#the grey hoodie is number one always but these aren’t far behind

[charliework16]

the man rocks a good old zip up hoodie too

#the grey hoodie is number one always but these aren’t far behind #charlie day #its always sunny in philadelphia #charlie kelly #iasip

[toplinetommy]

Kill My Lonely Nights - Tyson Jost

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

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

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

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

words: 20k+

warnings: alcohol, smut, unprotected sex​

“Tyson, you know my neighbor right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Correct.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You liked the squash, eh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think JT’s looking for you.”

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

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

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

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

“Does JT know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I talked to my mom this morning.”

“Yeah? How is she?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is there to talk about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long has this been going on for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He literally tripped me in practice today!”

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

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

“But,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we talk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plus One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#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

[missjaystone]

Coming Home

Summary: After a year alone, your lover finally comes back home, but he’s not the same. Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2,270 Warnings: Vague-ish smut, angsty-ish, meh

You stared at the naked man behind you in the mirror with a surprised grin on your face, a quiet laugh leaving you "you can't be serious, Billy." He chuckled and nodded, his own grin adorning his face as he rested his head on your shoulder and pulled your back into his chest "I'm one hundred percent serious, baby, I want you to marry me." "Weren't you ever warned about marrying strippers?" You asked with a hum. "I was, but I know you aren't after my money, and I don't mind your job, makes me feel proud knowing other guys can only look at you and dream, while I get to fuck you senseless every night," he said as he ground his hips into yours. "So you wanna marry me to stroke your own ego?" You asked sarcastically. "And because I love you. You're not only the most beautiful girl I've ever seen but you're smart, funny, and I always feel like the luckiest guy in the world when I'm with you. Not to mention, we'd have some pretty fucking cute babies, I mean, look at us," he pecked your neck softly and grinned.

He picked the ring up from the box on the counter and slid it onto your finger "what do you say babygirl? Wanna be Mrs. Billy Russo?" "I say fuck yes," you said excitedly. You turned around to kiss him and giggled against his lips when he quickly picked you up and set you on the counter. Another round of gleeful, celebratory sex followed before you two showered, which led to another round before he left for work. You found yourself looking forward to planning the wedding. Unfortunately, he went missing five months later. He never came back to your shared apartment, you found his car with several parking tickets, and god knows the NYPD wasn't any help at all, the entire city knew that.

Life without Billy took some getting used to; you weren't even sure it was something you could get used to. It hurt, coming home to a cold bed in an empty apartment. What hurt even more though, was having to watch your stomach grow in the months that followed. Being handed the small brown-eyed bundle with his tuft of dark hair nearly made you break. You heavily contemplated giving the child up for adoption, but when you thought of Billy, you knew that's not what he would have wanted, especially given his own experience in the system. You also thought about quitting the gentlemen's club, finding something more suitable for a mom, you did have a computer programming degree, your student loans were the reason you started working at the club, but nothing paid as well and offered the flexibility you needed. You got back to work when he turned a month old, the elderly woman in the apartment next door offered to babysit him while you were gone.

"Hey, Kitty, you've got a guy in room three asking for you," your manager said as you made your way off stage, giving a small hum in reply. You sighed quietly on your way to the room, already counting down the minutes until you could leave; 43 minutes and 21 seconds. How is it that almost a year since he vanished, he was still so prevalent in your mind? After closing the door behind you, you took in the man's appearance. He wore loose jeans and a dark grey hoodie that obscured his features. You sighed to yourself and thought 'oh great, another creep'. This wasn't a new thing, men in their thirties and forties came in dressed like this all the time, trying to obscure their features so nobody could ever identify them in case any snooping wives came around.

"Did you have a specific song in mind for your dance?" You asked as you picked up the tablet that connected to the room's speakers. "It'll be a bit of an unusual request but, you know that song 'Baby I'm Yours'?" He asked awkwardly. You nearly dropped the device in your hands, biting your lip as tears already began to well; the voice sounded familiar but you couldn't turn and look yet, you couldn't get your hopes up. "There are a number of songs with that name, can you be more specific?" You asked in as steady of a voice as you could manage. "The version by the Arctic Monkeys," he clarified, clearing his throat some. This time, you did drop the tablet; you suddenly felt unsteady in your platform stilettos.

You didn't even hear him get up but you felt his hands on your arms when you started to turn around "don't, please, don't look at me. I need you to remember me as I was." You exhaled deeply and shook your hand, slapping his hands away "no. I deserve to be looked in the eye when you tell me why the fuck you disappeared." When you turned to face him, you were greeted with a white mask that had cracks and breaks drawn on it. He shook his head, gripping your wrists when you tried to take it off "I didn't mean to. I-I was meeting with someone and it turned ugly and next thing I knew, I was in a hospital with memories missing and nightmares. I was there for six months before things started coming back and then I remembered you. I've been trying to find you and say I'm sorry, beg for you back but I'm-I'm not the same man you were engaged to. I barely recognize the man in the mirror now."

Before you had time to think, you yanked one of your wrists out of his grasp and slapped him, the mask falling to the ground. A shocked gasp left your lips as you took in his scarred features, his eyes immediately screwing shut to avoid seeing your expression. "Billy, I-what happened?" You asked quietly. "I was fighting with Frank and uh, he thought this was a fate worse than death. I guess he was right," he answered with a dry chuckle. When you remained speechless, he kept talking "I just wanted to see you one last time, to tell you how much I loved you, but I'm not gonna make you be with someone so hideously, grotesquely disfigured." The way he spoke about himself sent pangs of sadness to your heart. He may not have looked the same but he was far from hideous or grotesque. You were pulled out of your shock when you saw him reaching down for his mask, presumably leaving.

"No." You finally said, looking at him with an angry frown. "I'm sorry?" He asked, his own expression turning shocked when you snatched the mask from his hands. "I said no. You don't get to make that fucking decision for me, Billy! You don't just get to decide if I want to be with you or not! How fucking dare you just show up and decide for me! Do you know how much of a fucking nightmare this past year has been?" You asked, shoving his chest as angry tears began to roll down your cheeks. "I'm just trying to save you the embarrassment of-" he started to say before you started again "I wouldn't be embarrassed because I didn't love you for your looks you egotistical asshole! I loved you for who you were! Even when you were gone, when I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, I loved you. Every time I look at our son, I think about how much I love you and would give anything to have you back, only for you to come here and tell me you're leaving to spare me the embarrassment. How fucking dare you," you shoved him again, paying zero attention to how he reacted to anything you said.

Your hand was raised to slap him again but he caught your wrist, eyes widened some "we have a son?" "Yes, Billy! And every time I look into his eyes, I'm reminded of everything we shared, everything I'd give up just to have you back in my life, because I loved you with every fiber of my being. I never cared about what you looked like, you made me feel happy and safe and loved and I thought I made you feel the same but I must not have if you think so little of me, that I'd bolt at the sight of you right now." His stance noticeably softened at your words and he frowned at you "do you really think you could spend your life with someone who looks like I do, now? Children are always gonna point and stare when we walk down the street, men are never gonna leave you alone, your girlfriends are gonna tell you you can do better than someone who looks like Frankenstein."

You sighed quietly and gently cupped his cheeks, frowning at the way he flinched before you even came into contact with the marred flesh. The edges of your mouth curled up in a tiny smile as you looked into his eyes "Frankenstein's monster would be lucky to look like you, Billy." A small groan escaped him at your subtle correction. His hands came to rest on your hips. "You fucking nerd," he mumbled with a chuckle as he let you pull him into a kiss like your life depended on it. His lips only left yours when you fell onto the room's couch, quickly pulling him down with you. Your minimal, barely-there "outfit" was quickly gone, leaving you in only the heels while he shed his layers. The minute he was free, he was back on you, two of his fingers teasing your entrance while his thumb circled your clit, pulling soft, needy noises he'd missed oh so much, noises that got him through the nights he spent alone before finding you again.

And when you finally told him you were ready, it took all of his self-control to go slowly and savor the feelings he'd miss; the way your channel squeezed his member like a vise, the way your legs locked around his hips, and his favorite was the way you peppered kisses along his chest, neck, and face before finally meeting his lips. There were tears in your eyes as he slowly moved his hips, tears he kissed away lovingly while holding you as close as he possibly could. "I missed you so much, angel," he whispered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "I missed you too, Billy," you whispered back as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Once the moments of adjusting to each other's bodies again passed, Billy started moving his hips roughly, almost angrily like he was trying to make up for lost time (which he was). Each moan he pulled from you gave him a little more confidence and made him go faster, harder, deeper; sure, he was seeking his own pleasure, but he was searching his still-scrambled brain for what got you off before. Finally, he recalled the special spots that made you lose it; he angled his hips up a bit so he was repeatedly pistoning into your g-spot, smirking as you louder moans and swears that escaped you. He began kissing just above your collarbone too, sucking and nibbling on the soft skin until a nice, visible lovebite could be seen.

His lips crashed into yours when he felt you tightening around him right before your climax hit, muffling your moans and his as your release triggered his. His hips moved lazily as you came down with him, both of you panting slightly. He looked down at you adoringly after planting a kiss on your forehead "when are you finished with work?" "Any minute now, I bet," you answered happily. You gave him a quick kiss before lazily getting dressed. You checked the time on the tablet and hummed happily "I finished three minutes ago, apparently. Hurry up and get dressed so we can go home." You playfully winked at him before you left the private room. You quickly went to the back and changed into your street clothes before clocking out, meeting Billy by the door.

With your hand in his, you led him to your car and drove him to your tiny apartment. He hung back while you picked your son up from your neighbor, thanking her repeatedly before you led him inside. He followed you to your son's room, swooning over the chubby infant who babbled in his sleep "what'd you name him?" "William Russo, but I call him Will," you answered with a tired but happy smile, moving the tuft of hair out of the baby's face. "Can I-can I hold him?" He asked nervously, hesitantly. Every single one of his muscles tensed as you carefully put the child in his arms. More tears rolled down his cheeks and he bit his lip to stop from crying out loud "he's perfect." You just nodded in agreement as you watched, leaning against Billy's side some. Suddenly, Billy looked at you with watery eyes and whispered "can he sleep with us tonight? I never want to put him down." You smiled at him and nodded "of course he can, baby." You led Billy back to your room and let him get comfortable in bed while you did you changed into your PJs and did your nightly routine. When you stepped out of the bathroom less than ten minutes later, Billy was already passed out, firmly holding the infant on his chest. You smiled fondly at the sight; your love finally came back home.

Taglist: @bdffkierenwalker​

#Billy Russo #Billy Russo x Reader #Billy Russo Smut #Billy Russo Angst #The Punisher #I'm soft for this man #I just- I want him to be happy #Yes even though he's kinda a psycho

[cryptidcircuslife]

Hi unofficial compilation of Getting Away From A Place tips

this is tailored to a specific situation so please do your own research for stuff more specific to you

running away tips subreddit

Short Term Preparation:

These are the things you can prepare now if you have to get out fast and unexpectedly

Do not tell anyone about your plan other than those directly involved in helping you.

Make a plan for your cash. You don't want to access an account your family can access or freeze. Slowly withdraw money and hide it if it's at risk of being taken. Withdrawing it all the day you leave will raise a red flag and have you on camera (atm or bank), if you even have time. As a legal adult, you may be able to get away with this because you aren't doing anything against the law. Just make sure to do it before your family finds out about you leaving. When you leave, if you don’t want to be traced- don’t use cards.

For hiding paper cash- you know your house and its occupants best. Determine what objects you have that won't be thrown away or tampered with by someone, and if they have a hollow space, store it. I used to use opaque pill bottles, hidden pockets or bindings in notebooks, the linings of old dvd or game cases, water bottles, gum cases, (all of these put in clothing or backpack pockets), opening the lining of coats and backpacks and hiding it inside of that, inside of hygeine products like the hollow part of a deodorant stick. Inside old electronics. in the stuffing of a plushie. Underneath the insoles of shoes you dont wear often.

Even if your money isn't at risk of being taken, store some of it separately anyway for emergencies.

I heard the bare minimum for running away with no destination or job is $1k. Judge for yourself your needs.

Get a backpack. Waterproof/resistant is better, but any is good. Don't pack it yet, so you don't arouse suspicion. But test out packing it to see if everything fits, and unpack it. Modify some hidden compartments so that when you travel, you will have places to hide your IDs and Cash- it's necessary so no one steals it. You want to travel light, regardless of your situation, because packing and carrying a ton of stuff takes time and you don't always have time on the day you leave.

Get a secondary bag. I learned the hard way that a backpack doesn't fit everything you'll need. Especially with amenities, food, clothing, personal possessions.... A duffel bag, one of those canvas grocery bags. A tote. Something to hold by hand.

Packing lists for running away are surprisingly similar to emergency evacuation pack lists.

Clothes to pack: 1 short sleeve shirt. 1 long sleeve shirt. 1 pair of pants. 7 sock pairs. 7 underwear pairs. 1 jacket. Some winter gear if you can, because nights will always be cold especially if you are stuck outside.

Hygeine to pack: deodorant. toothpaste. toothbrush. floss. baking soda if you’ll be on the road for a long time. Special products you may need- cream for a skin condition, sunscreen. I recommend a small essential oil bottle as a bug repellent, and some have antibacterial properties to help you/your clothes not smell musty af, and they're safe on the skin.

Must-haves to pack: you should have your social security card and another form of ID, like a state ID or drivers license. Pass port if you have one, and birth certificate or a copy if you can. Your cash. A map of your state/region.

Valuables to pack: bring a few things to keep you entertained that are small. A small book, or a notebook and pen. Try not for anything too heavy or bulky. Any survival gear you may own (sewing kits, first aid, multitools, matches, lighters).

If you will be staying outside, get a sleeping bag. Thermal blanket for cold temps.

Food to pack: bring healthy nonperishable food. Junk food won't do much for you on the move. Go for granola/protein bars, dried fruit, meat bars, jars of nut butters, canned food. A water bottle. Bring all medication you need.

Stuff to wear on you: go for baggy and multi-pocketed stuff. Don't wear your favorite clothing if you don't want to be identified, and make sure they blend well into the environment. Grey is the most unnoticeable color, then black, then neutrals. If identification isn't a problem, only wear and pack your favorite things. Wear comfortable and travel safe shirt and pants. Wear a hoodie or tie it around your waist so it doesnt take up bag space. A hat. Keep some cash in a hidden pocket if you can. Wear comfortable sneakers you can move around in for a long time and is good for the weather of where you live. Keep your self defense on you - knives, pepper spray, etc. (and learn the laws for those in your area)

Note: Storing some of these supplies around or in hiding places won't be too weird. Keeping the 'valuables' in the backpack won't be too strange to anyone either. Keeping everything nearby so you can quickly dump everything in the bags and go is a good idea. But Do Not Pack the clothes until the day you leave. clothes are a warning signal for leaving. And you cannot let them find out about your plans, especially if you are in a dangerous place.

Last note: know these are flexible to you. You can add or change stuff, as long as you have the most important things.

Long Term:

These are the things you can prepare for better

Save as much money as possible. You can secretly sell things.

Research more about what you may experience, be that attaining financial independence or how to train hop and live on the streets temporarily. Look at other people's tips for running away, or their experiences. Research moving out tips. Research specific to your area or where you will be headed. Libraries, shelters, charities, support organizations, 24-hour restaurants and locations. Research ticket prices, gas prices, etc. Apartment search. Be sure to remove those from your history. Cleaning it entirely may be suspicious if someone monitors that.

Build a budget and a food plan for how you will use your savings on the road.

As an adult, if you manage to get hired secretly for a job in your target location, you can apply for housing there, too. You will get set move-in dates and can give dates you can start working that work with your runaway schedule.

If you're running away as a minor, you can't stay with friends. However, as an adult you can. If someone is trying to find you, you'll have to be careful still.

If you need to leave fake trails because someone might search for you, there are some excellent resources by people trying to hide from domestic violence. The main tips are leaving fake trails in cities far away from wherever you will be- job applications you have no intention of following through on, apartment applications, phone calls, internet searches, purchases, etc. These can go more in-depth.

If you will be tracked, figure out how to get a burner phone. These are pretty cheap, and so are their service plans. You may want to consider this anyway to pay for your own service if your phone is taken off the existing one. Write down phone numbers you want to keep.

Make sure you have the proper amounts of medications you will need.

Be careful with this one, but figure out if you have any smaller hard-to-replace valuables that you want to bring to your new life but can't pack for your method of travel or might get stolen. Only do this if you have a place you are going to, and are going to get a job and housing there. Make a plan with a trusted friend to hold on to a few things you cannot carry in your bags and arrange for them to be mailed or picked up later. Only do this with one or two things that are easy to carry, because you will need to get it to them somehow, right? dont do this if you don't have the methods or the time before your runaway day. A good example is that I don't want to replace my laptop but I can't tow it through town and across state lines on a train. my friend can take care of it until I am settled.

Tie off any loose ends that you need to. This can be waiting for a responsibility to be gone, waiting for a last paycheck, or attending something you wanted to go to one last time.

Delete old accounts, and eventually deleting your emails and social media associated with your identity.

Note: The best thing you can do with time is make your supplies as efficient as possible, and plan. plan plan plan.

Schedule your leave date. or a range of leaving dates. But know sometimes it can be unpredictable. Make it a day when no one is home- especially if it's a dangerous situation.

On Runaway Day:

Hopefully you have a small window of time where you are alone.

Make sure you’re wearing all your runaway clothes you have prepared.

Pack your backpack and duffel bag quickly.

Leave a note, even if you don't want to. This is important, because you don't want a search for you because someone thought you were kidnapped or murdered. This way, officials can pretty much ignore it since it was voluntary.

Don’t look nervous or afraid while you are out, since that’ll draw unwanted attention.

If you made a plan for someone to pick you up, or to meet someone, make sure they are punctual. Don't meet right in front of your house if possible. Go a few streets away or somewhere less noticeable. Again, make sure whatever you bring is easy to carry so you move fast and no one tries to steal it.

If unfortunately you have to leave very quickly and haphazardly, leave anything not immediately important to survival behind.

Buy your burner phone with cash. Add your written numbers to the contacts. Create your new email and social media from there. If you're hiding, don't take pictures of yourself. Don't use your real name or information. Keep private accounts, and don't interact with anyone who will give you away.

If you have other travel plans, make your way there. Head to your safe places, your shelter, wherever you have planned. You are in your new life.

Once You Are Out:

Take care of your immediate needs. Find resources for food, water, and shelter.

Start accessing any support resources, regardless of what your situation is. In a town I lived in, there was an LGBTQ+ resource center that had entertainment/food/clothing/education clubs/showering/laundry/other amenities and programs for both lgbtq+ and homeless youth. I also took part in a gift drive for a specific minority that I qualified as, which gave me a lot of food.

Start working towards your future goals. Start job searching, and from there being able to secure housing. Start making friends. build a support structure. i hope it goes well

Rebuild your supplies and closet when you have the location security to do so.

#runaway #running away #runaway help #runaway tips #running away help #running away tips #abuse survival

[peterspideyy]

eighteen

summary- tom looks back on when you were both young. and how he wishes he could go back to that.

warnings- fluff, angst, swearing, oh and did i mention angst?

italics are flashbacks- sorry if it gets confusing

————

tom remembers when you both fell in love at eighteen.

he remembers the first time you met. in that little cafe, on the school campus. and as cliche as it sounds, when hot coffee was split all over tom’s grey shirt, and you started to panic grabbing as much tissues as you could, tom knew in that moment he would love you forever. so after swapping numbers, with a very embarrassed y/n, tom took you out. and to say you were both nervous was an understatement.

“y-you look nice.” tom mumbled, glancing up to meet your eyes quickly, before turning away, blushing like mad.

you were wearing just some jeans and a hoodie, but tom has never seen something so cute before.

“th-thanks,” you stammered, smiling and blushing just as much as tom was, “you look nice t-too.”

“me? wh-what...i-i thank you.” tom replied, pushing his hair back, with his left hand out of his face. he then suddenly remembered the gift he bought you, before moving his right arm infront of him, which was grasping tightly onto a bunch of yellow flowers.

“th-these are for you.” he smiled, while his palms started to sweat. he started to mentally panic just incase the sunflowers fell out of his clammy hand.

you looked from the flowers to meet tom’s loving gaze, and you swear you lost your breath at how he was looking at you.

“wow...i-i, thank you s-so much.”

you took the sunflowers out of tom’s grasp, your fingers brushing against his causing you both to gasp at the electrical spark you suddenly felt. you bet tom felt it too, at how wide his eyes were.

“er...should we go?” he asked, pointing behind him to no where in particular.

you nodded, “w-where exactly are you taking me?”

“it’s a surprise.” tom winked, causing you to giggle shyly, looking down at your feet.

“if you end up being a serial killer, and i end up dead then i won’t be too happy.”

tom laughed at that comment, “trust me darling, i’m no serial killer.”

“that comment just made you sound like one.”

tom rolled his eyes playfully, extending his hand out for you to take. he titled his head to the side, biting his lip slightly. “take a leap of faith with me, love?”

how could you say no to those puppy dog eyes?

you placed your hand on his, and he immediately intertwined your fingers together, squeezing it reassuringly.

“come on. you’ll love it.”

tom remembers your first date like the back of his hand. and how he took you to the beach, and you sat on the sand for hours and hours, just talking about everything and anything. tom loves everything about you. apart from the fact that you like mushrooms.

he remembers the first kiss you both shared on that beach. he was surprised by how he was acting, as he wasn’t scared or nervous. he just wanted to kiss you. he needed to kiss you. and by the way your eyes glimmered in the moonlight, you wanted to kiss him too. so he closed the gap between you both, and tom physically felt his heart melting with yours. he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, as you smiled into his lips, and he instantly knew he would be yours forever.

he remembers when you both first uttered those three important words.

headphones were placed in both of your ears, as you both quietly walked to school, with your hands intertwined. once in a while, you could hear tom softly hum the lyrics to the song you were listening too, causing a faint smile to appear on your face.

“what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” tom questioned, gesturing to your grin.

you glanced at tom, “just thinking about how cute my boyfriend is.”

tom blushed, looking down at your intertwined hands, “god, i love you so much.”

you froze at his words, causing you to stop waking making tom fly back at the sudden movement. he took in your wide eyes, and instantly started to panic.

“shit, too soon? i’m sorry i-i just neeeded to let you know how much you mean to me. i’m sorry if i’m moving too fast. or if you don’t feel the-“

you cut tom off, by grabbing his collar and yanking him down to place your lips on his, causing tom to let out a surprise yelp, but soon melted into your touch. you pulled back, breathing out heavily, as you curled a piece of tom’s loose curl around your finger.

“i love you too, holland.”

tom remembers when he first met your parents, on that sunny saturday.

“y/n, i-i don’t think i can do this.” tom mumbled, nerves eating him away as he stood on the patio of your house, with your parents just behind the door.

you placed your hands on his cheek, forcing his eyes to lock with yours, before leaning in and placing your lips on his nose, causing it to crinkle in the most adorable way.

“tom, i love you. they’ll love you. come on, what’s not there to like about you?”

he sighed, “d-darling, these are your parents. if i make one mistake-“

“tom,” you cut off, not allowing him to finish his sentence, “i promise you, by the end of this you won’t know what you were stressing about. because they’ll love you and see how you’re the right person for me.”

he smiled, “you’re the right person for me too.”

you smiled back, as tom leaned down to press a sweet peck to your cheek, as his eyes closed momentarily, before leaning back, and intertwining his hands with yours.

“let’s get this over with, before i panic and not go in.”

you both walked a few steps to the front door. tom’s heart rate was increasing by each step, and he was scared if your parents could hear it, inside the house. he was about to say to you, how he can’t do it anymore, but the front door swung open, causing tom’s breath to get caught up in his throat.

“mum. dad. this is my boyfriend, tom.” you smiled.

tom gulped, his grip on your hands tightening as your parents turned to face him. you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of your once confident boyfriend, break down at the sight of your family.

“h-hi, mrs l/n and mr l/n.” tom stammered, before mentally kicking himself for acting so terrified.

“tom, don’t call us by mrs and mr. we aren’t that old.”

your mum laughed, walking towards your boyfriend, before wrapping her arms around him, and bringing him into a tight hug. tom’s eyes went wide at the sudden contact, not expecting this as soon as he met your parents. tom glanced at you, noticing how wide your smile was. your mum leant back, allowing your dad to shake tom’s hand, which he gladly took.

“welcome to the family, tom.”

tom remembers on your one year anniversary, when he told you sweet things he promised he would forever keep. he kept to some. not all of them.

“did you seriously take us to the beach we went to on our first date?”

tom blushed, leaning down to hide his face in the crook of your neck, as you threaded your fingers through his brown locks.

“and you say i’m the chessy one.” you commented, causing tom to groan, as he leant back.

“i thought it would be nice.” he pouted.

you chuckled, “love, i’m kidding. we’ve been together for a year, and you still don’t know when i’m being sarcastic.”

tom blushed, “well, i guess you know why we’re here then. for our one year anniversary.”

your eyes gleamed, as you wrapped your arms around tom’s shoulders, while his arms wrapped around your waist. you both smiled at each other, before tom leaned down. you shuddered at the feeling of his hot breath against your lips, before he reduced the distance, placing his lips on yours. you hummed contently, as you were overcome with so much love and adoration for the british boy. playing with the hairs on the back of his neck, you completely melted at his soft touch. the kiss wasn’t rushed, it was slow. passionate. holding so much happiness in it. after a while, you pulled away, breathing in as much air as you could, laughing slightly at the fact your boyfriend literally took your breath away.

“y/n.” tom mumbled, voice wavering. you looked up, noticing how his honey orbs were already looking at you, with tears threatening to fall.

“i-i was going to wait until after we had something to eat, but i-i don’t think i can.”

he pulled away slightly, reaching into his coat jacket, to pull out a small velvet box. you glanced at him, before taking the box out of his grasp, opening it. a gasp left your lips, at the sight of a silver necklace, with a heart shaped pendent attached to it, with the date you first met, engraved on it. you looked up, not even noticing the tears falling down your cheek, until tom softly wiped them away.

“i know we’re only young, but darling my heart feels so fucking full when i’m with you. i’ve never had any good relationships in my life so far, b-but you. you being the most gorgeous and most understanding person on this earth, has caused me to fall deeply and madly and utterly in love with you. and my wasted heart will forever love you.”

“t-tom...i-“

“no let me finish.”

he took your hands in his, squeezing them slightly.

“i promise that one day i’ll ask you to be my wife. i promise that we’ll move into a lovely house. we’ll get a dog. or hundreds of dogs. we’ll start a family of our own. love, i promise i’ll always be there for you. in thick and thin. and when things get tough, when we grow older, because believe me the real world is a stressful place. i’ll still be with you. till the day i die i’ll forever be by your side. because, you’re so important to me. and i can never loose you.”

“i-i love you too, tom.” you cried, not really knowing how to reply. but, all you did know was that you weren’t leaving tom’s side either. no matter what.

and as the sun set, causing the water to glimmer, tom leaned down to press his lips against yours.

“tom?”

a voice spoke, cutting off his thoughts instantly. tom looked up from his alcoholic drink, glancing tiredly at harrison who had a sympathetic smile plastered on his face.

“you ready?”

tom breathed out, shaking slightly, turning back to his drink, swirling it around in his glass as tears welled up in his eyes for the hundredth time this past month. but, they never fell. he gulped the last of his drink, wincing as the harsh taste wandered it’s way down his throat. placing the glass back onto the bar, he caught sight of his wedding ring, his breath hitching. he will never take that off. no matter what, he’ll forever wear it.

“mate?” harrison asked again, as tom looked at him.

“y-yeah, i’m ready.”

harrison patted him on the back, as they both excited the bar. tom noticed all the people he didn’t recognise, wearing black suits or dresses. but, he physically stiffened as his eyes landed on your parents.

your mum noticed tom first, immediately leaving your dad’s side to walk over to him. tom was half expecting her to yell. scream at him. but, she didn’t do any of that. instead, she wrapped her arms around him, bringing him into a tight hug. tom’s eyes went wide at the sudden contact, before wrapping his arms around her too. his heart panged as he felt her cry into his shoulder. after a while, she pulled back, smiling but her tears gave away how truly broken she was.

“m-mrs l/n, i’m s-so sorry.” tom stammered, mentally kicking himself. he shouldn’t be like this infront of your mum.

“tom, what h-have i said about calling me that, hey?”

tom smiled slightly, but it never met his eyes.

“besides, i don’t blame you-“

“you should.”

“ah,” she cut off, “i don’t blame anyone. apart from that drunk man. your the best thing that ever happened y/n, so don’t blame yourself. it’s not your fault.”

“but, if i hadn’t of argued with her. over something so insignificant...” tom trailed off, gulping down the lump in his through, before chocking out his next words.

“she would still be alive.”

“i’m going, i can’t deal with your shit anymore.”

“no, y/n, wa-“

tom’s words were cut off, as the front door slammed shut, causing the whole house to vibrate. tessa wined in her bed at the sudden racket, while tom groaned loudly, stomping his way over to the couch, before sitting down and placing his head in his hands.

the argument was over something stupid. so stupid he can hardly remember. leaving his shoes out? not doing the dishes? tom hasn’t got a clue. but, harsh words were thrown. harsh words that weren’t true. even though, you both knew they weren’t true, it still hurt. it hurt so much, that the person you truly loved would say those things about you.

tom sighed heavily.

but, realisation hit him like a truck. you’re his wife for god sake. you can’t break up over something so small, can you? and he won’t let you go that easily. he loves you so much. and he will forever love you.

reaching over for his phone, he called your number, bringing the device up to his ear, as he patiently waited for you to answer. his leg started to bounce up and down, as the endless cycle of ringing filled his ear drums. then the line went silent, before your voice broke through.

“hi-“

“y/n, i-“

“sorry i’m not available right now, please call again!”

tom swore under his breath, calling you again. and again. and again. until finally you picked up. properly this time.

“tom, stop calling me-“

“no, y/n, before you end the call, just listen.” he shouted, standing up off the couch.

“i’m sorry, baby, i’m so sorry about what i said. i didn’t mean any of it. the way i feel when i’m with you, is nothing i’ve ever experienced. i love you so fucking much. you make me so unbelievably happy, i-i can’t put into words.”

tom heard you sigh on the other end, and he can imagine the little clocks in your brain turning and thinking of hundreds of scenarios. he loves that about you.

“i’m sorry too, tom. i don’t hate you. it’s quite the opposite infact. it’s just...”

“just what? talk to me, love.”

“just,” you started, “i’m trying to run our lives, tom. i’m always trying to keep the house tidy and look after tessa and all the money bills and everything. and i know your busy with your acting. and i know how passionate you are about it, and i love that about you. but, you’re never home. and i miss you, so fucking much. it hurts me, tom. it hurts me so much.”

you were crying now. so was tom.

“oh, darling. i hate going to work. i miss you too, when i’m away. i’m sorry i’m leaving you behind with all these things to do. i know how stressful it must be.”

“yeah, pretty stressful. it was easier when we were in school.” you laughed, causing tom to chuckle too. even in the darkest of situations, you still found a way to smile. tom loves that about you.

“where are you?” tom asked.

“oh, just driving around aimlessly.”

“come home. it’s just after 10 pm. and i need a cuddle.”

tom could imagine your sweet smile at his words. home.

“home is wherever you are, tom.” you replied, causing tom to smile too.

“okay, i’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“yeah, and darling?”

“mmm?”

“i love you-“

suddenly, the line cut off with the last thing tom heard was a deafening screech and a cry of his name.

“are you sure you want to do this? you don’t have to, you know.”

“no.” tom cut off, looking at the coffin in-front of him.

“i-i want to do this.”

harrison nodded.

“she would be so proud of you.”

tom smiled, before leaving harrison’s side to walk down the aisle, which had sunflowers attached to the end of each pew. he breathed out heavily, his palms sweating as he got closer, before stopping in-front of you.

as tom looked at your lifeless, peaceful figure in the casket. with your closed eyes, lips formed into a straight line, the silver necklace he gave you placed around your neck, as well as your silver wedding ring on your finger. tom brought his hand up to move a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning down to kiss your cold forehead, as he felt tears well up in his eyes again. he leaned back after a moment of silence, opening his eyes as a small smiled tugged on his lips. even though tears streamed down his cheek, he still smiled.

because in tom’s mind, you were both still eighteen. and you were so in love.

————

a/n- thank you for reading! i’m actually quite proud of this, i’ve been writing this for weeks ahha. hope you enjoyed :)

————

tom holland taglist-

@parkersbliss @liberty-barnes @24kbucky @dreamofaprilsblog @deathofmissjackson @averyfosterthoughts @jannine00742 @beverlyparkerr @anapocalypseinmymind @emistrash @mrvlfangirl3190 @parker-potter @musicalkeys @ncredible @buckybigbutt @call-me-baby-gir1 @holland-styles @diesssel @dummiesshort @voliawind @eternal-maniac

#tom holland #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #tom holland imagines #tom holland oneshot #spiderman #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield #tom holland headcanon #tom holland oneshots #tom holland blurb #tom holland blurbs #peter parker oneshots #peter parker oneshot #peter parker blurb #peter parker blurbs #tom holland and harrison osterfield #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #angst #fluff

[daisiesforlacey]

The Costuming and Coloring of JATP : Part 1 - Julie Molina

I’ve seen so many of these posts and I wanted to make my own! I love costuming and color theory in film and I thought I’d do my own take on jatp! Please keep in mind that I am by no means an expert and this is only my thoughts, and feel free to add your own interpretations and thoughts :)

Heads up this is a super long post (I won’t be coving all of Julie’s outfits, only the ones that have significant meaning)

And none of this could have been possible without Soyon An, the costume designer of jatp! All referenced quotes and information for her can be found here, here, and here

One of the main difficulties of costume design is having the clothing fit the period, tone of the piece, and the character. The characters have to wear the clothes, not the other way around. Who is this person? What are their conflicts? How do they look at the world? What do they value? How do they grow? Just some examples of what good costume designers ask. 

They can also be used as a subtle tool to show who each character is; how we dress is a reflection of ourselves.

JULIE MOLINA:

Ok so we all know she is an absolute queen with AMAZING fits, even from the start of the show! I’m going to go chronologically, just to make it easier on all of us!

Julie starts off the series in a baggy yellow sweatshirt over her blue and white shirt, her painted jeans, fluffy slippers, and a set of necklaces! (Actually we first see her at school, where she wearing a flannel instead of the sweatshirt, but the same concepts apply) This already gives us A TON of information on her!!

Her necklaces include a Virgin Mary pendant, a nod to her heritage and religion and one of her own name, which we can assume is a gift from someone special to her

She puts on the sweatshirt after she gets home and bombed playing in front of her class. Idk about you, but I always want to wear sweatshirts and comfy clothes whenever I feel down, so I infer that that is what Julie is doing! 

There is also something to be said about the visual irony between bright yellow smiley face on the front and Julie’s own grieving

(Also can I just say that I love that Julie is allowed to be a teen and wear silly slippers because their comfortable clothes. I am so tried of teenagers being over sexualized and as a brown girl myself, it’s wonderful to see these multidimensional non white characters!)

Her own painted jeans, (also pretty baggy) and sneakers as said by Soyon An, are painted by Julie! (We also see her creativity later when drawing a cupcake on her mic for Luke’s bday, but that’s another post)

Her creativity seems to have no bounds, and it’s obvious that from the start that this is how she expresses herself!

If you want to get really analytical, one could say that the bright yellow covering up her blue collar could show how Julie herself is trying to cover up her own sadness

The blue and yellow also come up in another scene of hers with Luke, but that is another post entirely

JUST FROM HER CLOTHES ALONE WE, THE VIEWERS, ALREADY SUBCONCIOUSLY KNOW SOOOO MUCH ABOUT JULIE:

She’s most likely Catholic and cherishes her religion and family

She’s not feeling too confident in herself

She’s crazy creative and talented

She’s trying to mask some sort of sadness

ISN’T THAT INSANE??? A TELL TALE SIGN OF A GOOD COSTUMER!

Julie then moves to plaid pants and a cropped lavender blouse (Which I absolutely adore!!!) 

She has just met the boys, and Luke gave her that little pep talk in front of the studio and is now wearing form fitting clothes!

DON’T TWIST THIS: She’s wearing these clothes because she now feels more confident in herself and is ready to sit down and play Wake Up

Julie is wearing more subdued colors; the focus isn’t on her outfit, that’s not where the color is. The color is lighting Julie from behind. The focus of the moment is Julie and her music.

You’ll also notice the lighting behind her shifts from the cold early morning, to the sun rising behind her, again, very poetic. The sun is literally rising on Julie and it is a new dawn for her, and the start of the show itself

Not to mention Wake Up which is literally about moving forward and... waking up lol

This is maybe one of my favorite performance outfits of her! (Who am I kidding, all of them are my favorite)

Julie is wearing a camo jumpsuit with patches and her signature sneakers

The patches, once again, show us that Julie is creative in many ways along with her shoes

I love that all of her outfits seem like the average person could make them and wear them. Yet, these characters are still teenagers and are discovering their own personal style, which can be sort of outlandish. It really works to ground the show in reality with all of the kooky happenings

Julie is once again wearing her necklaces, and we can infer that she wears them all of the time

In this outfit (with an added Double Trouble tshirt underneath), she also sings Flying Solo. The jumpsuit is a reflection of her friendships with the guys and Flynn!

And this outfit with Bright??? Chefs kiss. This is the subtle characterization I live for!

Julie’s actress, Madison Reyes’, mother is in the armed forces. She and Soyon wanted an outfit to pay homage to her, and I think the camo works perfectly

By this time we already have a good grasp on who Julie is

Julie is wearing a neon blue leotard, silver white pants, fishnets, her drawn on white sneakers and a rainbow chunky sequin cloak. She also find a drum major’s cape from the music room. She has her hair in the same cornrowed way as she does in Stand Tall, with pink, red, and blue ribbons.

While I may be jumping the gun this early in the post, I love this detail. This is her fantasy which ends up coming true in the final number and that is just beautiful

Julie’s fantasy outfit in I Got the Music is so extra and wonderful

This is Julie’s idealized self; it is bright and unapologetic and you can’t help but notice her. The outfit is purposefully outlandish and completely unrealistic

This is the first thing that clues you in that this is a fantasy; she does a quick change from her previous outfit. You can also see that her trio of necklaces aren’t there.

She keeps some elements from her actual school outfit, the pants and presumably the leotard, they just get an upgrade

Ok now onto the breakdown:

These are her school colors

This is the first time we see Julie in blue since the first episode. So far, we have seen her in muted tones. This time the blue is vibrant. This signals to the viewers that she is not hiding anymore and has almost reclaimed the color

Soyon specifically said she wanted a hood for Julie such as the Virgin Mary is traditionally depicted with a head covering

Julie is wearing her school colors loud and proud with a cropped LFHS reddish hoodie, underneath is a bright blue leotard, a blue belt, and white distressed jeans and fishnets

Julie is now fully in her element and has formed a band with the boys!!! Woohoo!

If you recall, in this episode, Julie also interacts the most with Carrie and Nick up until now; the two characters rooted in her school life.

Most everything I said in the previous section is here too, just a little toned down.

One thing that I see in this outfit is that she’s wearing a little bit of the boys’ themes; Luke’s blue, Reggie’s red, and Alex’s denim and grey. 

This is also the day that she gets into the conflict with the boys, they go to Bobby’s to get revenge, lie to her, and bail on the dance. I see this as them becoming closer and then falling farther apart.

Julie is also wearing fishnets and socks, which mirrors Dirty Candi’s performance of Wow. This is a wonderful detail to show that the two aren’t so different after all.

I love this outfit and I will forever be mad that we never got to see her perform in it

Julie is wearing her mothers mesh tie dye top, a black tank top, and loose black striped pants

THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT: This is the first time we see her wear her mother’s clothes, a physical representation of her coming to terms with her mother’s death!!!

This is also when Flynn comes up with Julie and the Phantoms, another big milestone. This is when they were supposed to make a mark on her school

(Ofc we all know this is when the boys bail...)

The next day, Julie is wearing a powder blue floral dress, sneakers, with a white t shirt and a cream colored cropped fluffy jacket (this is most aligned with my aesthetic)

Again, this shows that she is experimental with her clothes

 It is also worth noting that Soyon does a good job with establishing that she is a sneaker head, I mean have you seen her kicks????

Now is a good time to talk about character colors: good media will establish a color per character. This helps viewers easily distinguish who they are and how they connect to others. Characters may wear these colors a lot or have significant moments in these colors

The colors also have their own meanings which apply (we’ll look more into this in the Stand Tall dress)

Luke is blue, Julie is purple (as we will see later on), Alex is pink, and Reggie is Red

When characters wear another character’s color it signals to us that they will be having a ‘moment’ with the other character (getting along after fighting, learning something new, etc.)

Alternatively, if a character is wearing colors opposite to another, you know they will clash

In this episode, Julie goes to Luke’s house and learns more about him and Emily AND SHES’S WEARING HIS BLUE!!! BIG MOMENT!!!

ONCE YOU NOTICE COLOR IN FILM, YOU CAN LEARN TO PREDICT WHERE THE STORY IS GOING. THESE ARE SOME HELPFUL HINTS:

Notice a character’s colors and when another character wears them, they will be having a ‘moment’

If the color in the scene isn’t on the character, the focus isn’t on them, maybe it’s on the emotions of the scene or other characters

Colors WILL signify emotions; yellow is happy, blue can be sad or calming depending on the shade, red can be passion or anger. If a character wears a lot of one color, you can predict their emotions

Ok no hate, this is definitely not my favorite outfit. It gives me mad Shake It Up vibes, not that that’s bad, just not my thing.

Julie performs Finally Free in a teal and black dress/shirt, silver biker short, a black vest, and arm bands

It has been confirmed by Charlie and Madison that this is when Luke realizes he like Julie, which makes sense as you see that she is wearing blue (She will now start wearing more of these cool tones)

She is also wearing arm bands, something Luke does often

Her vest is also the same one as the girl from the beginning, which we all know by now is Rose, her mother!

She has upcycled the vest and added her own special twists to it! It also helps for us to see connection between Rose and performing

You can also see a dahlia pin, her mother’s favorite flower. These often make an appearance! (They’re also purple)

It’s Edge of Great Time!! This is maybe the most iconic outfit!

Julie performs in a white blouse with butterflies, her hair also with butterfly clips, her pants are constructed beautifully with black and white panels. She finished the outfit with black and white combat boots and more butterflies!

Soyon specifically said that the butterflies represent Julie coming out of her cocoon and coming into herself, like a butterfly would!

This is truly her most powerful and performance worthy outfit and sucks all of the attention to her

Julie’s clean contrast of black and white also make her stand out from the rest of the band! The combination is often a symbol of power and truth! (Think judges robes)

Time to get some tissues, Unsaid Emily, it’s your turn!

This is what I consider Julie’s most average and basic outfit, but there is a lot to analyze here: A magenta sweater and jeans.

This sweater is her mothers; meaning it is probably a comforting item for her, seeing as she is about to have a very emotional moment, calling back to that yellow sweater in the beginning!

Also see how this has blue, pink, and red designs, and I’m sure by now you can tell what I am going to say: These are the guys colors! 

She’s going to have a heartfelt moment involving them, and it fits. This is one of the emotional climax’s of the show and this is when she becomes even closer with the Phantoms

You can tell, just from her standing on the steps of Luke’s house what is about to go down (Well maybe not all of the tears, but still)

Julie goes to check on the guys in the studio in a blue floral shirt and blue jeans

These are once again, Luke’s colors, but are slowly becoming THEIR colors. She wears these when she is saying goodbye to her best friends

This is also the outfit that Julie’ wears when she finds them after the performance and they haven’t crossed over. 

It makes perfect sense that she is wearing all blue when SHE AND LUKE HUG!!! (And then all of the boys too in the best group hug ever)

Of course we’re gonna end the post with this absolutely ICONIC outfit!

Julie is wearing a purple dress with purple tulle, a bedazzled leather jacket, and her hair IN THE SAME STYLE AS I GOT THE MUSIC!!!

Lets go one by one:

The dress is a Balmain dress that Soyon got for $500, then she completely deconstructed it and made it to fit Madison! that’s incredible

This is the climax of the show: the boy are ‘doing their unfinished business,’ Julie is playing the Orpheum, and what color is she wearing but PURPLE! What color are dahlias? PURPLE! What color has had the most significance? PURPLE! What do red, blue, and pink make up? PURPLE! PURPLE IS JULIE’S CHARACTER COLOR

You’ll also notice that her jacket has pink, red, and blue accents, the colors of Alex, Reggie and, Luke, to show that they have become a part of her and she is now a part of them

That’s the same for her hair

It shows how she has now achieved her dream, her make believe world is now her reality

I really think we’ll see more of Julie in purple in the seasons to come, now that she has found herself

I hope that you all have learned a little about color and costuming in this post! Once you get the hang of it, it becomes really fun, like a puzzle!

I hope to do more of these with the rest of the characters as well!

Feel free to add on your own ideas and interpretations!

#Julie and the phantoms #Julie and the himbos #jatp #jatp julie #julie molina #juke #julie x luke #ray molina #Jatp luke #Luke patterson #The Costuming and Coloring of JATP

[secretpeachtea]

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 1

Title: the predicament

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

Next

“...and that’s about it for training. I might even teach you how to make some of the recipes one day, but for now, you’ll be in charge of register. I’ll be right over there if you got any questions.”

Today was your first day working at Onigiri Miya. After spending countless hours looking for a way to earn some money, you finally scored a part time job in this quaint onigiri establishment. You originally wanted to avoid working at a food joint due to their notorious obnoxious customers, but you didn’t really have much of a choice if you wanted to be able to pay for next month’s rent. As a student, you’re pretty limited on time as well, so it was nice that the work hours matched up with your schedule. Despite your initial hesitance, you lucked out in having such a kind boss.

“Glad to have you here, (Surname)-san.” Miya Osamu gave you a soft smile that almost made you swoon right then and there. Luckily, he was too busy wiping down his work area to catch you staring. 

Yup, you definitely lucked out in having such a handsome boss as well.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard the bell above the entrance ring, signaling the arrival of a customer. Putting on your best smile, you straighten your posture and fix up your black work hat.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya!”

“Hey, hey, hey! Akaashi! This place is pretty nice!”

Two men walked into the shop casually and looked around with interest. The one who had spoken adorned a black and grey hoodie that matched the color of his hair, while the bespectacled figure wore a white button down to match his professional aura. Quite the duo as your first customers.

“Bokuto-san, try to keep your voice down indoors. We wouldn’t want to disturb other customers.”

Although the two were unfamiliar to you, Osamu seemed to recognize them almost immediately. “Oh, hey guys. What brings you here today?”

Akaashi adjusted his glasses and responded first. “I heard Onigiri Miya was deemed as the best onigiri restaurant of the year in Japan, so I wanted to come see for myself.”

“Tsum-Tsum said that you make the best Onigiri in the world, so I really wanted to try it out too!” Bokuto sported a wide smile while gesturing his arms for emphasis like a young child.

You just watched the three make some small talk, slightly surprised by how your boss was so familiar with the new customers. You haven’t become fully acquainted yet, so it was interesting to see the type of people he befriended. 

It wasn’t until you briefly heard Osamu say your name, did you snap out of your little trance. “(Surname)-san can help you with your orders today.”

Placing a smile on your face, you set your eyes on Bokuto and Akaashi. “What can I get for you today?”

“I’ll have a Miso Onigiri,” Akaashi ordered after briefly eyeing the menu. His friend, however, seemed to have some trouble choosing.

“Um...hmm...mmm.” Bokuto stared at the menu for a few minutes with furrowed brows. One of his hands traced each menu option rapidly while the other hand rubbed his own head in contemplation. “There’s so many flavors! How do I choose?!”

You blinked a couple times at his exaggerated reaction, but quickly made the effort to help him by using what you remember from training. “Well, I can recommend you something. Are you in the mood for meat?”

The owlish male stared at you with sparkling eyes. “I’m always in the mood for meat!”

“If you order the Nikumaki Onigiri* special today you can receive two gyoza* on the side for no extra charge.” You pointed to the small chalkboard sign that stood next to the counter with the mentioned special that was written out by Osamu before the shop opened for the day. 

“Then, I’ll order Nikumaki Onigiri because meat is the best!” Bokuto declared wholeheartedly.

Relieved that he was finally able to make a decision, you didn’t really think about the consequence of your next question. “Pork or Beef?”

“Uh...hmmm…..umm…” 

You sweatdropped at Bokuto as he once again frowned at his predicament. Osamu just quietly snickered behind you, fully aware of Bokuto’s indecisive tendencies when it came to food. Thankfully, Akaashi was getting a bit impatient himself. “Beef. He’ll take beef. And, I’ll just pay for both.”

“Alrighty! Your total will be 300 yen.” You grab the money from Akaashi and pass him the receipt. “Miya-san will take care of your order soon.”

“Thanks, (Surname)-chan!” Bokuto yelled out.

The two didn’t go far and decided to just sit at the counter space right next to the register as they waited for their food. 

Only the four of you occupied the shop at the moment and so far there haven’t been any phone orders since the day was still young. You consider yourself pretty lucky since you aren’t overwhelmed with customers on your first day. You didn’t really have much to do aside from standing in front of the register and daydreaming, so your ears automatically pick up on the conversation next to you.

“How have you been, Bokuto-san? I heard your team has been doing well this season,” Akaashi began.

Bokuto gave off the brightest smile he could manage at the mention of his favorite sport. “Yeah! We’ve been practicing every day and playing some practice games with other teams. We’re actually starting tryouts next month to scout some new players on the team!”

“Oh? I thought your team had a pretty solid roster this year?”

“My teammates are definitely strong, but after we lost to the Adlers in the last tournament, Coach thought it would be interesting to add some new faces to catch everyone off guard.”

Akaashi nodded his head in understanding. “I do think the element of surprise is very effective in volleyball.”

“It’s gonna be like a fun, surprise birthday party! We’re gonna be up against a strong team but then...BOOM! SURPRISE! They’ll never know what hit them!”

“I suppose so.”

“But, I guess it wouldn’t be as exciting since it’s no one’s birthday…” Although Bokuto no longer transitioned into his depressed phase like he did in high school, he still had moments where he’d randomly fall into a melancholic mood. “And, there wouldn’t be a big party either…”

Akaashi, already sensing the first signs of Bokuto’s altered mood, quickly thought up a solution. He held a certain glint in his eyes as he focused on his former teammate. “Anything can be exciting for everyone if volleyball is involved, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s head perked up at the mention of volleyball once again, and you could’ve sworn that his hair spiked up along with his brightened expression. “You’re right, Akaashi! Man, volleyball is really great!”

At this time, Osamu finally finished putting together the two onigiris and set the plates down on the counter, putting an end to the silly conversation. There were wisps of steam coming off of the freshly cooked meat with a heavenly scent that would make anyone’s mouth water. You can definitely make out a thin line of drool threatening to fall down on Bokuto’s chin at the sight in front of him.

“A Miso Onigiri for Akaashi-san, and a Nikumaki Onigiri with a side of gyoza for Bo-san!”

The two guys thanked Osamu for the meal and each took a bite of the savory food. Their satisfied expressions were all it took for Osamu to laugh with a triumphant smile. Even you were affected by the positive reaction.

Before taking another bite, Akaashi looked as if he remembered something and turned to Bokuto. “I almost forgot. You said you wanted to ask me about something you were having trouble with?”

“Oh, yeah! I don’t really know how taxes work!” Bokuto nonchalantly replied with a chunk of meat hanging from his lips. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi paused, “have you not been paying your taxes?”

The volleyball player took another large bite out of his onigiri and stared at his friend while chewing. “Was I supposed to?”

“…”

There was a brief moment of silence, the only noise coming from the appliances in the shop. Not knowing what to do, you just stood still and tried your best not to make your shock obvious. You never thought you’d become a witness to a tax evasion confession, but there seems to be a first for everything. There was a small part of you that also wanted to laugh, but you didn’t think it would be appropriate with the fact that you didn’t know the two men sitting in front of you very well. Although, you think you might’ve heard a soft snicker come from your boss, but maybe it was your imagination.

“Has anyone contacted you recently about finances? Perhaps a bank or, um, the police?”

“Hmm...Not that I know of!” Bokuto scratches his head in thought. “But then again, I might’ve missed some calls during practices. I don’t answer unknown numbers either ever since Omi-kun told me about the scary people that try to take my money!”

With his half-eaten onigiri resting between his fingers, Akaashi’s distressed eyes make contact with yours. You two just stared at one another for a couple seconds, while Bokuto casually finished the last of his onigiri, moving onto the gyoza eagerly.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this, (Surname)-san.” You’d be lying if you said you felt nothing when Akaashi asked with such a pleading tone while trying to maintain his stoic face.

Lips are sealed. Ears are plugged. Mind is clear.

“I didn’t hear a thing, Akaashi-san.”

“Thank you.”

Not wanting to waste any food, Akaashi took the time to consume the last of his meal, albeit with a bit of a stressed aura, before getting up from his seat. Bokuto had finished all of his food as well and just followed suit.

“We should get going, Bokuto-san. It’s going to take a bit of time to help you with your um...predicament.”

Bokuto, still unaware of his situation at hand, turns to smile at you and Osamu. “Thanks for the great food! It was definitely as good as Tsum-Tsum said it would be! Next time I visit, I’ll bring the team!”

Akaashi bowed while Bokuto energetically waved before the two took a step outside and slid the door closed. You could still hear the boisterous volleyball player mentioning how excited he is to spend time with his close friend to do taxes for the day.

You and Osamu share a look before bursting out in laughter together. If this is how your shifts are gonna be all the time, maybe working at a restaurant isn’t so bad after all.

“So, what’d you think of your first day?”

It was now late into the evening and you and Osamu were getting ready to head home soon. Osamu was wiping down his work area, while you were sweeping the floors. Your first day went well, and you surprisingly only made a few mistakes when taking calls. Out of all your first days from previous part time jobs, this one went the smoothest.

“I think it went well! I’ve never worked in an onigiri restaurant, but all your customers seemed pretty respectful,” you responded as you set aside the broom. 

Just as you were about to head to the back room to put away your apron, your stomach let out a distinct grumble. Heat rose onto your cheeks because you’re sure that the handsome man near you most definitely heard it.

Osamu let out an amused laugh. “You hungry?”

“Maybe a little?” You put on a sheepish smile, silently cursing your body for betraying you like that.

“How about you get your things and I’ll whip you up something to take home?” Your boss smirked.

“I thought we used up all the ingredients for today? I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way for me.” You ask even though you secretly are dying to actually try one of his godly onigiris.

Osamu just shrugs his shoulders. “I set aside some things for my brother, but I’m sure he can go a day with takeout.”

You get the feeling that he won’t let you leave until you take his offer, so you just agree and head to the back room to gather your things and stop by the bathroom. You eventually make your way back to the counter area and see that Osamu already has a small bag filled with an onigiri and a sweet tea drink. He sports a lax grin as you walk towards him and hands you the bag gently.

“One Minced Tuna and Spring Onion Onigiri.”

Your face stretched into a wide smile, already looking forward to having a taste of Osamu’s recipe. “That sounds delicious!”

“It’s my brother’s favorite. Hope you’re not allergic to fish.”

You shake your head fervently. “No way. I’d be so upset if I couldn’t eat something that smelled as good as this! Your brother has good taste.”

“I guess. He’s still got some loose screws though. Definitely knows how to irritate me to no end.” The man in front of you slouches and lets out a tired sigh.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to meet him someday to find out.” Now, you were getting a little curious about Osamu’s brother. “I’d like to meet the guy that knows how to make my composed boss look like he’s ready to murder.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Nikumaki Onigiri = basically rice wrapped around meat

Gyoza = dumplings, potstickers, whatever you wanna call them

A/N: super excited to share this series with y’all! I’ve never shared my writing on tumblr so we’ll see how this goes oof. I was originally going to post this later in the week, but it’s the twins’ birthday today, so I had to do it!

#haikyuu #onigiri miya #secretpeachtea #onigiri miya tidbits #bokuto #akaashi #osamu

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 19

First  -  Previous  -  Next

Don’t have the energy to edit this chapter. Let me know if there are any grievous errors.

cw: food, angst

~

Patton was antsy all the way home from the hospital. Home—it was such a strange word. He didn't even know what it looked like. When he said 'home' to himself, he pictured the one-floor Haven house on the dirt street, lined on either side with identical houses. He pictured Father in that living room, wearing his lab coat and Haven-made clothes, sitting next to a picture of Patton's mother. When Father told him he was going to have his own room again, he pictured Virgil.

Patton didn't want his own room.

Remus, a man that Patton remembered seeing in the Haven, was also living at this so-called home. Remus smiled a lot, and when he first came to visit Patton in the hospital, had given him a teddy bear. Patton wasn't sure how to feel about this. Very few children in the Haven had toys past the age of ten, and he had only ever had a homemade jump rope and a doll made from scraps of rags. He remembered jealously watching other children play outside with their few toys and stuffed animals traded for from Outsider salesmen, but Father never got him one, despite his pleading. It was weird to have one now, in a world where it was not a novelty item, but commonplace.

Patton wondered how Remus had found out he'd wanted one.

The buildings around them were varied, huge. Patton was feeling rather sick from the car ride, but continued to look out the window in amazement. What did people need these huge buildings for? What did they do there?

Finally, they arrived at the apartment building Father called home. Father stopped the car—there were maybe two cars in all of Haven, and Patton couldn't help but wonder where Father had learned to drive—and gave Patton a nervous smile, to which Patton responded in kind. All his possessions were whatever clothes from the Haven that Father had grabbed (which were now too large), Virgil's hoodie, and his new teddy bear. He carried the bear with him as they entered the building, the clothes in a black plastic bag in Father's hand.

The building stunk, an acrid scent that made Patton scrunch up his nose in distaste. It was dark too, seemingly lit solely by the glass panes around the door that they had entered through. They had not come in the main door of the building, which was around the other side. The door they entered led onto a landing, stairs hugging the walls above and below. Was this really home?

Father led Patton straight up a staircase, bypassing every door as Patton stopped beside them. Eventually, when Patton stopped after the sixth staircase, panting for breath, Father went down the hall and unlocked and opened a door on the left side, then ushered Patton through it.

This place was certainly nicer than the rest of the building that Patton had seen so far. It smelled a little like bleach, but mostly like cinnamon or nutmeg (with the stench of the rest of the building in the background). Patton had always loved the smell of cinnamon. Had Father really remembered that, and somehow made this place smell like something comforting to Patton?

The door opened into a living room, which had clearly been hastily cleaned. A pillow and a blanket were haphazardly draped over the small couch, and the only other piece of furniture was a faded yellow armchair, not at all matching the peeling leather of the couch.

A kitchen led off from the living room, a yellowed refrigerator overlooking cramped counter tops. Rectangular boxes were haphazardly balanced atop the appliance. The lights were off in the kitchen, and as Patton strained to get a better look at the tiny space, Father led him down a thin hall.

One door off the hall led to a bathroom, which looked pretty average as bathrooms go. It was similar to the one they'd had in the house back at the Haven, a one-cube shower and a small toilet with a cabinet under the sink.

Once again Father led him past, into a room that was best described as quaint. The bed was thin, the mattress cushier than he expected as he sat on it experimentally. The floor, like the floor of the living room and hall, was carpeted in a scratchy grey. The walls were a pale off-white, the only break in them being the doorless closet. There was a wobbly-looking chair beside a squat desk, and Patton smiled to see a stack of paper and a pack of colorful markers on the desk. It was the most homey detail he'd noticed so far—there was no art on the walls, no overstuffed bookshelves, no color anywhere. Perhaps he'd be able to brighten the place up.

The room was bare otherwise, just like the rest of the apartment. Patton took a moment to run his hand against the wall, trying to ignore how he was shaking. He was exhausted, and really really hungry, but he couldn't tell anyone because—

No. He could tell Father. Nobody was going to hurt him here.

Patton looked to Father, only to see him biting his lip anxiously. He raised his eyebrows in a question, shrugging a bit, as if to say, I'm sorry it isn't more.

Patton nodded, forcing himself to smile as brightly as possible. Father's shoulders slumped into a more relaxed position. With a quick explanation of getting food, Father left the room, carefully placing the bag of clothes on the chair.

What Patton wanted to do was flop onto the bed and fall asleep, but he shook off the urge. It wouldn't do to let his clothes get wrinkled. Father had never let him leave the house with messy clothing (something in his head pointed out that Father's clothes were wrinkled and the top button of his shirt was undone today, the equivalent of him staying in bed all day).

The chair had a sticker on it, which Patton stared at. It had numbers scribbled on it—12.99—and said something about 'no refunds'. Patton assumed it was money; the Haven-dwellers had never really had money, as it wasn't used in a society where everything was shared. Father had taught him about money, and so had Virgil, but it had never quite clicked. This was a price of some sort? Father had to pay that number for this chair? Hopefully it wasn't too much.

Patton removed his few articles of clothing from the bag and hung them up with the handful of cheap clothing hangers in the closet. He pulled out Virgil's hoodie last of all. If he closed his eyes, he just pretend that he was at home. There was a batch of cookies in the oven, bringing that cinnamon smell, and he was holding one of his own shirts. Father was in the kitchen, poring over one of his work projects. Any minute now, he would come to get Patton for dinner. After dinner, Father would pull his book of maps from behind the bookshelf and tell him tales of faraway lands, like Mongolia and Italy and Cincinnati. Home was warm, wasn't scary, was safe.

And now, as he thought back, Patton remembered nights where Father would spend dinner glancing out the window, then would send Patton directly to bed. There were nights when Father would come home and practically drag Patton out the door to eat dinner at the communal dining hall, which they normally only did on Sundays. There were nights where Father wouldn't make dinner at all, instead lock himself in his room and not come out until the next morning. There were nights where Father fidgeted with his tie and glasses, clearly upset by something.

Home had never been safe.

Patton opened his eyes, saw the blandness of his new room. The apartment was cramped, smaller even than their house in the Haven—and this place they shared with Remus. It smelled bad, even with the cinnamon scent, and was dark. The whole building made him uncomfortable, as if one of the sinners that the Prophets always warned against would jump out at him from around any corner.

This place—not home, certainly—was not safe.

Patton looked down at the black-and-purple hoodie in his hands. Despite how much his life had been controlled while trapped in the lab, how little of an effect he had on anything, how it was entirely possible to be dragged out at any moment and experimented on, the only place Patton could say was safe was that room. No, not the room—Virgil. Virgil was safe.

Patton sniffled, and realized belatedly that he was crying. He couldn't let Father see—it might upset him, and after all he'd done for Patton, and how hopeful he was that Patton would like the apartment. . . .

Patton dried his eyes on his sleeve, then sat heavily on the bed and ran a hand over the bed sheet. It was softer than the ones at the Haven, but much thinner. One night of restlessness would probably put a hole in it. Patton resolved to not mention it. It was clear that Father was trying his best, and Patton didn't want to make him feel bad for not having much money.

At least there aren't bugs, Patton thought absently. Several years past, the barracks had become infested with cockroaches. It had taken months to exterminate them, and in the meantime the individuals living in the barracks had had to stay with those in houses. Patton didn't really remember who had stayed with them, but it had been some woman that Father treated coldly.

Patton kicked his shoes off—which were very bright green, he'd stared at them for a good five minutes when Remus had brought them to his hospital room—and dug his socked feet into the carpet. It wasn't as bad as it looked, he decided. He could walk through the apartment without shoes on. Shoes felt weird after months of not wearing them.

Patton's door swung a little bit and he flinched violently. It couldn't close, please he couldn't let it close, it had to be open—

He dove for the door, only to look up and see Father holding the doorknob, still swaying the door back and forth. Right, that was how Father had notified him it was dinner in the past. He straightened up, trying to act like his heart wasn't racing. Father's eyes seemed to bore into his, but eventually Father gave him a tight smile and led the way to the kitchen.

Dinner was strange. Father called it a “microwave dinner”, a strange name for something that was too small to be an actual meal. Not to mention they were individual portions, and dinner was a family meal. It tasted great, though, and Patton wondered if he'd ever tire of food that wasn't one of the five or six cycling meals that he ate while locked away with Virgil.

Father explained after dinner that they would be starting on Patton's diet next week, which would apparently consist of a lot of liquidized foods and protein. Remus had called it a “high-high” diet, then laughed, but Patton wasn't sure why it was funny. Remus wasn't with them right now, Father had said something about Remus working late shifts.

There were no dishes to wash, since the dinners had come in disposable containers and the forks had been plastic. Father led him to the living room and showed him something Patton hadn't noticed before—a television. They'd had a projector and screen at the Haven, which Virgil had said was similar. Father clicked the remote, and Patton was surprised to find something already playing. It wasn't too exciting: he didn't know what was going on, what the people onscreen were saying, what the story behind the program was. He quickly became bored.

Father kept looking over at him, a hopeful light in his eyes, a nervous smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Patton forced a grin onto his own face, as wide as he could possibly make it, and focused on the television. He felt slightly guilty, but mostly relieved, when Father relaxed and sat down, gesturing for Patton to take a seat too.

As the sunlight beaming through the dusty window faded completely and Father clicked on a dim, yellowish lamp, Patton realized that he'd be giving a lot of fake smiles in the foreseeable future.

~

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides

#slower than words #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts #ts sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #angst #sanders sides angst #patton sanders #ts patton #logan sanders #ts logan #remus sanders #ts remus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #had a braces adjustment today #hurts quite a bit #today was stressful on all counts #that's why this chapter is a bit later than normal #and ~unedited~ #i'm going to try to keep putting out weekly updates #but like #don't be surprised it if doesn't work out :( #in other news i love my partner #love you guys

[mythgirlimagines]

As the third day of the week begins its start, Fusion Anon began to work on his art. The submission is ready, and you better know it! Presenting Myth Anon, the Former Ultimate Poet!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

When it came to academic subjects, Myth was very skilled in anything requiring creativity, for she is able to gain creative inspiration from just about anything. While she has a love for all art forms, the one mode that catched her eye in particular happened to be poetry, particularly poetry related to people and romance. As Myth became a teenager and romantic feelings began to blossom on both sides of the hill, she began writing poems to try and woo the people she had feelings for, but alas, not many people returned the sentiment, mainly due to Myth’s odd mannerisms and speech patterns. But despite her odd speech patterns and mannerisms, no one can deny that Myth is a stellar poet, with perfect flow and emotionally-moving verses, to the point that she managed to get into Hope’s Peak, thanks to her poetic skills. As an adult, she is currently living off the revenues gained from her live poetry readings.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Procrastinator

When you consider the two’s personality traits, a friendship between Myth, the eccentric and flamboyant poet, and Wyre, the chronic slacker and part-time delinquent, would seem utterly and patently ridiculous. But Myth and Wyre have been the best of friends ever since they were young children. Whenever Myth gets rejected by a prospective love interest, Wyre would always be there with ice cream for Myth, and a little “something-something” for the people who rejected their best friend.

Outfit: A messy black gakuran over a white undershirt, longer hair that she didn’t even bother to cut, glasses from her original design.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist 

As the mastermind behind various outrageous (yet credible) conspiracy theories, Scar proclaims herself to be the “Savior of All” and yearns to protect people from the hypothesized threats that Scar claims are looming around the horizon. Scar’s whole chuunibyo act provides inspiration for a lot of Myth’s poems, particularly ones themed around darkness and evil threats. While Scar is glad to help her senpai, she is also low-key embarrassed about her whole middle-school chuunibyou act.

Outfit: A camo-patterned t-shirt, a dark purple overcoat slung over her shoulders like a cape, cargo pants, mask, gloves, and boots from original design.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Ice Skater

Famed for his grace and sheer energy upon the ice, Fusion won loads upon loads of awards from ice skating tournaments, particularly specializing in Salchows and speed-skating. Fusion is currently attempting to teach Myth and the other conmates how to ice-skate. Myth is still far from an expert, but her newly-gained skill in ice-skating gave her even more inspiration for her poems. Because Myth’s vocabulary is very similar to his good friend Purple’s, Fusion can easily understand Myth.

Outfit: A fluffy blue parka over a red and yellow leotard, red mittens that were knitted for him by a fan, glasses from original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Trivia Expert

Having appeared on various trivia game shows and often seen studying in the library, Fusion II has a vast amount of random knowledge on a vast amount of random things. While Fusion II views Myth as a confident role model and wishes to emulate her coolness and confidence, Fusion II wishes that Myth didn’t intrude in the middle of her study session and start loudly reciting her poetry. The irritation is not helped by the fact that Myth can’t seem to pick up on Fusion II’s sarcasm in the slightest.

Outfit: A blue and yellow baseball cap with a yellow question mark on the front, a blue letterman’s jacket over the same red shirt from her original design, the skirt and boots from her original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Personal Assistant

Despite being polite and very efficient with his duties when on his various jobs, when off-duty, Janon couldn’t be any further from that façade, being lazy and crude to just about anybody. It was very clear that having all of those jobs at such a young age really took a toll on both his psyche and his sanity, and he wants nothing more than to finish all of his duties in record time and then collapse on the spot. Janon can’t stand Myth and her flamboyant and eccentric mannerisms, for they give him a headache that just wouldn’t go away. But deep down, Janon envies Myth’s independence and confident in being herself, while Janon views himself as a slave to PR and can’t show his true and vulgar attitude towards his bosses.

Outfit: His hair and bangs slicked back, a brown vest over a white dress shirt and a pink bowtie, matching brown pants, black gloves and boots.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Voice Actor

Famous for starring as the leading ladies in magical girl anime, Sparkle’s loud and hammy vocals have garnered her fame, despite her young age. Even when she isn’t playing a character, Sparkle’s voice is still as loud and flamboyant as you can get. Because of their similar temperaments and personas, Myth and Sparkle got along very easily. Myth was over the moon in joy, from finding someone who behaved a lot like her (flamboyant, loud and appreciates the “fine arts”) and appreciated her poetic masterpieces, on top of that. Myth regularly lets Sparkle read her poems, as vocal exercises, and Sparkle’s voice just sounds so hypnotic, when she is reading Myth’s poems in a hammy and energetic magical girl’s voice. 

Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with bedazzled microphone and headphones. 

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Romantic, and Wet Sock, Former Ultimate Paleontologist

Egg is famous around their school for their romantic advice, while Wet Sock is a pioneer in paleontology. Despite the very different domains of their talents, Egg and Wet Sock are practically peas in a pod, particularly when it comes to inserting cursed comments into just about any situation. But just because they’re both cursed, that doesn’t mean they aren’t geniuses and respected in their respective fields. Egg, is willing to put aside their cursed comments and help Myth with her romantic troubles, and even giving her advice for her romantic poems. Egg’s twin harbor some more-than-platonic feelings for the poet, but good luck getting those feelings out of Wet Sock, for they just might threaten you with a bone shiv. 

Egg’s Outfit: Smoothed down hair, a pink off-the-shoulder sweater with a red heart stitched on the front over a white tank-top, black leggings with small pink hearts on the knees, pink slip-on shoes, glasses from original design. 

Wet Sock’s Outfit: A brown sleeveless jacket over a white tanktop that shows off their scarred arms, a tan apron with a dark brown dinosaur skeleton on the front, brown cargo shorts, brown steel-toed boots.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Ornithologist 

Having mastered the art of standing quietly and motionless, Curious is so placid and peaceful, that birds can’t help but perch on them. Thanks to their calm and passive nature, Curious is able to get closer to birds and study them. Despite being a respected genius in the study of all sorts of bird species and is even the discoverer of nearly-extinct species of birds, no one knows where Curious came from, for they spent pretty much all their life is the forest, yet is exceedingly formal and polite. Curious’s modest, polite and romantically-dense nature, contrasts heavily against Myth’s loud, dramatic, and flirtatious nature, but somehow their friendship still works, thanks to Curious’s heavy respect towards their senpai. 

Outfit: A green poncho to help them blend into the grass over a white shirt, a brown belt, black pants, brown boots and binoculars across their neck.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Astronomer

Yearning to reach the stars, and stopping at nothing until he accomplishes his goals, Nerd has brains and brawn and he is not afraid to use either of those (his brown, in particular). Graduating at the top of his astronomy academy, both physically and mentally, Nerd’s disagreeable and explosive personality means that he wasn’t able to become an astronaut, particularly after he scouter-burned a teacher who gave him a bad grade. Bad grades aren’t the only thing that can enrage Nerd, for he particularly hates flirty and flamboyant poets who constantly try to seduce him at every opportunity. But Myth is one determined poet, for she will constantly write love poems for Nerd, even if she suffers in the process.

Outfit: Same suit from his original design, but with a galaxy patterned tie.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Essayist

Despite the sheer number of academically-acclaimed essays that Eldritch wrote, it’s near impossible to find any other traces of Eldritch’s existence, apart from his self-reviewed and academically-revolutionary essays. Eldritch double-shooted, to make absolutely sure that no one could find him and trace the essays back to him. Eldritch is truly a textbook example of a shut-in, who finds it impossible to trust anybody. Because both Myth and Eldritch have talents that involve writing, Myth keeps trying to interact with Eldritch, but Eldritch just repeatedly pushes her away, while loudly claiming that he doesn’t trust her, for reasons left unknown. But Myth keeps trying, hoping that Eldritch could let his guard down one day.

Outfit: A grey hoodie with the hood-up, shorts and slippers from the original design.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Puzzle Solver

Despite being physically gifted, Dream appreciates a great mental challenge, from time to time. Whenever she’s not dancing or playing volleyball, Dream is often in the corner with a sudoku puzzle or a Rubix cube. Eventually though, Dream made world records, despite her age, thanks to her sheer speed and accuracy at completing puzzles. Eventually, Dream managed to get into Hope’s Peak with the title of Ultimate Puzzle Solver. Whenever Myth gets writer’s block, Dream would supply Myth with a puzzle to get Myth’s creative neurons firing, and it usually works, at least half of the time. Dream may not understand half of what comes out of Myth’s mouth, but she’s still a great friend to her.

Outfit: Two pink barrettes shaped like jigsaw puzzle pieces, a black t-shirt with a Rubix cube design on the front, a pink and cream flannel shirt tied around her waist, sheared green shorts, shoes from the original design.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Speedreader 

Iris has a reading comprehension way above even most adults, and reading is practically a breeze for this clumsy, yet well-meaning, bookworm. Being a massive book nerd and proud of it, Iris proudly read the entirety of her local library two times over, at unparalleled speeds, all with a big smile on her face, causing her to become a local sensation, until she was accepted into Hope’s Peak’s middle school division. Because of the vast walls of text that she reads, Iris can easily understand Myth’s eccentric and grandiose speech patterns, and translate for people who can’t understand. Iris’s naturally positive and friendly personality also helps in making friends with the otherwise eccentric and friendless Myth. 

Outfit: A blue overcoat over a black shirt and skirt, black stockings and blue slip-on shoes.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Surgeon

As a veritable medical prodigy who was born to two affluent medical professionals herself, Purple primarily specialises in surgery and operations. Despite her age and general timidity when in social situations (to the point that she often hides from others behind much larger doctors), Purple is a master at surgeries and is revered by her patients for her maternal attitude and her kind heart. Both Myth and Purple bond over their hard to understand and oddly-vocabulary, and Purple’s vocabulary helps Myth come up with new words for her latest poems. Myth is also working on giving confidence lessons to Purple. It’s taking some time for Purple, but Myth is confident in her skills, and claims that it’ll work one day.

Outfit: Same outfit from her original design, but without the beret and an added white lab coat.

This series would center around the egotistical yet lovable poet, getting the love that she truly deserves. 

——————————————————-

PERSONALITY

Poet!Myth is flamboyant, eccentric and likes to think of herself as a charmer and a genius, and wouldn’t hesitate to show off her talent and intellect, at every chance that she gets. Poet!Myth speaks a lot like her poems: with odd metaphors and old-fashioned vocabulary, and quoting famous poets and playwrights. She usually responds to her haters by claiming that they “just don’t understand art”. Ultimately though, Poet!Myth yearns to find love and people who could accept her for who she is, and she constantly puts up the charmer facade, in hopes that it’ll work out one day.

——————————————–—–—-

APPEARANCE

Poet!Myth wears her purple hair in a ponytail that is pinned by a feather quill, and the glasses from her original design. Myth wears a black overcoat with internal velvet that is slung over her shoulders like a cape, a blue vest with pink stripes on each side and a matching pink cravat, over a white dress shirt, black pants and matching black loafers.

——————————————-———-

I hope you like this talentswap! Let me know what you think of this AU!

-Fusion Anon

#submission #love the intro to it XD #anon #fusion anon #art #not my art #talentswap tuesday #purple anon #fusion anon ii #iris anon #just anon #egg anon #wet sock anon #curious anon #sparkling anon #eldritch anon #dream anon #anon nerd #anon scar #my evil twin #anon kg

[charliework16]

charlie in the brown zip up hoodie is so important to the culture god bless

#the grey hoodie is number one always but these aren’t far behind #bring it back #charlie day #its always sunny in philadelphia #charlie kelly #iasip #iasip16

[puckinghell]

Mittens | Tyson Jost

Summary Requests: you never wear mittens so i knit you a pair and leave them for you to find as a gift from an anonymous person because i’m shy

and

your family ditches you for the holiday so i take you home with me, except my family thinks we’re dating now, and i don’t know how to tell them that we’re not Word Count: 3.8k Note: this is dedicated to @thesmutpeasant‘s knitting behaviour

---

When you finished your PR degree, you wouldn’t have said that working for a hockey team was your ultimate dream. You didn’t even know hockey. But working for the Avs has pretty much been the best time of your life, so far.

Where else could you spend an hour of your work day talking about Christmas gifts? 

So far, the boys have decided that for Christmas, Gabe needs to get some hairspray, Z needs a new wardrobe, and Mikko needs a girlfriend.

“What about Tyson?” you ask JT. “Have you gotten him a present yet?”

JT laughs. “No, I haven’t, but I think someone should get him a blanket or something. He’s not good with the cold.” “Hey, fuck you!” Tyson yells from the other side of the room. “It’s freezing here, we can’t all be cold blooded like you!” JT huffs. “He says that, but he’s dressed like he lives in California or something. Never wears a hat, or gloves. And then he complains about the cold all the time. One night he even asked if he could have my duvet.” “That was in Winnipeg, and you know how cold Winnipeg is,” Tyson protests. “Besides, I asked you to cuddle me warm first, but you said no.” It’s teasing, and JT rolls his eyes, but you know Twitter is gonna explode at this. “Thanks boys,” you say, putting down the mic, and the cameras finally leave the room. “What do you want for Christmas, Y/N?” Tyson asks. Out of all the boys - although you would never admit it - you like Tyson the most. He’s always chatting with you when the cameras turn off, and he asks you things like he cares about the answer. You’ve become friends, in the past few months. He’s also really cute. You shrug. “Some sleep would be good,” you say, because it’s been a long road trip, and Tyson laughs. “Same.” --- The next morning Tyson brings you a cup of coffee to the plane. “How is she gonna sleep on the plane now?” Burky teases, and Tyson turns bright red. You make sure to take a picture of Burky from an unflattering angle in retaliation on Tyson’s behalf. Not that it necessarily makes Burky look any worse - that guy doesn’t have bad angles - but it’s the thought that counts. You sleep on the plane and keep yourself busy during the day, but when the evening rolls around, you sit in your quiet apartment and busy your hands as your mind winds down. Knitting may sounds like a grandma hobby, but it calms you down, thank you very much, and it means you’ve always got a personal gift for someone. For Christmas, your grandma has asked for a scarf, your mom wants a hat, and your aunt asked if you can knit a romper for your few months old niece. You have no idea how to do that, but surely you can figure it out. However, today, you don’t really feel like knitting any of those. Knitting those requests feels a little too much like work, right now, and you wanna knit just to knit. You don’t even realize you’re knitting mittens until you’re halfway through the first one. You don’t need mittens; you’ve got a good selection of them, a wide variety of colors. You remember your talk with JT and Tyson, yesterday. There’s someone who needs them. --- It’s weird, that’s something you’re sure of. To just give Tyson a Christmas gift, a handmade Christmas gift, and not have anything for the other guys. They would chirp you to hell and back and you’re not sure you’re ready for everyone to know about your teeny tiny crush on number 17. However, you can’t deny the fact that you knitted these mittens with only one person in mind, and it would feel weird to give them to anyone else. So, one morning, when Pepsi Center is still dark and there’s nobody around, you put them in Tyson’s stall without a note and decide to never think about it again. Which would be easier if you’re not the one having to do pregame interviews that day. “So, the Blues are obviously the reigning Stanley Cup champions...” - EJ pulls a face and you can’t help but agree - “how can you make sure you take the two points here tonight?” “Probably score some goals,” EJ says with a deadpan voice and a wide toothless grin, and you’re about to yell at him for being an awful person to interview when there’s a loud noise on the opposite side of the locker room. “Ah, sick!” The entire room turns to Tyson, who is beaming with excitement and looking at the mittens in his hands. “Someone got me gloves!” “Those aren’t gloves, those are mittens,” Cale says wisely. Tyson stares at him for a few seconds, then obviously decides to ignore him. “There’s no note,” he wonders out loud, and you really, really hope your blush isn’t too noticeable. EJ’s eyes are a little too fixed on your face. “Maybe it’s a secret admirer,” Mikko offers. “Maybe it’s someone who’s just as sick about you complaining about the cold as I am,” JT says. “Where are my mittens?” Z ponders. “You’re not getting any, you don’t deserve them,” says Nate, and Z goes to put him in a headlock. The boys start arguing about why they do or do not deserve mittens and EJ turns back to you. “So,” he says, “any more questions?” --- The boys win in OT and there’s excitement radiating through the locker room. You’re not doing the postgame; Lauren is, but you follow her around anyway, mostly because you love the locker room after a win. The happiness is contagious, and you find yourself smiling all evening. Most of the guys have gone home when Lauren packs up her final stuff. “What a game to end with before Christmas, huh?” she says, giving you a quick hug. “Merry Christmas, Y/N!” “You sure you don’t want to come?” JT’s voice is filled with enough worry that it catches your attention. You pretend to focus on packing your bag, the door slamming shut behind Lauren as she leaves. It’s just you, JT and Tyson, now. “Nah, man, it’s okay.” Tyson sounds a little down, which is not what you would’ve expected, after he scored to put them into OT earlier. “You’re with your girl, and I don’t wanna be a third wheel. I’ll be fine.” “But you can’t be alone on Christmas.” JT is clearly indignant. 

You’re just standing up when Tyson gives JT a playful shove. “Go, Comph. Go have a fun Christmas. I’ll be chill here.” JT rolls his eyes but gives Tyson a quick bro hug. As he’s leaving the locker room, he sends you a smile, a “happy holidays” and then he’s gone. You turn to Tyson. 

“You’re staying here for the holidays?” Tyson shrugs as he puts on his coat. It’s not nearly thick enough to be a winter coat, and he’s not wearing a scarf. He does however, take the mittens and put them on his hands. “My mom is on a cruise and Kacey is celebrating Christmas at her boyfriend’s house. Everyone is leaving me alone this year.” He’s trying to sound light, like he’s joking, but there’s a sharp edge in his voice that tells you it matters more to him than he’s willing to let on.

Something squeezes in your chest. Nobody should be alone on Christmas. “My family is coming to my apartment on Christmas Eve to have dinner, do you want to come?” You blurt it out before really thinking it through; it’s probably gonna be hard to explain to your parents, that you’re suddenly having a guy over for Christmas, and maybe Tyson will think it’s weird that you’re asking him: you just heard him tell JT no, so why would you think he wants to come hang out with you? But when you brave looking up at him, Tyson is smiling widely. “You sure?” he asks. “Is it not too much trouble? I can help you cook if you want. Or, you probably don’t want that, because I suck at cooking, but I can do whatever else you need me to do. I’d bring gifts for all your family, of course, and…” He’s rambling, and it’s cute. “Tys,” you interrupt him, and you can’t help how fond you sound. “They’ll love having you around. My dad is always saying it’s not fair, four girls and one guy, and my sister is bringing her girlfriend, so I could use a partner in crime, too.” “Okay, that’d be awesome,” Tyson says truthfully, “thanks so much, Y/N.” He smiles at you brightly and then puts on his mittens. “Dude, these are so warm, I love them.” You nearly promise to make him a hat and scarf too, but then you figure you might’ve exceeded your maximum amount of weird for the day by inviting him to Christmas dinner, so you quietly follow him out to the parking lot while he excitedly chatters about Christmas movies. --- It’s the morning of Christmas Eve and you’re this close to having a mental breakdown. Your house is a mess; you figured you didn’t need to clean it, your family has seen it all, but now Tyson is coming and you would like him to not think you’re the biggest slob in the world. Also, there’s the fact that an extra mouth to feed means more food necessary, so you have to go to the store and get more groceries. All in all it means that when your doorbell rings, you’re still wearing an old Avs hoodie and leggings, and you’re pretty sure there’s cookie dough in your hair because you decided you needed dessert after all. It’s not like Tyson gets to sin all the time. Christmas is as good an excuse as any. “Hey,” Tyson smiles. He’s looking annoyingly nice, wearing a grey jumper and dark blue slacks. As soon as he sees the state of you, he frowns. “What is that in your hair?” “Cookie dough,” you tell him honestly. “You look nice.” “Thanks,” Tyson grins proudly, “I Facetimed Kacey to pick out the colors.” He walks into your apartment like he’s been there a million times before, pushes a bottle of wine into your hands and starts unpacking the bag with presents he brought, putting them under the tree. “Am I early?” “A little,” you admit. “I, uhm, kinda still need to shower. You know, get the cookie dough out of my hair.” You think about it, for a few seconds, then decide that you can trust Tyson with this one thing. “Can you take the cookies out of the oven in 10 minutes so I can shower?” Tyson nods, throws you a thumbs up and then parks his butt on the couch like that’s where he belongs.

It makes you feel... things.  And, well, you might take a little longer to get ready – putting a little more effort in your make up and hair than you would’ve if it had just been your family -  but the last thing you expect when you come back in is for everything to be ready. Except it is. There’s candles lit on your coffee table and the presents are all under the tree. Your mom has a glass of wine in her hands and greets you with a “honey, there you are!” Your sister and her girlfriend aren’t there yet, but your dad is standing at the dining table with Tyson. The dining table is fully laid and Tyson has a half eaten cookie in his hand. “Sorry,” he grins, when he spots you. “They just looked too good not to touch.” You must’ve been staring at the scene a little sheepishly, cause your mom laughs. “You okay there, honey?” 

“Uh yeah,” you bring out. “I see you met Tyson?” Your mom’s face instantly brightens. “Oh yes, we have, but if you want to do proper introductions…” For a split second, you panic, because you don’t actually know how to introduce Tyson – a friend? A coworker? You can’t really say an unreachable crush – but you’re saved by the door bell. “Y/N!” your sister says, giving you a quick sideways hug. “Amy and I brought some extra wine, in case you didn’t have enough booze and we have to listen to dad talk about baseball all evening while sober…” She stops dead in her tracks as soon as she sees Tyson. “Oh, hello.” “Thanks, Meg,” you mumble. “We uh, have enough, probably, cause Tyson brought some too.” Meg turns to you, wiggling her eyebrows. “A boy that brings wine? Keep him around, will ya.” You’re about to tell her to shut up, when your mom stands up. “Time for dinner!” --- It turns out Tyson fits in with your family right away, and you’re not even halfway through the night when you realize your catastrophically big mistake. Seeing him like this, as if he’s an integral part of your life already, does nothing to help your massive crush on him. Because Tyson is perfect. He talks sports with your dad and interior design with your mom – “My mom used to redecorate our place every year or so, you pick up some stuff” – and falls into a flawless routine of teasing you with Meg. He tops up glasses, passes the salt without being asked, and every now and then he sends you a smile that has your stomach turn in your body. It’s not until after dinner, when you’re standing in the kitchen with your mom, cleaning dishes, that you understand your mistake has been even bigger than you thought. “I’m so happy for you, sweetheart,” your mom coos. She’s looking at you with fond eyes. “I was worried, you know, that you never introduced us to a boy or girl. I don’t want you to be lonely here in Denver. But Tyson is such a lovely guy. You can tell he really loves you.” You can… what? “Oh, no, mom,” you stutter, “he’s not… He doesn’t…” “Oh, but he does,” she interrupts. “I see it in the way he looks at you, you know. When a person really loves someone, it’s in their eyes. And Tyson looks at you with love. You deserve someone who cares about you, babe, and I’m just so happy you’ve got someone here in Denver, when we’re so far away. I just don’t want you to be alone.” And, fuck, your mom clearly thinks you’re dating Tyson, and you realize you still haven’t introduced him properly to your family, of course they think you’re dating, who brings home a guy to Christmas for platonic reasons? You know you should tell her that you’re not dating, you know that, but she looks so genuinely happy, and you know if you tell her now it’ll break her heart. Quietly, you sneak a glance towards the living room. Your dad laughs at something Tyson says while Tyson ruffles through Meg’s hair. She swats at him, and Amy is smiling. Every single one of them would be upset to hear that Tyson is nothing more than a crush that’s way out of your league. 

You know you have to tell them. But maybe just not tonight. Maybe, just for one Christmas, you can let them be happy. “Thanks, mom,” you force out a smile and your mom returns to the dishes. It’s not even a few seconds later that Tyson wanders into the kitchen. “Hey,” he smiles, “can I help?” He leans into you and puts a hand on the small of your back and your heart flutters and it’s innocent, sure it is, he’s just trying to be friendly, but your mom gives you a knowing look as she says: “Sure, you guys finish up here,” and demonstratively closes the kitchen door behind her, leaving the two of you alone. “Your family is awesome,” Tyson grins, as he starts to dry the dishes. “Meg tells me you guys go skiing every February. Me and Kacey usually try to go during bye week, Meg said maybe we can go together!” And something inside of you bursts. “My family thinks we’re dating.” Tyson frowns, puts the plate he was drying down. “Oh, really?” He doesn’t sound upset by the fact, simply curious, and you sigh. You’re gonna have to explain this one. “I guess I just didn’t really think to tell them who you are or like, what we are? And so they just saw that I invited a guy to Christmas and they assumed that we’re together. They absolutely love you, Tys, and they always worry so much about me having a boyfriend, and I just…” You pause; you know you’re turning red and it’s impossible to get out the words. “Hey, it’s okay,” Tyson says gently. He reaches out, his hand landing on your arm in a gesture of comfort. “You don’t have to tell them now. We can just… date.” He flushes. “Fake date, I mean. For tonight. Or, like, however long you need us to.” “Really?” you ask, relieved, and Tyson laughs. “Don’t sound so surprised. As if it’s such a hardship, to pretend to be your boyfriend.” He shoots you a wink, puts the final plate away and wanders back to the living room. Leaving you absolutely stunned, wondering what just happened. --- “Gifts!” Meg says, clasping her hands together. “The true meaning of Christmas!” Your mom gives her a disapproving look, but even your dad is eyeing the presents under the tree with a little too much interest.   “I’ll go first,” Tyson says with shining eyes, “being the new one in the family, and all that.” “Ah, yay, it’s not me anymore,” Amy giggles, and you swear to God you are going to die. Somehow, despite not knowing your family, Tyson nailed his gifts. Your dad is over the moon with his new slippers, your mom keeps sniffing the scented candle he gives her, and Meg smacks Tyson across the head with the Avalanche beanie he got her, until she notices there’s two tickets to a musical that Amy has been wanting to see in there. 

You’re a little jealous, because you love gifts like that, until Tyson hands you an envelope. “I heard you tell Gravy how much you like them,” he says, and he sounds a little off. Nervous, even. “And if you need a plus one…” He wiggles his eyebrows and laughs, but even his giggle comes out a little nervous. In the envelope is two tickets to your favorite band, who are playing in Denver next month. You didn’t end up getting tickets cause they were sold out stupidly quickly and were ridiculously expensive in resale. “Oh my God, Tys, that’s way too much,” you tell him in awe, but Tyson just shrugs. “No use for an NHL salary if you can’t spend it on the people you care about.” It sounds weirdly genuine, a deeper level of something ringing through, but it’s way too much to unpack right now. You feel a little stupid about your gift for him, now – a nice wallet cause his old one looks like it’s been through a lot – although Tyson seems really happy with it, even gives you a hug to say thank you. For the rest of your family, you’ve got a normal gift and something knitted, as extra, and it’s not until you catch sight of the deep frown on Tyson’s face that you realize something. Fuck. You forgot about the fucking mittens. “Isn’t it cute, Tyson?” your mom says, as she wraps the scarf you made her around her neck. “She always knits people gifts. I swear it’s her way of saying how much she loves them. She spends so much time on these.” She pauses. “I mean, you’ve probably been with her while she makes them, you know.” “Yeah,” says Tyson, slowly, although you know he has no clue. After that, it’s like you can’t even really enjoy the rest of the night; you can’t focus on the Christmas movie Meg puts on, can’t focus on how cute it is when she cuddles up with Amy, can’t focus on how fondly your mom is smiling down at you or your dad’s soft snores as he falls asleep halfway through. You can focus on Tyson’s thigh pressed against yours, and how you have no idea how to explain to him why you knitted him those mittens. Finally, your mom stands up, gently kicks your dad’s legs, and smiles at you. “I think it’s time for us to go,” she says. “I’m sure you two wants to enjoy some part of Christmas Eve in privacy, too.” “Mom,” you scold her, feeling your cheeks heat up. Tyson grins at you. By the door, as your mom gives you a hug, she whispers: “He’s a keeper, honey,” and you nearly tell her everything. “Yeah, he’s alright,” Meg says way too loudly, and you hear Tyson giggle in the background and you decide to shut up. The door closes behind them and immediately, Tyson stretches out on the couch. “Ah,” he says. “I’m pretty good at impressing the in laws, no?” You don’t remind him that they’re not actually his in laws. Instead, you fall back onto the couch and groan. “Are you not gonna make fun of me for knitting you mittens and leaving them anonymously in your stall?” you ask, because you might as well get over it. Tyson frowns. “Why would I do that? Those mittens rock, my hands haven’t been cold since.” You blush. “Yeah, but, don’t you think it’s weird that I made those? I didn’t make any for the rest of the team.” For a second, he seems to think about that. Then he moves a little closer, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. Electricity zips through your veins at the contact. “I kinda hoped that meant something,” Tyson says slowly. “Tell me if I’m wrong?” You only had two glasses of wine but you feel like your world is spinning as Tyson moves closer tauntingly slowly. Finally, his lips touch yours, and you understand every cliché ever written into any romantic Christmas movie. When his hand moves to your thigh, settles on the skin right below the hem of your dress, you yelp.

“How are your hands still cold?” 

Tyson chuckles. “I mean, I haven’t been wearing my mittens, so...” 

---

Years later, you’re laying on the couch with your daughter, watching a Christmas movie after having just set up the tree.

“Daddy, what was your favorite Christmas present Santa ever gave you?” your daughter asks. 

Tyson sends you a private look above her head, then focuses on her. 

“A pair of hand knitted mittens.” 

“Like the one mommy made me?” she asks, and he grins.

“Yeah, kinda like that.”

#tyson jost #winter prompts but longer #colorado avalanche #nhl imagine

[dabis-certified-panda]

Living Has Its Quirks

A birthday piece for @bakugf, I hope you enjoy it!

Tags: depression and anxiety, hurt and comfort

Words: 2,309

You couldn't begin to tell someone what kind of week you were having. Hell-weeks. 

That fact didn't matter because as it were, being around others allowed you to shut off your issues for the moment in time and focus on them. The hyperfocus was nice in the moment, but it was when you were alone that things blurred and the barely concealed hell made the edges of your vision grey. Red pulses of too much straining your eyes. Thoughts running like a madman and worthless sealing your throat closed. 

You distinctly remember shutting all of this off for a numb paradise the past few weeks...but that function failed you today as you stared at the wall across from you, comforter over your legs and pillows supporting your back doing little to comfort you. If it wouldn't alert the person next door you'd throw something at the blankness staring back at you.

Your quirk was a tangible thing under your skin and you consciously had to tamp it down. Tears burned behind your eyes, tears you refused to let loose as you curled around the pillow that smelled of caramel, the cooling pillow behind you a nice substitute for what you refused to indulge in right now. Something you weren't worthy of indulging in-

You felt the explosion more than you heard it - a rather familiar one and your body jerked in shock. 

"FUCK!" 

Eyes widening, worry laced through your veins. This explosion wasn't like his frustrated, mini blasts - as mini as they could get. This was one that was going to require damage control and you couldn't deny the part of you that ached to jump at the opportunity even if you didn't know what had started it. 

Shouto is more capable of handling him. Deku is probably already there too. They don't need me to calm him. 

He doesn’t need me.

Especially since you heard doors opening and closing from down the hall. 

The music in your ears increases in volume as you try to drown the chaos out. It works better than you'd like to admit. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip but you barely register the pain. Giving in to the pounding of your head, you let the tears fall, the scorching trails leading to the cold pillow Shouto bought you when he found out you missed him more than he thought. Your arms shakily reach out to wrap selfishly around the pillow Katsuki shoved at you in hopes of getting his hoodie back - an action that failed of course as you were wearing it at this moment along with the sweatpants you stole from Shouto's dresser. To this day he hadn't asked about them and you weren't about to bring it up. 

A rough knock on the door broke through the music jammed into your ears. Jerking up as if electrocuted, you quickly wipe your tears with the blanket and take a deep inhale to steady your voice as you shout, "Coming!"

Climbing down from the top bunk of your bed (an addition you asked for that Katsuki never fails to tease you about) you open the door to find a slightly frantic Kirishima. His eyes are wide, hair down from a recent shower and he keeps glancing sideways to the kitchen. 

"He's gone off the deep end and I know you’re probably busy but you gotta talk him down!" The tone in his voice escalates your worry further. In the next moment you're jogging into the kitchen to a sight you'd take a picture of if it were any other day. 

Katsuki is wearing an apron, his eyes are wild in frustration and anger, hair a fried mess from the explosion. Speaking of...the cabinets have ash practically painted on them, the edges splintering off. The floor is littered with pieces of the broken tiles that stem from the front of the stove. The stove is in good condition, the pot resting on the back burner - not so much. The wooden spoon has singed into the pot, what looks to be a stew or soup splattered on the walls. The light on the ceiling broken and shards scattered amongst the rubble of tile. 

The whole scene makes for great blackmail material, but the state he is still in even after he released his frustration is one you don't see often. His veins and muscles are still tense, even as Deku and Kaminari stand a few feet away trying to calm him down. 

They're only making it worse. Without hesitation you step forward and walk through the others who have gathered and stand just behind Kaminari. 

All movement stops when Katsuki lays eyes on you. You never feel so examined as when his eyes are on you, not even Shouto can look through you like Katsuki can. It's one reason you fell for him to begin with. His chest still heaves, his arms remaining tense as a tightrope. 

But with the look over he's giving you, you know he can tell immediately why it took you so long to be known. He knows what's been eating at you for the past few weeks. He knows why your stomach has been hurting and why you haven't asked to hang out with either him nor Shouto. 

And suddenly his reasoning for making this stupid, fucking stew he knows you miss from home...was really not fucking it. It wasn't what you needed nor wanted. 

You blink and it knocks him from his trance. Noticing he gathered all of Class 1-A rubs him raw and he shouts "THE FUCK ARE Y'ALL LOOKING AT?!" His voice has the slightest rasp that shows more than many would notice. 

The others trickle out, but you don’t pay them mind, too preoccupied trying to discern what could have your boyfriend respond in this manner. There’s the slightest tremor in his left wrist that quickly tells you which hand was used and the toll it took on his body. The twitches cause your eyes to narrow in on his face, glowing rubies settled on you. 

A blast at this strength never would’ve affected him enough to cause strain in his wrist - no, this is the product of training too much in the arena. Something you’d railed into him day after day. You have to take better care of yourself or you’ll never become the Number One Hero. 

He pays no heed to the accusation in your eyes, he merely closes the distance between you and an arm is slid around your waist, the wrist resting on your side now barely trembling. 

You’re close enough to notice the change in his eyes, a shift no one else aside from you and Shouto are ever privy to. Immediately you try to open your mouth - to dispel the words you know are about to leave his mouth. 

It’s then that you taste the air of the burned soup. Your eyes water when you realize what he was making and why he would make it. Instead of dismissing his thoughts, you exhale shakily with a, “You r-emembered..” The telltale break in your voice seals the last of your self control and tears are flowing freely. 

You drop your head to his chest, the scent you’d grown so familiar with now a source of safety - a haven of sorts. Your sobs are muffled as you feel fingers weave through your hair to pull you closer, a chin nestling into your curls. You can’t focus on words enough to explain yourself, to even begin damage control here. 

But damn if you aren’t gripping onto the back of his shirt like a lifeline. 

He starts humming, a soft, jagged thing that you’d fallen head over heels for as soon as he began doing it thinking you were asleep. There’s another distinct scent that begins to rise over the others, one that you never thought would begin to calm you and yet here the three of you are: you in Katsuki’s arms and Shouto creating an ice barrier at the end of the hall to block off sounds that might be made - to give you the privacy you need to release your emotions. 

His steps were always silent to everyone else, his presence a quiet thing that you seemed to have a knack for sensing. This was no different as he came over to lean against the counter next to you. You couldn’t bear to leave the arms wrapped around you - wouldn’t dare be more selfish than you were now accepting affection at all. 

“You guys deserve better…” You choke out as you bury your face further into Katsuki’s chest. The arms around you tense for a moment, but they merely slide down to scoop you up and rest you on the counter next to Shouto, forcing you to pull away from his chest. 

The fingers at your chin guide your gaze up to blazing rubies. “I decide what I deserve. Don’t go around making fucking decisions for me, dumbass. If I decide I deserve you, then I deserve you.” 

You shake your head, silently begging him to understand. “You should have someone who doesn’t worry you…” He doesn’t miss the way you look to the stove and floor as he gathers what you leave unsaid. 

“Look, teddybear,” He pulls your attention back to him and blinking, you clear out the tears that blur your vision. “Daddy Issues over here worries me.”

“Mommy Issues over here worries me.” It’s the first time Shouto has spoken and it almost makes you smile at their banter even now. 

“But I bet your dumbass is thinking you’re more trouble than he is, that you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” The slight widening of your eyes and cut off hitch of breath is all the confirmation he needs to continue. “But you’re worth more than this bullshit self depreciation. Do you think anyone else in your shoes would’ve made it this far? Hell, would have made it to the Hero Academy? Fuck no, but you did.”

You open your mouth to contradict that, that it was a barely passed test that placed you here and a meager point that put you in Class 1-A. 

His fingers tighten on your chin and jaw, eyes thinning. “You gonna tell me I’m fucking wrong?” Your eyes hold the fight you can’t voice. 

“Baby, do you see the improvement you’ve made the past year?” All attention goes to Shouto as heterochromia meet your gaze. He steps closer, sliding the back of his hand along your jaw as his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. His eyes soften when you can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. “I remember when I first met you. Wide eyes with dark circles, a smile you wanted to show off, and soft spoken with a distance from touch.” His smile grows as he leans forward to press cold lips against your forehead. “But look at you now…” He murmurs before pulling back. 

It had taken quite some time for him to smile more around the two of you, and you can vividly remember each and every one of his smiles as he became more comfortable giving them. You feel your heart swell as you look between the two of them, recalling how long it took for Katsuki to accept physical affection and even longer to ask for it. The three of you had grown hand in hand since you stepped through the gates of the academy. 

There’s a tremor against your thigh and you glance down to the scared wrist. Gently wrapping a shaky hand under his forearm, you lift the wrist up to your face and press a kiss to the strain. There’s a jerk for a moment, just a slight movement before his hand curves against your face, fingers delving into your hair as his mouth parts in shock. 

“You should...really...take a break...every now and then…” You murmur between kisses to his wrist. 

His nails scritch against your scalp as he looks away and gripes out, “I’m fine.” The look you give him is more than words could account for, but you consider this an argument for another day and it appears Shouto is under the same idea as he slides behind you on the counter to wrap his arms around your waist. Leaning against his chest you press a light kiss to his cheek, a gesture that paints his face in a soft pink and leaves you smiling. 

“Oiiii, where’s mine at, dumbass.” You can’t help but scoff at the coated demand before you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, if only to hear the small noise in the back of his throat. 

“With interest,” You offer as you pull back. 

You can’t deny the three of you have made progress over the past two years, and some progress wouldn’t have been made without you, despite the lingering voice in the back of your head. You have to admit, the bodies surrounding you make it a lot easier to deny it. 

“Ow!!” Jumping, the three of you look to the ice barrier at the hallway and Shouto lifts a hand to melt the makeshift wall, revealing a fascinated Kirishima as he stares wide-eyed. “Whoa! Who knew my hardening quirk wouldn’t break Todoroki-kun’s ice!” Denki stands next to Kirishima, ecstatically glancing between the melted wall and Shouto.

“Quick, Todoroki-kun, make another one so I can try!” 

Mina and Jirou are kneeling behind the others laughing as they try to breathe. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works, Kaminari-kun…” Uraraka helpfully supplies. 

“Did you guys even pay attention in physics?” Jirou wheezes out between laughter fits. 

You have to admit, living to this point has its quirks. 

#happy birthday dear:) #i know i almost didn't make it in time #BUT I PROMISED YOU A FIC #definitely not a drabble-- #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todobaku #todoroki x bakugou #todoroki x bakugou x reader #bnha #mha #depression and anxiety #hurt and comfort #do not repost without asking!

[kewltie]

His office door slams open and a familiar voice comes through the doorway. "Boss! There is a horde of children, a horde of them," Nagai gasps, "outside looking for you. What did you do?!"

Katsuki doesn't even look up from his paperworks. "Do half of them look like they will eviscerate you if you get within ten feet of the group?"

A beat, and then, "Well, yes," Nagai admits sheepishly. "The oldest girl had stared me down like I'm the scum of the earth and I'd never felt so emasculated by a child before."

Katsuki slides out of his seat and stands up. "Yea, those are my brats alright."

"W-wait, what?" Nagai squeaks, face running through a gauntlet of horror. "Yours? You mean as in yours-yours like they're your kids? You reproduce? How does that even work—?"

When Katsuki gives him a searing glare, Nagai has the grace to look apologetic even as he doesn't retract his words. "Do I have to go over basic sex education with you?" he seethes as he walks up to Nagai.

"Uh, no, sir," Nagai says, shaking his head rapidly like a wet dog. "It's just, well," he scratches his cheek, "we never saw you with anyone before. Half of us either thought you were celibate and just obsessed with your work, while the rest thought you were, um," Nagai looks like a deer in headlights, "impotent," he finishes in a rush.

Katsuki swats him in the back of his head. "Stop fucking gossiping with the interns."

"Sorry, boss," Nagai says with a grimace. "We're just surprise that you didn’t just have one but several secret children running around and nobody even had a clue."

"I didn't contribute to their genetics," Katsuki grinds out, because he’s tired of going over this, "but those brats are mine in every sense of the word."

"Oh," Nagai says, brows furrowing. He opens his mouth as thought to say more but quickly closes it when Katsuki shoves pass him and heads out of the door. But it's not long before he starts it up again. "I guess that would explain why they don't look like you at all."

"What clued you in, genius?" Katsuki says dryly. "Is it their white hair or grey eyes?"

"Well, one of them, actually have green hair and eyes instead," Nagai points out, which earns him another swat. "Ouch."

Katsuki roll his eyes. "Shut up, you fucking baby. You're made of steel."

"Boss, your fist of fury can blow a hole through steel, so yea, I'm concern," Nagai defends as they make their way from the back of the agency to the more communal area because Katsuki prefer to keep them far apart as possible. Privacy is valuable commodity that he wouldn’t spare for anything less than absolutely. “I’m actually extremely concern when your hand land on any part of my body."

Katsuki snorts. Fuck HR and everyone who thinks fear can't be a good foundation to a build a work relationship on. His subordinates need a healthy dose of fear to get motivated to do their fucking jobs.

Or else they become useless like this—he curses inwardly.

As soon as they step into the main open area of the agency, there's a cluster of front office personals, interns, and off-duty heroes crowding over several small figures.

Their voice drown out all other noises in the area.

"Are you the Boss' children?" someone asks.

"Where did you come from?" another presses.

"Who is your dam?" A curious excited tilt to their voice.

"Awe, you're so cute!" A coo.

"This isn't a daycare," Katsuki snaps, raising his voice above the crowd. "Get the fuck back to work. I don't pay you all to stand around and do nothing." A series of whine escape but they quickly disperse back to their corner, but he can still their heavy gazes on him. Noisy fuckers.

"Um, I'll just go do something over there then," Nagai says, making a run for it before Katsuki can bite his head off also. Katsuki sighs, feeling a throb stirring in the back of his head. He turns his attention the real source of his headache—three menacing little shits.

They make quite a scene. Like pretty dressed up dolls, standing closely together with held hands as they present a united front against the world. Hikaru, protectively bookend by his older sisters, is wearing a baby blue hoodie with rabbit ears and white pants. It's fucking precious. If Hikaru is supposed to soften the world up for the slaughter then his sisters go right in for the kill. Yuko carries herself like a queen in her red laced dress, mary jane shoes, and a black beret on top of her head. Close by Akira doesn't settle for second best either. She has on a Ground Zero team jacket on with a GZ baseball cap on her head, a another GZ piece of merch on her feet adorned in his signature colors, and a plaid skirt around her hips. The brats are out in style.

It's an overkill, but fuck do they look good doing it.

Ironic, though, that Izuku can barely dress himself, but he always makes sure the brats look good enough to kill when they go out. No wonder they always catch attention no matter where and what they do. A sense of pride sweeps over him, because, yea, they're his brats too.

"Numbers," Katsuki greets them with a short wave.

"Kacchan," they say in unison. Yuko in her cold, detached tone. Akira chirps it excitedly. And Hikaru's voice is soft and sweet. They drop hand so Hikaru can wave shyly at him, because his sisters are too cool for that shit.

Hikaru quickly breaks rank and slams right into Katsuki's leg. "Hi," he murmurs, looking up at Katsuki with warmth eyes.

"Yo," he says back, bending down to lift Hikaru up and holds him over his hip. "What you monsters doing here?"

"Delivering Papa's bento to you!" Akira informs him.

A chorus of oohs and aahs echoes throughout the space. Katsuki snaps his neck toward the noise and glares at them to quite frankly shut the fuck up as Hikaru tucks his head against Katsuki's chest. Unlike his older siblings, Hikaru doesn't fair well under the spotlight.

"Papa requested that we bring your lunch to you," Yuko explains, words carefully enunciated and poised as though they can be pluck off of her tongue. Yuko always come off much older than she really is and maybe that's the burden of being the first born. All the responsibility and pressure, but none of the advantage. She got three younger siblings behind her and another on the way; she can't relax at all. There's an air of unapproachability around her that is indifference to the world but doting to her younger siblings and dam.

Katsuki and Yuko aren't close compare to the rest of the numbers, but a mutual respect is share between them. He's the one providing her family with a roof over their head and food on the table, and she holds her tattered family together with nothing but sheer determination.

She's good girl; Izuku had raised her right.

Yuko looks pointedly at a wrapped bento box that had been tucked to her side the whole time. "He made mentaiko for you since he’d said you like it."

"His first time too!" Akira adds with a grin.

Yuko scowls, bumping her sister shoulder. "Don't tell him that!"

Hikaru lifts his head up and leans closely to Katsuki's ear. "I’d tasted it earlier," he makes a face, "and it's not very good," he confesses, hush and guiltily like a prisoner on deathrow. “I didn’t like it at all.”

"Hikaru, you traitor!" Akira snaps as Yuko drops her face into her hand in exasperation. “Don’t go exposing Papa’s secret!”

"You shouldn't be yelling at him when you're just as bad," Yuko accuses.

Akira huffs. "I would never say anything mean about Papa!"

"It’s always you and your big mouth," Yuko seethes as thick black tendrils crawl to the surface of her skin like living tattoos. "This is where Hikaru had picked his bad habits from. "Inky shadows seeps from her feet and spread across the floor, pooling beneath her as several pointed pillars rise from it.

"You're so bossy, nee-chan!" Akira narrow her eyes, spread her stance, and raises her fists, lips curling in a sneer. "Maybe someone should teach you a lesson instead."

"Fucking hell," Katsuki grumbles, stepping forward to get between them. "Hey, hey, cut that shit out, you brats."

He slightly nudges Hikaru in the back to help him out and Hikaru, who is clearly the best child ever, begs urgently, "Yuko-neechan, Akira-neechan, please don't fight."

Yuko draws in a long breath before closing her eyes, finding that zen within her as the inky black tendril recedes back into her body. "I apologize for such an uncouth display," she says coolly, opening her eyes. It's a calm pool of grey once more. "That was rude of us."

Akira relaxes her tense muscle and drops her fighting stance. "Sorry," she says chagrin, but not completely appeased because despite being the only quirkless individual among her overpower siblings, Akira has enough gutso and blind bravery to fight anyone and everything. Sometimes even her own siblings. It's one of her worst and best qualities; she just doesn't know her own limit. "We'll be good now."

"Don't bullshit me, no. 3," Katsuki scolds. "You four exist just to drive me to an early grave."

Akira grins, rocking back on her heels. "But you loooooove us anyway."

"God, knows why," he says, pulling a disgust face at himself because fuck him does he love these little shits and all their complicated neurosis and hang-ups.

"And we all love you too," Hikaru adds, because he’s the best kid .

"Some of us do," Yuko corrects with an up turned nose, because praise from drawing blood from stone. “I may have accepted him, but doesn’t mean he is our father yet.”

Akira's head snaps to her sister as she opens her mouth to give another vicious barb, but just before that Katsuki quickly cuts in: "Okay, just tell me where are Deku and no. 2 first. I'm sure he didn't come alone and I already miss no. 2's death glare drilling a hole in my head."

Kouki’s zero tolerance for anyone’s bullshit, even his siblings, would be fucking awesome right now.

"Oh, Papa is outside waiting for us," Akira says as Yuko frowns beside her. "And Kouki-niichan is with him to make sure no alpha harassed him."

"What the fuck," Katsuki says, annoyed and beyond confused. "Why don't they just come in with you instead of sending just you brats?”

"Papa's shy," Hikaru whispers in his ears. "He doesn't want to bother you or cause you problem at your work place if he were here."

"You guys aren't mate or married so it would improper for him to visit you without causing sordid rumors," Yuko argues.

"And the fact that you three are here, isn’t either?" Katsuki demands dryly, gesturing to the three menace wrecking a havoc in his agency and the ears and eyes that had been training on them since their appearance here.

Yuko grimaces as Akira gives a sheepish smile.

"Mad, Kacchan?" Hikaru asks, mouth drawn tight as his voice quiets out.

"No," Katsuki answers, pinching Hikaru's cheek. "I'm actually fucking stoke." He turns to the other two and orders, "No. 3, go get Deku and no. 2 and tell them to get their ass in here."

Akira’s eyes light up and she grins. "Yes, sir." She salutes him and runs off.

"Here is what’s going to happen when Deku and no. 2 get here: we'll go to the lounge, grab a table, and you're all going to watch me eat your Papa's shitty food and hope I don't fucking get food poison, alright?" Katsuki tells the remaining two as Yuko makes a face and Hikaru giggles in his ear.

#bakudeku #stepdad au #series: numbers #or how alpha prohero!bakugou took in the widow of supervillain and HIS HORDE OF KIDS #fic snippet

[detroitbydark]

Luck Be A Lady (H.O.)

Title: Luck Be A Lady

Summary: A complex history comes to a head for a mob doctor and the bosses number one enforcer.

Pairing: Mob!Haz/OC

Warnings: Aftermath of gun violence, mentions of injury/blood, simple medical procedures, cursing, Smut (very soft)

Word Count: 10,500

A/N: So this started as a plot bunny and it kind of got out of control. I thought about separating it into a few parts but I just couldn't find good points to do it. I hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I want to thank @aossi​  for her constant support and help when I got stuck and @tomsrebeleyebrow​ for creating a great mood board as well as being an excellent cheerleader.

“I need Doc, Tom…. Fuck” Harrison grits out the words as Harry presses down hard on the wound in his side, blood is already soaking through his shirt, staining the blue oxford crimson. The coppery tang of blood permeates the towncar. Tom looks back in the mirror and sees the pallor his top enforcers face has taken on, the way the tendons in his neck stick out starkly as he bites back the pain. He makes the call.

Doc never meant to get involved with the Holland family but she had student loans to pay off and a daughter to take care of. And no one said ‘no’ to Dom Holland.  She tried to keep work and her personal life separate but when she fell in love with Michael, one of Dom’s top men, she knew it would be impossible. The world wind romance and marriage that ensued cemented the fact the little Rosie was going to run in the same circles as the Holland Boys and the lone Osterfield son. 

It was with apprehension that Doc found herself bringing her only child to The Holland compound to be introduced to the rest of the family. The boys ranged from 5 to 10 and were a rambunctious bunch, Doc had stitched each of them up on more than one occasion. She’d just recently set little Harry’s broken arm. They were good boys though and looked after one another. It was her hope they’d look after her daughter as if she were one of their own too. 

“Rosie” she watches as her little girl, barely eight, stares at the boys rough housing in the garden. Trepidation is clear on her cherubic features. Her little round face was beginning to lean out and she was rapidly looking less like a little girl and more like a little lady. It all felt like it was moving to fast for her mother but children didn’t keep and she had to start preparing her for the path she’d set them on sooner as opposed to later.  Doe eyed Rosie watches with caution as the other kids wrestled and rolled around in the grass. 

“Why don’t you go play with the other children.”

“Those aren’t children. Those are boys.” 

Michael lays a hand on Doc’s arm as he  chuckles at his new daughter. She already had him wrapped around her little finger. His adoration for the precocious little girl was evident to anyone who saw them.

“Come on short stack.” He encourages, ruffling her dark braids, “Go play while the grown-ups talk.” 

Doc frowns as she watches her new husband slip their daughter a candy bar. Rosie smiles brightly and takes off out the door.

“Did you just bribe her with chocolate”

“Just greasing the wheels a bit. Never hurt anyone, Doc”

“Who are you?” A boy a head shorter than her asks as she skips up. His curly hair is an unruly mop on top of his head and his face is speckled with a thin dappling of freckles.

“That’s Doc’s Kid” another asserts as Rosie turns from one boy to the other. She stands straight and proud, like Michael taught her. The one talking vaguely resembles the first.

“My name is Rosie.” She says, popping a hand on her hip and glaring at the boy in front of her. “My Mum says it isn’t nice to interrupt a conversation.” The boy doesn’t acknowledge she’s said anything.

“I’m Tom.” He says after a minute of assessment, “those are my brothers” he says pointing to the curly boy and another who looks loads like him. “Harry and Sam, the little ones Paddy”

Looking around she spots a taller boy, blonde smiling behind Tom, “what about that one.” 

“I’m Harrison.” He introduces stepping forward. Tom grunts crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, well, we were getting ready to play some ball and we’ve already got teams made up so…”

Rosie feels her shoulders droop but she keeps her chin up. She knew what he was getting at. Turning back toward the house she sighs when she sees her Mum and Michael watching her from where they stood with the other adults. A hand on her shoulder startles her. 

“You can be on my team if ya want.” Harrison has his head dipped down to look in her eyes, gives her a reassuring smile. Rosie tries not to look too eager as she nods.

“I’ve got some chocolate. I could share with you if you want.” He cocks his head, his smile gets wider.

“My lucky day, I guess”

----

“Lil Doc.” 

Rosie’s eyes are barely open but the sound of Tom Holland’s commanding voice has her already moving from bed. She yelps as she stubs her toe on the nightstand. It throbs angrily.

“Fuck...Holland? It’s 2am”

“Yeah, and you’ve got work to do. One of our boys got popped. I’m sending Sam over to get you. He’ll be at your place in five. Be ready.”

Fuck. The line goes dead. She wanted to curse again. It’d been a while since she’d messed with gunshot wounds, at the very least since the first rotation through the emergency room. When Dom and Tom had come to her with the same offer they’d given her mother when she’d first fallen in with the Holland family she hadn’t hesitated to jump at the opportunity. Tuition covered in return for intermittent providing of services?  Yeah, there were worse things in the world.

Growing up under the umbrella of a well connected mob family left one accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Rosie wasn’t above admitting she liked some of the finer things life had to offer. She hadn’t wanted to be a starving med student, certainly hadn’t wanted to be a doctor with $200,000 of student loans hanging over her head. Working for the Hollands gave her a certain amount of freedom. She provided care at a local women's clinic four days a week. It was rewarding and she could focus on her patients and not the paltry salary they’d offered.

Of course, freedom only went so far. Like tonight. She was at the beck and call of the Holland’s. Twenty four hours a day. Seven days a week. Holidays. Weekends. She was just a phone call away.

She waits for Sam just outside her front door, ripped blue jeans, the first she’d found on her floor, and grey hoodie pulled over her head. The moon is bright in the sky and, though it was summer, a cool breeze blows down the lane. Fireflies flicker in the garden across the street.

-----

“I guess Rosie can be on my team.” Harrison shrugs and grunts as the girl in question punches him in the shoulder, “Not fair.” He admonished “I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“That’ll teach you. I’m just as good as any of those other boys.” Rosie stares him down, her arms crossed over her chest. Harrison laughs at her sour expression. Her nose wrinkles in distaste. The other two teams of boys laugh from their positions on the patio. Sam and Paddy stand ready with their jar and Tom and Harry are ready with their own. 

“Enough.” Tom snaps, “You know the rules. Two points for each bee you catch-”

“Five points for the red arsed ones!” Harry adds.

Rosie rolls her eyes “This is the stupidest game I’ve ever heard of”

“No one said you had to play Lil Doc. You can go sit with your Mummy for all I care.” Tom throws out challenging.

Harrison glances from one to the other and sees the stubborn set of both of their jaws. Rosie fights him when he throws his arm over her shoulders. He thought she’d been stubborn when he’d met her, but the years had only made her more hard headed. At 11, she was formidable, not backing down from 13 year old Tom for any reason. Bosses son or not, if Rosie thought Tom was trying to get one over on her she was going to call him out. Guaranteed. It was Harrison’s job to keep them from coming to blows.

“Ah, get off it Holland. You're just afraid of my lucky charm here.”

“She isn’t lucky. She’s just a girl.” Harrison holds Rosie back before she can lunge at the oldest Holland heir.

“She’s my girl Holland and you better watch out.”

-----

Sam leans across the seat with a grim smile. He pushes the door open and Rosie quickly climbs in, slinging her pack on the floor. She was sure she’d have everything she needed when she got to the house but she believed in back up and contingencies.

“Do you know what I’m walking into?”

Sam is quiet, his eyes plastered on the road in front of him. “Sam?”

They take a corner faster than normal and Rosie braces herself against the door.

“Tom and the boys went out to have… a talk with some under bosses. Apparently there was less talking than previously anticipated.” His smile is grim, his tone dry.

“What am I looking at?”

“A couple grazes, probably some stitches” he pauses for a second. Sam had a shit poker face. He’d always been better at the behind the scenes workings of the family, never had the stomach for the some of the more...unpleasant business, but he had a brain for numbers and found ways to work magic with some creative accounting. “Someone took one to the gut.” 

Sam falls quiet again. 

Rosie pulls in a deep breath of air before attempting to relax back into the plush leather. She can feel her palms begin to sweat, can her her heartbeat thrumming  in her ears. Closing her eyes and pulling her legs up onto the seat, she tries to center herself. 

The ER rotations had been enjoyable. It was always something new, something different. It had forced her to stay sharp. Kept her on her toes. Rosie would be lying to say she hadn’t enjoyed a certain amount of adrenaline that went along with it, the ability to forget about everything that wasn’t the immediate task at hand. All of that was a lot easier to cop to when it wasn’t people you cared about at stake. While she’d only been back a few months after drowning herself in years of schooling, the boys would always be hers and she took her responsibility seriously. 

In school she’d never gone in by herself. There had always been a cadre of other doctors, residents, experienced nurses there to back you up if you needed it. She wasn’t going to have that and that thought scared her.

-----

“Come on Ro” Harrison hisses lowly, “move it or lose it.” 

Rosie’s converse slap the ground as she jogs to keep up with Harrison’s much longer strides. Water splashes as she missteps and her feet land in a puddle, soaking her shoes and socks in an instant.

“A little discretion, Princess” her companion jibes. The dirty look she sends him shuts him up.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing out here with you.” She growls as she catches up, pressing in close behind his back as the blend into the shadows. She can feel the vibrations of his quiet laugh.

“I needed a spotter and you’re looking for a rush. Getting bored in your ivory tower, Darling?”

“Fuck off, Haz. You could have called Tom.”

Harrison glances over his shoulder, boyish smile in a black hoodie. He winks at her.

“Toms not good luck.”

She’d known it was a bad idea when Harrison had called and said he needed her help with a project. There were loads of questions she should have asked. Why me? 

What’s the project? 

Am I going to be arrested?

If Doc knew how many times the “sweet Holland boys” had nearly gotten her tied up with the law or jumped by whomever they’d managed to piss off that week she was sure she’d never be allowed to leave the house ever again. 

She was partly to blame. She knew that. She needed what the boys offered, danger and excitement. It’s why she could never say no, even if she did make them work for it. She was happy to accept Tom’s bribes. She was easily swayed by Harrison’s bright blue eyes and smile that always promised trouble.

She skids to a stop behind him when he suddenly slows. Her eyes flash to his and she can see the way he’s staring at the BMW they’ve stopped in front of. He licks his lips and she squirms.

“Alright, ready for this?”

She can feel her eyes go wide with shock as he starts rummaging in his pocket, “Ready for what?”

“To steal the car?” He rolls his shoulders, shakes his hands out before flashing her a cocky smirk.

“Harrison, if you get me arrested Michael is going to kill you.”

“So you’re going to help me?” There’s underlying nerves in his voice. He tried so hard to be the big bad in training but she could still see that nervous fifteen year old boy peeking through. 

“Yeah, I’ve got you.”

The boost went fine. It was what happened when her step father had found them later that wasn’t so fine.

Rosie watches in stunned silence, tears stinging at her cheeks as Michael lands another blow across Harrison’s face. Their joyride has been cut short but the arrival of her step father. Harrison tries to remember the way her hand felt in his as he drove. The confused smile she’d given him when he reached across the console and twined his fingers with hers. Best thirty minutes of his life.

“You think you’re a big man? You think your ready for this life” Michael snarls in the teens face. “Here are the fucking consequences for dragging my daughter into your fucking games.”

“Michael! Daddy, stop!” 

Harrison can hear Rosie’s shrill pleas. He’s pretty sure his nose is broken, knows his lip is split. there’s blood in his mouth too and he’s not sure anymore what came first. This hadn’t been part of the plan.

Michael spins on his daughter, “you’re not innocent in this. You’re gonna break your mother’s heart when she finds out.”

“She didn’t know…” Harrison manages to get out, spitting blood on the ground at his feet. Michael Doherty was a big man and Harrison has to fight the urge to cringe back when he turns back to him. He takes the punch to his gut the best he can, fighting back tears of his own as he tries desperately to suck in a breath of air.

“And why is that son?” He asks darkly before answering his own question. “Because she fucking trusts you. That’s why. She doesn’t ask you the right questions and your gonna get her killed dragging her into this shite. Does she even know whose car that was?”

Harrison’s eyes fall to his feet as he gasps for breath. He hadn’t thought about that. There were loads of things he hadn’t thought of. He’d just wanted to show off a little. Impress the girl he-

“Exactly, and when the Russians rolled up and caught you? Do you know what they would have done to her...fuck! Rosie get in the car.” He growls quietly, not turning back to his daughter. Harrison can make out her face over her father's shoulder. She shakes her head from side to side.

“But…”

“No ‘buts’, get your arse in the car.”

Harrison watches her red-rimmed eyes fall as she climbs in the passenger seat of the Doc’s Mercedes. She doesn’t look away from him. Michael comes close, fists his hands in the youths jacket. Harrison can feel his hot breath by his ear. Rosie’s hand presses on the glass as he sets his jaw, takes the punishment he’s earned.

“You know what the Russians would have done to her right in front of you?”

Harrison chokes back a wrecked sound “yes, sir.”

“They’d have made you watch. I can’t… fuck...You think of that, son. She’s not for you. Not now. Maybe never.”

-----

It seems that every light in the Manor is on as Sam comes to the stop outside the front door. Dom Holland is standing, waiting, with light spilling out around him. It’s strange to see him in night clothes, flannel pajamas and house slippers, instead of a three piece suit. Rosie offers a tired smile as he holds out his hand for her. He’d always be “Uncle Dom” to her but every now and then she’d see the boss underneath the jovial facade.while he was less present these days, passing off day to day handling of the families holdings to Tom, he was nowhere near a toothless tiger.  

His brow is set in a hard line as she gives him a firm shake.

“Doc, thanks for coming out” 

Neither of them acknowledge that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. “seems the boys got in a dust up tonight.”

“So it seems” 

Rosie follows the family Patriarch through the expansive foyer and deeper into the house. He wastes no time. There’s a briskness to his movements, not panicked but certainly hurried.

“Harry and Tom are gonna need some bandaging, maybe a stitch or two but you need to attend to Harrison first. Got him in the infirmary already.”

Rosie’s steps falter. 

“He got shot.” She states feeling a fresh wave of anxiety wash over her. 

“A few times, yeah.”

Dom had the forethought years ago, before Rosie’s Mother’s time, to have one room in the family home converted to a makeshift treatment room. It was impressive and, though it was small, it had everything a person could need to doctor a mobster or two. Or in this case just one.

Harry is the first to look up and greet her from his perch on the small rolling stool. His mouth is a grim line, his thin lips pressed so tightly together they nearly disappear. Rosie’s eyes don’t linger as she notes Tom on the other side of the exam table, his eye is swelling, already turning black. A laceration over his eye looks freshly cleansed with steri strips holding it together. Neither Holland is her concern now. It’s Harrison, skin so washed out and pale that he nearly disappears into the sterile white of the room, that has her nerves tingling. His eyes are shut and he makes no acknowledgement that anyone has come in.

“Out Tom. Not enough room for all of us.” She says softly already moving toward the small sink to scrub her hands “get some ice on your eye.”

Tom nods only hesitating to rest a hand on her shoulder for a split second. “You sure?” 

“I’ve got him” she says but she’s not sure if it’s to him or to prop up herself.

“Harry? How are you doing?” She glances over her shoulder at the younger Holland.

“I’ve… been better.” Harry’s retort is clipped, his voice strained. 

“Mind telling me what happened?”

“I’m right here, Princess. I can report all the gorey details” Harrison’s eyes flutter weakly for the first time since she’s entered the room. His voice sounds like shit, like he’d just gotten done gargling glass shards but his eyes find hers. Despite their glassy edge they hold all the warmth she grown to know over the years. 

Rosie dries her hands quickly before digging in a nearby cabinet. When she turns back her arms laden with supplies, IV kit, tubing, and bags of fluids. 

“I expect you can” she says with a huff, “Right now, I need you to shut up while I’m pulling bullets out of you” Her eyes don’t leave Harrison, watching his shallow breathing, silently counting each draw of air he takes. His eyes fall away from hers.  “Now, Harry, what happened.” She asks shooing him to the side and drawing a rolling  tray within reach.

Harry steps back, giving her room to work. Rosie’s eyes fall to the slowly spreading stain on his left forearm. It’s hardly noticeable through the black shirt he’s wearing but she knows she’s going to spend some quality time with him and a suture kit later.

“We went down to the club. Tom arranged a meet with Piotr. He brought some of his boys.”

Moving as he speaks Rosie uses shears to cut Harrison’s shirt open before getting a line of fluids going in his arm. He barely flinches as the catheter slips into his skin. It makes her frown, tough guy could take a punch but he hated needles on the best of days.

Leaning over Harrison to adjust the fluids Rosie notes a pile of blood-soaked gauze pads already staining the tiles. The worry she’s feeling matches what she see in Harry’s eyes when they meet. 

Harry goes on.

“A new sharking operation popped up the last quarter. We were supposed to be coming to some terms, figuring out how to get the little cunt running it to fuck off.  One second it was expensive vodka, toasting to new opportunities the next… all hell broke loose.”

“it was a fucking set up, is what it was.” Harrison’s voice is a mumble but the disgust in it is evident.

Rosie looks down at him. He looks up sullenly, a twinge of pain shooting across his face when she readjusts the pressure on his wound. A black mask is forming at the corners of his eyes, a knot in the bridge of his nose is prominent. 

“Your nose is broken” Not a question, but a statement.

“Thanks for noticing.” He moves gingerly, adjusting his body on the propped table. 

Rosie presses harder on his side and Harrison hisses “Hold still you div” she mutters darkly. Harrison swats weakly at her hands. She brushes it off easily.

Harry moves to the sink, begins to unbutton his sleeve and peel back the fabric. Rosie shakes her head.

“Careful” she warns “rinse it good, use the antiseptic wash. Wrap in some clean gauze.” she can feel Harrison’s eyes on her but she ignores the pull to look at him. “I’ll have a go at you after I'm done with this mess.”

“I’m right here” Harrison grunts. Rosie blows out a frustrated puff of air.

“Yes, a fact I’m very well aware of. Your bloods on my new trainers.”

“I’ll get you a new pair.” Rosie cocks a brow, “You’ll shut your mouth is what you’ll do.”

 Harry chuckles and Rosie's glare snaps to him “Got something to say? No?” her fatigue and irritation bleed together “Good, maybe you can tell me how the div got himself shot?”

“With a gun, Princess.” Harrison’s weak attempt at a smile looks pained. It softens something in her, takes the edge of her ire unexplainably.

“Shut up Harrison” she says tiredly. 

“I heard three shots” Harry explains, shoving his arm under a steady stream of water as he speaks. Rosie watches the stream run red as it falls to the drain. “It was close quarters. I didn’t even know what was going on until I saw him stepping in front of Tom. Maybe two took? One in the shoulder and that one.” Rosie’s  moves a hand to push back the remnants of Harrison’s shirt. She curses under her breath. She hadn’t even noticed the one to his right shoulder. 

“It went in and out.” Harry notes. “Two holes”

Two holes were better than one. It meant the bullet had gone in than out and she wouldn't need to go fishing for it. Unlike his side.

“Fuck it all Haz” she murmurs, rubbing a spot on her forehead.

“Don’t go getting emotional on me now Doc.” His words slur together gently, eyelids getting heavy again. Her heartbeats hard in her chest. 

“Nuh uh… keep those eyes open.” She empties a long pair of tweezers onto her table “I need you to tell me when it hurts.” Harrison groans. “News flash, everything fucking hurts.” 

Rosie gives him a hard look, peeling off her gloves she cups his cheek gently. New tactic. She can feel Harry’s eyes on them. Harrison’s head rolls into her hand. 

“Come on tough guy” she pitches her voice low as her thumb strokes his cheek, “Need you to do this for me. I’ll get you the good drugs. Just cooperate, yeah?” Harrison’s eyes rolls to her. He moves as if he’s drunk, the blood loss was not treating him well and Rosie really wanted to get him closed up before he lost much more. She drags her hand away, pulling on a new pair of gloves. Harrison winces when he hears the latex snap against her skin. “One condition” Rosie watches his eyes focus in on her movements, how he waits until she’s fully focused on him and not the task at hand. “Kiss me”

“Harrison…” she warns

“Kiss me or I’ll die.”

Harry chokes out a laugh and Rosie glares up at him from her seat.

“Don’t start with me. You’re not going to die.” she huffs

“....not if you kiss me, I won’t. Promise”

-----

Tom gives Harrison’s shoulders a squeeze, “You’ve got this, lad. No worries, yeah?”

The blonde shrugs him off, rolls his shoulders experimentally, loosening the tension building between them. He’d been training for this match for ages. He bounces on the balls of his feet, trying to calm the nerves surging through him. He had this, like Tom said. 

So why was his stomach in such knots? He vaguely hears a knock on the locker room door but instead chooses to work through some combinations, warming his muscles and ignoring the tension building within him.

He hisses his breath out through a combo. Jab. Jab. Uppercut. 

“Looking good tough guy.”

The grin that cuts across his face as he turns to find Rosie standing in his locker room door is radiant. He didn’t know if she’d come when he’d told her about it. Doc and Michael had sent the sixteen year old off to some fancy all girls school earlier in the year after one too many dust-ups that he and Tom may or may not have dragged her into. She hadn’t been around like any of the boys were used to. He’d missed her fiercely.

“You made it!”

 The other boys laugh as he takes two quick steps to the door and scoops her up, spins her in a big circle. He can feel her giggling and he doesn’t remember a time he’s ever been so chuffed to see someone. Her arms go around his neck as he sets her back down, they both stumble a little and laugh some more. Her soft hazel eyes look up at him, always an open book for him to read.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” The admission is soft, just for him.

“She skipped school” Sam interjects loudly and Rosie turns, flashing him an impressive scowl.

“Hush you…”

“Your parents are going to kill you” Harry laughs.

“More worried about what they’re going to do to us when they find out the reason, the Princess here dipped out” Tom flashes a shark like smile to Harrison. Yeah, Michael wasn’t going to be pleased but he’d taken his licks from the old man once before for. He’d do it again if he had to.

Rosie rolls her eyes, arching a brow in Tom’s direction. Her shoulder presses into Harrison’s chest, his arm resting gently at her waist. It feels...really nice.

“You leave my parents to me.” 

Tom laughs, as his eyes move from Rosie to Harrison and back. Harrison gives him a questioning look.

“Something funny, Thomas?” Rosie's hand goes to her hip as she pulls away from Harrison. It pops out to the side and he can’t help but remember the first time he’d met her as a little girl in the Holland’s garden.

Harrison watches the quirk of her lips as she shoots Tom a look. His heart does an unfamiliar flop.

Laughing through a small cough,  Tom says nothing, shakes his head. 

“You just here to distract our fighter or what?” Harry teases. Rosie puffs out a laugh.

“M’not a distraction. Just wanted to wish the tough-guy good luck.” 

He may be mistaken but Harrison swears he sees her cheeks going pink. It’s cute. She’s cute. He’s thought it before of course, he appreciated nice things but something about now… maybe it was the distance, not seeing her for months on end with only the occasional call, but it’s like his eyes have finally been opened to the fact that she wasn’t just a pesky little girl anymore, not just one of his best friends.

“So I suppose you wouldn’t be opposed to giving a lad a good luck kiss?”

The words have slipped from his mouth before he even has time to really think them over. Rosie’s eyes snap to him as the other boys laugh.

“Aww..Haz…” Harry chortles, “what about I lay one on you.”

Harrison’s eyes don’t leave Rosie, “wouldn't work mate, you’re not my good luck charm.”

He can hear the “oof” as Tom cuffs his brother, hears him whisper something about ‘love birds’ and ‘privacy’ as he drags Harry out, Sam following obediently behind him. The door closes softly and he’s still staring at her, watching her chewing her lower lip and looking up at him.

“So, Princess, what do you say? Good luck kiss for your favorite boxer?”

Rosie laughs, “I’m not good luck.”

“Kiss me and let's find out.” His voice dips low. He can hear the dull roar of the gathered crowd. “I bet you are.”

“Haz…”

“Ro…” his gloved hand bumps gently against her chin, tilting it up for him. “Scared?”

“Of you?” She breathes quietly, “never.”

She rises on her toes, hands falling flat against his chest, Harrison tilts his head down to meet her lips. It’s a soft kiss, just a quick gentle press but it is everything. Her eyes are closed when she pulls back and he takes a second to admire her, to commit her to memory. 

“Did that feel lucky?” She asks, eyes opening to meet his.

“Yeah” he mumbles “pretty sure it did.”

She frowns. Before he can ask her what’s wrong she leans up again, her lips pressing against his more firmly, more needy as he stumbles back. His arms wrap around her, holding her close while her mouth moves against his. She nips at his lower lip as she pulls away again. Harrison groans as his gloves slip over her unable to grip onto anything. All the nerves from earlier have disappeared as he looks down at the girl in his arms. 

“Do you feel more than ‘sure’ now?” She asks him sweetly. He huffs out a laugh.

“At least a third round KO.” Her lips quirk.

“Maybe another would make it a first round?”

“Ro-

“Harrison, you’re up mate” Tom’s head peeks around the door, studies the pair of them with a smirk.

“...we’re going to discuss this later, yeah?”

Her soft smile and nod is all the encouragement he needs.

Harrison knocks out his opponent at the end of the second. His father, Dom, and Michael meet him back at the locker room to congratulate him. Rosie doesn’t show.

-----

“Harry! Grab me the morphine! Hold his arm!”

Harry knocks over a bottle of saline in his rush to meet her demands 

“One thing at a fucking time!” he snaps.

Harrison was fighting her attempts to fish the bullet from his side. He wasn’t trying to be a shit about it (she was pretty sure) but he wasn’t thinking clearly either. Each time he jerked away the bullet wiggled from her grasp and more blood gushed from the wound. She was a mess. It was like a damn horror movie.

“Fuck it all, Harrison. Stop!” She growls. Harry fumbles to remove the cap from the needle. “Stab him in the fucking arm. Six centimeters below the shoulder” Harry hovers the needle over his mates deltoid as Rosie leans across Harrison’s lap, trying to keep his wrists pinned to the table. “Yes! There!”

The needle finds it mark and Harry pushes every last bit in. Rosie can feel a drop of sweat beading at her temple, a wisp of hair settles in it. She flips her head in an effort to get the stray strands away from her face. It doesn’t work.

 She waits. Counts in her head. 

Five minutes go by before Harrison begins to go slack and she can let loose. 

When she glances up he gives her a drugged grin.

“Pretty…” he mumbles. Rosie huffs.

“Fucking div…” she grumbles, pulling her hair back into a bun before putting on fresh gloves “think you can hold still now?”

“Anything for you…” he trails off sleepily. Rosie sits back down, prods at the oozing hole. Harrison barely twitches.

Harry has deep lines of exhaustion etched across his face. When she looks up she catches him slumped against the counter his head bobbing.

“Har? Can you get me a cup of tea, one for yourself too?”

Harry nods, he doesn’t ask for confirmation that she doesn’t need him like his brother had. His face shows relief to be away from the blood and the tension of the situation.

When he’s gone Rosie slumps back on the stool, sighs quietly. Harrison’s breathing has relaxed, his eyes shut.

“Hazza?”

“Yeah beautiful?” He cracks an eye as she lifts the tweezers again.

“M’gonna get this bullet out of you. I just need you to hold still” she explains softly “can you do that for me?” He nods lazily, glassy eyes watching her movements.

The tweezers slip into the rough edges of the wound. One gloved hand rests along his side, the muscles tense under her hand. Her movements are slow, steady.

“I gotcha tough-guy.” She murmurs as she continues to explore the wound. Her teeth press into her bottom lip as she concentrated on the task. She can feel the tweezers brush up against something. Harrison groans lowly, his face twisted in a grimace, a new stream of crimson runs down his abdomen, adding to the growing stains on his khaki trousers.

“I’ve almost got it…” she mumbles “I’ve almost got it...hold still.” He squirms under her hands. 

“Harrison I’ll give you a kiss if you hold still.” She promises, desperation edging her voice. She feels him freeze and the tweezers close around the bullet. 

His face goes slack as she pulls the ammo from him. They’re both breathing heavily as the bullet clanks in a pool of blood at his side. 

The patch job goes quickly after that. Rosie’s focus goes to flushing the wounds, suturing layers of flesh back together, taping down pressure dressings to both his side and his shoulder.

“You’re gonna have some new, pretty scars” she murmurs, smiling softly as she lays a final piece of tape. Harrison’s grin is lazy and drugged, he reaches weakly for her but his injured shoulder won’t allow it to raise like he wants. His brows knit and a frown crosses his face.

“Do I get my kiss now?”

She’s weary, bone deep, as the adrenaline from earlier dissipates. She slips her hand into his searching one.

“I suppose you deserve it” 

Leaning in she lets her lips brush against his cheek. His frown doesn’t fall away.

“Doesn’t count.” His left hand moves up, index finger graze across her lips and then moves to his own. “You can do better.”

“Yeah?” Her hand cups his cheek softly as she brings her face close to his. Her lips brush against his. Harrison makes a soft sound in his throat as he leans forward. “Relax Harrison…” she breathes the words against his mouth, pressing his chest until he’s relaxed back against the table. 

“It’s as good as good as I remember.” He mumbles.

-----

The party is In full swing. Rosie’s on her third pint...or maybe it was her fourth. Tom has lost count. He hasn’t let her glass empty, citing being a good host and definitely not the fact that he wanted to see her thoroughly hammered before the night was out. If she was blitzed enough maybe she could forget the melancholy she’s been toting around all night.

She's curled up by herself on the love seat by the billiards table. Harry and Sam are focused on the game at hand. Rosie would usually be taking the piss out of one of them or fussing at them for puffing on the Cuban cigars his father kept in the humidor. Not tonight. She’s quiet, an unusual occurrence for her. In the years Tom’s known her she’s always had something to say but tonight, not so much. 

Tom’s eyes follow her gaze to Harrison across the room. He’s set up shop with Rosie’s luscious blonde roommate, Julia, in one of the chunky armchairs near the french doors, her long legs are draped over the arm of the chair as she sits perched on Harrison's lap. 

The two had been seeing each other for a few months now. Rosie introduced them. She’d just finished her freshman year at school and the boys had thought a celebration was in order. Rosie had brought Julia along after she’d been stood up by a date. It had been a nice gesture on Rosie’s part. It had completely blown up in her face.

 Tom had watched that night, as the rounds progressed, how Harrison and Julia had gotten closer and closer. His hand moving from soft touches on her arm to cupping her ass as they danced. Rosie’s eyes had followed it all with a disconnected gaze. She joked it off as if it didn’t slice her to the core. 

“Boys will be boys” she’d groused to Harry with a flippant shrug and a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

At the end of the night when the pair had gotten a cab together, Harrison had  praised Rosie for being his lucky charm, winking at her while one arm was wrapped around Julia’s waist. 

Tom sniffed in distaste at the memory of the whole ordeal. He’d put off his own piece of tail that night, stuck her in a cab alone, to take care of his friend. He’d had to listen to Rosie cry softly in bed next to him while he stroked her hair and whispered soft words to her until she fell asleep.

 He had to pretend to believe her the next morning when she told him everything “was great”.

Julia laughs and Tom can see Rosie’s spine stiffen, her knuckles going white around her pint glass. 

It was ridiculous. All of it. Rosie and Harrison had been circling around one another since they were kids. It was plain as day to everyone around them. Maybe that’s why it had been such a shit show. 

Ro’s old man had felt that no guy was good enough for his princess and had made it very clear to Harrison about how he felt when he’d begun sniffing around in earnest. It had given the lad a bit of a complex. 

Tom watched as Harrison pushed himself. To get better grades, to be stronger, faster, smarter than the next guy in hopes that one day he would be the man Rosie deserved. It had gone on for too long. It had become almost pathological for Harrison. Nothing he ever did was good enough in his own eyes. So he settled for perfectly acceptable girls who weren’t who he really needed. Like Julia.

And Rosie… well Rosie’s problem had been that she hadn’t recognized Harrison until it was already too late. She’d been what his mum had called a ‘late bloomer’. Closer in age to Harry and Sam than Tom and Harrison, Rosie had always been one of the boys. When Harrison was realizing she was certainly different than his other mates she was still completely oblivious to his awkward attempts at flirting. If Tom was honest, the whole thing was a fucking train wreck to watch.

“Tommy?” Rosie’s sweet voice drags him from his thoughts. 

“Yeah, Ro?” He has no time to react as she flops down in his lap and he fumbles forward to keep his drink in hand, cursing lowly as drops of beer roll down his arm, soaking into the rolled cuffs of his shirt. “Fucking Christ...Jesus Rosie I-“ his voice cuts off when she looks at him her eyes brimming with tears.

“Can I leave now?” He glances at her empty glass, the lost look in her eyes that don’t fully focus on him. Maybe he’d been a little overzealous with the drinks. Rosie Doherty didn’t ask permission. It had always been something he admired about her. She didn’t cow down to him, the bosses son, like others did. The fact that she was now wasn’t good. He wraps his free arm around her. She was the closest thing he was ever going to have to a sister and he hated seeing her upset.

“You’ve only been here a few hours. Don’t you wanna play some pool with Sammy and me later?” 

She shakes her head, glancing over her shoulder. Tom’s eyes follow hers to where Harrison has his head buried in Julia’s neck. 

“Look up here princess.” He demands her attention quietly. She’s relaxes minutely as she lays her head on his shoulder and looks up at him. “I don’t wanna see you look over there one more time tonight. You’re better than that. I’m not putting you in a cab either. Your Father would skin me alive if let you out of this house by yourself, drunk as a skunk.”

Tom can’t help but chuckle at the pout she gives him, ruby red bottom lip jutting out. God, she could be such a mess after too many. Always cute though.

 “How about we have a sleepover? Like old times? I tuck you in my bed and I’ll make us pancakes in the morning?”

Rosie seems to think about it, her head begins to turn back toward Harrison when he barks out a laugh but Tom grips her jaw, turns it back. “Pancakes, Ro.”

“Pancakes.” She repeats, with a yawn, “pancakes are good.”

Tom grins down, patting her arm gently. “Atta girl, now let's get you up to bed.”

He happens to glance back at Harrison as he gets to the library door. He’s no longer focused on Julia, only on the way Tom’s hand rests low on Rosie’s back, guiding her along. If the set of Harrison’s jaw meant anything, he was sure to hear about this later.

-----

“How is he, Doc?” 

The question startles Rosie and she lets out a quiet gasp. The kitchen had been dark. She’d thought she’d been alone. Harry had never returned with her tea and she was dying for a drink. 

Tom sits in the breakfast nook surrounded by shadows. A tumbler in front of him undoubtedly holds the expensive scotch he always favored.

“Shit Tom...I’m gonna put a bell around your neck.” The young mob boss laughs.

“Sorry about that” He holds up a second tumbler and wiggles it, “You look like you could use a drink.”

Rosie chews at her lip for a moment. Tea was probably the smart bet but yeah, alcohol wasn’t always a bad idea either. “The good stuff?”

“Glenfiddich 21. Always.”

Rosie slips into a chair across from him as he pours a few fingers into the spare glass. “I’ve still got to get Harry taken care of.” she mumbles taking a mouthful the rich amber liquid. It’s smooth like she’s come to expect. It lingers long after she’s swallowed it down, the taste of oak and fruit lingering on her palate. 

“I sent him up to bed an hour ago” Tom holds a hand up before Rosie’s able to argue, “His arm will keep until the morning. He’s gone longer with worse. How’s Harrison?”

The enforcer was good. Sam had come to relieve her a while ago and help the drugged man to his own bed. “He’ll live this time, I suppose” She says taking another swallow. Tom reaches over and tops her off again. 

“What about you?” Even in the low light she can see the sharp line of his jaw, his concerned expression. Rosie huffs. Takes a breath. Her hand trembles as she sets the glass down.

“I’m good.” Tom’s jaw ticks. “Well, yeah, it was a bit much but it’s what I’ve been trained for” she goes on after a minute “I’m sure it’ll happen again. It’s the first but it’s not going to be the last i-”

“Ro, we’ve known each other for what? Coming on 20 years pretty quick if I remember correctly” he smirks “and I do remember correctly. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Her jaw clenches as she stubbornly refuses to respond. Tom takes it as a sign to continue.

“You know, at one time I thought ‘Hey, maybe Rosie girl and I could make a go of it. She’s fucking gorgeous. She’s brilliant. We’d make a smart partnership’ but I never did anything about you know why?” Rosie shakes her head quietly, lets her finger run around the rim of the tumbler but doesn’t move to take another drink. “You’re my family Rosie. I will love you till the end of time but I don’t love… never have loved you like he does.”

“Tom..”

“No, shut up, let me say my piece. I’ve spent too much time watching you two hurt one another and I’m done with it. Do you hear me?” he takes a long drink, emptying the glass before setting it down, running a hand through his short hair. “Everything he is. Everything he’s ever aspired to be is because of you. To be good enough for you. Do you realise that?”

Rosie sniffs, “I never needed him to be anything other than who he is. He’s never had to prove himself to me.”

“No? Did you tell him-”

“Did he tell me?” She throws the questions back, leaning forward. “And the string of women he paraded through. Julia? Claire? Tania? Did he really ‘love them’ too?

Tom laughs low, “Yeah the Julia thing, that was...something but then you stopped coming around. You were already off at your fancy school and then poof your were gone completely. Only time you showed your face was holidays. You didn’t see him trying to fill that gaping hole you left with those other girls. He never could figure out why they didn’t work” Tom reaches for the bottle and pours another drink. “I knew though…” He takes another sip, tipping his glass toward her “they weren’t you.”

-----

“You’re a motherfucker Holland. You know that right?”

Tom rolls his eyes to the ceiling. He was lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting for it. Per the clock on the wall it was quarter twelve. He was surprised it took this long. Hands shove him from behind. He stumbles half a step before catching himself on the counter top. He spins to meet Harrison head on. Out of habit his hand lands on the holster at his shoulder. Harrison’s eyes flicker. “Watch yourself, Haz” Tom warns lowly, straightening and smoothing his jacket, covering the gun back up, “if there's something we need to discuss you come at me like a man and not some chicken shit cunt.” Harrison rolls his head, Tom can hear his neck crack as he does. 

“That’s rich coming from you. Going behind my back-”

Tom thumbs at his nose “Choose your next words wisely mate…”

“You and Rosie.” Harrison steps forward, in his space, but Tom doesn't back away. He turns his chin up, stares him dead in the eyes. Hands come up and shove the blonde back a step. He doesn’t give him time to right himself. “And if I wanted to bed her? Fuck her within an inch of her life, what claim do you have?” Uncertainty flashes through Harrison’s blue eyes. 

“None!” Tom barks, “You have fucking none, Haz! She’s not your girl and she’s not mine so get off my fucking case.” The confusion continues to shadow Harrison’s features.

“I saw you-” Tom is quick to interrupt him again, fuck him for questioning his intentions with their friend. 

“You saw me helping my very drunk, very sad friend to bed. It’s not the first time and as long as the two of you keep doing this dance...and mind you it’s getting fucking old, mate...around each other it probably won’t be the last.”

Harrison rubs roughly at the back of his neck. He pulls in a deep breath. His eyes focus on a point on the ceiling.

“I’m allowed to bring my girlfriend around.” his voice is dull, the fury draining, as he speaks. Tom knows why.

“Not if your trying to use her to get to Rosie, you’re not. That’s not fair to either of them.”

“Rosie doesn’t give a shit about what I do.” Tom laughs out loud, bitter and tired of the whole situation. 

“I’ve got a tear stained pillow that says otherwise.” 

-----

It takes a moment to realize where he is, waking from a black, dreamless sleep into an equally dark room. His shoulder throbs and his side aches and complains at each attempt he makes to adjust in bed. All in all, Harrison thinks it could be worse. He could have woken up dead.

He doesn’t remember getting to bed. He doesn’t remember much of anything accept Rosie’s soft voice and warm lips brushing against his own. It’s probably the remnants of a fever dream, to much narcotic and not enough blood, but it makes him feel slightly less awful about staining the back seat of Tom’s Audi.

Gingerly, he reaches for the lamp across the night stand, it’s slow going as his body protests the movement. He hisses in pain as he makes one final push and flips the switch. It’s not particularly bright, the warm glow only lighting a small block of the room and casting grotesque shadows over the rest. It is enough though to make out the form curled up asleep in the armchair across the room.

Her chin is tucked to her chest and the thin Afghan, usually relegated to decoration on the back of the chair, is wrapped around her shoulders. Her legs are invisible, pulled up so under the blanket. She looks soft, asleep like this.

It’s been too long since he’s seen her in anything more than an “official” setting, strolling through the house in business suits or a white lab coat left over from a shift at the clinic. He misses it. He misses her.  He misses the girl with the French braids rolling down her back, the girl who would help him plot mischief, the one who would fall asleep watching scary movies with the volume turned down low so their parents wouldn’t catch them. Mostly though, he misses seeing the woman she’s become. There were so many things he’d wanted to tell her for so long but never had the chance and now, she’s asleep a meter away and he can’t bear it. 

She adjusts in the chair, eyes fluttering open. Her stretching is cat like and elegant before relaxing back into the chair, resting her arms on her knees, her chin on her arms.

“You’re alive.” She mumbles, offering him a gentle smile. “Seems I’m still lucky.”

He laughs. “So it seems”. His smile fades as he watches her, watching him.

“You didn’t need to watch over me.”

“Tom insisted I stay.” She says cautiously. Harrison sees the way her eyes travel to the door.

“Did he say you had to stay in the uncomfortable straight back?”

“Harrison…”

He sighs, running his hand over his face. He feels gross where the thin sheen of sweat from the night has dried across his skin. “Rosie, why are you here?”

“Take your pills.” She encourages, ignoring his question as she motions to his night stand. He picks up the medicine cup.

“We need to talk about something… what are these?”

“The green ones are the Antibiotics. Pain pills are the others.”

Harrison pops the antibiotics into his mouth and drops the pain pills on the bedside table. He takes a long pull from the glass of tepid water sitting on the table. His mouth feels gummy and gross.

“I don’t want drugs.” He grumbles when she gives him a hard look. “I want to talk. Why are you here?” he repeats the earlier question. Rosie pauses, lays her cheek against her hands and looks away.

“I wanted to make sure you were ok, that you didn’t need anything…” she worries her lip between her teeth “I…. you scared me last night.”

“Well call me shocked. I didn’t think you still cared.” Maybe it was the injuries, the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the years of missing something he never got a chance to experience. Regardless, the words spill from his mouth with far more venom than he intended. Rosie flinches. When she looks back, he can see the weariness in her eyes. Not something born of fatigue from a poor night's sleep but something old and bone deep.

“I guess I deserved that.”

Harrison shakes his head. What was he doing? He stares down at his hands, there’s bruising along the knuckles of his right. Small cuts litter both. Scars from the life he’d chosen are immeasurable. “No, forget I said it. You don’t deserve that. You were focusing-“

“I was running Haz. Let’s be real.”

Harrison’s head snaps up. She’s giving him an unreadable look.

“For a long time I didn’t know what I wanted.” She laughs sadly, “and than I did and it was too late. So I pretended like it didn’t exist”

He can’t help the pained groan that escapes his gritted teeth and he tries to push himself to the edge of the bed. Rosie is already out of the chair and striding to him. “Damn it, stop moving” she snarls lowly “Christ, Haz. if you pop those stitches I’ll kill you myself.” He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so bad.

Rosie settles him back into bed, tutting and mumbling about stupid men and Harrison lets her. Her hands are warm against his bare chest and he basks in her attention. She pulls back for one moment and the next she’s pushing the cup of painkillers in his hand. He looks her dead in the eye as he throws it across the room. 

When Rosie tries to move away his hand grabs hers, pulls her down onto the bed. His grip tightens when she tries to get up.

“Look at me. Stop it.” He demands lowly. She turns her head, rolls her eyes. “This has gone on for too long and I’m done.” He watches her eyes widen. “I’m done wasting time and living like everything is ok.” He pulls in a shuddering breath. “This is how it’s gonna work, Princess; I’m going to talk and your going to listen and were going to clear the air of some shite that we should have taken care of ages ago. Understand?” She nods and Harrison is more than happy to accept that for the time being. Rosie turns toward him, one knee on the bed the other dangling casually off of it. Her hands rest in her lap but he can see the nervous way she wrings her fingers.

“Rosie Doherty, I have spent the better part of my life trying to be a man worthy of you-” She opens her mouth to say something and he presses the palm of his hand over it. He can feel her hot breath when she huffs. It brings a grin to his face. “I’m talking“ he chides as he draws back. 

“I’ve worked harder than any man in this organization. I’ve lost blood, sweat, and tears for the Holland’s but you know what? It was never really about them, it was about you. About being a man who could take care of you, protect you. And it’s never enough. I’m never going to be everything you deserve.” he runs his hand over his cheek, pulling at the soft skin. “But I can’t do it anymore, I-”

“Harrison, shut up.” her words are soft, almost a whisper. The bed dips at his hip as she moves closer. “I never asked you to be more. I didn’t need that. I don’t care about that. I just needed you.” Gently he brings his hand to her cheek, feels the warm life burning underneath his touch. She covers his with her own. “I didn’t understand what was happening. I was just a dumb kid. One day my best friend and I are talking about the upcoming match and binging horror movies and the next he’s opening doors, telling me how pretty I look. I wasn’t ready and then…”

She trails off. This was as much as he’d gotten out of her in years and he wasn’t about to see her stop now. He needed this. Even if only for closure on this chapter in his life. 

“And then…” he prompts. Rosie’s eyes shine, wet with unshed tears.

“And then I realized that I was in love with my best friend and by that time it was too late. You’d moved on to Julia and than after that everytime I saw you it was another girl and the time was never right to say anything because you were finally happy and who the fuck was I to ruin that?”

Harrison catches the tear that rolls down her cheek. 

“No tears. No for me. Not now.”  His hand slips around to the back of her head and pulls her forward. Chapped lips press against her forehead and Rosie moves closer, her body pressing against the side of his. 

“I wasn’t happy with Julia or...any of them. I was lying to myself. Pretending that eventually I’d find that one girl that was ‘it’ but I never did. I wanted to be loved, to be wanted but they were never enough.”

Rosie lays her head on his shoulder, he can feel warm wet tears against his cooled skin.  “Why not?”

“Because I already found her. I met her when I was ten years old. I’ve loved her since I was fifteen. She’s been the only woman I could ever see myself with and, yeah, there have been other girls” he looks down at Rosie. “But I’ve only ever loved you.”

The soft hazel eyes, the ones he’d seen in his dreams for longer than he could remember look up at him. 

“You mean that?”

The laugh comes out of him before he can hold it back. His thumb strokes along her jaw. “Come here”. He draws her in slowly, enjoying the way her eyes flutter shut the moment before his mouth presses to hers, the soft sigh over his lips as she opens for him and his tongue tastes her. And then something changes and the kiss melds from something soft to something more...more of everything.

Years of pent up frustration, of longing spill over and Rosie is pulling his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently, and his hands are pulling her across his lap. Her knees land on either side of his hips as he wraps his arms around her waist. He gasps out a breath as her knee bumps against his bandaged side and lightning shoots through him.

He has to hold her tight to stop her escape. 

“It’s ok...don’t move… just” he pants. “Give me a second.” Rosie watches quietly, concern obvious across her face as his pinched expression slowly eases. Her hands cup his jaw, thumbs gently coaxing the muscles to relax. 

“Harrison,” her voice is soft but sure “I love you. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it sometimes. I’ve spent years throwing myself into anything I could to forget you but I don’t want to anymore. I can’t.” 

She’s like an angel perched over him, a fucking dream. 

“You saying your mine, Princess?” She presses her lips together, fighting a smile as she nods. Harrison buries his head in her neck, inhales the scent of her skin, lets his lips play over her pulse as she squirms. Everything suddenly feels light, like the weight of a thousand suns has been lifted off his shoulders. “Say it.” He demands. “Need to hear it.” 

“Harrison Osterfield, I’m yours.” She manages through a sea of giggles as he nips at a ticklish spot. Her hands tangle in his hair, pulling him back. The weariness is gone from her eyes as she kisses him. This Is what it felt like, he thinks, to have everything you’ve ever wanted.

Their kisses turn languid, exploring each other’s mouths, hands roving over each other’s bodies. Clothes get peeled away, tossed into a pile on the floor. His body hurts but he can’t stop himself from reaching between her legs and finding the slick of arousal glistening on her sex. Rosie’s hand slips between them and strokes him with slow even movements. The morning light begins to spill through the eastern window, casting her body in a soft, early morning glow.

She braces her hands against his chest when he positions himself between her legs. There’s no words, only the encouragement of her full lips against his as she sinks down onto him for the first time. He swallows down the soft moans she makes, his hands on her hips as she rocks slowly against him. Her eyes are clouded with lust and he knows, now that he’s had her, there is no going back. There’s no other woman that can make him feel the way Rosie does. There’s no other woman he can love like he loves her. He tries to show her, tries to meet each rock of her hips with a thrust of his own bit Rosie smiles softly.

“You’re on light duty.” She says softly, “let me take care of you, tough-guy” 

And so he does. 

His hands roam over her body, feel the swell of her hips and the nip of her waist. Her breasts fill the palms of his hands and she makes the most delicate, needy sounds when he rolls her dusky nipples between his fingers. Her body clutches him, grips him in velvet heat that has him whining sounds of his own long before he’s ready too.

“Rosie...I’m close” slips from his mouth and she nods her head and continues to grind her body down on his. She leans into him, her chest presses against his as her mouth sucks tiny marks into his good shoulder. Her words are mumbled against his skin.

“Me too”

His hands fall to her hips and pull her tight against him. It’s only another minute before her body stills and he feels her come apart around him, her body trembling against him. He follows close behind, her name on his lips.

The sun is bright now, filling the room with light. Rosie dozes across his chest as their heart rates slow. Soon it will be time for them to get up, to take their first steps into a new world. Together. Harrison smiles.

It must be his lucky day.

----------------

Tag: @aossi​ @the-southernbelle​ @tomsrebeleyebrow​ @hazmyheart​ @procrastinatingismybiggestflaw​ @zselenophile​ @alltoowellbeneaththemangotree​ @gl0rynglam​

#Mob!haz #Harrison Osterfield #Haz Osterfield #haz osterfield fic #Harrison Osterfield fic #detroitbydark

[bentaylorrogerhardy]

Lily of the Valley - Part 3

Joe Mazzello! x Reader!

Summary: Being a young, single mom that worked full-time was hard. When you weren’t working, you were taking care of your five year old daughter, Lily. You had given up on dating after many failed attempts. That was until after a rough day of dealing with your ex boyfriend, your best friend introduced you to Joe.

Word count: 1407

Warnings: none! 

A/N: I feel like this part is kinda short, and kinda sucks but the next part will be welllll worth it. Enjoy!

(parts one and two are in my masterlist in my description!)

When your shift was over, you, Kristen, and Jana all headed out to your cars ready to leave.

“So, I’ll pick you up? About eight-ish?” Kristen asked, opening her car door that was parked next to you.

“Yeah, that should give me enough time to get ready,” you sighed, “hopefully, it all goes well tonight.”

“It will,” Jana said, walking over to you and Kristen, “it’s confirmed that Joe is coming, so you can’t get out of it now.”

“You two wouldn’t let me get out of it anyway,” you laughed, opening your car door and getting in, “see ya later.”

You pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, dialing Casey’s number.

“Hello?” she answered when she picked up the phone.

“Hey, I have a favor to ask you,” you said, “do you mind keeping Lily for the night?”

“No problem!” she said, “what for?”

“Jana and Kristen are dragging me out for the night. David invited one of his friends, and they want me to meet him.”

“Oooooh,” she said, “is it a daaaate?”

“I mean, technically,” you laughed, “how’s Lily?”

“She’s good, just watching cartoons,” she stated.

“Lemme talk to her,” you said. Casey called for Lily and then handed the phone to her shortly after.

“Hi, mommy,” she giggled on the other end.

“Hi, baby,” you smiled. After a stressful day of dealing with Chad, hearing that little giggle on the other end brightened your day, “do you wanna stay at Aunt Casey’s for the night? Mommy has to go do something.”

“YEAH!” she squealed loudly, causing you to pull the phone away from your ear.

“Ow,” you laughed, “okay, I think she has some stuff for you over there already, but do you need me to bring you anything from home?”

“No, I have lots of toys over here,” she said, “and she got me princess pajamas!”

“Oh my goodness, aren’t you special,” you smiled, “okay, well I guess I will see you tomorrow, my love.”

“Okay, mommy,” she said, “I love you!”

“I love you, too,” you smiled, “put Aunt Casey back on.”

“Okay!” she giggled. You could hear the shuffling of the phone being passed from Lily and back to Casey.

“Okay, yeah she’s all set over here,” she said, “go out and have fun!”

“I’ll try. Thank you for watching her,” you smiled.

“Anytime,” she said. The two of you bid farewell and hung up, then you drove back to your apartment to start getting ready.

---

“What do I even wear? Where are we going?” You asked Kristen on the phone, holding it to your ear with your shoulder as you rummaged through your closet.

“Something cute!” She exclaimed, and you could hear her rummaging through her closet as well, “we’re just going for dinner, nothing too fancy.”

You wanted to make a good impression, obviously. You looked and looked through your closet and dresser drawers, until you finally decided on a dark green oversized sweater, a pair of black jeans with rips in them, and a pair of black ankle boots. No matter how many times you claimed in the past that you were done with dating, there was always that one, small part of you that hoped that one day, you would finally find your person.

“Okay,” you sighed, taking a step back and looking in the mirror, “I think I’m ready.”

“YAY!” Kristen squealed, “I’m excited. Okay, Oscar and I are about to leave. See you soon!”

“Okay, bye,” you said, hanging up the phone, then plopping down on your bed, stomach filled with butterflies. You got up off of your bed, pacing around your room, trying to find something to occupy your mind as to not focus on your nerves.

---

“Get in, loser!” Kristen yelled out the front passenger window, laughing as you made your way to her car.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Oscar said as you climbed in the back passenger seat.

“Hey!” You smiled, buckling in your seatbelt, then sighing deeply.

“Ooooh, someone’s nervous,” Kristen said, turning around to look at you, “Oscar, can you believe we actually got her out of the house for once?”

“Shocking,” he chuckled, driving out of your apartment complex, glancing at you in the rear view mirror.

“I’m so excited you agreed to this!” she smiled.

“Oh, you and Jana would’ve never let me live it down if I didn’t agree,” you laughed. A few minutes later, Oscar pulled up to the restaurant and parked.

“I think they’re already inside,” he said as everyone stepped out of the car. The moment your feet hit the concrete, the butterflies came back, and they were back with a vengeance.

“Maybe I’ll just Uber back,” you stammered, “I’ll come another night.”

“Oh, HELL no!” Kristen said, linking your arm in hers, “you made it this far, you are NOT backing out now.”

“Okay, fine. You’re right,” you sighed. The three of you walked up to the entrance and went in.

“Over here!” You heard Jana yell from across the restaurant and the three of you made your way to the table they were all sitting at.

“(Y/N), this is Joe Mazzello,” she said, motioning to the man sitting next to her. He was wearing a blue New York Yankees shirt, a grey zip up hoodie, and some jeans. He stood up and gave you a small smile, sticking his hand out to shake yours.

“Yankee fan, huh?” you laughed, taking notice to his shirt and shaking his hand, “I’m more of a Dodger fan myself.”

“Eh, they’re alright,” he shrugged, chuckling nervously. Everyone sat down at the table, with you sitting across from Joe and next to Kristen. The waiter came and took everyones drink order, then headed back to the kitchen. Kristen, Oscar, and David were all caught up in a conversation about some TV show they all watched the previous night, talking about all the plot twists and storylines.

“So, Jana told me you’re an actor,” you said to Joe, who was twiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“Yeah, I’m kind of on a break right now,” he said, “I just wrapped up press for my most recent movie about a month ago.”

“Oh, nice,” you nodded, taking a sip of water, “what movie?”

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” he answered.

“No way!” you exclaimed, “the Queen biopic? I love them!”

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun to film,” he smiled. The rest of the time at the restaurant, it was like it was just you and Joe in the whole building. The two of you joked, laughed, and talked about almost anything and everything. Well, almost everything. You failed to mention the fact that you had a daughter. You wanted to make sure you actually wanted this to go somewhere before you dropped a bombshell like that on him. So far, it was going really well. Even Jana and Kristen noticed.

“Do we even exist?” Kristen whispered to Jana, glancing over at you and Joe, talking about baseball.

“Oh, let her have fun,” Jana stated, “when was the last time you saw her that happy?”

---

When dinner was over, and everyone was incredibly stuffed full of pasta, you all made your way out into the parking lot. Kristen, Oscar, Jana, and David were all ahead of you and Joe, who lingered a ways behind them.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” Joe said, sticking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Me, too,” you said, “it’s been a while since I went out.”

“Maybe, we can do this again?” he questioned, looking over at you with hopeful eyes, “just the two of us?”

“I’d like that,” you beamed, stopping in your tracks.

“Great,” he stammered, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, “could I get your number?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” you smiled, taking the phone and putting your number in it, then he did the same with your phone. You said your goodbyes, each with a hug, then headed to your separate cars. You walked towards Kristen’s car, that her and Oscar were already in, waiting for you.

“Soooo?” Kristen questioned as you buckled in, “what do you think of Joe?”

“I like him,” you blushed, leaning back in your seat, “he’s really sweet, and cute.”

“See?! Aren’t you glad we dragged you out of the house for the night?” she practically yelled.

“Yeah,” you smiled, leaning your head against the window, “I am.”

Tags: @deakyspuff @okiegirl24 @joalsglasses @toger-raylor @panicatttckiss @richiethotzierz

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody movie #borhap #fanfic #bentaylorrogerhardy

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart - Part 2 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

Out of drag, Brock feels smaller. Vulnerable.  He knows he’s still a giant Canadian, but without Brooke’s stilettos and hip-pads he almost feels fragile.  Maybe fragile isn’t the right word, maybe it’s - ordinary.  He goes jogging along Cumberland River and no one notices him. He wears grey sweatpants and Tragically Hip t-shirts like camouflage and blends into whatever setting he’s in. He’s like wallpaper sometimes. People look right past him.

No one looks past Brooke Lynn.  They wouldn’t dare.

Not that he can’t turn a look when he wants to. When his friends drag him out to a club, he can usually find someone who isn’t too intimidated to pick him up, take him home.  He likes being anonymous sometimes (that probably sounds ungrateful, and God help him he never wants this ride to end, but he doesn’t always have the energy to be Brooke Lynn. Especially on his nights off.) 

Back in Nashville he texts Nina every time a new episode drops.  He forces himself to watch each one in public, in a crowded bar or group of noisy friends, sometimes he even hosts the damn watch-party.  At least with people on all sides of him (arms around him, buying him shots, hands on his back) he can’t fuck off without reason.  Can’t run out into the streets or scream without someone coming after him, making sure he’s okay.  So it’s better to do the watch-party thing.  Safer, at least.

“Your fucking face,” he texts Nina during the Monster’s Bal episodel.  On the flat-screen above the bar, Nina’s just taken off her mask and is grinning horrifically at the camera.

“Your fucking mom,” Nina texts back.  Class act, that one.

“Tell me you aren’t actually selling Branjie hats,” she adds a few seconds later. 

Brock shuts his eyes, swallows. His hands don’t shake as he texts back.

“4 charity u want 1?” 

Nina sends him a series of emojis that are just indecipherable enough to be insulting.  And maybe the hats were a cynical move but the proceeds really are going to charity.  It was all Brock’s agent’s idea, and they ran it by Vanessa of course but - the worst part is that Brock’s actually getting some fucked-up kind of relief from it.  From the people online who think the whole sad story was a publicity stunt.  It’s like, fine, that’s all it was, here’s a fucking hat.  You wanna buy a piece of our relationship? We accept Paypal. 

It’s easier to think about it this way, then - the other way. His hand on Vanessa’s chest, heartbeat singing warm and low beneath Brock’s palm.  That harsh, rowdy laugh across the werkroom, making Brock laugh in return no matter what he was doing, and then blush with embarrassment.

(“I’m your jush, hey?”Lips close to Vanjie’s ear, arms draped over her shoulders.

“Aw, bitch, what you want me to say?” Vanessa’s focused on her sewing, but she still gives a cautious glance upwards, smiling with the corners of her mouth. “You need a ring or some shit?”)

That line becomes a bit of a joke between them, though it hasn’t shown up in the episodes yet - and if there’s any justice in the universe it never will.

(“You need a ring or some shit?” after Vanjie wins a mini-challenge, reaching out for a hand to hold.

“You need a ring or some shit?” after Vanjie lip-synchs for her life and throws her arms around Brooke as soon as they’re off-stage, away from the judges and the harsh white lights, smelling like sweat and hairspray and baby powder and -)

Stop.

If Brock ever hears that question edited dramatically into a confessional, he might break a television with his knuckles.  

At the very least, throw a high-heel.

“Are you okay?” Nina texts, too high-achieving for slang or abbreviations.  She even uses punctuation like some sort of monster.

Brock puts his phone down, lets the drama play out on screen for once. Nina doesn’t need a response to the question.  She already knows the answer.

* * *

The first time they kiss, the cameras are not on them. 

Brooke wouldn’t have done that, wouldn’t have wanted to make it something sensational.  She knows there’s a limit to how cuddly they can be before the editors start building a story out of it, putting pieces together that will inevitably lead to some awful climax and a lot of think-pieces on Vulture. It’s best to keep - whatever it is behind Vanjie’s dark eyes - under wraps.

They’ve been trading glances across the werkroom but Brooke tells herself it doesn’t mean anything special. Vanjie is a legend, a rock star, and even though Brooke slays the first runway challenge (all hail Detox, Patron Saint of Latex, hallowed be Thy name) it doesn’t make her think she’s earned any extra notice from the other queens. Maybe a couple of shady glances here and there, but that’s to be expected.

And if she looks a bit too long at Vanessa Vanjie Mateo (all wrapped up in red silk, the sticky-sweet colour of maraschino cherries and candied apples) no one’s going to notice.  Vanjie’s fine as hell in and out of drag; you’d have to be blind not to stare at her.  

Brooke’s clearly only fooling herself because that first night (the fucking first night!) A’Keria slides up beside Brooke in line for craft services, pursing her lips.

“Oooh girl, you be careful.” 

“Why?” Brooke grabs some salad before it runs out. Fuck knows the P.A.s won’t order more of it. 

“Play innocent all you like, but I see you lookin’. Don’t be stupid, now.” A’Keria is too smart for her own good, and too damn cool to be chatting with Brooke over paper plates full of iceberg lettuce. “Any of those producers catch you, they’re gonna be all over it, know what I’m sayin’?”

“I don’t,” Brooke Lynn says, and A’Keria rolls her eyes. 

But Brooke knew.  And she really should have listened.

It’s after the “What’s Your Sign” runway (which Vanjie stomps like she owns it, dripping with red roses and a goddamn Libra, Jesus Christ - Brooke’s so predictable.) 

She takes off her paint and sneaks outside for a smoke break before the producers come to round them all up, pack ‘em into the van back to the hotel.  No one follows her.  The cameras usually leave a queen alone if she’s by herself (not enough drama to waste the film) and Brooke hurries to take advantage of that fact. 

The smoking area is just a nasty little square of pavement with a couple of chairs and an ashtray, but it’s quiet and Brooke can almost see the stars.  For a few moments she’s completely alone and after the chaos of shooting for sixteen hours – it’s nice.  Nice to not have to be “on.” Nice to just be.

And then the door creaks as it opens, and out walks Vanjie.  Back in boy clothes, but still a bit glittery.

“Hello, hello, hello Miss Brooke Lynn.”

Brooke exhales a laugh that tastes like ashes. “You don’t smoke.”

“Nah.” Vanjie sits down on a chair across from her. “But those girls take forever, I’m growing old watching them. Look, baby, I got wrinkles.” She turns her head from side to side, gesturing to (non-existent) lines at the corners of her eyes. 

Brooke wants to tell her she looks perfect, flawless, untouchable.  But she doesn’t. Instead she sucks on her cigarette, tells herself to be cool (for once.) “You were so good in the challenge. It was amazing.”

“I’m not a regular dad, I’m a cool dad.” Vanjie tugs at the shoulder of her hoodie with that low, rasping laugh of hers. “You weren’t so bad neither.”

Brooke shakes her head, old enough to know bullshit when she hears it. “Don’t even.  That voice - that whole character was a mistake.”

“Haha, well.  It was a choice, bitch, a choice. Good thing you turned it out on the runway.” Vanjie tilts her head back, looking up into the dark. “Hey, I can almost see stars. That’s a star, right?”

Brooke follows Vanjie’s pointing hand, but can’t make anything out besides smog.  She closes her eyes instead of looking at her any longer (sometimes looking at Vanessa is easy and sweet as breathing, and sometimes it’s like holding the palm of your hand over a candle) and thinks of how far away from home she is. Old homes, and new ones, and all the places in between that felt like home at the time. She thinks of how long it’s been since she’s seen winter, the sky going grey-gold with falling snow.

When Brooke opens her eyes, Vanjie’s watching her.

“Don’t go getting down on yourself, Miss Brooke Lynn,” she says. “Mama Ru will clock that self-doubt and come after you. She eats. That. Shit. Up.”

“Right. Jesus, you’re right.” Brooke concentrates on the glowing ember at the tip of her cigarette, and not the way the dim lights catch Vanjie’s cheekbones. “Anyway, how are you holding up? Feel different than last season?”

“Since it’s been a minute and I’m still here? Fuck yeah it feels different. Ha!” All the teasing electricity in her eyes goes soft, and Vanjie’s quiet for a moment. A smudge of glitter still sparkles at the hollow of her throat. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m back.  That they let me come back.  Shit.” 

“Fans would have rioted if they didn’t bring you back.” Brooke fills the air with smoke as she breathes.  “I certainly would have.”

“Yeah?” Vanjie raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I should start smoking, since y’all making it look so good. Sitting out here in the dark like a tall glass of Clearly Canadian.”

“I don’t think they even make that any more.”

“Know your history, bitch.”

Brooke laughs again, helpless in the face of so much charm. “You know you have glitter on you? Your neck. Just -”

She reaches out to wipe it away, but before she can make contact with skin, Vanjie’s hand catches hers. Holds. 

Brooke doesn’t move.  She isn’t generally a reckless person - she’s poised, efficient, ruthless. (She wants all those things to be true. She wants to be smarter than this. She wants to feel the pulse point beating in Vanjie’s wrist like a metronome.  She wants -) 

“Shoulda known you’d be a Pisces,” Vanjie says before she kisses her. 

(As kisses go - it’s in the Top Three of Brooke’s life.

Number One: hasn’t happened yet. That’ll come later, violins and roses and all that shit, payoff worth the wait and then some. 

Number Two: her first kiss.  First with a boy anyway - drunk and seventeen and gasping with the realization that she could have this. This was okay.  It was okay.

Number Three is Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, tasting like mint and still glittery, hand clutching tight to Brooke’s (who isn’t shaking, she isn’t.)  There’s a hint of tongue at the corner of her mouth, and it’s all Brooke can do not to clutch fistfuls of that hoodie and drag Vanjie against her.  Hold her tight.  Keep her close.  Brooke doesn’t know how she’ll ever manage to pry her hands away.)

Then the door creaks as it opens. 

Brooke has just enough self-control to pull back before Yvie’s coming out, digging into the pockets of her skinny jeans for a lighter and scowling.

Not looking up.  Not looking at them.

“We’ve apparently got five minutes to get to the van.  Christ, that paint did not want to come - oh.” She glances up. “Didn’t know you smoked, Vee.”

And Vanjie grins, showing the white of her teeth (“Ain’t I full of surprises, bitch?”) and Brooke swan-dives to the pavement, through the ground, clean through the centre of the earth. 

She was already half-way there, but fuck her life: she falls.

#rpdr fanfiction #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #branjie #angst #eventual happy ending #canon adjacent #elastic heart #mia ugly #tw heartache #concrit welcome #submission #s11 #on set fic