tutored and a eye was never kept. As a young adult, he fell in love with who the High Lord saw as a mistake. They were both punished, and he left, changing his name and vowing a curse on the High Lord's head.

The Autumn Court family dynamic is incredibly interesting to me. Seven sons, two dead, one not truly a son. The amount of Reddit stories that could come out of these nine is a dream I wish I could get on an extensive google doc.

[comphy-and-cozy]

If possible to combine prompts, could I request fluff prompt #15 (kissing to shut them up) & #20 (laughing into the kiss) with Josty? If only one, I'm good with just #20. Love you and your writing so much and I can't wait to read everything you come up with!!! -senditcolton

stop I wish I could tell you how hard I fangirled at this bc I adore you and your writing @senditcolton 🤍

Prompt: Kissing to shut them up / laughing into the kiss

Pairing: Tyson Jost x gn!Reader

Word Count: 778

Warnings: Alcohol use/mention, language, one (1) very brief mention of injury/stitches

The tension between you and Tyson Jost surely had to be a record. Everyone knew that you two had a thing for each other, but both of you were too shy to do anything about it. No matter the gentle nudging from friends, the subtle hints and secret attempts to get you together, it always ended up crashing and burning.

Like the time that not five minutes after JT had left you two alone at a party, Tyson ended up spilling his entire glass of wine on your white shirt. Or the time that you dropped a plate, sending shattered shards of glass flying across the kitchen and cutting Tyson’s hand, earning him six stitches and a game in the press box with his injury. Or — well, you get the idea.

Needless to say, it wasn’t often that you two spent time alone together. And the times that you did, more often than not, you ended up a bumbling, rambling idiot, with warm cheeks and mentally kicking yourself for something embarrassing that slipped out of your mouth. Either that, or you’d get distracted, zoning out and instead watching his lips move as he talked, wondering what it’d be like to kiss him.

In short, your relationship is a bit of a disaster, though not for lack of trying.

Until today. When he’s maybe been fed one or two too many shots, pink-cheeked and a dopey smile on his face. Something’s struck his confidence on this Friday night — the high from scoring the game winning goal might have something to do with it — but whatever it is, you know that you certainly like the way it looks on him.

He saunters up to you, the all-too-familiar butterflies flitting in your chest like they always do in his proximity.

“Have you been to that new sushi restaurant on 5th?”

Resisting the urge to laugh at his blunt question, no introduction or lead-in, you just shake your head. The way he asks, spitting the words out, give you the impression that he’s practiced, memorized the simple sentence so that he doesn’t mess up.

“Cool,” he says, “We should go sometime.”

You stare, mainly because you’re in complete and utter shock that he’s actually verbalized it, uncertain if he really means a date or just a meal between friends. Either way, you’re more than eager to accept, but unfortunately Tyson takes your pause for disinterest.

“Uh, I mean, like, you know, to dinner — or, like, lunch, if you’re not that hungry — or — fuck —” he stammers, the visible discomfort on his face as he nervously runs a hand through his hair. This part he clearly hadn’t practiced.

Part of you wants to put him out of his misery, while the more mischievous side of you wants to keep letting him stutter until he gets his point across, amused at his suffering.

“—I just, you know, think you’re pretty cool and — no, I’m sorry, cool sounds so fucking lame and you’re way hotter — I mean cooler than that — I mean, fuck –”

Whatever he’s about to say, you don’t hear the rest of it, instead lunging yourself forward to kiss him. It’s an instinctual reaction, one that you don’t even think about the consequences, unable to handle looking at his tempting lips any longer without knowing what his perfect pout felt like against your own.

He’s taken aback, a stuttered step backward before he catches himself, his own instincts kicking in and kissing you back. Judging by the force of his mouth against yours, you think you’ve made the right choice – if you can even call it a choice.

It’s only after the euphoria of his kiss settles slightly that you feel his lips curling into a smile against you, grinning against your mouth in a way that has yours mimicking his actions, unable to stop even if you wanted to. You begin to pull away, but his lips chase yours, unwilling to let you go just yet, and it makes you smile even harder.

Eventually, he does let you go, only enough to say, “So, I’ll take that as a yes?”

You giggle, nodding, leaning back in to kiss him again, because now that you’ve tasted him once, you don’t want to stop. But this time, you’re interrupted by the sound of shattering glass, both of your heads turning quickly toward the noise. Apparently, upon seeing the two of you kissing, JT had lifted his arms in celebration, only to knock an entire shelf off the wall, sending a vase crashing to the floor.

Tyson grins at you, not missing the opportunity to chirp his best friend. “At least it wasn’t me this time.”