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runningfrom2am · 2 months

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gem of panem // LTPF

summary: introducing regulus and regan snow; son and daughter of the most powerful couple the country has ever seen. the real gems of panem.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 4.2k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: dad!coryo!! finally!!, gamemaker!reader, this time the capitol brats are their kids, also a little bit of violence in this one!! some very minor medical procedure descriptions (trypanophobia havers beware- although that's me so i was VERY vague with descriptions otherwise i would have made myself cry)

a/n: i've had dad!coryo requested for this series a few times so here's a taste of that and an introduction to their kids!! ahh I've been working on this for so long i hope you guys love it :)

series masterlist // playlist

"I simply do not have time for this. Notify my husband." You wave off your assistant as you stand over the large round table in your laboratory.

"I- uh, your husband, Doctor Snow?" The young girl stammers.

"I don't believe I stuttered, did I?"

"No, Doctor. I just... I am uncertain he will be available right now."

You look up from the scattered pile of papers, and you can see her tense up. "I understand that he's our president, but he is also a father. He is more 'available' than I am a week before the games! Now go, he shall handle it."

"Yes, okay. I will, I'm sorry." She agrees, already pacing away and out of your sight and you get back to work, resisting the urge to attempt at rubbing away your now growing migraine.

"President Snow, sir?" Coryo looks up from his desk as one of his people opens the door for your assistant.

"Serena, my wife sent you?" He asks, standing quickly. It wasn't standard that you would send her instead of showing up yourself, or even just waiting until the end of the day to tell him over dinner.

"Yes, sir." She nods, looking down at her notepad. "Her office got a call from the academy, about an hour ago. They wished to speak with her about your son, sir. In person."

Coryo furrows his brow, already standing and grabbing his red overcoat. "Did something happen?" Why would they call the head gamemaker and demand her presence a week before the games? That seems incredibly careless.

"They wouldn't tell me anything other than the fact he is safe and not injured, sir."

He nods slightly, already brushing past her out the door. "Call the school, tell them I am on my way."

Coryo gets out of the black car, pacing up to the elementary wing of the academy's campus, a building he is far too familiar with. Walking in, he watches the receptionists eyes go wide as they both stare at him. He clears his throat.

"Where is my son?" He asks flatly.

"In the Deans office, President Snow." She replies and he nods, rubbing his jaw.

"Whose decision was it to call on my wife a week before the games are set to begin?"

Her face pales. "Well, um, she is the primary emergency contact for him, it is procedure to make that call first."

"So it was you?"

"Yes, sir."

Coryo leans onto the counter that separated them. "Right, well, maybe we should work on our critical thinking skills next time if we want to keep our jobs, yes?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He smiles slightly at her response, tapping his hand on the granite counter before walking off down the private hall.

He enters without knocking, practically slamming the door open and immediately searching the unnecessarily large office for your son. "Regulus, are you alright?" He asks, approaching the boy quickly when he sees him sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.

"Dad, I'm fine..." He mutters, arms crossed over his chest as he pouts.

Coryo crouches down in front of him, examining him closely.

"Coriolanus, I was surprised to get your call." The new Dean says, drawing his attention as he stands back up.

"Why is that?" Coryo asks, turning to his former classmate with a raised eyebrow.

She shrugs, standing behind her desk with her hands in her pockets. "We called for Y/N."

"A week before the games." He nods, approaching the desk slowly. "Are you not happier to see me than her, timing considered?"

"That's a good point." Persephone chuckles.

"Yes, she was not pleased you even called." Coryo replies, knowing he didn't even speak with you directly. "So please, tell me what is so important that you needed to interrupt both of our schedules."

"Right, yes. Please take a seat." She gestured toward the chair across from her own and he sits, only because it's polite. "So," She flips over a page in the notebook in front of her. "Regulus hit another student."

Coryo's eyebrows raise, and he turns to look at his son who's still pouting in the corner. "Come here, please." He pages him, and he saunters over, refusing to make eye contact with either of the adults in the room.

"Why?" Coryo asks him as he takes the empty seat next to him. The boy shrugs, still avoiding their gaze.

Coryo sighs. "Would you mind, Persephone? What happened?"

"Apparently..." She glances at her notes again. "Another student took his pencil without asking first and didn't give it back because, quote, 'they needed it and he had plenty'." She explains, looking up at them again. Regulus was the striking image of his father, his hair in the same longer somewhat disheveled curls that she used to remember on the man sitting next to him when they were that age.

"That's it?" Coryo asks.

"He hit him on the head, he's in the nurses office now being assessed for a concussion."

"Okay..?" He chuckles slightly in response. "Why did you have to call us?"

"Because this is a serious disciplinary issue." She scoffs, gesturing to his son.

Coryo looks between the two of them. "Okay, well, he looks like he feels bad, and I'll have my staff send an apology letter to the boys parents." He says, standing up again and tucking the chair back in. "Come on, kid. Let's go."

"Coriolanus, respectfully, this is more severe than that." Persephone interrupts. "We won't allow students to go around hurting others- especially over something so menial as a pencil. Eight years is too old for that kind of behaviour."

"You know his mother- don't you?" Coryo asks, raising an eyebrow at her. "I promise you, Dean Price, this is not serious." He turns then to his son. "Grab your stuff, I'll take you home." He says, and the little blonde boy rushes back to the corner to grab his bag.

"Coriolanus." She says again, exasperated by his lack of concern.

"Oh, and please tell the other boy that theft is not tolerated in Panem. He's lucky we won't have him executed." Coryo says, feigning a genuine smile at her with a sharp nod. He knows this isn't true, that executing a child over something so petty would never be considered in the Capitol, it would just be wasteful, but maybe next time he would think before stealing from the Presidents son.

She gives up at this, sighing as they walk toward the door.

Coryo shuts the door behind them, reaching forward to ruffle his son's hair.

The boy giggles, pouting and trying to fix it. "Dad.." He laughs, looking back up at him. "You're not upset with me, are you?"

"No, of course not." He grins, leaning down and placing a hand on his shoulder as they walk. "Did you know that your Dean is a cannibal?" He whispers, giving a quick nod to the girls at the reception desk as they pass.

Regulus gasps, looking up at him. "Is she really?"

"Yes." Coryo nods. "Tell your friends."

"Ew..." His son shivers, and Coryo smiles.

"I know right? Gross." He laughs quietly as they step out into the hall. "Now, where's your sister?"

"She's in English." Regulus answers and Coryo nods, leading him up the stairs and toward the classroom.

Once again, Coryo doesn't bother knocking before opening the door to his daughter's classroom.

Everyone looks up at once and the teacher pauses, gasps and whispers filling the room.

"Daddy!" Regan smiles, standing quickly and running down the stairs to the door, throwing her arms around his waist.

"Hi, Gem." He chuckles slightly, rubbing her back as she clings to him.

"President Snow..." The teacher smiles nervously. "We weren't expecting a visit today, but we were just discussing the significance of The Hunger Games and it's depictions in literature, would you care to comment?"

"Oh, interesting!" He grins, glancing back to Regulus waiting just outside. "I would love to, but Regan's mother is really the one to speak to about all that. Unfortunately, I'm busy today but perhaps we can get her in one day to speak in one of your lessons?"

"That would be wonderful." Her teacher smiles. "Then, what brings you in?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry for interrupting, but I'll be pulling Regan for the day." He explains and his daughter gasps, looking up at him with excitement. "Yeah." He whispers to her, patting her head. "Go get your things."

"Oh! Okay, did you sign her out? Typically they would call me beforehand." The teacher replies as Regan goes back to her seat, grabbing her things and being not so sneaky about sticking her tongue out at her classmates.

"No, I just decided to grab her while I was here. Just call the office and let them know I took her." He smiles, opening his arm to his daughter again as she comes back.

Regan practically skips out of the room, super excited to be free of something she already hears about endlessly at home. "What happened, Daddy? Why are we leaving?" She asks, grabbing her father's hand.

"Well, my schedule cleared up and I just thought 'Hm... I sure am missing my favourite girl today,' and then I remembered your last report card and how incredibly well you are doing and decided you deserved a day off."

"Really?!" She squeals, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Of course, Sweetheart." Coryo chuckles, scooping her up to carry her down the stairs.

"Lux, what would you like to do today? Anything you want." He looks down at the boy walking next to them.

"Uh, I'm not sure."

"Daddy, can we go see Mum?" Regan asks, looking up at him with a hopeful sparkle in her eyes. "I want to see her pets!"

Coryo chews the inside of his cheek. It's certainly not a good time, but if he would be with them maybe they could just sneak in to say hello. He found it extremely difficult to say no to her. "Sure, Darling." He nods, opening the front door to the academy.

"Okay, remember, Mum is very busy so we're just going to pop in to say hello, and if she says it's okay we can go see her pets." Coryo explains to the kids as they get out of the car outside the Citadel. "We're going to be quiet, and not touch a single thing unless I say it's okay."

Regan's blonde pigtails bounce as she runs up the stairs in front of the building, having abandoned her bag in the car. Regulus is right on her heels, reaching for her hair as if he's going to pull it.

They were under a year apart in age, 'district twins', as Ma Plinth had dubbed them when Regan was born. When you were expecting your son, the games were difficult to plan and execute. You would never admit it, but Coryo could see that the hormones of pregnancy made you almost sympathetic to the tributes and their families- you could hardly even watch the games you spent a year meticulously planning. You spent most of the time you could watch with a bucket in your lap. So when Coryo suggested you have your second right away, you were skeptical. You didn't want to go through that again right away, but he wasn't sure he could convince you to do it again if you decided to wait.

"Let's just get it over with," He had insisted. "Then we'll have our two beautiful babies and you'll never have to do it again. Everything will go back to normal." You couldn't argue with that logic.

So when Regulus was eleven months old, the Capitol was buzzing with excitement over the announcement that the First Lady of Panem had given birth to another child; a baby girl, and she was perfect.

"Gem of Panem! What do we have here?" Your receptionist grins as the three of them stroll in, eyes locked on the kids as Regan holds her head high. The receptionist is rounding the desk, crouching down and opening her arms for the little girl who happily runs into them. "If it isn't the real gem of Panem, how are you, Miss Regan?"

"I'm good." Regan giggles, arms wrapped around the woman's neck. "Daddy picked me up from school early."

"I see that." She chuckles, standing up and lifting the seven year old onto her hip as she looks at Coryo.

"I decided to let the kids have the rest of the day off today, and they wanted to come say hi to Doctor Snow." He explains. "If she has a moment."

"Oh, that's a good question..." The woman nods, gently lowering Regan back to the ground and circling the desk again, pulling up the paper schedule and scanning over it for a moment. "You know what, let me call her and just ask."

Your phone rings on your desk in the corner and you sigh, heels clicking across the floor as you pace over. "I swear to god if it is the school again..." You mumble to yourself, picking up the line. "What is it?"

"Doctor Snow, sorry to bug you, but your family is here."

"My family..." You ask, mind still set on the technical details of the almost prepared arena.

"Yes, Doctor. President Snow has brought your children by, they wish to see you, but only if you have time."

You blink, realizing what she said. "Okay, yes. That's fine. Send them down."

You can hear your kids before you see them, Regan talking away mostly to herself as they step out of the elevator into the part of your lab that held your office. You sigh, quickly removing your leather gloves and fixing the disheveled state of your hair before stepping out into the hall to greet them.

"Mummy!" Your daughter squeals, running toward you as you crouch down to catch her in your arms.

"Hi, Gem..." You laugh slightly, eyes now focussed on Regulus. He's shifting on his feet, standing so close to his father's side that he's almost standing behind him.

"Lux," You let your daughter go, opening your arms to him. "Come here, darling. What's wrong? What happened?"

He doesn't say anything, eyes locked on the ground as he walks up to you and leans into your shoulder. "Are you hurt?" He slightly shakes his head and you pick him up, allowing him to wrap his legs around your waist and arms around your neck.

You look pointedly at your husband.

'I'll tell you about it later' He mouths to you and you nod, gently rubbing circles into the boys back while Regan pulls on your lab coat impatiently.

"Mummm," She whines, already stomping her foot on the ground since your attention was no longer on her. "Mum, I want to see your pets and Daddy said we could."

"I said maybe, Gem." Coryo laughs slightly.

You chew on your lip, not minding the deteriorating state of your red lipstick. You were really anxious to find out what happened with Regulus, so maybe letting the kids entertain themselves for just a moment would allow you a second to talk to Coryo about it.

"Sure, of course you can. We'll just have to be quick, Mum is very busy today." You smile, gently putting your son down as his head perks up at the idea. "Come on." You take his hand, leading them all down the hall to one particularly safe section of your lab.

There are a series of mutts under testing and development here, but in this room close to your office, it contained only small animals like mice and rats, or bugs that the kids never showed much interest in. "Don't touch a thing, okay?" You tell them as you unlock the door.

The kids rush in, running up to a tank and immediately gawking at its contents. You didn't understand why, fully, since they just looked like regular old house mice. Your kids just wanted to be involved, you supposed. The same way Regan enjoyed sitting on Coryo's lap while he gave speeches or did interviews, but Regulus had always shown more of an interest in what you did behind the scenes, not just in front of the cameras.

"What happened?" You ask Coryo quietly as soon as they are sufficiently occupied.

Coryo chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your cheek as you keep your eyes locked on the kids. "Hello to you too."

You sigh, smiling as you lean into him. "Hi. Sorry. I'm just a little stressed."

"I know, love. Don't worry about it." He squeezes your side. "We'll get out of your hair in a few minutes."

"What happened with him?" You ask again.

"He hit another kid." Coryo states plainly and you gasp, turning to fully look at him for the first time.

"What?" You ask, searching his expression for any clue that he may have been kidding.

He shrugs. "They stole his pencil and refused to give it back."

"Oh, well, then they deserved it." You scoff. "Little brat- did you get the names of the parents?"

He laughs quietly, shaking his head and reaching up to hold your cheek. "I handled it. Don't worry about a thing." You don't have the chance to argue before he's kissing you to hush any of your concerns.

You hum against his lips, pressing a hand to his chest. "But, Coryo-"

"I handled it." He reminds you, just gently biting down on your lower lip. You can feel him smiling against you and you hum, allowing yourself to relax for just a moment.

Coryo takes the opportunity to turn to face you fully, dragging his hands down over your hips and backing you against the wall just behind you.

The kids were there, yes, but they were well used to seeing you kiss. It didn't bother either of you, and they had never known anything else. One day they may complain, but until that day came you would take every opportunity granted to you within your mutually tight schedules. Besides, the kids should know what love looks like. High expectations are good expectations, in your opinion.

The moment is interrupted by your phone ringing in your office down the hall and you quickly take a step back. With the tributes already in the Capitol, you couldn't afford to miss a call. Anything could happen- you know that story well.

"I'm sorry, I need to get that." You say and he nods as you turn to the kids. "Lux, Gem, come on. Time to go."

"Mum!" Regan whines, stomping her foot down as she always tended to do. "We just got here, can't we stay a few more minutes?"

"No, Regan. Out. Come on." You motion for them to come and they do, but your daughter in particular looks extremely unpleased as she stomps past you and out the door while Regulus follows with his hands tucked in his pockets. You turn off the light and lock the door.

"Okay, I'll see you at home tonight. Yes?" You kiss your husbands cheek and he smiles, giving you another quick kiss before you disappear into your office and shut the door behind you.

You take the call, and of course it was nothing of importance. So many things had to be run by you as head gamemaker that they felt it necessary to call and confirm the contents of what would be fed to the tributes. It never ended.

You don't even get the time to process where you had left off with your work before you're overwhelmed by voices. Your name being yelled by your husband accompanied by screaming, horrified pained screaming- which you quickly identify as coming from Regan. Your motherly instincts kick in before you even know it and you're throwing your door back open and are standing in the hall.

Coryo rushes out of the elevator with your daughter in his arms, his eyes wide as he moves quickly toward you. "It bit her! Something bit her- I don't know, I-"

You nod; there's no time for questions. "Okay, get her to the exam room." Moving as quickly as possible down the hall, you're grabbing at her little red blazer and pulling the sleeves up as she keeps screaming bloody murder.

You shove the door open and rush inside, for the first time noticing Regulus following behind you. You grab his shirt and pull him in while Coryo quickly lays her on the table. Even in the panic, you couldn't leave him unsupervised anywhere in the lab. Especially if something had escaped.

"Get her top unbuttoned, I'll need her arm free!" You tell Coryo as you shuffle around through the cupboard quickly trying to find everything you were looking for. A syringe, the antidote for whatever it may be. You don't even know. Glancing over your shoulder, her skin looks flushed with red patches showing up on her neck and face; but it could just be from crying.

Coryo's hands are shaking as his daughter continues to scream and cry in his face, making it harder for him to get her blazer off and unbutton her top. "You're going to be okay, darling. Shh, shh... Mum's gonna help." All he can think about while he pulls off her blazer and frees her arms from the little blue shirt is the time that he saw Clemensia Dovecote get bit by one of Gaul's snakes. He thought she was dead, and she walked out of the hospital wishing that she was. She never recovered- but she was quickly given treatment. Much quicker than his seven-year-old daughter, who is also significantly smaller than his friend was at the time.

"What was it? Did you see what it was?" You ask in a panic, bringing over a box and flinging it open next to her on the table.

"I didn't see it! I just saw-"

"It was a mouse." Regulus says, and Coryo turns to him with wide eyes. Luckily, you're all action and you're already filling the syringe with something that should counteract whatever effects the mouse's bite could have on her while he stares at his son. He looks calm, watching the scene with a tilted head. "It was just a mouse, Daddy."

Coryo looks away, grabbing Regan's hand and squeezing it. He didn't have the chance to tell you that whatever it was, apparently this "mouse", had been dropped down the back of Regan's shirt by her brother as soon as the elevator began to lift them. He had done it on purpose. Though, he couldn't have known what was wrong with the creature.

"This is just gonna be a pinch, Gem. Try and take a deep breath for me..." You tell her as you squeeze her arm. She makes no effort to do so, but knowing that the mice were only being designed to cause pain, it didn't surprise you.

"There you go, good girl..." Coryo coos at her as you just as quickly remove the needle, quickly disposing of it as he brushes her hair back from where it clung to her face. Immediately he can see the blood returning to her face, and she's still crying but whatever it was you gave her must have helped with the pain instantly.

"She'll be okay." You sigh in relief, rejoining his side and lifting Regan up so she's sitting. "Can you hold her? I just need to find the bite."

Coryo sits on the table, lifting her into his lap as you look over her arms and ankles. "It's on her back." He tells you, repositioning her carefully so you could see. She wasn't screaming anymore, just sniffling with eyes drooping shut.

You furrow your brow, stepping to his other side to get a look at it, seeing the small swelling area at the top of her back. You grab some disinfectant to quickly clean it before you dress it properly. "What happened?" You ask. "Did she fall?" It was unclear to you how she could have been bitten in such a place without being on the ground.

Coryo doesn't say anything, shifting his gaze over to Regulus again. He's watching you closely and how you're treating the bite, eyes trained on your gloved hands.

When your husband doesn't answer you immediately you look up at him again, and then follow his eyes to your son. "What did you do?" You ask him, plastering the gauze onto your daughter's back.

"I just wanted to know what would happen, Mummy." He says simply.

"You knew what would happen, Lux. I've told you so many times not to touch anything. That it's not safe, and one of you could get hurt." You frown, packing up your first aid kit before going over to him, and kneeling down in front of the blonde boy. "I know you're interested in what I do, and I love that, but if you have questions you have to ask. Not do experiments yourself."

You grab his arms to get him to look at you again. "Hey, I'm not mad at you." You say softly. "I just need you to be careful. You're smarter than this."

He nods, wrapping his arms around your neck and hugging you. You sigh as you hug him back. "You can't hurt your sister, darling. We're a team. Do you understand?"

"I do. It was just a mouse, I didn't think it would be that bad. I'm sorry." He agrees quietly, eyes still locked on his sister as his dad cradles her gently in his arms. She's passed out against his chest, holding her as close as he possibly can.

He shakes his head at his son, trying to display his clear disappointment. It would quickly be noticed if his daughter, the President's daughter, fell ill, and he knew he would have to jump through hoops to cover up her recovery and that the very reason for it was her own brother.

Regulus Snow was his mother's son, and Coriolanus didn't believe his apology one bit.

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483 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 6 months

Note

So I just reread the fic about Jules birthday, and I’ve always liked the part where Remus tells Jules that he’ll always be more important than hockey. Could you write a fic about that if you haven’t already? Like Remus leaving in the middle of practice or something like that? Idk it’s up to u:)

Fic O'Ween Day 3: Midnight! Read more amazing works from these prompts at @noots-fic-fests and of course, character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW illness (coughing, mentioned vomiting, fatigue)

Remus leaned against the countertop for support and stared at the floor. “But he’s okay, right?”

“He’s okay,” his mother answered. She sounded beyond exhausted.

Remus nodded and rubbed his fingers under his eye. The night suddenly seemed so much darker. “How’re you and dad? Taking time off?”

“We’re alright.” He knew that low edge to her voice—it was the same one his own took on when he was trying to hide his hurt. Silence fell over the line.

“Mom.”

“Your dad can’t get PTO this week and neither can I.”

She cleared her throat; he closed his eyes. “Can Leanne keep an eye on him?”

“Visiting her daughter in Florida.”

No parents, no neighbors, no way they’re getting a babysitter for a sick kid… “I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Remus, no.”

“There’s nobody else—”

“Honey.” He could see the way her eyebrows drew together in his mind. “Honey, you’re on the road this week.”

“I know.”

“In Montreal.”

“They can handle a couple games without me.”

“You’re practically a rookie, Remus,” his mother insisted. After a pause, she lowered her voice. “You’re not going to damage your career when we can get a babysitter, or—or I can find a couple days off. Hell, your dad’s got a pullout at the office he can rest on.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Remus John, you have a responsibility to your team.”

“Jules comes first.” If there was one thing Remus would stand by no matter the circumstances, it was his family. The Lions would survive a roadie without him. Jules would never be alone and sick on his watch.

His mother was silent for a long time.

Remus picked at a chip in the granite. “There’s no babysitter that will watch him, is there?”

A sigh traveled down the line. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Give Sirius my best. Sleep well.”

“I will,” he lied. The call went dead and he turned, bracing both hands against cool stone. Sirius’ footsteps were soft, his hand gentle. Remus sniffled. His chest was a vise. “Mom says hi.”

Slow circles pressed between his shoulder blades. “What happened?”

“Jules got the flu, and they can’t get time off work to stay home with him.” Fucking assholes in fucking corporate. Remus swallowed around the clog in his throat. “Sounds like he’s pretty sick.”

“Does he need to go to the hospital?”

Remus shook his head. The hand on his back slid down and wrapped around his side, guiding him to lean on Sirius’ chest. “Do you want me to book your flight while you call Coach?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He didn’t let go. “God, I hate being so far away.”

Sirius’ other arm came around him and held him tight.

Remus and his father talked the whole ride home from the airport, and said nothing at all.

The house was just as he left it at Christmas. No snow remained, and little frost—crocuses peeked out of the lawn where the squirrels had snatched and buried them.

Apologies for the late notice, but due to a family emergency, I will be in Wisconsin until the 22nd. Thank you for your understanding.

Rapid responses. Cranky responses. Remus had tried to keep a level head, even through the tremor of his hands on the computer keyboard. The organization wasn’t happy with him, but when were they ever?

It didn’t matter either way. Fine or not, suspension or not, they weren’t going to stop him from making chicken soup and raspberry Emergen-C for his sick little brother. He was damn lucky to have Arthur on his side, easing the retribution from men in offices who had hardly bothered to meet him at the start of the season.

“Your mother’s worried.”

Remus glanced up from his hands. His father was facing forward, brow pinched while he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah.”

The engine turned off with a sputter. “Be gentle, okay?”

“It’s not your fault they wouldn’t give you time—”

“Be gentle.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip and nodded. A goldfish cracker peered out at him from the crevice by the door. This passenger seat always made him feel so small. He slung his backpack out of the seat well and stepped out, letting the crisp air nip his face and bring him back. He needed to come back more. The heartache had lessened, and distance was simply exhausting now. Running fast and far to Gryffindor had seemed so smart before.

The front door still squeaked when he turned the doorknob. Remus was glad for that, at least.

His mother smiled when she saw him. “Hi, baby, how was your flight?”

“Hey, mom.” It was good, he started to say, only to have the words fall from his mind the moment she stepped around the kitchen table and wrapped him in her arms. It’s been a lot I love you I missed you how are you where’s Jules—“Uneventful, thankfully.”

“Good, that’s just the way you want it.” She gave a little sway, one hand cradling the back of his neck. He felt a light pulse of pressure. Her back, ever tense, relaxed slightly. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Remus breathed deep. Lemon-scented cleaning spray and drugstore shampoo, laundry detergent and just-sharpened pencils. He pressed his nose tighter to her shoulder and felt her squeeze him, just a little. “Missed you.”

“Oh, Re,” she sighed. A hand rubbed along his spine for a few hard, grounding, wonderful seconds. Warmth seeped in around his edges. The floor was solid beneath him, the walls sturdy. A kiss found his temple. “Baby, we missed you, too.”

A rattling cough made him wince. “Jeez.”

“I know.” Her face crinkled into a grimace when they separated and she looked back down the hall. “That started up two days ago. Poor thing. Keeps him up at night.”

“Aw.” The cough was followed by a rough throat-clear that made Remus frown. “Fever and everything?”

“102, as of this morning.” Hope ran a palm over his shoulder, the way she tended to right after he came home. Remus tried not to think about that too hard, or else he made himself sad. “You’re sure about this? You could get sick. It’s the middle of the season.”

Remus tried for an encouraging smile. “My immune system’s great, mom. I’m in good shape, I take my multivitamins. Eat my Wheaties, and all that.”

“Hmm.” She scrutinized him for a beat. “You better be.”

“I’m basically indestructible.”

Her laugh bounced off the corners of the house like it always had. “Let’s not get hasty, hon.”

“Mom?”

Remus’ heart sank.

“Dad?” Jules croaked, a little louder. “Did the neighbors come over?”

“Hey, J,” Remus called. The floorboards gave a light groan when he set his bag down at the end of the hall. “It’s me, bud.”

Silence followed. The bathroom nightlight was on, casting the hall in gentle blue. His hand drifted toward the first door on reflex (cool metal knob, lock on the inside, jimmy it three times in the winter when the frame sticks), but he managed to step past it and knock lightly below the ‘J LUPIN. DO NOT ENTER.’ sign scotch-taped to the old wood.

“Jules? I’m opening the door.”

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Stale, sweaty, feverish—Remus did a double-take without meaning to.

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Jules rasped from somewhere to his right. “Hey. Hi, why are you here?”

“You slept too long. It’s June. I’m here for the summer.”

“Hey.”

“You’re sick, dummy.” Remus tried to be subtle about propping the door open wider with a loose hockey glove. “I’m taking care of you.”

With the new, faint light from the hallway, he could see just how terrible Julian looked. His unconvinced squint didn’t help the sallowness of his skin or the heavy bags carved under his eyes. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, you have a roadie in—” Another hacking cough interrupted him. It shook his tiny frame hard enough to make his knees bend under the covers. Remus’ heart gave an acid lurch.

Agitated heat radiated off him to the point that Remus could feel it when he perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess; one blanket half-tucked, the other mostly on the floor. “Deep breaths,” he soothed when the coughing turned to a few aggressive sniffles. “Take it easy.”

“Montreal,” Jules finished in a mutter. He wiped his nose on the edge of his baggy t-shirt (almost certainly their father’s, with the way it dwarfed him) and laid back with a long huff. “You got a roadie in Montreal. Dad ‘n me are gonna watch the game.”

“Dad and I.”

“Shhh.”

He smiled to himself and tugged the top blanket down to shimmy the next one into position. “Well, you and I can watch it. How’s that sound?”

“No, you need to play,” Jules groaned, but even that was weak. He curled onto his side and peeked out of his huddle, dull-eyed and flushed. “How come you’re here anyway?”

“Told you. I’m taking care of you.”

“But hockey.”

“But you.”

“But…hockey.”

“But you.” His stomach gave a little pull. “You’re more important than a couple games, bud.”

Jules didn’t look like he believed him. “…okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re R—”

“Don’t you—” Remus bit back his words (and his grin) and whacked lightly at the outline of Jules’ legs under the blankets, coaxing a crunchy sort of laugh from him. “Watch it. I’m in charge of feeding you for the next few days.”

Jules’ giggling trickled out with a last sniff. “Mom and Dad gotta go to work, huh?”

“Yeah.” The wrinkle of his nose was almost certainly reflected on Remus’ face. “But hey, we’ll have fun.”

“Mmm.”

The air shifted, along with his gut. Jules’ breaths were heavier. His eyes, lidded. His forehead was far too hot against the back of Remus’ hand when he checked it. “Tired?”

“Mhmm.”

Wrapping him in a dozen blankets and cuddling him as tight as possible wouldn’t help. Logically, Remus knew that. The temptation was still there. “Too hot?”

“Warm.”

“Want me to take a blanket?”

Jules shook his head. His eyes were closed fully now. “Weight’s nice.”

Every inhale hitched when Remus rested a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling for his pulse. That, at least, was calm. Jules had sweated through the old grey fabric there. He combed a few strands of hair off his burning brow and swallowed around his dry throat. “Want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“Gonna nap.” Jules’ twitched, as if he was trying to readjust but lacked the energy. “Here when I wake up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be here.”

The evening passed without issue. Night rolled in with a gust of wind that hissed across the windowpanes while Remus dried the last of the dishes. Jules had managed to get up and come to the table for dinner, but he had looked even worse in the brighter light and barely ate half a bowl of soup. He could see their mother struggling not to fuss over him, not that Jules had any oomph to give real protest.

What kind of family emergency is this, Lupin?

A family emergency. I can come back the 22nd.

You’re missing two games. Do you understand that? Weasley won’t play you for the third, either.

I understand.

Is this a funeral?

No.

A wedding?

No.

It’s a request for nonvital time off, then. This could very well result in a fine.

I’m aware of that. Time off for a family emergency is covered in my contract. I’m permitted to miss four games.

Are you really going to put in a request for this? For a nonvital midweek trip instead of two NHL games?

That’s precisely what I’m requesting, yes. This is an emergency and therefore it is vital.

Remus had not missed the bureaucracy of the NHL during his time on the ice. There was still administrative irritation, of course, but it had not been nearly long enough since he played email tag with someone determined to make his life harder. ‘Nonvital emergency’. It made him want to laugh and lose it at the same time. What a fucking joke.

A sudden rustle and thud—likely Jules’ elbow hitting the wall between their rooms, ouch—startled him from half-sleep. Clumsy footsteps pattered on the floor; a door creaked and closed, quickly followed by a dry heave. Remus winced in sympathy.

This bedroom felt too small. His feet touched the end of the bed if he stretched out. There were only a few inches’ allowance for his shoulders on either side before he hit a wall or the edge of the mattress. Even his stuff felt smaller, as if the books shrank in his hands and the trophies had been made for someone Jules’ size.

He supposed they had been. Juniors was a world away, these days. He had turned the idea of keeping a potential you-know-what ring here instead of in Gryffindor, but never really committed one way or another. That, too, felt far off. He was stuck in the middle of a spectrum, where nothing felt quite right.

The toilet flushed, but he didn’t hear Jules leave. The low timbre of their father’s voice buzzed in the hall for a second; he didn’t catch Jules’ response. Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff and stood despite the creaking protests of his knees.

The blue light looked eerie in the cover of real night. He propped Jules’ door open again as he passed. A little ventilation couldn’t hurt. He paused in the doorway of the bathroom and crouched down, lowering himself to the cool linoleum with a soft groan. “Sup?”

“M not gonna throw up again.”

“Okay.” Remus flexed his ankles against the cabinets and tilted his head back. The soft towels buffered him from the wallpaper. Next to him, Jules’ forehead was stubbornly pressed into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the toilet seat. “Still sick?”

A wordless mumble answered him.

“I’m gonna make chicken and dumplings tomorrow.”

Jules weakly raised his head. “Really?”

“Yup. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch. All that good stuff.”

Quiet fell over them for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”

“What, you don’t want a science lesson?”

“Nerd—”

He knew it was going to happen before Jules’ first jerk forward and caught his side when he wobbled, giving gentle pressure until he was upright. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. You’re doing great, J.” It was over as fast as it started. Jules trembled lightly under his touch, sweaty again, all too warm again. His knuckles stood out in harsh midnight shadows where he gripped the porcelain, thin arms shivering.

Jules sniffled. “I wanna go to bed.”

“I bet.”

“I’m tired.”

“Can you stand up?” It took Jules a moment to even start moving; when he did, it was sluggish and unsteady. Remus hovered his hands close and resisted the urge to scoop him right up. Jules wouldn’t like that. He hated being babied. It was still fucking hard to watch him pull himself to his feet.

A rinse-and-spit and a cool washcloth on the back of his neck made Jules sigh. He leaned right into Remus’ hip, head at the base of his ribs, and staggered along on foal legs while Remus guided him back to bed with a lump in the base of his throat. There was no fuss about being tucked in—he simply sighed again, so content it hurt. Remus smoothed out the hem of the comforter by his neck just one more time, once more, just so he could be sure.

Their parents were out by the time Remus woke. He distantly recalled the sound of them leaving, but the plane left him groggy enough not to notice or care. Jules was still snoring loud enough for him to hear it through their shared wall.

Breakfast, then. Something light. Oatmeal or eggs, if he could keep it down. Broth, if not. Remus would have to check the fridge for Gatorade and lemons.

It was strange to be functionally alone in the house. The carpet felt too soft, the curtains too still. A bright pink sticky note was stuck to the table with his name written in big letters at the top. He’d check it later.

Message To: SB <3

Morning :)

Fever’s still going, nasty cough, the works. I’ll keep an eye on him today.

Miss you

He clicked his phone off and set it aside—hopefully, Sirius wouldn’t be awake for some time yet. They didn’t have practice for two more hours in his time zone. He liked to sleep in on days like that. Remus, on the other hand, had work to do.

Quick eggs and bacon for himself took fifteen minutes. He parked himself at his usual seat without really thinking about it, pulling a dish towel and a fork from their drawers with an absent mind. He hadn’t dared to check his email yet and seriously contemplated leaving it alone until he was back in Gryffindor. Time off was time off. Professional hockey wasn’t big on ‘work from home’.

Jules shuffled in half past ten and made a beeline for the couch.

“Good morning.”

A grunt answered.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Want oatmeal?”

Jules’ mumble seemed vaguely affirmative. Remus set the kettle on and dug a pot out of the cupboard, then turned to rummage in the pantry. This was setting up to be a silent morning.

Measuring for a sick preteen was almost as strange as picturing his childhood bedroom as a normal size. Remus had only cooked for himself for years, then himself and Sirius, with the occasional potluck dish for a team dinner or holiday party. A single cup of anything was a novelty. “Want sugar?” he checked once the oats and milk were simmering. Jules snuffled in response, dragging one of the knit blankets further over his head. “Lemme check your temperature and then you can tell me, yeah?”

“Mmkay.”

A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed no thermometer, and the same went for the hall closet. Remus spent a good five minutes riffling through the bathroom drawers and Jules’ desk before he found it propped against the base of his dolphin lamp. It had been left uncapped; gross. He made sure to give it a thorough wash before moving back into the living room.

“Blanket down.”

“No.”

“I can’t see your mouth. C’mon, just for a second.”

“Cold. Bright.”

“Twenty seconds, J. I promise. You can count.”

The blanket lump shifted. “Twenty?”

“Fifteen. Then I’ll bring your oatmeal over and leave you alone.”

A handful of shallow breaths filled the silence before Jules’ forehead poked out, then his glazed eyes, and finally the lower half of his face. Remus grimaced. His nose was red and chapped from tissues, and a faint crack split the side of his lower lip. “Have you been drinking your water?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Jules slurred.

Remus knew he wasn’t getting a better number than yesterday. Not with this vague lucidity, and not when Jules was hardly able to hold a fragment of a conversation. All the same, it made his gut sink when the thermometer beeped.

“Whuzzat?”

“102.5.”

“ ‘S worse?”

“Yep.”

A resigned nod told him Jules expected as much. The blanket swallowed him up again. Remus pulled it down over his feet before heading back to the kitchen.

Three hours passed with all the rush of a snail on codeine. Jules rallied to choke down his oatmeal before going down for a noon nap, let Remus rouse him to gulp down about a gallon of water, and overall remained sedentary while Remus channel-surfed for anything even slightly interesting on daytime TV. They settled on NCIS from one to 2:30, NCIS: Miami from 2:30 to four (with a brief break for sandwiches, or toast, in Jules’ case), and rounded it out with NCIS: LA while Remus tossed some rotisserie chicken and chopped vegetables in a simmering pot of broth.

“Re?”

“Yeah, bud?” Bisquick puffed over the side of the mixing bowl in a soft cloud.

“My stomach hurts.” Jules’ voice wavered. “And my mouth feels weird.”

Fuck. “Bathroom, hustle.”

The glimpse he caught of Jules before he vanished down the hall confirmed it: pallid skin, dilated pupils, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck. Remus rinsed his hands in the sink and dug the box of Pepto Bismol tablets out of his bag, and sent a silent thanks to whatever small mercy it was that left him without a reactive gag reflex.

He spent twenty minutes sitting sideways with water seeping into his pants from the bathmat. “I’m gonna throw up until I die,” Jules whined, pressing his forehead to Remus’ palm.

“You’re not gonna die. Definitely not while I’m here.” He slid his hand around to press against the nape of Jules’ neck and gave a light squeeze. “You’re almost done. Work it out, buddy.”

“Gonna miss the game?”

Despite the sweat, despite the illness, despite it all—Remus smiled. Of course Jules would be thinking about that when he looked like death warmed over. He wouldn’t be a Lupin with anything else on his mind. “We’ve still got half an hour.”

Jules gave a faint push back into his hand. His lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want to miss it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, but it wasn’t even slightly funny. He took a shuddering inhale and sniffled again, harsher. “I don’t want to be sick anymore, I don’t, I’m so done, I don’t like it.”

“Jules…” The redness had flooded his cheeks and ears, inching down his neck with each horribly choked breath. Jules’ eyes were bright, but not like usual. He blinked and a drip tracked down his nose. His exhale wasn’t much of an exhale at all—it wracked him, made him sway. “Oh,” Remus murmured. “Oh, hey, c’mere.”

The edge of thirteen had left Jules gangly, all bones and joints. He still fit just right in the hollow of Remus’ chest and arms. A shivering, overheated mess, but a mess that fit all the same. Fuck it, Remus thought as he tightened his arms around Jules and let him fall apart in the safe dark. He didn’t care if he got sick. This was the most vital emergency he could possibly think of. If the administration had a problem with that, he’d happily turn his gear in before leaving Jules to burn through this alone.

“I’m tired,” Jules whispered through shuddering breaths. “My head hurts ‘n my stomach hurts ‘n everything else, too.”

“I know, bud, you’re being so brave.”

A damp, wounded noise made Remus wince.

“But hey, you haven’t thrown up in, like, five minutes.”

Jules felt around blindly for a tissue and blew his nose several times before answering. “I guess.”

“You ready to get up? Have some dinner and watch the game?”

“Dizzy.”

“Okay.” He pressed the wrinkles out of Jules’ shirt with his palm and felt him go limp. “I brought some super special secret hockey medicine, if that’ll help.”

“…is it Gatorade?”

“No, but we have that, too.” He rattled the box next to Jules’ ear. “Pepto Bismol. My secret weapon.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s the pink sh—stuff.”

“Nice save,” Remus said dryly. “This is the same. It’s easier to keep down, though. And it works faster.”

“Makes my stomach stop hurting?”

“It might help.”

He waited a beat, then two. A clammy palm extended from the tangle of limbs near his middle. He dropped two of the chalky tabs into it and loosened his hold by a degree, enough for Jules to pop them both in his mouth and frown immediately. “Yuck. It’s crunchy.”

“Keep chewing.”

“Why is it coming apart like that?”

“Keep chewing,” Remus repeated through a light laugh. “Doesn’t work if you talk the whole way through.”

Jules tucked his legs closer to himself, pushing him further into Remus’ lap. As horrible as the past twenty minutes had been, he seemed better for it. The fevered sheen to his face wasn’t quite as nuclear. His breathing sounded more even and controlled.

“You finished?”

“Mhmm.”

Jules might have looked better, but Remus didn’t have the energy to fight the coddling urge this time. He slid his free arm across the back of Jules’ knees and hefted him up like a cat gone boneless, and received no protest whatsoever. Instead, Jules curled into him with a long, relieved sigh. Remus’ heart may have shattered a little.

The pregame show was just wrapping up when he set Jules gingerly on the couch and pulled the blanket around him. Half of his waterbottle was gone in a few desperate swallows; Jules wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all but collapsed onto the throw pillows, a heap of exhaustion. The belltower by the middle school tolled six. His sandy hair was damp at the root when Remus passed a hand through it. They’d fix that eventually. Fluids first (hockey first), then everything else.

New Message From: SB <3

Heading to the rink. Miss you love you : )

Remus smiled down at his phone as he set Jules’ bowl on the coffee table and folded himself into the armchair.

“Tell Sirius I say hi.”

“He’s literally right there,” Remus laughed, gesturing at the TV. “He’s not gonna see it for ages.”

“Still.” Jules poked around with his spoon for a few seconds before attempting a small sip of broth. An approving nod followed. “It’s good.”

“Glad it meets your standards. Eat. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch.”

Jules’ eye roll was weak, but very much present. “I know, I know.”

“You gotta know that stuff.”

“I’m not gonna be a doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna be a person.” Remus cut a dumpling in half with the side of his spoon. “If you don’t know how to feed yourself by the time you move out, I’m totally making fun of you.”

“Whatever.”

They both booed when the Habs skated out, and cheered when the Lions appeared soon after. Jules couldn’t muster much more than a rough whisper, but the soup and a bottle of Gatorade seemed to help. Remus made him get up and stretch during the first period intermission (to immense complaints, but eventual acquiescence) before letting him rest while he washed up in the kitchen.

New Message From: SB <3

First period up.

How’s J?

New Message To: SB <3

Haha yeah we’re watching

Temp’s high, still pretty sick. Getting better tho

Made soup

The response was almost immediate. Remus’ heart skipped at the thought of Sirius glued to his phone even after a rough period, just to chat with him.

New Message From: SB <3

Oooo jealous

New Message To: SB <3

Yeah you should be

It’s a real rager up here

Miss you. Go get ‘em.

A simple heart and hockey stick emoji followed. The grey bubble cycled for a moment before disappearing. That would be the midgame meeting. Remus was glad to be home—wouldn’t trade this—but he had to admit the hockey ache was still there. Even easy choices had consequences.

By the time he looked back, Jules was asleep. Remus checked his forehead as delicately as he could and was pleased to find it slightly cooler than that morning, if altogether too warm. The pattern of creaky floorboards laid a map in his bones as he moved through the house: first to open Jules’ window, then to let his blankets air out, and while he was at it, he may as well wash the sheets. The nightstand and bookshelf needed to be wiped down. It wasn’t hard to get that done while the washer rumbled on the other side of the hall. In the meantime, the soup had cooled enough to pack up in Tupperware to stack in the fridge for later. Who knew if Jules would suddenly get his appetite back? The kid was a bear when he was hungry.

He lingered for the end of the second period and swapped the sheets into the dryer at the start of the third with a cookie and a cup of Emergen-C for himself. He damn well better not catch whatever germs Jules had percolated from the hellscape of middle school. Sirius had called him ‘stubbornly healthy’ on too many occasions for it to be disproven. Besides, the administration might actually fire him if he came back from an emergency and was immediately out for three more games.

“Re?”

The sound of a quiet voice took Remus’ off-guard in the last few minutes of the third period. “What’s up?”

Jules shifted around until he could prop his chin on the throw pillow and blink blearily at Remus. “Did we win?”

“Game’s still going. 4-3, Lions.”

“How much time?”

“Just under five.”

Jules attempted a whistle, though it came out as more of a shaky breath. “Almost there.”

“Dad texted. They’ll be home in a few, traffic was rough.”

“Oh, okay.” A small smile lit his face. He burrowed back under the blanket. “That’s good.”

“They’ve been asking about you all day.”

“Did’ja tell them I was fine?”

“Something like that.” Sort of. Maybe. He had been gentle about it, at least. Gory details would only make them panic.

He made sure to poke Jules awake for the last minute of the game before shepherding him down the hall to brush his teeth and shower. It was only 8:30, but Remus felt weary all the way to his core. He made Jules’ bed while the water ran and tried to tuck the sheets in along the wall a little deeper this time, just in case one tried to end up on the floor again. If he had the time, he may as well do it right, pinched fingers notwithstanding.

It was all worth it when Jules trudged back into his bedroom and threw himself into bed, only to gasp aloud. “Aw, man, this is great.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus laughed.

“Oh, wow.” The bumps of Jules’ feet kicked happily under layers of fabric and down. “It’s all warm, and cozy…”

“Get some sleep,” he reminded him, and turned out the big light. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

He made it halfway across Jules’ carpet.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You—” The faint outline of Jules’ head was backlit by his lamp. Remus could see the shadows of his hands fidgeting with the top blanket. “Will you…can you tell me about the soup stuff? The proteins and all that.”

Remus hesitated. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Jules said with a surprisingly enthusiastic nod. “It sounds cool.”

“I mean—yeah, sure. Uh…” Jules’ desk chair looked wildly uncomfortable for this time of night, so edge of the bed it was, he supposed. The sheets provided a nice cushion when he sat. “Okay, have you ever heard of macromolecules?”

“That’s a made-up word.”

“It’s what you’re made up of, actually. How about DNA? You know that one?”

Lyall opened the front door with a muttered curse for the bitter wind and the worse traffic. It was brutally unfair that the one day he tried to come home early, everything went to hell and kept him an age and a half longer. What kind of karma came after a father trying to get home to his sick kid?

“It’s awfully quiet,” Hope remarked behind him. The door opened at last; warm air rushed over them. “Boys? Are you up?”

The NHL postgame show was playing at a low volume, next to a plate with crumbs on it and a mug so old the pattern had washed off it. One of Hope’s blankets from her knitting phase was haphazardly piled on the couch. The evidence of both of them there, present and accounted for and safe, plucked at his heartstrings. “Why do I feel like this is exactly where they sat for the entire day?”

She shook her head. “Good for them. I’m jealous. Remus? Julian? Are you home?”

Remus’ bedroom door was closed. The bathroom fan was still on, and steam clung to the corners of the mirror next to a still-damp towel. It couldn’t have been long since they went to bed, then. Lyall pushed Julian’s bedroom door open wider and covered his mouth with his palm.

They had nearly rendered each other invisible, save for Remus’ legs stretched over the side of the bed and Julian’s arm resting atop his pile of blankets. Julian’s congested snoring drowned out the heavy, even rhythm of Remus’ breathing. As far as he could tell, only one of them had actually been prepared for bed.

“Oh my goodness,” Hope whispered at his shoulder. Her grin was radiant, even half-covered by her palm. “I don’t want to move them.”

“Re’s going to wake up with one hell of a side cramp if we let him sleep like that.”

“You do it, then.”

“…no.”

Hope scoffed fondly and tossed her hands in the air, then kissed him on the jaw as she stepped deeper into the bedroom. The whole place felt lighter, Lyall noticed. Julian had been holed up in here for two days, refusing to come out for anything but necessities. Whatever Remus had done, it worked wonders.

“Remus,” Hope singsonged in her quietest voice. She shook his shoulder, soft enough that for a moment, Lyall forgot Remus wasn’t a toddler anymore. “Baby, you need to wake up. It’s bedtime.”

“ ‘M asleep,” Remus mumbled without opening his eyes. “In my bed.”

“This isn’t your bed, lovey,” she laughed. “Come on, up you go.”

“Goin’ to sleep, promise.” His eyelashes fluttered, nose crinkling. “Talking ‘bout—‘bout proteins. Jules wanted to know.”

At the head of the bed, Julian didn’t show so much as a hint of waking. Lyall stepped forward and braced his hands under Remus’ arms, then hoisted him into a sitting position as gently as he could manage with the unexpected weight of an athlete to counterbalance him.

Remus jolted, startling into consciousness. “Woah—”

“Shh, shh.” Lyall helped him stand on clumsy legs and guided him to the door with a last playful glance at Hope. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

“Fell asleep.” Remus blinked hard. “Jules’ bed. Wanted me to stay. Time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Oh, god, ‘s early.” A yawn overtook him, spilling more of his weight into Lyall. He didn’t seem to know where his own feet were, but he went easily into the room next door.

“Alright,” Lyall huffed as he helped Remus stumble toward the bed and splay over the mattress. That old thing was definitely too small for him these days. Funny, how times changed so rapidly. That same bed used to make Remus look like nothing more than a pile of sheets. “Brush your teeth?”

A drawn-out snore answered him.

Lyall smiled to himself in the darkness and ruffled the back of Remus’ hair. “Night, Re.”

A single socked foot twitched in response. That was good enough for him.

(Jules’ fever broke the next morning. By the end of the day, he was well enough to go with them to the airport and give Remus the fiercest goodbye hug either of them had experienced, with a pinky-promise that the Lions would win the next game he played.)

#remus lupin #julian lupin #sirius black #lyall lupin #hope lupin #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fic o’ween 2023 #illness #sickfic #lupin bros #hurt/ comfort

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kindlingkeen · 2 months

Text

Loyalty

A deleted scene from The People We Choose, part 1 my Choices ‘verse, a Jason-centric Lost Days AU. Warnings for references to temporary character death and canon typical violence.

Takes place circa chapter 1. I took this scene out fairly early on while drafting, so the characterization and continuity are a bit off. In other words, don’t take it as canon for TPWC. I may clean it up at some point and post it on ao3, but for now it’s going to live here.

“You’re just a pathetic gutter rat. Loyal to nothing and no one.”

One of the League’s pet assassins spits the words in Jason’s face, and they manage to hit with more than just saliva. Jason is holding the woman at knifepoint, so clearly the assassin is a biased source. But, still.

Loyal to nothing and no one.

Is he? Is there no one he’s loyal to, nothing he believes in, Jason wonders. But, really, why should he be loyal to anyone in the first place when no one has ever been loyal to him.

It was the story of Jason’s miserable life (ugh, lives) - he’s never mattered enough. Not when it counted, not when it meant something. Willis chose an easy life of crime. Catherine chose the oblivion of drugs. Sheila chose her greed.

And Bruce, Bruce chose the fucking mission. And he would keep choosing it.

And then there was Alfred. Jason had mattered to Alfred. Jason was sure of it. Alfred had loved him independently of the suit he wore, the criminals he did or did not hit, the person he was or the person he was trying to be.

For that, Jason thinks that he will probably always love Alfred.

But, for Alfred, Bruce always came first.

Bruce chose to take Robin away. Bruce chose not to avenge Jason. Bruce chose to keep putting kids in the suit that Jason died in.

And Alfred chose to stand by Bruce and allow it.

So, Jason thinks that he will probably always love Alfred. In a way. But it’s not enough.

Loyal to nothing and no one.

Jason remembers suddenly, something Talia said to him early on in his training at Tadrib Almawt as he lay nearly unconscious, bleeding heavily from a poisoned knife wound.

You made your own magic, Jason.

Jason used to think that being Robin gave him magic. What he could never really put a voice to, could barely admit to himself, was that it was that Bruce wanted him, that he thought Jason was special—that was where the magic came from.

When Robin was beaten and broken in a warehouse and Jason lay alone watching a timer count its way down to zero - he knew, he knew Bruce was coming. He wrapped that knowledge around himself like a fire blanket for his soul and held onto it with all his heart when the moment came - when he knew that no one was going to make it in time.

When Jason woke up in his coffin, he woke up crying out for Batman. When he dug his way out of his grave, he crawled out screaming for Bruce. Alone in a hospital, lost and confused, as his mind splintered apart, he pleaded for his dad.

But when Jason woke up again, this time for good, drowning in green and pain and rage, he found himself in a world where his murderer was still bathing the city he called home with blood, while a black-haired, blue-eyed boy in Jason’s colors chased after him, a dark shadow following close behind.

After that, when Jason woke up screaming from nightmares of dying, of choking to death as the world burned around him, he woke up with wordless shouts caught in his throat and cold, hard truth beating in his ears.

He never really had magic at all.

Delirious from blood loss and rambling with fever dreams, he’d blurted out the whole pathetic mess to Talia. He remembers with perfect clarity how she stood silently near the head of his cot watching one of Tadrib Almawt’s medics stitch him up, her face as hard as granite.

At first she’d said nothing at all, lips tight and grim, until the medic finished the bandages and bustled out of the room.

Then she sat abruptly on the side of his cot and looked him in the eye, her firm hand on his chin anchoring his head in place.

“Jason, it’s unclear to me how exactly this could have escaped your notice,” she said, her tone drier than the desert around them, “but you were dead, and now you are not. You are magic.”

Her hand reached down and wrapped briefly around his. When she spoke again, the Arabic words came out soft and liquid, like a dream.

"لقد صنعت سحرك الخاص يا جيسون."

Talia was out the door and gone before he’d even realized she’d moved. Her words echoed around Jason as he shifted restlessly, trying to find sleep.

You made your own magic, Jason.

Jason focuses again on the assassin dangling limply in his grip, the memory fading away.

I’m loyal to what matters, Jason thinks, his hand reaching out to wrap around the assassin’s sword.

“I’m loyal to myself,” Jason whispers in the assassin’s ear, as he runs the sword through their gut.

#my fics #deleted scenes #tumblr drabbles #the people we choose #choices verse #jason todd #talia al ghul #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfam #lost days au

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theknightofivanhoe · 6 months

Text

Justice League: Question’s Hard Drive Ch 3: Rage Issues

Table of Contents

Helena sat with her long legs crossed, gazing out fondly at the view of the cityscape that illuminated the night sky, its lights like crystals in an underwater cavern. She silently sipped champagne from her delicate flute and turned to Question who sat at the opposite side of their table. Arms folded and facing the floor, Question had not said a word.

“Come on, Q,” It annoyed Helena how uninvolved he was being on this date. “At least open a flap in that stupid mask and have a drop.” she urged, gesturing to the full glass sitting in front of him, but the man in blue neither looked up, nor did he touch it. “I need my brain for putting the pieces of this case together, thank you.” he grunted. “Your conspiracy-addled, ersatz-Sherlock brain?” Helena asked sarcastically as ever. “I know you’re driving, but I’m sure a few drops won’t do any harm.” “I’ll just wait till you’ve eaten, seen your movie and we get back to the flat.” Question declared, only sparing Helena a glance before returning his gaze to the spotless floor tiles. “Nice. Now here’s *my* plan.” Helena countered simply with a granite-hard stare. “You have your meal when they serve us, you enjoy it, you enjoy the movie with me,” What she was about to say next made her smirk wickedly, her ruby lips stretching nearly ear-to-ear and her eyes glinting. “And we call it a night…” Her hints were growing somewhat less subtle, but judging by the shifting of Question’s posture in his seat, along with how he turned his head further from her, it appeared to be working. Yet he didn’t send another retort her way, the woman waiting for him to say something, anything from a grunt of half-hearted agreement to some laughable conspiracy theory that she’d brush off. Next thing, a lightbulb flicked on in her head.

“How about a little heart-to-heart while we wait for dinner?” Helena proposed, leaning back in her seat with a tender smile. Question could only wonder, why did she have to do this, sitting in that position, looking at him the way she was, her legs crossing tightly together, tipping back her glass so she submerged her red lips into the cool, bubbly champagne, her other hand gliding up her smooth, toned thigh?

Question considered himself lucky Helena’s leotard was hidden under her dress, so he’d be spared the sight of that stomach window exposing abs that would ripple across her tummy, but the sensuality at which she took her drink made Question’s face moisten with sweat under his mask. “You got that my dad was a crime boss…” Helena reminded him in an attempt to get his mind off the mission. “I did…” Question replied, sounding as though he was being interrogated in court. “Well…” Helena smiled even wider, her stare latching on him with no intention of letting go. “I’m curious; what other closely-guarded secrets can you dig up on me?” So she was challenging his knowledge of her even further. Well, dishes would only be in a few minutes, so why not just kill a bit of time?

“Dallas, Texas, the top floor of the Stillwell steakhouse…” Question started plainly, keeping his arms folded.

“Your father was discussing an overseas deal with a fellow mobster over steak and red, when another gang competing for power made their move.” Helena propped her chin on her hand, listening to Question’s voice like a child being told a bedtime story. Her dark eyes were half-closed in pure affection. “Bullets sprayed the restaurant, waiters and customers fleeing for their lives.” Question continued to narrate. “Your father’s men went down protecting him, but mobster or not, Franco Bertinelli wouldn’t shy away from a good fight. He held his own, taking on the hitmen tooth and nail with a submachine gun. Of course it only got tougher when his prospective business partner decided to change sides and scored a hit on him. It seemed all was up for Franco Bertinelli, and that was when he saw her…” Helena knew just who Question was referring to, excitement faintly sizzling through her. “María Casamento, a waitress who had watched him fight off those attackers, came charging to his rescue. Before your father’s former friend could deliver the shot that would have ended his life, this waitress put a steak knife through his heart.” Helena smiled with a certain amount of satisfaction at how someone who could possibly betray her father met his own end instead, and at the hands of her mother with such a mundane eating utensil no less. “Once he was back on his feet mopping up the last of his rivals and his former friend’s cronies, Franco Bertinelli took one look at María, his saviour…” Question resumed the account, his gaze locking onto Helena’s under his flesh-coloured mask, “He swept her up in his arms, hers weaved around his broad shoulders, his shirt in tatters, portions of her minidress ripped away, both of their eyes peering deep into one another’s souls. María had always dreamed of a chance to leave behind the job she found herself tethered to, and now she saw that chance in the handsome, battle-scarred crime boss who held her close, in her debt to the very end.” Remembering that it had indeed been ‘to the very end,’ Helena couldn’t help but feel the tragedy of her past stab at her heart. “After whisking her away in his limousine, then a jet back to Sicily, Franco Bertinelli and María Casamento gave their marriage vows before the altar in Syracuse cathedral, and as they luxuriated in affluence and the power they held over the criminal underworld, a hot-headed, stubborn, passionate, beautiful girl, Helena Rosa Bertinelli, came into their world…”

Even with the tranquil piano tune drifting through the restaurant and the view of the city lights glinting outside, Helena gazed at the detective in blue, everywhere inside her brimming with adoration. “Beautiful…?” The word came out in a husky tone sweetened with honey, her ruby lips gently stretching into a soft grin that made Question freeze up. “Wha - what - ah - what?” “Don’t stop now…” Helena silkily encouraged, sipping her champagne languidly. “Don’t stop…what?” Question tried not to sound as though he was cornered, but the woman’s eyes were magnetised to the blankness that was his face. “C’mon, hot-headed, stubborn, beautiful…” she reminded him, waiting for more, her grin seeming to widen by mere millimetres. “Ah - did I ever tell you Glorious Gordon Godfrey was found in Area 51 one time?” A second passed before the grin evaporated from Helena’s face. “...I’m sorry?” she demanded. “I…” he uttered, but found himself unable to finish. He seemed to have realised what he had just blurted out and wondered if it had been a bad move. “Q…” Helena put a hand to her temples in sheer exasperation. “We’ve been through this, like, how many times?” she reminded her lover who just sat where he was, not once uncrossing his arms. “One more conspiracy fairy-tale from you and I swear…” Her words made some guests at a nearby table throw nervous looks their way. The atmosphere between the man in the blue hat and his dark-haired lover grew thick with unease, the sounds of the piano adding to the awkwardness.

A waiter cleared his throat, cutting through the tension as he held up a dish in each hand. Question immediately lowered his head so his hat’s brim kept the waiter from seeing his face. “One turkey meatballs with puttanesca, one zucchini stuffed with chorizo.” the waiter announced, doing his best to hide his apprehension as he served the former to Helena and Question the latter. “Thank you, kind sir…” Helena’s previously foul mood softened to a gratified smile as she took in the rich, enticing dish placed in front of her. Another waiter poured some fine-looking red wine into glasses and set them on the table before disappearing with his colleague. Helena sniffed the mouth-watering scent of meaty sauce and herbs, but Question wouldn’t move a muscle, neither looking at the substantial slices of chorizo stuffed in three zucchinis, nor reaching for his fork.

“Saved by the dinner bell…” Helena snarked in slight amusement. She scooped a forkful of some of her puttanesca spaghetti, only to notice Question not touching his dish. “Q…” Her voice carried a certain amount of warning. “Go ahead.” Question murmured, facing away from his dish like a kid who wouldn’t eat his greens. “I’m not hungr - ” The fork was slammed onto the table at a volume that made some staff and guests jump. “Q, this is getting ridiculous!” Helena snapped, scowling at him. She could only take so much more of his stonewalling. “Just grow up!” “Anything can happen when you’re being served food.” Question responded, “And it just so happens we are carrying vital information that if -” “Q, you’re offending the staff and you’re embarrassing me!” Helena was only slightly raising her voice, but even the man at the piano grew nervous. “Well at least there’s another thing we’re agreed on…” Question started with a hint of slyness. “What other thing?” Helena demanded, feeling some witty comeback headed her way. “Hot-headed, stubborn, passionate, beautiful…” Question listed off, which got the young woman raising a suspicious eyebrow. “Possessed of rage issues.” This sent a twitch in Helena’s eye, her body going all stiff at two very specific words. The glare she made at Question was even more ferocious than the one she had made when she had snatched that hard drive off him, possibly enough to rival even the ones Batman made when striking terror into the hearts of criminals. A deathly silence pervaded the restaurant, like the buildup to a gun battle in a western saloon.

“...I don’t have rage issues.” It came out as a dangerous whisper that promised fatal consequences for anyone in arm’s reach of Helena who still sat at her end of the table, but seemed quite ready to punch Question in his hidden face. “Well how many times have you been ready to kick me all the way to Eastern Zandia again?” the detective asked her rhetorically, looking away and putting a finger to his chin. “Oh, that’s right, hundreds of -” “I *don’t* have *rage issues!*” Helena’s anger caused some people to consider evacuating. “And now you’re scaring the guests.” Question countered calmly as if he wasn’t about to suffer the wrath of his girlfriend. After breathing in lightly and exhaling, Helena didn’t seem finished with him yet. “You know, I’ll be happy to let what you just said slide.” she offered somewhat cordially. Question turned to her. “You are?” “*If* you start enjoying our dinner date for once.” Helena stated, obviously leaving no room for debate. Question kept his focus on her, not sparing a glance at his chorizo-stuffed zucchini still waiting to be eaten. “You know zucchini may have been grown by the Illuminati for campaigns in eco-warfare on the world governme - ” “Alright…” Helena huffed, and slowly but surely rose from her chair. Question wanted to speak up in defence, but the way she strode around the table, simply bearing down upon him, left him unable to do anything but stare up at how the minidress accentuated her athletic figure. Certain sensations coursed through him at the amount of control Helena oozed, but part of him also grew afraid of how those ‘rage issues’ would be confirmed any second. Even out of her purple mask, her aloof expression only served to freeze him to his chair. Her eyes drilled deep into the ones underneath Question’s mask, deep enough to pierce his soul in the most painful way possible. Though they were too far away to get a proper look at Question’s face, staff and guests were frozen in terror at this woman standing above the secret agent, possibly about to beat him to a bloody pulp. Some wondered if they should just dive for cover under their tables. At last Helena smirked as an idea popped into her head.

“Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

Question could feel the cool night breeze nipping at his lightly tousled black hair. Despite the position he now found himself in, he kept his composure as calm and stoic as ever. It seemed his study of that stolen data depended on it.

“Alright…I promise.” he stated somewhat awkwardly. “You swear?” Helena’s voice demanded from up above. “I swear, on my life, my soul and my whole investigative career.” Question listed off, trying to conjure up any more words that could get him out of his current predicament. “I absolutely give you my word.” “You *will* enjoy our date?” Helena suspiciously asked the detective, who happened to be dangling upside-down, his fedora off and his coat flapping behind him. The vigilante herself was clutching Question’s ankles in each hand, standing on the restaurant’s balcony as horrified guests watched this rather elaborate form of torture.

Frowning down at him, Helena was quite literally keeping her date suspended a fair amount of metres above the street below as if he weighed the same as a feather. Would she really let go of his ankles and let him splatter on the road? Either way, Question went on with his vow even as the blood rushed to his head. “I will. I will commit tonight completely and utterly to our dinner date,” he continued to the woman hanging him from the balustrade. “I confess, I obsessed over my mission that I could always resume later, becoming too invested to spare a thought for our relationship, relax, and spend any time together,” Helena warily eyed Question’s dangling form, listening to what sounded like a rather urgently-spoken confession. “I therefore solemnly swear, with absolutely no crossed-fingers to show, that I will, compliantly, and without questi - I - I mean, hesitation, have dinner with you, I will enjoy it with you, then take you to the pictures, that I will let you pick whichever movie you wish,” By now, Question could feel his own brain go numb from the redness caused from being upside-down, but gathered as much breath as he could to finish his words. “...and that I will never let my investigations or conspiracy theories get in the way of our dating again.” Helena’s eyes darted to the side as she took in every word Question had said. There was no telling if he would be true to his word. Obsessions were all someone needed to go back on a promise, no matter how forthright it sounded. Then again, if Question did ever think about breaking this one, at least she could remind him that she might just find a higher building to dangle him from. Her sceptical gaze landed onto her helpless lover, her fingers curled around his ankles like iron cuffs. Seconds went by as she considered what to do next.

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

#dc comics #huntress x question #huntress #the question #helena bertinelli #vic sage #justice league #dcau fanfic #dcau #justice leauge unlimited #bruce timm

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ljfoxie · 1 year

Photo

Okay so this is The Shady Bunch!

It started out as a little fun gameplay experimenting with Wicked Whims and autonomy on full blast...then it descended into chaos and depravity! These two were dirty birdies and kept producing babies after some very colourful sexy times! They married and divorced more times than I could count, had a throuple with Lilith Vatore for a while after divorce number two resulted in him going off on holiday to Granite Falls with Lilith and getting her pregnant with Nadja above! She was born shortly after Isla, yes he got ex-wifey preggers too, he came back from his little time away to that bun in the oven! They all lived together for a spell, but then he decided that he loved his little curvy blonde human more than the svelt raven haired vampire. Lilith moved out but Nadja stayed with her father and siblings, then along came a few more kiddos and a couple more weddings and divorces, I could not keep up! Around about the time that Eilidh was cooking, Lilith suddenly had twins Jonah and India out of the blue, a custody battle ensued and Jonah went to live with his dad and siblings but India remained with her mother who she despised, so I stole her hehehe! All kiddos under the same roof growing up in Sulani, so far so good, more babies, some kids moved out and started families of their own. Mackenzie became a (very good) sex worker and had many clients who called her up constantly. I turned my back for a few moments in another save and patriarch was DEAD! Now you would guess old age? Possibly shrivelled nutsack syndrome due to all of those children? Nope he was an adult, he died at the hands of a killer bunny! I was devastated and so was his wifey who he’d sent to the farm for an “upgrade” to obey him because she kept having threesomes with Caleb and Morgyn Vatore! Hence the numerous divorces, she just loved being the filling of that sandwich! 🤮

So this is where we get to Jonah! He aged into a very handsome young adult and step-mummy, feeling lonely after her hubby died, went “ooh I want a bit of that” and they embarked on a relationship. Although not blood related, she was the mother of several of his siblings and she changed his dirty nappies when he was a toddler, he has the mummy dearest sentiment for her it’s creepy! So they got hot and heavy, she got pregnant (poor woman) and shortly after baby Bonnie was born, India (Jonah’s twin sister) fried in the sun! She was no more! Then ghost daddy came out to play, literally, and Jonah’s little heart was broken! His dad stole his girl, even dead he could still turn her head despite her “ownership” passing onto Jonah after his dad succumbed to the wabbit. Despite the declaration that his step-mother/girlfriend still loved his father, Jonah thought it would be a great idea to propose, he was turned down flat! But he persisted, wore her down, and they got engaged...and another baby was on the way (it was Jonah’s). A wedding and a baby named Boyd completed Jonah’s happy life, along with his enrollment into Britechester studying Art History. Harvestfest saw him being hounded by angry gnomes after he kicked and shattered one for not liking his fruit cake offering, and his step-mum/wife continued to boink his ghost daddy behind his back! Talk about being cuckolded!

What will the future hold for Jonah? Will his marriage last? Or will he follow in his dad’s footsteps and get divorced? If he does, can he keep it that way? Or will he jump the broomstick again and again and...who knows! And will Bonnie finally ask why mummy and ghost grandpa are kissing with no bathing suits on in the hot tub?

#ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4

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712005 · 2 years

Text

[ 12:00am ]

The world was ghostly-quiet except for my thought flowing like a tears. It would be an understatement if I said I was bored, but who cares.

" Well that all for today class, you may now leave"

I got all my things and left the class. My legs felt like noodles but I needed to keep up my pace with my classmates.

" Is that her "

" Yeah I think so "

" Wow she looks dead "

Whispers filled the hall an di tried to ignore it. I craved for a cigarette.

" I miss her "

All the kids where in the field moving like the sun, while I sat alone by the lemming light. But then I heard a voice. It was a girl my age. Her hair was red, just like blood. The end of hair where poison needles and her eyes where bags of bleach.

" Wow are you get alright"

" Of course i am"

But then the balls rang, as we matched out like ants making an anthills. As always the snakes waited for me outside. I simply moved passed them. Neither caring of my oblige behaviour. Walking down the white clean road, a group of kids ran passed me with sunny smiles.

" God damn it "

It started raining cats and dogs. I quickly ran under Miss Kate shop. She is the embodiment of truth. Today she looked quit glumly, it wasn't anything surprising to me.

" Hey sweetie, are you alright "

" Am good miss "

" Excuse me, could I get a bag for this "

I looked back to see a thrall behind my back. I quickly walked to the back, to wait for my turn.

" Here's your things "

It took like an hour, surprisingly to get to my turn. Lazily walking to the counter, Miss Kate stared at me with her, nurturing eyes. After having a pleasant conversation with her, I left the shop with a light headed mind.

Strolling back to my house, the stars shined on me. I wasn't even near my doors, but that didn't stop me from hearing my dad barking.

Welcomed with the smell of dead soul, some of my dad men where entangled in lust acts. My dad was no different ,he held a women by her throat. While scanning her body like a predictor. This made me wonder, how I was his offspring. He was a sadistic but who am i to judge. He's eyes where locked doors and his hair where dusty granite. The only thing that shocked me to the least was how young looking he was, but I would never trust the devil. I quickly walked to my room. Since I knew he was too busy with his disgusting deeds to notice me coming in. As soon as I entered my room, my eyes wondered to my mirror. My eyes gentle scanned the belt mark on my hand and glue on my hair, from my classmates.

" Is this really me "

I quickly looked away. I couldn't bare my reflections, my broken figure. Then and then, my doors swigged open, revealing a slander figure. It was one of my dad men.

" He want you "

Swiftly moving past him, I walked down the stairs to see my dad laying calmly on the chair.

" I want you to get us drink darling "

Cringing from beneath my stomach, I looked away from him. He never called me " darling ". Only when my mom was alive.

" But its's dark "

" Do I look like I care "

He throw the money at my face, as his men chuckled. Raging out of the house, the pokeroot dusty road consumed me as I made my way down to the shop, only to see two kids playing a game. But it was too dark to see what game it was.

" Hey, what could I get you "

Dropping the cash in front of him, I pointed at the bears behind him. He reliantly got the drinks. I wouldn't blame him, it was pretty late. Reaching into my pocket as he came back to the counter, I felt a crusty dusty cigarette.

" Can you get me a cigarette too please "

" Thank you "

Leaving with a fake smile, I walked back to my house. There a group of boys smoking.

" Could I borrow your lighter "

" Thank you "

Some people say smoker are more liable to death but trust me, nice people die early. I quietly let a sigh out as I reached my house.

" Finally guys, the bears here "

Without a thank you nor sorry from my dad or his men, I walked back to my room. For I am back to my lovely cave, only to smoke and wonder to dream land.

Within seconds, I was back here. Why you may ask, but without an answer. I sat down to listen to my teacher blubbing about our project. But suddenly I felt an ought to let a river out. Rushing to the toilet, I slammed the door. Leaving a cracking smile. One that would remain with me.

Coming out of the toilet, I looked into the mirror, my hair was red, just like blood. The end of hair where poison needles and her eyes where bags of bleach. Leaving with a cracking smile, I got my gun and bulb switch from my tights.

Walking through the halls, I used padlocks to lock all the doors, as all the teacher locked at me with suspicion and fear. I gave them a childish wave with a manic smile as my hand reached the bomb switch without losing eye contact my goals. Doors and glass shattering as screams escaped from all the classrooms. But at the corner of my eyes I noticed one of the teacher was screaming, as she had escaped her death. Just one glance at me, made her legs tremble.

" Why would you do this "

" Why- we both know why "

I really didn't want to waste time on her. As soon as I set my eyes on my gun, she flied. Doors slamming and feet's pattering as the cat and mice chased each other. Swigging my hand swiftly I landed a bullet in her head.

" Sorry miss "

Walking out of the school with a cracked smile, I happily ran down the dark road, only to hear my dad barking. But not for to long. Welcoming with a smell of deal soul, all my dad men where dead. Thank to the poison I had put in there drinks yesterday.

" How could you do this, after all that I had done for you "

Letting a manic laugh, I looked him dead in the eyes

" Why are you laughing "

He screamed like a spoiled child. But down his body went like a broken door as my bullet had claimed him head. I quietly let a satisfied sigh, I sat down on the chair. Lilting my cigarette.

" The world ghostly-quiet "

" And- cut " said the director. that was the last thing I heard before a group of applaud followed. My fellow act and actress hugged and praised me for my great acting. We all screamed with joy, for we had finally finished all shooting for the movie.

" Billie it was nice working with you"

" And it was nice working with you, Mr Dean "

" Thank you" he said with a sunny smile as I hugged him.

#<3 #time #mystery

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 2 years

Text

it seemed the better way - chapter 5

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Janus, Romulus, Patton, Logan, c!Thomas mentions Rating: General audiences Relationships: Platonic everyone Warnings: Imaginary animal death (dinosaurs, non-realistic and non-detailed) Word count: 2734 Note: Ty to @anxious-logic for betaing!!

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

start - previous - here - next - masterpost

–

Chapter 5

“Okay, class!” Thomas’s teacher clapped her hands. “Next week, we’re going to do an art project!”

Romulus perked up at once. “Art?” He nudged Thomas to full attention.

The teacher began passing out sheets of paper. “I want each of you to pick something we’ve learned about lately—something off this list,” she went on. “And you’re going to make some art about it. So I want you to take your list home, pick one topic off of it, and spend your weekend thinking about ideas for your art piece. And we’ll talk about it again on Monday, okay? I can’t wait to hear your ideas!”

By the time Dad had picked Thomas up from school and they were on the way home, Romulus was practically bouncing off the walls of the car with excitement; all his attention was absorbed by the idea of a new project. Thomas could mostly read by now, but still dragged Dad to the kitchen table the minute they got in the door and got him to read the whole list aloud; it covered a lot of science topics that Thomas had learned about over the last few months.

“Rocks!” Romulus declared at the top of his lungs, seizing Janus’s gloved hands and dragging him down into the Mindscape. “Let’s do art about rocks!”

“Geological classification,” Logan clarified, poking his head out from his room.

“Yeah, that!” Romulus zoomed to his own door, flinging it open and transforming the empty space inside into a treasure trove of big rock formations that would be easy to climb on, with piles of smaller shiny rocks all over the ground. A table stood in the middle, covered in art supplies. “C’mon, everyone!” he called.

Janus found himself a corner, boxed in by big tall rocks on two sides, and began picking about the edges of the space Romulus had created, scooping up rocks that caught his eye and placing them in a bucket (conjuring up things in Romulus’s room was especially easy; Janus was even able to keep the bucket from getting heavy, no matter how much he put in it). When he’d collected enough rocks to suit his fancy, he made his way back to the corner. He sat down criss-cross-applesauce and began pulling out the rocks he’d collected, lining them up in neat rows by size and color and how shiny they were. When he’d sorted and re-sorted them a few times, he tried stacking them up, seeing how tall he could stack without toppling them. (He could get four easily, but anything more than that was challenging.)

Janus was so engrossed in his sorting that the sudden sound of raised voices was painfully jarring. His hands rose to his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut. When the voices didn’t stop, he drew several deep breaths, uncovered his ears, and stood up. “What’s going on?”

“Patton isn’t letting me—”

“Romulus won’t listen—”

“They are bickering,” Logan said loudly. “When they could be helping me make the rocks more accurate to real life.” He shot Romulus a pointed glare.

“Real life is boring and my rocks are better and fossils are cool and Patton is wrong!” Romulus blurted out all in one breath.

”No—no, will you just listen, we’re supposed to compromise—” Patton protested.

“Stop arguing!” Logan said, holding both hands up in the air and speaking with an air of authority.

There was silence for a beat.

“Thank you,” Logan said. “Romulus.”

“Yeah?”

Logan held out his hands. “Is this supposed to be granite or quartz?”

“What? No. ’S just a rock.” Romulus shrugged.

Logan flung his hands in the air. “That is not how rocks work!”

“It’s how my room works!” Romulus retorted. “Anyway, Janus, tell Patton he’s wrong!”

“You’re wrong,” Janus said to Patton at once, but he said it in a teasing voice just in case he’d need to take it back once he found out what they were actually arguing about.

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?” Patton asked suspiciously.

“Yes,” Janus lied. “But tell me anyway.”

“Take turns,” Logan said from the ground, where he was now on his hands and knees, doing something with the rock that was neither granite nor quartz. “Romulus first.”

“Okay okay okay so.” Romulus climbed onto the table and put his hands on his hips. “So we’re making art about rocks. Planning it for Thomas. Right?”

“Sure,” Janus said, picking up a few smooth round pebbles and hefting them in his palms.

“Right. So I thought, rocks are kind of boring all by themselves, but. But but but! You know what goes in rocks?”

Janus considered this, vaguely pulling at memories of Thomas in class. “Lava?”

“No. I mean yeah. But I’m talking about fossils!” Romulus spread his arms wide. “Which are cool! Cause they’re made of dead dinos! And they go in rocks, so we could put them in the art. And show how they get made of dead dinos. And Patton is being stinky and thinks my idea is bad.” He rolled his eyes expressively and waited, evidently having said his piece.

“I didn’t say that!” Patton protested.

“You basically did!” Romulus crossed his arms.

“Falsehood,” Logan put in. “That is just how it made you feel. He never said ‘bad.’ Let him talk now.”

“Fine.” Romulus plopped down to sit on the table, arms still crossed.

“I just—I think it might maybe be better to not make it, um, super gross and scary?” Patton twisted his hands together. “Like, with lots of dead dinosaurs and things. Like maybe we could just make the pretty fossils, and not the sad part. Um—I just think it would cause less conflict, maybe.”

Romulus blinked. “What do you mean, conflict?”

“I already—” Patton broke off with a reproachful look. “Weren’t you listening?”

“No, I figured out I didn’t like what you were saying so then I stopped.”

“Romulus!” Patton reproached.

“Well, I’m listening now.” Romulus shrugged exaggeratedly. “So, what do you mean, conflict?”

Patton hesitated, glancing guiltily at Janus, of all Sides. “Um—I dunno if I should say—” he hedged.

Everyone stared at him.

“I just—” Patton swallowed. “Last time—last time you got Thomas to make something kind of creepy like that��um, Logan and Janus had that—that fight…” He trailed off, giving Janus an apologetic look and staring at his shoes.

Janus’s gut dropped. How was this somehow his fault?

Logan frowned. “I did not enjoy that,” he said tightly. This, while not unexpected, made Janus feel even worse.

“Oh,” Romulus said quietly. “I see.”

And that was the worst blow of all—that Romulus would side with the others over Janus? Janus couldn’t remember the last time Romulus hadn’t backed him wholeheartedly and without question.

”Um—” Romulus drummed his fingers on his lower lip for a moment. “Um, how about if—if I just have Thomas make dino skeletons? And not the whole thing of how fossils get made? Would that be—better?”

Patton nodded. “If you don’t mind,” he said apologetically.

“I—no, of course not,” Romulus said, looking away, and Janus was hit with the overpowering sweetness of the lie.

***

“Hey,” Janus said, some time later. They’d all finished up the preparation for the art project and dispersed, but when Romulus had failed to emerge from his room even when Patton made cookies and the smell filled the Mindscape, Janus had filled his pockets with said cookies and gone to check on Romulus. The creative Side was sitting with his knees up to his chest on the floor of his room, now restored to its blank white expanse, and was scribbling back and forth with a single gray crayon on the floor. Janus knelt beside him and offered a cookie.

Romulus accepted it without meeting Janus’s gaze. “Hi,” he said limply. He put the cookie to his lips and nibbled a tiny bite off the edge.

“You were excited about the fossil idea, weren’t you?” Janus asked, making himself comfortable on the ground beside Romulus.

“I get excited about every idea.” Romulus sighed. “But yeah. It was gonna be so cool.” He frowned. “Until Patton ruined it.”

Janus relaxed. So Romulus didn’t blame him. That was—relieving. Janus didn’t know what he’d do without Romulus at his side. “Well, I had an idea,” he began. “Even though that’s your thing.” He nudged Romulus teasingly.

Romulus rolled his eyes, a tiny smile quirking his lips. “What idea?” he asked around another small bite of cookie.

“What if we did an adventure in here?” Janus asked. “Just you and me. So you could show me just how you’d have made it go. Make it even better.”

Romulus’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh,” he said, shoving the rest of his cookie in his mouth in one go. “Like, a dino adventure? Paleontologists, maybe?”

“Sure,” Janus agreed, because Romulus always had the best ideas for adventures and agreeing was usually the most fun option. “Whatever you want.” Besides, he still felt bad that apparently Patton had wanted to change the idea because of him.

“Oh my gosh,” Romulus repeated, scrambling to his feet. “Yes! Yes, yes—um—hang on, let me think of how it should go—” He squeezed his eyes shut for one second, two, three—“Got it!” he announced, eyes flying wide open. “Here we go!”

Janus, by now used to this procedure, closed his own eyes as the ground lurched under his feet and bright light flashed, the room reshaping itself to Romulus’s will.

“Perfect,” Romulus breathed, and Janus opened his eyes, a delighted gasp ready on his lips. (Positive feedback was very important for Romulus, Janus had found.)

He needn’t have bothered preparing, because the sight of a whole entire dinosaur, giant and perfect and bright blue and standing right there in front of them, was more than enough to prompt a delighted shriek.

“Right?” Romulus responded happily. “Can I make your clothes different?”

Janus didn’t always appreciate having his outfits transformed—Romulus cared far less about the way clothes felt on his skin than Janus did, and there were occasional mishaps because of this—but this adventure was especially because Romulus had felt sad, so letting him do things that made him happy seemed appropriate, and costumes made Romulus very happy indeed. “Sure,” Janus said. “Just make sure they’re soft.” Soft was usually the best guidance to give on this front, and then Janus would privately transform anything that still felt off.

Romulus nodded, and with another flash of light, their outfits transformed into paleontologist clothes: short-sleeve buttoned shirts with funny patterns, brown vests covered in patches, cargo shorts with lots of pockets, and big stompy boots, plus pith hats and backpacks. Janus found a pair of binoculars slung about his neck, and Romulus was now carrying a shovel taller than he was, which he handled with ease as if it were a hiking stick.

“C’mon!” Romulus called, taking off at a run through the jungle he’d created. Janus took just a second to give himself knee-high socks and turn his shirtsleeves long, so that there was no bare skin to brush against unfamiliar textures, then hastened to follow.

It wasn’t long before all Romulus’s woes were clearly drowned in the fun of playing with dinosaurs. They befriended a flock of velociraptors, rode on the back of a brontosaurus (its tail made an excellent slide), and played tag with a pair of t-rex (and the velociraptors). When they’d tired themselves out, they climbed onto the brontosaurus again, and Romulus conjured up a shady umbrella and a table full of cold treats on its back.

“This is very fun,” Janus observed, sipping with a silly straw at a tall, fancy glass filled with grape juice.

“Yes!” Romulus bounced in his seat, already bearing a chocolate mustache from the tremendous ice cream cone in his hands. “And Thomas likes it,” he pointed out, taking a bite of ice cream.

If he paid attention, Janus could indeed tell that Thomas was daydreaming along with them, and enjoying the dinosaurs very much. “Good,” he said, pleased. It was so satisfying, how often making Romulus happy also made Thomas happy—those were the two people whose happiness seemed most important to Janus. It made taking care of them much easier when Janus could do one thing that helped both of them.

All the same, it was heading towards dinnertime, and Janus wanted to be sure Romulus would be fully satisfied by the time this adventure had to conclude. “Do you want to show me how they turned into fossils soon?” he asked, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

“Ooh.” Romulus took another bite of ice cream. “Yes. Soon.” He hesitated, running a hand along the back of the brontosaurus. “It feels sad to be done with the dinos, though.”

“Make different ones to be fossils, then,” Janus suggested. “And keep the ones we were playing with.”

“Oh yeah! I can do that. I can do anything! Good idea.” Romulus nodded decisively, and with a wave of his hand, a section of jungle ahead of them cleared out into a wide open field, and more dinosaurs popped up to populate it. “Ready?” he asked.

“Absolutely.” Janus made himself comfortable.

Romulus grinned, wide and maniacal with his teeth on full display, and raised his hands.

The sky filled with fire, something dark blocking out the sunlight. Looking up, Janus saw a tremendous rock floating in the air just above the treetops, made of a rough dark brown stone pocked with holes; it was so big, Janus was sure you could fit whole houses on top of it. It was also on fire, even more so than the sky surrounding it. Aside from the flickering of the flames, the sudden scene of destruction was still; the rock didn’t move, and the doomed dinosaurs continued grazing and frolicking in the grass. Nothing made a sound.

“That’s the meteorite?” Janus inquired, pointing at the rock in the sky.

“Yeah! The one that killed all the dinosaurs!” Romulus bounced happily. “So then they all died and turned into fossils.” He snapped his fingers, and the field before them descended into chaos: the flames roared, trees began to crack and fall, and the dinosaurs began to let out loud, frightened dino-shrieks and to run back and forth in a manner Janus was pretty sure Thomas’s mom would describe as being “like headless chickens.”

“Ready?” Romulus inquired, raising his hand. The rock in the sky rose slightly with his gesture, as easy if he were moving a tiny feather. If Janus hadn’t been on so many adventures with Romulus before, he would almost be kind of scared of just how powerful the Side was in this space.

“Ready,” Janus assured him, and watched with an almost uncomfortable fascination as Romulus grinned and slammed his hand down and brought the meteorite crashing upon the helpless dinosaurs, created just to die.

There was a loud, uniform squelch as the meteorite pressed deep into the ground.

“Ew,” Janus commented, sticking his tongue out.

Romulus burst into hysterical giggles. “Right?” he agreed, flapping his hands. He composed himself after a moment, freeing up one hand to wave the meteorite off the ground and then flick his wrist, making it disappear with a pop.

In the crater lay dozens of clean, white dinosaur skeletons, each perfectly posed and laid out.

“Yeah!” Romulus said, though Janus hadn’t made any more comments yet. “So then, um, um then more stuff buried them up, and they were deep underground, so there’s lots of like pressure and stuff, right?” As he spoke, dirt filled in the crater and then pressed downwards, following his speech. “So that turns them from just regular skeletons into fossils, which are cooler and better, except it takes like a million years, like mummies but more. And then they last for, like, ever! Until the paleontologists find them!” He hopped to his feet, snatching his shovel (which had faded in and out of existence all afternoon as he remembered and forgot it by turn) out of midair. He offered a hand to help Janus up. “Wanna come dig up some fossils?”

Janus put his hand in Romulus’s and allowed himself to be drawn to his feet. “I’d love to,” he said wholeheartedly.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #thatsthat24 #ts storytime 2022 submission #janus sanders #ts janus #king creativity #patton sanders #ts patton #peregrin writes #ts fic #ts fanfic #it seemed the better way

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casspurrjoybell-25 · 2 months

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The Healer of Shakkara - Book Two

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter 2 - Dreams - Part 1

"Who'd have imagined... we'd end up... friends with a mage," Behn exclaimed breathlessly, perhaps thinking along the same lines as he trudged along a few steps behind her.

"And not just... any mage, either. The P'Yrha! 'Course, I hadn't heard of a P'Yrha 'fore now."

"Quiet," Obi barked from where he led the way a dozen paces ahead.

"Keep your voices down and do not speak of Galen again."

"What's got his tail in a twist?" Behn huffed, when Obi turned his back again.

Behind her protective face cloth, which shielded her skin from the bright glare of sun on snow, Triss smiled as Behn's voice brought her back to simpler times, when she and he and Galen were little terrors on the streets of Dern.

Her smile faded.

The last thing she wanted was to hurt his feelings but her campaign to leave Behn in Lastiff had to start sometime and this was as good an opportunity as ever.

The less welcome and the more out of his depths he felt, the more likely the decision to remain behind would be his own.

Besides, hurt feelings never killed anyone, as far as Triss knew.

Lots of other things did, though and Triss would sleep better knowing Behn was safe from at least some of them.

"He's right," she said.

"Sound travels far in the cold air. And as we say in the Guard... never say anything you wouldn't want an enemy to hear."

"My dad says something similar," Behn said, either oblivious to or ignoring, the coolness in her tone.

"He say, 'never share a recipe unless you're happy with your rivals having it.' At least, I think that's similar."

Triss frowned.

Now would be the perfect time to say something crushing... something about the difference between secret recipes and secrets that got people killed or about Behn's inability to keep anything a secret for long but she found herself saying something else instead.

"Same concept," she agreed.

"So, let's be careful, okay?"

"Who do you think might be out here?" he asked in a nervous undertone. "The Barrowlings?"

"No. We're beyond their territory now. Or leastways, I'd wager as much," Obi answered over his shoulder.

"But if we're sharing sayings, 'the forest has ears' is one among The Hand."

They went on his silence after that until Obi called a halt with a sharp whistle and pointed to his left.

Through the trees, Triss saw what had drawn his eye, a place where the bright snow dropped off abruptly into the blue shadows of trees... likely a ledge at the end of a natural slab of glacial granite.

Trudging over, Triss peered down into a little hollow at the base of a drop of a dozen feet or so... perfect shelter from the prevailing wind and it would even hide most of the light from their fire.

"Looks good," she said. "Home sweet home."

Behn sighed wistfully but shed his pack with dutiful determination.

"Alright, what you two want for supper this time? We got... the dried stuff or... the other dried stuff."

"The other dried stuff," Obi said, shooting him a wink as he let his own pack drop from his shoulder.

"We had the dried stuff last night."

"Other dried stuff it is," Behn said stoutly and set to work.

Triss watched him for a moment, a fond smile on her lips.

Then she shook herself and set off after Obi in search of firewood.

Dried food threw Behn for a loop, at first.

Dried fruit and dried meat, he understood.

But a whole cooked meal dried to a powder and sealed in a little leather pouch?

That was weird.

As the cooks at The Haven had explained, water was heavy.

Removing it made the food more travel friendly.

All you had to do was add hot water back in and the meal cooked itself.

Behn had to admit it was convenient.

On the other hand, flavor was sacrificed.

A rehydrated mash of bean paste, jerky and vegetable flakes was not the same thing as a fresh bowl of beans and roast meat.

After a long day of trudging through the snow, however, bean paste would do just fine.

Behn had a theory, however, that dried food was as unkind to one end of the digestive tract as it was to the other but at least he wasn't the only one contributing mysterious noises to the night.

As he lay swaddled in his bedroll that night, with Triss snoring at his side and Obi's intermittent bouts of flatulence disrupting the stillness, he let his thoughts wander on the borders of dreams.

He had very little hope of ever winning Triss's heart.

He'd never be a warrior like her... never be her equal.

But maybe he could be something else.

He could prove, when they reached Lastiff, how useful he could be.

His family was humble... his father considered bragging almost a sin but the truth was, his was one of the wealthiest families in Shakkara.

Triss had sacrificed her future in the Guard but Behn could give her a better one.

He could build them a beautiful home, wherever she wanted and she could be whatever she wanted... a sword for hire, a merchant, a mariner... as long as she came home to him at the end of the day.

He sighed, letting the dream dissipate like the white cloud of his breath.

It was just that... a dream.

A girl like Triss would never love a boy like him.

Still, he planned to prove himself, one way or another.

In Lastiff, he'd somehow convince his weird uncle, Merrick, to lend them horses,and then he'd...somehow... remember how to ride and then he'd show Triss what he was made of.

He fell asleep to a vision that became a dream... two horses, riding hard up the Sakkaran plain, while the great city of Tal P'Nir glittered like a shard of broken glass in the distance, lit by the bloodied tint of a setting sun.

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lyaenidae · 10 months

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The best first date

It was only the next day and Kenta could only think of one thing, that whole day... He wanted to ask Miki on a proper date. Something they'd never had, back then. He didn't hesitate for too long.

"Hey Miki, it's-" "I know who it is, Ken, I've been wanting to call you all day ! How are you ? The aftermath of the fire, all that ?" "I'm good. See I was thinking, maybe we could get together, tonight or tomorrow ? I'd love to go check out that restaurant in the city centre, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me ?"

"Oh I'd love to ! Dinner and a movie ? There's a movie theatre not far from there, and there's a horror movie I've been meaning to go to, but I'm too scared to actually go on my own..." "That's a date then ! Tomorrow night ?" "Sounds good ! And Ken ?" "Yes ?" "Thank you for calling."

The next day, Kenta came home from work really tired, but having just gotten word of a promotion ! He's happy, exhausted, and goes straight for a shower and chugs two cups of coffee, hoping it'll keep him awake enough in the movie theatre.

In the meantime, Miki is also making herself presentable after a day at work. She can't stop smiling.

She still decides to change out of her work clothes though and meets Kenta at the bottom of the stairs, in front of both their townhouses.

"Am I underdressed ?" she asks when she sees him looking so handsome. "No, you look amazing !" As they make their way to the restaurant right around the corner, they keep trying not to look at each other, act normal. And both of them are failing terribly.

When they get to the restaurant, they order quickly, not focusing too much on the menus. And straight away, Miki's very eager to hear more about him, what he's been up to since they last saw each other in Mt Komorebi.

He briefly tells her what's happened during the past two years, he's eager to tell her about his adventures in the forest, his new job here in the city. And she seems so happy to hear how fantastic his life has turned out. But he's itching to know more about what has happened on her side, so he pushes the conversation towards her. "What about you ? Did you get to Selvadorada like you always wanted?" "Believe it or not, I did !" "Tell me more Miki ! What's been going on with you ?"

The food comes while she's telling him all about her own adventures. He can't get enough, and she's so happy to be there with him, they don't see the time pass. It gets later and later and they don't even notice. They might even miss the movie at this point !

Sparks are flying, but Kenta does have something still bothering him... In all her stories, she didn't mention anyone special. He just can't leave without having asked. "Miki, can I be honest with you ?" "Of course ! What is it ?" "In all this time we've been apart, with everything that's happened on my side, I've never found someone that makes me feel the way you do... Have you... Have you found someone else ?"

"Oh, Ken... It's... I would never have dreamed of anyone better than you to share my life with, and I've not even wanted to find someone else to be honest. It's always been you, you know this..." she answers, stars in her eyes, blushing because of how open and honest she's being.

They finished their dinner and step outside, the fresh air helping them both clear their heads a bit. But only a few steps away from the restaurant, Kenta turns to Miki and takes her hands in his.

"Wait, I need to say this... It's always been you too, Miki. Remember when you gifted me those rainbow fireflies, on our school trip to Granite Falls, back when we were young teenagers ?" "I actually do" she said softly, blushing again. "Well I still have them, at my dad's house, and the whole time I was in Granite Falls by myself, I had a lot of time to think, about life, about you, and about how I want to share my life with you. And I've also had lots of time to look for some of those fireflies !" he chuckles. "My point is, I still love you. I think I fell in love with you that very day, in the forest, and I've been falling deeper in love with you ever since." He doesn't wait a second to get closer and kiss her.

And they keep kissing. Until the end of the night. Obviously, missing the movie. And who cares, after all, they can always go another night! But they definitely can't miss out on the happiness of this more than perfect first date.

#takaofamily #sims4 #sims4gameplay #vanillagameplay #kentatakao #vanilla #gen2 #ts4 #sansequoia #firstdate

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min-hoax · 3 years

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nuisance - jjk

Summary: He pined after something he couldn’t have, believing that he was in love with a woman who carried the secret he also did: a forbidden relationship. But he had enough of the distance, after all, how long did you think he was going to stay away?

Pairing: Yandere! Jungkook x F! Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warning(s): TABOO RELATIONSHIP (DO NOT ENGAGE if this makes you uncomfortable), pseudo incest, stalking, obsession, obscene language, extreme manipulation, dubcon, smut, sliiiiight mommy kink

A/N: Reupload! I suck at summaries. This fic was inspired by a writer and their works.

- Please, don’t forget to leave feedback! It’s my motivation to keep writing :)

“Fucking bitch.” He scoffed, dark doe eyes intently following the woman’s figure as she walked. Her backside moved with just the right amount of sensuality causing Jungkook to groan, palming his growing cock.

She carried a brown bag of groceries, keys on the other, uncaring, vulnerable.

He pounced once he knew she was on the verge of entering the safe of her home, placing his cold hands inside the warmth of his trench coat pocket, prowling behind her like a moth to a flame.

Just as she was about to shut the door, his foot obstructed the action and she cried out as he forced his large body inside her cozy apartment.

“I like what you’ve done with the place, noona.” He smiled nonchalantly, ignoring the fruits and cans on the ground that had fallen in her desperate attempt to close the door shut. He inspected her home with false curiosity as he took a seat on the couch.

“What are you doing here Jungkook?” She gulped, crouching down to collect the damaged objects on the granite floor. She eyed his legs, seeing the black boots that she favored and used to love, perched on the coffee table.

His cock throbbed once again when he set eyes on her cleavage, taunting him. He was poking her buttons, knowing that she detested his actions - actions that she reprimanded him about before.

“You seem to have forgotten about me.” He shrugged, “You call dad once a week, and me? Nothing, it’s like you’re neglecting your duties as a big sister, don’t you think?” His head cocked to the side, eyes slanted as he looked up at her

She rolled her eyes, fainting to have seen the obvious bulge inside his tight, black ripped jeans, placing the bruised fruits on the table behind her. “You’re nineteen years old Jungkook. I don’t need to take care of you.” She reminded him. “You need to leave, now.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Jungkook countered, “You gonna call that oh so handsome guy - what was his name? Seokjin was it? How is my brother in law by the way?”

He thought he managed to get rid of his competition the day he… it didn’t matter anymore. But how did he ever think the competition was over? The woman before him was beautiful and bewitching, and he knew that everyone that ever set eyes on her fell at her feet with no hesitation and that’s what pissed him off to the very core.

Jungkook scoffed, standing up with a loud slam of boots that resonated inside the living room. Her body slightly flinched as she gulped, taking a step back.

She was no stranger to his outbursts of anger that followed ever since he was a child. Her fright increased as he grew into the man he was now; towering over her with a body that could hoist her in his arms to bounce her up and down onto his cock.

The tantrums he would throw as a child did nothing but get him his way. But the tantrums he did now worried her in fear they could cause true harm because he truly could if he really wished to do so.

“You think I wouldn’t know? Please!” He scoffed. “Mom set you up, I was there when she made that stupid phonecall.”

“It’s none of your business Jungkook. So what if I’m dating? You have to understand that what happened between us was a mista-”

In an instant, she was slammed against the wall. “A mistake? You talk like it only happened once, Y/n” He sneered. The warmth of his breath hovered over her cold cheeks, his hungry eyes trailing down her face, settling on her chapped lips.

“Don’t say that noona.” He whispered, “it - it breaks me. Should I remind you of the various times I used to sneak into your room at night? Or the time we convinced dad and mom to allow us to stay at the family cabin for whole two weeks? What happened there?” He asked, doll lips brushing her flushed face.

When she stood frozen and remained quiet, he continued. “Every second of every day, I fucked you raw and made you mine. Should I show you my back? I have your marks tattooed on my skin, just like I have you tattooed in my heart. You can’t do this to me, you can’t just leave and expect me to be okay with it. I love yo-”

“No, Jungkook no.” She groaned, pushing at his shoulders with her shaking hands, but of course - he barely budged. He was made of muscle - a wall, while she was nothing but fragile glass.

“No you don’t, stop it Jungkook.” She squirmed against his hold, trying to get away from the forceful tattooed hands cupping her face.

He’d become so dominant and forceful that it made her heart pound in fear and make her panties damp with need. Her heart ached when she remembered the sweet, young boy he once used to be; so shy and reserved yet protective of his older sister when he needed and didn’t need to be.

She couldn’t help but think that she made him like this, she led him on, and this is what he had become: desperate for her love and body because she was the only woman he truly knew.

But she was just a drunk and needy woman, they both were. The night they both committed the sin for the first time soon became an obsession he couldn’t overcome.

She couldn’t deny him, not when he begged in that sweet voice of his and shot her eyes of bambi. Mom-mommy, he would voice every time he knew she’d reject his advances. Jungkook knew where and how to get her where he wanted her, and like a little lamb to the slaughter, she’s fall into the wolf's lair with shame.

“Look at you!” He gasped, feeling the dampness between her thighs. “You’re dripping.”

“No, Jungkook!” She panted as his finger kneaded her clit, his pointer and middle entering her tight hole. He groaned, head gravitating to her shoulder, groans developing from his throat. “You - oh! Kook, please we have to stop, I can’t.” She cried.

Her legs were made of jelly, the only leverage being his neck and he noticed, hoisting her up in his waist. He smiled when she wrapped her legs, kissing her with desperation as he walked towards her bedroom, gently laying her on the bed. His pretty lips devoured her like a man starved because to him, it felt just like.

His hands caressed her legs before wrapping them around his waist to rub himself against her core, causing her to gasp. “Kookie, stop - we - you’re my brother Jungkook stop it!” She cried, the friction too much.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake” He groaned against her neck, all the while pinning her small wrists on the mattress. “I’m not even your real brother.”

“I - I know Kook, just -“

“I knew you would get like this. I fucking knew it! You use me and then treat me like shit - like I’m a damn nuisance to you is that it?”

“No, Jungkook, that's not it, okay? It’s just that what we’re doing is wrong, it’s fucked. You don’t love me Kookie, you’re just confused - Don’t do that.” She said when his lower lip wobbled and his doe eyes filled with unfallen tears.

“You told me you loved me noona, when we made love you told me you loved me as you hugged me.”

And just like that she shattered, the guilt eating at her. She didn’t have the guts to tell him it was just during the heat of the moment, so she hugged him close and kissed his head.

“Please mommy.” He whimpered in that sweet voice of his that she could never refuse. “Please love me, make love to me, I - I need you, please.”

A simple nod was all he needed, and he nodded, grinning from ear to ear, the tears forgotten. He giggled and pecked her lips, breathing heavily as his body traveled down, fingers grasping her underwear only to rip it in his haste.

Before she could blink, her legs were wrapped around his shoulders and his tongue was frantically slurping her deprived cunt. This was her sweet Kookie, always so giving and shy who loved to eat her pussy like it was made of his favorite dessert. “Oh, Kook, baby yes, yes.” She sighed, fisting his hair.

She hated to admit it, but she missed this, not him.

“Does that feel good noona?” He questioned, his pointer finger and middle pumping inside just the way he knew she loved. “Yes, baby yes.” The orgasm that was near suddenly came to an end when he stood on his knees, locking his lips with hers and nipping, giving kitten lips at her chapped flesh.

“I missed you calling me like that, so much, so much.” He chanted, finding refuge in her neck just like he loved to do before he entered his heaven.

His lips kissed and sucked at her neck, never parting as he unbuckled his pants and pulled them down. “Please don’t be angry at me,” He whispered, “but I couldn’t help myself! It’s just that I needed to, I had to. Before you left I - I made a video of us but don’t worry! I didn’t and never will show it to anyone, un - unless you hurt my feelings again, but you won’t, right? You won’t hurt my feelings?”

He looked so innocent. Those doe eyes looked at her, wide and bright, like what he had said was just good news and not something so serious.

She shook her head, gulping when she felt the tears burning in her eyes. But before he could see her, she hugged his neck, hiding the fear and the misery.

“I love you Kookie.” She whispered, disgusted with Jungkook, but more herself, for allowing it to go this far and making her relationship with him hell. “I love you noona,” he grunted, just as he entered his heaven.

#yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere junkook #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere kpop #yandere #bts au #bts fanfiction

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miyaagis · 3 years

Text

oikawa is a handsome man, there’s no denying it. he might be twice your age but his trademark charm never fails to lure you in. too bad he’s your dad’s best friend

+ pairing. oikawa t. / fem reader

+ word c. 2,730

+ warnings. age gap, alcohol, mild degradation, mindbreak, noncon filming, squirting, watersports, mating press, one (1) slap in the ass, u call him uncle but he isn’t, so pseudo-cest? no beta we die like men

+ author n. my piece for the miki mouse whorehouse collab ♡ three weeks late, yes

the mid-afternoon sun burns above you, your exposed skin glowing under its blaze as you try to ignore the bickering of your dad’s friends.

oikawa’s playlist blasts through the speakers, the one with latin songs and that he’s been listening to since he went to argentina (according to uncle makki). you hum along with the beat unconsciously, so close to dozing off that you miss the sound of the approaching steps.

“a drink for the princess.”

flirty brown eyes meet yours through the tinted glass of your sunglasses, his handsome smile making your heart skip as you sit up and take the cold drink from his hands.

oikawa takes the seat next to you, handing his phone over to you to let you choose the next song. his fingers trace the rim of his beer bottle as he watches you type something on the screen before leaning back against the chair.

“my dad will yell at you for giving me alcohol,” you peer up at him, taking the straw between your lips.

he takes a long sip of his beer in hopes of calming down the myriad of thoughts swirling in his mind. it’s sinful how the wet fabric of your swimsuit clings onto your form while you lie under the sun—unbothered. but it’s even worse how the star of those thoughts it’s his best friend’s daughter.

“you’re an adult, you’re allowed to have fun.”

you scoff, “tell him that.”

iwaizumi has never been a strict parent but he likes to play the overprotective dad role every once in a while.

“he’s your dad. it’s kind of his job,” he tilts his head in his friend’s direction, his stare serious before switching into a playful one, “and mine is to be the cool uncle.”

you can’t help but snort, “who said you were cool?”

oikawa fake gasps at your statement, but his posture immediately tenses up as uneasiness takes over his body.

he doesn’t have an idea when it all started, or when did the playful banter between you two turned into this unbearable sexual tension. many nights he has been haunted in his dreams by your cute but taunting smile, poking fun at him until his lips land on yours, and kissing you until you’re reduced to a pathetic whimpering mess.

“–kawa you asshole!”

hanamaki’s voice snaps him out of his trance, both of your heads turning to look at said man as he scolds matsukawa for spilling his drink on the table.

“don’t stay under the sun for too long,” oikawa suddenly stands up, shooting you a forced smirk, “or you’ll get wrinkles.”

you stick your tongue out at him and watch him walk away, staring at his back while a silly smile settles on your lips.

—

the sun has already set when you make your way inside.

you ignore the two drunk men passed out on the couch as you look around for your dad, but when you fail to catch sight of him, you decide to take a look in the kitchen.

oikawa’s shirtless back greets you, his muscles bulging under his tanned skin as he seems to be struggling with a bottle of wine.

“you’re doing it wrong.”

he immediately halts his movements and turns to look at you, “i’m sorry?”

you smirk, “you’re forgiven.”

he scoffs at your little joke, but when you see the hint of a smirk tugging his lips upwards you know he’s enjoying it as much as you are. with a push of your hips, you shove him aside and grab the corkscrew from his hands.

“this, is how you do it.”

he leans on the kitchen counter with his elbow as he observes you do your thing, “you’re being too awfully cocky lately.”

“not my fault you can’t open a wine bottle the right way,” you shrug before smiling triumphantly once it's open, taking a swig of the bottle.

it’s probably the way your eyes gleam under the dim lights, or how your lips look plump and glossy after drinking the wine. either way, the words leave oikawa’s mouth before he can think twice.

“oh? care to tell me what else i don’t do the right way?”

you watch as he takes the bottle from your hands and takes a sip, “you’d be surprised. i know more than what you may think.”

“i doubt it.”

“try me.”

the words hang in the air, the hidden meaning begging to be addressed but you stare at each other in silence, your chests heaving up as you wait for the other to make a move.

“do you know what’s been on my mind lately?” he’s the first one to break the silence, his figure looming above you while his hand moves to rest on your hip.

your breath hitches as you shake your head. gone is the playful gleam in your eyes, his stare feeling as if he’s a predator and you the helpless prey.

“you.”

he pauses, gauging your reaction while you feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

“oi!”

you both jump at the sound of your dad’s voice. iwaizumi stands behind you with his car keys on hand, exhaustion evident in his posture.

“they’re hammered, i’m going to drive them home. you need a ride?”

the question’s directed at oikawa, who’s suddenly feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.

did he see anything? he wonders. but the tired look in his best friend’s face lets him know he doesn’t suspect a thing.

“nah, i’m good,” the odd look iwaizumi sends his way prompts him to come up with an excuse, “i’ll clean up and then i’ll be on my way out.”

on a normal day, iwaizumi would’ve refused. but if he could escape your mom’s wrath after the mess they made, then he’d take it in a heartbeat. good thing she’s out on her casino night.

“thanks, man. see you around.”

you both watch as he exits the kitchen, the tense atmosphere remaining even after hearing the front door close behind the three men.

you can’t help but deflate a bit, sensing the ‘moment’ between you is gone.

“where were we?”

your eyes widen and refuse to meet his, choosing to fiddle with your fingers as you repeat what he said earlier in a small voice, “you said… you said you were thinking of me.”

oikawa has to stop himself from cooing at your nervousness, humming instead as he takes one step in your direction.

“mhm, all day,” his hands snake around your waist to pull you flush against him, “i’ve been thinking about fucking you.”

a small gasp leaves your mouth, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“you enjoyed teasing me, didn’t you? parading around in that slutty swimsuit of yours with your tits spilling out of your bra?”

he hauls you up by your waist and places you on the granite counter, settling himself between your legs, “i could see your nipples getting hard, begging to be kissed,” one of his hands leaves your waist and moves upwards to pinch your nipple. he can’t help but coo at the faint whimper that escapes your lips, “hmm, so cute.”

oikawa’s lips connect with yours, his other hand holding you by the back of your head while the other keeps rubbing the hardened nub. once his tongue glides into your mouth, breathless moans fill the kitchen.

“a-ah, uncle tooru,” you run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

he starts to make his way down, kissing your neck and collarbone before he reaches your chest. his teeth graze your hard nipple, toying with it while a large hand moves down between your legs and pushes the fabric covering your pussy aside.

two long fingers prod between your folds, sliding in easily and making you groan.

“naughty girl, so wet already,” he rasps in your ear, throat dry at the sight of your wet folds.

the wetness dripping from your hole immediately coats his digits, making it easier for him to tease your insides. the pads of his index and middle fingers curl upwards to touch the soft walls, massaging them in slow movements.

“mm, fuck–” it’s exhilarating how good he’s making you feel just with his fingers, pulling moans so effortlessly out of you.

“feels good, hm?”

“yes, yes, so so good–” your head falls limp against his shoulder, your hands resting on his biceps as you try to hold onto something, “please… faster.”

the pace of his hand picks up while his thumb brushes over your clit, watching you lose yourself in the pleasure. his cock hardens at the filthy sounds of your pussy sucking his fingers in and your wanton moans.

“so needy,” he murmurs, a breathless chuckle falling right in your ear, “be a doll and cum for me. will you? c’mon, baby. i know you can do it.”

your grip on his shoulders tightens, his encouraging words awakening something in you that has you cumming right after. warmth floods your body as you chant his name desperately, the friction of his finger against your clit prolonging your high and making it difficult to catch your breath.

it takes you a minute to recover from the daze, his body-heat overwhelming you and fogging up your mind.

it’s not until he takes his fingers out of your dripping core and has a taste of your juices when he truly feels the lust take over him.

oikawa immediately picks you up from the kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his torso as he blindly makes his way to your room.

his mouth moves hungrily against yours, your bodies occasionally colliding against the walls since you refuse to let go of each other. once you reach your bedroom, he pushes the door open and places you on the bed, climbing on top of you and latching his mouth onto your neck.

“baby, i need to– hmm,” the roll of your hips against his front causes his cock to twitch in his shorts, “need to fuck you.”

your eyes close when he moves your bra down and starts sucking on your nipple, one of your hands tangling in his hair and pushing his face onto your chest.

“want you so badly, please.”

“don’t worry, princess. i’ll make you cum again, so many times, and fill your needy cunt with my cum,” he murmurs against your chest, his tongue gliding over the sensitive skin while he rolls his hips against your core, “you’re gonna be a good little slut for me, right? bounce on my cock like a bitch in heat?”

you have never heard something so filthy leave his mouth, the promise of another orgasm sending a jolt down to your center.

“y-yes, i’ll do whatever you want! just please, fuck me.”

“yes, what?” his eyes glint with malice as he looks down at you, waiting for you to reply.

“yes... sir.”

a captivating smile graces his lips as he moves up from your chest to your face, his mouth hovering right above yours, “good girl.”

before you can process his words, he flips you on top of him, his hands going straight to your ass and squeezing the flesh. you notice the hardness underneath you and you have to stop yourself from bucking your hips against it.

with a tap on your butt, he signals you to lift your hips, taking off his shorts and turning to the side to place them somewhere. but in your drunken state, all you can focus on is on the cock in front of you, the flushed head glistening with pre-cum and causing your mouth to water.

he’s turning around when you wrap a hand around his girth, making him jolt under you before you lift your eyes to stare back at him.

“patience, baby. i’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles at the same time you rub his cock between your folds. his eyes stare intensely at you, watching you coat him with your juices before aligning him with your hole, “shit, i wish i could watch you like this forever.”

“you can have me whenever you want, sir. i’m yours.”

his cock parts your lower lips as you start sinking down, the vein on the underside of his shaft rubbing deliciously against your walls until he’s bottoming out. his hands rest on your hips, letting you get used to the stretch before he starts to rock you back and forth, slowly.

“feels so good… m-more.”

strong arms wrap around your waist, bringing your torso down until your breasts are pressed against his chest. his thrusts become intense, making you squeal as his laugh reverberates in his chest. he slaps your ass with one hand, groaning when your walls clamp down around him.

“tightest cunt i’ve ever fucked,” he groans.

“h-harder, fuck me harder,” you plead and, in a matter of seconds, he’s ramming his cock into you just like you asked. the friction of his length against your insides makes you dizzy, your mind wandering to how would it feel to be filled with his seed, “god– ugh, want your cum.”

“hm? my pretty little cumslut wants to milk me dry?”

he pushes you up as he slows down his pace, whines leaving your mouth in frustration. oikawa helps you bounce on top of him, his pelvic bone brushing against your swollen clit which causes your orgasm to approach faster than expected.

“‘m so close,” your rhythm falters, hips moving back and forth desperately in search of that delicious friction, “gonna cum, sir. please, make me cum.”

oikawa’s grip on your hips tightens, one of his hands moving down to your clit and rubbing it in fast circles, “shit– so tight,” he moans when you clench your muscles around his cock, feeling it twitch inside of you, “fuck, fuck, i’m cumming!”

he barely manages to rasp out before warm spurts of cum paint your walls, his cock throbbing against them while he keeps moving in and out of your hole. you follow suit, your pussy trembling around him as you both ride out your orgasms.

his cock visibly twitches once it's out of your cunt, lying flat on his stomach while white cum slowly drips on top of it. spreading your asscheeks, he stares at your glistening cunt and watches your juices coat him before flipping you onto your back. his entire weight rests on top of you, caging you in a mating press and entering your raw walls again.

“s-sir, no more! ‘m too sensitive– ah,” your legs are shaking at the overstimulation, his cock reaching so deep that you can feel it nudging at your cervix.

he grunts as he keeps thrusting into you, his balls slapping against your ass while you try to fight him, “one more, baby.”

“i-i can’t! no, no, no, please...” your nails dig in his muscles, a futile attempt to get him to slow down.

the slapping of skin on skin is loud, your cries encouraging him to drill harder into your pussy until he’s flooding it with his thick cum.

“shit, princess. of course you can. isn’t this what you wanted? you’re such a slut for me, i’ve known it all this time.”

you know you want to cum, but another tingling feeling settles on your belly and, after a perfectly directed thrust from his part, you gush around his cock.

“holy shit.”

everything seems to stop around you, drooling and babbling nonsense as you’re sent into a high that leaves your mind floating, your body growing limp under oikawa as he continues to fuck your hole until he’s filling it again.

the euphoria stops you from noticing when he pulls out, also missing how he remains above you with his softening cock in hand and pumping it slowly. a groan escapes your mouth when a sudden warmth soaks your sweaty skin, making you close your eyes and bask in it.

“fuck, baby,” he angles his cock in your direction, allowing his piss to pour down onto your ruined pussy and down your bedsheets, “look at you, my pretty little slut.

your craving for him was so powerful that you failed to notice the phone standing on your bedside table, angled directly at you. even when familiar moans blare through its speakers after oikawa picks it up, smiling down at it as he readies himself to enter you once more.

taglist. @newfriendjen @tsumue @cyb3rbab3 @lets-go-datehoe @kageyamakock @oneholetickler @idiotgu @kageyama-i-want-tobiors

#oikawa x reader smut #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #tw.alcohol #tw.degradation #tw.noncon filming #tw.watersports #tw.mindbreak

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messers-moony · 3 years

Text

Wish | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Wife!Reader

Summary: Five storms out to time travel after an argument with his wife and comes back to an unexpected surprise.

A/N: Five time travels at the age of 26 instead of 13

He was angry, that wasn’t mistaken, “ You aren’t listening to me! “

“ Are you hearing yourself?! What you’re about to do is dangerous! “ She yelled in response, and he scoffed.

They stood in the main room of their apartment. Y/n was placed in the kitchen leaning on the island while Five was dangerously close to the door. Both of them at the age of twenty-five. They had gotten married only a year before finding each other during one of his trips to Griddy’s with his siblings. He thought she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

Five stalked closer to her, “ You are so stubborn. “

“ I am the strongest one. “ His voice was dangerously low as they stood only a foot apart, “ I will do this. I don’t care what you say. Nothing will change that. “

“ Five, please. “ Y/n begged, “ I’m- I’m just worried about you. “

“ You don’t need to be. “ Five snapped, and he fast-walked to the door.

The male swung open the door, “ Five wait, please- “ But before she could finish, the door slammed, “ I’m pregnant. “

It was new news. She didn’t find out until a week earlier. She didn’t know when to tell him; there never was a suitable time. Now he had just threatened to fulfill a lifetime goal of his– time travel. Since he was a boy, he’s wanted to prove his worth. The only way Five could think to do that is by time-traveling into the future. He didn’t know what the future would entail. He definitely didn’t plan to get stuck in an apocalypse.

So for nine torturous months, Y/n endured a pregnancy. She was carrying a child of her presumed to be dead husband, which she didn’t believe in the slightest. Five Hargreeves was alive, and she knew that regardless of what anyone told her. She had a baby boy who she named Malachi. The same bright, alluring green as his fathers.

Despite his birth father not being around, Diego was a significant help. Diego stepped in where Five couldn’t. He was there for all of Malachi’s firsts and everything in between. But he was always Uncle Diego. A constant reminder that this man wasn’t his father. As far as the little boy knew, he didn’t have a father.

Things got more tricky as he got older. Malachi realized that a father figure was more common than not, which brought raising questions. She answered to the best of her abilities, but nothing was ever valid. None of her answers could be a hundred percent true because she didn’t know either. It was killing her to see her son this way.

He longed for a father. Wanted nothing more for a father-son relationship. Every birthday, every Christmas, he wished for his father to come home. It was killing Y/n because she understood his pain. The amount of dread, guilt, and sadness.

Maybe if she had told Five sooner, he would’ve never left. The guilt ate away at her. It was like an insect slowly crawling its way under her skin into her bones and nibbling them until they were gone. It didn’t help Malachi was an exact replica of his father. The dark, almost raven hair parted to the side, the glittering green eyes and a defined face.

No matter how long Five was gone, Y/n never took off her rings. She was a married woman until proven otherwise. Malachi had never even seen photos of his father. That was normal to him. All he knew was that his Uncles and Aunts told him he looked the exact same. Despite the same appearances, they had clashing personalities.

Malachi was the sweetest guy you could ever meet. Kind no matter who the person was. Wise beyond his years and intelligent like no other. His strong suit was English while he struggled in math. The irony was amusing. His father excelled in math, but he couldn’t do a two-step equation if he tried.

In the grand scheme of things, this didn’t matter. He got all the way up to high school. He was seventeen, to be exact, in his junior year of school. It was the summer before his senior year, and he couldn’t be more excited. As the years went on, the hope of meeting his father diminished to the point where he didn’t even think about it anymore.

He had his mom, and that’s all that mattered. His mom was his rock, his number one supporter, and his best friend. Malachi loved his mom more than anything and would give anything to keep her safe. Diego had grown to be like a father to him, but it was never the same. Malachi was sitting at the island doing homework while Y/n was cooking.

“ Hey, mom? “ He called, “ Yeah? “ Y/n turned to look at her son.

Malachi fidgeted with the pencil in his hand, “ Can I- Can I see your rings? “

“ My rings? Why? “ She asked, “ Well, dad gave them to you, didn’t he? “ Malachi replied.

Y/n nodded, “ Of course he did. We were married, technically we still are married. “

“ I just wanted to see what dad gave you. “ He murmured.

Hesitantly Y/n twisted both her engagement ring and her wedding ring off her left ring finger. She set them down on the granite island before her son so he could look at them. Gently he picked the engagement ring up and looked at it. It was the only time he’s ever seen the ring this close. She never took them off.

“ We got engaged in the snow. “ Y/n informed quietly, “ I really wasn’t expecting it. He never seemed like one to settle down. “

Malachi listened intently, “ Regardless. It was almost Christmas, and he took me to go Christmas shopping at one of the malls which was outside. “ She chuckled, “ Why he did that, I don’t know, but it was amusing. We got hot chocolate despite his love for coffee, and I made him wear a Santa hat. “

“ He was never into festivities before meeting me. Neither were your Aunts and Uncles. I started making holidays become more festive when you were born. Eventually, they got the hang of it. “ Y/n continued, “ Why was dad's name a number? “ He interjected.

“ He never got a name like the rest of his siblings. “ She answered plainly, “ Why? “

Y/n sighed, “ His father, more specifically your grandfather was a cruel man. Still is a very cruel man, which is why you’ve never met him. Reginald made the Umbrella Academy, where he adopted your dad along with his other siblings. “ She explained, “ They endured long days of training without breaks and horrid living environments. They were treated as experiments rather than children. “

“ They all got names, but Five didn’t want one. He rejected it because it didn’t matter. Name or anything. Their numbers would always define them, and Five was the only one who understood that. “ She finished.

“ What really happened to him? I know you’ve given me vague explanations, but I think I’m ready for the real thing. “ Malachi stated, “ I’m seventeen now. “

“ I know. Your father had powers. His others siblings do as well. They all do certain things. Five could travel through space and time. “ Y/n began, “ Growing up, he always felt the need to prove himself, to be better than everyone else. “

“ So, one day, he told me he was going to time travel. It was a big argument that definitely didn’t need to happen. At the time, I was a week pregnant with you, and I didn’t know how to tell him. “ She swallowed the emotions arising after remembering Five’s glare,

“ When I told him, it was too late. He was already out the door and gone. “

Y/n walked forward and took the rings back. She placed them back on her ring finger carefully as her son watched every movement. He knew she was upset. Malachi couldn’t help but be a bit resentful towards his father. All this to make a point? It seemed far-fetched.

“ That solution seems a bit absurd. “ Malachi commented, “ That's what I was trying to tell him, but he was very prideful and stubborn. “ Y/n replied.

A knock echoed through the apartment. The room felt tense. It wasn’t right; something felt off. Malachi felt it immediately cause he stood up and began walking to the door, wanting to protect his mother if a threat was there. Secretly Diego may have given him some defense classes, but that didn’t matter.

The boy opened the door to see almost the exact same face staring back at him, “ Who are you? “ Malachi snapped.

“ More importantly, who are you? “ The man retorted.

Every hair on Y/n’s body stood up. She knew that voice, and she knew that tone. It was him. He was back. It took everything inside her not to scream or cry but seeing Malachi hold his defensive stance against his own father was worrying her.

“ Malachi. “ She called, and he turned to her as she began to walk to the door, “ I need you to go to your room and promise not to eavesdrop. “

He wanted to protest, “ Please, sweet. I’ll be okay. I promise. “

Reluctantly Malachi backed away from the door giving the man a harsh glare that made the man evidently tense. Y/n waited for Malachi to be fully retreated in his bedroom before looking at the man in front of her.

“ Well. It looks like you’ve moved on. “ Five murmured, “ No- please. It isn’t what it looked like. “ She pleaded.

Her hand took his, and he recognized the rings on her finger. The same rings Malachi had just been examining. The same rings he took months to search for to find the perfect fit for his perfect girl. Everything seemed so colorful in his greyscale world now. His wife was still his.

“ Who- Who is he? “ His voice trembled as his lingering suspicion felt more accurate than ever, “ Come in and sit. We need to talk. “ Her voice was gentle and held no malice.

Five entered the now unrecognizable apartment. It wasn’t the same as when he left. In fact, everything seemed moved out of place. Y/n walked to the stove and turned off the burner that she was using. Five had peered at the papers on the island that were math worksheets and took a seat beside them.

“ Where did you go? “ She asked, “ The future. “

“ No shit. What did it look like? “ Y/n retorted playfully, “ It’s not as I hoped. It’s an apocalypse, love. “ His voice held so much pent emotion it was almost radiating off him.

She sighed, “ Okay. We need to talk about that- “

“ I- I want to know who that kid is. “ Five interrupted, and she gave him a knowing look, “ Malachi, can you come out here. “ Y/n called, and instantly he was out of his room.

The boy stood beside his mom, still not comfortable with the unfamiliar man. This time Five got a chance to really look at the teenage boy in front of him. The defined face, the almost raven hair, the same sage green eyes. His posture was protective and territorial, obviously for his mom.

“ Y/n… “ Five began as he swallowed the tears in his throat, “ Is- Is he mine? “

She nodded, “ Five Hargreeves, I’d like you to meet your son, Malachi Hargreeves. Malachi, I’d like you to meet your father, Five. “

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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

Text

Home

Series Summary: After being arrested, Spencer Reid desperately tries to get back home to his daughter, Camellia, who was placed into foster care in your home.

Pairing: Single!Dad!Spencer x Foster!Mom!Reader

Content/Warnings: smut at the very beginning (18+), fluff, one brief sexual remark at the end, swearing

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

Chapter 11

6 years later…

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well, angel,” Spencer praised as he had you bent over the cool granite bathroom countertop.

“Please, Spence,” you moaned.

“Please what, pretty girl? You’ve got to use your words. I know that mouth of yours works. We just tested it in the shower,” he grunted back, continuing to thrust into you.

“Harder. Need you to ruin me so bad,” you whined.

“God, I love you so much,” he groaned as he picked up the pace.

There were 3 loud bangs in the door.

“HEY! YOU HAVE A BEDROOM, YOU KNOW?” Callie screamed in disgust.

“Shit,” Spencer pulled out of you, still painfully hard as you both rushed to redress, “I was just giving Y/N a massage because of her back pain. That’s all,” Spencer panted through the door.

“Very believable,” she scoffed.

“I thought you were going on a date tonight with Sienna,” you spoke.

“I am. I just forgot my makeup bag here so I stopped by to get it. I didn’t realize I was going to have to be traumatized for life,” she replied.

You got her makeup bag from the cabinet and opened the door just a crack to give it to her.

“Okay, give me 1 minute to make it to the front door before anything continues,” she yelled.

“Okay! Don’t forget about Spencer and I’s vow renewment at 6 tomorrow!” you reminded her.

“I won’t! Bye, Dad! Bye, Mom!”

You heard her sprinting down the stairs, perhaps scared you would start right back up again.

“Be safe!” Spencer called back.

Spencer lifted you back up on the counter, taking off his t-shirt that you had put on, “Now, where were we?”

A lot had happened in the past six years. You continued to foster along with Spencer as joint guardian. Your first foster kid together was a toddler named Caleb. You had him for 3 months.

Poor Spencer wept when he got adopted and had to be taken to his new family. It was a loving young couple that had been carefully reviewed by the foster care agency so you had no doubt Caleb would be in great hands.

You held Spencer that night and told him that yes, it’s hard to let them go but you can’t keep all the kids you love because then you wouldn’t have any room for the ones in need.

A few days later, Eileen called you with another case. A six-year old girl named Rosie who loved to read.

Spencer got so excited and they had nightly book clubs where they would build a pillow fort and read together as you baked them cookies.

Then after that, a 10 year old boy named Eli who loved to go on hikes. Spencer would make a little wilderness fact sheet for him to take with you guys as nature wasn’t always his forte but he would join you on smaller walks.

Spencer, with Callie’s approval, presented you with almost completely filled out paperwork that would allow you to become Callie’s other legal guardian. It just made things easier than saying “ex-foster child whose dad I am now dating.”

He made such a big deal of it, throwing you and Callie a party to celebrate the adoption.

Spencer proposed to you after about a year of dating. You hadn’t stopped living together at your house so it was easy for him to transfer the last bit of his and Callie’s things over and sell the house.

You had a very small wedding the following month in a wildflower field. It was simple so you weren’t stressed out about planning and allowed you just to focus on having a good time.

5 blissful years later, you were going back to the same field to renew your vows.

You were wearing a simple yet elegant white satin gown that just barely brushed the ground. Your bouquet just as it had been before was wildflowers that you freshly picked from the field.

The ceremony was just for the two of you. Callie would be the officiant but there would be no other guests. You both just wanted an intimate moment to declare your love for one another once again.

Instead of walking down the aisle alone, you and Spencer approached Callie together, holding hands.

“We are here today for Y/N Y/L/N and Spencer Reid to renew their wedding vows 5 years later and reproclaim their love. It is a love that’s always there even in the smallest, subtlest ways,” Callie spoke, “Dad requested to go first.”

Spencer took a deep breath, “I need to get this out before I get emotional,” he unfolded a piece of paper from his suit pocket, “You always tell me Winnie the Pooh quotes so I thought I would return the favor with a one I found very fitting…‘If you live to be a hundred, I hope I live to be a hundred minus one day so that I never have to live without you.’ Y/N, you and Callie are the best things ever to happen to me. While the way you came into my life was definitely unconventional to say the least, I would do it all over again just to be able to meet you. You are the most generous, loving, courageous, and intelligent person on this planet and I feel so grateful to get to be the person who loves you the most in this world.”

“Oh god,” you held up your head to the sky, trying to blink back tears, “How am I supposed to get through mine?”

“Take your time,” Spencer spoke, “I’ll be here forever.”

You opened your little journal, “Spencer, all I can say is I love you so damn much. I can't even remember my life without you and Callie. Looking back on it now, I realize now how incredibly lonely I was. Yes, I had Winnie and the occasional foster kid but I really had no one. No one who understood my facial expressions without words, no one who knew exactly what to say to me, no one to be loved by. You and Callie showed me what I was missing. I’m so beyond happy to be a part of your family.”

“We are even happier to have you,” Callie added, “With that, you may kiss your wife,” Callie smiled.

Spencer leaned in to kiss you and cupped your cheeks. You pulled him in even closer by his tie.

“Alright, alright, break it up, you two,” Callie warned, “Here’s a hotel key. It’s a gift from me and Sienna but also so I don’t have to be traumatized again.”

“Thank you, sweetheart” you hugged her, accepting the key.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Spencer kissed the top of her head.

Spencer, always a gentleman, opened the passenger side door of Penelope’s convertible that you were borrowing. You picked the sides of your dress up to climb inside.

Spencer ran around to the other side and hopped in, pulling you back in for another passionate kiss.

“I’m going to absolutely ruin you in this dress tonight, angel,” he whispered in your ear.

“Looking forward to it, husband,” you grinned.

With that, you drove off into the sunset together, the back bumper painted ‘5 years down, forever to go’ as you tossed your bouquet into the warm breeze.

A/N: i apologize if this final chapter seemed a little rushed. i just moved into college and i start classes soon so i’m going to be too overwhelmed to finish it for a while! thank you to everyone who read this series, left comments, reblogged, etc <3

main taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @ssacalumsg0lden @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @babymetaldoll @fics4arainyday @ssavanessa22 @all-tings-diego @idonotexiste @beepbooptoop @tvandfanfic @mggsprettygirl @big-galaxy-chaos @navs-bhat @spencerreidsmommy @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @mggs-sidehoe @rexit-mo @hufflepuffhaze @thisismynerdyself @xoxospencerreid @wifeyprentiss @reidsbookclub @spencersrose @pinkdiamond1016 @muffin-cup

series taglist: @ilovespencerreidmarryme @nani-2305 @obsessivelysearching @fantasynerd09 @bvttercupbby @britishspidey @ladyravenclaw @belledawnidk @annesauriol @smokey102 @lady-himbo @kaitieskidmore1 @westanspencerreid @manuosorioh @haylaansmi @unhea1thy0bsessions @meganskane @lovergirl24 @queenariesofnarnia (additional tags in reblog)

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminals minds #cm fic #cm fanfic

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stinkrascal · 2 years

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TRANSCRIPT

picture one vladislaus: walk with me, genevieve? gen: ...okay.

picture two vladislaus: it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? gen: i guess. vladislaus: are you enjoying yourself, genevieve? gen: ...you don’t have to call me that every time we talk, dad. vladislaus: your name? gen: just call me gen. it sounds better. vladislaus: i love your name. your mother picked it. gen: okay, well, she’s got shit taste in names.

picture three vladislaus: that’s rude. gen: it’s just my opinion. just being honest. vladislaus: tact is a virtue. gen: whatever. is this about anything? vladislaus: [ sighs ] your mother seems very excited about this trip to granite falls, but the more i think about it, the less i feel it’s appropriate that you accompany us on vacation.

picture four vladislaus: i don’t believe it’s fair that you’re rewarded for your poor behavior. surely, you’re old enough to know to speak respectfully to your mother. gen: ...oh. you know about that. vladislaus: calling your mother a pet? yes, i know about that. gen: i didn’t really mean it like that. i was just saying.

picture five vladislaus: what exactly is it you’re saying? because from what your mother explained, it sounds as though you are, in fact, comparing your mother to an animal. please, enlighten me. what deeper meaning can i derive from your statements? gen: ...it just bothered me. vladislaus: what did? gen: she’s telling me to go outside, but what does she do? vladislaus: and this justifies calling her an animal?

picture six vladislaus: does it make you feel better when you belittle your mother’s contributions to our home? do you feel accomplished for insulting your mother for cleaning up after you, while you gleefully neglect your laundry and spend the money i deposit into your bank account on video games? gen: ...don’t have to be rude about it. vladislaus: you didn’t give your mother that consideration, did you? gen: ...

picture seven gen: fine, sorry. is that what you want to hear? vladislaus: i’m not the one who’s owed an apology, and i don’t want you to apologize if you’re unable to understand why you’re apologizing. i want you to reflect on this, i want you to truly think about why you feel this behavior is okay. gen: ...whatever. i didn’t wanna go to your stupid cabin anyways.

picture eight vladislaus: that’s fine. i’m certain you’ll find some way to keep yourself entertained.

#ts4 #straud: all #straud: legacy #generation: one #vladislaus straud #oc: gen straud #🌱#the sims 4

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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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