Hockey Is Life.

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277k ratings

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

Hockey Is Life.

Hey I'm Britney. 24. Winnipeg🇨🇦 Jets✈️🏒

Also just a bunch of random shit lmao

slanda-love

stuckinapril

obsessed with whatever distracts me from the horrors of being alive

catcrumb

anxietyproblem

allteeensrelate

thehopefulquotes

We often want it so badly that we ruin it before it begins. Overthinking. Fantasizing. Imagining. Expecting. Worrying. Doubting. Just let it naturally evolve

Unknown (via thehopefulquotes)

slanda-love

ashstfu

often i am scared for no reason or several reasons

neckkiss

365daysofbarbie

neckkiss

me af

satis-fiedmind

wholeheartedsuggestions

i wish you kinder, softer days that put your heart at ease

laurentbrosswall

murdockssbitch

i cant talk rn i’m doing hot girl shit

reads fanfiction

cries

sleeps for 12 hours

damn-funny

faeralyn

Thunderstorm: *rumbles*

Me: you’re beautiful

running-with-thewolves

the2headedcalf-archive

the best thing about the moon and the sky and the stars is that while you can't ever take a picture of them that does them justice......you don't need to. they're gonna be there tomorrow

allteeensrelate

beyoncescock:
“source: @existentialepicure // reddit
”

hockeyheart

rinkrats

sidney crosby vs technology (2020 to 2021)

Jets winning on international women’s day I love to see it lmao✈️💙

winnipeg jets

thepersonalquotes

mikkomacko

Everything Comes Back To You

Pairing: Tyson Jost x female reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Tyson’s been in love with his roommate forever. And he knows you love him too. Now it’s just a matter of saying it.

A/n: Not sure how much I like this but I think it’s got potential lol. Might add another part if y'all enjoy it so let me know. Happy reading!

Tyson’s jealous and bitter as he slips into the apartment, setting his bag on the floor by his feet before quietly shutting the door and locking it. He shouldn’t be, he knows that. He should be basking in the excitement of the 4-point night he had, the two back-to-back goals that lifted the team past the unstoppable goaltending of Sorokin. He felt that way earlier. Flying high as he changed out of his gear to head to the media table, proud and probably a bit too cocky as he answered questions and joked around with Cale. But after he’d showered and packed up his game day suit, he found himself dragging his feet back to the players parking lot, thinking about how Compher was probably showered and tucked into his bed by now.

And if the dead silent apartment is any indication, he was right. The living room and kitchen are still and quiet, the light above the stove poorly illuminating the large area and giving him just a peek into the dark hallway across from him. The door to Compher’s room on the other side of the living room is shut and the crack under the door dark. Tyson wouldn’t even be surprised if Comph had just tiptoed his way to his room before crashing into bed in his post game gear. Hell, he’ll probably do the same.

He’s just locked the front door and kicked off his slides when his stomach rumbles. For a moment he considers ignoring it and just going to bed, but he knows the ache of hunger will just keep him up anyway so he silently moves into the kitchen. The dishwasher hums quietly next to the fridge, drawing Tyson’s attention to it just as he’s reaching for the fridge handle. The only way there would be enough dishes to constitute using the dishwasher is if pots and pans were used.

Backtracking, he tugs open the microwave door instead, his entire chest warming when the yellow bulb illuminates a container of spaghetti and meatballs. He doesn’t even try to fight off the crooked smile that slips onto his face as he grabs the still warm dish, shutting the microwave door with a nudge of his elbow as he simultaneously digs through the drawer next to the stove for a fork.

He’s so grateful for you, grateful for the fact that you care enough about him to have a warm dinner waiting for him after a game, and he wants to run down the hallway, burst through your door and give you the biggest hug. But he’s exhausted. And certain you’re asleep. So instead he silently tip toes to his room, casts a quick glance at your door not even ten feet from his, and buries his urge to go twist the knob open.

He can wait until the morning.

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