#nm29 blurb

Y'all have been BEGGING me to write for nate so here u go nate looks wrecked when you finally get him alone, medal still hanging against his chest like it burns, shoulders locked the way they always are when he’s trying not to let disappointment swallow him whole. you don’t say anything at first—you just follow him into the quiet corner of the athletes’ lounge, watching the way he rips the lanyard off and tosses it onto the couch, the silver disc clattering against the cushion. he mutters something under his breath, pacing like he’s still on the ice, jaw tight, cheeks ruddy from frustration, and you let him because you know he needs a second to be mad. it’s only when he grabs the plush ferret mascot from the table with two fingers, like it personally offended him, that you step forward, biting back a smile. he holds it out like it’s radioactive, eyes flat and annoyed in a way that somehow makes your chest warm.

“i hate that thing. get it away from me,” he says, voice low and deeply unimpressed, shaking the poor stuffed animal a little for emphasis. you reach for it immediately, hands cupped like you’re receiving treasure, and he just blinks at you when you hug the dumb little ferret to your chest.

“no way,” you say, already smoothing down its felt ears, “this is the cutest thing i’ve ever seen in my life, nate.” he stares at you like you’ve betrayed canada itself, mouth parted, hair damp at his temples from the game and stress.

“i’m going to flush him down the toilet or throw him away,” he threatens, and you gasp so dramatically he actually huffs a laugh he tries to hide.

“NO,” you declare, spinning away from him and shielding the ferret like a newborn, and that sparks something in him—something competitive, relieved, finally lighter—because suddenly he’s lunging for it. you yelp and scramble across the couch, but he’s faster even in his sulky post-loss fatigue, hands wrapping around your waist as he tries to pry the stuffed animal free. you’re laughing so hard you’re almost crying, twisting and rolling while he cages you in without even meaning to, his body warm and solid as he reaches over your shoulder. “give me the rodent,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile buried in it now, one he’s fighting and losing against.

you fall backward with him following, his weight settling beside you, one arm hooked around your middle as he tries to worm his hand under yours. you clutch the ferret tighter, breathless with laughter, and he dips his head into your neck to distract you, nosing at your skin until you squeal. “you’re evil,” you accuse, twisting as his fingers brush your ribs, and he groans like he’s the one suffering. “i’m not letting a stuffed ferret live in our house,” he insists, even though he’s already softened, his voice quieter now, his grip gentle as the adrenaline drains.

you end up sprawled across his chest, his heartbeat finally slowing, the ferret perched triumphantly on your sternum like it won the gold he couldn’t. nate looks at it, then at you, then sighs like he’s accepting some grim fate. “fine. he can stay,” he mutters, brushing your hair out of your face, eyes still tired but softer than they were an hour ago.

nate always pretends he doesn’t see you coming when you make it your personal mission to annoy him out of his seriousness, but he absolutely does—he’ll spot you from across the kitchen, brows pulling together, shoulders rising like he’s bracing for impact, and still he stands there and lets you collide with him. you wrap your arms around his middle, face pressed against his warm chest, and he lets out this long-suffering groan that has no heat behind it. “you’re doing that thing again,” he mutters, even as his hand slides up your back and settles between your shoulder blades, thumb rubbing a slow, absentminded pattern you know he doesn’t notice he does. you tilt your head just enough to grin up at him, catching the way his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.

“what thing?” you ask, voice sugary, and he closes his eyes because he knows he’s doomed.

you follow him everywhere—onto the couch, behind the kitchen island, even hovering while he’s tying his shoes—poking at him, tugging on his sleeve, messing with his hair until he grabs your wrists and just holds them, shaking his head like you’re a rogue toddler he can’t control. “you’re impossible,” he says, but he sounds fond in that quiet nate way, the one he gets when he thinks you’re not paying attention. you sit on the arm of the couch while he tries to watch film, gently nudging your knee into his shoulder blade again and again until he sighs and reaches back to pull you over him like you weigh nothing. once you’re settled half on top of him, he finally relaxes, chin resting against your forehead. “happy?” he murmurs, and you nod into his chest, feeling the subtle way he holds you just a little tighter.

he’s so protective without realizing it—walking you on the inside of the sidewalk, placing a hand on your lower back in crowds, pulling you into him unconsciously when someone bumps too close. you use it against him constantly, beaming up at him with exaggerated innocence whenever he fusses over you. “you’re overreacting,” you say after he adjusts your scarf for the third time before going outside, and he just clicks his tongue, tugging it snug under your chin.

“you get cold easily,” he argues, which is nate-code for i worry about you, please let me take care of you. you give him a soft kiss on the jaw, and his ears go pink in a way he’ll deny until the end of time.

but the best part—by far—is when his grumpy façade cracks and he becomes this quiet, melty thing just for you. he’ll come up behind you when you’re brushing your teeth, wrap his arms fully around your middle, and rest his forehead on your shoulder like he needs you to stay upright. or he’ll crawl into bed after a long road trip, instantly tucking you against him, legs tangled, one hand gripping your hip like you might float away. “missed you,” he whispers into your neck, voice rough, and it hits you every time how gentle he is when no one’s watching.

and you always tease him for it, poking his cheek, giggling when he growls halfheartedly. “you’re such a grump,” you say as he hauls you closer on the couch, blanket dragged over both of you.

“yeah, well,” he replies, nuzzling into your hair, “you like me.”

nsfw themes

“absolutely not.”

nate doesn’t even look up from his book when he says it, which is rude, considering you just spent the last five minutes hyping up your grand tiktok plan.

“come on,” you whine, plopping down on the couch beside him. “it’s just one video.”

he sighs, finally marking his page and setting the book aside. “you said that last time. and suddenly, I was in three different videos, all of which are still haunting me, because you haven't blocked cale yet.”

“you looked cute in them.”

“i looked confused in them.”

“same thing,” you say breezily, grinning when he shoots you a look.

nate is too serious sometimes. not all the time—when it’s just the two of you, he’s softer, willing to indulge you even when you’re being ridiculous. but getting him to do things like this? things that push the boundaries of his very grown-up reputation? it’s a challenge. and you do love a challenge.

“okay, okay,” you say, shifting to straddle his lap, hands resting on his shoulders. his fingers automatically settle against your waist, the touch familiar, effortless. “what if i make it worth your while?”

he arches a brow, skeptical. “oh?”

“yes.” you lean in, lips barely brushing his. “i’ll let you pick dinner tonight. and you get full control of the tv remote.”

his grip on your waist tightens, amusement flickering across his face. “tempting.”

“plus,” you add, grinning, “you like making me happy, don’t you?”

nate groans, head tilting back against the couch. “you’re unbelievable.”

“is that a yes?”

he exhales, long-suffering, then gives your hips a squeeze. “fine. one video.”

“yes!” you beam, kissing him quickly before hopping up. “you won’t regret this.”