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toplinetommy · 3 years

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Kill My Lonely Nights - Tyson Jost

a/n: after plotting and replotting this fic for over a month its finally here. my baby and definitely my most favorite thing ive ever written. hope everyone enjoys it as much as i do.

tagging @bqstqnbruin thanks for being my beta and for bouncing ideas around with me and also my fav josty whores 😇 @justjosty @hookingminor @farbutnevergone

Synopsis: tyson finally meets jt’s neighbor — and he’ll stick by her side through her ‘i’m a single and independent woman’ phase as long as jt doesn’t find out

songs: im so tired - lauv, troye sivan; better than heaven - slander; cherry on top - olmos, kyle reynolds

words: 20k+

warnings: alcohol, smut, unprotected sex

“Tyson, you know my neighbor right?”

You roll your eyes at JT’s way of introducing the two of you, because, no, you did not know the curly-headed brunette in front of you. You had seen him in passing a few times when he was over at JT’s but you never learned his name. In fact, the only thing you knew about him was that they were teammates and you got that from deductive reasoning since he was always dressed in some sort of Avalanche merch.

“I’m y/n,” you smile, sticking out your hand for the stranger to shake.

“Tyson,” the no longer nameless stranger responds, a quirky smile on his lips.

“It’s nice to finally put a name to the face,” you respond, your cheeks heating up as you look over him. He’s cute in that quirky way where his head’s a mess of curls, his eyes full of joy, and his shoulders filling out the grey Avs hoodie quite nicely.

“Same here,” Tyson agrees, shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets. You continued to gather the few things in the living room that were yours before finding your phone charger and giving JT a hug.

“I’ll see you when you get back from Chicago yeah?”

“Yep, have a good birthday!” JT cheers, from his spot on the couch.

With that you bid Tyson and JT a goodbye, choosing to wave at Tyson instead of showing an outright affection towards the stranger. The door shuts behind you as you walk a few feet down the carpeted hallway to your own door.

“Dude,” Tyson starts, turning his attention back on his buddy from where it was lingering on the now-closed door.

“No-”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say!” Tyson incredulously interrupts.

“You’re gonna tell me she’s hot because, yeah, anyone can see that. She’s going through this thing she’s been calling a ‘guy cleanse’,” JT explains, putting finger quotes around guy cleanse. Tyson brushes the comment aside, not bothering to ask any more questions. If he’d want to get to know you, he knows he’d have to do it without JT’s help. JT always had this thing of being overprotective over the women in his life, especially being a guy that grew up in hockey with three little sisters.

Another week or so passes before Tyson sees you again. It’s when he’s getting into the elevator after getting dinner with his JT, and you’re just getting home from what Tyson presumes is work and maybe even the liquor store with the purse and lunch box hanging in the crease of your elbow as well as the case of Truly’s in your other hand.

“Hey, it’s y/n, right?” Tyson says in lieu of a greeting. He holds the elevator open for you as you step out, thinking of ways to keep the conversation longer than a simple greeting.

“Yeah,” you smile, warmly at him. He can see that your hands are full as you try to shovel through your bag in search of your keys as you take another step towards your door towards the end of the hallway. “Well, uh, have a good night Tyson.”

Tyson watches as you turn away with a small smile, and suddenly he’s stumbling over his words, trying to make the moment last longer. He’s rarely ever seen you around, most times in passing in this very hallway and the occasional time JT talked to you on the phone when they were on the road. You didn’t go to games, you didn’t hang out with the team, and you were never over at JT’s when Tyson would show up.

But when he had officially met you the other week when you were leaving JT’s apartment, he was transfixed and curious about the girl JT always talked about but never brought around.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink?” You ask, nodding to the case in your hand. You’re asking as more of a common courtesy than anything else, but you can tell that he’s waiting for you to make the next move regarding this run-in with him. The peachiness of his cheeks and his hands shoved into his jacket pockets are proof of that.

“You sure?”

“Any friend of JT is a friend of mine,” you smile, opening your front door and gesturing for Tyson to go in before you.

“Yeah, okay,” Tyson smiles, taking another step towards you and reaching out for the box of Truly’s. “Let me take that for you.”

Tyson graciously takes the case from you and steps through the doorway of your apartment, suddenly losing any train of thought he once had now that he’s in an apartment he’s never been in. He sees the fridge across the way and decides he’ll just stick the drinks in there. There’s thankfully space in the fridge for them and he watches you shred your raincoat and heels by the door. “So, uh, how do you know JT? Like, I know you guys are neighbors but he’s always referring to you as his best friend. I honestly didn’t even know that you lived next to him until the other week.”

You laugh, thinking back to how you even met JT. It was nowhere near being a typical introduction between neighbors, it was honestly pretty far from that. “So, whenever he first moved here like two years ago, I was sitting in my car in the parking garage on the phone with my dad, and this car parks next to me and the driver gets out and completely dings my car. I’m talking a paint scratch that’s starting to rust now.”

“He’s pretty unaware of his space,” Tyson laughs, knowing all too well that his friend did something like that.

“And so, I get out of my car, and I confront him about it, and he apologizes and whatever, not a big deal. But then he gets off the elevator with me and I’m thinking this guy’s gotta be a creep since he’s barely talking to me but then he pulls out his keys and is unlocking the door next to mine, and now he bugs me all the time,” you smile, Tyson making space for you to go into the fridge he’s currently standing in front of.

“You see that picture frame over there?” you nod your head to the wall your TV is mounted on. Tyson walks over to it, inspecting it and noting that neither of the people in it are you or JT. “There’s paint missing behind it because when he was helping me mount my TV he hit the wall with the drill. He got me the frame to cover it but I still haven’t gotten around to putting a picture there.”

Tyson’s eyebrows quirk up, “and how long has it been there?”

“Uh, maybe a year?” you answer, your tone making it sound more like a question as you blush. Tyson only laughs at you, fully understanding how something like that can slip from your mind. You offer him a Truly at that, him not missing an opportunity to chirp you since your flavor of choice was lime, even though his was black cherry, which in your mind was the most basic flavor there was.

He sits across from you at the island while you stand opposite of him, leaning on the granite in front of you. He can’t get enough of your laughter, finding it’s something you do quite often as the two of you share stories. You, on the other hand, have to stop yourself from blushing since he doesn’t break eye contact with you once. It’s starting to get late and you still haven’t eaten dinner, so with an empty Truly in hand, Tyson is reluctantly getting up to head home to prepare for his early practice and flight tomorrow. He doesn’t want to impose on you any further, considering you were essentially strangers an hour ago.

You wave goodbye at him as he walks down the hallway to the elevator, a smile on your face as he nearly runs into Mr. Harter, the man that lives at the end of the hallway. You laugh as he apologizes profusely, something you amount to his Canadian upbringing.

Tyson curses himself over the next few days for not getting your number, and there’s no way in hell he’s asking JT for it. He doesn’t know how he’ll go about getting it, and the possibility of him running into you to get it is slim, with the fact that the Avs have a nine-day roadie on the upper East Coast. He figures he’ll try to ask JT more about you over the course of the trip, and then hopefully weasel his way into getting it.

It’s three days into the roadie and they’re sitting next to each other on the flight from Ottawa to Toronto. JT is busy on his iPad, and Tyson looks around him, seeing Cale and Gravy reading books, and G is passed out behind him. Tyson nudges JT’s shoulder with his, JT pulls out his AirPod and looks towards his buddy.

“So, y/n, eh?” He jumps right in, watching as JT rolls his eyes and moves to put his AirPod back in. “You said she doesn’t date?”

“Correct.”

“Why’s that? She seems like she wouldn’t have any issue in that department.”

“First off, that’s gross. Secondly, even if she was dating, you aren’t allowed to try anything,” Tyson chooses to ignore that part but continues to listen anyway. “She’s just like focused on herself, I don’t know. She knows her worth and knows what she deserves. She’s been single for as long as I’ve known her. It’s no bullshit with her, in every aspect of her life.” JT shrugs his shoulders as he talks. He’s not an expert on the topic because it’s not one you really talk about with him considering it’s just not really a huge part of your life.

Tyson hums along as he listens to JT talk, trying his best not to show why he’s even asking these questions in the first place. He takes what his friend says in stride, not being one to have gone through a phase like the one you’re going through. In fact, Tyson’s never been someone to say no to a date, fully taking advantage of the pro-athlete lifestyle he’s been living for years now. JT knows this, knows what it’s like to be 22, and all eyes on you.

He was there once, but he’s been with Sydney for over two years now. JT knows the locker room talk that goes on within hockey teams, he’s been living it his whole life. Yeah, the Denver room has been the best and the calmest when it comes to comments about guys’ dating lives, but the occasional whistle and chirp is made when one of the single guys has a story to share. The last thing he wants is to hear your name in one of those scenarios.

He doesn’t get your number during that road trip, can’t even find you on social media so he puts his efforts on pause. He even went through the list of people JT followed, your name not coming up once. Come to think of it, he doesn’t even know your last name.

Soon January is ending and February is starting, the season kicking into high gear as the all-star breaks ends and the playoff push truly begins. Tyson still hasn’t seen you around other than the occasional run-in, and you honestly haven’t given him much thought since that night in late January. Your life has always been chaotic, but still in the most organized way, and you’ve barely seen JT with the way his game schedule is laid out. But the middle of February brings Sydney to town and brings too many parties while she’s around.

It’s at Andre’s place where you see Tyson again, warm pleasantries shared between the two of you. He’s a little confused as he watches you chat with almost everyone there, the weird feeling coming from the fact that most people filling the apartment are on the Avalanche roster. He wonders if you’ve already met most of them or if you’re just that outgoing.

Tyson finally makes his way over to you, two cans in hand as he offers you the one with green lettering with a smile.

“A lime White Claw? That’s the way to my heart,” you joke, placing your hand over your heart before taking his offering.

“I was asking around to see if there were any Truly’s,” Tyson laughs, waving his hand around. “But I hope the White Claw is okay.”

“A White Claw definitely isn’t as good as a Truly but it’s a close second, thank you.”

“Right!” Tyson agrees, “People think they all taste the same but there’s a clear hierarchy of which seltzers are better than others.” You laugh along with Tyson at his comment in complete agreement. You tell him your own tier list of seltzers, starting with Truly’s and ranking the Bud Light ones as the worst.

“I’ve only had a few of them, but I’ll take your word for it,” The laughter between the two of you dies down before JT finds you, saying he’s been looking for you for a little bit.

“It’s not my fault I’m hidden by all these huge men,” you roll your eyes, pointing around the room that’s filled with men all over six feet tall.

“Did you know your neighbor was a hard seltzer connoisseur?” Tyson asks with a quirk of his eyebrow, causing you to scoff. You were nowhere being a ‘connoisseur’ of sorts.

JT takes a sip of his drink, “She’s an alcohol connoisseur period, bud.” WIth that JT disappears to go find his girlfriend, leaving the two of you alone. Tyson’s face is filled with confusion at JT’s comment, not entirely sure what his comment even meant.

“I used to bartend in college,” you answer his silent question. “Which makes me JT’s personal bartender most nights.”

“Maybe I’ll have to get you to make me a drink sometime then,” Tyson suggests. It’s a little too forward for his liking but it just slips out, and you giggle at his attempt at flirting. His tan cheeks have a pink flush to them, and you’re sure it’s not from the alcohol since most people have only been here for an hour or so.

“C’mon,” you nod your head in the direction of the kitchen. Tyson silently follows you, weaving between the people and the furniture. “I can get you that drink right now.”

Once you make it to the kitchen you look around the counters, taking note of the different types of liquors laid out. Tyson watches you as your hands move around, picking up and setting down various bottles. When you’re satisfied with your concoction, you hand him a shot glass, one in your own hand to match his.

“It’s a shooter,” you inform him. He puts trust in you, clinging your glass with his own and bringing the glass to his lips as he tips his head back. Your eyes stay on him as his tongue pokes out to swipe the extra liquid off his lips before you realize you haven’t even taken yours yet. His eyes stay locked on you as you throw your own shot back, your eyes reconnecting when you set the glass on the counter next to you.

A shiver runs through you as his eyes watch your every move. You hadn’t noticed it with any of your other previous run-ins with him but he’s intimidating in that way where his presence is radiating that good kind of confidence. You watched him, unbeknownst to him, as he made his way around the room before ever making it to you.

“So what was that you just gave me?” He asks, crossing his ankles and leaning further on the counter behind him. You move to stand next to him, your shoulder brushing his cotton-covered bicep.

“It’s called a lemon drop shot, it’s just vodka and lemon juice so nothing too special,” you shrug, turning to look up at him. “Maybe I’ll get around to making you more drinks.”

Tyson smirks lightly at your comment, his hands gripping the counter behind him. He remembers what JT told him not too long ago about you, and how you’re someone that doesn’t put up with bullshit when it comes to relationships and his heart deflates a bit. He’d much rather keep talking to you and eventually kiss you, but he knows deep down that’s not what he wants with you either. He can tell from your brief encounters that this could be way more than just a few dates, so he holds back and instead bites his lip before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

He passes it over to you, and you hesitate taking it as you look between the black phone and his brown eyes, “so we can plan a time for you to make me drinks.”

“Ah, I see, I see,” you quip back, taking the phone from his hands and opening a new message and typing in your phone number. You respond back to him on your phone, showing that you got the text and opening up the contact to save his information. “Should I put in some funny name for your contact or is Tyson good enough?”

Tyson laughs fully at that, his chest rumbling for a moment before he calms down and tells you his name is just fine for now, “but I won’t complain if you find a better name for me.” Tyson scratches the back of his head for a moment as he places his phone onto the counter next to him, trying to find the words to keep the conversation going.

You leave not too long after that, catching an Uber with JT and Sydney back to your place. Tyson stays near your side most of the night, giving you a full hug as you leave and a promise of texting you soon.

You see Tyson the next morning at brunch with JT and Sydney, his strong, muscular thighs touching yours in the small booth. You get some fancy french toast, Sydney eyeing you from where she sits across from you. She’s been a close friend of yours ever since JT introduced the two of you whenever she first visited. Her eyes keep flicking between you and Tyson and you give her a stern look, silently telling her to knock it off.

“So, y/n,” she starts, a smirk forming on her lips. “How’s the dating life?”

You scoff with a laugh at her question. She knows well enough how that aspect of your life is doing considering you text her on a pretty regular basis. You choose not to answer, the scoff you let out being enough.

“Besides, no guy is good enough for her, right?” JT asks, looking over at you continuing his girlfriend’s train of thought. His eyes glance over at Tyson sitting next to you and Tyson ignores the look his teammate gives him.

“You mean the idiots you always try to set me up with? The ones that don’t live in Denver?” You quip back with a raise of your eyebrows. It’s more of a joke than anything else, but Tyson doesn’t quite understand your tone and mannerisms yet.

His heartbeat speeds up momentarily, thinking that if you hadn’t had any interest in any of JT’s other friends, you definitely wouldn’t have an interest in him. Besides, he may live in Denver now, but that’s not even the whole year when you account for traveling and the offseason.

You miss it, but Tyson changes the subject anyways, which is something you’re grateful for. Brunch passes by and when the waitress comes back with two checks, you knit your eyebrows.

“Actually, could I have my own check? We aren’t together,” you stumble, cheeks heating up at the misinterpretation of yours and Tyson’s relationship.

Tyson takes the check from your outstretched hand, “it’s fine, I got it.”

He’s talking more to you than to the waitress as he smiles warmly at you. You thank him quickly, but not before saying you have enough cash to take care of the tip. He doesn’t argue, following the three of you out of the restaurant and to your car. The two of you linger a little further back than JT and Sydney, both of you reveling in the comfortable silence.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” You ask.

“Not really, I was probably gonna call my mom and maybe do my laundry,” Tyson answers.

“Do you want to come over and hang out instead? I’m just gonna third wheel the two of them but maybe we can find something to do that’s more interesting than laundry.”

Tyson laughs at the third wheeling comment you make, being all too familiar with being the third wheel around most of his friends. “Sure, yeah, I’ll just follow you all then?”

“That sounds good. I’ll see you in a few,” you say goodbye with a smile and a shy wave, hopping into the backseat of JT’s SUV.

Once you get home, Tyson’s knocking on your door a few minutes later with the same warm smile he seems to always have. He sheds his winter coat as he enters your apartment, throwing it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He notes the change in clothes, as you’re now wearing an olive green crewneck instead of the wrap top with flowy sleeves you were wearing at the restaurant a few moments prior.

“You a big reader?” He asks, picking up and inspecting the book that’s laid out on the kitchen island. The Power of Now, it reads on the cover. He flips through the first few pages and goes to the back cover to read the reviews.

“Sometimes, it depends on what it is, but I usually just go through phases where I read in all of my free time and then I won’t touch a book again for the next few months,” you admit with a small laugh. “That one’s really good so far though. It’s just about how to live more presently and in the moment.”

Tyson nods his head as he listens, his eyes on you as you speak, “Cale really likes reading this kind of stuff, I should tell him about it.”

“Which one is Cale, again?” You ask, mentally going through the Colorado roster.

This causes Tyson to laugh, “JT really doesn’t bring you around much, eh.”

You laugh along with him, “not really, but that’s on me sometimes. I go to bed too early for my own liking.”

Tyson’s confused as to why he’s never really seen you before at anything. Guys on the team are always bringing their friends around if they can. At first he thought he just always missed you, but he knows he wouldn’t miss someone as carefree and beautiful as you. Nevertheless, he’s glad he’s sitting in your kitchen right now, and to top it all off, he didn't even have to ask you to hang out first.

“Do you read at all?” You ask curiously. You really knew next to nothing about the man in front of you other than that he was Canadian, played hockey, and preferred Truly’s over White Claws (his favorite flavor was still to be unknown to you).

Tyson chokes out a laugh at your question, “No. When we travel I usually play random games with Sammy and he’s been teaching me French. I still don’t know much so don’t go asking me to say anything.”

“Duly noted,” you nod. You move to the pantry, looking for a few things as you continue to respond. “Like I said, my interest in reading comes in waves and you barely speaking French is better than me only knowing English.”

You continue rifling through your pantry, pulling out everything you know you need. You’ve just finished setting all of the dry ingredients you’d need to make brownies when Tyson asks you what the hell you’re doing.

“I was thinking we could make brownies,” you respond, opening your fridge and pulling out the milk, butter, and eggs. You hear the island chair scratch against the hardwood, indicating Tyson getting up.

“Wait a second,” Tyson says causing you to turn around with a confused look on your face. “Are these the brownies Comph always bringing around that his friend makes?”

“They very much are,” you chuckle. He compliments the baked good one more time before you’re putting him to work. The two of you move seamlessly through your small kitchen, both of you sharing smiles and stories to fill the time. There’s a moment where you see a certain glimmer in his eyes paired with a small smirk and you think he’s about to pull one of his infamous Jost pranks that JT was always telling you about. He doesn’t though, and instead just nudges your hip with his. It seems like you’re looking more at him more than focusing on the flexing of his forearms as he mixes the dry ingredients.

Once it’s time to mix the dry and wet ingredients, Tyson all but misses half the bowl, causing a good chunk of it to land on your crewneck and jeans. The brown powder covered the ‘Disney World’ logo across your chest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Tyson rushes out, holding back a laugh, because of course he would embarrass himself in front of you and mess up something as simple as that. You move to the sink, shaking off the loose contents into it to help alleviate any sort of mess.

“You’re fine, I promise,” you reassure, turning around to give him a smile. He smiles nervously back at you, not fully knowing your statement was genuine or if you were trying to spare his feelings. He glanced at your chest, trying to see the damage he had done before realizing he was staring directly at your chest and his cheeks flushed. You walked back over to where he was standing, giving him another smile as you began mixing everything together.

“Would you, uh, ever wanna grab dinner with me some time?” He asks, voice higher than normal as he speaks, his heart beating nervously for your answer. Your face falls as you hear the question and you slowly turn around to face the curly headed brunette. Tyson is a great guy, it’s obvious to everyone, and you’re not oblivious to the fact that there’s physical attraction between the two of you. It’s that Tyson is best friends with your best friend who also happens to be your neighbor.

You laugh nervously at the question, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere, before you respond, “Sure, it’s not like it’s a date or anything.”

You brush it off, even though you’re pretty sure he was explicitly asking you out on a date. You turn your focus back to the brownies, popping them in the oven before wandering down your hallway to change into something clean. As Tyson walks over to take a seat on the couch, he sees your retreating figure as you pull your sweatshirt over your head. He stops in his tracks momentarily, seeing your bare back, the skin between your shoulder blades covered by your lacy bralette. He blinks a few too many times as he shakes any thoughts from his head and continues his path to the couch.

Your guys’ friendship quickly develops after that. The two of you starting a snapchat streak and having a long string of text messages involving various TikTok’s and memes alongside the more serious stuff. You seem to be spending more time at JT’s place when Tyson is also there and soon enough Tyson’s leaving JT’s and going the few extra feet to your place instead of home like he says he’s doing.

It’s one of those rare nights where it’s the three of you at JT’s place and you’re all catching up on the latest episode of Hell’s Kitchen. You’re pretty sure JT cheated and watched the new episode already with how quiet he’s being and how absorbed he is in his phone.

“JT, did you already fucking watch this?” You ask, whipping your head to look at the ginger in question. He’s sitting across the room from you in what he claims as ‘his chair’ while you’re sharing the sectional with Tyson, your feet in his lap. “And you wonder why I never watch shows with you. Tyson and I are going to start watching it without you.”

Tyson chuckles at that, his thighs rumbling under your ankles, his hands coming to rest atop of your shins. JT scoffs at you, unaware of your two’s newfound friendship. To him, the only time you ever saw or even talked to Tyson was when he was also around. Besides, he didn’t need to know the ins and outs of every single thing you did in a day, even if Tyson was involved in a good portion of those things.

You let JT’s previous actions of watching your show ahead slide since the episode was finally wrapping up. JT goes back to the Hulu home screen with an exaggerated yawn followed by stretching his arms above his head. It’s then he turns to his two best friends, letting them know he’s going to start heading to bed and that the two of you are more than welcome to hang out for a little while longer. He doesn’t think much of his offering, but it’s one Tyson’s thankful for if it means he gets uninterrupted time with you that isn’t revolving around the team or drinking.

It’s then he remembers how he never found you on social media, something that had bewildered him in the moment but one he forgot about once he got your phone number and snapchat.

“So, this is gonna sound totally weird but do you have an Instagram?” He asks, infliction in his voice and ears turning pink at the question. He remembers how not too long ago he did some heavy duty deep dives into JT’s social media to see if he could find your name only to come up empty handed. Your stomach tightens and the thought of him looking for you, and you definitely don’t take it the weird way he’s insinuating.

“No, I don’t,” you respond, sitting up further in the corner of the couch, Tyson bravely holding onto your ankles. “Which definitely makes me the outlier of our generation. I had it for a while but then I kinda just got sick of it and how fake it was starting to get, so I deleted my account. I have not missed even once, too.”

He nods his head in understanding, he’s been there, especially with being a professional athlete. “I’ve been there. I deleted my twitter a while ago because every time I got on there some nobody would be in my notifications about how I was playing. I really didn’t need that, ya know? Like, I play hockey for a living and I’m very aware of when I’m underperforming. So, it was hard when I would get on my phone and see other people telling me the same things.”

Tyson’s fingers began to brush comfortably over your shins and ankles as he spoke, causing you to start slouching back into the couch.

“I’ve gone back and forth with deleting Instagram but I just can’t seem to make a decision. Besides, I only follow my friends and musicians I like.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone,” you agree with a hum. “The biggest plus is that it gets me off my phone and I’m more absorbed with the real world. It’s all in that book I was reading a while ago that you asked about.”

Tyson remembers that conversation, a smile falling on his lips as he hands rub higher and higher on your calf. The movements are causing you to yawn not a minute later, but you try hard to keep your eyes open to continue to hang out with Tyson. “You a big music guy then?”

Tyson scoffs with a small, playful grip on your leg, “I get the aux in the locker room, so I’d say so. Not a big deal.”

You laugh at his joking manner, snuggling deeper into JT’s couch. Tyson notices how sleepy you’re becoming and he gives your leg another squeeze.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” Tyson suggests as he slips from underneath you to his feet.

You chuckle at that, considering you're more than capable to walk the few feet from JT’s door to your own. Before you can respond saying just that, Tyson’s reaching his hand for yours to help you off the couch.

“My mom raised me to be a gentleman, so I’m walking you home even if it is down the hall.”

You accept his offer, the two of you walking in silence until you’re pushing your key into the lock. You turn back to Tyson once you’ve cracked your door open, wanting to take in the silent, all-too-relationship-like feeling this scenario is. Tyson’s eyes drift from where they’re focused on your eyes to your lips, before he’s scratching the back of his head, a sign of nervousness you’ve quickly caught on to.

“Goodnight, Tyson,” you smile softly, leaning up on your sock clad toes to wrap your arms around his neck and give him a hug. His arms wrap around your middle; his back bending over at an awkward angle to properly reach you. You breathe in his musky scent as his hands spread out over the small of your back. The scruffiness of his beard against the side of your face has you giggling as you pull away.

“Goodnight, y/n,” Tyson reciprocates your smile, walking a few steps backwards before finally turning around and heading to the elevator. Your eyes linger on his toned thighs and maybe even his butt under the cotton of his joggers as he walks the all too familiar way hockey players walk, before finally entering your apartment.

JT’s sitting on your couch this time around, rather than you sitting on his, a too large glass of wine perched in his hand as the two of you catch up. He’s been busy with morning skates and a string of back-to-backs with a road game sprinkled in the middle. It’s getting to be that part of the season where it’s ‘all gas, no breaks’ as he likes to say. They had an earlier than normal game today due to it being a national broadcast on a Sunday, so the two of you ordered take out from one of your usual spots and parked your asses on your couch for the night.

“I feel like we haven’t had best friend time in so long,” JT groans, sipping down the remnants of his wine before standing up for a refill.

“Not all of us can travel the continent on a regular basis,” you chirp with a laugh, one JT matches. The tv show murmurs in the background, it’s one you completely forgot about as JT relates stories and updates on his sisters to you.

“I still can’t believe Jesse graduates soon,” JT starts. “Like, soon when we go to Boston it won’t be the annual family trip since two of the kids are actually in the same city for a change.”

“But that’s so awesome for her, you have to remember that. How’s her season going?”

“They’re doing good, winning games and taking names, she’s really stepped into her captaincy role.” The smile on JT’s face is contagious, causing you to mirror it. You had only met his family a handful of times, only whenever they made the trip out to Denver every now and then. His sister’s, even if you didn’t talk to them regularly, were like your own at this point. JT loved to joke that you were the third sister he never wanted but still somehow ended up with. It was part of the reason he was always trying to set you up with his friends, because to him, if he already knew them, then he knew he trusted them with you. It was more of a joke when it first started over a year ago, but the guy’s he mentioned started to become more serious considerations on your end before you ended up always telling him no.

You were more than okay with being single, being independent, being a woman that never looked for male validation and instead lived life purely for yourself and the people you choose to include with you in that life. JT understood that more than anyone else, that’s why the thoughts you consistently had about Tyson were being shoved deep down inside of you in fear that JT would laugh at the idea and tell you not a chance in hell. It’s why those times you caught each other staring you never did anything about it, or how JT was still unbeknownst to the close friendship you started with him.

It’s why now there’s a silence between the two of you as you take a too-long sip of your wine, a way to stall before opening your mouth and getting JT’s opinion on all of this. You set your glass down on your thigh, your spare hand running along the stem of the glass as you start to speak, avoiding looking over at JT as you do so,

“You know how I don’t date or whatever,” you start, your lip caught between your teeth. You glance over at the redhead on the other couch, seeing him knit his eyebrows as he sets his phone down next to him.

“Yeah,” he draws out, confusion laced in his tone

“Well, I was thinking of maybe getting back out there or something,” you shrug your shoulders, unsure of how to really continue this conversation so you end up on the topic of Tyson being that someone you get back out there with.

“Did someone ask you out?” JT immediately asks with a shake of his head, wondering where all of this is coming from. His full attention is on you now and there’s no way to avoid his eyes as you respond.

“No, I was just thinking about it, I don’t know.”

“Did you, like, have someone in mind?” JT asks, the definitive knit in his forehead still there.

You purse your lips in thought. This would be the time to drop his teammate’s name you think to yourself. His name is heavy on your tongue as you take one more sip of your drink, “Tyson’s kinda cute.”

You say it simply, with a shrug in your shoulders, hoping the ease of your posture radiates towards JT. It doesn’t, just as you expect, a choked out cackle leaving his lips, before he says a harsh ‘no’. The comment deflates you, the knot in your stomach only tightening, mainly because you weren’t really asking him a question and just trying to get that thought out into the open for the first time. JT doesn’t read that as you respond back, telling him was just a thought anyways.

You drop it at that, thoughts running through your head of your close friendship with his teammate, one that’s very close to blurring that line between just friends and something more. It's a problem for another day you think, shoving the thought to the back of your mind as Tyson’s name flashes across your phone screen.

A few more weeks pass of Tyson and you hanging out at JT’s apartment, only for Tyson to follow you to your own apartment before he’d leave for the rink for his game. He slowly began going through his pre-game routine at your place, only to leave with JT under the guise that they would carpool together since his apartment building was on his way to Ball Arena.

Tyson’s cooking his pregame meal in your kitchen, something he had yet to do but when you had told him you had never eaten squash the other day, he made a point to make it his favorite way, even if it meant eating dinner at 4:30. His game day suit was hanging by his coat in your coat closet, you wouldn’t tell him but it was your favorite suit of his. The navy cashmere made the highlights in his dark brown hair pop out and was a nice contrast to his tan skin. He was taking the squash out of the oven, laughing as you made yet another comment on not knowing that was how a squash was cooked.

“What does a squash even taste like?” You ask, peering over the kitchen table to watch him as he places the pan onto the oven to cool down. The bright yellow and oranges of the fruit freak you out a bit, but the smell of garlic and parmesan cheese brings a smile to your face.

“It’s like earthy and nutty, I don’t know. I’m not a Food Network chef.”

The comment has you rolling your eyes with a laugh as you stand up from your chair to retrieve plates and silverware.

“What are you doing?” Tyson asks with a whip of his head as his eyes follow your movements.

You look at him quizzically, pausing your movements on your tippy toes as you reach for the dinner plates, “setting the table?”

“I can do that,” Tyson starts, reaching out for the plates in your hand and setting them on the counter in front of you. “I’m the one cooking.”

“Exactly,” you reason, “And this is my apartment so I know where everything is.”

“I’m wining and dining you, well minus the wine since I have a game.” Tyson shrugs, tending to the squash on the pan and the veggies surrounding it. “That reminds me, the guys are going out after the game, you should come.”

You move around the kitchen as he speaks, filling up two glasses of water to set on the table. He plates the food as he finishes speaking and sets them on the table. It looks colorful and delicious and you’re shocked he can cook something that seems so complicated, especially since you know JT can only cook a burger and some random pasta dish.

“Well, I am going to the game so I don’t see why not,” you finally answer. You hadn’t gone out in weeks it seemed like, mainly due to your earlier than normal mornings and that you were the only single one out of most of your friends. All of your coworkers lived with their partners and were usually the type to bail on a night out so they could stay home. The few single friends you did have lived on completely different schedules than you, so they were either getting home late from work which was around the same time you’d need to call it a night, or were like you and too worried about early mornings to do anything.

But it was a Thursday, and you had taken the weekend off so it was a perfect time to catch your first Avs game of the season, even if it was already a few days into March and the season was halfway over. The both of you eat your dinner with a few laughs, Tyson telling you about how he forced himself to learn to cook over the past two years of living by himself. He even shared a few horror stories of when he lived with JT and Kerf, giving you plenty of dirt to use as blackmail if necessary.

“Dinner was really good, thank you,” you acknowledge standing up and grabbing his plate from him.

“You liked the squash, eh?”

“It wasn’t too bad,” you reply playfully. He knew you liked it with how quickly you scarfed it down and the profuse compliments you offered him. As you clear off the dishes and load the dishwasher, Tyson disappears down the hall only to reappear dressed in his suit, save for the jacket and tie.

“Who are you sitting with tonight? I never asked.” Tyson speaks, making the job of tying his tie look easy as he’s not even looking in the mirror to do so.

“Oh, my coworker, Amelia, and her girlfriend, Gabby,” you respond, leaning back against the counter as you watch Tyson finish up with the details of his suit like putting his cufflinks on and checking his hair in the mirror by your front door.

For a reason Tyson knows too well but ignores, a weight falling off his shoulders as he hears you saying you’re not going with a potential date. But then again, he knows you’re not dating and you more than likely would’ve declined his offer to go out afterward if that were the case. Tyson checks his watch for the time, seeing it’s about time to knock on JT’s door to grab him.

“So, I’ll see you after the game, yeah?”

“Yep, I’ll meet you and JT down by the locker rooms so we can all head out together. Maybe I’ll finally get to meet the infamous Cale.”

The Avs scoot by with a tough division win, one that’s needed to put them in first place in the Central by two points. You’re standing in the hallway of the locker rooms among the other WAG’s that you don’t really recognize due to your lack of knowledge on who’s who. Your nose is buried deep in your phone as you shoot off a text to Amelia telling her to let you know when she gets home safely when you recognize Tyson’s familiar Canadian accent followed by JT’s booming laughter. The two of them reach you, both of them giving you quick hugs before walking to the parking garage.

“Who’s jersey you got on there?” Tyson asks with a nudge of his shoulder into yours. You look down at the 19 stitched into your shoulder with a smirk.

“Only the best Av to ever play the game,” you respond, to which JT rolls his eyes. Tyson’s look of confusion doesn’t change as you answer, still pretty keen to the fact that you’ve never really talked hockey with him besides the stories about practices he’d share with you. “Never told you I didn’t like hockey, just said I never went to games.”

“I’ve tried to get her one of my jerseys and she literally told me she’d return it,” JT interrupts before Tyson can respond. You open your mouth to chirp him back but before you can, JT is calling shotgun once Tyson’s car is in view.

The bar isn’t as packed as you thought it would be, given half of the Avalanche roster was occupying more than a few booths. Andre takes a seat across from where you’re sandwiched between JT and Tyson - a seating arrangement you’re not sure how you got in.

The first round of drinks slowly turns into the third, and you’re no longer squished between two bruly hockey players since JT has found a home at the pool table with Nate and Naz. You had finally met Cale, the blush on cheeks matching Tyson’s description of them. You shared book recommendations with one another while Tyson had wandered off to the bar. It’s then you learn that Tyson’s kind of taken him under his wing, despite the very small age gap and that they live in the same building. Your eyes catch him as he chats with the bartender and a dirty blonde that’s close to his height that you very much did not recognize.

She��s all legs and has an award winning smile from what you see from fifteen away. Tyson’s turned away from you, his back facing you, and if you could see his face filled with that smile that’s showing he’s just trying to be polite to the stranger.

It’s then that you start to fully allow yourself to notice not only the physical attraction you feel towards your new friend, but the emotional one as well. It’s not overwhelming by any means, but the pit in your stomach can only be described as jealousy — a feeling you don’t have much experience with.

You see two new glasses being set in front of them at the same time, assuming that Tyson had bought the stranger a drink. That pit in your stomach only tightens, the smile on your face from Cale’s story falling as you continue to watch them interact.

The pair only talk for a few minutes before the girl walks away, a defeated look on her face. With he departure, you make your way across the hardwood floor to meet him at the bar, nudging his side lightly as you mirrored his stance. He smiled as you greeted him, noting that this was the first time in hours he got you all to himself. You were just as outgoing as he and JT were, always butting into conversations when you had something to say.

“I never asked if you had fun at the game,” he asks, voice somehow still soft even in the loudness of the bar. His voice raises goosebumps on your arms, as you hum before responding.

“It was fun, definitely a good game, just a little too much third wheeling for my liking but I’ll take what I can get.”

The comment is a nod to the feeling Tyson knows all too well, one the two of you seem to always share funny stories about with a dramatic use of eye rolls. You ignore the fact that not even a few minutes prior you were plotting that girl’s death, too busy and entranced with Tyson’s presence.

The night continues to pass with just the two of you in your own little world. You find yourself up on your tiptoes, an arm resting on his muscular bicep as you lean up to speak into his ear. His lips move alongside your temple as he speaks, the scruff of his beard against your forehead causing you to giggle. You’re not even sure if JT or any of the other guys are even still around, but your bubble pops as JT calls your name. You turn your body towards the ginger, your hand on Tyson’s bicep not moving as he says that you two should find an Uber soon.

“Okay, yeah, sure. I’ll be out in a sec, Tyson was just telling me a story,” you let him know. JT knits his eyebrows at the comment but walks outside with a few of the other guys all heading home.

“How are you getting home?” You ask Tyson once you’re face to face with him again.

“Cale and I are gonna Uber back, too,” Tyson answers, his tongue swiping over his lips slowly. Your eyes watch his movement as time seems to slow down as the two of you keep your eyes focused on the others. His eyes are squintier than normal from the alcohol and you’re yours match his in that regard. You’re pretty sure he’s about to kiss you and for once, you’re actually going to let that person kiss you.

Tyson’s eyes flick behind you momentarily before you see his body semi-deflate. He steps away, your hand falling off his bicep for the first time in at least an hour as he picks up his blazer that’s draped over the stool next to him and nods towards the door.

“I think JT’s looking for you.”

Sure enough when you turn around, JT is in the doorway waving his phone in the air and pointing at it, silently telling you that the Uber is almost here. Your shoulders fall as the moment you were sure was about to happen is ruined. Tyson walks you out of the bar, into the brisk start of Spring air. You’re too busy thinking about how you most definitely would’ve let Tyson kiss you and next thing you know, your foot is slipping on the ice and you’re yelping in surprise.

Tyson catches your waist before you can even hit the cold pavement, and again, you’ve found yourself in a compromising position as Tyson’s face is mere inches from yours. You blink away the embarrassment as JT’s comment about your almost accident goes unnoticed by the both of you. You regather your stance, muttering a quiet thank you to the brunette before hugging him and waving goodbye with a soft smile.

“Dude,” Cale chastises, “You like her don’t you?”

The comment made by his building-mate has him stuttering over his words, trying to figure out an answer that’s not a straight up lie. Cale takes that as his answer, though, rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh as the two find their Uber.

“Does JT know?”

“No, because nothing’s going to happen,” Tyson answers curtly as he slumps his shoulders in his seat. “JT told me I couldn't try anything and I’m going to try and respect that. Besides, she doesn’t date so it’s not like I have a real shot or anything.”

“I don’t know, man. She seemed to jump out of her seat and end our conversation when she saw you talking to that girl.”

Cale’s comment silences the two of them for the remainder of the ride back to their building. Tyson hadn’t really paid mind to the fact that the second that girl left, you had appeared and stayed by his side for the remainder of the night. He brushes it off, blaming his inebriated mind for the overthinking before asking Cale how they’ll get his car in the morning.

Tyson wakes up to his phone dinging with a string of texts from you, a smile on his face when sees your name across his screen.

y/n: not sure what you did to me last night but this is the most hungover ive been in forever y/n: thank god i dont have work y/n: jt is still sleeping so im thinking of ditching him to go get breakfast y/n: you in? Tyson: im down Tyson: do you think we could swing by to get my car from the bar too? was gonna have cale drive me but if you can that’d be great

Getting ready for breakfast feels all too real as you do your hair and pick out an outfit before finally brushing your teeth. You tap your fingers an obnoxious amount of times against your steering wheel as you drive to Tyson’s apartment, your lip stuck between your teeth as you softly sing along to the songs flowing through your speakers.

Sitting across from him in the diner feels a little bit suffocating, the events of last night replaying in your mind. The path your eyes follow tends to keep going to his lips before you realize what you’re doing and snapping them right back up to his eyes or to the coffee in your hand. Those lips you sure you were close to kissing last night. He orders some obnoxiously healthy omelette bowl with enough eggs and potatoes on it to feed a house of four, while you get classic french toast.

You don’t miss that opportunity to chirp him, the weight finally off your shoulders as you lighten the mood. Tyson never really caught onto your weirdness, thinking it was some side effect of your hangover.

“Is french toast your favorite food or something?” Tyson asks, mouth a little full as he finishes chewing. You knit your eyebrows in confusion, partly because yes, it is your favorite breakfast food, but why would he think that if he’s only ever seen you eat it right now in this very moment? He sees your confusion, answering your question before you can even ask it.

“You got french toast that one time we went out with JT and Sydney.”

“Oh, it is, actually,” it dawns on you then, even though that morning was over a month ago at this point. It’s sweet that he remembers that, your neck warming at his comment.

“It’s not a big deal,” Tyson shrugs, shoving another forkful of egg into his mouth. And shit, did you actually say that out loud to him? That misstep has your neck heating up even further as you take a large swig of your coffee, mainly so the large mug blocks your face from him.

“Besides,” Tyson starts with a heavy laugh. “You just about inhaled that from what I remember, so it has to be your favorite.”

You drop your jaw in shock from his very true accusation, a slight laugh coming out, “You’re a dick.”

“Hey, at least I’m a dick that paid for your meal,” Tyson acknowledges in a lighthearted tone. You smile at him at that, him sending you one right back. “And before you say you can pay for this one, this is that meal I promised you a while back when we made brownies.”

It dawns on you then, was this a date? Did you accidentally on purpose ask Tyson out on a date? Tyson can sense the wheels turning in your head and drops that topic, instead telling you all about this new artist he’s found on Spotify.

That day’s a turning point for your relationship with Tyson. You end up following him back to his place then, a strange sense of deja vu coming through. The rest of the day is spent shaking your respected hangovers on his couch, your feet perched on his lap, his body naturally leaning towards yours.

Your head’s full of what ifs as you drive the short way back to your apartment, thoughts surrounding the feelings you’ve been ignoring when it comes to why Tyson looks at you the way he does or why he’s always sending you Tik Tok’s about your newfound inside jokes. Your friendship with him is easy, he’s an easy guy to catch feelings for and an even easier guy to fully allow yourself to do that with.

The thought of your friendship with JT clouds your thoughts, though. Unsure of what you should even do considering how quickly he shot you down when all you said was that his friend was cute. You don’t think much of it, knowing that the feelings that are starting to show need to be reciprocated for you to even face that next set of problems.

Soon you’re catching yourself focusing on the number 17 jersey skating around the ice instead of 37 when you have the time to watch their games. Tyson’s eyes are the ones you’re always finding in a room and he’s the one always refilling your drink without a thought. He’s the one you text after a particularly rough day, and he does the same when the Avs snap their eight game winning record. He’s slowly taking that spot as your best friend over from his teammate, a spot you’re sure is slowly turning into more.

It’s another one of those nights where he’s the one you're constantly looking for. This time back at Andre’s apartment with the guys and few significant others as you celebrate yet another Avalanche playoff berth.

You’re drinking far less than the crowd surrounding you, fully buzzed on the atmosphere that is clinching the number one seed in the division with still so much time left in the season. Unlike the group of people that have the day off the next day, you have work, but the thought of missing this night for your two best friend’s wasn’t an option when Tyson texted you as soon as he made it to the locker room after the game was won. Tyson’s hand seems to never be empty, but you soon learn he’s been nursing the same beer since he got to Andre’s. There’s a heavy feeling of contentment washing over him as he celebrates his fourth straight playoff appearance, alongside setting a Central Division record for the fastest team to clinch.

The air between you two has that same fuzzy feeling it’s had for a few weeks now, ever since you had gone out to breakfast with him hungover. The high from the win still filling his veins, that same high radiating towards you as you continually find your way back to his side throughout the night.

Tyson catches you slipping out the door as the sun is just about finished setting and follows you a moment later. You’re leaning against the railing with your arms folded atop of it. It’s the easiest thing in the world for Tyson to step in behind you and place his hands on either side of yours, bracketing you against the cool metal.

The wind blows through your hair, causing you to push some strands back behind your ears as you breathe heavily with Tyson’s new presence.

“You doing alright out here?”’ Tyson asks, one of his laying to rest on top of yours, you fingers interlocking with his.

“Yeah, just wanted to take advantage of Andre’s view,” you respond. Andre’s place had everything, the view of downtown Denver, the suburbs stretching outside of the skyscrapers, but he also had the best view of the mountains you had seen from a complex downtown.

The silence continues between the two of you, the sound of the Denver traffic beneath you filling it out. Tyson’s chest moves behind you with a heavy breath before breaking that silence,

“I talked to my mom this morning.”

“Yeah? How is she?”

“She’s good, but, uh, I called her to tell her about this girl,” he trails off, his chest inflating behind you again as the nerves start to tighten in his stomach. You remain silent, there’s an unspoken understanding that this is something he’s been wanting to get off his chest, something that you too feel the weight of.

“I wanted to tell her about this girl and ask her for advice because it’s complicated since she’s best friends with my best friend who’s also my teammate and I didn’t know if I should put my feelings aside for the sake of my friendship or if I shouldn’t let my friend telling me I couldn’t ask her out stand in the way of my feelings for her.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, the sudden knowledge of the weight his words have. His grip around you had tightened as he spoke, causing you to turn around in his arms slower than you would’ve liked to as your eyes find his. His hands move from the railing to rest on your hips, his grip a little tight yet still soft. Your fingers toy with the hem of his cotton t-shirt, one that accentuates his arms more than you’d like to admit.

You’re not naive, you know that this is that tipping point in your friendship that you’ve been avoiding, yet at the same time anxiously waiting for. He’s right there in front of you, all wide eyed with that playful little glimmer in his eyes and that smile that’s always plastered on his face when he’s with you. It’s the confidence in his smile as he speaks that contradicts the doubt in his eyes and the understanding he has where he knows he needs to take this all slow. He’s not just trying to win you over or get you to bed, he’s trying to show you that he’s what you deserve, that the feelings brewing inside your stomach are two sided.

All of those things are conveyed in the little things and how he hasn’t made any unwarranted moves on you and how he’s always reading the situation before trying anything.

It makes you truly let the feelings you have bubble to the surface as you open your mouth to finally respond, “I don’t think you should ignore your feelings.”

It comes out as a whisper, one where the breaths of air hit Tyson in the chin from how close you two are standing. Nothing else needs to be said, your heart racing in your chest at that first admittance of feelings. Tyson searches your eyes for any sense of doubt, making sure he’s interpreting your words correctly. His hand moves to the junction of your neck, his thumb brushing against the hollow of your cheek. Your hands trail up his sides, brushing the stray curl that’s fallen onto his forehead back in place. He leans into your touch, his nose softly brushing against yours as you close your eyes. His breath fans over your mouth and the hair on his upper lip tickles you before his lips are landing on yours. It’s slow and soft and full of fire as you kiss him back.

You pull apart breathless a few moments later, a smile on your face as you bite your lip. His smile is wider than yours, a sense of smugness behind it. His lips find their way to your forehead, placing a soft, lingering kiss there as he wraps his arms around your body and pulls you tightly to him. A few more heavy breaths are shared before his fingers trail back to your jaw, his thumb running over your bottom lip before pulling you in for another kiss.

His touches are welcome and the chill you felt earlier is gone with his presence, your stomach tightening in a million knots at the man standing before you. Everything he feels is portrayed in his soft eyes and those several moments over the past couple of months where it was just the two of you, getting to know one another much more than you thought you ever would with one of JT’s teammates. The space he gave you as he let you explain your fascination with living the life you did, one with no obsession with social media or what other people thought and one where you carefully curated the people you choose to surround yourself with.

Tyson had slowly worked his way into your heart, one that now had his name written all over it. You smile at the thought, still lost in chocolatey, brown eyes and the way he’s looking at you like the gorgeous view of the Smoky Mountains isn’t right behind you.

“We should go back inside,” you say, breaking the little bubble the two of you had just created. Tyson understands, knowing where the two of you were, knowing who’s just on the other side of the door. Neither of you make any moves to go back inside, and you bask in the cool weather, enjoying the other’s warmth before finally opening the door to the rowdiness that is a bunch of professional hockey players.

JT beckons for you when he sees you come back inside, too drunk to ask where you’ve been for the past fifteen minutes. He’s dragging you to the kitchen, begging you with his eyes to make the room a round of drinks. Tyson smiles at you from a few feet away, silently telling you he’ll find you eventually. He does, making his way to you when everyone’s drink needs are met, his presence causing your stomach to tighten even if he is standing a few feet away from you.

Both of you lay off the drinks for the rest of the night, already tipsy enough from your drinks earlier and in a silent agreement that there’s more to talk about between the two of you once the crowd thins and everyone's on their way home. JT disappears into thin air it seems like until he’s practically yelling that he’s called an Uber for you two.

“I think I’m actually gonna stay for a little longer,” you answer, eyes drifting over to where Tyson is talking with Cale and Andre. He sees you glance over at him, sending a smile right back your way causing you to blush before telling JT he’s fine to head home and that you’ll text him when you get home.

The room starts to clear out after that, Andre’s front door opening and closing every few minutes as Uber’s are called and before you know it you’re in the back of a Kia Sorento, laughing at the lie Tyson told Cale that led to him getting an Uber by himself and your hands tightly intertwined on your lap.

You find out a few months later that he didn’t lie, he just told him that he had finally gotten the nerve to kiss you.

The elevator ride up to his apartment is full of giggles, those giggles only continuing as he fumbles through unlocking his front door. He tells you to stop making fun of him under his breath, a blush spreading from the tips of his ears to his nose.

He’s pulling you inside once the door is unlocked, causing you to lose your balance from the pull. Your laughs quiet down as he stares down at you, that smile you're familiar with nowhere to be found as he licks his lips. He’s pulling you in with those big, brown eyes of his and then you’re kissing him wildly, barely a few feet into his home.

“We should talk about this,” you mutter against his lips, not fully wanting to break away from him. He’s connecting your lips before you can continue, too addicted to the feeling of finally having his lips on yours.

“What is there to talk about?”

“Us, what this is,” you respond between kisses.

Tyson pulls away this time, resting his forehead against yours. He knows the logistics of all of this needs to be worked out, but right now he doesn’t want to think about how he’s making out with JT’s neighbor or his inevitable murder if JT finds out before one of you can tell him.

“Let’s worry about the consequences tomorrow, because right now I can’t keep my hands off of you,” he reasons, dipping his head down to place his lips right below your jaw. “And if the way you’re kissing me is any sign, then I’d say we’re on the same page about how we feel.”

You moan as Tyson’s teeth nip at the skin, his tongue poking past his lips out onto your neck and goosebumps are popping up all along your skin.

You give into him then, too intoxicated in his warmth and the taste of Bud Light on his mouth. It’s a conversation for you in the morning when you’re both nursing your hangovers over a cup of coffee. Your lips move along his hungrily, his hands gripping your face before sliding down your sides and squeezing your ass through your jeans. You tug your fingers through the long curls behind his ears, him pushing you against the nearest wall with a thud and a rattle of a picture frame.

Your lips move along his softly, the passion and fire laced in it enough to cause a wave of electricity through your veins and down to in between your thighs. He’s towering over you with his big personality and his wide shoulders and you feel like you need to get impossibly closer to him as you pull him in by the fabric of his t-shirt. His hands fall to the wall on either side of your head.

“God, I’m never gonna stop kissing you,” Tyson huffs out, causing a quick chuckle to run through your body. It’s quick because as soon as the words are out of Tyson’s mouth, his lips are already back on yours.

“You’re gonna have to stop kissing me if you want to fuck me,” you mutter out, a sly smirk on your lips as you watch Tyson’s eyes grow darker at the insuination. The hands that were bracketing you against the wall slide down to your jaw, his thumb running over your bottom lip again before pushing past your lips. You keep your eyes on his as you suck on the digit, your tongue swirling around it. His resolve slips away from you for a moment, before his other hand drags down your side until his fingers push under your top, the warm fingers ghosting over the skin of your ribs.

His breath is heavy against you, the growing bulge causing his jeans to tighten around him. You’re feeling bold then, as you feel him against your stomach with his thumb still in your mouth and his hand tight around your jaw. He’s frozen in front of you as he watches your eyes, that stupid smirk finally wiped off his face as your hands move under his shirt, your nails scraping against the tight muscles. You hold back both a comment about his abs and a moan at the feeling, all the hard work he’s put into his body clearly paying off as you push his shirt up his chest and over his head.

Your nails drag back down his chest and torso before looping in the waistband of the boxers peeking out from his jeans. His thumb falls from your mouth, the wet digit leaving a trail of your saliva on your chin as you work on pulling his jeans down. His head tips back with a low groan as his member springs free and you sink down to your knees, his hand finding purchase on the back of your head while the other is used to brace himself against the wall.

Tyson sucks in a breath as your hand reaches out to grip the base of his cock, tugging softly a few times as you lick the tip. His mouth waters at the sight of your lips wrapping around the head, your eyes looking right back up at him. You hum around him as you swallow him down, the vibrations causing a groan to escape from Tyson’s mouth. He feels euphoric, even if you haven’t had your mouth on him for more than 60 seconds. His hips involuntarily thrust forward at the wet feeling your mouth gives as you hollow your cheeks around him.

Tyson continued to moan above you as you moved your mouth along him, both of your hands digging into the flesh of his thighs. Tyson’s hand is heavy on the back of your head, not using it to push you deeper onto him, but to ground him as he starts to see stars embarrassingly fast in his eyes.

He pulls you off him then, pulling you up to your feet to stand in front of him once again. There’s a dribble of saliva mixed with his pre-cum on your chin and he wipes it away with his thumb before pulling you in for another harsh kiss. He pushes the two of them to his bedroom, never breaking the kiss as he sheds your shirt and pushes you down onto his bed. You giggle again, the hunger in his eyes all too real as he crawls over your body until he’s hovering over you.

“You’re so fucking beautfiul,” he whispers into your ear, causing shivers to shoot down your body. He runs his hands along your bare sides up to your breasts as he kisses down your neck. His hands brush along your lace covered nipples, making you sharply inhale a breath and arch your back against him. He pulls the fabric down to expose your breasts, his lips still nipping at the skin on your collarbone. He looks down at you again, a sensual look in his eyes that you mirror. His lips attach to one of your nipples, the other being tended to by his fingers as twists and pulls the bud between his thumb and forefinger.

Your hands find purchase in the curls atop his head, pulling at the strands as he breathes a huff of cool air onto your npple before switching to the other one. He makes his way down your body painfully slow, a trail of kisses being left down your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He tugs them off just as quickly as he stripped you from your shirt, his eyes locking on the sage green thong you’re wearing and the very obvious wet patch between your legs. He’s impatient from the brief blowjob you gave him and the fact that he’s been imaging this exact moment for far too long now. His fingers dip into the strap of your underwear, his eyes finding yours and asking if this is okay. You respond with a resounding yes as he pulls the underwear off of you.

His lips leave kisses along your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders as his mouth finally makes his way to your center. His beard is rough against the skin of your thighs, a sensation only causing you to whine as he breathes over your clit.

“Tyson,” you whine, causing him to smirk before pressing his tongue to your entrance. The cool, wetness of his tongue has you catching your breath and fisting the sheets underneath you. Tyson moaned against you at the taste as he licked over you a few more times. His lips wrap around your clit, this time causing a full, throaty moan to release from your mouth. One of your hands found its way to his head, holding him impossibly closer to you, the other finding his hand as he interlocks your fingers together.

His tongue dives into your opening, fucking into you as his other arm wraps around your thigh so he can rub his thumb at your clit. His tongue licked around you entrance, alternating between that and fucking into you. His thumb stayed on your clit, rubbing circles hoping to get you to that tipping point, the one you felt nearing with every pass of his tongue over you. Your back arched off the bed, your hips pushing further into Tyson’s face as you felt your high near. Tyson continued at the same pace, pushing you over the edge as you moaned out his name.

He continued to lick softly at you, his thumb slowing down on your clit as he lifted his head up to kiss at your collarbone. The kisses he leaves along your inner thighs gives you time to catch your breathing, your chest still heaving from your orgasm. It’s short lived as his thumb on your clit slides down to your entrance, spreading your wetness around before pushing a finger into you.

His lips make their way back to your clit with the same smirk he had on his face a few minutes ago, wrapping his lips around the bud as he moves he added another finger. You clench down him at the feeling, moans and heavy breaths of air escaping your mouth as Tyson worked his fingers against your g-spot and his mouth worked over your clit. Your hand squeezes his, the pressure becoming too much so soon after your first orgasm. It doesn’t take long for you to groan out his name again as you clench down on his fingers, your second orgasm rushing through you.

He stays down there a moment longer, but you pull him up by his hair, just wanting his lips on yours and his body hovering over you. His beard is wet from both his spit and your juices, and it has you licking your lips and craning your neck upwards. You pull him in with both of your hands, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on him.

The kiss is heavy, his hands running along your body trying to memorize every dip and curve, the heavy weight of his member on your hip. His curls tickled your forehead, the kiss turning soft as he splayed a hand on your cheek to pull you in tighter. The head of his dick brushed over your mound, a shiver running through you at the feelings, your hips bucking up towards his with a small whine.

You reach your hand down between your bodies to tug on him softly, a whine leaving Tyson’s lips, one that’s swallowed by your kisses. It’s unspoken between the two of you as pulls away from you, only to push your hand away from him and give himself a few tugs as he settles heavily between your thighs.

You share a look, one that’s gleeful and full of smiles as he licks his lips and slowly pushes into you. You moan and whimper at the feeling of him inside of you, your hands clawing at his shoulder blades to pull his body flush against your own.

“You good?” He asks, referring to if you’re ready for him to start moving.

“Yeah,” you whine, looking into his eyes smiling, “I’m good.”

There’s a pause as you answer, both of you understanding the double-meaning behind your answer. It’s more than just telling him you feel good physically, but that you feel more than that when he’s with you.

He leans in to kiss you again, starting a slow pace as he thrusts into you. He moaned out at how tight you were, how well you were taking him as he kissed you. He picked up his pace, thrusting into you harder and faster, with more purpose as he rested on his elbows above you, looking into your eyes. You always got lost in those eyes of his, as he hit your g-spot you tilted your head back, your eyes fluttering closed. They weren’t closed for long as Tyson grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him once again.

“I wanna look at you,” he muttered as he leaned back down to kiss you. Your moans filled the room as the layer of sweat started to thicken on your bodies, his chest rubbing against yours. He lifted your thigh and pushed it against your chest, the new angle causing the knots to tighten in your stomach as you felt you high nearing. Your lips found their way to his neck and down to the dips of his collarbone. Biting down into the flesh as you moan out again, Tyson’s pace quickening as he feels you clenching around him.

“I’m so close,” you moan out, Tyson hitting you deeply. He could feel himself getting close too, his hips starting to stutter as he moved inside of you. Your breasts bouncing as he pounds into you, your eyes screwing shut as your orgasm starts to wash over you. Tyson swallows your moans as he kisses you through your third orgasm.

His breaths are heavy as his orgasm comes soon after yours, spilling into you as he slows his pace down and gently lowers his body weight onto yours. You two stay like that for a few moments, catching your breaths and basking in that post-sex afterglow. He removes himself once you’ve both settled, a whimper leaving your mouth at the newfound emptiness. He disappears to his bathroom, coming right back with a washcloth as he cleans you up. You thank him as he runs the cool, wet cloth over the insides of your thighs, pulling him back for another quick kiss before he disappears into the bathroom once more.

When he gets back, he lays down next to you, pulling your body snug against his. His chest is warm and still a little sticky from the sweat. Your fingers draw aimless patterns along his bare chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss on your forehead and you feel the upturn of his lips when he pulls away. You smile up at him then, leaning up and puckering your lips, asking for a kiss. He obliges with a soft hum and rubs your arm gently before you’re falling asleep against him, a few drops of drool falling onto his chest.

The morning rolls around too quickly for your liking, the curls on Tyson’s head ticking the back of your neck. Neither of you are in a rush to move as he smiles against the bare skin of your back, a few kisses being placed there as you hum and hold his arms tighter to your torso. He’s up from bed moments later, a sweet kiss lingering on your lips as you watch his naked form emerge from bed and pull on a pair of sweats. Your eyes watch over the ripples of muscles between his shoulder blades, down his back and over his ass before he’s running around his apartment in search of your thong.

He remerges with it draped over his finger, a smirk on his lips before he flings it at you, causing a giggle to erupt from your stomach. You pull them on, a large t-shirt being tossed your way to drape over your shoulders. You follow him out to his kitchen then, a small pit in your stomach at the realization of the conversation that needs to be had, the small bubble you’re in at its popping point.

You jump onto his island counter, the coolness of the granite sending shivers down your bare legs, his back to you as he starts the coffee pot. He’s just in a pair of sweats, bright red lines on display on his back. You squeeze your legs together as you cross them, the actions of your late night antics running vividly through your mind.

He presses the warm mug into your hands, his now free hand pushing open your legs to step between them. He’s so close then, probably the closest you’ve really been to him with a sober brain. The heat from his torso radiates towards you, warming not only your skin but your insides as well as you smile at him. He’s still got that wide, goofy smile plastered on his face, the one you’ve grown to love and to look forward to seeing.

Tyson’s hands move to rest on the counter on either side of you, the close proximity between your faces causes you to set your mug down and move your hands to his shoulders.

“What’s going through your mind, pretty girl?” The new pet name has you mentally squealing, your chest tightening as your cheeks heat up.

“Just how last night I was so adamant to talk about everything, but now I’m not so sure I want to break our little bubble,” you start, the huff of breath air coming out softly as you avoid his eye contact, even if he is a few inches away from your face.

It’s hard to concentrate on relaying your feelings to him and fully opening up to a man for the first time in a long time with him standing right there in front of you, in all his shirtless glory — the defined lines of his pecs and abs, the veins protruding from his arms, and the few purple bruises you’d left on the dips of his collarbones. It’s always been hard to think straight around him, you realize, with the way his presence gives you a comforting buzz and that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

Tyson’s quiet as he watches over you, he licks his lips in thought, a silent hum of agreement coming out. He’s in the exact same boat, the outcome of this conversation not one he’s too scared of, knowing that the way he feels is reciprocated, but rather what the next step is with the best friend you two share. He’s leaning closer into you, a small smile as he places another soft kiss on your lips. It’s one you get lost in, gentle and blissful as your lips move slowly against his. He pulls away first, something he wasn’t able to do last night, before finally being able to put his thoughts into words.

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page with this. We’re taking a big risk doing this behind JT’s back and I want you to know, no matter what, the risk is worth it with you,” he starts, voice soft and still scratchy from the morning. “And I know you don’t date because you put yourself first and if that’s what you want to do then I’m okay with that, too.”

Your heart melts at the words, your hands cradling his face. Tyson’s always been better with words and feelings than you have over your short friendship with him. The metaphorical door is already wide open in front of you, it’s just a matter of taking that one more small step through it with Tyson, or shutting it and never turning back.

“I don’t date because most people don’t like having independent girls as their girlfriend’s. I put time into myself to be the best person I can be, not only for myself but for others and they don’t like that stuff,” you start to explain, your hands falling from his face to hold both of his hands. “I like you, a lot, Tys, and I want to be with you.”

He smiles wildly at that, the doubt draining from his eyes as he opens his mouth to respond.

You interrupt him though, with a huff of air as you continue speaking, “But JT’s my best friend and I don’t want to hurt him either.”

And Tyson fully understands where you’re coming from, because he’s been struggling with that for the past few months ever since he met you. He thinks back to that conversation on the plane all that time ago and how JT firmly told him to not try anything, but now as he really thinks about it, he’s not sure he meant it because of him and that it was more so because he cared for you and didn’t want to see you get hurt in general.

You can see in his eyes that same wide open door you’re thinking about, the one where you get to explore a relationship with the quirky, optimistic, competitive guy in front of you. The guy that matches your level of confidence as you, the guy that lets you be stubborn and lets you live out that stubbornness because he’s the most patient person you’ve ever met.

The decision’s easy as he stands in front of you, putting the ball in your court, your lip caught between your teeth. He’s waiting for you then, waiting for you to walk through that door or close it and walk out of his apartment. He’s hopeful, knowing that last night wasn’t a fluke and that all the kisses you’ve already shared are real and full of passion and those feelings you’ve been dancing around.

That’s when you give in, wrapping your legs around his torso and pulling him into you with that toothy smile of yours as you place your lips on his hungrily. It’s a kiss full of teeth as he smiles against you, his hands coming to cradle your face as you kiss. It’s much more addicting now that you’re sober and you fully agree with Tyson’s comment from last night about how he’s never going to want to stop kissing you.

You decide later that day that there’s no rush in telling JT, instead opting to see how things go between the two of you for a few weeks. Those two weeks are full of plenty of quality time, a coincidental home stand falling during that time meaning you get him to yourself before facing the reality that is how much he travels. You’re sure you can handle everything the new relationship can throw at you, the honeymoon phase lasting long as the two of you skirt around how you’ll tell JT whenever that time comes.

“I need to leave now if I want to leave for the rink and not see JT,” Tyson warns, prying away from your warm body in bed. You whined in response, wanting to have his warmth for just a little while longer. You let him escape from your grasp, only after asking for one too many kisses. You follow him out into your kitchen, watching him as he pulls on his shoes and finds his keys.

“You sure I can’t get you to stay for at least a cup of coffee?” You muse, giving it one more shot to spend time with him before your work week starts. You make your way to where he’s lingering in your entryway, looking extra cozy with his hood over his messy head of curls. You wrap your arms around his middle, slipping your hands under the cotton of his hoodie to feel his skin against yours.

He leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips, giggling when you follow him as he pulls away, “I really need to get going.”

“Fine,” you hum. “I’ll see you when you get back from Dallas?”

Tyson nods his head with a hum in answer, finally pulling open your front door to get to his car downstairs in the garage without running into JT. But luck isn’t on his side this morning and he gives you one more goodbye hug and kiss in the doorway before shutting the door behind him and coming face to face with a certain redheaded teammate a few feet down.

JT’s eyebrows are knitted as he takes his key out of the lock. His mouth opens a few times in confusion before any words come out. “What was that?”

Tyson doesn’t think he’s ever been at such a loss for words as he is right now. He looks between the door he just shut and his friend a few times, trying to wrap his brain around what this scene looks like. It’s not even 8:30 in the morning on Sunday, and to anyone, this looks like the start of a walk of shame.

“Uh, y/n and I were hanging out and we fell asleep so she let me sleep in her guest room,” Tyson lies. He hopes it’s convincing, his voice didn’t waver but his hands flailed around a little more than normal when he talks and he scratched his beard, something he always does when he’s nervous.

“I’m pretty sure I just saw you kiss her,” JT explains, voice stern as he completely turns to look at Tyson. “And you don’t just kiss people goodbye.”

Tyson stumbles over an explanation for that, no logical reason coming to mind.

“You were just kissing y/n!” JT exclaims, a rise in his voice as he starts to fill in the blanks. Now he’s starting to connect the dots of your tendency to bail on him on the nights you’d normally hang out and Tyson’s lack of interest in guys’ night or after game celebrations with the team. The giggling he would hear through the wall late at night, the girly squeals, and the few times he remembered hearing the bedpost hit against your shared wall a little too hard for his liking. “You just fucking kissed my best friend after I told you to not get involved with her!”

Tyson moves to close the distance between him and his best friend, but JT takes one back, effectively cancelling it out. Tyson’s opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out the best course of action for this premature conversation. The two of you had just figured everything out in the past few days, telling JT about your newfound relationship hadn’t even come up in conversation yet.

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Barely two weeks,” Tyson stutters out, watching as JT’s face fills with more anger. “Comph, just let me explain,” he tries again, but JT just shakes his head and heads for the doorway for the stairwell instead of the elevator. It’s a huge flight of stairs given that he lives on the 11th floor of the building. He wants to follow his friend, but knows that space is what he needs and instead presses the button for the elevator and gets in, leaving him alone in his thoughts.

When he meets up with him at the rink, JT’s still avoiding him which is hard considering their stalls are only separated by one other in the locker room. Cale hadn’t even made it to the rink yet, so someone wasn’t even there to put up a wall between the two. Gabe takes notice as he walks around the room after taping his ankles, his eyebrows knitting at the fact that Tyson, who’s normally cheery even this early in the morning and bugging JT, is putting on his pads and skates with his mouth shut.

It’s something Gabe puts in the back of his mind, just thinking that Tyson had a rough night or morning. It’s during morning skate that Gabe, and almost everyone else, notices something is off between the pair. JT doesn’t chirp him like normal when they take face-offs against one another, he’s not by his side in between drills, and JT sticks his stick out a little too far during a one-on-one, sending Tyson to the ice during a drill that no one should be falling during. Bednar thinks nothing of it, just telling Tyson to stay on his two feet.

Practice eventually ends but the silent treatment between the two continues. JT’s uncharacteristically quiet to everyone that talks to him, something clearly on his mind. Meanwhile Tyson’s nerves are causing him to not shut up as Cale shares a story about his rough commute this morning.

As Tyson and Cale quiet down, Gabe steps in, pointing between the two of them, “What’s up with you two today?”

“Nothing,” Tyson lies quickly, not wanting anyone else to get involved in this. Even if their captain is just trying to help, Tyson’s not sure there’s anything Gabe can say to help.

JT scoffs, tying his shoes before standing up, “He’s fucking my best friend.” Cale, who was taking him leisurely time with getting dressed suddenly stands up and crosses the room to where Gravy was, avoiding any possible conflict.

Gabe’s eyes pop out of his head as Tyson responds, “we’re not fucking.”

“So the banging into my wall last night wasn’t you?” JT asks in an accusatory tone.

“Well, we’re not like,” Tyson starts, gesturing his hands in front of his body in a way to finish that sentence, soon realizing he doesn’t want to add fuel to fire by saying he was in fact fucking his best friend last night. “It’s not just that, we’re together.”

Gabe, who thought this was probably a misunderstanding of one of Tyson’s pranks or even just JT not winning a stupid bet, is just as shocked as JT was a few hours agao when he saw two of his best friends kissing. The captain isn’t entirely sure of how to navigate this situation, one that hasn’t really happened in any of his locker rooms. He doesn’t have much else to say to the two of them other than to figure it out and that a girl shouldn’t get between two friends that are as close as they are.

With that, Tyson’s trying to apologize to JT, tell him that there’s more to the story but JT wants nothing of it, and is throwing his jacket on and running out the door. Everything in Tyson’s being wants to follow him back to his place and beg for him to hear him out, but instead he’s racing back to your place, ignoring the fact that he still has to pack for their quick road trip.

Tyson all about sprints up the 11 flights of stairs to your door, knocking on your door with urgency until the door swings open. You move to the side as you let him in, clearly seeing how frantic he is with his flushed cheeks and the excessive knocking.

“JT saw me leave this morning,” Tyson lets out, a little out of breath from his run up the stairs. Tyson’s waiting for you to respond but you’re still not getting it. “He saw me kiss you goodbye and then didn’t talk to me all practice then when Landy confronted us he was just like ‘Tyson’s fucking my best friend’ and I tried to explain but-”

“Tys,” you interrupt his rambling, taking a step forward to reach out to him. Your hands grab his in an attempt to ground him, your thumbs rubbing back and forth on the back of his hands. “It’ll be okay.”

“He literally tripped me in practice today!”

“That’s because he can be a petty asshole. He doesn’t hate you, he probably just feels betrayed because he didn't know any of this was going on.” You try to console him, pushing all of your anxieties and paranoia aside to deal with the panicking boy in front of you.

“Let me talk to him, you need to go home and pack for your road trip since I know you haven’t yet.”

“But,”

“I’ll come over right after and update you, I promise.”

WIth that, Tyson kisses you goodbye as you push him to the elevator with a promise that everything is going to be okay before giving yourself a pep talk and bursting into JT’s apartment next to yours.

He spots you before you can greet him and you can see quite a few different feelings crossing over his face.

“Oh, God, are you here to also tell me that you’re not just fucking my best friend, too?” JT scoffs, causing your heart to plummet into your ass. “I really don’t want to listen to any excuses you may have about this.”

“Stop being an asshole for just one second and let me explain,” you reprimand him, already over the fact that your so-called best friend won’t even hear you out. “How is this any different from the countless times you tried to set me up with your friends? Is this not the same thing?”

It’s a genuine question that shuts up JT, because really, it’s not much different in your eyes. For over a year now, JT’s been showing you pictures of buddies he has from back home or from college or even friends of friends that he’d think would suit you. You had always turned him down because to you, dating wasn’t something you wanted other people to really interfere with, even if some of his friends were young, successful, bachelor types.

“Because it’s Tyson,” JT answers simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You look at him, hands clenching at your sides with the vague and uninterested tone. He’s barely even looking at you as he tidies up his kitchen, something he always did when trying to fill silence.

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?” You ask incredulously. “You’ve told me a million times he’s one of the best people you’ve ever met.” You bite your tongue from adding a comment about how he is one of the best people you’ve also met.

“The other guys weren’t professional athletes, it’s pretty simple from how I see it.”

“But you could set me up with your friends from Chicago and New York and Michigan but I find one of your friends here in Denver then it’s off limits? Because he plays a sport for a living? If that’s the case then I shouldn’t be friends with you either.” It’s a low blow, you know that, but it finally catches his attention as he drops the cloth he’s wiping the counter with. His eyes finally connect with yours and it’s then he finally notices how hurt you are by the lack of emotion in both his words and his body language. There are tears in your eyes as you look up at the ceiling to try and even your breathing.

“It's an honor for anyone to have a place in my life JT and that includes you,” you continue. “Tyson understands that. He understands that I'm my own person before anything else but he’s still there when I'm stubborn. I've been single for so long and I truly know what I want, what I deserve to feel and I get that with him.”

You often don’t get this deep with the red head, but his lack of wanting to understand you has you emotional as you think of all the benefits of being with Tyson. The few months of being his friend were a perfect build up to the past few weeks of it being more, of sharing a life with someone else.

“You know him better than most people and if you can honestly tell me he’s no good for me right now then I’ll end it,” you suggest, your heart beating fast as you wait for an answer. JT has come to be one of your best friends in your life, even if he is just your neighbor, and at this moment it’s hard to think of putting a guy between you. Even if that guy is the first guy you’ve really felt this way towards.

“I’m not gonna tell you that,” JT admits with a heavy sigh. He makes his way across the room to you before continuing. “He’s my best friend, too, and if there’s anyone that knows everything about both of you, it’s me. I guess I just felt like you were hiding a secret from me and we don’t do that, ya know? I just wish you could’ve told me.”

You laugh snidely at that, “Do you not remember like two months ago when I told you I thought Tyson was cute and you shot that down before I was even done talking?”

The wheels turn and the light bulb goes off in JT’s brain as he remembers that conversation from a while back, “I won’t confirm nor deny that I said that.”

The both of you laugh lightheartedly at that, pulling him in for a much needed hug, both of you apologizing to the other. The weight on your shoulders is liften as he pulls away, thankful for the fact that you have such an understanding person for a best friend.

“You want to watch an episode of Psych? I think we can fit one in before I have to leave.”

You contemplate it, knowing that a few miles away Tyson is in his apartment panicking as he waits for some sort of update from you. You know you need to tell him how your conversation just went, but something inside you is telling you that JT needs you to spend time with him to normalize everything.

“Sure,” you smile, walking over to his couch and laying on it long ways, forcing JT to sit by himself in his chair. You pull out your phone to text Tyson, smiling as you type out an explanation.

y/n: just finished talking to jt y/n: everything’s good but i think i need to just hang out with him to make him feel better about everything tyson: you sure? y/n: yes, ill call you when he leaves for the airport💚

Everything gets sorted out when you call Tyson an hour later, calming his nerves as you give him a detailed play-by-play of everything that was said between you and JT. The comfortable silence before you hang up is almost filled with him telling you he loves you, but he knows he needs to talk to JT first and needs to tell you in person, and not over the phone as he boards a flight.

The flight was filled with awkward air as most of the guys saw what happened with Tyson and JT in the locker room when practice ended that morning, and even if they weren’t there for that, they felt the tension between them. It’s not until a few hours later when Tyson’s doing his hair before the game when he hears a knock on his hotel door.

He swings the door open to see JT, his hands shoved in his short pockets as he stares right back at Tyson.

“Can we talk?”

“Uh, yeah,” he responds nervously, stepping out of the way to let his friend through the door. The two of them awkwardly stand a few feet away, that meme about two straight guys sitting six feet away in a hot tub because they’re not gay going through Tyson’s brain.

“I, uh, wanted to apologize about everything earlier. I’ll admit, I overreacted a bit and I shouldn’t have tripped you in practice. It was just a lot to take in, especially because I didn’t really know that you two were that close. And I feel like a bad friend now for not knowing that.”

JT’s apology is way more than what Tyson thought he would get from his friend. He knew yours and his conversation went well, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t scared JT was going to punch him or yell at him or literally anything that wasn’t an amicable conversation between two adults.

“It’s fine, man. It’s on us for keeping you in the dark on this one and I’m sorry for that. I think we barely knew what was going on until it was all happening,” Tyson starts to explain. He’s trying not to look at his feet, knowing that JT needs to see the feelings in his face, those feelings that are very much real to him.

“And it’s real for you? It’s not a game? Because I swear to God, Tyson.” JT darts, voice stern.

“God, no, this isn’t a game to me JT,” Tyson answers quickly, head shaking in disgust at the thought. “I’m not just trying to bag her and call it some accomplishment or whatever you think this is. If that was the case I wouldn’t even be having this conversation with you and you’d already hate me,” he shudders at those words, unable to ever think he could do any wrong to you. “You told me a while ago that it’s no bullshit with her and I know that because it isn’t for me either.”

JT takes a seat on the bed in the room as his friend speaks, taking it all in. It’s a lot for him to take in, but Tyson really is one of the best people he’s ever met and he has little to no doubt that he’s telling the truth about how he feels. If the tears brimming your eyes earlier in the day said anything, you feel the exact same way. The room is silent once Tyson is done talking, his nerves causing him to be quiet for once as JT figures out his next move.

“I hear one bad bad thing from y/n, then it’s over,” JT warns, Tyson nodding his head along in agreement. “And if the guys start talking about your sex life I will be cutting your dick off.”

“Got it.”

“Okay, now that that’s out of the way, how’d you get her to go for you? I’ve been trying to get her a guy for forever.”

“Easy, have you seen my charming smile?” Tyson jokes with that crooked smirk of his, happy to see that JT is already moving on from that heavy stuff and onto best friend stuff. JT rolls his eyes heavily at the joke, a light ‘shut up’ coming out as he laughs.

Tyson explains everything then, the same wide smile on his face he had when he scored his first hat trick. He tells JT about how he wined and dined you on more than one occasion, how he learned those little, obscure things about you that you caught you off guard whenever he remembered them, and most importantly, just spent uninterrupted time with you, getting to know the ins and outs of your life. To Tyson, getting you to open up to him was difficult yet still a tranquil thing to do. The latter severely outweighed the former, as the sense of serenity he felt with you would always overpower any of those harder moments.

The team returns to Denver two days later, a quick road trip to Dallas and St Louis in the books with the regular season ending within the week. You can see that it’s that time of the year on both JT and Tyson’s face, their eyes a little more sunken in with the back half push, even if they’ve already clinched the playoffs. There’s only a few more games left to round out March and the beginning of April, the guys’ still waiting on their round one opponent.

Tyson heads straight for your place when the plane touches down late Wednesday night. You’d talked to him every day for the past few days, but not being able to see him much after JT finding out caused a lot of anxiety for the both of you. The problem may be solved with that, but seeing the other would just give you that little extra push that this was the right thing to do.

Tyson enters your apartment quietly, dropping his backpack and suit jacket down onto the nearby couch as he navigates his way through your apartment in the dark. The light of your string lights in your bedroom illuminates the hallway, soft sounds coming from your phone as Tyson walks in on you laying on your side.

“Hey,” he gently greets with a smile, pausing in the doorway to admire you. You set your phone down, turning around to face the man leaning against the door frame.

You smile just as wide as he does, responding with just as gentle of a ‘hey’. That anxiety you felt over the course of the last few days instantly dissolving at the sight of the man in your doorway.

“Why’re you standing all the way over there?” You ask with a pout.

“I can’t just look at you?” Tyson laughs, making his way over to you slowly. He joins you in bed, crawling over you like he’s still not dressed in one of his expensive custom suits.

“Not when I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you complain with a giggle, the same pout still glued to your face. He places a quick kiss on your lips in response, giving into your silent ask while also erasing that puppy dog look from your face. You’d only officially been with Tyson a few weeks now, the butterflies still heavily present in your stomach everytime your lips meet his.

“Do you not have clothes to change into?” You ask, referring to the crisp white button down he’s still wearing. He nods his head no against yours,

“Only what’s dirty from the roadie. Besides, I plan on being naked here pretty soon,” he smirks playfully. The comment has you shoving him off you with a roll of your eyes, only causing him to laugh loudly at your reaction. You know he’s partly kidding, using that as an excuse to get up from bed to go to the bathroom.

When you emerge from the bathroom, he’s finally shed his clothes and is under your covers. He opens his arms for you to snuggle into him. You do, resting your head on his bicep as he wraps both of his arms back around you.

“I missed you,” you let out. “Because I didn’t know what was gonna happen when you got back with everything going on with JT.”

“I missed you, too, but I’ve always missed you when we left for road trips,” he responds, letting you in on a little secret that clues you in once again to how real this is and how long it’s truly been going on for. “He’s fine with everything, he just told me we can’t act too much like a couple around him.”

You chuckle at that because of course that was the part JT focused on when they talked. As you look up at him, your heart is full and your head still has that same fuzzy feeling it always has when you’re around him. With him you’ve never really felt lonely, something you often felt even when you were around people before him. Those love songs you once heard on the radio that annoyed you no longer do, and instead you welcome them when they play spontaneously in the car or at the bar and parties or even at Avalanche games.

The thoughts swimming around in your head have you swinging your leg over him, straddling his hips with his hands on your waist and yours on his ribs. That doe-eyed smile he has is focused on you, a grin spreading over your face at the way everything’s worked out with him. Your heart flutters as he gently squeezes your side, a small squeak coming out. He leans up on his elbows then, admiring the view he has of you. He slowly yet full-heartedly fell for you over the time he’s known you and you can see it in the way his gaze turns soft and as the quirkiness drops from his expression.

You’ve slowly fallen in love with the man underneath you, too, and you lean down to kiss him one more time. It’s slow like they always seem to be with him in scenarios like this, where it’s just the two of you and the sounds of your breathing.

The playoffs fly by quickly with the pace they’re winning at, a WAG jacket wrapped tightly around your shoulders to every game you make it to. A new one is shoved into your hands at the start of the Stanley Cup playoffs, Mel telling you it’s a special occasion that calls for a new jacket, even if it is just for a series and even though you’ve just barely broken in your first one.

You go into that offseason with your newly crowned Stanley Cup Champion of a boyfriend, flying out to Chicago over the summer for JT’s day with the cup and spending a whole week in St. Albert when its Tyson’s turn with it.

And that picture frame you never found a picture for that’s hanging up on your wall by your TV? It’s been occupied now with a photo of you sandwiched between JT and Tyson on the ice after Game 6 against the Tampa Bay Lightning, the Cup on the ice in front of the three of you, faces full of glee with confetti falling around you.

Plus One

The pitter patter of small feet running along the hardwood floors of the hallway, followed by a squeal of ‘daddy’ has you setting your glass down and following after her. Your daughter’s giggle is heard through the house, the familiar sound of your husband dropping his bags by the front door following soon after.

“What’re you still doing up, baby girl?” Tyson chastises the four year old as you round the corner to find the two of them still by the door, your daughter in Tyson’s arms as he gives her a kiss.

“Sage said she wouldn’t go to bed until daddy came home for story time,” you answer for Sage. She only giggles in response.

“How about you go get in bed and mommy and daddy will come tell you a story in a minute?” Tyson asks, playing with her little fingers.

“Okay daddy!” She agrees instantly, running all the way up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom. The brown curls she got from Tyson bounce as she runs, your heart warming at the heavy resemblance she has to her father.

“How are you doing, baby?” Tyson hums as you give him the usual welcome home kiss, his hand coming to rest on your protruding stomach.

“Good, the back pain is much more manageable now, but I’m still going to the bathroom every hour it seems like,” you shrug as you answer. He’d been on the longest road trip of the season so far, one that means the season is almost over. You’d tried extremely hard this time around to get pregnant at the right time so your next child would arrive during the offseason and not in the middle of the conference finals like your first did a few years ago.

“Soon enough we’ll have her running and occupying all of Sage’s free time,” Tyson muses, the two of you making your way to your bedroom so he could change into comfier clothes. You smile at the thought of Sage finally having a little sister to play with and hopefully become best friends with.

When you don’t get to Sage’s room fast enough, she’s racing into yours and Tyson’s room and plopping down onto your spacious bed. You join her, Tyson following, knowing that she’d much rather be sandwiched between the two of you than in her tiny bed in her own room. She leans into her dad’s side, something she’s always done, but you don’t mind — you love seeing them get so close.

“Did you bring a book, sweetie?” You ask her, taming some of her curls.

“No, tell me the story of how you met daddy again,” she proposes, causing you and Tyson to share a look. It’s her favorite story, one she asks you to relay to her at least once a week, and the one she asks for the most when Tyson’s been gone.

The two of you tell the story to her anyway, taking turns as you tell her how upset Uncle JT was about the two of you dating, all the way to the jokes he made sure to make when he gave a speech at your wedding six years ago now.

#tyson jost imagine #alex writes #nhl imagine #hockey writing #when i post this i’ll be at work lmao i’m really posting it then dipping

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d-criss-news · 3 years

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The Glee star and Emmy winner for The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, Darren Criss, 34, will be releasing his first album of Christmas songs, titled A Very Darren Crissmas (October 8). It includes duets with Adam Lambert, Evan Rachel Wood and an original song, “Drunk on Christmas,” featuring Lainey Wilson.

What was your goal with this Christmas album?

To reintroduce familiar songs in a new way. But I also wanted to take lesser-known songs and make those feel more familiar. And, most importantly, I wanted to take songs that people don’t associate with Christmas but I do—like Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”—and try to make them feel like Christmas songs.

What inspired you to write “Drunk on Christmas”?

It’s about the end of Christmas when everything’s been done. There’s wrapping on the floor, you’ve cleaned things, the in-laws have left and there’s nothing else to do. It’s two people having a sit-on-the couch moment, sipping a glass of cocoa with some SoCo [Southern Comfort] in it.

What is it about Christmas music? Why did you want to do the Christmas album?

Christmas or the holiday season is something that, whether we like it or not, we experience every year, and that comes with a litany of wonderful songs and music that again, whether you have been proactive about listening to it or not, it’s pretty hard to avoid. It’s permeated our cultural consciousness for our entire lives. So if you happen to be someone like me who consumes music at a hyperactive level, I’ve always adored Christmas music.

People say this because of the way that it makes them feel and the things that it reminds them of. There are so many layers to why people enjoy Christmas music. It’s nostalgic, it is very romantic, at least in the true dictionary meaning of the word romantic. And to me, I’ve always loved it for a much more anthropological reason, which is for one month or several weeks out of the year we suddenly subscribe to a certain sentiment that the other 11 we don’t really dial into. We want it all, then we want it to just go away.

What makes Christmas songs different?

As a musician I’ve always loved that Christmas music can employ certain musical elements that otherwise aren’t very popular. To me, it’s incredible that without a doubt the estates of many artists are guaranteed placement on the radio even though many of them have been deceased for many years. The pop charts are dominated by whatever contemporary, awesome artists there are nowadays, but in December you can guarantee that Burl Ives and Dean Martin will be on the radio with the best of them. I find that so charming. It’s because people really, really love this music.

And those songs don’t sound like the sounds that we’re hearing on the radio, sonically, harmonically, rhythmically. They employ a lot of “classic” sounds that evoke the feeling of Christmas. I’m a self-proclaimed genrephile—this is a term I use for myself throughout all the stuff that I do. I can’t help but be so enchanted by this idea that artists have license, and by license I mean an excuse to do things that you ordinarily wouldn’t be encouraged to do, or that audiences wouldn’t necessarily be as quick to absorb.

So, when you’re talking about classic Christmas writing, for lack of a better word, you use clichéd Christmas terminology, you use certain chords, and harmonies, and instrumentations that you just wouldn’t do throughout the year. It leans on the slightly more sophisticated, slightly more musical, and that is really exciting for someone like me.

How much does the fact that your last name is Criss play into this?

If you play music and your last name is Criss, every year someone says, “You know what you should do?” as if they’re the first person who’s ever thought of this idea. So I’ve always wanted to do this; it was just a matter of time. And I also didn’t want it to be phoned in, I didn’t want it to seem like, “Oh, here’s some songs that you know already.”

I wrote this in my liner notes that my favorite thing to do with art, but particularly music, is curate, interpolate, create and personalize. That’s my main thing. I’m an OK singer, I’m an OK musician, but what I really think I have a yen for is trying to interpolate something new that people didn’t know before.

If you think about a song like “Jingle Bells,” it was not written for Christmas. It was a song from 200-something years ago that bears no mention of Christmas whatsoever, but we associate it so heavily with Christmas. Lately I hear Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” come up on Christmas playlists. I think it must have something to do with the Christian angle of the song and the reverence of the word “hallelujah,” but there’s no mention of Christmas.

So there’s a lot of different things that can make people feel like Christmas if you arrange it a certain way, and that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted this cocktail of songs that people didn’t know and I might be able to introduce to them in a really new, interesting way.

You duet with Adam Lambert, Evan Rachel Wood and Lainey Wilson. These people couldn’t be more different. How did you select your song partners for this?

Honestly, people are busy, so I leaned on friends of mine. The album is called A Very Darren Crissmas, and I wanted to make it just that. Songs that are very, very me, doing things that are very me, and using the talents of people who are legitimately in my life. Adam has been a pal for a long time. We’ve known each other from just adventures in Hollywood, but he, of course, was on Glee with me. Evan Rachel is a dear pal of mine; we’ve done some things together. She’s played my festival, and I’ve done comedy sketches with her and stuff. These are all extraordinarily talented singers. As I told them when I asked them to be a part of it, “I’d be very lucky to have you on this record.”

I had not met Lainey Wilson before I started this. But when you’re in Nashville, you are in the Olympic tent of USDA certified prime country singers. And that’s a bit of a blind spot for me as far as who’s on the up and up, who’s somebody that can really give a level of authenticity, legitimacy to a more classic ’50s Nashville sound, which is the song that I wrote called “Drunk on Christmas.” My producer Ron Fair, who has been living in Nashville for a while, suggested Lainey and we got on like a house on fire. She’s an extraordinary talent and I was happy to have her. These were all people that were part of this grassroots friend to friend thing. That’s how I got them and I’m very lucky that they’re on the record.

There are hundreds of Christmas songs. How did you choose what to include?

Choosing was extremely hard. I had a list of about 100 songs. I’m not done; this record is only phase one in my mind. There are so many songs that it will make your head spin. If you go, “Did you think about this song?” The answer is yes, and I absolutely had to deliberate which ones I had to triage out of the sequence.

I even said no to “The Christmas Song,” which is on the album. I didn’t want to do it because I was like, “Everybody knows it; it’s perfect by Nat King Cole,” and Mel Tormé [who wrote it] is one of my favorite artists of all time, much less songwriters and musicians. So I was like, “I don’t want to have to do that.” And on the day when we were there, we just had a guitar and said, “Let’s just do it for fun,” because I love singing that song. But I was like, “It’s been done perfectly too many times, I really don’t want to have to put myself up against that.” But we had a nice take, it’s live in the room. And hey, come on, it’s Christmas. So I left it on there.

If we were to come to your house during the holidays, what would you be listening to?

I’d probably sit you down and play you my favorite songs that you’ve never heard that I think are great Christmas songs. But what’s nice is I’ve now put those songs on this album, hopefully, in a perhaps delusional effort to standardize these songs in the Christmas pantheon. There has to be an air of delusion to being an artist in the first place. If one of these songs that no one’s ever heard before catches on with a family or a person and becomes part of their Christmas playlist every year, then I will have succeeded in my efforts.

What did the Emmy you won for The Assassination of Gianni Versace do for your career?

Although the Emmy has just my name on it, the number one thing that I’m most proud of is it’s more symbolic and representative of the work of the whole team. It is a validation and celebration of the really hard work of people that I spent a lot of time and energy with creating this role.

You have a couple voice roles coming up—in Trese and Yasuke—but what are we going to see you in next, not just hear you?

I don’t know. Let me know if there’s any opportunities. A huge reason for why this album was made was because I had the time. Making records takes a lot of time, and I’m envious of people who are just singers. I don’t know how people do that, that’s just not who I am. I’m a producer, I’m a writer, I’m a musician. It takes so much out of me to make a body of music because someone doesn’t say, “OK, here are the songs, show up on a Tuesday, you sing it and then you leave.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some of my favorite artists can do that and are blessed enough to be able to just do that. I can’t.

It takes so much time for me to really get in the weeds, arrange, edit vocals, edit instrumentation, mix tracks, really getting in the jungle of music production. I can’t function any other way and that takes an extraordinary amount of time. Even when there was a global pandemic, I still had deadlines that we could barely make to finish this album because that’s just how my brain works.

So I haven’t been able to act. I haven’t had an acting job in almost two years. That’s not entirely true. I’ve had little bit things during the pandemic, but no big series or films or anything like that. It’s just been mostly working from home and being as proactive as I can be. I started a weekly podcast with a friend of mine, I put out an EP. I’ve been extremely busy with high output and low visibility. I’m waiting for the next thing, but I’m not one to sit still. If you give me time, I’m going to fill all the spaces out. So I did that with music this past two years.

Are you going to go back to Broadway now that it’s opening again?

I don’t want to say anything that is not perhaps confirmed 100 percent, but I will say with full confidence that I have always had the intention of going back exactly where we started. I’ll let them announce what’s happening because every show is in its own unique holding pattern. But, yes, right before the shutdown I was doing American Buffalo in New York, and talk about the actor’s dream, that is right up there. Doing a great American play that I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve had a long history with that show, and I finally get to do it for real with two of my favorite actors—Sam Rockwell and Laurence Fishburne. They are two acting heroes of mine.

So I was in rehearsals for that. We were about to go into tech, and things got shut down. But we’re in a very fortunate position where you’ve got two huge movie stars, you have a very well-known play and you have a fixed set and just three guys. There are musicals that have orchestras, big choruses and huge set pieces, and the overhead and upkeep of these productions is quite complicated. And a lot of them, for that reason, fell by the wayside during the pandemic, and it’s an awful tragedy. But our set and our billboard and our posters are exactly where we left them. It’s kind of a trip. If you go to Circle in the Square, I keep telling people it’s the longest I’ve ever been on Broadway because it’s just sitting there dormant, waiting to be resurrected.

I think all of us are planning on going back. I think the show is scheduled to reopen almost to the day that it was supposed to open in 2020. We’ll see how the schedule ends up, but you have three guys whose heart and soul is the theater. I don’t want to speak for the other two guys, but I’m almost positive that all three of us would rather be doing that play on Broadway than anything else. So when I say I haven’t had an acting gig in two years, it’s been a comfort to know that that was waiting for me on the other end. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we’ll be able to do it. We’ll have to make sure that everything is hunky-dory with theater audiences, et cetera, et cetera, but that’s the idea.

How did Ryan Murphy casting you in Glee change your life?

I said during my Emmy speech that actors are only as good as the moments they get. I used to say actors are only as good as the parts they get. Take that with a huge grain of salt, obviously, it’s not entirely true. But in context of that moment, certainly you can understand what I meant. Acting is a proactive craft, but in many respects it’s a passive career, where you have to hope and wait for a benefactor, a patron, a supporter to say, “OK, all right, kid, you’re up. I think you can do it.”

I think any artist’s life is a constant compromise between knowing what you can do and what you want to do, and having other people, audiences and creative authorities alike, have an idea of what you can do. You have to have that balance of somewhere in the middle, where hopefully you can rise to an occasion that you know you can do, that somebody’s going to give you the opportunity to do. But you’re not in control of that relationship, and so you have to sit and hope and pray that someone is going to give you that moment and that opportunity. That was something that I’m fully indebted to with Ryan.

Because he did say, “All right, kid, you’re up,” and gave me that shot. We talked about the The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story series for years before we did it. I didn’t think he was ever going to do it. By the time we started shooting, he probably mentioned it to me three or four years prior. And I kept asking about it like, “Hey, you still want to do this thing?” I think he was just always obsessed with the fact that I was half Filipino and that I bore a certain resemblance to the guy. Age and everything, it seems pretty spot-on. But he was a man of his word, and he really did end up making it. So I’m incredibly indebted to him and I’ve always been very effusive about that.

Now that you have this modicum of fame, what would you like to use it to accomplish?

For me, there are so many things that I love in this world that I don’t think other people are familiar with. One of the things about having a modicum of a platform is hopefully embracing that to use it as a gateway drug for stuff that people might not be familiar with. I don’t know if they’re going to like it as much as I do, but I’m looking at this track list and there are songs that I guarantee that you don’t know.

These are all things where I go, “OK, I have this moment of people’s attention, hopefully, this is a fun way to have them have eyes on something that I think is deserving of eyes, and not because of me, but because of other people who have made something amazing.” And, hopefully, they have the same proactive curiosity that I had growing up where I look at the liner notes and see who wrote the songs and where they came from. But we’ll see. We’ll see if people have that reaction.

You’ve accomplished so much. What’s the dream going forward?

The dream is to keep doing me, really. I think all you can do is be as true to yourself and try and do as accessible and as valuable work as you can. And, hopefully, in so doing, represent people, giving them visibility and encouragement towards their own place in the cultural conversation.

#darren criss #parade magazine #a very darren crissmas #press #oct 2021

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phlox238 · 3 years

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i wrote a pretty long rymin fic and half of it is min being anxious and getting advice from a lesbian at a gay bar,,, it sucks but here it is anyway

2.5k words this is the most ive ever written

"So," The girl began, gesturing wildly with her hands. "You think you're in love with your best friend, who you've known since you were born, and you're in a band and traveling across Canada and the USA with. What did you say your name is?"

"Oh, fuck." Min-gi sighed, letting his head rest in his hands. "This is weird, isn't it? I barely know you."

"Nah, I just thought that, if we're going to have a slightly drunk chat in the back of a gay bar, then we should know each other's names. I'm Eryn, and you?" Eryn stuck out her hand, the many bracelets she wore on her wrist clanking together.

Min chuckled a little, then took her hand and shook it. Her dark skin was warm, which was surprising, since this part of the bar was near freezing. "Min-gi. But you can call me Min."

"Awesome. So, tell me about it, Min." Eryn tightened her ponytail, leaning forward on her arms.

"Tell you what about it? There's so many things that I could say." He was so caught up in this gay crisis stuff that he hadn't even considered stopping for a moment to really think about it.

Eryn shrugged. "Whatever you want to say. Get stuff off your chest, just let it out, if you want to. There's like, nobody else back here. Doesn't really matter, right? I'm not judgy."

"Okay...well, he has a girlfriend, first of all; has had many of them. So he's not into dudes." Min crossed his arms.

"Hey, he could still be. Just because he dates women doesn't mean he's straight. Could still be into guys. Don't give up hope just yet, okay?" Eryn laced her fingers together, as if she was planning something. The dark lighting of the bar didn't help anything.

“Damn,” Min rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t know you could like both.”

Not without laughing at him first, Eryn started to explain. "Oh, wow, you really are new to this, huh?" She chuckled a little more, shaking her head. “That’s okay. There’s a lot of different ways to love people, you just gotta figure out what works for you. Oh, also; it isn’t just both. There’s the genderqueer people, too, don’t forget about them!” She smiled.

Min didn’t quite know what genderqueer meant, but he figured he could find out later. He was asking too many questions already. "Damn...how do you know all of this? I only realized I was, er, gay, like six months ago." Min marveled at her, the same way a nerd at school would marvel at the 'cool kids.' And honestly, she really looked like one, with her ponytail and undercut, her yellow, patched leather jacket, even the flashy jewelry she wore.

It made Min want to start dressing differently. Dressing cooler, like Ryan, like Eryn. Maybe he could.

Eryn grinned wider. "Oh, you know. It's just things you pick up along the way. I've known that I'm lesbian for a long time, since I was like 11. And I'm 21 now, so that's a long time. Lots of experience." She shuffled a little in her seat, taking another drink of beer. "Anyway. We're getting off track, aren't we? Keep talking, man."

Min laughed, a real laugh. "Okay, okay. A year ago, we, er…" He reached desperately for an explanation for the train, but decided that, just maybe, he could tell her. Really, the worst that she could think of him is that he's a drug user. "Can I tell you something? It's going to sound absolutely insane, probably, but I just. Need to tell someone."

She looked concerned, her dark brown eyes wide, but nodded anyway. "That's real ominous. But sure, go for it."

"Okay. So. Stick with me, here. A year ago, him and I got on a train, right? But then, there was another train door within the train. We just...went into the door. Well, the bastard threw my keys into it and then ran in, so how could I not follow?" Eryn was looking at him intently like she understood. Min could tell he was pretty drunk by now; he'd never be able to open up to someone this much sober. But that's okay. More than okay, really.

"It gets even weirder from then on. Ryan- that's his name, by the way- and I woke up on a giant, infinie train in the middle of nowhere. Gotta be pretty unbelievable, though. You probably think I'm on drugs." Min sighed.

Eryn was silent for a moment, but it was obvious she was getting ready to explode. "Dude, no fucking way!" Yep, there it was. "I got on that train! When I was eleven. I was super conflicted on my sexuality, had a shit ton of internalized homophobia as a result of having homophobic family. I felt like a disgusting person. So I got on the train, and it actually helped me through it." She'd completely lit up when Min mentioned the train. Looked like she was going to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

For a moment, Min was speechless. Soon, though, he regained his voice. "You're kidding," was all he could muster.

"Nope." Eryn's grin nearly reached her ears. "Did you have someone to help you along, too? There was a white cat named Samantha for me. She was French, for some reason. But I miss her."

"Oh! Yeah, Ryan and I had a floating, talking bell named Kez. Weird, right?. I miss her, too. Wonder how she's doing." Min thought for a second, completely and utterly relieved to have met someone else to share an experience with. Then something clicked. "Hold on...I might have met this cat you speak of. Yellow eyes? Uh, blonde...hair?"

"Blonde hair? Well, she didn't have that. But yeah, yellow eyes, French accent." Eryn nodded. They were silent for a moment.

Min chuckled, suddenly getting the urge to continue on with their story. Telling someone about the train would feel wonderful. "We had a lot of...issues...regarding our friendship, at the time. That's why the train picked us up in the first place." He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "The train did help us. But we had a lot of weirdly intimate moments on it, and that's where my sexuality crisis started. Like, there was a car where we had to perform a song with each other to get out of it, and of course I got stage fright right before it. I left him alone on stage. Again." Min paused, the guilt almost making him feel like he was living through that moment again.

Eryn nudged him. "And? That doesn't sound intimate. What happened next?"

"I hid in the bathroom. So he came in, and at first he was angry, but I was having a full on anxiety attack. We sat in the bathtub, hip to hip, knee to knee. It was weird, but nice. He helped me calm down. And like...in our last year of Highschool, I gave him a shirt with our band name on it. In that bath tub, he had it with him. He kept it. Said he'd never done a show without it." Min laughed, but there wasn't much humor about it. "Man, I wanted to kiss him so bad right then and there. But I didn't."

Eryn had a soft look in her eyes. "I dunno about you, but that sounds pretty damn gay to me. Maybe he's just dating other people to distract himself from his crush on you, who knows! All I'm trying to say is, don't give up on this, Min. You two have something going on, I don't know what, but it could blossom into a relationship." She patted him on the shoulder, then took another drink of her beer.

Min did the same. "What if he's not gay?" His voice was small. "Worse, what if he's homophobic? I don't know...fuck, it's terrifying. I could lose him because I'm gay."

"Well," Eryn paused for a moment, "you could try and subtly bring it into conversation. Maybe, like, bring up a celebrity who's gay. See his reaction." She gestured with her hands a lot, Min noticed.

Min nodded. It seemed simple in theory, but he knew he'd manage to fuck it up somehow. The logical part of his brain knew Ryan wouldn't leave him for being gay, but at the same time, there was this voice in the back of his head. Irrational thoughts, irrational fears; that's all it spoke of.

"Thank you. Really. It's been nice to talk about this, especially with someone who's been on the train. That thing is...a freak of nature. Maybe not even nature, I don't know. I'll try that with him, too." Min said finally, after some silence. Eryn laughed.

"Yeah, it absolutely is." She smiled widely. Eryn glanced around, her eyes finally landing on the only visible clock in this part of the bar. Her eyes widened. "Shit, I should really get going! Sorry. I told my girlfriend I'd be back around now." She, out of nowhere, gave Min a hug. It'd been a while since he'd hugged anyone, he realized, and it felt nice. Although, very unexpected.

Min hugged her back, sort of awkwardly. They separated soon after.

"That's okay. Again...thank you, so much. I should get young too." By now, it was almost 11 pm, and he figured he should leave as well. Ryan should be back at their apartment soon enough.

Min was about to turn and leave, but Eryn stopped him.

"Hey! How about we exchange phone numbers? This was a good chat, eh? I'd like to stay in contact." Eryn searched her pockets for a pen and some paper, but only found a marker. "Can I, like, write it on your arm and you can do the same?"

Min knew Ryan would tease him over it, but oh, well, he made a new friend. "Yeah, that's fine." He laughed, offering her his arm. She quickly scribbled her number on it, and honestly, it was barely legible. But he could read it, somewhat.

He then wrote his number on her arm, they exchanged goodbyes, and were on their way. Min dreaded returning to Ryan, who would definitely start to go on and on about his girlfriend, and just prove to make Min feel worse about his stupid crush.

But maybe, just maybe, Eryn was right. Maybe things would finally go his way for once.

•••

Min's walk home was quiet (as quiet as New York can be at night) and cold, it being the middle of November. Snow was just beginning to fall. Being outside Eryn's words stuck in his head like glue. Talk to him. As if he could do that. The idea of even just mentioning anything close to being gay made anxiety rise in his throat like bile.

He couldn't. Probably.

Before he could think much more on it, he was home. Home. Back to the decent one bedroom apartment they'd scraped up all of the money in their pockets to buy. Back to the scent of cigarette smoke in the air, back to the strange stains on the carpet in the hallway. Most importantly, back to Ryan. No matter how much resentment Min-gi might hold to him for having a girlfriend, Ryan usually made things better.

He walked up the stairs and down the hall to apartment number 202, ironically. Unlocked and opened the door to find it dark inside save for a single lamp. Min walked in, curious, just to find Ryan curled up in the fetal position on the sofa. That really made him anxious.

"Hey...Ryan? You good, man?" Min sat on the empty portion of the sofa, near his head.

Ryan stirred, rolling over onto his back. His head was resting a bit on Min's thigh, and it felt kind of nice.

"I dunno…" He mumbled. "She broke up with me."

"What?" Min looked down at Ryan, surprised. "Lisa? You're kidding."

"Nope, not kidding." Ryan laced his fingers together over his stomach. "The thing is...I'm like, kind of relieved that she did it? How fucked up is that?"

Min tilted his head in confusion. He really wanted to run his hand through Ryan's hair, but that was a really inappropriate thought for the moment.

"She, uh...said some things. When she broke up with me." He sighed. "Called me a fag." Ryan laughed, like he found it funny. Min didn't.

"Dude, what? Why?" Min's voice was a little shaky, for no other reason than that they were talking about gay people.

Ryan sighed. "Take a good look at us, Min." He brought his forearm up to cover his eyes. "We're two dudes, living in a one bedroom apartment together. We do everything together. Of course she's gonna think there's something going on."

Min felt like he was going to fucking disintegrate. "U-Uh...and that's a bad thing?"

"I mean...no. It just kind of clicked that...maybe she's right. Maybe I am gay." Ryan sat up, his back facing towards Min. He didn't look back. " I always assumed that I'd be straight, but this...it makes sense. None of my relationships have ever worked out. With women."

Min reached out and gently touched his shoulder. "Ryan...it's okay."

Ryan looked back, now, and his eyes were watery. Min frowned.

“How could it be okay?” His voice cracked as he spoke. “It’s just another reason for people to hate me. For my parents to hate me. Hell, maybe even you.” By the time that he finished talking, his voice was almost inaudible.

"No!" Min almost shouted, jolting forward. "No. Ryan, I could never hate you." Fuck, how was he supposed to tell Ryan he's gay now? Part of him wanted to shout it out impulsively, but the other part, it just wanted to keep hiding. Because what if something goes wrong? What if Ryan's in love with someone else? All what ifs. He really needed to stop.

Min inhaled deeply. Here goes. "This is gonna sound really coincidental, but...I'm gay too."

Quickly, Ryan turned around to face Min. His eyes were wide behind his glasses.

"What? No fucking way. You're kidding." Ryan was leaning forward, using his fists to prop him up.

Min shook his head. "No...I'm not. I was gonna tell you soon anyway, but now seemed like a good time." He scratched his head awkwardly.

Then, Ryan launched at him, hugging him. Arms wrapped around his neck, knees touching Min's thighs, the whole package. Min was sure he'd die with how flushed his face was; but thankfully, he didn't.

After what felt like a while, Ryan finally spoke.

"I love you." He mumbled into Min's shoulder.

Min paused. "In a gay way, or…?"

Ryan laughed. "Yeah, you idiot." He shook his head in amusement.

"Good. That's...great." He hugged Ryan tighter, finally letting himself run his fingers through his hair. It was soft, just like he expected. "I love you too."

#rymin #infinity train #infinity train book 4 #ryan akagi #min gi park #infinity train season 4

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bibbawrites · 3 years

Text

Beach Baby - Single Dad!Charlie x Owen

THIS IS PART 4 OF THE SINGLE DAD!CHARLIE SERIES YOU CAN READ PART 1 HERE , THE PREQUEL (PART 2) HERE AND PART 3 HERE

Request: none

Word Count: 3907 words 😳

Summary: Part 4 of Single Dad!Charlie, Margaux and Charlie reunite with Owen in Hawaii after months apart due to lockdown, just in time for Margaux’s fourth birthday

Warnings: technically underage drinking, i guess technically i have to warn that this is implied mutual crushing between owen and charlie, if you dont feel comfortable with romantic chowen do not read

A/N: i couldn’t get this out of my head so i had to write it, and boy did i write it this is the longest non-chaptered fic ive ever written and honestly i could have made it longer but i didnt want it to drag on any more that it already did this is literally more than double the length of my normal fics, i got very carried away

also just a note that i’m not trying to be rude about the fans who met the boys at the airport and i’m sure in real life the boys were happy to stop and chat, but from a parents perspective charlie’s first instinct would be to protect his daughter so i just thought i’d add that. please don’t get upset for that part!

sorry for any mistakes, its 4am and im half asleep trying to read through this to post lol anyways, hope you enjoy!

Tag List: @happinessinthedarkesttimes @littlemissaddict @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @headheartbellarke @lovesanimals @bartok-the-magnificent @juliefromaustralia @multi-universe21 @rangerelik @kaitieskidmore1 @katrina765 @fandomxreaders @ifilwtmfc

“Papa!” Margaux screamed, racing across the airport to Owen, the blond boy scooping up the nearly four year old and spinning her around when she reached him.

“Maggie! I’ve missed you so much.” Owen exclaimed, pulling his mask down to pepper her cheeks with kisses, causing Margaux to giggle loudly. “Where’s your Daddy?”

“Right behind you.” Owen spun around to find Charlie standing there, clearly smiling at him despite the bandana that covered his mouth, and Owen’s heart skipped a beat at how good Charlie looked in the early morning sun streaming through the airport windows.

Meanwhile Charlie was thinking the exact same thing, admiring how attractive Owen was, especially when he was in his dad mode. He really understood why girls had such a weakness for cute boys with cute kids when he saw Owen with Margaux.

Charlie stepped forward, pulling Owen into a tight hug and Margaux whined in complaint at being squished between her dad and her self declared papa. They pulled away from each other, both boys fighting to hide their slightly flushed cheeks.

“I’m hungry.” Margaux whined, and Charlie was snapped out of his heart eyes daze, his whole focus back on his daughter.

“Let’s get some food into you before our plane leaves then eh.” He replied, and Margaux nodded happily.

Feeling bold Owen grabbed onto Charlie’s hand, lacing their fingers together. It wasn’t unusual for them to do this but it was the first time doing it when they were well known enough that someone might recognise them. But neither of them really cared. They were just happy to be back together again.

The minute they arrived in Hawaii they were met with fans. As much as he loved meeting the fans Charlie couldn’t help but sigh slightly as he tried to protect Margaux as much as he could.

It wasn’t that the fans didn’t know about Margaux, because it was a well known fact that he was a single dad, it was more that he wanted to keep her away from the spotlight. She hadn’t asked for her dad to become a well known actor, and she didn’t deserve to have her life changed because of it. He was determined to give her the most normal life possible.

Eventually they made it to the villa house that they were staying in while in Hawaii, and after throwing their bags into their rooms it was time to have a bit of fun.

“Swim time swim time!” Margaux sung, running laps around the living room. Kenny chuckled at the small girl, looking up at Charlie who was following closely behind her.

“It seems like only yesterday she was a tiny two year old who cried every time you left her side.” He said, and Charlie smiled fondly, sitting down on the chair next to Kenny.

“She’s growing up too fast.” He agreed. “I can’t believe in less than 24 hours time I’ll be a dad to a four year old.”

Margaux tripped on the tiles, landing with a clatter, her bottom lip jutting out. Charlie jumped up, but before he could even think about moving across the room Owen was by Margaux’s side, helping her up and pulling her into a tight hug. He whispered something in her ear and Margaux giggled loudly, her fall already forgotten.

Charlie smiled softly at the scene, his heart filled with love for both the blond boy and his little princess.

“Daddy.” Margaux called, snapping Charlie out of his daze.

“Yeah baby?” He answered, finally making his way across the room.

“Can we swim now?” She asked, grabbing onto his leg. Charlie subconsciously ran his hand through her soft curls.

“Of course we can.” He replied. Margaux glanced up at Owen.

“Papa too?” She questioned.

“Papa too.” Charlie agreed. Margaux peered past him, her gaze landing on Kenny.

“Coming Uncle Kenny?” She asked, and Kenny laughed, standing up.

“Coming Little Gillespie.” He replied.

Margaux smiled contently, taking both Charlie and Owen’s hands to pull them outside towards the pool.

She really did have every single one of them wrapped around her little finger.

Dinner that night was special, as it was supposed to be Carolynn’s last day on the island. They decided on a joint party for her last night, as well as celebrating Margaux’s birthday a day early.

They had headed to a tiny restaurant near their villa, and Charlie had allowed Margaux to pick whatever she wanted from the menu, not that it mattered because she chose chicken nuggets and chips anyways.

The meal was nice, and before they knew it they were arriving back at the villa. Jeremy, Carolynn and Kenny all excused themselves for bed, and Tori settled into the couch, flicking the TV on.

“Bath and bed time baby.” Charlie told Margaux, and she pouted but obeyed, following him into the hallway.

“Hey Char, can I ask you something?” Owen asked, trailing behind the father daughter duo, and Charlie stopped, letting Margaux run ahead to their room.

“Anything.” He smiled.

“Do you mind if I share your room? I know the other bed was meant to be for Margaux but-” Owen started, playing with his fingers slightly.

“She can share with me.” Charlie cut him off. “Bed’s all yours.” Owen looked up, his eyes widening.

“Really?” He checked.

“Of course.” Charlie smiled. Owen grinned, throwing his arms around Charlie’s neck.

“Thanks Char. I just didn’t really want to sleep alone.” He admitted, and Charlie squeezed him tight.

“Any time.” He told Owen, and the blond boy pulled away with a smile, before heading off to the room he was originally going to stay in to collect his bags.

Charlie entered the room that he and Margaux, and now Owen, were sharing, finding his daughter already snuggled into one of the beds, still wearing her dinner clothes. Charlie sighed, moving to pull her out of the bed. Owen entered the room, bags in tow, and Margaux looked up at him excitedly.

“Papa! Are you sleeping here?” She questioned. Owen placed his bags in the corner before answering.

“I am Miss Maggie.” He said, and Margaux cheered.

“You don’t mind sleeping with Daddy?” Charlie checked, and Margaux shook her head, jumping up to throw her arms around Charlie’s neck.

“Nope! More cuddles!” She stated. Charlie laughed, picking her up.

“Exactly right. Now, it’s bath time.” He said, grabbing Margaux’s pyjamas as she clung to him.

“Bye Papa!” Margaux called as Charlie moved to leave the room. Owen waved.

“Bye Maggie!” He replied, matching her enthusiasm. Charlie couldn’t help but smile.

Margaux was so lucky to have someone like Owen in her life. They both were.

“Daddy! Wake up!” Margaux screamed, jumping on top of Charlie. He groaned, squinting as he looked up at his daughter.

“What time is it?” He mumbled. Owen sat up in his own bed, grabbing his phone to check the time.

“4:47am.” He informed Charlie, his voice thick with sleep. Charlie tried to ignore how sexy Owen’s morning voice was, instead focusing on his daughter.

“Mags it’s too early to be awake.” He told her. Margaux pouted, flopping down on top of him.

“Daddy, it’s my birthday!” She exclaimed. Charlie smiled, kissing her cheek.

“I know baby, happy birthday. Now can we sleep for a little bit?” He tried. Margaux thought for a moment.

“Only if Papa comes here too.” She decided.

Charlie’s eyes widened slightly, eyes fixed on Owen as the younger boy sleepily slid out of his bed with no hesitation, and into Charlie’s, snuggling into Charlie’s side the minute he laid down. Margaux squirmed her way under the covers, squishing herself in between the two of them.

Charlie shut his eyes in an attempt to get back to sleep, but it was no use. He opened his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling, as Margaux slept soundly next to him.

His mind was racing, noticing every single little place where Owen’s warm skin was in contact with his. It felt like he was on fire.

“Stop thinking.” Owen mumbled, and Charlie turned his head to see Owen staring at him, his eyes half shut with sleep.

“How did you know?” He questioned. Owen gave him a small smile.

“I always know. Whatever it is, just ignore it for now. Get some sleep, it’s gonna be a big day.” Owen whispered. Charlie paused for a moment, just staring at Owen in the dim light from Margaux’s nightlight. Even half asleep in the almost complete darkness of the room Owen still looked gorgeous. Charlie swallowed.

“You’re right. Thanks O.” He replied.

“Love you.” Owen yawned in response, his eyes shutting again. Charlie smiled softly, moving his hand to brush a bit of Owen’s hair off his face.

“I love you too Owen.” He replied, despite the fact that the younger boy was already asleep. He pressed a soft kiss to Owen’s head, and lowered his voice to no more than a whisper.

“More than I probably should.”

After what felt like no time at all Charlie was being shaken awake again.

“Daddy is it time to get up now?” Margaux questioned, sitting on his chest. Charlie yawned.

He reached over and checked his phone. It was just after 6:30am.

“Okay we can get up. But we’re gonna leave Papa to sleep a little bit more, okay?” Charlie compromised. Margaux thought for a moment before agreeing. Charlie grinned, sliding the both of them out of the bed careful not to wake Owen. Once they were out of the bed Charlie lifted Margaux up, placing her on his hip. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“Now. Let’s go make some birthday pancakes.”

“Happy birthday Little Gillespie.” Jeremy sung, entering the kitchen with Carolynn close behind him.

Margaux grinned, her mouth full of pancake.

“Thank you!” She exclaimed, her words muffled by her food. Carolynn stepped past Jeremy, moving to place a gentle kiss on Margaux’s head and whisper to her. Margaux grinned before looking up at her father.

“Hey Daddy?” She spoke. Charlie made a noise in response.

“Yeah?” He said, flipping pancakes onto a plate for both Jeremy and Carolynn.

“Do you think the birthday fairy could found me here?” Margaux questioned, her eyes full of hope. Charlie couldn’t help but smile, not even bothering to correct her words, as he placed the pan down.

“Should we go find out?” He asked. Margaux’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Yeah! But first we have to get Papa.” She decided. Charlie nodded.

“You wanna go wake him up? Tell him we made him some pancakes?” He asked, and Margaux grinned, already sliding out of her chair.

“Okay Daddy!” She replied, before rushing out of the room. The room fell silent for a few moments before Carolynn cleared her throat.

“So Charlie...” She raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been in love with Owen?”

Charlie choked on his coffee.

“I’m sorry, what?” He spluttered. Carolynn grinned.

“You heard me.” She said. Charlie hesitated.

“I’m not-” He stopped. “I-”

He groaned. There was no use denying it if clearly he was obvious enough that his friends had figured him out.

“Since filming.” He admitted. Carolynn cheered.

“You owe me $20.” She told her husband, who glared at Charlie.

“You just had to admit it, huh?” Jeremy shook his head, and Charlie shrugged, a small smile on his face.

“Admit what?” Owen’s voice came from behind them, deep from sleep, and Charlie took a sip of his coffee to try to distract himself. Owen always looked good but in the early morning light, his hair still a mess from sleeping, he looked ethereal. Charlie bit his lip to stop himself from staring.

“Nothing important.” Carolynn replied, and Charlie shot her a thankful look.

“Can we see if the birthday fairy visited now?” Margaux sighed, clearly impatient. They all laughed.

“Of course baby.” Charlie told her, standing up. He grabbed the plate of pancakes he had made for Owen, handing them to the younger boy as he passed him.

Margaux lead the way to the living area where Kenny and Tori were already sat waiting, squealing with excitement when she saw the small pile of presents on the table.

“They came!” She exclaimed, and Charlie couldn’t help but smile, ruffling her hair affectionately.

Margaux settled down on the couch as everyone spread out around the room, and one by one she opened the presents, eyes widening with excitement at every single one.

Charlie had gotten her a few dolls that he knew she had been wanting, plus some new clothes, books and other toys.

Jeremy and Carolynn had gotten her a small paint set with a Frozen paint by numbers.

Kenny had gotten her a tiny version of the Sunset Curve shirt that the cast had all received.

Tori had gotten her a little lilac tutu.

Madi, Jadah and Savannah had sent their presents, some handmade earrings, little stud versions of the ghost drawings that Carolynn had created from Madi, a small pair of overalls from Savannah, and a colouring book from Jadah.

But her absolute favourite gift had come from Owen, a tan coloured bear from Build-A-Bear that he had dressed like Luke, and the clothes to change the bear into Reggie, Alex and Julie if she wanted to.

After hugs all round the group decided to go their own ways, with Kenny heading off to spend the day relaxing, and Tori, Jeremy and Carolynn going to the beach to sunbathe since Carolynn’s flight had been delayed.

“Where do you want to go today birthday girl?” Charlie asked, as he and Owen collected the pile of gifts to move them back to their room.

Margaux frowned in thought, the bear still grasped in her arms.

“Hiking.” She decided, and Charlie laughed. She was definitely his daughter.

“You sure? We can do whatever you want to do.” He checked. Margaux nodded, her attention focused on her new clothes that Charlie had placed on the bed to fold later.

“I’m sure.” She said, reaching for the Sunset Curve shirt and overalls. “Can I wear this?”

“Of course you can.” Charlie agreed.

“I’m gonna have a quick shower.” Owen said, grabbing some clothes out of his bag. Charlie nodded, focused on helping Margaux change out of her pyjamas into her new clothes.

“Do you think we can have some time tonight just you and me?” Charlie asked once Margaux was dressed, moving to grab her hairbrush and some hair ties.

“Yes please Daddy.” Margaux agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed as Charlie sat behind her.

“We could go get dinner just the two of us, and then come back here for birthday cake.” He suggested. Margaux frowned, clearly thinking.

“Is it chocolate cake?” She asked after a moment, and Charlie paused from brushing her hair to kiss the top of her head.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” He teased. Charlie finished tying her hair up into two little space buns, not quite proper buns but as close as he could get with her shortish hair.

“I hope it’s chocolate cake. I love chocolate cake.” She giggled, standing up on the bed and turning around to hug her father. Charlie wrapped his arms around her, a gesture that was so safe and familiar.

“Me too baby, me too.” He agreed. Margaux snuggled her head into his shoulder.

“Is Papa coming hiking?” She questioned. Charlie grinned to himself.

“Do you want him to come?” He asked. Margaux didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure he’d love to come.” Charlie assured her. She pulled away. looking him in the eyes. Charlie had always loved that she had gotten his eyes.

“Do I ask him?” She said, eyes wide. Charlie struggled to contain a laugh at how serious she looked.

“When he comes back, yeah.” He nodded.

“When who comes back?” Owen asked, re-entering the room. Margaux jumped up, throwing herself at the 20 year old. He lifted her up with no hesitation.

“Are you gonna come hiking?” Margaux asked, her bottom lip jutting out in a pleading way.

“Of course I am. Wouldn’t want to miss spending time with my two favourite people.” Owen grinned, kissing her nose causing her to giggle. Charlie’s heart skipped a beat at the declaration that he was one of Owen’s favourite people.

“Yay! Can we go now?” Margaux turned in Owen’s arms to face her father. He nodded, standing up from the bed.

“Shoes, and then we can go.” He said, and Margaux squirmed her way out of Owen’s arms to go find her running shoes.

Charlie exchanged a look with Owen, the both of them thinking the same thing.

It was going to be a long day.

Hiking with a just turned four year old was exhausting, even despite them choosing the easiest possible trail so that she wouldn’t have any issues.

It was fine at first, Margaux excitedly looking at the plants and trying to spot any animals in the trees, but after about twenty minutes she got bored and tired, and Charlie and Owen spent the rest of the hike passing her back and forth between the two of them.

Finally they made it back to the villa, and after a quick stop for lunch Margaux was recharged and ready for the rest of the day.

“Can we swim?” She asked. Charlie nodded.

“We’ll go and get changed, and then we can go in the pool for a while until we have to get ready for dinner, okay?” He suggested.

“Okay Daddy.” Margaux smiled sweetly.

After quickly changing into their swimmers, Charlie, Margaux and Owen ended up in the pool, Jeremy and Carolynn lounging nearby.

They swam for a few hours until Margaux got thirsty, and with a promise of apple juice she and Charlie climbed out of the pool leaving Owen to go sit with the Shada’s.

Charlie walked inside the villa, finding Kenny sat at the kitchen bench reading while Tori lounged on one of the couches, staring at her phone.

“Why don’t we do cake now, so that you don’t have to worry about rushing home?” Kenny spoke up, as Charlie manoeuvred through the kitchen to get the apple juice out, Margaux clinging to his chest like a baby koala.

“That’s a good idea. Do you want to do your birthday cake now Mags?” Charlie asked his daughter, pouring her some apple juice. She sipped on the juice, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah!” She exclaimed. Charlie smiled.

“Okay, can you go get Papa, Aunty Care and Uncle Jer for me?” He asked, placing her down. She nodded eagerly, handing her cup of juice to him before rushing outside to where Owen, Jeremy and Carolynn were still sat.

Charlie grabbed the cake out of the fridge and placed it on the bench, before putting the four candles in, and grabbing a lighter.

“Have you seen my camera Kenny?” He asked, and Kenny just pointed to the end of the bench where the camera was sitting. Charlie smiled gratefully, grabbing the camera.

“Want me to take photos?” Tori offered, and Charlie nodded, handing her the camera.

Margaux re-entered the room, Owen and the Shada’s following close behind her, and when she reached her father he lifted her up. Kenny took the lighter, lighting the candles on the cake and together they sung Happy Birthday to Margaux, Tori snapping photos as the four year old blew out her candles.

Charlie held Margaux close to him as Kenny divided the cake up, thankful that he had such an amazing family to spend his little girl’s birthday with.

When Charlie and Margaux made it back to the villa after their dinner that night, the newly four year old was ready to fall asleep. Charlie carried her to bed, silently thanking his past self for deciding to give her a bath and do her birthday cake before they went to dinner because now all he had to do was change her into her pyjamas.

He changed her quickly seeing that she was almost asleep, and tucked her into the bed.

“Did you have a good birthday baby?” Charlie asked softly, settling down next to his daughter.

Margaux just nodded in response.

“That’s good.” Charlie ran a hand through her curls. “Goodnight baby girl.”

“Big girl.” Margaux mumbled sleepily. Charlie smiled, leaning down and kissing her head.

“You might be a big girl now but you’ll always be my baby girl.” He whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too Daddy.” Margaux replied, her eyes already shut and her arms wrapped tightly around her new bear. Charlie stood up slowly and headed to the door, leaving it open a crack for a little bit of light to shine in.

He paused for a moment, just taking in the reality that Margaux was already four years old, and that she was growing up too fast. With one last look at the door he made his way down the hallway and outside to where he knew Owen was waiting.

“She’s asleep.” He announced, flopping down on the outdoor sofa next to Owen.

“I’m not shocked, she’s had a big day.” Owen replied, handing Charlie a cold beer that he had clearly gotten for him. Charlie took it thankfully, taking a large swig.

“Can you believe that she’s four already? It feels like she was only just born and I was waking up to find out that her mother was gone and that it was only me and her. It was terrifying at the time, but looking back I wouldn’t change it for the world.” He rambled. Owen rested his head on Charlie’s shoulder and Charlie wrapped his arm around the younger boy, pulling him closer.

“You should be proud of yourself Char. You’ve done an amazing job.” Owen complimented, snuggling closer to Charlie as he took a mouthful of his beer.

“You think so?” Charlie questioned. Owen nodded against his shoulder.

“I know so.” He sat up. “Margaux is the most well behaved kid I’ve ever met, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her misbehave once in all the time I’ve known her. She’s an amazing kid and it’s all because she has the most amazing father.”

“Thank you.” Charlie whispered, suddenly realising how close Owen was to him. He could feel Owen’s warm breath on his lips, and he found himself leaning in, the urge to kiss Owen overtaking his entire being. His lips brushed against Owen’s ever so slightly, but before they could properly commit to the kiss they were interrupted.

“Hey, we’re gonna play...” Tori’s voice came and they jumped apart quickly. She trailed off, eyeing them carefully. “Were you two about to kiss?”

Charlie cleared his throat. Owen’s eyes widened.

“Uh... no?” Owen lied. Tori shot them a suspicious look but clearly decided against pushing.

“Right... well we’re gonna play Cards Against Humanity if you want to join us.” She told them, before turning and heading back inside. Neither Charlie nor Owen moved, the silence was deafening. Finally Owen spoke.

“Sorry.” He muttered quickly, before standing up and rushing inside. Charlie groaned, watching him leave, the feeling of Owen’s lips still lingering on his own.

“Fuck.” He sighed, downing the last of his beer before standing up to join the rest of the group inside.

He would have to deal with the Owen situation later.

#single dad!charlie #single dad!charlie x owen #charlie gillespie #owen joyner #owen patrick joyner #dad!charlie #chowen

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reveriequill-rai · 3 years

Text

Shroud: Withered Soul

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while. As of right now I’ve just been uploading stories I’ve written in my newspaper club, and now that I’ve graduated I hope that can now expand to short stories generally. I’m not gonna promise that posts from now on will be more consistent, but I would like to at least speed up my uploads a bit before they actually wind down, as I imagine I will be working on more stories in the future. Everything being uploaded right now is previous work, but nothing too old--probably like, from last year tops. This was completed sometime in May, I believe.

This is an introduction to a character I created called ‘Shroud,’ an amateur self-proclaimed ‘detective’ who exclusively investigates occult-based crimes and malefic.

Content Warning: death, descriptions of corpses, graphic descriptions of violence and pain, cults

[My blog will usually contain PG-13 stories, and as of right now I am writing some darker content, but I will tag anything that may be especially disturbing or uncomfortable. I’ll include this warning in my bio, too.]

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The corpse in front of me wasn’t all that disturbing by itself. I had seen dead people before–comes with the territory. I had been dead before. Murder rates in Twilight were, naturally, much higher than any other district in New Fable–especially further south of the district where I was–considering how much wild magic was around, and not even the police force sent here from the northern district of Bastion could do anything about it. So the corpse itself didn’t bother me, all things considered.

What did disturb me, though, was a number of other things.

For one, the corpse just being there was a problem. They weren’t stopping, and they were getting far too close to home.

Its eyes were still open, for another thing, and nearly colorless, and looking at me specifically, and I can swear to you that had not happened when I first laid eyes on it. Even worse, like me, the man lying dead in front of me appeared to be wearing a few bandages like I was, perhaps just recovering from an injury.

And for yet another thing, and perhaps the worst part of this, was the connection I felt with this dead man. Something about the state he was in struck a familiar chord that only I and a select unlucky others knew. As if we were kindred spirits–undergoing the same fate, yet with (probably) different outcomes.

I had been at this–whatever you would call tracking down cults as someone with zero prior detective experience with the help of almost no one–for…a few months now? And I’ve made a bit less progress than would be expected from someone who has seen just about everything the darker sides of magic had to offer. I did have one solid lead, though, and hopefully one that would lead me to exactly who I was looking for.

“Everyone move,” I ordered, pushing my way through the crowd.

Ignoring their complaints, I made my way over toward the body and began to examine it, hoping for any hint of who had done this, and more importantly, if it was exactly who I had suspected. There didn’t appear to be much damage, but what first caught my attention was the note tucked into the man’s pocket. I took it out and unfolded it, and immediately flinched.

Demon tongue.

Hellish whispers ran through my head, and I wasn’t sure if they were just in my head or not. It was hard to tell these days.

I honed in on the note, written on some old paper as if torn from an ancient book. The more I stared, the louder the whispers got. I ignored the throbbing in my head as best as I could–humans were not mentally equipped to engage with the infernal language at all, and I much less so. My hands shook as I read the brief message, which I must have read dozens and dozens of times already; I wasn’t counting and didn’t care to.

Some people studied demon tongue despite…well…everything, even the illegality. It probably didn’t matter to them. It didn’t matter to me, either, but someone had spoken to me in demon tongue before–though, in their defense, likely not out of their own volition–and the trembling and rapid heart rate was not worth the ability to communicate with infernals. (Nothing was, honestly.)

For these reasons–and also not wanting to be arrested or have my mage license revoked–I personally didn’t speak or write demon tongue, but I at least knew a little bit and could recognize some of the infernal runes. And those runes were enough for me to know that this was the exact same message that the abyss had been trying to send me in my last moments.

—

Can’t run home, I thought. They’ll follow me.

Just gotta run until I find a phone booth.

I ran until I finally spotted one on the street corner near a bridge. I let out a sigh of relief, taking a quick moment to catch my breath. Then, I quickly crossed the street and ran toward the phone booth, quickly dialing the police station.

“Hello?” I said into the phone as quietly as I could manage. “My name is [……………………………] I’m at the corner of Coral Avenue by the Armada IV Memorial Bridge. I’m being pursued by a group of kids in demon-charmed cloaks and shawls, please I need your help they have knives and they’re trying to kill me-“

The tears stinging at the edge of my eyes began to overflow as a human voice at the end of the line responded in perfect, uncharacteristically calm demon tongue. It was a short sentence, repeated over and over again, but with the little knowledge I *did* have, I could translate it by about the sixth loop:

“You are going to hell.”

I hung up the phone immediately, resisting the urge to yell, “I KNOW” directly into the phone.

Humans can’t speak demon tongue here. It’s illegal.

So how did an officer know demon tongue?

—

Unsurprisingly, the body was still in semi-good condition. After all, little damage was done to the body—only the soul. The only physical marks I could make out were marks around the wrist and neck, likely to restrain the victim. Couple of bruises here and there, too, but nothing was broken.

This…disturbed me, to say the least.

Cults around here were usually known to be violent. After all, a lot of them stood for violent causes–executing the ‘impure,’ plunging everyone into the dreams of a volatile eldritch creature, usurping the throne and forcing everyone to convert, rallying the youth to their bloody cause with claims that they alone possessed special powers…I had heard it all, all of them violent to some degree. But the ones that had gotten me…they seemed to worship oblivion itself. Or maybe whatever was in it. That was beyond even my knowledge.

But…even then, they still had arguably the least violent cause. The deadliest, yes–they seemed to just be destroying souls–but strangely not as bloody. Yet their means of carrying out this objective has historically been, well, bloody.

Or maybe that was just me.

Either way, this victim had certainly not gotten the worst of it. There were no twisted limbs, no bloodied nose, no wounds from blade or bullet, basically no magic-driven attacks aside from the terminating consumption of the soul…only marks of the initial restraint, bruises from the subduing, and the abyss claiming and destroying the soul.

I could almost picture it in my head: they likely jumped him in the middle of the street, kicking him around a bit to possibly weaken him, throw him off balance, but not too much as to rouse resistance, then restraining him–to the floor? A wall? I couldn’t tell, but there were no rope burns so they must have done this by hand–and calling, somehow, for their god, for lack of a better word, to devour its newest victim’s soul.

What did he see as he died? Did their eyes turn as colorless as his would become? Had they shown any sign of enjoying his torment? I doubt it; it didn’t seem like a very ‘fun’ kill. And likely not as personal as it was for me.

They were getting much better at their kills. It probably wasn’t as fun, but more precise.

And a lot less violent than I had gotten.

—

I caught a glimpse of the charm from earlier out of the corner of my eye, but just as I looked it vanished. Just then a cold breeze hit me as the door behind me opened, and I was yanked out onto the street, leaving the phone dangling by the cord. The book dropped from my hands.

The four delinquents appeared in front of me from nowhere, likely having turned off their Moonlight Shroud charms.

“Gotcha,” Ransley said, smiling as he picked up the book.

“Give it BACK!” I roared, lunging for him. Ransley hit me hard across the face with the book, sending me flying a few feet back onto the brick road. Quickly I realized that my safety was not worth keeping that book. I didn’t know where or how Ransley learned to hit that hard but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. As he and the others examined the book, I began to scurry away as Ransley gave an order to the others:

“Get him.”

An instant later, I heard something click far behind me, and a sharp pain ripped through my knee. I collapsed to the floor, letting out an agonized cry. I examined my knee, and saw a hole much bigger than a bullet hole should be. I looked up at my attackers.

A gun?!

“What the HELL?!” I shouted. “You’ve already got what you want! LEAVE ME ALO-“

Ardent appeared behind me and punched me square in the face. I held my probably-broken nose as a muffled shriek of pain escaped me. Each of them vanished and took turns raining blows and slashes on me as I tried to step back and run. They gave me almost no chance to react. My body ached everywhere; the knife wounds, though shallow, stung just as bad, if not worse, as any bee. I could barely stand. I used my remaining strength to try and push them off of me whenever I felt them, but I stumbled each time I did, giving them room to knock me around further. Finally I collapsed, and Ardent grabbed my shirt and dragged me to the bridge.

“W-wait-“ I cried, still wincing and crying from my bruises and decayed knee. “STOP IT!-”

—

I examined the bandages on my hand and knee. The ones from that night must’ve been amateurs, or at least new to the cult’s way of doing things.

Focus, Shroud.

The victim’s eyes were still open, and almost completely empty.

Almost.

The body must not be entirely empty, then. This wasn’t exactly a kill—whoever this person was, they would not be dead for much longer, or at least depending on your definition of ‘dead.’

How long ago had this attack been, then? I touched the skin—still warm-ish. This had to be recent.

By that logic, if this was meant not as a lethal attack, but as one of induction into their group…

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but I at least knew it wasn’t for very long.

So…I didn’t have much longer, then.

I instinctively jerked away from the body. Would he come back? He wouldn’t be under anyone’s control, at least for the first few minutes–how long does it take to kill someone? Would it be long enough for him to kill me?–no, he probably wouldn’t go after me; I had barely any soul left for him to long for…unless he’s just that desperate enough to take scraps from a near-husk.

What would he do when he came back? Would he wander around, lost, confused, until they welcomed him with false promises of salvation and freedom from the ‘burden’ of having a judgement-tied soul? Would he be violent, as they had been to him?

Then again…I came back after one of their attacks, but with a will of my own. Did they want me to come back? Why would they want me of all people to come back?

—

“You know how much trouble you caused us, […….…]?!” Ransley shouted as he kicked me in my injured leg. “Don’t act like you didn’t have this coming, you little weasel.”

“I didn’t-“ I tried to say.

Ransley propped me up on the sidewalk, just by the edge of the bridge, right above the river. He placed his hand on my bruised shoulder, looking at me with a bone-chilling grin.

Again, I got a good look at his eyes. This time, everything except the pupils was entirely white. As I looked I almost felt like I was staring at something beyond; further, even. But the harder I looked the more I could see how much nothing there was. And yet, in spite of that, this nothing seemed to be staring back at me.

The others had the same white eyes too, looking on with a horrible satisfaction.

“What…” I barely managed to say, “…what are y-you…?”

“Free,” Ransley answered, without his usual cruelty and instead with an uncharacteristically sanctimonious tone. “And with our help, so too will you be free.”

With a hard shove, I was pushed off the bridge.

I grabbed onto the edge with my hand, barely having the strength to pull myself up.

“T-this is insane-!” I cried. “Ransley! Please! Y-you can keep the book; I won’t call the police, just help me up-“

Ransley frowned and put his boot on my hand. He leaned in as he brought his foot down harder, crushing my hand. Bone splintered and crumbled under the weight of the shoe, and I let out a shriek as a cold look crossed his face.

“You really should stop holding on so much,” he said. “That’s your problem. That’s why you’re here. Just let go, and face oblivion.”

Ransley took his foot off finally, but my hand had run out of strength. I slipped, and fell into the river.

—

Either way, I had to work fast.

“Hey, kid!” Someone from the crowd called. “What’re you doing? Leave this to the professionals.”

I turned around, and maybe it was the speed at which I had whirled around to face them, or he did just flinch.

Was it my eyes?

“The police won’t find them,” I explained. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve studied demonology for a few years.”

I went back to the body.

“You mean you know who did this?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I just wanna be sure…”

I pressed down on the bruises on their shoulder and arms. Hollow. I felt no bone or extra layer of skin or muscle underneath.

Just as I suspected, I thought. Soul devouring.

My only question now was, how much of the soul was left?

—-

The bridge wasn’t particularly tall; just enough for any small cargo ships to run under. But the fall felt much longer than it had any right to.

I never hit the water. I was swallowed by something but it certainly wasn’t the river. It was as cold and sharp but nothing wet ever touched my skin or clothes.

I did not fall into water. I fell into something foreign, something dark, something alive, something evil.

Its eyes were beady and attentive, focused, eager, and it had long rows of sharp fangs. It appeared to smile at me, expecting me, welcoming me. Whispers in demon-tongue surrounded me, and I overwhelmed myself trying to find a single word I could understand. The only thing I could catch was “going to hell” again…was this it? Was this hell? What circle was this?

I was immobile, unable to look away from the creature in front of me, unable to scream as it opened its fang-filled mouth. I couldn’t even let out a scream of protest; no, not against this, as it brought down its jaws and took a large bite out of a deep part of me even I could never access. The pain from my bruises and wounds no longer burned; only ached, as if the pain had been there forever.

I was hollow. If there was anything left, I barely even felt it. My wounds glowed a hot white color and became shallow. I felt nothing but an aching nigh-emptiness that seemed to have no origin I could place; no past; only a present and a long future.

I didn’t know how long I was in that void. But as much as I despised that thing for robbing me of my life, I was grateful that it chose to let me go.

—-

 I took out my pen from my pocket and a couple of mini-candles from my satchel. I flicked a lighter and lit the candles, surrounding them at different points around the body. I began to draw an evocation circle around the body. I’m not sure what had stopped this cult from performing forced evocations as opposed to beating everyone into submission until they blacked out enough to face the abyss and have their soul devoured, but I wasn’t about to find any sense in a group of people who literally worship the abyss.

I took my time with the intricate webs of the circle, carefully connecting whatever remained of the soul to the points where I would draw in the runes, and connected those to the candles.

I then drew in symbols in the language of the spirits at the different sub-points that would draw up souls from the afterlife, adding a desperate prayer in each pen stroke that I evoke the right thing and not something unwelcome. I had to steady my hand as I did this, reminding myself that this was merely a human soul who was recently killed, so the chances of him having ended up in hell – was he that kind of person? – were slim; they had to be, of course they were; there was no need to panic so stop panicking. Yet knowing I was drawing the same symbols, the same webs, lighting the same candles as the deadly evokers around town who would break into people’s houses and draw evocation circles under their beds to call up who-knows-what from the pits of hell to torment the living…to think I was drawing the same circle that I checked for every night when I went to sleep…

The pen snapped in my shaking hand against the concrete, getting ink all over my hand. I swore, and rubbed some on my finger tip so I could start to finish the circle.

“What the hell are you doing, kid?!” someone cried, making me jump. “You’re tampering with evidence! That’s illegal!”

“You’re gonna screw up the investigation!” someone else shouted.

I steadied myself from being startled.

“This…this is the investigation,” I replied bluntly.

“Wh–okay…? Are you a detective or something?” the first guy asked.

I shrugged.

“I think so,” I said.

“You think-”

I could hear further shouts from the crowd as I turned the body over to draw the rest of the circle underneath, but I held up my hand to stop them from getting closer.

“Just let me work!” I cried without looking back.

That’s when I noticed some of the rapidly-decaying skin near the shoulder and side of the ankles. The skin had withered and given way to bone, the effect cutting through flesh and muscle. Even the bone had begun to decay.

Well, so much for minimal damage.

I unzipped the victim’s jacket and pulled back the shirt just slightly to get a better look at the damage. The withering had spread further—the entire shoulder seemed about ready to decay. I took a camera out of my bag and took a picture of the decaying wounds.

With the remaining ink, I drew another sigil on the bandage of my injured hand, a heart-shaped eye-like symbol with two lines running up my index and middle finger. It was a painful process and I was just careful enough to have the pen not tear through the bandage, and I placed my shaking hand on the decaying shoulder and closed my eyes. I saw all of the injuries on the man’s body, including where he had been injured–he had a broken arm that had almost finished recovering, and a fractured foot that was also healing, but wasn’t as near completion as his arms. Either way, both of these had stopped healing, and had actually gotten worse, with the bones beginning to decay in both areas.

What was the point of beating people up, breaking them, letting them decay, and then expecting them to join you after you had broken them? My attackers probably went through the same thing as this man had–as I had, if this cult was larger than them. So why do the same thing to others?

But that was just it, though, wasn’t it?

They knew what it was like to be soulless, and only they knew not only how to recover from the injuries suffered, but how to disguise themselves as living to avoid trouble with the law.

I looked again at the bandages on my hand, and unraveled it slightly, careful not to let the crowd see. There, too, did my flesh begin to decay. This was the primary issue with not having a soul: without the very essence that gives us life, our bodies aren’t capable of self-healing anymore. Any injuries are permanent unless fixed by a doctor, or if we tend our own wounds.

Fortunately my bones—at least in my hand—hadn’t completely withered away. I managed to revive just in time, fortunately.

Just in time.

——

I don’t remember much about the day I woke up. Just the excruciating, aching pain.

What I did know was I had washed up on the shore of the city, and I couldn’t stand up for a very long time. A burning sensation enveloped my entire hand and knee, and I felt a throbbing sensation in both areas. The bruises from the beatdown stuck on me like a leech, but most vividly, my chest felt hollow. And it hurt. The emptiness gnawed at the inside of my chest, and it, too, burned and ached. Like a stomach ache in the wrong place.

With my good hand I crawled my way off of the shore until I found a lamppost. I grabbed onto it, and propped up my good knee. I swung my arm toward the lamppost, grabbing onto it with my bad hand, shocks of pain running through my body. I tried to haul myself up, but the weight of my body caved my knee in, and I collapsed. That’s when I got a good look at my hand.

Bits of skin had completely come off, seeming to have withered away. Pieces of bone underneath had chipped off.

I grew nauseous and I felt the blood drain from my face. I let out some inhuman noise that I reckoned was some attempt at a scream but came out as a cross between that and a moan of agony.

How had this happened?

It was a horrible sound, but at least I had been found. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened?

Or who else would’ve found me?

——

Finishing the circle grew tricky as my hand trembled, though I was unsure if it was from the injury or from the reality of the process itself.

“Kid, we don’t even know who you are,” the guy from earlier said. “Are you even a licensed detective?”

I ignored him and wiped some of the ink from my pen on my hand, pressing my hands together to activate the circle. As the soul fire candles flared, what little color was left in their eyes drained slowly, and a small, glowing, deteriorated wisp of a soul rose out of the victim’s body.

This was all that was left…

Somehow this dead man was just the same as I, who could still breath, still walk, still talk, still live—but only just.

What had this man’s soul seen before it was decimated? If, in fact, the same people who killed me are responsible for this, did he, too, see the same grinning face in the abyss that I had? Was he as afraid as I was? Or did he accept this as death?

I took my mage’s license out of my pocket and showed it to the crowd.

“I’m a licensed magic user,” I said, “is that enough?”

“…that’s not a detective license,” the same guy said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Great!” I said. “Tell them the Brotherhood of Abyss Walkers did this.” At this point it was all but confirmed.

“The…what?”

“The cult that keeps tormenting this forsaken town,” I explained. “The one behind all the unexplained murders.”

The guy—along with the rest of the crowd—stifled a laugh. Some of them couldn’t hold it in.

“There’s no cult in New Lumanore,” someone else said. “Our security’s airtight; no way they would’ve been able to form a guild without a license.”

“Just call the authorities, Aaron,” a lady in the crowd said. “This kid isn’t worth persuading.”

“W-wait-“ I said before letting out a resigned sigh. I packed up the candles and pocketed my pen, and took off. I knew who the culprit was. What the police had to say didn’t bother me.

They’ll believe me when I put the culprit behind bars.

—————

In previous investigations I managed to pin down the general area where the Abyss Walkers operate. Prior murders took place at least within a mile’s range of Eclipse Avenue, an area further south of New Lumanore. It was a relatively quiet and empty area; there were quite a bit of shops and buildings of unknown function that no one ever seemed to go into, not even during the day.

The entire place screamed occult activity.

Sure enough, just as I hit the corner of the avenue I caught a glimpse of a Moonlight Shroud charm, pinned to the outwear of a hooded figure. They were walking along the other side of the street, hanging close to the bare wall of a wide building.

Once they were some distance along I crossed the street quickly and began tailing them.

Confrontation wasn’t new to me, just…unfavorable. Is that why I trembled? Either way I knew the procedure: Walk with the same beat. Same path, same pattern of step. Stop when he stops. Walk like this until the shadow is close enough for contact.

Once I did I took out a capsule from my coat. It contained shadow ink, allowing me to either create my own shadow, or to hide within someone else’s. I didn’t have enough of a soul to perform any magical feats on my own–whatever I could do would probably just come out as sparks–so this was the best I could work with. Unfortunately the capsule was nearly empty, and I made a mental note to contact my supplier after I was finished. In the meantime, I used what was left to lather my hand in ink as I silently crept behind the lone cultist, and pressed my hand against his shadow. I latched on and eventually got pulled in. Inside the shadow realm, I had a black-and-white view of the street from inside the wall. I couldn’t breathe, though, and I couldn’t hold my breath for very long so I knew I had to jump him sooner rather than later.

I took a coin out of my pocket and tossed it outside behind the cultist. He stopped and turned around, as expected, and I took the moment to lunge out and grab him by the throat.

—————

The cultist narrowed his eyes, and an amused smirk came on his face.

“Hey…” he said. “I know you.”

I flinched. How?

He kicked me off and stood up.

“You…you’re the kid we got that book from!” He chuckled. “You don’t quit, do you? This is really what you chose to do after death? Vigilante work?”

I felt the blood drained from my face.

“…what are you talking about?” I lied. “What book?”

“The demonology book, stupid,” he said. “The thing damning you to begin with. You forgot already? Or did you lose your memories alongside almost all your soul somehow?”

I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to charge at him again. I couldn’t take him in a head-on fight. I was too weak for that.

“Tell me,” he said. “How’s it feel? Being so close to freedom, so close to ridding yourself of that moral creed weighing you down…no fear of rapture…just your life and your…well, I suppose now broken…body, and your heart and mind.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“Good thing you came back, though. We’ve been slacking on our initiations recently…Ardent went a little too hard on too many people. We’re behind on our quota.”

“Wait a sec…” I took a step back. “What do you mean ‘too hard?’ Aren’t they supposed to come back?”

“The idiot decided to use magic to slow the initiates down,” the cultist explained. “As if that wouldn’t damage the soul at all. I’m sure you of all people know. You’ve taken enough beatings form him, right, D–“

I punched him in the face. The second I made contact I realized I had used my bad hand without thinking. Bone snapped, collapsed, and even shifted through the hole in my hand. I let out a far-too-loud shriek of agony as I recoiled and caressed my hand, trying to relocate the bone.

The cultist looked at me and laughed, and I raised a finger on my good hand and threatened him:

“Don’t try that again,” I said. “I’ve still got one—ahh…—perfectly functioning hand.”

“Fine by me,” he replied. “You hit hard for a dead person…”

My hand still ached from the punch. I imagine it probably hurt me way more than it hurt him.

“Do you mean to turn me in, Shroud?” the cultist hissed. “Just try it. I know who you are. They’ll find out you’re undead and investigate you to hell and back. Whatever decimal of a soul you have left won’t save you. Not even close.”

“I can’t trust you with that information even if I let you go,” I said. “But even if you do…I’ll know sooner or later if you’ve said something. You best not try it if you don’t wanna die twice.”

The cultist grinned.

“I’m shaking,” he said, deadpan. “I’ll just come back again.”

“What, are there no revival limits in your little group?”

“Nope. He’ll bring us back again and again as long as he needs us.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Oh, you’ve only been resurrected once, you big baby,” the cultist said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not joining you.”

“You have no reason not to,” the cultist said. “We can fix your broken body; make you look and seem as alive as the next person. Those remnants of a soul may not matter to the police, who’ll mark you as soulless anyway, but you know who it does matter to?” He pointed at the sky and at the group. “Them. Someone like you, who’s spent hours learning about heaven’s enemies…you think you have any chance of reaching heaven? HA!”

I fell silent. Just when I thought being registered as ‘dead’ to everyone you know meant they wouldn’t bother you about being a (rookie) demonologist anymore. That reminder worked my last nerve, yet every time it was brought up I could never muster up a proper defense.

“…I’m aware,” I mumbled.

“Besides, I’m sure you’re just livid at the police, who never caught who got you. I’m sure you’d like your vengeance against them for failing you…we can help you out with that, if you’d like. After all, why should we fear death, or judgement, from this life or the next? Like I’ve said, we’ve got no soul to weigh us down to heaven or hell. No death, no judgment. Just you, whatever you wanna do, and a welcoming oblivion who’ll spit you back out as many times as needed. As long as you keep it fed, that is.”

“It doesn’t matter if the police know or if they don’t know,” I said. “I know. And I’ll know more than they ever will. Besides, why the hell would I trust you to give me closure about my death–the death YOU caused?!”

The cultist frowned.

“And that’s just the trouble, isn’t it…you’re just about soulless, and the only soulless person New Lumanore who isn’t with us and…for what? You lose nothing by joining us!”

“First of all,” I shouted. “I am not soulless. Your stupid demon didn’t take all of it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why that happened,” the cultist replied, “but who am I to question the great abyss–”

“Oh, shut up. And second of all–just in case you forgot–YOU KILLED ME! I don’t owe you loyalty, or gratitude, or mercy…I owe you nothing.”

“You may be upset now,” the cultist said, “but you’ll learn to thank us later.”

“I will not.”

His frown turned into a scowl. He took out a small cylinder from his pocket.

“I was gonna use this the day of the attack,” he said, “but I didn’t see any point. Seemed like the others were doing just fine without the staff.”

Sure enough, the cylinder popped open into a metal bo-staff. He walked towards me, twirling it through his fingers.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong thing, Shroud,” he said. “You think you need vengeance, but what you really need is security. We all know what being soulless is like. You’re weaker, you can’t heal your wounds, you can’t do magic, and it’s pretty obvious when you’ve just come back from the dead. I don’t care what three-percent of a soul you do have; it’s nowhere near enough for you to enjoy all the privileges of being fully human. Face it. You’re basically the same as us.”

As I stepped back, he stopped spinning the staff and instead gripped it with both hands.

“So you can either let go of those remnants you have the audacity to still call a soul, then come with us and let us give you the safety you so desperately need,” he said, rearing the staff back, “…or we’ll just break you further and let oblivion do what it wishes with your remains.”

He started to bring the staff down.

“WAIT!” I yelled, bringing my hands to my face.

Surprisingly enough, he actually froze, the staff a couple inches from my face.

“Okay…I get it…” I said. “You’re right. I won’t turn you in. Just…promise me you won’t tell anyone who I am.”

“What’s stopping me?” the cultist asked, cocking his head slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“Look. I didn’t turn you in,” I said. “You owe me.”

“No I don’t. I’m not tied to anything but oblivion.”

I let out an annoyed huff.

“Like I said. I’ll know if you exposed me,” I reminded him. “I don’t care if that scares you or not, just…let me go.”

“Let YOU go?! You jumped ME!”

“And I had—I…thought…I had the right to. Look…I’m backing down. You go about your night. I go about mine. We don’t speak of this.”

The cultist hesitated, then put the staff away.

“Fine,” he said. “But we’ll still come back for you. Whether or not your initiation goes smoothly is entirely on you.”

With that, he pulled out the same charm he had on the day of the attack, and vanished.

“See you around,” he said.

That was the last I heard of him that night.

Once I thought I was safe, I let out a loud groan of annoyance.

I had him. He was literally a few feet away. If I *just* had more shadow ink that would’ve been it for him.

But…he was right. I was at every possible disadvantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I shouldn’t have jumped him. I should’ve just taken note of his appearance and went from there. That was foolish on my part.

But…I did have his appearance now.

But he had my identity.

I still wasn’t at a complete advantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I had to lay low, and rebuild. My hand was wounded and I was lucky I didn’t get my skull bashed in. There was no way I could have recovered from that. But I wouldn’t give up. I had a lead and I wasn’t letting go of it.

I didn’t care about their ‘freedom’ or ‘not being tied down’ or anything like that. Fact of the matter is, they were hurting people, and their demon lord had more control over them than they’d realize.

They were beyond redemption. The demon didn’t bind them through any soul manipulation or contract–it was some weird combination of free will, gratitude, and the threat of permanent death.

These cultists had to go, and quickly. They had to pay, and dearly.

I know I’m weak, but once I’m back up and running I would do as much damage from the shadows as humanly possible.

They weren’t bound by any rules, so why should I have to be?

I didn’t care how many times I would get hurt. They ruined my life, and I was going to pay them back tenfold.

#original story #fiction story #creative writing #dark fantasy #urban fantasy #violence cw #death cw #cult cw #death tw #violence tw #cult tw

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

Text

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s Daughter (The Intense Years)

Tony Stark x daughter!reader

warnings:

a/n: y/n is 16-17, also ive really never written anything about team iron man so this was weird, someone needs to tell me i dont need every single movie detail in here

prompt: takes place from cacw and smhc

The Early Years (1) The Teenage Years (2) The Aftermath (4) Continued (5)

after the events in sokovia, you set up the relief fund for displaced sokovians and dealt with physical clean up while the avengers...

well, they had to deal with the press—and the governments of the world

getting to know your new suit AI, JOSHUA

briefly looking for bruce; no luck there

you ended up doing the MIT september foundation presentation with tony

and ending the presentation after pepper’s name popped up on the screen

“it’s probably best we get out of here”

you were his entire support system while he was going through his break with pepper

meeting charles spencer’s mother, who really gave your dad a piece of her mind

“my son died, but your daughter gets to live on. if you lost her, maybe you’d show some sympathy for murdering my child”

*awkward silence from you*

*awkward silence from tony otw to the compound*

HATING the sound of the sokovia accords, yet understanding why they’re being ratified

being torn between signing them or not and having a huge argument with the other avengers

“y/n, why dont you listen to your dad for once and sign the damn thing”

“uncle rhodey, you know why i dont want to sign. if they have us, they have access to our suits. you really think the UN should be telling us how to use them?”

“your defense doesn’t even make sense. i had the war machine or iron patriot or whatever the hell you want to call it, but the military was calling the shots”

“and look where you are now”

“right, well i wouldn’t expect a kid to understand”

“are you kidding me, rhodes? you’re gonna play the ‘im older than you’ card?”

comforting wanda while she feared being taken

and as soon as you heard about what happened in lagos

“think about it, maximoff. if you didnt do what you did, do you know how many more casualties there may have been?”

“but i killed innocents”

“no, rumlow killed innocents. you contained that blast better than anyone else could have and you prevented a whole bunch of deaths, give yourself some credit”

okay, so you weren’t the best at talking someone down while they were upset

staying in berlin with your father while the whole bucky thing began to get sorted out

but he sent you out to stay with nat while he had some “private time” with steve

tony keeping you close to him during the power outage at the base

until it turned out you brought your suit and tony did not!

everyone was looking at you to take down bucky, but it just seemed like a bad idea, you didn’t want to hurt him because you didn’t want to hurt steve

stalling to try and buy steve time to subdue his friend

“y/n, come on, for christ sake!”

“got it, dad! i know what im doing!”

“i dont think you do!”

feeling your stomach drop when bucky shot into your dad’s hand, if it wasn’t for his latest invention, he may have gotten seriously hurt

you had a slight change of heart after that, you couldn’t bare to lose your dad. not after all those close calls...

getting yelled at by secretary ross and the wonderful 36 hour ultimatum you, nat, and tony received

“i have a plan”

“don’t say the spider boy”

“fine, i wont say it”

a nice trip to queens :)

when this parker kid finally got home, tony left you to socialize with his aunt

small talk is sometimes unbearable

“so, what’s it like being tony stark’s daughter?”

“honestly? im always tired”

peter becoming a tagalong on your mission, which you didn’t really think was appropriate

“dad, i dont really think we should’ve brought the kid...”

“why? you’re about the same age as him, its not much different”

“um...no, i meant this isnt his battle. i don’t care how old he is”

face off between tony and cap where you literally just swallowed all your pride and apologized because you couldn’t handle the fact that the team was being ripped apart like this

team ups with Spider-Man

“so, uh, do you hate me or something?”

“hey, kid? we’re kind of in the middle of something, i’ll get back to you on that”

“it’s a yes or no question, y/n”

“pass”

so, things didn’t exactly go as planned...

your (former) teammates were taken to the RAFT and you couldn’t pull it together in front of them

they were pretty pissed at you

“im sorry, im so sorry, i should’ve done better”

they ignored you (up until scott lang)

“all you stark’s are the same”

“stay out of this, bugboy”

taking to the remote hydra base in another famous father/daughter teamup

“just like the old days, right kiddo?”

“i guess so”

“hey, cheer up, it’s not all that bad”

waltzing right in there to meet your friend and foe

seeing the video of your grandparents dying

*being killed

absolutely stunned by seeing such a gruesome thing

even after all you’ve seen, this really got to you

you were robbed of ever meeting them, which made you angry, but you couldn’t stay angry because there were so many things out of everyones control

realizing that this was a good time to hold tony back

“JOSHUA, lock down y/n’s suit. protocol: baby gate”

apparently your dad still had some old protocols in your suit that you hadn’t found yet

“JOSHUA? reboot! override protocol: baby gate”

“i’m sorry, miss y/n, but i cannot do that”

watching your father attempt to get revenge

and get critically injured

simultaneously working on opening the suit back up for a bad plan

finally getting the emergency release and stumbling out of your suit, rushing towards the conflict and throwing yourself in the middle of it

“please, dad. enough damage has been done.”

“y/n, get out of the way”

he saw you shaking and crying and he realized what he was doing

attacking the only family you guys really had

getting shoved out of the way so that they could end this fight once and for all

JOSHUA finally rebooting and bringing the suit over to shield you while you helplessly watched the end of this fight

when bucky and steve left, your suit disarmed and you crouched down beside your father

“come on, let’s just go home”

“im sorry”

“i know, it’s okay”

trying to comfort your dad after his defeat

you picked up cap’s shield and returned to your suit, it was time to go home

after a brief time of recovery (while you helped work on uncle rhodey’s prototype prosthetics), there was a slight change of plans for you

“okay, so for your punishment after what you pulled during my...divorce with cap, you’re going to babysit the spiderling so you gain some perspective”

“hold on, what?! what do you mean ‘perspective?’”

“i mean you dont know what it’s like to be in charge of the life of a teenager, so now you get to find out! congratulations on your promotion!”

it was not fun at all because peter kept blowing up your phone and you kept having to tell him there was nothing for him to do

Y/N: I’ll let you know when there’s a spider-level threat, kapeesh?

P. Parker: Yes, ma’am, sorry.

peter going behind your back to do some “superhero work”

and you having to swoop in to fix everything last second

“come on, you stole my thunder, y/n!”

“no, peter, i saved your life. next time you have a lead, call me first”

and then he didn’t 😌✨💕

“Y/N, incoming call from ‘big fat meanie’”

“put him through, JOSHIE...hey dad, how’s dubai?”

“taking care of a kid is harder than it looks, isn’t it?”

“don’t start with me”

damage control ahahah 🤡

“peter, why cant you just call me in? you don’t stop texting me for months but for this you go radio silent? you almost died. and you put a bunch of lives in danger! do you want me to have to go to your aunt and tell her you died?”

“im sorry! i just...i dont want to be a sidekick”

“kid, you’re gonna have a long time to make a name for yourself...but not if you’re dead!”

he started crying and you were very uncomfortable so you tried to hug him? it helped.

letting him off easy (just like your dad did to you growing up)

but apparently tony came back and took the suit anyways and you were pretty pissed about it

avengers moving day :) yes, part of your punishment was helping happy with moving day and hearing him gush about how you were “growing into such a responsible adult”

“happy i dont know if you noticed but ive basically been an adult since i was 12”

“keep telling yourself that, kiddo”

seeing an explosion and immediately knowing it was peter

“i’ll see you later, happy, love you!”

investigating the crash site and whaddaya know, there’s peter and his first bad guy, you were kind of proud

“peter, you okay?”

“nope!”

“okay, cool”

more damage control lmao (a/n: yall sick of damage control yet?)

a congratulatory call from your dad

“hey! you did pretty good, all things considered. why don’t you take the kid to the avengers compound for his special surprise?”

“aye aye, see you soon.”

“love you, kiddo”

“you too, dad”

quick fast forward to peter rejecting the position as an avenger while the press was outside, yes, you were surprised

but then your dad finally proposed to pepper, it was a pretty cool engagement announcement

“y/n, will you be my maid of honor?”

“duh!”

happily ever after (a/n: until the next part is up)

574 notes · View notes

ffwriterbts · 3 years

Text

Lunar- BTS Werewolf AU Part 4

AN: As I’ve said before, if slowburn BTS werewolf AUs that have springlings of angst, smut, and fluff, this is the story for you! Other than that, please leave a like or comment so I know you’re enjoying the story!! The sections should start getting longer as I keep updating :)

Also! Let me know if you want to be on a tag list for this story!

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: General angst; slight medical talk; mental health issues; soulmate themes if you squint

Posted: 31 Dec 2020

Masterlist

Previous Next

When YN wakes up, she is lying in what looks like a fancy hospital room. Her shoulder is on fire, there’s an IV in her hand, her leg is propped up in an almost uncomfortable way, and all the rest of her feels like she was repeatedly hit by a cement truck.

YN tries to sit up, but only makes it a few centimeters before pain wracks her body and she stops in her tracks. Her eyes snap shut and she takes a few deep breaths, doing her best to remember what happened and where she was.

And- nothing. YN doesn’t really remember anything that happened.

That is, until Jin walks into the room, and everything hits her all at once- how Jin and Yoongi came to cook, how she was going back to the garden to grab her phone when a mystery wolf tried to harm her, how Yoongi transformed into a giant black wolf, how he fought for her, how Jin helped her.

“I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon. Welcome back, YN.” Jin breaks the silence, and YN’s eyes snap up to him.

“I-” YN starts, taking a second to collect her thoughts before continuing. “What happened to me?” Her voice is gruff, hoarse.

“You were attacked.” Jin gives a little shrug before continuing, “Your shoulder was bitten, your ankle broken, you have three cracked ribs, and deep tissue bruising on the side with the bite. Other than that, you’re covered in scratches and bruises from the dragging and the nasty fall you took.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you have the same blood type as Jimin, and he was more than happy to donate for you. The wolf blood will have you healed by the end of the month for pretty much all of it. The ankle will take a little longer.” Jin shrugs again, going around and checking all of the monitors, making sure everything was good before he makes small talk with YN and helps her sit up, giving her water.

Once he is sure she is as fine as she can be, he takes a seat at the end of the bed. YN can feel her ears get hot as she realizes that he has plenty of room, seeing as her legs don’t even reach three-fourths of the way down when she’s lying, much less when she’s sitting up. She doesn’t know why she feels this embarrassment, but she does anyway, and she silently hopes that Jin doesn’t know.

“You must have questions, so why don’t I give you the full story?” Jin lightly pats where YN’s good foot is, smiling warmly at her. “If you want me to, of course.”

“Please, I feel like I’m going crazy.” YN’s voice is much softer now, as she looks at him with those big, innocent eyes of hers, sipping water.

“Well, I hope you’ve figured out by now that we are all werewolves.” Jin lets out a little laugh as YN nods softly.

“We are a hidden race among humans, almost extinct. There are a few large groups over in America, there’s a couple here, a few somewhere in Europe, and a whole bunch over in Africa. There’s also a city of only wolves and special, trusted humans in China, which is also hidden from the world. We are bigger, faster, and stronger than even the very best human. We have the ability to change into wolves whenever we want, so long as we are fully healed.” Jin takes breath, looking to YN to make sure she was following along.

YN nods, eyes trained on Jin as she listens, and he continues.

“In order to survive, we had to breed with humans, muddle the gene pool. The fastest, strongest, largest of the humans, they are all part wolf. Our pack is one of the purest here, genetically speaking, but we would be considered basically human by our ancestors. But, to be fair, some humans are able to be welcomed into packs.”

“Packs?” YN asks, head tilting slightly to one side as Jin smiles.

“Yeah, like wolf packs. There are Alphas, Betas, and Omegas, which are basically what you think they are, though there is a lot more variation than you would think. Each designation is on a sort of scale, though that scale is not something that can easily be explained.” Jin gives another half shrug, glancing up at the IV, before standing and doing something that YN didn’t understand.

“Here, let me get this changed so your body doesn’t starve or dehydrate. And I’ll let the rest of the boys know you’re awake, they’re excited to meet you and make sure you’re okay.” Jin clearly makes the move away from the subject of werewolves, and even though YN’s mind is swirling with questions, she doesn’t question the dropping of the subject.

YN assumes (correctly) that any and all questions she possibly has will be answered in time, because something about the way Jin putters around the room doing this or that feels like coming home.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next week, YN steadily gets better. Whatever it is about the werewolf blood that makes healing kick it up into overdrive was working better than expected, which all of the boys were grateful for. She had visitors every day, for most of the day, and she quickly got along with each of them.

Jin, who YN found out was actually a fully licensed medical doctor and surgeon, mandated that the boys were only allowed to go and see her in pairs, so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

And thus, YN met Hobi and Jimin almost as soon as Jin opened the door to let the boys know she was accepting visitors. She could see who she would later find out to be Jungkook and Taehyung peaking in the doorway, wanting to be included but not being allowed to be.

Both Hobi and Jimin very enthusiastically introduced themselves, taking no time at all to occupy the end of the bed that YN was far too short to occupy herself. Talking to them felt like talking to people she had known for years, and they had YN almost rolling with laughter within the first five minutes.

It was almost an hour of not-so-patient waiting on behalf of Taehyung and Jungkook before Jin came back and kicked Hobi and Jimin out, scolding them half-heartedly for not letting the other two have their time yet.

With quick apologies, those two boys slipped out of the room as two more replaced them. Again, just as enthusiastic, the two boys introduced themselves, and had YN in stitches almost too quickly.

Without a second thought, YN is talking with them for almost two hours, before Namjoon comes in and cuts them off. He kicks the two youngest out of the room, telling them that YN needs to rest sometime, that she has to heal.

Namjoon in turn takes the same spot at the end of the bed, but he is bearing gifts. Namely, the gift of her electronics from her home, a nice lap desk, and some of her very favorite sour candy.

“I figured you would want these things, seeing as you’ll be here for a while.” Namjoon smiles softly as he almost sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh, thank you!” YN is much more animated than she was even an hour ago, snatching the sour candies from Namjoon’s hand as quickly as she dares to, trying her best to open the bag without moving her one arm very much.

“Do you want some help YN?” Namjoon’s voice is soft but deep, and YN nods without even a second’s hesitation, holding out the offending bag with a small pout.

Namjoon just chuckles, making small talk as he easily opens the bag, carefully handing it to YN. She lets out a grateful sigh, carefully balancing the bag in her hurt hand, and throwing candies into her mouth.

“How’d you know I like these?” YN asks absently, paying far more attention to the wonderful flavor than to Namjoon and his response.

She was tired, her body was sore, and honestly, she was more excited for her candy and the prospect of a nice long sleep than she was about anything Namjoon had to say. That was, at least, until she actually heard the words that came out of his mouth.

“Oh, we can read minds. We know all sorts of things about you.” His voice was that same even calmness, to the point that YN didn’t actually register what was said for almost a whole minute.

“You… you what?” YN pauses and looks up at Namjoon, shock and confusion written so clearly on her face that Namjoon didn’t even need to read her mind to know exactly what she was thinking.

“Hyung was supposed to tell you, but yes. It’s an innate ability of ours, and once you present you’ll probably be able to do the same.” Namjoon gives a little sort of half shrug as YN’s face just scrunches up more as she tries to fully process what Namjoon actually said.

“I can see you’re confused.” Namjoon speaks again and YN rolls her eyes without taking a second to think about how that might be perceived. Sure, the men she had met had all been incredibly kind to her, but that doesn’t mean that they’re comfortable enough to start with the half-bratty sass that YN was known for with her close friends.

“Yeah, I wonder why.” YN speaks for the first time, her eyes locking up onto Namjoons in a way that seemed out of character for the girl that he had begun to get to know. “It’s not like this is a lot to process or anything.” Sarcasm seems to drip from every pore like venom, and Namjoon pauses for the first time, slightly confused. Again, this was unlike the character that he had come to know as YN.

He’s sure YN doesn’t mean any harm by what she’s saying, that much is clear to him because of her thoughts, but he was under the impression that YN was just a sweet, mild mannered woman. Silently, Namjoon chides himself for allowing himself to believe that YN, a fully functioning adult woman, was something other than a three dimensional person with multitudes to her personality.

“May I ask some clarifying questions?” YN asks after a short silence. For the first time, she felt slightly uncomfortable in the silence, wondering if she had actually offended Namjoon inadvertently. Usually, she tried to tame the more bratty side of her personality for fear of being hurt by someone she completely offended, and it seemed to hit her all at once that these men, who were already giant in comparison to her, also held an unknown strength.

YN��s fears are assuaged when Namjoon gives her a beautiful smile, nodding his head and motioning for her to ask away.

“How much of my head can you see?” YN tilts her head to one side, not catching how strange her phrasing is until Namjoon lifts an eyebrow. By that point, too much time has passed for YN to really change her statement, and she can feel her ears getting hot as she waits for Namjoon to actually respond.

“Well, any of us can read basically any thought you have. We can also access memories, though it is incredibly frowned upon to do so, as it is sort of like torture for the person whose mind you look into for that one. But, we can also teach you how to make sure we can’t see inside your mind, and when the door to the room closes, we can’t see into anyone inside the room.” Namjoon answers with a sort of practiced nuance, which is comforting to YN in a strange way.

“Do you look at my thoughts all the time?”

“No, of course not. That wouldn’t be fair, and honestly, we don’t really look in your mind at all. You do throw off emotion, but that’s different in the first place.” Namjoon gives that same little half shrug.

“How’s it different?” YN’s voice is much softer now. There’s something about the way Namjoon speaks that makes her feel like she’s coming home.

She shakes the feeling, instead trying to focus on what Namjoon has to say.

“When in the pack, emotions are shared and felt by the other members of the pack, to varying degrees. When it comes to other wolves, we are sensitive to their emotions and have a large amount of completely non-verbal communication. Part of why you’re so interesting to us is the fact that we can feel your emotions, though you clearly aren’t fully wolf.” Namjoon pauses, brow furrowed.

“What does that mean?” YN’s expression turns to match Namjoons.

“It means you’re one of us. But also that you’re not.” Namjoon brings a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sure what it means, honestly. You smell like an Omega. You act like one, mostly. But you clearly won’t be able to turn once you finish presenting, you know nothing of our world or customs, you’re absolutely tiny.”

YN shifts uncomfortably when Namjoon looks up at her, her ears heating up again, though she has no idea why she’s embarrassed. It’s not her fault she didn’t know about a hidden society of werewolves, after all.

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something else, but the door opens and Jin steps in.

“Namjoon, go separate Taehyung and Yoongi. They’re at it again. Both of them are acting like children.” Jin lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. “And you need to leave YN alone, she needs to heal. Didn’t you say the same thing to Tae and Kookie just a bit ago?”

YN can’t help but smile softly at the familiar interaction, almost laughing when Jin shoos Namjoon out of the room.

“As for you, Miss YN, you need to actually rest. Don’t be afraid to tell any of the boys to leave, they know full well that you are here to heal.” Jin gives YN a bright smile as he reaches behind her to make sure her pillows are arranged correctly.

YN nods, a grateful smile on her features. “I’ll do my best to heal well, thank you.” She speaks softly, her thoughts a jumbled mess after everything Namjoon told her, her prior annoyance and attitude melting away.

“Do you need anything else? It’s getting late enough I’m going to leave you, I know Namjoon set you up with your technology and chargers.” Jin stands in the doorway, facing YN.

“No, thank you! I’m good until tomorrow.” YN answers quickly, arranging herself so she can rest comfortably for the night.

“I’ll leave you then. If you need anything through the night, there’s a call button on the side there. Good night, YN.”

“Good night!” YN calls, watching as Jin flicks off the light and closes the door. She then proceeds to lay there, in the strange bed, and stare up at the ceiling.

It was a lot to process, everything that she’d been told.

“I’m fucking crazy.” YN groans, sighing deeply and checking her phone for the first time in what could have been weeks.

She was unsurprised to see that the only notifications she had were from her editor, sending back things for her to work on and asking for the corrections and newest works.

YN can’t help but sigh again, throwing her phone to one side and settling in better. She was thankful to the men who had saved her, and she knew somewhere deep down that she could trust them, but it was just a lot to deal with.

What did it mean that she smelled like an Omega? What the fuck did it mean to present? What did Namjoon mean when he said that she threw off emotions?

YN was confused, to say the least, but as she relaxed more and ignored the aches of her body, she realized just how tired she was. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, even with her mind swirling with question after question about what everything meant.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was three weeks before YN had the use of her arm back, her shoulder only stinging slightly when she actually used her arm properly. It was another month after that before YN could walk on her ankle, which had been almost shattered from the attack. And that whole time, YN was bonding with the boys.

She quickly found that the three youngest were incredibly physically affectionate, which YN just adored. She quickly found herself curling up beside Jimin, playing with his hair and feeling completely enveloped in his arms. Or laying across Jungkook’s lap, laughing at his facial expressions as he played his games. Or jokingly having Taehyung carry her around, lovingly calling him her “trusty steed” from her perch on his back.

She found that Jin’s love language was acts of service, which usually translated into him cooking this or that for the group. YN quickly fell into the habit of helping Jin as much as she could sitting at (or on) the counter, laughing at his dad jokes and making some of her own. She made sure that Jin didn’t forget to serve himself as well, always sneaking some of the best parts that he gave to her back into his own portion.

She found that the best way to bond with Namjoon was to just talk to him, about anything and everything, especially philosophical topics. Both YN and Namjoon loved the debate of this or that, the exchange of ideas, the passion of discussing things that others find to be boring. They would spend hours sitting in the library and reading this book or that novel, just to discuss it as soon as both of them had finished, getting off topic in that special way that isn’t really off topic, if you think about it on a deeper level.

She found that Hoseok loved to dance, loved to explore music and feel it through the movement of his body. While YN wasn’t able to stand and actually dance with him, even though she would have loved to, she did suggest new songs for him to try making routines to, bringing him water and snacks every so often. He would always ask her to stay and watch, which she did, always giving him the biggest applause she could at the end of the beautiful dances, talking his ear off about her love for movement like that, even if she couldn’t ever really do it herself.

She found, however, that it was with Yoongi that she felt the most at peace. She quickly gained access to his ever-so-exclusive “genius lab,” where he made his music. Most of the time, YN would work on her writing as Yoongi worked on his music, the studio space filled with the soft sounds of YN’s typing and the sounds of whatever Yoongi was working on. They didn’t need to talk, instead the two sat in silence most of the time, just enjoying the fact that there was someone else there who understood that being together was all that was really needed.

Every so often, Yoongi would spin around in his chair and capture YN’s attention, asking her to listen to something and give her opinions on what could be improved or changed to make the song sound better. While YN didn’t have a lick of musical experience, she was sensitive to sounds and could pick out parts that didn’t quite mesh correctly with ease, which is just what Yoongi needed.

On the flip side, when Yoongi was taking a bit of a break to stretch, YN would ask him to make certain motions or how to say certain things in different accents to help her be able to write this or that out in a way that actually made sense. Her editor was praising the way her work was coming back with less mistakes and awkward parts, and YN was absolutely loving the way she and Yoongi got along.

And yet at other points, when neither Yoongi nor YN could seem to focus long enough to get anything done, the two would lounge side by side on the couch and just talk. They never really had something specific to talk about, but YN would find herself opening up about things that she had never told anyone else. She would find herself listening intently to whatever Yoongi decided to open up about, carefully choosing her words in a way that was meant to make him feel better, without making it feel like she was dismissing the feelings that he had in the first place.

It was a system that worked, with YN falling into the routine of the home far quicker than any of them would have ever expected. She found joy in helping Jin cook, she felt loved at the unashamed touchiness of Jimin and Taehyung, and again in the much more shy touchiness of Jungkook, she found quiet appreciation in sharing music and watching Hobi, she felt wanted during the long conversations and debates with Namjoon, and she felt at peace with Yoongi.

She felt like she was home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But nothing can last forever, can it? YN knew just as much as the rest of the boys that she would have to go back to her own home eventually.

And so, after two and a half months of living with the seven men, YN was taken back to her own home.

Jin’s the one who drove her, with Namjoon riding shotgun. There was an aura of sadness the entire time, like none of them really wanted to go anywhere, but it wasn’t like YN could just move into their house.

This wasn’t a movie or some crappy romance novel, after all. It was real life, and in real life, people don’t just pack up and move into the home of people who were basically strangers.

The whole parting was quiet. YN couldn’t bring herself to actually say the word “goodbye” to either of the men who had come to make sure she got home safe, instead throwing her arms around their necks and giving them a good squeeze, wishing that she didn’t have to leave.

The whole thing rang the same as the way she had parted with the other boys before the drive, the ache settling into her chest like someone had ripped out her heart and thrown it under the tires of the car as it pulled away, tears falling freely as a sharp longing settled in her stomach.

It wasn’t until Jin and Namjoon left that YN actually cried, sobs tearing out of her throat as she crumbled to the ground, knees hitting the hardwood sharply.

She had no idea how long she stayed there, feeling like there was a hole ripped into her very being, wishing for the comfort of Yoongi’s words, or Jimin’s wonderful hugs, or of Jin’s gentle prodding to “eat well.”

Eventually, YN drug herself to her feet, stumbling to the kitchen and chugging some water before grabbing the bag she had borrowed to take her things back to her house, deciding she needed to put things away.

“Why did I let them pack the bag?” YN groans, finding quickly that she is wholly unable to actually pick the bag up, and instead has to drag it to her room. She’s silently thankful for the wood floors because she can actually slide the bag.

It isn’t until she gets to the last couple sweatshirts in the bottom of the bag that YN realizes she’d picked up a few presents from the boys. Shaking her head, she realizes why they had insisted on helping her in the first place, each of them had gifted her something small and they didn’t want her to refuse them, like they knew she would. The knowledge of how kind they were being was completely bittersweet, however, because they felt like “goodbye, at least remember us” presents.

From Jin she got the knife she quickly claimed was her favorite because it was the only one that was properly sized for her. There was a small note attached tha read “For my favorite kitchen helper, since it’s too small for me, -Jin”

YN felt the tears well up in her eyes as she carefully set the knife to the side, not wanting to accidentally hurt herself. She then reaches back into the bag, wondering what else she might find.

Hobi’s gift was next, giving her the one black headband of his that she always stole and jokingly wore around. It was wrapped around an adorable little teddy bear, with a note saying “For my favorite dancer, even if you couldn’t really do anything. Next time, I’m sure you’ll show me up -Hobi <3”

Tears were flowing down her face now, but YN couldn’t stop looking for what was next, no matter what kind of feelings arose from it.

Next she found one of the small figurines from Jungkook’s games, the one she always told him was her favorite because of it’s cool jacket. The note simply read “He might be your favorite, but you’re mine.”

YN smiled at the lack of signature, getting up and placing the figure on her nightstand, carefully angling it so it could watch over the room. Taking a seat on the edge of her bed, she reaches into the bag again, pulling out a gift that couldn’t have been from anyone but Namjoon.

It was a book that was equal parts old and beautiful, and as YN ran her finger down the spine, she took out the note that was sticking out of the book. She wiped the tears from her face before she read the note, not wanting to drip tears onto it.

“Our Miss YN,

Please don’t take this as a goodbye, but as a promise for the future. You’re just as important to us, to me, as we are to you. Remember us, remember the good, and look to when we can be together again.

-Joon”

It’s with this that YN starts sobbing again. They’re so sweet, those boys, and YN couldn’t help but feel almost lost without them. Her chest hurt like someone had shot her, a strong sort of longing that seemed endless settling into the pit of her stomach.

It takes a while this time, before she can reach into the bag again. When she does, she almost immediately has renewed cries falling from her lips.

She had pulled out the one super soft sweater of Jimin’s that she absolutely adored. She had told him that she was going to steal it from him whenever he wore it, twisting her fingers in the material and snuggling closer to him. It was soft, it smelled nice, and she knew that it would make her both look and feel tiny.

There’s no note with this one, but YN can feel the love and sincerity behind the action, draping the sweater over her legs for the time being. She reaches into the bag again, smiling as she pulls out one of Taehyung’s million beanies, wrapped around a small toy horse.

There is a note with this one, which simply reads “Horse.” It’s the most Taehyung thing YN can think of, and without a second thought, she places the horse next to the figurine, pulling the beanie on.

She doesn’t find anything else immediately, taking a minute to put the things she had gotten in safe spots and going to put away the last couple hoodies, which she knew were hers.

It isn’t until she reaches the last thing in the bag that she finds what Yoongi left her. At first, she thought it was just one of his hoodies, which she absolutely adored, but when she took it out to lay it next to the sweater Jimin had given her, something fell out of the folding.

Quickly, YN picks up whatever fell, and finds that it’s a CD. She shakes her head, knowing that Yoongi would be the kind of person to share music as a gift. She sets the CD carefully on the bed, gathering up her shower supplies and a towel, both because she needed to take them back to her bathroom, and because she needed to actually shower.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Once she’s freshly showered, using Hobi’s headband to keep her hair out of her face, wearing nothing but the amazingly soft sweater Jimin left her, YN settles into her bed with a CD player she found, Yoongi’s hoodie layed out beside her. Now that she had calmed down, she could smell the boys on the things they had given her. She would have been lying if she said that it wasn’t incredibly comforting to have their scent around her. It made the gaping hole in her chest feel a little less bloody, for whatever reason.

Pressing play, YN settles in, not knowing what to expect. Neither the CD nor the CD cover had any sort of writing on it, so YN had no idea what was going to be playing, or for how long. She can’t help the small smile that graces her face as Yoongi’s voice fills her space, speaking deep and slow in that comforting way YN loved.

“YN, my lovely secret keeper. You’re hearing this now because the day has come that you had to go back to your own home. I know none of us want you to leave, and if your actions have anything to say about it, you don't want to go.

You know as well as I do that things don’t always work the way we want them to, though. We will be coming to visit you, as much as we can. And we will keep an eye on you.

YN, please listen to me when I tell you I won’t let anything happen to you. It broke my heart, letting you get hurt once. And I’m not sure what I would have done if Hyung and I weren’t there when you were attacked.

If you need me, if you need any of us, we will be there. Always.”

YN curls up in a ball, hugging Yoongi’s hoodie to her chest, breathing in his scent deeply. She knew that he meant every word, that he truly would never let anything happen to her on purpose, but she also felt abandoned by him. By all of them.

She had spent the last ten weeks of her life talking to Yoongi or Namjoon when she felt bad. Going to Jimin or Taehyung for cuddles when she was lonely. Gaming with Jungkook when she was bored. Laughing with Jin while prepping meals. Doing what little dancing she could with Hobi when she was restless. Laughing as Taehyung insisted on carrying her from one room to another, even once she had healed enough to walk.

She had spent the last ten weeks evening out their teams when they played games, singing off-key on karaoke nights, fielding Taehyung’s touchiness before he got on Yoongi’s nerves (because for some reason, Tae insisted on trying to cuddle Yoongi at every opportunity), celebrating with them, helping to clean the wolves if there was a fight, stealing blankets off of every surface she could, curling into the side of whoever sat beside her in the name of stealing their boundless warmth.

She had spent ten weeks creating a space for herself in their lives, in their home. And now, it was back to living in a house that was way too big for her, with nobody to keep her accountable.

It was because of this that she cried herself to sleep, even the sound of Yoongi’s beautiful music filled the room. She missed them, more than anything. She felt like she was crying more than she ever had, and it had only been hours since she left their home.

What YN didn’t know was that the boys were missing her just as much back at their home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jin had decided to make a fancier meal than usual, because it would take more time and take his mind off of everything, but as he went about getting things done, he couldn’t help but miss seeing YN, perched precariously on the counter, babbling away about this or that as she carefully cut whatever needed to be chopped up.

He internally cringed as the thought of the time YN had slipped and almost fallen on her hurt ankle, his own quick reflexes being the only thing that had saved her from weeks of extra healing. Honestly, even though it stressed him out to no end to have her cutting things balanced the way she was, it was also something that he had come to expect. Secretly, he wished she had fallen on that ankle, because that would mean she would have still been right there, trying to out-joke the dad joke master himself.

Jungkook had holed himself away in his room, going to game, setting out a second controller without thinking about it. He had been in the middle of teaching YN how to play his favorite game, so that they could properly play together instead of having her just watch him play all the time. It felt wrong for him to have to just put away that second controller.

The feeling was just exasperated when he went to start the game and it came up with the section that they had been working through. Fondly, Jungkook remembered the way YN would bring her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrated on doing things correctly, bouncing in her seat when she finally figured out how something worked. Despite the fond memories, he found himself close to tears, staring at that second controller.

Jimin and Hobi both went to the studio, deciding to dance away the hurt. Without thinking, Hobi went to ask YN what song they should freestyle to, the words dying in his throat as he turned around to talk to the girl that just wasn’t there. Jimin can see just how much pain Hobi is in, not even speaking as he brings the slightly taller man into his arms, feeling the same sense of loss.

They sunk down to the floor, neither of them wanting to talk, which in itself was strange for the two normally boisterous men. Jimin missed the feeling of having YN curled up beside him, stealing his heat. Hobi missed being able to talk to her about the dances he was doing, getting a perspective from someone who didn’t really know anything about dance. They missed her.

They didn’t realize until that moment, when the two were both trying to get the same sort of comfort from each other that they had begun to seek out YN for, how much of a hole there was in their group. Sure, they had been just fine before YN, and would be fine again without her, but there was a comfort with her that they didn’t know how to replace. Things just weren’t the same.

Taehyung busied himself with a book that Namjoon had been recommending to him about one artist that he recently found, but he couldn’t focus on the words or pictures in front of him. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with the fact that, for the past two months, he had spent this lazy time in the afternoon helping YN get from place to place, laughing with her as the others did this or that. He missed those moments, with YN laughing in his arms or on his back, even though it shouldn’t have been long enough for those feelings to settle in.

He closed the book, flopping down onto the sofa he had settled on and trying not to think too hard about what he could have been doing with YN. If he was being honest with himself, he liked having someone who was so small and easily carried around, because he liked feeling big and important in comparison to her. It was an added bonus that her personality meshed so well with his own, and that she seemed to just understand the weirder parts of his personality, instead of being put off by them like so many others.

Sure, he was one of the largest of the pack, but that didn’t mean he felt like it. By wolf standards, he was pretty close to normal, but for whatever reason, he loved the way YN would curl into his side when they were seated next to each other, mumbling about being cold, looking absolutely tiny in comparison to his own body.

Or how she’d sigh dramatically whenever she had to stand to do something, hopping around the room and never asking for help, despite the fact Taehyung would be the first to jump up and whisk her off her feet completely, just carrying her to wherever it was she needed to be, chiding her for not asking for the help she so clearly needed.

Namjoon decided to go to the library, curling up in the chair that YN usually occupied in the mornings before everyone else woke up. His mind was swirling, automatically analyzing why he felt the way he did, instead of really feeling those feelings. Absently, he stroked the spine of the book that YN had been reading, a soft smile gracing his face when he realized that it was the one he had recommended when she was still completely bedridden during those first few days.

He glanced down at the small table beside the chair, realizing for the first time that YN had left a little notebook under the book. He picks it up, flipping through it and quickly realizing that she had been taking notes over things she was eager to discuss with him, which should have made him happy, but in reality just made him feel worse because she wasn’t there to actually follow through.

Namjoon chuckled to himself as he imagined YN, absolutely tiny in the chair, curled up in one of the fluffy blankets she always seemed to be wrapped up in, lovingly devouring the book that he had recommended to her, scribbling notes onto her notepad for later. He realized absently that he had missed one of the ways that she showed her growing love and appreciation for him was through this small action, making sure that she knew what she was going to say before their discussions. Namjoon was surprised when a drop of water fell onto the page in the notebook YN had marked, not realizing until he sniffled that it was his own tears.

Yoongi locked himself up in his Genius Lab as soon as YN was in the car, headphones on as he did this or that to the song he had been working on. He tried to ignore the fact that he couldn’t hear the soft clicks of a keyboard behind him. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling of being lonely.

He had never once felt lonely in his studio, not before he started letting YN hang out on the couch as he worked.

Not until he got used to spinning around in his chair and seeing YN there, typing away on her laptop. He remembered hearing her little sighs of frustration or exasperation when something doesn’t work out quite right, her brow furrowed, her tongue sticking out slightly, with a growing fondness.

Yes, Yoongi liked being alone. He enjoyed the silence, he enjoyed his own company. He had always liked being alone, it was how he recharged. And it wasn’t until he let YN into his most private sanctum that he had ever really felt lonely.

It wasn’t until Jin rounded all of them up for dinner that they realized that every single one of them were missing YN.

“This is bullshit.”

Yoongi is the one who speaks, heads turning towards him. None of them had really been in the mood for much talking, but none of them had figured Yoongi, of all people, would be the one to break the tense silence.

“What, I know you’re all thinking it too. This is bullshit.” Yoongi glares at his plate, taking a deep breath before he looks up at the others.

“None of us wanted YN to leave. YN didn’t want to leave. And now we are all miserable.” Yoongi stands now, not bothering to push in the chair he had been sitting on.

“I don’t care what any of you do. I don’t care what the consequences are. I’m going to YN’s.” Yoongi’s eyes sweep the faces of the six boys he loves the most, a fiery intensity radiating off of him in a way that has them all flinching away from him.

“Yoongi you can’t ju-” Namjoon starts, standing and going over to try to calm Yoongi down, but a sharp growl from Yoongi makes him stop in his tracks.

“No!” Yoongi’s voice drops an octave as he steps closer to Namjoon himself, squaring up with the leader in a way that could very easily lead to a fight.

“You know as well as I do Alpha,” Yoongi spits the word like it’s acid on his tongue. “she smells like one of us. She has our scent all over her. If they find out we let her go, that we aren’t around her all the time anymore, they’re going to kill her.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, anger bubbling up in him like a cursed well, when Jin stands, pushing himself between the two Alphas.

“Both of you! Stop it!” Jin stands, making sure each of them are an arm’s length away from each other. “We all miss YN, but there’s a reason she’s not here. As much as it might seem like it, she isn’t one of us. She doesn’t belong with us.”

The other boys are all standing now, helping to make sure Yoongi and Namjoon stay away from each other, trying to calm both of them down. A fight between the Alphas would not end well.

“How could you say that?” It’s Hoseok who speaks this time, his voice sounding oddly small.

“Because it’s been almost a hundred years since there was a lost Omega! You all know how rare they are, seeing how strong the Omega gene is. We knew her uncle, and he didn’t have a lick of wolf in him, even if she managed to somehow get some wolf in her, it can’t be enough for her to be able to pack bond.” Jin flicks his eyes between the other boys, focusing his attention on keeping Namjoon behind him.

It’s silent for what feels like hours.

“Then why do I feel like I lost a piece of me, huh?” It’s Taehyung who speaks up this time, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, tears rising in his eyes. “Explain that, Hyung.” His voice is barely above a whisper, choked out over a growing lump in his throat.

“I-” Jin starts, the words dying in his throat as he watches Taehyung turn into the closest person, seeking the comfort of someone else.

For once, Yoongi opened his arms to Taehyung, glaring at Jin from over the other man’s shoulder, trying to comfort him.

“I don’t know.” Jin finally admits, his face falling.

Again, the room falls silent, only the soft sniffles of Taehyung breaking the deafening quiet of the room.

“I think we all feel the way Tae does, don’t we?” Namjoon speaks for the first time in a while, the anger he had felt having finally subsided almost completely. There are nods from everyone.

“The feeling is new, and we don’t want to make a mistake. If we report YN as being lost, she will become a target. If we don’t, we will. Let’s wait for at least a week before we approach her again.” Namjoon eyes the others in the room. “But let’s keep patrols heavy in her part of the woods.”

Yoongi glares at Namjoon, thoughts swirling. A whole week without YN, knowing that she’s in pain being away from them? It sounded like downright torture to him.

“Yoongi, Hyung, you know how big of a deal it is to be the pack with a lost Omega. She’ll become a target, just because she can’t handle half as much as we can. It’d be easy to not only to just kill her, but to break her spirit, to force her to tell them about our weaknesses as a pack. She’d have to be with at least one of us almost all the time, have to live with us. She’d have to give up big parts of her freedom, and the YN we know wouldn’t enjoy that at all.” Namjoon pauses, taking a deep breath.

“We have to be sure before we approach her with this. For all we know, she won’t ever fully present and YN isn’t really one of the lost at all.” Namjoon brings a hand up to rub at his temple, a headache starting from the strong mix of emotions.

Yoongi sighs, Taehyung finally detaching himself from the smaller man as Yoongi runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re right Joon. I know you’re right.” He lets out another, more exasperated sigh before he continues, “It’s just hard, ya know? Waiting another week feels like torture, because I know, I know, that YN is hurting. And we caused it.”

The other boys nod, giving murmurs of agreement as they start to dissipate, their meal forgotten as they begin to retreat again. For whatever reason, even the most other-person oriented of the pack wanted to be alone, wanted to have a minute to process everything that was going on by themselves.

“Jin, Yoongi. Can we go talk further in the office? We need to actually figure out what to do next.” Namjoon catches Jin by the shoulder before he walks out of the room, reaching for Yoongi as well, even though he was across the room.

Yoongi just nods, Jin letting out a short hum of approval. The trio then turn in unison, heading out towards the office space that Namjoon used so often.

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