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[nolpat0]

too late | t. jost

summary: he left her, but he realizes it was a mistake too late

wc: 1,724

warnings: break up, angst

Cold, numb fingers curled around the steaming hot paper of coffee cup, gripping the fresh beverage with new desperation, the owner trying to will the heat into his frozen bones by sheer force of thought. Tyson huffed softly, his breath clouding thickly in the frigid, winter air, a shiver snaking down his spine despite the thick, wool layers he wrapped himself in that morning. Muttering a soft curse as he remembers just why he should've grabbed the thick, fuzzy gloves that were currently sitting on his entry side table, Tyson moves from the busy, buzzing street corner and quickly strides across the crosswalk. As if he can merely outwalk the cold threatening to petrify his bones; and Tyson was pretty damn sure it was a real possibility. Finally searching his surroundings, Tyson's dark eyes scan the scenery of the cold, wintery lense of Colorado's capital, trying to pick out his car from the rest of the masses in the over-stuffed parking lot. His dark eyes land on a couple, laughing loudly in the cold air, as free and in love as they could be, paying no mind to the freezing temperatures or the snow littering the ground in various, black slush clumps. A bell of familiarity rings in his mind at the sound of the girl's silvery laughter, but Tyson is unable to place the exact memory begging to be released to the surface of his consciousness. A tiny, confused frown tugs at the edges of his pink, chapped lips as his heavy, boot-clad feet shuffle closer. He knows the laughter.

And then it hits him: her.

All the icy breath trapped in his pink lungs rushes out, leaving him breathless and stunned, a sharp shard of aching pain slanting through his chest and cutting against the muscle of his wild heart. Tyson blinks, his hazel eyes shuttering in bitter surprise as he watches her with the unknown man. His heart goes tumbling to his stomach, burning away into nothing but ash when he sees her fingers curl around the upper arm of his jacket, her familiar, toothy smile tugging at her pretty face. She's laughing, a high and pretty sound that dislodges a horde of repressed memories from the back of his mind, bringing them forth and sparking a wave of stinging tears to prick the backs of his eyes. But she's not with him or holding on to Tyson, she's with him. At first, Tyson is unable to place him, his brain too overloaded with the endless stream of merry moments of the past two years with her to try and problem solve why the unfamiliar man is vaguely intriguing. And then he realizes why the sharp cut of his low voice is familiar: it’s Zach. Her college from work that Tyson always thought was too flirty and willing to touch her and brush his fingers against her arm when she said something funny.

She was now with Zach. The realization and reality of the statement hit Tyson like a freight train, barreling into him without remorse and at full speed, knocking the breath from his lungs once again. Tyson vaguely felt his white-knuckled grip on his scalding coffee loosen, shock waves of pain and regret rippling through him.

She looked up, crinkled eyes full of mirth and laughter flickering up to catch Tyson’s dark eyes, feet accidentally stalling against the snow-clogged gravel as they locked eyes. Tyson, for the life of him, was unable to turn away and continue the seemingly futile hunt for his car. And she was too stricken with shock to register that she’d been staring. Old, familiar feelings clawed at Tyson’s throat as he regarded her, begging to be released. But he held them back, determined to hide his regret from her and her all-knowing eyes. She dipped her chin, the barest form of a nod as the edges of her lips curled into a soft, melancholy smile. Her feet continued their previous path and she mumbled a quick, halfhearted apology to Zach before allowing her gloved hand to fall into his naturally, tugging him away from the scene of her broken heart before either boy noticed. Tyson was still watching the sidewalk she disappeared down long after her figure faded from sight.

———

Standing in the cramped, messy confines of Zach’s hallway bathroom, she pressed her fingers against the worn door in an illusion of more privacy as she dropped to the tile floor. Her eyes roam over her illuminated phone screen, rapt on the single notification that alerted her during dinner.

Tyson Jost: Voicemail

With shaking, uncertain hands, she unlocked her phone, eyes catching the photo of her pressing her lips against Zach’s cheek. The background was a familiar pose, one she and Tyson would make thousands of times in selfies in a mockery of the pose, grinning like fools every time the camera snapped and captured them in their happiness. Memories flitted across her eyelids, stacks of them as they played their heartbreaking adoration back to her. She pressed her fingers against the call app, playing Tyson’s voicemail.

Hi.

Tyson’s gravelly, unsure voice filled the small bathroom, reigniting a familiar ache in her chest, reminding her just how much she missed the familiar lilt of his calming, smile-lined voice.

I know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now, but I- I felt like- I don't know. I feel like I should say something.

With baited, frozen breath she curls around the device clutched in her palm, hanging on to every crackling syllable that hums from the speakers as if she can picture Tyson pacing, in the small, tiled room of his cramped kitchen as he hesitates with every breathed word. She's almost grateful for the conversational, thought-like cadence of his playing message, if only for the fact she can better picture him, imagine the scene of him talking to her under the warm glow of his kitchen light.

It isn't fair for me to say this. I know that, but Jesus, I gotta get this off my chest, baby.

Her heart stutters wildly in her chest at the achingly familiar pet name, the quiet murmur of her breath cutting off rapidly as a renewed wave of pain crashes through her body, burning every nerve. The subconsciousness of the saccharine saying has her head-first tumbling into every moment of Tyson's second nature actions of his love; the brush of his thumb against the soft back of her hand whenever she clung to him, the press of his lips into the layers of her hair when she laced her arms around his neck, the tug of her legs onto his lap whenever they lay on the couch together with his eyes still trained on the TV.

Letting you go was the worst decision I ever made- in my life. My mom and Kacey let me know that- like all the time. I kinda hate them for it, but I know they're right.

Fuck. I don't know what to do- but I- seeing you today nearly fucking destroyed me, okay? Like I couldn't breathe for like a minute and I thought I was sort of moving on, but now I know I just forgot how much I still love you.

Red-rimmed eyes going wide at the rashly truthful confession, she hiccups, throat catching on the breath as a quiver over sakes the tips of her fingers. She never thought she'd hear the confession again; hear the rough syllables of his voice etch out the words she imprinted on her traitorous heart.

———

She remembers the first time he finally confessed the words to her; after she'd confessed them a week prior.

Tyson's long fingers had run through his head of dark-honey curls enough to brush them out significantly, and she knew he was on edge from the glint in his eyes as he looked at her. She'd hesitantly laughed softly, eyebrows furrowed as she slowly surveyed him,

"Tyson? Why are you so nervous?"

"Right?" he cried in sudden protest, a choked laugh falling from his lips. "You already said it, and I know you love me, but I'm still nervous as fuck to say it back."

Her eyes crinkled gently at the fumbled words falling from his lips, a grin tugging at her lips s she reached for him, smoothing over the collar of his shirt as she giggled lightly. "You don't have to say it, you know."

"No, I want to." Tyson shakes his head softly, dark eyes intent on hers as his calloused palms slide against hers and his fingers curl atop hers. "Because I love you. So much."

———

A soft, grief-stricken sob escapes the boundaries of her shut lips, echoing off the pale tiles of the small bathroom as she places shaking fingers against her chapped lips to silence herself; saving herself from the inevitably embarrassing moment Zach finds her sobbing over a long, fumbling voicemail from her ex on the dirty floor of his bathroom, still as devastatingly in love with said ex as the day she confessed it.

Leaning her head against the wall of the room, she pushes a shaking, broken breath past her lips, trying to reel herself in, scooping up her shattered pieces into some semblance of herself so she can wrap her head around what his message means and what it means for her.

"Damn you, Tyson," she breathes with gentle conviction, squeezing her eyes shut as she wishes for the millionth time she just deleted the message instead of sneaking away to listen to it. Or, if she really got all three wishes: Tyson never let go of her smaller hand and let the shining glass of her fragile heart slip from his fingers as he tried to ease the blow with his calming, sorrowful words.

Shattered into thousands of tiny, beautifully glittering pieces on the floor of her boyfriend's bathroom, she accepts the one thing roaring wildly in her head in an endless, unrelenting loop that won't let her go. She might not understand how she'll continue on, or what this means for the clueless current boyfriend settled on his couch, or for the curly-haired boy with words capable enough to break her. But she understands one thing with distressing clarity.

She is in love with Tyson, and she'll never stop.

[nolpat0]

the lies i tell myself | t. jost

summary: she tells herself sweet lies because she can't fathom a life without him

wc: 1,026

warnings: angst ofc

"I didn't mean that," his words are soft, and drained as if he's expelled all his energy hurting her feelings with too articulate arguments. His words are meant to smooth over the hurt of his hoarse, convincing words but she can sense the immediateness of his response, and the lack of sincerity of his half-hearted apology that tells her he means anything but to be apologetic. It's as if the twitch of his lips and the reach of his fingers for her and the melody of his voice is rehearsed; as if it's a habit rather than something he really means. As if Tyson knows of her hesitation in accepting the apology, he tries slightly harder. "I was just angry; none of that was true."

She nods; a quick dip of her chin and the quick flit of her silver-lined eyes. But none of his words feel sincere. She knows of their hollowness and his expectation that the words won't linger on her skin. Knows the heat of his anger as he yelled emphatically at her was genuine. For a brief, fleeting moment as her eyes flutter closed and her lips press into a thin, steadying line, she imagines what it would be to let her feet carry her away. Away from him, and his truthful insults, the push, and pull of his love and everything promise that fell short. It's peaceful; a life full of boring bliss and nothing but the faded memory of a curly-haired boy who loved her too much for him to not end up a memory. But reality crashes down on her, threatening to bring her to her knees as panic and fear grips every fiber of her being. How could she leave him when Tyson is all she ever knows?

Her boring, blissful life would be devoid of everything that made the edges of her lips curl in a broad smile or a cloying laugh spilling from her throat. She wouldn't scribble half-intelligible reminders about what to buy at the store in faded ink on a neon-colored sticky note, trying to hunt down a spot where Tyson wouldn't be able to miss it. She'd go long, tedious nights without the presence of his warm, comforting body sliding next to hers under the soft sheets, the pull of his fingers on her waist as she rested the flat of her cheek against the bare skin of his chest. She wouldn't get weekend retreats with him after a tiresome, irksome week at work, seated firmly on his lap as his chin rested on the curve of her shoulders as they sat under glittering fairy lights spun around a back porch of a friend's house. She'd forget the afternoons he put his playlist in random order and allowed it to burst through every seam of their apartment, his inviting, hazel eyes coaxing her from her stubborn spot on the couch and into the hold of his arms where he could spin and dip her until he got her laughing. She would lose it all and have nothing to blame but herself and her ignorant wish for something other than the sting of his empty words. With a pain-full hiccup of breath that shuttered through her lungs, she understood leaving Tyson wasn’t an option; he was too deeply ingrained, and carefully extracting him from her side would rip apart herself along with him.

"I know you didn't," her reply is gentle and coaxing, a habitual response that they both know is an invitation to brush their destruction under the rug. It’s also a blatant wish for the brush of his soft lips against her cheek and the warmth of his strong arms wrapping tightly around her.

His footfalls sound against the dark wood of the living room floor, his smell hitting her nose before Tyson curls himself around her, fitting her perfectly against the plains of his chest, burying the tip of his nose into her sweet-scented hair. Breathing him in, she closes her tired eyes and savors the bittersweet moment. Taking in every press of his desperate fingers into the material of her shirt, the relaxed and reassured sigh that falls from his chapped lips, and the warmth of his body as he holds her in a tight, unrelenting embrace. Falling into the depths of his dishonest love, she reminds herself of the careful lies that have kept her figure in his grasp for this long. He's not the things he says, he's not the things he does. But even she can deny the sour, bitter taste of the wicked lie on her tongue as she harshly swallows it down.

His cold fingers cradle the line of her jaw softly, his dark eyes boring into hers as a small, delicate smile pulls at the edges of his lips. Involuntarily, she shivers against the coldness of his touch, a small, unwanted laugh spilling from her lips, causing the edges of his eyes to crinkle at the sound. His teeth gleam as he grins sheepishly at her, an apology falling easily- truthfully- from his tongue.

"I'm really sorry." The confession brushes over the bridge of her nose and onto the curve of her cheeks, settling deep into her skin. His forehead pressed against hers as he leans forward, willing her to understand the crack of his words. “I am so sorry.”

"I am too," she whispers, as if the smaller her voice, the more she'll believe every lie trying to keep her tied to the owner of the beloved boyish grin before her. She rakes in every warring emotion, tugging at the curls on the nape of his neck so he settles into the soft space between her shoulder and neck. Feeling the light touch of his lips against her neck, she returns the affection with a kiss to the top of his forehead, fingers carding lovingly through his mass of russet curls.

"I love you," she admits, a sliver of pain winding its way through the muscle of her heart. But it's not from the admission that causes her pain: it's from the unwavering honesty of the admission that sends her to her knees.

[nolpat0]

love isn't enough | s. crosby

summary: they've decided to take a break to reevaluate their relationship but when she finally returns his text, things have changed

wc: 1,633

warnings: lots of angst ofc

The rough pad of Sidney's thumb brushes over the soft, smooth skin of her calf, a distracted, subconscious habit of affection he developed over the years he's known her. His coffee-hued eyes watch the flickering images of the daily news play across the large-screened TV, a crease forming between his dark brows as he drinks in the information humming in the background. Subconsciously, the flat of his palm presses harder into the unblemished flesh of her legs, prompting her watchful gaze to linger on his illuminated side profile in silent question. He's lost in the depths of his thoughts; his mind rolling around a specific worry. She wonders in hidden curiosity what's prompted the far-away look etched onto his strong features, and what it might be.

"Sidney?" she calls softly, her tone dulcet and calming, the edge of her fingers cascading over the broad flat of his shoulders, catching his attention.

His cinnamon-colored eyes burn into hers with a strange intensity that she's unused to. The edges of her chapped lips twitch as her mind snags on the intensity burning in his irises and what it means. Sidney's pink lips part, as if he's trying to form the words on his tongue and actually breath them to life. She can sense the wheels turning behind the gleam of his eyes, and it sets her nerves on edge, the soft material of his shirt sliding against her thighs as she props herself up, as if physically preparing for whatever he's about to confess.

"Is this it?" he breathes the words out slowly as if testing the way the syllables battle against the hum of the forgotten TV. The taught muscles of her shoulders drop in relaxation as her delicate, sleepy features twitch in a flicker of confusion.

"Is what it?" Sidney watches with a heavy expression as the edges of her lips curl into a confused, genuine smile that she usually gives him whenever his low, heavy-accented mumbles reach her.

Swallowing the sudden lump formed in his throat, Sidney steels himself, the tightening flicker in his strong jaw sending a new wave of apprehension through her tensed, upright body. The soft tips of her fingers fall from the thick material of his gray t-shirt and he feels the absence of her warmth-filled touch like an ache that's settled into the marrow of his bones. But he forces the sharp-edged words from his tight throat.

"Us. Are we gonna pretend that something isn't wrong here?" as soon as the words hit the air, Sidney knows they sound wrong; a cruel twist to the intended soft lilt of guilt. He's trying to plead with her, beg her to understand they want different things and the divergence is increasingly clear in every one of their late, star-lit, wine-fueled conversations. Sidney wants her to understand what he's saying, but the syllables rearranged themselves, sketching him the antagonist. The shock and waver of her easy expression rip through the soft tissue of his heart and burrows deep.

"I can't pretend if I don't know what's wrong, Sidney."

Her words are soft, a raw tenderness that almost has him flinching back, knowing he doesn't deserve the helpless look smoothing over her features or her permissive tone. She's giving him a chance to go back and restart his confession.

So he slides his hands against the smooth skin of her thighs, rough palms brushing against the worn fabric of his t-shirt that's draped over her figure until the curve of his fingers fits over hers. His dark eyes bore into hers, the quiver of his brows telling her how much he's hating the conversation.

"We want different things," he says firmly, his full lips drawn in a tight line. "Eventually," a whisper of a loose breath through teeth as he pulls together every loose, weakened string of himself and yanking them together so he can give her the graciousness of a soft, mutual goodbye. ".. we would've grown apart. Maybe we just need to step back and evaluate what we want in life outside of each other, and then see if we can do those things together."

She takes in the serious, unrelenting tone of his firmly confident words, and understands this is what he must've whispered to himself over and over, selecting and choosing words to hand to her; to let her down easy. Before she gives in to the request, she allows her silver-lined eyes to drink in the curve of his full lips, the gleam of his caramel-hued eyes, the unruly angles of his midnight locks, and the sharp lines of his strong features. She quietly places each memorization in a specific category in her mind; saving the last, unblemished memory of her Sidney.

"Do you want that, Sidney?"

Another sharp whistle of his breath sounds as his chest contracts painfully, the arrow of her permissiveness twisting deeper, searing apart nerves and blood vessels. It's a necessary wound- for survival- but he wonders if it'll scar permanently and leave a sour taste between his molars and tongue. But he hates the ceaseless, aching feeling, the sorrowfully understanding look she's wearing, and the fact he has to do this.

"It'll only be a step back," he quickly assures, fingers tightening against the joints of hers, suddenly fearful that he won't know how to sleep between the cold sheets without the press of her cheek against his bare chest or her scent lingering in the gray bedding. Or that he'll find himself lost in the rows of the grocery store without the messy scrawl of her hand on brightly colored sticky notes clasped in his fist. The breath in his lungs is stolen at the future now clearly outlined; devoid of her silvery laughter and the wink of her smiling eyes.

"Step back?" she retracts slowly, the bones of her fingers sliding from his as she physically recoils at the words, brow creased in concern. "What does that even mean, Sid?"

"Just a few weeks- not even," his words curl into a panicked octave of heartache, the tips of his lashes beaded with unshed, salty tears.

"Weeks?"

Sidney hears the hopelessness laced in her disbelieving tone, and his breath hitches, now returned with a bruising weight as he feels the situation spin wildly out of his control. He watches the emotions flit across her face, the understanding ruining the last ruins of composure she has, releasing the tears she's fighting in minuscule rivers down her flushed cheeks.

"If you think it's best," she whispers, the subdued decibels yanking savagely at the carefully replaced strings of himself, threatening to break. Her silver-lined eyes slide to meet his, hardened and determined. "Maybe it'll be good."

Sidney nods quickly, his thumbs returning to their habitual place on the tops of her thighs, a comforting motion that they understand is a final goodbye. His soft lips press against the crown of her head, a proclamation of his love whispered in her hair, too quiet for her ears to pick up as he pulls away.

"Two weeks, okay?" he promises, the gravel lilt to his voice tenderly soft.

"Two weeks."

———

The unforgivingly promised timeline of their reunion expires sourly, the date pushed back in an anxiously guilty voicemail left on her phone in the early morning of the Sunday, explaining how even though Sidney detested the eerie silence that seeped into his apartment without her off-key humming, he needed to know she wasn't conforming to his futuristic dreams for the sake of not losing him. So she settled into the itchy, unfamiliar fabric of her couch, stretching out her legs, frowning at the absence of Sidney's fingertips, and packed her emotions in a flimsy cardboard box and hid it in the back of her closet in her mind, sending the dark-haired man a simple text allowing him his request and agreeing that maybe she did need to find out her own wishes.

———

He pressed the screen of his phone to the couch, red-rimmed eyes staring in an empty reverie at the blank screen, the familiar press of heartbreak on his sternum knotted his shoulders and ached in his rough palms. In these moments, he craved her presence; aching for her mid-night kisses against his temple when she woke up, or the scuff of her feet against the hard-wood as she moved down the hall, the tilt of her head as she sang along to the music she played when they cooked. In these moments, when he felt as if the very bones of his ribs were caving in and piercing his shattered heart, he wanted the press of her palm in his or the comfort of her words. But now, Sidney can't feel the warmth buzzing in his hands from her touch or the slide of her skin against his and he feels lost, disoriented without the steadiness of her unconditional love. He wonders what moment over the tedious course of two months was the one where he lost her.

His dark eyes flicker to the flipped-over phone laying on the couch's soft surface, the burn against his cornea's too much for him to fight, and he allows the salty flow of his tears to bring him to his knees. A shaky, broken breath surpasses his chapped lips as his lashes brush his cheek, guarding himself against the text of betrayal lingering on his phone. He tries to rid his mind of the memorized line of text, but the words cling to him, refusing to let him slip away from his misery.

You were right, Sidney. We don't want the same things, and sometimes, even love isn't enough.

Sidney desperately wished it wasn't true, and that they both ended up being right, but he couldn't run from the truth. Sometimes, love really wasn't enough.

[nolpat0]

NationalHoranLeague’s Fanfic Recommendations

Please be aware that these fan fictions may include smut and other potentially triggering content. Please, read at your own discretion.

* Denotes Smut

Currently Includes: Harry Styles, Niall Horan, & Various NHL Players

Last Updated: 8/28/2021

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[nolpat0]

miraculous chance | m. barzal

summary: they need one miraculous chance for their breaking relationship to survive but it never comes

wc: 1,392

warnings: a failing relationship, heavy angst

Her eyes tracked him and his swift, anxious tread in an endless loop around the thick living room carpet, her lips tipped in a thin line and purple smeared under her eyes. She didn’t ask him to stop, pretend she was worried about how the dig of his heels would wear a whole in the carpet with the edges of her lips pulled up as if she was joking.

Instead, she just watched him, looking on at the dark storm of clouds brewing in his irises, the antsy tug of his fingers against the material of his athletic shorts. She wants to stop him, call his name and use the taste of her lips to ease him into the cold sheets of their bed, smoothing over any fracture in their relationship until the morning. But she won’t; the group underneath her feels too unsteady, and she fears if she slides her hands through his hair and asks him to love her the way he used to, it will shake the ground enough for her to loose footing. So she stays, thighs pressed against the material of their couch as her shoulders sag under the weight of what ever he’s thinking about.

“We got to talk about this,” he whispers, the syllables cracking and breaking as he pleads for something unknown.

She meets his beseeching gaze, and lets herself deflect the questions and the truth buried under his words until she can finally let him go.

“About what?”

Mat’s dark eyebrows slant together, colliding as he glared in frustrated disbelief, calloused palms facing her bowed figure a sign of pure innocence- like he didn’t have an equal hand in their slow dissolve.

“Stop that,” his voice grates on her nerves, full of tension and unreleased anger boiling under his skin. “I mean, fuck, do you even see it?”

She lets her eyelashes brush her cheek in a feverish blink of doe-eyed naivety, her chapped lips opening to voice her refusal to acknowledge whatever tension slides between their bodies at night and keeps them from holding each other.

“No.”

But the lilt of her voice is a soft question, like she doesn’t even believe in the lie she’s solidifying, speaking into existence. He eyes her, cheeks flushed and dark hair pulled at odd angles by frantic fingers, mouth pressed in a firm, disdainful line. They both know the truth; but she never says what she means. And how he wishes she would.

———

Hiding under the pale, thin sheets of the empty bed, she listens to the quiet sounds of Mat moving around in their attached bathroom, the tap of his feet against the tile before he reaches the carpeted floor of their bedroom.

She keeps the fall of her chest steady and rhythmic, an act that she’s fast asleep, buried under the mountain of blankets and pillows she decorated the bed with to distract from the valley of emptiness between their bodies in the king sized bed.

She hears the whistle of the AC unit, pushing cold air into the room, brushing over her goosebump riddled skin and collecting in the joint of her bones. She used to be able to fit the jut of her chin on his chest, curl her body around his and tangle herself with him when she felt the cold settle in, chase the lingering tendrils of frigid air with the heat of their joined bodies and the giggles of her amusement as he surprised her with the cold press of his hands. But now she waits, hidden under the layers of cold repellent blankets, shivering still.

She waits until the soft mattress dips with the addition of his weight, the shuffle of his skin against the sheets as he settles in, trying to will himself into the peaceful, unproblematic meadows of sleep. And if he’s really lucky, he’ll get the mercy of a sweet dream. She waits until he’s finally found his favourite place to sleep, freckled back facing her and body flirting with the edge of the bed. A faint want to trail the ends of her nails against the toned, sporadically freckles plains of his back lingers in her stomach as she tracks the rise and fall of his chest.

Under the waning light seeping through the sheets, she can wait until his breathing has evened out and he’s fallen into the depths of dreamland. She prays it’s quick, the unbearable pain of trying to saw off the part of her fickle heart that wants to press the flat of her palm against his back to feel the jump of his heartbeat. She doesn’t need that part of her heart, and she’ll function just fine without it because she knows that’s where this is headed. Unless, by a miraculous chance, they change. But it’s hard to change when you have no clue as to what happened or how it happened. So she instead waits, the aching section of her heart silently hoping Mat’s figure will stall with a choice and he’ll flip over, a subconscious flip of fate that gives her hope. Hope that they’ll get their miraculous chance. But she waits, eyelids drooping and body growing fuzzy with sleep. He doesn’t flip and when dawn breaks through their curtains, he’s still angled away from her.

———

Fingers curling around the edge of the phone case, her eyes squeeze shut in a pained attempt to block out the angry bit of his rising words. Her breathing is sporadic, attempting to calm the rapid, jack-hammer beat of her heart. Dread curls in the base of her stomach as his argument crackles through the phone's speaker.

“Mat,” she breathes, trying to stop his rant like if she can delay his rightful, truthful arguments, she can delay their inevitable end. “I gotta get back to work.”

On the other end, anger fading from his veins and regret mixed with desperation replacing the fiery emotion, Mat sighs at the familiar lie. This exchange of a phone call, a need for a solution or a real conversation about them prompting Mat to dial her number, leading them into a furious argument during her lunch break she spends huddled in the bathroom, door locked and cheeks stained with tears. And then her escape plan; a lie that either someone is trying to use the forgotten stall or she’s needed back at work. It’s her retreat, her appeal to Mat’s forgiving side to allow them to continue their charade until she finally breaks off that particularly cruel section of her heart. And Mat, with his unrelenting hope that something will fall into his lap that’ll fix the fractures appearing, allows her to flee.

“Bye.” his whisper hits the air and fades into nothing.

———

He’s deeply asleep when she comes in, trying to keep quiet in the darkened shadow of their room as she shuffles in softly.

She can hear the whistle of his breath as she slips into the old T-shirt she vaguely believes to be his, his familiar scent washing over her and burrowing under her skin. Her features don’t twist in pain at the scent or fall in a helpless expression of heartbreak, instead she doesn’t feel anything when the scent hits her nose. A silent understanding settles over her in the absence of a reaction, lifting the weight off her slumped shoulders.

Her fingers brush the comforter as she slides into the cold and empty side of the bed; the space unofficially hers. Eyes shuttering gently as she settles into the space next to Mat’s warm body, she digs her fingers into the softness of the blankets, savouring the feeling. Her eyes drop to watch Mat’s bare back, and the steady expansion of his torso as he breathes softly.

A faint, lingering smile plays on her lips as she sits up, folding her body until her lips hit Mat’s cheek, a final goodbye kiss. She falls back down, her movements hushed in the dark, soundless room. With her back turned, her eyes don’t track the shutter of his lungs in the wake of her kiss as the underlying meaning of it settles on his skin. In that moment, sleep ending into the corners of their mind, they understand this is the moment they watch the final stand of their foundation crash into dust.

[nolpat0]

something like this | s. crosby

summary: sidney has always wanted someone like her and confess as much to her

wc: 1,573

warnings: mentions of hospital/injury, one sexual innuendo

The low, metronomic beeping of the monitor keeps a steady, consistent beat to the familiar, dulcet hum of a female voice. In his drugged, cloud nine-like haze, Sidney does his best imitation of a grin, the gloriously soothing tone of her words easing him out of his concern.

"Sid?" her whisper is followed by the warm press of her fingers against the skin of his upper arm, a sweet reminder of her unwavering support. "Are you awake?"

He is; but the boy fights the grin that is sure to give him away in order to keep the easy flow of her rambles going, enjoying her vivid stories and the giggle at the end of her words as she confesses the minuscule details of her day to him. She believes him to be fast asleep, for her words to be nothing but a useless hum, and he enjoys the unexpected imtimacy of the affectionate gesture.

"I see what you're doing," she speaks again, the edge of her words exploding into the melodic tumble of her soft laughter. However, she doesn't cease her talking. "I'll just keep talking and making a fool out of myself so you can pretend you're asleep."

Sidney can't help the glimmer of love that warms his hospital blanket-clad body, a small, tender smile tugging at the edges of his full lips, revealing himself. Her fingertips trail over the carved outline of his cheekbones and brush against his hair as he finally opens his coffee-colored eyes. He gives her a earnest smile, the edges of his eyes crinkling as his dark eyes travel over her face, his full, pink lips splitting open into a wide grin to reveal shining teeth. She mumbles a soft, calming greeting and caressed his cheek a second time with the tips of her fingertips.

“So you gonna fall asleep again so I can tell you what Mat did next?” She asks, the edges of her lips curled into a playful smirk as she teases him, fingers still running agaisnt the midnight strands of his short hair in a loving manner.

Sidney can’t help the gentle, genuine laugh that rumbles from his chest, his grip on the pale blue hospital blanket loosening as he lets his palm fall flat on the curve of her knee. He nods quickly, eager to keep hearing her soft speech and tease her back, “Yes of course. My bad.”

He doesn’t catch the small smile that lights up her face because his dark lashes are already falling flat agaisnt his faintly flushed cheeks. She doesn’t waste another second launching into a detailed discription of her colleague, Mat’s experience with a particularly awkward run in with their boss. As she gently lulled him farther into the comforting clutches of sleep, Sidney tried his very best to keep his facial expressions netural but failed quite badly, which propelled her further into making him laugh. As the tall hockey player felt sleep finally take him, he felt overwhelmed with the buzzing, delicious feeling of love. He was consumed by the complete love he held in his heart for the girl still talking and running her fingers through his hair. He was too deeply in love to even think properly. And Sidney loved every minute of it.

———

Sidney couldn’t feel the light press of her palm agaisnt his as the white lab coat clad doctor filled the couple in on his prognosis and what the steps leading them forward would look like, a detailed, and frankly terrifying process that would have Sidney recovering and ready to return on the ice in a month or so. His breath was strained through his lungs, his jaw dancing with a clenched muscle as he tried to reign in his fears and desire to lace up his skates without a practical thought about the nasty consequences. Sidney just wanted to return to the locker room and resume being captain, and knew the only way to that was through the plan the doctor was currently laying out. Which scared Sidney to his bones if he was allowed to be completely honest.

“Sid,” she called, eyes watching her boyfriend closely as the hospital room door clicked closed in the wake of the doctors exit. Nerves clung to her limbs but she shook them off in order to ease Sid and his tense posture. She tried again, more forcefully. “Sidney.”

His chin dips and he finally slides his cinnamon coloured eyes to lock onto hers, trying to mask his evident fears. But she knows him far too well to skip the flicker of fear shining in his irises or the slight quiver of nerves that shook his large hands. Instinctively, her palms slide over his, fingers knitting tightly with his in a subconscious attempt to ease his shaking.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she nods, refusing to break eye contact in order to get her confidence across. She could tell he was scared, as was she, but she understood that in the end, all would work out. And they would be ok.

“I know.” Sidney tries again, blatantly deflecting.

Her lips quirk into a soft, knowing smile, her eyes flickering up distractedly as she brushes his hair back from his forehead. She smiles deeper absentmindedly, a smile that Sidney adores with all his heart. He felt a tiny fraction of his terror fading away like ice thawing in his veins.

“You don’t have to act like you’re not worried, Sid.” her eyes dropped to hold his loving gaze, her lips set in a firm line. “You don’t have to always be the strong one. That’s what I’m here for.”

A tight breath eases from his lips as his eyes close lightly, his heart settling back into its former steady pace of calm at her carefully chosen words. He was grateful, for her presence and the pressure of her fingers in his and the weight of her words. He’d never experienced a love like hers, where she loved him wholly and unconditionally, allowing him to remove all his amored layers and bravado. He revealed his true self to her and she had only kissed him passionately and grinned like he’d given her the best gift she could receive, repeating her daily mantra of how much she loved him. Sidney had never felt more loved than he did at that moment. His heart swelled fondly at the memory, the edges of his lips turning up in a doting smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, a little unsure of what exactly he was thanking her for, but the statement was truthful.

She responded with a light, fleeting kiss pressed to his temple, her palms reaching up to softly cup the sharp curve of his jaw. He waits with baited breath, but soon relaxes fully under her loving gaze content with just staring at her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, the syllables falling softly from his chapped lips in a unintentional audible confession.

She blinks at the unguarded, genuine compliment she knows he must mean, when she’s been curled up in the uncomfortable hospital chair beside his bed for the past two days, sleepless nights smudged under her eyes and dressed in his old clothes. She feels the burn of her cheeks under his gaze and the compliment. Sidney catches the slight embarrassment and reaches out to brush his thumbs under her eyes. “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

She rolls her eyes in response, mouth curving into a mirthful grin.

“Yeah, yeah, why don’t you fall back asleep?”

Sidney reaches out and hooks his fingers the the belt loops of her jeans, pulling her closer and onto the narrow mattress, shifting his own body to accommodate hers. “Only if you sleep with me.” he replied, coffee coloured eyes gleaming with flirtatious mischief. His fingers don’t loosen their hold, instead going to grip her hips and pull her flush to his side, savouring the warmth radiating from her smaller figure now dwarfed by his size. She curls tightly to his side, fingers digging into the material of his shirt and leg falling over his as his palm cups the underside of her thigh before it gave away to her knee. She hums with a soft laughter, commenting that she’ll think about his desirous proposal, ignoring the fact they both knew she’d already complied. Sidney settled in with a long, adoration filled kiss to her hair that didn’t hold a drop of lust. He grins at the tired lilt to her voice as she mumbles softly into his thin shirt, the reverberations flowing through his chest. His fingertips smoothed over her hair as he breathed deeply, catching her familiar scent. “I love you so much.” Sidney whispered into the layers of her hair as she promptly fell asleep to the barley audible confession, meaning every syllable with his whole heart.

When her breathing has evened out, a soft almost imperceptible whistle of her breath as she falls into a deep, dream-less sleep upon his chest, fingers tightly curled in the material of his thin shirt, as if she can’t fathom letting him go, even in sleep, Sidney reveals his truest confession.

“I’ve always wanted to be loved by someone like you.” his words are hot and hit the top of her forehead before he kisses her skin. Sidney is quick to brush a stray eyelash from her cheek. “And now I have you. And I’m not letting you go.”

[nolpat0]

WIP list | nolpat

nolan patrick-

nothing atm

sidney crosby-

love isnt enough [angst]

progress: queued!

mat barzal-

nothing atm

tyson jost-

too late [angst]

progress: one quarter done

[nolpat0]

can't quit you | m. barzal

summary: she and mat can't get each other go despite how bad they are for each other

wc: 1,165

warnings: toxic behavior, alludes to sex

The cramped kitchen was dark, moonlight pouring over the dark-stained floorboards and illuminating her figure sitting loosely cross-legged on the floor, the pale lighting making wraith-like shadows flicker across her weary features as her eyes continued gazing harshly at the blank-screened phone resting in the middle of the worn floor. She was debating, being yanked back and forth from her two options so wildly her stomach clenched painfully, tightening and coiling as she failed to be broken from her anguished reverie. A frightened whimper escaped her bitten, blood-stained lips, tongue darting out to taste the metallic flavor of her own blood, as the phone screen lit up with a ring. It was him. She began shaking her head ever so slightly, sharp, melancholic hatred aimed at him flaring through her veins as the phone continued its insistent ring, making her finally choose the lesser of two evils instead of letting sleep take over at 3am on her kitchen floor, salty tears clinging her to flushed cheeks. There was always that option- even now- but now the idea of picking up the call, answering the phone, and hearing the soothing lilt of his words was too tempting. Who wanted to pass out on their kitchen floor crying anyway?

"Hey,"

Every ounce of hatred left her pores, dripping away and leaving her shaking form clean and fresh with a new wave of guilt and satisfaction. The two emotions warred inside her, rising to a dull ache in the base of her skull as her cracked fingernails dug into the plastic of the phone case as she held it to her ear.

"Mat," She answered quietly, the syllable rolling off her tongue, unbidden and a horribly natural habit she'd somehow picked up over the course of his midnight calls. Her wet lashes hit her cheek as she squeezed her blood-shot eyes tightly at the memory of the endless stretch of similar calls he'd tortured her with. Of course, he called; she kept picking up. Even when she really, truly shouldn't have.

On the other line, the crackle of her voice through the small speaker of his phone had the muscles of his mouth twitching to the side in a triumphant grin that shone in the light of the bright phone screen in front of him. His long fingers held the device away from him, letting his coffee-colored eyes roam over the font of her contact and the changing numbers of the duration of their call until he had it committed to memory. He liked the way her small voice echoed through his cold, darkened room in the dead of night when he put her on speaker. Despite himself, Mat liked hearing each crack of her words, as if the syllables were breaking apart along with her will. It became a game to him; the boy relishing every tilt of her unique voice crowding his room as he guessed what word her throat would choke on, and which sentences she pushed past her pretty lips would have her falling apart. When she would break. So he continued curling his lungs around the air meant to breathe life into his meaningless words, trying to drag out her inevitable downfall before he'd have to pick up her pieces.

In the lackluster light of her cold-tiled kitchen, the girl bit back the hiccup of her cries as she clung to every hollow word he gave to her. She knew of his sickening glee over her impending sobs and knew how much he liked the emotion he inspired in her battered heart. The enjoyment originally came from a well-meaning place, the boy in awe of the positive, in-love feelings he gave to her. Too quickly, their love had wilted like a flower cut from its stem, and he was left with the game of how hard he could bend her before she broke in his hands. But it took two to play their catastrophic game of dying love and her games were just as horrible as his.

Fingertips pressed against the faded tile of her kitchen, she curled into herself, back curving as her ribs shook with skillfully internalized sobs. She wondered offhandedly if he could tell she was crying from the unsteady pacing of her shallow breath through the buzz of the poor connection. Her white-knuckled hands shook with familiar desperation; an ache for him and the weight of his arm fitted above the jut of her hipbones as the ends of his dark curls brushed her heavily flushed cheeks, the whistle of his breath soft against the shell of her ear. It was a familiar ache, a feeling that nestled into the junction of her bones and follow every painful midnight call and tears pooling on the kitchen floor.

"I need you here, Mat." She whispered, the feeling of loneliness so overwhelming and ghastly terrifying that she folded to its influence, eyes shuttered closed as she pleads for him. "Can you come over?"

It was always can and never please because can gave him the opportunity to walk away, finalize their disastrous end with a broken promise that he'd arrive at her door but instead left her in the shaking mess of herself, gasping as the morning sun finally rose and told her to get herself together. It meant they could finally let each other go, and they could move away from whatever shreds of their relationship they had left, feet swiftly moving them throughout their life so that in time, they could look back and silently thank the day he broke his final promise.

"I'll be there in ten."

Ten minutes. Mat had ten minutes to pull on his shoes, unlock his car and navigate the midnight streets like he didn't already know the route by heart. She had ten minutes to pick herself off the floor, wash her mascara-stained face and pick whatever color she thought he'd like that night. But he also had ten minutes to stall at a red light, finger drumming against the leather and decide against this, putting his car into reverse as he pulled out of her apartment parking lot. She had ten minutes to stare at her dulled eyes in the mirror, order a new lock, and text Mat to lose his spare key before blocking the eleven-digit number from her phone. They had six hundred seconds to make their decisions, to war with their heart and head, to understand that the feeling tucked between their heart and sternum was no longer love, but the terrifyingly real fear of being alone. But perhaps they already realized this and figured this cruel routine was better than having a cold bed.

In the end, six hundred seconds weren't enough for either of them. Mat pulled the silver key from his pocket, feeling the familiar ridges as he understood its metaphorical meaning. Guilt stabbed at his heart, but nothing stopped him as he pressed the key into the lock.

Only to find the door already opened.

[nolpat0]

i love you more | t. jost

summary: after a fight, tyson reminds her of how much he loves her

wc: 1,192

warnings: nothing. just fluff my man

She was perched on the edge of the bed, anxious fingers pulling helplessly at the cream-colored comforter. Her eyelashes were thick with dried tears and her cheeks were flushed, matching the post-crying hue the whites of her eyes had obtained over the last twenty minutes. She knew Tyson was in the living room, no doubt worrying just as much as her. She could imagine him perfect; his usual bright grin falling flat and his fingers tugging in his curls as he debated what to do. Tyson hated it when they fought, even more so when she was mad at him. But she was no longer mad, resigned to hoping neither of their words cut too deep. Eyes bouncing up to where Tyson’s knuckles knocked softly on the doorway, her breath caught in her burning throat, hopeful. Both of them had gotten nasty with their words, the stress of their weeks pouring into every venomous syllable.

“Are you still mad at me?” Tyson asks softly, brown eyes searching her own to find forgiveness or a sign that their fight wasn’t as bad as he believed it to be.

“No,” She shakes her head, swallowing a rising lump in her throat before continuing. “Tyson, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“We both get a little hot-headed sometimes, don’t we?”

Tyson gives a small smile, his lips curling at the edges, the expression easing her heart and coaxing a soft, breathy laugh from her lips. He still stands on the threshold of their bedroom, sock-clad feet unsure of their permitted entry and his fingers drumming against the pale molding. She takes a moment to admire him, the tight pull of his shirt over his chest and the messy curls atop his head, and the slanted grin across his lips.

“C’mere.” She mumbles gently, gesturing for Tyson to fall into her arms. The boy eagerly obliges, making the bed dip as he joins her, arms tugging her onto his lap as his forearms cage her in. His warmth seeps into her clothes and she subconsciously presses herself closer. She can smell his familiar scent, the smell making a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Placing a hand on his chest as she giggles softly, she speaks again.

“But seriously, I want you to know I’m sorry.” She bites her lip, teeth worrying against the skin of her lips. “I apologize. It’s been a long week and I took out my frustrations on you.”

Tyson smiles brightly, the expression making her stomach erupt in brilliantly colored butterflies and cards his long fingers through her hair, brushing a kiss to her temple with all the tenderness he can muster. Her fingers snake around his neck and play with the unruly curls at the nape of his neck as Tyson dips his head to cover her cheeks and column of her throat in light kisses that have her laughing widely in his arms.

“Apology certainly accepted.” He murmurs, hot breath fanning against the exposed skin of her neck and the vibration of his words making her wiggle happily in his embrace. But he pulls back, eyes boring into hers with every ounce of seriousness in him. Silently making sure she understands his next words. “We’re okay. I promise. And we’re always going to be okay. You know why?” She blinks, lips popped open in soft surprise and she gives the smallest dip of her chin in acknowledgment. “Because I love you more than our fights or the bad days combined.”

Her heart shutters at the words, the confession warming her heart and blowing a sense of relief through her bones. She’s never had someone say something like that before and never felt more sure of someone’s love for her. Her eyes widened slightly, fingers stalling against his neck.

“Tys,” She breathes. “You know all the perfect things to say.” She drops her head to fit in the junction of his neck and shoulders, lips pressing against the warm skin of his neck. She leaves the kiss against his skin and pulls back to look into his eyes, matching his serious tone. “I love you endlessly, you know that?”

Tyson's grin is unmistakably joyous, instantly becoming one of her favorites. She returns the grin, unable to help the smile brightening her features. All she can think is of how in love she is with the curly-haired boy holding her tightly. All lingering feelings of their fight long since gone, leaving the two drowning wonderfully in their love for each other.

"I do now," Tyson replies wryly, making her roll her eyes in fake annoyance.

"Maybe I should be mad at you more often for you to say all those sweet things to me," She muses, brows kicking up and she laughs quietly, her words playful and holding no real threat.

Tyson makes a face, "Please don't. I hate when you're mad at me."

"Just teasing, baby," She assures, smoothing over his messy head of curls with a palm as she softly admires his features. She shifts in his arms until she straddles him, figuring slightly taller than his, forcing Tyson to tilt his head as he looks up at her. When she attaches her lips to his in a deep kiss- a kiss more passionate than any previous kisses- Tyson pulls back, eyes narrowed in suspicion. The boy- much to her dismay at times- is incredibly skillful when it comes to reading her, and reads her expression now.

"What are you trying to do here, baby?" He asks, a gasp falling past his lips as she presses her hips harder against his as her lips whisper over the sweet spot on his neck. His palms press harder against her hips and his long, skillful digits digging into the fabric of her shirt that she stole from his wardrobe months ago.

“Teasing,” She replies quickly, mischief lacing the word. As she promised, her lips leave his neck and her body slides off his as she stands in front of him, grinning at Tyson’s groan of disapproval. “I gotta go make dinner, pretty boy.” She winks, making a poor job of hiding the shit-eating grin atop her lips.

Tyson shakes his head gently, curls bouncing as he picks himself off the covers and follows closely behind her, eyes tracking every intentional swish of her hips. Tyson watches her as she moves around the kitchen, preparing for what looks like a good dinner. But as she turns the knob on the stove, a spark sounding and a fire burning brightly to life under the pot, Tyson stops her from moving any further by wrapping his strong arms around her torso.

“That was evil,” He mutters, chin resting comfortably on her shoulder as she wiggles her arms out of his embrace to carefully continue dinner. She only hums in response, and Tyson can sense the smirk gracing her lips. He scowls despite the fact she can’t see his expression and leans forward to hover his lips over her ear. Satisfaction sparks in his stomach as he feels her shudder pleasantly in his grip.

“I’ll make you pay for it later, don’t worry.”

[nolpat0]

if the odds were in our favor | n. patrick

summary: savoring the moments where she still had nolan patrick

wc: 1,037

warnings: angst, break up?

Her fingers curled tightly over his calloused hands, palms pressed together in a desperate plea of affection. She sucked in a shaky breath, mind grappling with the fact this would be the last time she would be pressed against him and be able to hold him. The last they would lay together and the last time he’d kiss the plains of her skin until she was a mess of laughter. Her eyelashes fluttered and fell against her cheek as she gave up, her other hand gripping the fabric of his sweatshirt and nestling closer into his endless warmth, settling for just being present in the moment. Savoring the moments where she still had Nolan Patrick.

His hands brushed against her sweatshirt clad back, pulling her impossibly closer as he pressed the lightest of kisses to the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. An ache burned steadily through his battered heart, the knowledge he’d eventually have to release his grip from the soft sweatshirt he gave her and watch her figure walk away. Into her new life that would make her happy and give her what she wanted- what she needed. Nolan just needed to come to terms with the fact that her new life didn’t include him; it never could. They’d known this from the moment they met: that no matter how much they wished or how hard they fell, their love was never meant to last. They were doomed to let each other go from the beginning.

He felt the soft hiccups of her breath before he heard them, her back shaking under the flat of his palm, followed by the press of her face into his neck. Her sniffles practically sent him to his knees, unable to ease her sadness. Nolan closed his eyes, her own hopeless cries making his throat burn. He didn’t want her to cry, not over something that was so horribly and unfairly out of their control. The hockey player had long given up on trying to wish against the inevitable or to prolong their beautifully short relationship. But despite his acceptance, he still wanted to fight against it with every fiber of his being. They’d often talked about it, wondering why they even decided to cast their bets and go on that fateful date that would take them through the best year of their lives and leave them brokenhearted and tangled in the covers of his bed. But Nolan supposed loving her was better than never knowing her or the feel of her love at all. The tall boy was never one for believing in all the theories about love, but he now understood what ‘right person, wrong time’ meant. And he knew that’s what they were. Despite the love he harbored in his heart for the girl currently crying into the material of his sweatshirt, there was absolutely nothing they could do. He’d run through every possibility at least a dozen times, hoping that just this time, there was a different path.

Nolan hushed her gently, pulling his body away from hers just enough to see her tear-stained face. His fingers brushed against her jaw and he tilted her face up to his.

“It’ll be okay,” The words were soft and coaxing, an attempt to convince the both of them. Nolan waited until she nodded in answer before cupping her face and pressing his lips in a devastatingly apologetic kiss against her lips. The boy was tempted to press her against his mattress and have them both forget everything but each other, but he’d rather remember the way she clung to his frame rather than the tip of her head as pleasure flooded her system. With her, he would always choose her mind and soul over her body and sounds.

“Don’t cry too much over me, okay?” Nolan whispers against the shell of her ear, words light and teasing. “You got too much living to do in Cali for you to be crying over me.”

The edges of her lips turned up in a soft smile, tipped with the sadness of their end. His heart bloomed with love and admiration at the sight of her minuscule smile. Her fingers tapped against his chest, eyes roving intently over every centimeter of his features as if she’s memorizing them.

“You'll still enjoy it here, okay? You celebrate with TK whenever you win, and you’re gonna be okay.” Her eyes met his and he knew she needed him to promise. “You’ll be happy, just as I’ll be happy.”

Nolan let out a breath, the tightness in his throat threatening to break his words and reveal all the jagged edges of his broken heart. “We’ll be happy I promise.”

She smiled in earnest, shifting in his tight grip and leaning up to press a kiss to his temple. His arms curled protectively around her as if he should shield her from the truth the morning would bring. Nolan pressed his nose into her hair, trying to memorize the feel of her in his arms and the smell of her shampoo. Her arms snaked around his neck and she peppered soft kisses against his neck.

“I love you, Nolan.”

The boy pulled back, blinking softly at her as her fingers played with the long strands of his dark hair. The words were nothing new, but your tone gave everything away. This was not a reminder of how much you loved him nor was it the first time saying it, this was a goodbye. Nolan’s eyes shuttered and he could no longer fight the tears burning against the backs of his eyes. A salty tear slipped down his cheek and the girl within his arms frowned deeply at the rare scene. Her fingertips reached up to brush away the tears, her lips brushing his cheek. Nolan met her lips the second time, feeling the softness of her affection and the neediness of their last night together. And at that moment, Nolan understood. She was his home, the only person who had ever felt like that to him. Nolan cried in earnest into her embrace, wishing against everything in the universe he didn’t have to get his home go.

[nolpat0]

players i write for | nolpat

andre burakovsky

andrei svechnikov

anthony beauvillier

danny weight

josh anderson

kirby dach

mat barzal

mitch marner

owen powers

philippe myers

pierre luc-dubois

sidney crosby

travis konecny

tyson jost

[nolpat0]

rules | nolpat

i do write smut, but i won't take requests for it

i do take requests but keep in mind it might take me a while because i have a busy life

you can request players but if i don't feel comfy or want to write for them, i won't do it

pls be nice! [ this includes everyone who interacts w my blog ]

if you search the hashtag 'nolpat0' all my posts will be under it

if you search the hashtag 'nolapat0writes' you'll find all my writing!

[nolpat0]

masterlist | nolpat

taglist form

WIP list

rules

players i write for

nolan patrick x reader

if the odds were ever in our favor | 1k | angst

tyson jost x reader

i love you more | 1.1k | fluff

the lies i tell myself | 1k | angst

too late | 1.7k | angst

mat barzal x reader

can't quit you | 1.1k | angst

miraculous chance | 1.3k | angst

sidney crosby x reader

something like this | 1.5k | fluff

love isn't enough | 1.6k | angst