#also the fact that every goal he scores this season could be his last with real madrid 😁😁

[moviestarmartini]

average luka modrić enjoyer whenever he scores

[digitaldiarystuff]

Enemies Forever

soo this is something i’ve had in mind since the el clasico and hope you enjoyyy💖 and please comment on it that really helps me a lot xx

————

pairing: Jude Bellingham x Y/N

genre: angst

summary: you are a famous actress in Spain and a die hard barca fan. You unfortunately were also in a situationship with the Real superstar Jude Bellingham but try your best to not let it get serious

———���

It was an intense match, to say the least. You were at the stands watching with so much anticipation you didn’t even realize the crowd filming you. It wasn’t the easiest being recognized everywhere you went but most importantly you didn’t want to steal the spotlight from what mattered the most, FC Barcelona.

You were raised as a fan religiously by your dad all your childhood, every match day was a chaos while all your close family friends and relatives came to your house and there was always a big feast before or after but never during the game. He even wanted to name you after the squad of Barca but luckily your mother intervened and named you something cuter so it was not a surprise to anyone that you were a big supporter. You were filming a series in Madrid as a young and successful actress so the game being held in Madrid was in your advantage for once. You always talked on interviews about your love for the club and went as far as being one of their models for a campaign last year which was a lifelong dream for you. And now, here you were anxiously watching the game against Real Madrid at Bernabeu VIP section with your Lewa shirt on. You decided wearing a youngsters shirt would cause so much more trouble even though you basically had all of them.

The game was head to head and it seemed like there would be room for another goal and it really happened, just not the way you wanted it to be. Bellingham scored right after the 90 minutes mark and everyone started screaming whilst you were devastated. With Fermin’s goal you really had hope for a win and since the season wasn’t going that well everyone needed it but it all came crashing down with a stupid goal from a stupid Madrid player.

Jude Bellingham.

You hated the way he celebrated rallying the fans further, you hated that he provoked everyone and anyone and most of all you hated him for scoring against your team. You and Jude had a complicated relationship, it was actually a few days after the first clasico at a prestigious night club in Madrid that you bumped into each other. You were seething with anger because a few days ago he crushed your hopes, again but he didn’t seem too concerned about your anger. In fact he looked like he enjoyed watching you try to shoot daggers at him and even had the audacity to come up to you late at night while you were completely wasted.

You sometimes wished that the story ended there, he came up to you and tried to flirt but you told him no way and walked away. But it didn’t. In fact, you and Jude had been meeting up pretty frequently over the last months and playing football definitely wasn’t his only talent. At first you told yourself it was all out of hatred, you did it because you were angry at him. In the morning you quickly dressed up and told him your team would be in contact to sign the non disclosure agreement and left in a hurry not even speaking to him properly. It was a shameful act but it was just a one night stand, right? Then came the second time you met, it was at your costar’s house party where only a few people were invited and he had to be one of them. Jude came up to you talking loudly about how your show helps him get better at Spanish and all this bullshit to throw any eavesdroppers off.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked him with furrowed brows “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to leave the house unless I had your approval. I also didn’t know we were getting that serious.” he winked and smiled but all you could feel was panic and frustration.

“No, it’s not what I- We’re nothing. No in fact we aren’t nothing, we’re rivals and we despise each other.” you stated pointing your finger at him but he just watched your poor attempt of scolding him with a boyish grin on his face.

That’s how you ended up sleeping with him the second time and the next morning tried your best to escape without him waking up but he beat you to it.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled in a deep voice as you were walking out on him.

“I have a scene to shoot this afternoon.” you lied without looking at his face.

“It’s only 7” he answered back as he reached for his phone on the nightstand.

“I know.” you said still refusing to turn back but soon heard shuffling and felt his arms reach around you and pull you in a hug. You stiffened in his touch, not sure what to expect.

“Why are you trying so hard to hate me?” he leaned his head on your shoulder trying to get a look at you but you turned your head slightly.

You were caught off guard by his question.

“I’m not trying.” you confidently answered using your acting skills. “I just do”

He sighed loudly and freed you.

“So let me get this straight, this, this whole thing we did last night, it’s all out of hate? I hope all the Barca fans who hate me won’t request the same treatment.” he joked you and you felt your anger return immediately at the mention of your team.

“Yes, I hate you. I hate you and your club. This, us sleeping together a couple of times changes nothing in my eyes. It was just a drunken mistake.” you tried defending yourself but knew your excuse was weak since you didn’t even drink much last night in hopes that would prevent you from getting in his bed, which was proven not to be the case.

“Oh, c’mon Y/N you know this isn’t just being drunk and wanting to fuck anything that moves.”

“But it is.”

“But it’s not and you know it. Yes, that would explain the first time but the second one, that’s on you. Look I seriously can’t stop thinking about you and I don’t believe it when you say you don’t want anything with me.”

“You practically begged me.” you raised your voice being in disbelief about how he was trying to pin this on you and also deliberately ignoring his last statement but unfortunately, your heart rate was pretty damn affected by it.

“Yeah, I did because I’m not a coward who’s afraid of what people might think of me and there’s obviously something between us Last night you had every right to stop me but you didn’t. So stop with this bullshit.” he said also in a raised voice. You were too stunned to make a comeback so gathered all your belongings and left his place. He was an annoying guy, sure but what got to you the most was the fact that he was right. You had every chance to tell him to stop or leave you alone but there was something linking you to him. You felt it too but was pretty embarrassed by it. Jude tried calling out to you but you didn’t stop afraid of what might happen and walked to your car leaving his place.

After that it was calm for a while but with Jude, this is never a good sign.

Your inner voice was right and there he was, standing at your door at 2 am. He looked out of it, his eyes were hooded, his phone screen was cracked and he smelled like a luxurious liquor store.

“Jude, how did you-

“I asked Ines.” he explained before you finished your question which was a good sign, his brain still half worked.

“Why would she give you my home address this is so irresponsible, what if you were planning on killing me?” you panicked at your friend’s poor judgment but Jude found it amusing. He bit his lip in order to stop himself from giggling.

“What are you laughing at? Are you here to kill me?” you raised a brow being more annoyed at him now.

“I’m here to talk.” he immediately looked more serious but it only made you sweat.

“Talk about…” you trailed off hoping he’d finish the sentence for you.

“The global warming and its effects on the society.” he looked at you like you were dumb for even asking. “I’m here to talk about us.” he said when you flipped him off.

“Jude, there’s no us and you know it.”

“But I don’t know it Y/N, I really don’t because you try so hard to act like you don’t feel anything but I see it every time we’re together. The you hating me and being disgusted by me is all part of the act and I know it because whenever we touch it’s electricity.” he tried pleading with you but you were adamant about this being nothing important. You were just mortal enemies having hate sex.

“Jude, I think you’re just reading too much into it.” you finally said and saw his shoulders drop immediately. You knew you were lying, you felt it as much as he did, you couldn’t stop thinking about him either.

“S okay, I’m sorry to bother you.” he turned on his heels and started making his way down the stairs of your house but all you felt was panic. You tried your best to stay strong and not let these weird feelings get in the way of your brain but they did and you called out to him. He turned back when you asked if he wanted some water but both of you knew this had nothing to do with any beverage.

He came in that night and you started to talk, for the first time without you taking jabs at him for anything he said or him making stupid jokes. You expected the talk to be awkward and have stretched out silences but to your absolute surprise it happened so effortlessly.

You talked about your upbringings and families, jobs (yes you still gave him a hard time about being a Real Madrid player) and anything and everything. It felt so good to open up to someone about some of the things you found hard and he did the same. In fact, the night went so good that you asked him to join you in bed after a while and he held you while you slept. Needless to say it was probably the best sleep you’ve had in your adult life.

The next morning you woke up to see Jude cuddling to you like a koala and couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You wanted to make some breakfast so tried slowly getting out of his grasp but it only became stronger.

“I’m not letting you escape.” he murmured still half asleep.

“Jude, this is my house.” you laughed but he still didn’t budge.

“I want to make something to eat.” you whined hoping this would make him drop you but he just opened one eye and looked at you skeptically.

“Don’t you have a chef?”

“Oh, I’m sorry not all of us has that kind of money.” you retaliated and his face immediately turned pink as he thought you were offended.

“I- I didn’t mean it like-

“Relax, I’m messing with you. I do but she’s on a vacation.” you laughed but he stayed pouting so you figured a kiss would do the trick and it worked wonders.

This is how your past months were, secretly meeting up at one of your places, having dinner and basically doing most things couples do but without going out or having a title. He tried to have ‘the talk’ but you shut him down because it terrified you, you had strong feelings about him but decided it’d be better to sweep them under the rug and Jude, begrudgingly respected your decision.

But today was different, it was the el clasico and you couldn’t stand Jude at the moment. You were pretty convinced people could see the smoke coming out of your ears but didn’t care and hastily exited the stadium to go home. On the ride back you missed several texts and calls from Jude about where you were and when you finally checked them you didn’t bother to answer. He should know how mad you were right now and give you some space.

Unfortunately, that’s not the kind of man Jude Bellingham is. You were sure of it when you saw him standing at the door with a smug face and some chinese.

“I’m seriously not in the mood” you tried to shut the door because just seeing him made your blood boil.

“Aren’t you gonna congratulate me?” he laughed and you suddenly had an urge to strangle him but while you were staring at him in shock he made his way in.

“Jude, I said I’m not in the mood.” you reiterated but he was busy making himself comfortable on your couch. You stood in front of him while he looked up at you.

“Oh, come on, you can’t seriously be mad. This is my job Y/N.”

“And that was my team you scored against at the last minute.”

“What should have I done? Miss on purpose?” he looked at you like he was stating the obvious.

“I didn’t ask you to do anything on purpose, I’m just not in the mood for your teasing or gloating.” you motioned to the real madrid shirt he had on.

“How is this gloating? I literally came straight from the game? I didn’t have anything else clean.”

“Well yeah, it’s pissing me off.” you yelled.

“Y/N you need to understand I’m a professional footballer and I was just doing my job. It wasn’t anything personal.” he stated more calmly so you sat down next to him.

“And you need to understand it’s nothing personal too. I just can’t or won’t deal with a Madrid player right now… Or for a while.” you added with your hands in your hair and he raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.” you avoided his gaze.

“So you want to end this because I scored a goal.” he asked trying to remain calm but you could see his demeanor shift.

“Look, it was never going to work out anyway. We don’t have to make it a big deal.”

Now it was Jude’s turn to stand up angrily. He started shouting but you couldn’t even focus on the things he was saying, all you could think about was to wish you’ve never said all that. You didn’t even mean it but were just angry at the moment, maybe you wanted to hurt him just like he hurt you but you quickly realized breaking things off had effects on both of you. Jude stormed out after about two minutes of yelling, he looked so mad and defeated and you couldn’t help but blame yourself for hurting him.

This was for the best, you told yourself repeatedly. Maybe if you said it enough times it’d become the truth.

You woke up the next morning with a headache, not surprisingly. For a moment you reached over at Jude’s side to get some affection but was quickly reminded of last night’s events by the coldness of his side. Your heart ached and you felt so bad after seeing his state but couldn’t bring yourself to beg for his forgiveness. Maybe you should’ve done that, told him about all your fears and ask for a proper chance but couldn’t.

After taking a quick shower, you decided to check your phone. You wanted to do it the moment you woke up but was afraid there wouldn’t be any notifications from Jude. Not that you cared but still. And to nobody shock, there weren’t. You knew this would eventually happen. One day you’d push him too far and he’d leave you alone just like you told him multiple times but the thing you didn���t anticipate was him being the talk of the town. Well, you figured he’d be because of the game last night but it was actually for other reasons.

‘Jude Bellingham spotted leaving the club with an unknown woman after a magnificent goal’

[delfiore]

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (2/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: you and ona become much closer, but in the wrong way; an offer on the horizon threatens to tear you apart.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: description of collision in football

PART I, PART III, PART IV, PART V

Sports Illustrated: USWNT International Y/N Y/L/N Scores in First Game Back From Injury “Y/N Y/L/N will not stop scoring. The Man City star returns to action with a stunning header in a home game against Everton since picking up an injury this summer in the CONCACAF final against Canada. Though the U.S. emerged victorious thanks to Alex Morgan’s penalty kick, Y/L/N was forced off in the 68th minute with a torn hamstring. She was expected to be sidelined for 3 months. […]”

You skimmed through the article, waiting for your coffee to brew. It has been an arduous few months as you focused on rehabilitation. You were supposed to be match-fit at the start of the season, but the physios determined you needed at least a few more weeks before you could play. Your thigh still felt a bit tight every time you stretched them. Nonetheless, you were back to playing, that was all that mattered.

It was early November, and the winds were picking up in Manchester, and yet you were warm.

“Morning,” you said, smiling at the figure waddling into the living room.

Bratwurst was wagging his tail by her side, no doubt looking for more food as if you hadn’t fed him half an hour ago.

“Good morning,” Ona said, rubbing her eyes.

“Coffee?” You nodded towards the machine.

“No, I have to get to training. Thanks, though.”

“In my shirt?” You smirked at looked down at her top. Sure enough, it was the old T-shirt you lent her after you were done last night.

“Hah hah.” She mocked you, but then took off the shirt, leaving her top half completely bare, and threw it at your face. “Obviously not.”

You let your eyes travel freely, as she went back into your room and returned wearing the clothes she came in last night.

“Looks like you’re back to being your insufferable self.” She walked to where you sat, putting on her necklace. “Can’t even go on social media without seeing people praising your goal.”

“All in a day’s work,” you said, grinning.

Ona rolled her eyes and put on her shoes. “I’m glad you’re back, but I won’t go easy on you.”

You stood up and pecked her lips.

“I never asked you to,” you leaned closer, ducking your face into her neck. “Maybe when we’re alone.”

She snickered quietly and patted your cheek. “Try not to miss me too much. Bye-bye, Bratwurst.”

The pup sat by the door as he watched her close it behind her. Ever since she started spending time at your apartment, it felt like he liked her more, always following her around and snuggling with her as she gave him pets.

Ona had been coming over since the kiss at the end of last season with the premise of meaningless sex. You both had an arrangement, and you were committed to keeping to it. You were surprised when she suggested it, thinking her not to be the type, but Ona continues to surprise you.

You had only meant to meet up over dinner to talk about what happened, but the night ended with her hands tangled in your hair and your legs tangled in her sheets. The ups and downs these past few months never deterred you from seeing each other. In fact, Spain losing out in the Euros prompted her to come over and forget about it for a night. In a way, you both had each other.

Your teammates at Man City were especially amused whenever you’d forget to cover up and come to practice with marks on your neck.

“Who’s the unlucky gal this time, Y/N?”

“Have you been busy while you were injured?”

Every time, you would just shake your head with a grin because you’d never kiss and tell. Also, because Leila and Laia would flip out if they knew you’d been screwing their teammate on the national team.

Your arrangement worked for a while, both of you still too young and too committed to football to think about anything else. While a lot of your colleagues would disagree, it was the excuse you told yourself to fully admit that what you felt for Ona was beyond just carnal desires.

You were treading on dangerous waters, your feelings bubbling to the surface every time you saw the girl. It was much more challenging to keep them under wraps, especially when you had to play against her every couple of months. From what people knew about you two, you were rivals, and that was your relationship. Rumors of a romance surfaced too, amongst younger fans, but it was the result of baseless shipping. If only they knew.

Ona wasn’t an incredibly affectionate person, not by a mile. The only times you would catch her lowering her guard by the tiniest of margins were when she was tired, maybe then she’d let you cuddle her after sex. But you remembered when Spain was knocked out of the Euros way too soon, and she was crying on the phone to you. You had just won the CONCACAF with the US across the Atlantic, and yet all you wanted was to hold her.

And so that was what you did. Two days later, after you were dismissed from your international duties, you flew back to Manchester and waited for her. Ona liked to be the little spoon whenever she was sad, and you were very happy to oblige. If she was feeling generous, she would even thank you for it. As much as you wanted to, you never teased her about it, because you knew what you had was fragile, and a slight mention of it could topple everything to the ground.

That was how it was with your Spanish beauty.

“Wooooooow . . . You’ve got a handful,” said your teammate, Chloe, as she stood in your kitchen, eating your chips.

“Yup,” you pressed your lips thinly, grabbing some seasoning from the cupboard. “That’s my life right now.”

You proceeded to tell Chloe everything one day, omitting a few saucy details, of course.

“Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“That’s the thing, though. There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t just walk up to her and demand something that wasn’t part of the arrangement to begin with.”

“I know, but it’s clearly affecting you. You like her, don’t you?”

“No.” A few seconds of silence followed, and Chloe was looking at you with a glare. “Okay, I think she’s cute, like, really cute.”

“I think you should talk to her, Y/N,” Chloe said. “Worst case scenario, you lot stop whatever you’re doing with each other behind all of our backs. Best case scenario, you date her.”

You smirked, but nothing no usual quippy or smug remark came out. “I should try,” you spoke quietly.

Chloe nodded expectantly and continued eating her chips, now. “I can’t believe it. You tricked all of us! It was Batlle all this time!”

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight,” you whispered quietly into the room, sitting by the edge of your bed.

Ona was under the covers, on her phone. “Why? ‘Cause we played against each other?”

You nodded bashfully.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she set her phone down. “Or did you not want me to come?”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” You said, gesturing at the clothes strewn on the floor.

You let her study you for a moment, finding the ruffled sheets much more interesting instead.

“What’s wrong?” She said.

“Nothing.”

“You’re too quiet.” Her voice was low and calming. She reached out and caressed your hand. You wanted to bury your face in her neck and be done with the conversation instead.

“I was just wondering . . . would you like to come over a bit earlier from now on?”

Your question made her look at you with a puzzled expression. “Have I been staying too late?”

“No, no. I mean—you can stay as late as you want, but come a bit earlier. I can cook for us, and then we can just sit and . . . talk.”

You fumbled with your fingers, your eyes drifting up to her, seeing the realization dawn on her. She exhaled. “Okay, that sounds nice . . . but as friends, right?”

“Um . . . no?”

“Y/N,” Ona breathed. Her silence was killing you. Finally, she looked up. “That wasn’t our arrangement, and I’d like for it to stay as we’ve agreed. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Yeah,” you lied, caressing her arm and flashing a smile. “It’s for the best.”

She nodded but watched you closely. “Come here,” she whispered.

You obliged, letting her pull you into her embrace. A searing kiss followed, leaving you to straddle her bare waist.

A short gasp left your lips. “Fuck me, Ona.” You pleaded quietly, hoping she’d fuck you until you forget the conversation ever happened. But you also hoped she’d go slow and make love to you, proving that she’d finally reciprocated your feelings.

You’ve decided that you wanted both. Maybe then, you’d finally get what you wanted.

You didn’t know that Ona was scared to let you in too, so she settled for sleeping with you.

You had been an obsession of hers for three years, a game she played besides having to focus on the actual game she was paid to play. But now, here she was—sleeping with someone who could possibly be her mortal enemy. She didn’t know when, but suddenly, she couldn’t bring herself to see you harmed.

She wanted you, but that was the selfish part of her speaking.

In the morning, you had expected her to be there, but your bedside was empty.

Ona moved through her days like a ghost. She didn’t expect it to be this hard three years ago when she first set foot in Manchester. She didn’t expect a forward to make her life this hard, or that she would fall in love with you. Every minute she spent tangled up in bed with you were minutes where nothing else outside that bedroom mattered, and it scared her.

It scared her that only you could make her feel that way, that something she had spent so hard working towards for herself, you did so easily for her.

She thinks of the nights after the Euros when she practically stayed over all day, and how you took care of her. She thinks of the cheeky winks you would send her way whenever she played against you, and the not-so-innocent brushes that you sneak in whenever she defended you. She think of your face when she shut you down, and how quickly your walls came back up.

She thinks of you the entire time she was on the Zoom call with her agent.

“You need to decide soon, Ona,” her agent had told her. “Barcelona doesn’t wait for anyone.”

It was a no-brainer, but she thinks of you all the time.

The referee blew the whistle and the 90 minutes were over. You collapsed on your knees as the Etihad erupted into cheers. Man City had reached the semifinals of the Women’s Champions League for the first time ever in the history of the women’s club. You would be playing Wolfsburg next, but you couldn’t care less about that right then. You just wanted to celebrate with your teammates.

You wished that you could celebrate with Ona too.

You sent her a text much later in the night, but she didn’t respond. Thinking it to be too late for her to come over, you went to bed, soaking in your victory.

But then, she didn’t respond the next day, then the day after that. A week later, she still hadn’t responded. Then the first leg of the semifinal came, and City drew 2-2 to Wolfsburg. You had given her space to deal with whatever she didn’t want you to know and knew double-texting made you look desperate, but you have had enough of the silence.

A vote of confidence would have been nice Sent 4:29pm

Nothing.

You weren’t going to put your life on hold for her. You wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

The week of the return leg, you had almost forgotten all about Ona from the amount of training you were doing.

“Okay, ladies. Gather around,” said Chris, the assistant coach. “This will be our last practice session before the Champions League game. We’re gonna do some passing to start with, then a set-piece practice, and we’ll close off with a 5v5 scrimmage. That sound good?”

You were starting to feel more confident than jittery. Your movements were sure and steady, so were your finishes. Big games never deterred you, but it was the added fact of Ona not responding to your text that caused you to check your phone every time you were able to.

“No phones, Y/N,” Chris said, and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, Coach. Just checking news from family,” you lied. He extended his hand anyway, and you begrudgingly handed your phone over.

“I can’t have you distracted, Y/N. The match is tomorrow.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been good, though, haven’t I?” You grinned, taking a swig of water.

Practice ended later than scheduled, but you didn’t mind. You needed the extra preparation, and you were glad to have done that with your teammates. Chris finally gave you your phone back, like a naughty student, and you quickly checked your messages. Still nothing. It wasn’t like this was the biggest game of your life or anything.

Going to the news, flipping through articles upon articles on politics, your eyes landed on one about sports.

The Busby Babe: Ona Batlle Set For Barcelona Return “Manchester United and Spain star right back Ona Batlle is reportedly on the verge of completing a move back to Catalonia, rejoining Barcelona Femeni at the end of her contract with the Red Devils. […]”

The match of your life started. You were on the left wing as you always were, playing inverted so Laia would be running the flank. You scored one, but Wolfsburg got one back towards the end of the first half.

“Make those runs, ladies. If you see them coming at you, call out to your teammates. Use the third man to break free of the defense.” Gareth pointed at the board, showing hypothetical scenarios that the team could exploit for an opening.

“Hey,” Chloe sat next to you, her forehead glistening. “You alright?”

You uttered a small ‘yeah’ and closed your hand over her sweat-clad one over your knee. You couldn’t be distracted. You owed it to Chloe and everyone else on this team.

You were slamming your fist on the door, but you didn’t care. Your jaw clenched as you swayed on your feet waiting for her to open up.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You stepped into her apartment.

Her face went pale. “How did you know?”

You let out a laugh. “You’re pathetic. You’re a coward for not even saying a single word.”

The ball was sent over long from deep aiming towards you. You called for Filippa for a one-two, but once you dribbled, you were tackled inside the box. You put your hand up at the referee but huffed in disbelief when she only shook her head and granted a corner.

Slapping your hand on the grass, you sprung up with a grunt. It must have looked like you were throwing a tantrum, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to win.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you were just not gonna say anything at all?! You owe me that much to—”

“I don’t owe you anything, Y/N.” She snapped. She had never snapped at you before, not while off the pitch. “You know what we have is just sex. That’s all we ever had and that’s all we will ever have.”

Tears formed in your eyes. You felt like a kid again, being scolded and taken for granted. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but this isn’t some fantasyland,” Ona said firmly. “I told you what I wanted, and I thought you agreed.”

There was a period of struggle over the ball soon after, mostly in midfield. You were growing increasingly frustrated as passes continued being cut off just before they reached the attacking third.

“Come on, guys! Let’s finish this!” You called out to your teammates in an attempt to hype them up before a throw-in.

Your irritation mounted, but you told yourself to quickly snap out of it. I need to stay calm, my team needs me. It proved quite difficult when Lena Oberdorf slithered up from behind to mark you. She dug an elbow into your back to keep you at bay, and when you moved, she moved. So you pushed back, much harder than you anticipated. It set her off. Good, stay off me.

Soon, you heard the ref’s hurried whistle, as Lena shoved you back. “The fuck are you pushing for?!” Your opponent seethed, getting all up in your face to challenge you.

You were feeling bold, so you smirked at her. “Come closer, see what I’ll do. Or do you just want a piece of this, huh?”

It wasn’t your best quality, you admitted it, but you liked it when you set off an opponent. You didn’t care when Lena was hurling insults at you in German as she was being led away. What mattered was that you had gotten in her head, and it would be much easier to break her defense from now on. The referee blew her whistle again, and a few teammates of yours attempted to separate you from Lena.

“Sei ruhig, Mann. Bleib’ da drüben.” Be quiet, man. Stay over there. Waving at her dismissively, you saw the way her eyes looked like they would pop out of her sockets in fury, knowing she didn’t expect you to know German. You couldn’t help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

“Last warning, Y/L/N.” The referee warned before continuing the match.

There would always be one player that completely drove the opposition crazy, and you would gladly be that asshole, so your teammates wouldn’t have to. You wanted to win.

“You kissed me first. I thought . . .”

“Please, don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Ona said quietly.

“I thought we had something, Ona,” you tried to steady your voice. You knew you sounded pathetic, but you never believed Ona could betray you in such a way.

She only pressed her lips thin. “We don’t. The only thing we have is our arrangement and however you feel about me on the pitch.”

Bunny scored in the 75th minute, and that would be the last goal for City in this match. The game went to extra time, and you could feel your teammates getting tired and sloppy in possession. You were tired too, but you wanted to keep fighting, anything to keep the thought of Ona out of your head.

You were so focused on the ball that you didn’t see a defender coming up beside you, her body colliding with yours in an attempt to redirect the ball. You fell to the ground with a thud, the stinging impact beginning to spread across your back. You felt the wind getting knocked out of you, your vision beginning to fade until all you could see were the lights atop the stadium, until those faded too.

The next thing you knew, you were on your side. Then the uncomfortable pain in your gut started to become more apparent, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore. You gasped for air, just as a couple of your teammates knelt beside you.

“Y/N, can you hear me? Medic!” You heard a voice almost like Demi’s call out.

You didn’t know who knocked into you, you didn’t care anymore, because you had the overwhelming urge to throw up whilst still struggling to breathe.

“Can’t . . . breathe,” you wheezed out, tears starting to fill your eyes. You wanted to go home.

One of the medics shone a flashlight in your eyes. “Pupils are PEARL,” she said. “Okay, I need you to try and take deep breaths for me, alright, darling?”

You drew a shaky breath. There was a wheezing noise, in and out. In and out. The more you did, the easier it got. Your head was dizzy when you stood up, just as you heard applause ringing throughout the stadium.

Chloe appeared in front of you and offered her arm while a medic took your other as you walked toward the sideline.

“You’re alright, love,” she flashed you a warm smile and wiped away the stray tear that lingered on your cheek.

It was much too unfortunate, because you still had a lot more to give, but you were done for the night. Gareth knew it too, so he sent Hempo in to take your place.

You finally let the tears fall freely when the final whistle came.

“When do you leave?”

“In two weeks.”

A scornful laugh escaped you that you didn’t even bother to hide. “You didn’t even have the decency to tell me, not as your booty call, but as your friend.”

But you were kidding yourself. You knew Ona and you were never friends, never quite lovers either. Only two people floating around in a sexual limbo who were too scared to admit to themselves what was right in front of them. Now she was leaving, and you would never get the chance.

It didn’t matter anymore, any of it. You had a Champions League semifinal to play.

ESPN: Wolfsburg Grabs Victory in Extra Time to Reach Women’s Champions League Final “[…]”

a/n: it was so heartwarming to see the support for jenni and the players :’) it’s abt fuckin time man let’s hope this continues until rubiales and vilda’s resignation

[stereax]

Waivers: The Basics

Having noticed that many of my mutuals, as well as hockeyblr at large, are unsure of what exactly the NHL's waiver system means and how it works, I've endeavored to write up a little bit of a primer on waivers to make it easier to understand. Meet me under the cut to learn more!

What are waivers?

Put most simply, waivers are a process that occurs when a team says to a player, "We don't want you in the NHL anymore, we're sending you to the AHL". Because of the CBA's (Collective Bargaining Agreement) Article 13, before they can do this, they have to put the player on the waiver wire, which is essentially a 24-hour-long period where any other team that wants that player to play for them in the NHL can claim them. The purpose of the waiver wire is to ensure that teams don't unfairly stash NHL-caliber players in the AHL, thereby paying them lesser salaries (this is the most important part - AHL salaries are generally about a tenth of NHL salaries) and not allowing them to play NHL games. Players that may not be getting a fair shot on one team can move to another, where they can be used more effectively - for instance, Eeli Tolvanen was waived by Nashville, picked up by Seattle, and now plays a key role on Seattle's third line. In fact, he scored Seattle's first-ever goal in the playoffs!

What happens once a player is put on the waiver wire?

If another team claims the player, they are claimed on waivers and are transferred to the other team. Notably, the other team must have the appropriate cap and roster space necessary to claim the player. An example here is Kasperi Kapanen, who was placed on waivers by Pittsburgh and was claimed by St Louis. His cap hit of $3.2m may have been prohibitive for other teams who could have wanted to claim him.

If multiple teams try to claim the player, the player goes to the team that submitted a claim which is the worst in the standings - if it's before November 1st of a new season year, it goes to the team that finished worst in the standings the year before, but if it's after November 1st, it goes to the team that is currently worst in the standings. Take Lassi Thomson, who was placed on waivers by Ottawa and claimed by Anaheim. If, for example, Toronto also submitted a claim, they would not have been awarded Thomson, as Anaheim has the worse standing.

If no other team claims the player, they clear waivers. When they do so, they can be reassigned to the NHL team's affiliate AHL team. Notably, not everyone who clears waivers is immediately reassigned - a player who clears waivers can stay with the NHL team instead (for example, if another player just got injured). They can be sent down to the AHL at a later time - they do not have to go through the waivers process again if they have played less than 10 NHL games (cumulative) or been on the roster for less than 30 days (cumulative) from the last time they cleared waivers. This can be used to a savvy GM's advantage to avoid putting players on the waiver wire.

Why is everyone getting waived right now?

At the beginning of the preseason, every player with an NHL contract, whether it be one-way (NHL only) or two-way (NHL and AHL), is invited to that team's training camp. This places them on the NHL preseason roster for that team. As training camp goes on and players get cut, they then must pass through waivers to go to the AHL. Unless, of course, they're waiver exempt.

What is waiver exemption and why is it important?

So you might already have noticed an issue with the waiver system - it's terrible for younger players. If solely the waiver rules we've discussed above existed, every player being sent to the AHL would have to go through waivers. This would include prospects who are signed to an NHL ELC (entry-level contract) but didn't make the cut for the season. Obviously, this is bad for teams - imagine drafting players who you know will be good for you in 2 or 3 years and then losing them all to the waiver wire. This is why waiver exemption exists.

Waiver exemption, to keep it simple, is a protection that certain players have that means they do not have to go through the waivers process to be reassigned to the AHL. The specific details of waiver exemption are a little complicated - let's take a look at the table to make it make more sense.

This table is either/or and is defined by the age when their NHL ELC was signed. A skater who signed their ELC as an 18-year-old is waiver exempt for either 5 years or 160 games played (including playoff games) at the NHL level. A skater who signed at 21 is exempt for either 3 years or 80 NHL games. Goalies have different requirements than skaters because they generally take longer to develop and don't play as many games.

There is a fairly common misconception that all players on their ELCs are automatically waiver exempt. This is false. The second a player hits the amount of games played for their age, they are immediately no longer waiver exempt. Usually, this doesn't occur until after the ELC is over, as most ELC players deal with injuries and healthy scratches, as well as not generally being given the reins to play on the NHL roster for the entire season. One notable example that disproves the "ELC means waiver exempt" conception is Dawson Mercer from New Jersey. Mercer signed his ELC as a 19-year-old in December of 2020. He has played all 82 games in the past 2 seasons (2021-22 & 2022-23) plus 12 playoff games for a total of 176 NHL games played. Under the games requirements, he is now no longer exempt from waivers, despite having one whole year left on his ELC.

For the 25+ category, upon playing a single NHL game, the player is waiver exempt for that entire season and that entire season only. Andrei Kuzmenko from Vancouver is a good example of that - last season, he signed his one-year ELC with Vancouver as a 27-year-old and could have been sent to the AHL at any time without going through waivers. (He was not, needless to say.)

There is one very important exception to the table: if an 18- or 19-year-old player plays 11 or more games with an NHL team in a single season, their waiver exemption is automatically cropped. For that season, and the next two, the player is waiver exempt, but after that, they are no longer exempt. This extends to the next three if the player in question is a goalie and not a skater. (To make it easier to understand, it's as if they jumped into the 20-year-old category.) However, 18- and 19-year-old prospects generally only play 9 games maximum at the NHL level in order to allow for the entry-level slide, allowing the contract to "slide" forward a year, letting teams keep the player on the ELC for an extra year and thus save money.

Are there any other ways a player can play in the AHL without going through waivers or being waiver exempt?

Yes, actually! There are two main exceptions - they're for conditioning loans.

First, what is a conditioning loan? A conditioning loan is a short-term reassignment to the AHL. There are two types of conditioning loans: the standard conditioning loan and the LTIR conditioning loan.

A standard conditioning loan, specified under the CBA 13.8, occurs when a player agrees to head down to the AHL for a few games to "wipe off the dust" on their game, so to speak. They're often used by players who have ended up as perennial healthy scratches on their NHL teams, so that they're able to jump in if there's an injury or other issue. Standard conditioning loans can last up to 14 days. One example of a standard conditioning loan is Shane Wright, who was sent to the AHL by Seattle very early in the season for conditioning, partially to bypass the requirement that the NHL has with the major junior CHL that would have required him to go back to the CHL were he officially reassigned from Seattle. Another is Nathan Beaulieu, who was sent to the AHL by Anaheim in January for a four-game stint.

An LTIR conditioning loan, specified under the CBA 13.9, occurs when a player coming off of LTIR agrees to head down to the AHL for a few games to "wipe off the dust" on their game, so to speak. These loans can only last 6 days or 3 games, whichever comes later, and the idea is to be able to figure out whether a player is able to return to form or requires more time to heal properly. For example, Travis Dermott was sent to the AHL by Vancouver in December to evaluate whether he was back to form after a concussion sustained in the preseason. He played one game in the AHL, then drew back into Vancouver's lineup for eleven games before going back on IR for the rest of the season due to the concussion repercussions. Notably, a team can only use one LTIR conditioning loan for each time a player is on LTIR.

What is emergency recall and why does it make a player waiver exempt?

Emergency recall occurs when a player on a team's NHL lineup is injured and the team can no longer ice a full squad because of it. (As a reminder, each team must carry 12 forwards, 6 defensemen, and 2 goalies. Usually, teams keep an extra forward and defenseman around as a healthy scratch in case of injuries, but some teams are pressed against the cap and cannot carry extra players.) In this case, they can call an AHL player (or multiple, at times) up on an "emergency" basis to fill in during the time that the NHL player is out. Once the NHL player is healthy again, the AHL player can either be transferred to a regular recall or gets sent down to their AHL team again. One example here is Akira Schmid, who was bouncing back and forth between Utica and New Jersey on emergency recalls every few weeks because Mackenzie Blackwood, one of New Jersey's two goaltenders, was constantly getting hurt.

It makes sense, then, why emergency recall would grant a player temporary waiver exemption status - it would be awful to have to recall a player from the AHL, have them in the NHL for a little bit, and then have to send them through waivers and get claimed when your roster player is healthy. However, if an emergency recall player plays in at least 10 NHL games, he loses his waiver exempt status under emergency recall (other forms of waiver exemption still apply).

What are unconditional waivers?

Unconditional waivers are different from regular waivers in what they do. Passing through unconditional waivers does not send you to the AHL. Instead, they are used by teams that want to buy out or terminate players' contracts, completely giving up their rights to the players. Players placed on unconditional waivers are almost never claimed because of this - only two players have ever been claimed off unconditional waivers.

Okay, hold on - what's the difference between a buyout and a termination?

A termination occurs when a player's contract is terminated. The player severs all ties to a team and does not continue to be paid by the team. The team does not incur any cap penalties from termination. There are two main types of termination.

The first type of termination is mutually-agreed-upon termination. In the case of Filip Zadina, who was recently terminated by Detroit, he made it clear that he would refuse to report to the AHL after being sent down on regular waivers. The team and Zadina then proceeded to terminate the contract so that Zadina would be free to negotiate a contract with another NHL team instead of playing for Detroit's AHL team, and so that Detroit would not incur any cap penalties from buying out Zadina. Another example is Lukas Sedlak, whose contract was terminated by Philadelphia when he made it clear to the team that he wanted to return to Europe to play. Philadelphia put Sedlak on unconditional waivers, terminated the contract, and Sedlak soon returned to his native Czechia to play for Pardubice.

The other, rarer type of termination is for material breach. Material breach termination is exemplified by Alex Galchenyuk, whose contract was terminated by Arizona after they became aware of the intoxicated driving incident involving Galchenyuk. Essentially, material breach is used when players are acting illegally, either against the law of the United States/Canada, or against the terms of their contract. The reason these terminations are so rare is twofold: Not only are hockey players generally going to try to avoid breaking the law, when they do, the player's association is usually going to investigate and file appeals and the like to try to secure their players the highest possible settlement despite the termination (and set a precedent so other teams are not encouraged to terminate contracts for material breach).

On the other hand, a buyout occurs when a player is released by a team, but the player continues to be paid by the team as per their contract. The team incurs cap penalties from buyouts - 1/3 of the contract value if the player is younger than 26 at the time of the buy-out, 2/3 of the value if the player is 26 or order. This penalty is spread across double the years left on the contract.

An aside - this is also where the idea of a "buyout-proof" contract comes in. A buyout-proof contract contains most of the salary being paid in the form of signing bonuses, which are paid in full even if the contract is bought out. (These contracts are also considered "lockout-proof", as, again, the signing bonus must be paid even if there is a lockout and no hockey is being played.) As an example of this, take a look at Auston Matthews's extension:

If the Leafs try to buy this contract out, they'd have to pay Matthews the entirety of the signing bonuses as well as 2/3 of the base salary, making the cap savings incredibly marginal and just not worth it to buy out. Thus, it's buyout-proof.

Is that everything I need to know about waivers?

I think so! If you have any other questions, please drop me a line in my inbox or via DMs - I'll be happy to explain more to you! :D

[player1064]

If you're still doing prompts: I just saw the rooney pic set and the beckham with carra and just either of Carraville being a hot commodity? Other people having crushes or being into them? And maybe them being obvious because they only have eyes for each other or so? Or being possessive

alright lads I am BACK (the essay uh. dont even worry about it.) I've been distracted from drabbles with a) my beville wip which is getting. long. and b) making a gary character thesis statement video which is also getting. LONG.

Anyway I was gonna do a Gary half to this (w/ Stevie and Michael Owen) but it's already at like 1.2k words with just the Jamie ones so if anyone wants me to write the Gary half u will simply have to send more asks adksjfkjdasfsvdsa...

---

Wayne is young, and excited, and he’s scoring a lot of goals.

England is fantastic, it’s a break in the routine, a chance to play with new people. A chance to prove to the whole world that he’s the best there is, that there’s more to the buzz around him than just talk. And there’s so many United players in the squad, there’s no fear of feeling lost or out of his depth.

Except, the United players are all senior United players, that little gang of Phil, Butty, Scholesy, and of course their ringleader Gaz.

Gaz is great, but Wayne has to put up with him every day of his life and he’s not sure he can stomach spending his free time at England camp listening to his ranting when he could be doing literally anything else.

The first time he’d been called up he’d still been with Everton, and being the only player at the club to get in the squad he’d not known anyone when he got to training camp. The Liverpool lot – or rather, Jamie Carragher and his less enthusiastic mates – had adopted him, but now just a few months later everything is different, because now he plays for Manchester United.

It’s stupid, really. The club rivalry stuff. The ‘stick with your own teammates’ stuff. David Beckham doesn’t play for United anymore, but he’s still sat at their table every day, saying stuff that’s not even that funny but that makes Gaz do this stupid over the top laugh that Wayne never hears at any other time.

Gaz’ll have a go at him for it, but he’d rather go sit with Stevie and Carra.

They’re sat at a small table in the canteen, just the two of them and Mo. Except Carra’s not sitting next to Mo like he did last season, there’s no easy banter flowing between any of them. Wayne ignores the tension, or maybe he just doesn’t notice it, and he takes the long awaited opportunity to sit right next to Carra.

Gaz likes to complain about the Scousers, and about Carra in particular. He can’t stand him, thinks he’s after his position in the squad or something, like anyone would want to be a right-back. Last time they’d played Liverpool, Gaz had sat in the dressing room moaning about how Carra was a ‘pathetic little whiny bitch’ and how ‘he’s the most miserable looking footballer I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting’.

Wayne’s not sure where Gaz is getting that from, he’s always thought Carra was quite nice. Friendly, even.  And he smells nice, which is unrelated but feels like it’s worth mentioning.

Even now that Wayne’s at one of his club’s biggest rivals, he still gives him a little smile and an “alright, Wazza?”

There’s a little flutter in his chest, and he grins back. “hiya, Carra. How’s things in Liverpool?”

Carra squints at him. “Did Neville send you over to spy on us?”

*

David is under a lot of pressure.

This was meant to be his last tournament, one last chance for him to finally do it, and now he’s sat in the dugout and every newspaper in the world is asking what his job is meant to be, exactly. He’s not a coach, his latest injury ruled him out of the squad months ago, but he’s still here, and everyone is still watching.

It’s weird, to be away with England and not have Gary by his side. He’s in a hotel in South Africa and he should be going out, enjoying the fact that for once he doesn’t have to be fit to play, but instead he’s staring at the door wishing Gary would walk through and complain about something.

It’s probably not fair to say that he misses Gary (you’re the one who left, you prick), but well – he does miss Gary. He always misses Gary. It’s a world cup, he should be here.

If he’d known, four years ago – if he’d known. He’d’ve done better, tried harder. But what thirty year old thinks they’re at the end of their international career?

So he’s here, now. He’s not a player, not a coach, he’s just David Beckham. Apparently that’s enough. The squad is changing, shifting into something unrecognisable. The senior players don’t bother with the club rivalry thing so much anymore, there’s not enough of them from each club to really justify it. So at lunch he sits with Frank and JT and Gerrard. And Carragher, who’s not got enough caps to really be a senior player at England, but who’s too old now to count as anything else. He’s always around, anyway – sticks to Gerrard like his shadow.

And sometimes – sometimes, David finds himself looking.

He’s all alone out here. He’s under a lot of pressure.

It’s been years, since he’s done anything like that. Four years, in fact. And it’s not that he’s just substituting one defender for another, but he sees a lot of Gary in Jamie. Always cross about something, always moaning. Always pushing himself in training as hard as he possibly can, always pushing the others to do the same.

And he’s not bad to look at, either. Though David’s not sure if that’s a point in his favour or not, he’s always had a bit of a soft spot for the awkward, ugly ones. Or maybe just for that one specific awkward ugly one.

He’s not quite sure how to broach the subject, spends a few days agonising over it before deciding to just get on with it and go knock on the man’s door.

Carragher squints at him when he opens the door. “Does the manager need me for somethin’?” he asks cautiously, like maybe he’s not sure what David’s job is meant to be either.

“Nothing like that, just wondered if we could talk.”

Carragher doesn’t respond, just crosses his arms and waits for David to talk.

“Um, I was thinking more like – in your room?” he says, trying to load as much meaning as he can into the words since Carragher seems a bit slow on the uptake.

Carragher waves him in and he walks ahead to sit on the end of the bed.

“If this is about that fight I had with your mate a few weeks ago, he’s the one who fuckin’ started it.”

“I – what?”

David’s not quite sure when Jamie would have had opportunity to fight any of his mates, or even which mate he might mean – they don’t exactly run in the same circles.

“I swear, he’s always in the referee’s ear, mouthy cunt.”

Ah. Gary.

He wonders when the last time United played Liverpool was. He wonders when the last time was that he asked Gary how a game went.

“We have nothing to do with the referees,” he says automatically, before remembering that he’s not really part of the we anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.

“Yeah, yeah. Well tell your little boyfriend that if he still ‘as a problem he can say it to my face, but it was his man who dived, not mine.”

“That wasn’t why I – you know what, never mind.”

[braveclementine]

Chapter 8

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book. It is solely fluff- nothing sexual

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

.💙💙💙.

𝕳𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 were let out of the hospital wing on Monday and we went back to attending classes. It was a relief to be back with other people. Of course, Draco Malfoy imitated Harry and I falling off our brooms over and over again every time one of us walked past. It was really getting on my nerves.

I kept my cool though. Cedric had us training constantly so that we could potentially win against Ravenclaw. I had to keep turning back hours to complete multiple classes. I kept leaving a food basket in the woods though I hadn't seen Sirius in a long time. I conversed with Firenze and sometimes Ronan or Ivagio about the stars and the future. I visited Hagrid with either Ginny or Hermione. And also, my private lessons with my teachers, and occlumency with dad.

Occlumency left me shivery afterwards and usually frustrated. I was not good at it unless there was something I really didn't want dad to see- like my interactions with Snape or my dreams.

We didn't work on the Patronus charm anymore, occlumency seemed to be dad's priority. So, I had started working on the charm by myself in an abandoned classroom or in the forest. It was coming along much better than Occlumency was, though I hadn't produced a corporeal patronus yet.

The bell rang and I hurried from class. I wanted to go and pop in and say hi to dad real quick. He was up and teaching again. I hurried through the hallways but when I heard him talking to someone, I stopped quickly.

"Why did they have to come to the match?" It was Harry's voice- bitter.

"They're getting hungry." Dad said in a cool voice. "Dumbledore won't let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up. . . I don't think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement. . . emotions running high. . . it was their idea of a feast."

"Elizabeth saved me." Harry said suddenly. "Did you hear about that?"

"Yes." Dad said and he sounded proud. "I did hear about that as a matter of fact."

Harry was silent for a second. I waited and then, I turned and left. I didn't want to hear anymore.

.💙💙💙.

𝕽𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖜 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖚𝖘 at the next match, much to my irritation. It had been a long, tiring game too. I'd managed to score a few goals though- nearly all of them- and I was glad because dad was watching today. Of course, like nearly every other game, I nearly broke my head open with a bludger.

But there were no injuries at the end of the game when the Ravenclaw seeker- Cho Chang- caught the snitch. We were disappointed, but now we could cheer on Gryffindor. I was a bit disappointed for another reason. It was barely even Christmas time and my Quidditch season was already over.

"There's always next year." Cedric said with a wistful look on his face.

Yes. I supposed there was always next year.

The days passed quickly despite turning back hours, probably because I needed time to slow down. I supposed I could've used the time turner to create more hours for homework, but I decided to use it only for getting to class. (Unless I got desperate. Only then would I use it for homework).

There was another Hogsmeade trip the last week before term and I wondered if I really even wanted to go. I decided I would, for a short amount of time, and then come back.

I went with Hermione and Ron and we left Harry behind. My bag was empty again and I was trying to think up different gifts for the others. Christmas was coming soon.

Ron and Hermione decided that we would stop inside Honeydukes first. I bought boxes of chocolates for each person I wanted to give a gift to.

I also got Pepper Imps and Ice Mice because I wanted to try them out and I hadn't bought them last time.

"What should we get for Harry?" Hermione asked Ron, looking around. We were in the Unusual Tastes section.

"How about those?" Ron asked, pointing at the blood-flavored lollipops.

"Ugh, no, Harry won't want one of those, they're for vampires, I expect." Hermione was saying.

I picked one up and said, "I wonder if they actually taste like blood."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Hermione said, shivering. I decided I'd buy it and try it out.

"How about these?" Ron said, picking up a jar of Cockroach Clusters and stuffed them under Hermione's nose.

A different voice made all of us jump. "Definitely not."

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, "What are you doing here? How- how did you-?" Hermione looked like she may have a heart attack.

"Wow!" Ron said with a very impressed look on his face, "you've learned to Apparate!"

I giggled.

"'Course I haven't." Harry said. He dropped his voice and said, "Fred and George got this map from Filch. It shows all the different secret passageways and stuff. Anyways I found a secret passage from the cellar of Hogsmeade to Hogwarts."

"Wicked." I said, grinning.

"How come Fred and George never gave it to me!" Ron said, outraged, "I'm their brother!"

"But Harry isn't going to keep it!" Hermione said in an astonished voice, "He's going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren't you, Harry?"

"No, I'm not!" Harry said a bit loudly.

"Are you mad?" Ron said, looking at Hermione as though she were mad. "Hand in something that good?"

"If I hand it in, I'll have to say where I got it! Filch would know Fred and George had nicked it!" Harry said, arguing the logic.

I felt my stomach twist. While I knew Hermione wasn't going to tell, I felt nervous in real time. Imagine Fred and George reluctantly giving it over, and then being in trouble only hours later.

"But what about Sirius Black!" Hermione hissed and I very nearly rolled my eyes. "He could be using one of the passages on that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know!" That was a good point too.

I intervened. "Hermione, Sirius is never going to use that secret passage."

We looked at each other for a second and Hermione tentatively asked, "Are you positive?"

I was silent for a moment, thinking. It was true, he would never use this passage ever. But in the end, he would use the passageway under the Whomping Willow. I only knew this because I was concentrating really hard. I wondered briefly if he was staying in the Shrieking Shack right now. . ."Yes, I'm positive." I finally said, hoping that I wasn't lying.

"Fine." Hermione sighed. Ron showed Harry around the shop while we paid for our sweets. "You are sure, right?" Hermione whispered in my ear.

I simply nodded. We headed out into the cold while Ron and Hermione pointed out different shops. I wondered if we could go into the Three Broomsticks. There were no dementors around, they were floating up very high in the sky.

Ron finally voiced the opinion that we should go into the Three Broomsticks, and so we went in. I looked around curiously. I'd never been inside before.

There were high beams crossing the roof made of wood. There were many wooden tables and booths scattered around the room in neat rows. Christmas trees decorated the corners of the room. In the back was a bar with stools and a young woman with blond hair was serving customers from behind it. She was thin and curvy and had a very pretty face. Her full lips were coloured red and she was obviously wearing mascara.

"That's Madam Rosmerta." Said Ron, who had gone red in the face. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?"

I giggled again as he set off for the bar. Harry, Hermione, and I went into the back corner of the room into an empty booth. We were near the fireplace and there was a Christmas tree that was by us. Ron came back about five minutes later, even redder than he'd been when he'd left us, carrying two tanks of butterbeer in each hand.

He handed Hermione and I our tankards. The tankards were made of glass and I could feel the heat coming through the material. I'd never actually had butterbeer before and was excited. Dad had always said that my first sip should be here with friends, no matter how many times I'd asked for the drink before. I realized now, that he was right. I was going to have to tell him.

"Merry Christmas!" Ron said, lifting his tankard and we all clinked ours together.

We all drank and I realized that it was one of the best things I had ever tasted. It was sweet, but not overly sweet, and hot so that it filled the insides of your body from head to toe. But I felt something was coming and on a premonition, I grabbed the tankard from Harry's hands.

The other three looked at me in shock and I hissed, "Get under the table now." At the same time, the doors opened and in came Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid. Hagrid was talking to the Minister of Magic- Fudge.

Harry quickly ducked under the table. At least now he wasn't going to be dripping with butterbeer.

"Hermione." I hissed again, "The tree."

Hermione whispered, "Mobiliarbus!" And the Christmas tree rose a few inches off the ground, landing in front of our table, hiding us all from view.

I could feel Harry's body against my leg (Hermione and Ron were sitting across from me). I handed him down his tankard of butterbeer so he could drink it- if he wanted to. I took another sip of the drink, mostly for something to do. Stupid Harry. Should've brought the damn Invisibility Cloak.

There was a click of heels and I heard a voice I'd never heard before say, "A small gillywater?"

"Mine." Professor McGonagall's voice said crisply.

"Four pints of Mulled Mead?"

"Ta, Rosmerta." Came Hagrid's boisterous voice.

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella?"

"Mmm!" Professor Flitwick said, smacking his lips and I burst into silent giggles and muffled my mouth against my arm.

"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister." Madam Rosmerta finished off.

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear." Fudge said. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us. . ."

"Well, thank you very much, Minister." Rosmerta said and there was the sound of heels leaving and then heels returning and another chair being pulled up to the table.

I twitched my leg nervously. How long were the teachers going to be here?

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" Rosmerta asked.

"What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?" Fudge said a few moments after she'd asked the question.

"I did hear a rumor." Madam Rosmerta said.

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" Professor McGonagall asked in an exasperated voice.

"Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?" Rosmerta asked and so Hagrid never answered the question.

"I'm sure of it." Fudge said shortly.

"You know that the dementors have searched the whole village twice? Madam Rosmerta said, an icy edge to her voice. "Scared all my customers away. . . It's very bad for business, Minister."

Fudge sounded uncomfortable as he answered, "Rosmerta, m'dear, I don't like them any more than you do. Necessary precaution unfortunate, but there you are. . . I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Dumbledore- he won't let them inside the castle grounds."

"I should think not." Professor McGonagall said in a sharp voice, "How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?"

I shuddered at the thought of the dementors floating around the school. I'm sure I'd be embarassing myself even further, fainting every day and whatnot. I made a mental note to practice the patronus charm more than I already was.

"Hear, hear!" Professor Flitwick squeaked in a high pitched voice.

"All the same. . ." Fudge said, "If that girl you talked about would just give us something. . ."

I straightened up and stared at them- well where they would've been if the tree wasn't there. Hermione and Ron looked at me quickly too.

"Girl?" Madam Rosmerta asked in a curious voice, "What girl are you talking about?"

"Her name is Elizabeth Kane." Professor McGonagall said crisply and my cheeks flushed with embarrassed colour. Hermione and Ron looked at me quickly.

"According to Dumbledore, she can see the future." Fudge said. "Now if only she would direct her thoughts towards Black's capture, perhaps we'd have caught him by now."

"Now see here, Minister." Hagrid said in a sharp, almost cold voice, "Elizabeth ain' a tool. She's jus' a student like teh others."

I felt a special love towards Hagrid at that moment.

"Yes." Professor McGonagall said, also in a cold voice, "She has other things to be worried about. It is not her business to catch Sirius Black."

"I've never met this girl." Madam Rosmerta said, in a fascinated voice.

I shifted in my seat, looking down at the table, clenching my butterbeer tankard. Hermione and Ron made a point of not looking at me as well.

"She's the smartest student we have up at the school." Professor McGonagall said, "She's a third-year in Hufflepuff. She's very close with Harry Potter."

"Oh!" Madam Rosmerta said. "Of course, she's the girl in the article about whether or not she was Harry Potter's sister!"

"Tha' would be her." Hagrid said.

We all looked at each other nervously. My leg was bouncing up and down, rubbing against Harry's shoulder.

"Anyways." Fudge said dismissively, getting to the reason of why he was here. "I'd much rather she see something anyways. But the original point, the dementors are here for protection. We all know what Black is capable of, of course."

"I still have trouble believing it, you know." Madam Rosmerta said in a voice of those who were reminiscing about past events, "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought. . . I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead."

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta." Fudge said, "The worst he did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" Madam Rosmerta asked, "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

Well, duh, I thought but didn't say.

"I certainly do." Fudge said matter of factly.

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?" Madam Rosmerta practically scoffed at the Minister.

Professor McGonagall said, "You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta, Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally." And there was a small laugh from Madam Rosmerta. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here- ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Harry dropped his tankard with a loud thud. Ron kicked him under the table. I felt a jolt of shock shoot up my spine. I had known, of course, but it was so different hearing it from someone else's lips. Someone besides Dad anyways.

"Precisely." Professor McGonagall said. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright of, course, exceptionally bright, in fact- but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers-"

She was abruptly cut off as Hagrid chuckled and said, "I dunno, Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money. Elizabeth could too as a matter of fact, the amount of times she goes into the forest." My lips twitched into a smile too and then dropped as quickly as it had come.

"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers! Inseparable!" Flitwick added.

"Of course they were." Fudge said. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him."

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" Madam Rosmerta whispered.

"Worse than that, m'dear. . ." Fudge dropped his voice and the four of us leaned to the side to hear better. "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. . ."

Well, of course my parents had known Voldemort was after them. That was why Sirius was the only one who knew I was Harry's twin sister. That's why he knew where I was hidden- deep in the basement in my pink and white crib and pink backpack with all my necessities already packed.

Sirius was my godfather too. Sirius was innocent. I knew that. . . how did I prove it? My parents had protected me. . . and my mum had protected Harry too. . . and my dad. . . James, my dad. . . he'd protected all three of us.

I felt tears spring up in my eyes and I wiped them away. I listened back into the conversation.

". . .immensely complex spell involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper," Professor Flitwick squeaked, sounding as though we might've been in the classroom. "and is henceforth impossible to find-unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!"

"So Black was the Potter's Secret-Keeper?" Madam Rosmerta asked in a whisper.

"Naturally." Professor McGonagall said. She sounded like she had a stuffed nose. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself. . . and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potter's Secret-Keeper himself."

"He suspected Black?" Madam Rosmerta gasped and quickly lowered her voice again.

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements. Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who." Professor McGonagall said. She seemed to know a lot about this. Then again, she was deputy headmistress. You didn't get there unless the headmaster greatly respected you.

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did." Fudge intervened. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed-"

"Black betrayed them?" Madam Rosmerta barely breathed this question.

"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it-"

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, a bit louder than the others. The bar went quiet for a moment and then started up again.

"Shh!" Professor McGonagall said in a strained voice.

"I met him!" Hagrid growled, though his voice was much lower. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James house after they was killed! Jus' got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash across his forehead, an' his parents dead. . . an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily and Jame's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the new o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin' he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid suddenly roared.

The four of us, used to listening in as hard as possible, all jumped at the sudden volume change. This time however, the bar didn't pay any attention to this outburst.

I stopped listening. Hagrid hadn't been the last to see Sirius. I had. I couldn't remember it, though I could just barely remember a lit place, perhaps a café. I remembered other things as well, the smell of burning wood, and a soft voice in my ear- Sirius' voice. Then there'd been something bitter, the smell I registered with coffee. That must've been the lit place and why I was sure it was a café.

I couldn't remember much farther back, though there was a memory of baby Harry and me sitting around a Christmas tree. Dad and mums' faces were a bit blurry. A cat came and sat in my lap and I hit it with a wooden spoon from my new play cooking set. The cat rolled over onto its back and stretched. Mum scolded me. It wasn't much but it was my only memory I had of the four of us together. But Sirius wasn't in that one.

I focused on the conversation again.

Fudge was saying, ". . .the Potter's friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself."

"Pettigrew. . . that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" Madam Rosmerta asked.

"Hero-worshiped Black and Potter. Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I- how I regret that now. . ."

"There, now, Minerva," Fudge said kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses- Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later- told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens. . ."

Professor McGonagall blew her nose at that moment and it made me realize that she was softer than she acted. The last time she had cried it was because Harry, Ron, and I had asked to go see Hermione in the hospital wing last year. Or maybe she only cried once a year.

"Stupid boy. . . foolish boy. . . he was always hopeless at dueling. . . should have left it to the Ministry. . ." Professor McGonagall said.

"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't messed around with wands- I'd've ripped him limb-from-limb." Hagrid growled in a dangerous I'd never heard before. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid. Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I- I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him. . . a heap of bloodstained robes and a few- a few fragments-" Fudge said, at first sharply when addressing Hagrid, then softer as he described the rest.

It was funny really, I thought randomly, that Hagrid was sitting here so amiably when Fudge had put him in Azkaban last year. What was up with that? Had Hagrid really just forgiven Fudge like that? Or maybe I was the only person in the world who held a grudge against other people for their crimes against other people. I certainly would never forgive Fudge for that.

Five noses were blown after that. I glanced up. Ron's face was horrified. Hermione had tears in her eyes. I reached down, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. To my surprise, Harry reached up and grabbed it, squeezing it tightly. I felt a sort of vindictive pleasure rise up in me. My brother needed comfort! I was comforting him! Yes!

Fudge continued by saying, "Well, there you have it, Rosmerta. Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Merlin, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black's been in Azkaban ever since."

"Is it true he's mad, Minister?" Rosmerta said with a long, sad sigh.

"I wish I could say that he was." Fudge said slowly, perhaps even thoughtfully. "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while-"

No, I thought. He was unhinged (if he ever was) because he blamed himself for mum and dad's deaths. Because it was his idea of Pettigrew being the Secret-Keeper. That's what I knew now- I just had to prove it.

"-The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man- cruel. . . pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them. . . but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored- asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him- and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."

"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" Madam Rosmerta asked. She seemed confused. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"

"I daresay that is his-er- eventual plan." Fudge said, a bit uncomfortably and I realized that he wasn't going to tell Madam Rosmerta that Black was 'after' Harry Potter. "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing. . . but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again. . ."

There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.

"You know, Cornelius," Professor McGonagall said after a very long silence. I realized my hand was tight with Harry's. "If you're dining with the headmaster, we'd better head back up to the castle."

One by one the chairs all screeched back and there was a sound like Madam Rosmerta was collecting glasses. Then the teachers had walked out of the pub and Madam Rosmerta went behind the bar.

"H-Harry?" Hermione whispered. Harry came up from under the table. His face was pale.

"Let's go." I said sharply. "Let's go. Now."

We left the pub. Harry wandered back to Honeydukes in a lost way.

I turned to Hermione and Ron, "I'll see you guys back at the castle."

They nodded, looking at little pale, and I followed Harry into Honeydukes, up into the cellar, and into the secret passageway.

He was silent for most of the trip and I finally said, "I know why."

He jerked and asked, "Know why what?"

"Why Hagrid and Mr. Weasley never told you the truth."

"And why is that?" He asked coolly.

"Well first of all, neither Mr. Weasley nor Hagrid knew the whole story. They just knew as much as you- we knew. That Black was after you and he was Voldemort's supporter. They didn't know any of the other stuff. And Fudge certainly wasn't going to tell you the whole story, you heard him at the pub, 'Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him.' Fudge just sees you as a small, helpless boy."

"What about Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

I was silent for a moment, "He's the only one that I can say didn't have a good reason for not telling you. I suppose the reason would be he too thinks you're too young. Isn't that the reason he gave for not answering your questions after your fight with Quirrell?"

Harry was silent for the rest of the time and when we got out of the tunnel. When he got out he said, "I'm going to the common room, will I see you at dinner?"

"Maybe. If Fudge is eating here he might want to 'see' me. Maybe I'll go out to the forest and converse with the Centaurs to avoid him." I said with a shrug. It actually sounded like a really good idea.

Harry just nodded and then trudged off in the opposite direction. I stood there for a moment, unsure of where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do. I had heard the conversation three times now. I had seen it in a vision, Sirius had explained it to me in the forest months ago, and now I had just heard it at the pub. Yet, there was some sort of unexplainable shock that was going through me.

Finally, I made my way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. I listened at the door but I didn't hear anything. I opened the door tentatively and then, not seeing any students, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

I headed up the stairs to where the office was and knocked. "Come in." Dad said.

I opened the door and went inside. Dad looked up from his work and put his quill down, "What's wrong?" He asked automatically. Perhaps my face looked worse than I had thought.

I explained nearly everything that I had heard at the pub. Dad grew a little pale as he heard the conversation and then he shook his head at the end, "What a conversation to have in a public pub."

I laughed a little and then said, "I wasn't really shocked, I'd already seen the conversation beforehand but um. . ." I drifted off. "Did you know about this beforehand? All of it, I mean?"

"Yes." Dad said, picking his quill back up and making a mark on his papers.

I nodded and then sat down. There was silence except for the scratching of the quill on the paper. I looked out the window. Hagrid was walking to his hut.

"You have a nice view." I commented.

Dad chuckled and then sighed, "I have bad news."

I looked at him warily. "Yes?"

"I won't be able to spend Christmas day with you." Dad said, carefully circling something on the paper.

"I know." I said, though I still felt sad at the mention of it. "I memorize the dates every year. . . I have another question."

"Ask away."

"Why isn't my last name Lupin?"

Dad came a start, blotting the letters on the paper and looked up at me, a curious expression on his face. Then he smiled, "You know, I always wondered why you never asked that when you were younger." Then his smiled faded and said, "It was the wish of your parents for your last name to be Kane. Perhaps because there are no wizarding families with that name. Perhaps because if your last name had stayed Potter, well that's an obvious one. . . and if your last name had been Lupin, perhaps others would've made the connection and realized you were the adopted daughter of a werewolf."

I nodded, "Do you think I could get it legally changed to Lupin if I wanted to?"

Dad looked at me curiously, but his cheeks were flushed pink. He was pleased, I realized. "Only if you really, really wanted to."

I was silent for a moment. I couldn't think of anything else to say or ask so I stood and walked over to him and bent down and kissed his cheek.

"Love you dad."

"Love you too sweetheart."

I left the office and sighed as the door closed. If I wasn't married by the time I was eighteen (and of course, I wouldn't be because that was just. . . well that was just impossible) I would change my last name to Lupin. Until I got married, of course.

I smiled, walking down the stairs and then headed to the end of term banquet, unable to stop smiling at the pleasure on dad's face when I'd told him I wanted to change my name to his. 

⬅️➡️

[sport333]

It's more than mala-flavored Every episode is legendary

It's more than mala-flavored Every episode is legendary

Mnet's "Street Woman Fighter 2" (hereinafter referred to as "Swoofa 2") is very popular.

In fact, many analysts said that it would not be easy to surpass the popularity of "Soupa 1" because "Soupa 1" unexpectedly enjoyed great popularity. It was judged that the "Strong" sisters showed most of what they could show.

However, 'Soupa 2' is writing a new legend, breaking down such concerns at once. "Swoopa 2," which aired until the fourth episode, is drawing attention with record results every time. In the third episode, the highest viewer rating (based on Nielsen Korea's tally and paid households in the Seoul metropolitan area) was 4.0%, ranking first in all channels at the same time, including terrestrial broadcasters, breaking its own highest viewer rating. The 1539 target ratings and 2049 ratings also proved their potential by topping all channels.

Among them, a notable achievement is the 2040 female viewer rating. In particular, in the last four episodes, the ratings of women in their 40s have risen to 7.6% and an average of 5.8%. Women in their 20s and 30s also won the hearts of female viewers by achieving first place, including terrestrial broadcasting.

Male viewers' viewing changes are also noticeable. The ratings of men in their 40s jumped from 2.3 percent in the second episode to an average of 3.9 percent in the third episode. As such, the popularity of "Soupa 2" seems to be spreading rapidly beyond men and women of all ages, showing an even rise in male ratings.

Behind this popularity of "Soupa 2" is a variety of attractive elements that evoke dopamine in viewers. The quarrel between the crew members has been strengthened, and the teamwork of the crew members has become stronger.

In the beginning of season 1, Gabi and Aiki's competitive mode contributed greatly to increasing viewership. In addition, the case of Hollybank and Coca-Cola and Butter also maximized the confrontation and made it fun. However, in season 2, Lia Kim and Mina Myung attracted early viewers by properly presenting their emotional goals. In season 1, he said, "There was this level of conflict," but during the battle, Lia Kim and Mina Myung showed emotional fights over "choreography," and eventually showed tears from each other, emphasizing that it was "real."

The comments have become more powerful. It is said that the confrontation between Manequin Redrick and One Million Harimu, a teacher's student relationship, was also interesting.

Another strength is that the participating teams have become global as K-dance has gained worldwide popularity. He also joined the world-class dance team Jam Republic and Japanese team Tsubakil, highlighting that his status is recognized even on the global stage.

The narrative has also become stronger. Latris of Jam Republic and Ledrick of Mannequin drew attention by properly drawing out the drama narrative. In the middle class video shoot, Latris and Redrick's conflict, especially when Latris pointed to Redrick as the weak, reached its peak, but they were injured at the same time and met in the emergency room, drawing attention.

In teamwork, the member, who was designated as the worst dancer, showed tears and became stronger when the team's score was cut. For example, Deep & Dap leader Mina Myung, who was selected as the worst dancer, shed tears, saying, "But my children are happy that no one received the worst dancer." The team members patted him without saying a word, and Bebe's sea, who knew the weight of the leader, shed tears together.

In addition, Bada's heavy advice and comfort to Tatter, who shed tears due to the pressure of the "Choreography Copy Challenge Section," and One Million leader Lia Kim showed insufficient performance compared to expectations at the beginning of the show, but he became stronger thanks to the team members.

With Tsubakil confirmed as a elimination crew, the "Soupa 2" mega-crew video has surpassed 1 million views in all seven croups and has easily exceeded 19 million cumulative views (as of 9 a.m. on the 15th).

Dynamic Duo X Lee Young-ji's "Smoke" (Prod. Dynamic Duo, Paddy), a leader-class mission song that adopts Bebe Bada's choreography, is causing a challenge syndrome, covering not only various celebrities but also the public. #smokechallenge TikTok hashtag views have already exceeded 260,000 views, becoming the center of the global craze 대전호빠

Recently, even BTS (BTS) V participated in the "Smoke" challenge by presenting a colorful dance line with the sea and Goff, making headlines. Ahn Yu-jin of Ive also joined the "Smoke" challenge, and the challenge video of Park Jae-beom and Kinzaz Mike Song, who appeared as a special jersey in "Soupa 2," is also showing off their popularity. In addition, celebrities such as Kang Daniel, who is active as the MC of "Soupa 2," Rise Shotaro & Bada, NCT Taeyong & Bada, Lee Young-ji, ITZY Yeji & Ryujin, Enmix Gyujin, and ATEEZ San are heating up the heat by uploading challenge videos.

In addition, the "Smoke" challenge is going through hip word of mouth within short platform video platforms such as Instagram Reels and TikTok. Mnet has led to the success of "Supa"'s "Hey Mama," followed by "Supa"'s "Sabbing" and "Smoke" challenge. This is why there are voices saying that "Supa 2"'s popularity exceeds season 1

[tkachuckycheese]

on the line

summary: when the flames season comes to an end, you’re confronted with the emotions of your break-up with matthew, in more ways than one. 

word count: 1.7k

warnings: kinda angsty, mentions of kissing 

note: my first fic on hockeyblr, also my first one in years since my 1d fanfic days (lol)!! basically, this is a combo of my emotions from the flames elimination from the playoffs last night AND the potential of matthew having played his last game as a flame........... but let’s not talk more about it. there is maybe a more smutty addition to this but we shall have to seeeee..... let me know your thoughts friends, i would love to hear them!

~

You’re clutching the red jersey so tightly you're certain the seams are coming apart. You might not even be breathing. You sucked in a breath when the overtime goal was scored, and you haven’t been able to let it out quite yet. 

You pace up and down your living room, back and forth, from the couch to the kitchen. You wish you’d gone to the game with the girls, because at least you’d have someone to calm you down. Many of them had asked you to, but you were worried you’d run into him. If you were there now, you would be able to know if he was okay. You could comfort him, tell him it wasn’t his fault and everything was going to be okay. 

On your TV, they show the team giving the fans one last final salute before heading off the ice. He’s the first one down the tunnel, moving so fast and with his head tipped down that the cameras can’t catch him. But you don’t need to see his face to know what it looks like. He left everything on the ice tonight, and this is going to be a big deal for him. This is soul crushing for him. He’s going to be a fucking mess. Despite what happened between the two of you, your heart breaks for him. 

Is this my fault? 

You hate yourself for even contemplating that question. He made you break up with him. He is responsible for his own failures, and for your broken heart. Maybe karma decided to take this moment to unleash all the hurt and pain you wished on him when you broke up. But if he hadn’t decided your relationship was an “unnecessary distraction”, then there would be no reason for karma to kick his ass. Despite the fact that he had reached out many times since the break-up, asking to talk and saying he missed you, you hadn’t responded. Your emotional capacity had reached its limit, and you were still putting the pieces of yourself that he had broken back together.

You sigh and head into the kitchen, busying yourself with making dinner. Your diet had been shit since the breakup and now that you were trying to get through this instead of wallowing in the pain, you were trying to make a conscious effort. 

A couple hours later, you were on the couch, still trying to convince yourself to change the channel, but you just couldn’t. It was like a train wreck. The highlight reel had played through multiple times already, with the panel discussing each and every hit and miss from the playoff series. The general consensus seemed to be that he, in particular, beared a lot of the responsibility for the team’s loss and playoff elimination. You roll your eyes at the panelists’ opinions of him, while simultaneously wishing you could smack him and hug him at the same time. But you’ll get to do neither because you’re not in his life anymore. 

They’d switched to discussing a different series, and you were about to rewind and watch the highlights again to indulge your heart’s masochistic tendencies when the doorbell rings. Your heart skips and you immediately mute the television. You try to listen to the front door for who it could be, especially since it’s late and you’re not expecting anyone. 

It rings again. 

You stand up and walk gingerly towards the front hall. Your floorboards creak and you flinch–as if the serial killer on the other side of the door can hear it and has started sharpening his machete. 

“Y/N, it’s me.” 

You gasp. Because it can’t be. But when you go on your tiptoes and look through the peephole, there he is. Well, there’s the top of his curly head of hair. He tips his head up for a second and you glimpse those deep grey eyes and full mouth. 

Holy shit. 

You take a deep breath to calm yourself. There’s nothing about this that’s good, you remind your pounding heart as you open the door. He’s slouched over, but as soon as his eyes land on mine, he pulls himself up to almost his full height. Maybe it’s the pain of defeat makes it impossible to get that slump out of his broad shoulders entirely, and really, you can’t fault him for that. 

You fight to hold his gaze. It’s hard because it’s so angry–and desperate. You’ve never seen him look like this, not in the last seven years you’ve known him, not when you broke up, not ever. And because you’re still so completely in love with him, it hurts to look at him. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Matthew, what are you doing here?” you ask without letting him inside. “Don’t you have post-game stuff you need to do?” 

“It’s all done. The series is done. The season is done,” he replies, flicking his eyes to the ground and back up to yours. “Can I please come in?” 

“Why?”

“Because.” 

He’s wearing a pair of training paints and a Flames hoodie. It’s pulled tight across his wide chest. His hair is still wet from the shower. The whole team probably didn’t bother with suits after the game. They probably just wanted to get the fuck out of there. And he came straight to you. 

“Because why?” You countered harshly. 

“Let me in, Y/N.” 

It’s not a question. He doesn’t really ask anyone for anything. He tells them. Matthew’’s always got to be in charge and no one ever denies that. 

You tighten your grip on the door and move to shut it in his face, but he steps right into it. His palm makes a loud smacking sound against the wood, and then he’s pushing. Hard. You lose your grip on the door and it flings open. He steps over the threshold and right up into you. 

Without an ounce of hesitation, Matthew grabs your face roughly in his big hands and forces his mouth over yours. You pound his shoulder with your fist and wedge your hand in between you to try to pry you apart, but you can’t break his hold on you. It’s like a sparrow tangling with an eagle.

His tongue sweeps right into your mouth and you think briefly about biting down on it, but it feels so damn good. You grab the fabric of his hoodie and ball it up in your hand. He starts walking backward, pushing you back into the living room. The side of the archway clips your shoulder, but he keeps pushing. When your legs hit the back of the sofa and you lose your balance, you shove him harder and this time Matthew takes a step away. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream. 

“I’m showing you I still care the only way left to show you,” Matthew says, his voice strained and loud. “I’ve tried calling, texting, I’ve used social fucking media and so now here I am. Physically showing you.” 

You storm past him, back into the hall to the open door. He turns to keep his eyes on you but doesn’t move to follow. He may be stunned and angry, but he’s still not going anywhere. You reach out and wrap your hand around the door again. “I told you, I’m no one’s silly little distraction or fling. You don’t get to come in here like a petulant child and just claim me like a consolation ribbon after you lose at hockey.” 

His body is rigid, his shoulders creeping up to his earlobes the longer you rant, getting more and more tense. But you don’t care. You’re not in his life anymore. 

“Y/N, I think about it every single day, how messed up it all was, how much I fucked up. I don’t like myself since you left. I never should have made you leave like that.” 

You try to take a breath, but it’s ragged. “Matthew, you’re just emotional over the end of your season.” 

“I did everything I could for this fucking team.” His voice is low and deep and shaky with rage. 

“Yeah. You did. So let it go,” you reply tersely. “They lost in spite of you, Matthew, not because of you.” 

He doesn’t answer. He walks towards you, his shoulders slumped in defeat again. This time, he stops a polite distance from you and keeps his hands to himself. 

“I just can’t handle the fucking pressure. I can’t carry this team, and I can’t keep putting this brave face on. I don’t know what else to do,” he admits, and you know it’s nothing he’s ever said to anyone else and nothing that he ever will. 

His dark eyes meet yours. They’re so sad they make your heart ache. He takes a few steps towards the door, and as he does, he chokes out, “I am so sorry.” 

As he steps through the door, you put a hand on his shoulder and flick your wrist, causing the door to fly from your hand and slam shut. “You try to control everything and when you can’t, when something knocks you on your ass unexpectedly, you give up or hide. You’re a coward.” 

His chest tightens under your hand. “I was a coward. I’ve been one this entire time, but I’ve been trying to change. I fucked up, but I’m still trying. But I need you. I need you because you make me want to be better.” 

“You need me?” you repeat. God, you wanted to believe it, you really did. You had read his pleading texts, listened to the voicemails, even seen the Instagram post he’d made of a photo of the two of you, simply captioned “Miss this girl.” You’re just so scared to trust him again. You know he can’t do anything else to get you back. You had both walked out on each other, but neither of you had truly moved on. 

It hits you so hard, you let out a shudder. You either have to believe Matthew or you have to let him go. 

And the only thing that terrifies you more than forgiving him is losing him. 

So you take a ragged breath and you whisper, “Prove it.” 

[ghstandpucks]

You Are Gold ~ Tyson Jost

I hope you like it! Requests are open!

Request/Summary: Perhaps a request? 👉🏻👈🏻 I couldn’t choose so I’m bringing you two songs 1. You Are Gold -The National Parks 2.Happy Accidents -Saint Motel I’m not picky about players but josty with one of these songs would kill me I think but it’s really up to you I’m down for whoever @tysojost

I hope you enjoy it girl!! I chose You Are Gold by The National Parks. I am now in love with this song also!

Master List

We wandered lost beneath the lights I felt small under the galaxies It was one of those familiar nights I felt big with you next to me Oh my, oh my, I think that I am falling

You were in the stands the night Tyson made the overtime goal that secured the Avs’ place in the playoffs. Cheering as loud as you could for your curly haired best friend, Tyson immediately found you in the stands after being bear hugged by his linemates. He pointed up at you and you pointed back, continuing a tradition you had going since you started watching his games in high school. Tyson was ecstatic to have had the chance to help his team make the playoffs, and with you in the stands, he felt like he could conquer the world.

When you had met Tyson your freshman year of high school, you would have never thought your life would end up like this. You were new to the school, and of course managed to trip and drop all your books in the hallway on your first day. Amid trying to hold back tears from embarrassing yourself in a new place, you saw another set of hands helping you gather your things. As you stood up, you came to face a boy with a soft smile, concern in his eyes. He asked if you were alright, and introduced himself. Turned out the two of you had your next class together, and he walked you to your class after that so that way you knew where to go. Over the next couple weeks your friendship grew, and when hockey season started you attended a few games at Tyson’s request. One game he scored the final goal that would send his team to the championships, pointing at you after and claiming you as his lucky charm. The day he was drafted you both cried, knowing he would be leaving you behind, but kept in touch. Talking every day, Tyson was able to convince you to move to Denver when you graduated college. Finding a job in your field, you packed up and joined your best friend in the States.

A year later here you were, waiting for Tyson to get out of the locker room so you could go out with the team for the night. You were talking to JT and Cale when you felt arms circle your waist and a kiss planted on your cheek. This wasn’t an unusual way for Tyson to greet you, but it always made you giggle and lean back into him. Those around you two always rolled their eyes at how oblivious you were to each other’s feelings. JT rolled his eyes and shook his head, starting to walk off with Cale. He always brought up the fact that you both had feelings for each other to Tyson, and Tyson would always wave him off. You were his best friend, that was that.

It never really was ‘that’ though. Tyson had a crush on you the second he met you. Over the years though, he was able to convince himself that it wasn’t there. It was just a high school crush that he got over. You two were comfortable with each other, which explained the closeness. When one of his friends teased him for always having an eye on you, he would explain it away with it just being him watching out for you. When he got chirped for the cuddles you two shared, he would roll his eyes and chirp them all back.

Sitting in a booth that night though, with you tucked under his arm and laughing at the dumb jokes he was making, Tyson felt invincible. He was already riding a high from his goal, but there was something different about how you felt against his side; about how you whispered how proud of him you were when he pulled you into a hug before walking into the bar just because he wanted you close. You let out a buzzed giggle at something Andre said, leaning your head on Tyson’s shoulder and all of a sudden it was like he couldn’t catch his breath.

Tyson Jost was in love with his best friend.

'Cause you are gold You are all I see You are aurum scarce and meant for kings You are gold

Tyson tapped your hip, letting you know he was going to head to the restroom before everyone took off for the night. You smiled up at him and his heart felt like it jumped. It always did when he saw you smile, but this time he couldn’t help but admire it a fraction of a second too long, everyone around you two noticing and chuckling at the oblivious pair. Standing outside the bar, you shivered against the early morning chill, hugging your arms to yourself. A moment later a set of arms were back around you pulling you back into their chest. “Whose place?” Tyson asked softly.

“Yours. Your bed is softer,” you mumbled, yawning while you turned in his arms to wrap yours around his waist. Tyson let out a low chuckle and ordered the Uber. Going home together was a regular occurrence that just added fuel to the fire for the team. Neither of you saw the point in going to your own places though when you would just end up at breakfast together the next morning. Nothing ever happened, but it didn’t stop the comments that you and Tyson would just end up rolling your eyes at.

Upon arriving at Tyson’s apartment, you changed into one of his t-shirts and sleep shorts that you had there for occasions such as this. After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you crawled under the covers as Tyson made sure the front door was locked. He climbed into bed next to you, leaving space in the middle as you both always did. “So proud of you Tys,” you muttered as your eyes were falling, your breathing becoming even.

“Couldn’t have done it without you Y/N. My lucky charm,” he whispered as to not wake you. Reaching his hand out, he brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear and rested his hand against your cheek for a moment. Retracting his hand, he chuckled in disbelief. As he let himself drift off to sleep, he found his situation so cliched. Nothing ever really prepared you to fall in love with your best friend, did it?

And there's something I need to say But I feel too afraid 'Cause when it's real there's a risk A chance that I'm nervous to take Oh my, oh my, I think that I have fallen

When Tyson woke up you weren’t there. He sighed, rolling over to get out of bed, smiling to himself when he heard a faint cuss coming from the kitchen. You were always a mess in the kitchen. A good cook, but a mess. Shuffling into the kitchen, Tyson could smell bacon and pancakes. Whipping around you smiled at him, admiring his hair that was all ruffled from sleeping. Realizing you stared a little too long, you turned your attention back to the pancakes, hoping your cheeks weren’t turning too red. The thing was, it wasn’t just Tyson falling for his best friend. You always harbored feelings for the boy, but kept them shoved aside as to not ruin your friendship.

“Breakfast is almost ready if you want to get the plates down,” you spoke, hiding your thoughts. Tyson brushed past you, a hand on your lower back as he leaned around you.

“Smells delicious,” he commented, going to set the table.

“I hope it’s good,” you said, plating the last pancake.

“If you’re cooking it’s always good,” Tyson swooped in to kiss your cheek before taking the rest of the cutlery over to the table. You giggled, knowing that this was why everyone always assumed you were together. Eating breakfast, you both rehashed the happenings of the previous night. You were laughing at how Tyson was mimicking something Landy had said in the locker room, and Tyson couldn’t help but admire you. Even with your hair sitting in a sloppy bun on top of your head and in your pajamas, he had never managed to find someone that made him feel the way you did.

'Cause you are gold You are all I see You are aurum scarce and meant for kings You are gold You are gold

'Cause you are gold You are all I see You are aurum scarce and meant for kings

You cleaned off the table and changed into your jeans from last night, knotting Tyson’s shirt that you had on at the side so it fit you better. Tyson always insisted on doing the dishes if you cooked. You walked back into the kitchen and hopped up on the countertop next to him, laughing as he splashed a little water on you. “You butt, knock it off,” you screeched.

Tyson finished the last dish, returning to your side and started to tickle you. As you laughed and tried to push him away, you slipped off the counter. Looking up, both you and Tyson froze. It wasn’t that you had never been this close before, but in that moment you both felt something in the air shift. You were pressed up against Tyson’s chest, back against the counter. Tyson was looking down at you, for once his playful deminer gone, replaced by something you really couldn’t put your finger on. Tentatively, he brought his hand up and swept a piece of hair that had fallen into your face. He didn’t want to hold back anymore. Tyson took a deep breath, thinking it was now or never. “Y/N” he whispered, lowering his head toward yours.

You were thrown by how quickly it all seemed to be changing. Lowering your head to stop Tyson, he rested his forehead on top of yours. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice no louder than it was a moment ago. You took a shaky breath and slightly shook your head.

“I don’t know Tys,” you whispered.

“About what?” he pried, hand dropping from your face and settling on your hip.

“What’s happening right now,” you admitted. Tyson nodded slightly and took a step back, providing you some space. He was about to walk off, go to his room and change and hope this moment could be forgotten, but it was already out there, His feelings were seeping through and now that he recognized them he didn’t want to hide them away anymore. He knew this moment was all or nothing, and when it came to you, he was always all in.

“You know you mean the world to me right?” he asked, and you nodded, looking at him apprehensively. “I don’t think anyone has ever meant anything to me as much as you do.” Tyson took a small step toward you again, reaching for your hand. You let him grab it, rub his thumb over your knuckles. Staying silent, you let him continue. “You’ve always been the person that I can turn to; rely on. I’ve never hid my true feelings from you; except that I’ve been hiding my true feelings about you because I didn’t want to believe them,” he stopped, and you nodded slightly. He took your other hand in his, now holding them both and brought one up to his lips, placing a light kiss on it. “The truth is Y/N, I can’t picture my life without you. I want to be with you, and I mean actually be with you. I think you’re so beautiful, and smart, and sweet, and annoying when we watch your favorite movie because you quote the whole thing but I love it. I love how comfortable you are around my friends, how easily you fit in with them. I love how easily you fit into my life in Denver, like you were always meant to be here with me. I love how you get shy around new people and how you lean into me for comfort. I…” he stopped, knowing this was it. “I love you Y/N.”

You looked down at your feet at his confession, completely overwhelmed. There was no way your best friend was in love with you, he couldn’t be. You didn’t realize your eyes had started to water until a tear slide off your cheek and landed on your shoe. Your thoughts were shooting back and forth between confessing the same to him, or running. Fear crept up that if it didn’t work out between you two, things would never be the same; you would lose your best friend. After his confession though, would things ever be the same again? Scared and overwhelmed, you looked back up and met Tyson’s gaze. He seemed worried that he had said too much, and you panicked. You couldn’t lose him, but were you ready for this new dynamic with him? Anxiety started to creep up in you as you shook your head and pulled your hands out of his. “I can’t do this right now Tyson. I’m sorry,” you hastily said walking over to his door, grabbing your purse along the way and exiting his apartment.

And I will wait If it's time you need What I see in you I hope you find in me

Tyson stood in his kitchen, looking at the door you had left through. What just happened? Everyone said you felt the same as him, even when he would deny it. After the disbelief settled, fear took over. Had he just lost you? His best friend, the one who meant every thing to him? He started to pace around his apartment, not sure what to do. Should he go after you, pretend it was all a joke? Should he call you? Would you even answer? He was pulled out of his thoughts an hour later by his phone ringing. Praying it was you, he ran to grab it, disappointed when he saw it was JT. “I fucked up,” he answered, and there was a chuckle from the other end of the line.

“That’s a hell of a greeting. What do you mean you fucked up?” the ginger was ready to laugh at his friend’s expense.

“I told Y/N I loved her,” Tyson spoke, quietly and quickly.

“Oh shit. How did that go over?” JT stopped what he was doing, realizing Tyson wasn’t joking around.

“She started crying and told me she couldn’t do this right now,” Tyson sat on his couch, head in his hands. JT was silent for a second, stunned that that was your response also. He would have sworn up and down, left and right that you had feelings for Tyson.

“Well if she said right now, maybe she just needs some time to think it over?” he tried to suggest as he knew Tyson was beating himself up.

“What if she thinks it over and that’s it though. I just ruined our friendship,” Tyson was on the verge of tears himself, and JT could hear it in his voice.

“Josty, I’m sure you didn’t ruin your friendship with her. Give her some space, you guys will work it out,” JT replied sympathetically. They talked for a little while longer before there was a faint knock at Tyson’s door. He stood up and sluggishly walked over to open it, freezing when he saw you standing there. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying and you were still in the same clothes you left in.

“I got to go,” he said into his phone, completely cutting off JT and hanging up on him. He would explain later. Moving aside, you walked past him and into the apartment quietly, setting your purse on the table by the door as you always did. “Where have you been?” Tyson asked you, noticing a chill run through you and running to get one of his sweatshirts for you to put on without thinking. You smiled softly at him, putting it on and letting the warm, worn in fabric envelope you.

“The stairwell. I never made it out of the building” you admitted quietly. When you had left Tyson’s, you opted for the stairs, not wanting to deal with people in the elevator. When you got a flight down though, your legs crumbled in on themselves as you started to sob. You had spent the past hour in a half crying and trying to pull yourself together in that same spot before realizing what you needed to do.

“Y/N…” Tyson reached out for you sympathetically, his heart breaking at the sight of you.

“No, I’m okay really,” you sniffled while trying to make light of the situation. “I need to tell you something.” Tyson nodded, preparing for his heart to be broken. “You mean the world to me too. I’m sorry for how I reacted. You know I hate change and I got scared. I don’t want to lose you, because I don’t want to know a life without you,” you started to cry as you spoke, the tears just flowing freely at this point. Tyson smiled as he tried to swallow back his own tears. Closing the distance between you two, he brushed away your tears with his thumb and leaned his forehead on yours. “I’m so sorry for just walking out earlier Tyson,” you whispered.

“It’s okay,” he tried to silence all the doubts he knew were swimming in your head. You shook your head ever so slightly, and tried to look him in the eye from the position you were in; your nose brushing against his.

“No it’s not. I should have told you…” you trailed off.

“Told me what?” Tyson pushed, pulling back so he could look at you correctly. It was your turn to take a deep breath, steading yourself before you uttered the words that would change your dynamic forever. There would be no going back for either of you.

“That I love you too,” you smiled softly. Tyson grinned at you, before cupping your cheek and pulling you into him. Your lips met a little clumsily, the both of you giggling into the kiss. Of course your first kiss would end up in a fit of giggles instead of being all romantic and passionate like you see in moves. But it felt right, it felt natural to be kissing him. It felt like home.

'Cause you are gold Gold You are gold Gold

Tyson was still wiping your tears away as he pulled back, the both of you grinning like a pair of idiots. “Why are you still crying?” he chuckled softly, kissing your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

“I don’t know, you know me” you giggled slightly, intertwining your fingers with his.

“That I do,” he whispered, leaning back in for a kiss that was softer this time. When you pulled back he chased your lips, wanting to make up for all the years he didn’t spend kissing you. You both spent the rest of the day at his apartment, cuddling together and enjoying each other’s company. Nothing felt much different, beside the fact that you could now kiss your best friend, and Tyson took full advantage of that. As the evening came about and you were both ready for bed, Tyson pulled you into his chest under the covers. No more was there an imaginary line when you slept, and Tyson was fully ready to never let you out of his arms again.

“This feels right,” you commented, yawning while you snuggled closer into him, if that was even possible.

“I never want to let you go,” Tyson spoke softly, lifting your chin up so he could look at you.

“Then don’t,” you matched his tone, smiling sleepily up at him and Tyson knew he was a goner, he always had been for you. “I love you Tys,” you leaned up to kiss him before settling in for the night.

“I love Y/N. Always have and always will,” he muttered, falling asleep with a smile on his face.

'Cause you are gold You are all I see You are aurum scarce and meant for kings You are gold

[luxekook]

ego | jjk | harry potter au

⇥ pairing: gryffindor jeongukk x hufflepuff reader

⇥ genre: harry potter AU, smut, fluff, angst

⇥ summary: in which jeongguk is a cocky lil shit and the reader has to take him down a few pegs 

⇥ warnings: 18+, dirty talk, light smut, cursing

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

The wind whirled around me as I careened towards the glistening goal posts, imagining the opposing team’s Keeper darting back and forth in hopes of blocking the Quaffle that was currently tucked under my arm. I feigned left and the imaginary keeper followed suit. I threw right – Quaffle sailing through the rightmost gold hoop.

I smiled and dove down past the posts to catch up with my own throw. Even though it was still the first week of the new term, I was determined to prove my newly acquired captain-status. Hufflepuff hadn’t had a female captain in ages; and, paired with that, I was only a 6th year.

Luckily, I had a strong team behind me with mostly returning players who I knew would fiercely support me. Us Puffs stuck together. It was inherently in our blood to be loyal as hell to our own, and I thanked Merlin for that every day since receiving the captain’s badge.

As soon as I had hopped on the Hogwarts’ Express a few days prior, I had immediately been swept up in a giant bear hug by Jeong Yunho, one of the Hufflepuff beaters.

“Oh, captain! My captain!�� he had dramatically cried, spinning me around. His Dead Poet’s Society reference was not lost on me since I had a muggle parent with excellent taste in movies. Similar reactions from the rest of the team followed suit over the course of the train ride and the Welcoming Feast.

Trials for our only open position of Seeker would take place this weekend with practices immediately starting Monday. We had high hopes for redemption this season after being crushed by Slytherin’s team of goons early on in the Cup tournament.

The Slytherin team’s head hooligan Kang Dokyun led his team with a nasty blend of intimidation and violent tactics. I was convinced that Slytherin didn’t even hold trials and that they just lined up the Slytherin boys, picking out the biggest of the lot. Basically, Slytherin was strong, but slow and slightly uncoordinated. We could beat them by exploiting their weaknesses – of that I was certain.

Ravenclaw would be a bit harder to conquer. Their team played with a level of elegance and intelligence that was so utterly Ravenclaw that even us Puffs got annoyed. Ravenclaw’s captain Yoon Jisoo constructed tactical plays so tricky that she was already recruited to play for Puddlemore next year. Their team was smart, but not completely unbeatable. The Ravenclaws sometimes got so ingrained in their methodical maneuvers that they failed to notice some of their opponents’ counterattacks. That was how they lost the Cup last term to Gryffindor.

Gryffindor was our toughest competition. Winning the Cup last term, the Gryffindor team was a nauseatingly perfect balance between brains and brawn. Their captain Jeon Jeongguk, now a 7th year, was renowned for his tyrannical practice regime that he put his team through. We’d only played Gryffindor once in the regular season last year, and we had held our own for a while until we started getting tired and they didn’t. Seems like Jeongguk knew his shit when it came to conditioning. Something that I was determined to emulate with my own team.

Jeongguk was also the best damn Keeper that Hogwarts had seen in a long time, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the looks of the professional Quidditch scouts that avidly attended his matches. He was way bigger than a typical Keeper – extremely tall with broad shoulders and giant paws for hands. However, the only thing bigger than his stature and talent was his fucking ego.

He carried himself like he was the king of the school, and, unfortunately, most people treated him like it. Girls especially flocked to him – mainly for two reasons: 1) Jeongguk was undoubtedly hot, and 2) he held the promise of a rich future. Personally, I cared for neither of those traits considering his appalling personality and pride.

That damned ego would be his downfall this season. I would make sure of it, I thought as I circled around the stadium and then landed to get a drink.

I was definitely above average on the Quidditch talent scale. Holding the current school record for most assists in a season, I considered myself the glue of the Hufflepuff team – a fact that our Head of House obviously agreed with. However, no one really talked about the glue of a team, they talked about the flashy glitter and the gold stars. I was fine with that. Being the underdog was nothing new to a Hufflepuff, and I planned on using that to our advantage this season. Who said Puffs couldn’t be a little devious?

I smirked to myself as I grabbed my broom, ready to get back to practicing. This would be our fucking year.

“Hey,” a deceptively sweet voice rang out from above me, “You mind sharing the pitch? I need to practice.”

My mood soured. I knew who that was. Kicking off the ground, I flew to face him, “Sure thing, Jeon, just stay out of my way.”

It was almost as if I’d slapped him across the face, “Excuse me?” he choked out, “Do I know you?”

Unbelievable. Jeongguk’s head was evidently so far up his own ass he couldn’t recognize opponents he’d been playing for years. “I guess not,” I countered. And with a flick of my ponytail, I took off towards the opposite end of the pitch.

Unfortunately, he followed, “Are you a Gryffindor? If so, you should come to tryouts tomorrow. You’re pretty fast and we need a new Chaser.”

“Not a Gryffindor,” I called out, dipping low to the ground to scoop up my old practice Quaffle, “But I am a Chaser.”

Jeongguk was still tailing me, and I pulled to a stop to face him, “I thought you had to practice?”

He mirrored my position and crossed his arms. I tried (and failed) to stop myself from noticing how his biceps flexed and how a hint of his famed phoenix tattoo curled up his neck. Merlin, even I couldn’t deny he was hot as fuck. The recent summer months seemed to have blessed his skin with a glowing tan that accentuated the warmth of his dark eyes. It also seemed like he forgot what a haircut was as I watched the wind tousle his slightly curling hair.

“I do,” his eyes were narrowed as he cleared his throat, “I just have to make sure you’re not spying for another team.”

All thoughts of him being fine flew out the Owlery as I scowled. I refused to be intimidated by some arrogant asshole, “Did you not hear me when I said to stay on the opposite end of the pitch, Jeon? What kind of self-respecting spy would ask that?”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Jeongguk declared, his tone too sure for my liking.

He was really aggravating me now, and it took a lot for a Puff to get pissed off, “So, just because I have a semblance of a backbone, I’m a Slytherin? You need to brush up on your House knowledge.”

He was quiet, his expression contemplative, his jaw clenched. His eyes were scanning me with an intensity I was not sure I liked. And then he did something I liked even less: “I propose a game,” his mouth twisted upwards in a smirk, “You say you’re a Chaser?”

I gave a slight tilt of my chin in affirmation. He resumed, “Well, then you must know I’m a Keeper.” He paused, grinning wickedly, waiting for me to react to the double entendre. Eyebrows raised at my pointed silence, he continued, “And we both need to practice… So how ‘bout you try to score on me and for every shot I block you have to answer one of my questions.”

This motherfucker right here. I summoned my inner Helga to give me the strength to deal with this Gryffindor prick, “Say I was to agree to this, what would I get if I score on you?”

The laugh I got in response made all thoughts of remaining a kind and patient Puff evaporate faster than a weak Patronus.

He was still laughing when he noticed I looked ready to Avada him wandless, “Okay, okay. What do you want if you score?” He barely got the words out in between chuckles.

“To come to a Gryffindor practice.”

That shut him up real fast, “No fucking way. I don’t need you distracting my players.”

My nose crinkled, “Distracting? I would just be sitting in the stands, you prick.”

His jaw ticked as he rolled his eyes, “You could be on the furthest corner of the pitch and you’d still distract them, jagi.”

“Don’t call me that. And, pray tell, why I would distract them?” Our brooms were now practically touching as we had instinctively moved closer to one another. I could see the sweat glistening on his brow and the shadow of stubble on his jaw. Merlin, he was potent.

“Because,” Jeongguk paused, acting like this was the most obvious answer in the world, “You’re hot.”

I blinked. And blinked again, “Are you serious?” He opened his mouth to respond. “Nope, don’t answer that, Jeon,” I brushed right over his attempt to answer my rhetorical question, “So, do we have a deal or not? If you’re the esteemed Keeper that you clearly think you are, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to block all my shots, should it?”

My words echoed around us. He looked conflicted, but I knew his ego would not let my challenge go, “Deal. Five shots from the penalty mark.”

He flew towards the goal posts, “Looking forward to getting my questions answered, love,” he bellowed back at me.

I mentally flipped him off as I took off after him, clutching my Quaffle.

Sending out a plea to Merlin, Helga and everyone in between, I pulled to a stop at the penalty mark and pondered how I wanted to play this. He obviously thought he would save all five attempts. I spared him a glance and glower as I notice he was slouching on his broom with a lazy smirk, clearly not taking me as a serious threat.

Fine, I would just have to hustle him. He was asking for it at this point.

I got into formation. As much as it would pain me to mess up this shot on purpose, I knew that I had to in order to make my plan work.

Taking off towards the posts, my movement caused Jeongguk to finally move into a somewhat defensive position. I feigned right, doing so in a way too obvious manner. Hurling the Quaffle towards the top hoop, I watched expectantly as he deflected it with just a slight flick of his hand.

“Come on,” Jeongguk laughed, “You can do better than that, jagi.” He flew over to me and when I stretched to take back the Quaffle he now held in his hand, he shifted it out of reach, “Uh-uh, nope. It’s question time. What’s your name?”

How predictable. “It’s (y/n). Now give me the Quaffle.”

“Last name?” Jeongguk kept the Quaffle out of my hands.

“That’s a separate question, Jeon. You never specified that I give you my full name.” It was my turn to smirk as he threw the Quaffle back at me and headed back to the posts mumbling about loopholes and how I must’ve been a Ravenclaw.

I lined back up for the second shot. I had to make this one a little bit better than the last to show that I was trying, but not too much better that he’d be prepared for my final shots.

I ducked down, twisting around to head towards the right post with my full focus on the hoop. I launched the Quaffle. Jeongguk swooped up to catch it in a way that was entirely too elaborate for such a lame throw. He was clearly showing off – an action that I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the meaning behind.

Jeongguk made his way over to me, grinning, “Second question, jagi. Full name, please.”

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n),” I muttered, eyes scanning his face for signs of recognition and hands grabbing the Quaffle away from him.

He looked puzzled, “(y/l/n)? Why does that sound so familiar?”

Before he could think on it further, I pushed his shoulder, “Back to the posts. You got your answer.”

Well, I had attempted to push his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch at my shove. His eyes darted to where my hand now laid on his chest. I removed it faster than a Wronski Feint, trying to ignore the tingles that shot up my arm.

Our eyes connected and his were blazing as his mouth crept into a slow smile, “Like your hands on me.” Before I could formulate a reply, he flew off and I resolved that I would make this next shot as if my life depended on it.

We faced each other. I shifted the Quaffle from hand to hand and took off towards him. I gave him no tells, no feints, nothing. This seemed to throw him off for a split second, but that second was all I needed to send the Quaffle sailing through the bottom hoop.

“What the fuck was that?” Jeongguk yelled as he got all up in my face.

I bit back a smile. “Beginner’s luck?” I quipped, loving how his face had darkened perceptibly, “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can pick up some more tips at your practice.”

Unable to keep my grin in check any longer, I smile widely as he lets out a stream of curses that would make even my old crotchety aunt blush.

We resumed our positions. This time he seemed more alert and watchful. He was getting wary of me, despite my claim that it was just luck. Maybe he knew better after all…

“That won’t happen again, (y/n). Don’t get used to it!” he shouted from the posts.

…Or not.

I took off. Luck be damned. I zigzagged back and forth towards him. Throwing the Quaffle up in the air, I quickly rolled off my broom, sharply grabbing its end and swinging it up to hit the Quaffle mid-air through the center goalpost. A perfectly executed Finbourgh Flick. Regaining my seat on my broom I sailed back to the penalty line and turned back to face Jeongguk.

He looked utterly gobsmacked, “Beginner’s luck? Beginner’s fucking luck? Who the fuck are you?”

I grinned victoriously at his wounded ego, “You know my name, Jeon. Now you can use it at two practices.”

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n), (y/f/n) (y/l/n)… fucking hell,  you’re the new Hufflepuff captain,” he gawked at me.

“Bingo, Gryff,” I laughed, “Took you long enough.”

“Why did I think you were a bloke? I would have remembered such a—” he cut himself off, “You hustled me! There is no way I’m letting you into my practices now.”

We were nose to nose now as I responded, “A deal’s a deal. I thought you Gryffindors were all about honor.”

His face was thunderous, “And I thought you Hufflepuffs were all about fairness.”

“We are,” I said plainly, “We just don’t take lightly to intimidation. Now come on, we’ve got one round left.”

A range of emotions moved across his face to settle in a heated look that I couldn’t quite decipher, “Fine, jagi,” his molten gaze darted to my mouth, “Give it your best shot.”

Swallowing hard, I shook my head, trying to clear my brain of entirely too inappropriate thoughts of me and Jeongguk. As much as I attempted to refocus on making my final shot, my attention wasn’t fully there.

And I fucked it up. Jeongguk dove to catch my throw mid-air, and he sped towards me triumphantly, “Slipping already? What was that?”

I blushed. He noticed.

“Come on,” he said, “I need a drink and then you need to answer my last question.”

I followed him to the ground, cursing my treacherous body for reacting so obviously. My subconscious battled:

‘He’s a player!’ the imaginary Dumbledore on my right shoulder boomed.

‘Kiss him. Now!’ hissed the fictitious Voldemort from the other side.

However, all thoughts evacuated my brain at the sight of Jeongguk peeling off his shirt and taking a long sip from his water bottle. My traitorous eyes flew over his torso. I took in his defined abs, his chiseled arms and his fucking beautiful phoenix tattoo that spanned the entirety of his left shoulder, left upper back, and a portion of his neck.

Then I noticed his eyes were watching me right back. And they were all to amused to be innocent… “Are you seducing me?”

He spit out his mouthful of water, laughing, “Why? Is this working for you?”

My eyes now resembled slits as I glared at him, “Is that your last question?”

“No!” His response came so fast I jolted back on impulse, “No, it’s not…”

He trailed off as he prowled towards me. I stepped back. He kept coming. I stepped back further.

“Why are you running, jagi?” his words were too soft and too intense for my liking. I took another step back and bumped up against the stands. His grin in response was predatory as he caged me in between the stands and his body, his arms on either side of my head.

“Nowhere to run now, little Hufflepuff…” he dragged a finger along the hollows of my throat. He definitely felt the rapid pounding of my pulse, his eyes darkening to the point that they almost seemed black.

I glared defiantly at him, refusing to be daunted by his size or his words. He smirked, “Your last question: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

I stopped breathing. He waited, a look of uncertainty flickered on his face so briefly I almost thought I’d imagined it.

That little flare of vulnerability – that should not have been as appealing to me as it was – helped me to regain some of my bearings, “And how much do you want to kiss me? I need a scale of reference.”

He smiled crookedly as he leaned in even further, lips brushing against me as he whispered into my neck, “So fucking bad.”

His tongue darted across my skin as he dragged it up towards my ear. Biting it softly, he murmured, “Well?”

Fuck it all.

My hands latched onto his shoulders and his head snapped up. Raising to my tiptoes, I kissed him. He let out a rough groan, sounding like I was killing him. His hands slid down my body to squeeze my ass before hoisting me up. My legs circled his lean hips as his teeth caught my bottom lip in a faint bite. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling slightly. His hips pressed into mine, drawing a moan from my lips. He smiled against my mouth.

I nipped his lip now in retribution, but it seemed to only urge him on. One hand came up to remove my hair-tie, flinging it over his shoulder. I made a noise of protest, but he just kissed me harder.

How the fuck was he holding me up with one hand?

I prided myself on being a pretty thick bitch, and he was over here acting like I weighed nothing. My fingernails slid down his back, raking over the hard muscles and feeling how they flexed and shifted under my touch.

I don’t know how long we spent making out against the stands, but soon enough we heard voices coming from around the corner. Ripping my mouth away from his, I jumped out of his embrace, landing on shaky legs.

His arm wrapped around my waist as he steadies me. He was breathing just as hard as me and I could feel his heartbeat racing. I tugged away from him to retrieve my hair-tie from the ground and put my now wild hair back into its ponytail.

I could feel Jeongguk’s eyes on me all the while. I looked at him. His lips were swollen, his hair was a disheveled mess, his neck was displaying a rather nice hickey that I was sure was mirrored several times over on my own neck. A rare feeling of pride shot through me, and as he opened his mouth to say something, I shook my head and placed a finger over his lips.

“I’ll see you at your practice, Jeon.” I placed a quick kiss on his cheek, grabbed my broom and walked off.

As I strode away, I heard him grumbling under his breath: “Everybody warns you about the Slytherins. Nobody fucking warns you about the Hufflepuffs. Fucking hell…”

I smiled all the way back to the Common Room.

[woah-were-halfway-there]

Mia’s First Game

A/N: as requested, here’s the little blurb that I originally was going to post the other day but didn’t. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

With Mia being born at the end of January and the Leafs' season getting cut short at the beginning of May that year after a brief playoff run, she still hadn't been to a game. She was only three months old when the season finished, and although the thought of taking her to one of the games definitely crossed your mind, with how she was in the routine of falling asleep around 7pm every night, it just wasn't possible. However, as summer came and went, you knew you'd be taking Mia to her first NHL game to watch her dad once the season started back up again, and you were pretty excited about it.

The original plan was to take Mia to the Saturday game after the first home game of the season that took place earlier in the week. Auston's family was flying into Toronto on the Friday, so you and Mia would go to the game with them the following evening. However, shortly after Auston left to head down to SBA for the home-opener, that changed.

While talking on the phone with Steph, who was getting ready with a couple of the other wives and girlfriends of players, you became convinced not to spend your night at home. The girls booked a booth at SBA to all get-together and watch the game as a way to celebrate the new season starting, and of course, you and Mia were invited. But you kept declining because you were so set on attending Saturday's game, although you really had no reason not to go to both.

At eight months old, Mia was full of energy, and you knew she'd have a ton of fun hanging out with the other girls that she's come to know, all while cheering on Auston and the rest of the guys. You weren't sure why you didn't agree to just go in the first place regardless of whether you'd have to leave a little early and take Mia home, but the more you talked to Steph, the more you became convinced that you should.

However, with you being, well, you, there was no way you were going to start getting ready without talking to Auston's family first, seeing as you knew they were excited about going to the game with Mia on Saturday. They immediately told you not to worry about them and to go have fun with your friends, but not without mentioning how they'd be watching for Auston's reaction to one he realized you and Mia were there.

The thought of seeing your husband's surprised expression after noticing that his two girls were at the game made you smile, and you became even more excited as you quickly packed up your things, then grabbed Mia and left to go over and get ready at Steph and Mitch's place.

About two hours later, you and Mia were all dressed in your matching Matthews jerseys and were ready to go. It was great catching up with all the other wives and girlfriends that you hadn't gotten to see since your wedding at the end of July because after that, you got sucked into everything involved with moving from the downtown condo to your new house. You also met and welcomed some of the new girls that recently moved to Toronto with their man for the new season as well, all of whom were lovely.

Mia was having a great time too, and just by seeing how happy she was, you knew that you made the right call about going to the game. But, soon enough, it was time to go. After the whole group took some pictures in their jerseys, including Steph stealing Mia for some pics with her goddaughter, you all headed downtown together so you could watch your guys in action.

Upon arriving at the arena, your whole group went to the suite that was booked out for you girls to drop off your things, then you, Mia, and Steph headed to the Platinum Club so the three of you could be let up to the glass one warmups started. You chatted with a worker who was going to escort the three of you to the rinkside just as the Leafs took to the ice, as Mia babbled away in your arms and took in her surroundings.

Soon enough, the team was announced, and the crowd started going wild. You and Steph then followed the worker down the hall and walked right up the glass before waiting and watching as the guys took the ice. You could hear fans nearby talking and mentioning pointing out that Auston's wife and daughter were there, which made you a little nervous because Mia has never really been so in the public eye before. But, your nerves soon melted away.

"Mom, they're wearing Matthews jerseys like us," You heard a small voice speak up, then glanced over to where two kids were sitting with their parents. The little girl appeared to be maybe six or seven. Meanwhile, her brother seemed a bit younger. With how she was glancing up at who you assumed was her mom, obviously looking for a response, you knew that she was the one who mentioned the jerseys.

"Yes, honey," the mother replied. "That's Auston's family. They're here to watch the game just like we are."

Your heart swelled so much watching their interaction, and you could feel yourself getting a little emotional because of it. Steph chuckled slightly as she watched you but also had to admit that it was all pretty cute too.

Then another voice spoke up.

"Is this your little one's first game?" An older man who was sitting in the row behind the family asked you.

"It is," you confirmed with a smile, then glanced down at your daughter. "Except we decided to come last minute, so her dad doesn't even know we're here yet. Can you say hi, Mia?"

Mia squealed in response, then got all smiley, which made those sitting nearby laugh and awe a bit at just how cute she was.

"Your daughter is beautiful," a different woman stated, making you feel even more emotional than before.

"Thank you," you responded. "I still haven't fully accepted the fact that she looks more like Auston than she does me, but I'll get over it."

"Speaking of Auston, here he comes," said another person, but you didn't even get the chance to see who because you were turning back around to face the rink just as your husband skated down from centre ice and took a shot on net.

He scored, then skated over to the boards a little bit behind the net to where Mitch, John and Willy were all standing. They talked for a few seconds before Will's gaze drifted in your direction until he spotted you, Steph and Mia, a smile stretching across his mouth as he did so.

Will then nudged both Auston and Mitch, then pointed to where you were standing so they could see too.

Upon locking eye contact with you, Auston's face lit right up, and it wasn't long before he and Mitchy were both skating over to the corner.

There was no way the two of you would've been able to hear each other through the glass, so instead, Auston gave you a look as he approached, showing that he was surprised to see you there. He also expressed that he wasn't mad about it as he winked at you and grinned cheekily.

Once the two guys reached the glass, they started waving at Mia, and much to your surprise, she immediately recognized them even in all their hockey gear.

"Da-da," she said and then reached towards the glass. Acting fast, you shifted her in your hold and lifted her so that she'd stand on the little ledge around the boards and be face to face with Auston. "Da-da!"

Mia's smile grew even wider as she stared at her dad and banged on the glass a little bit while he waved at her and blew her kisses. You then looked at your cousin as he stood next to your husband and couldn't help but smile at how he was smiling so widely as he watched Mia and Auston.

Mitch then looked at you and gave you a knowing look as if to say you better not leave before he gets the chance to see his goddaughter after the game. You nodded in understanding, which made his smile grow even wider.

However, soon enough, the moment had to come to an end because Auston and Mitch both had a game to play. It wasn't until then that you noticed the Leafs photographer only a few feet away as well and knew that he had just captured that little moment forever.

Auston and Mitchy then waved bye to you, Mia and Steph before going back to the rest of the team to finish up their warmups and get ready to start the game.

Mark, the team photographer, then approached the three of you to show you the images he took. There was one of you holding Mia while facing the fans with your backs to the camera that showcased your Matthews jerseys, another of you, Mia and Steph, all standing together looking very happy as you waited for your guys. And then the last one, which was probably your favourite, was a closeup of Mia and Auston as they smiled at each other through the glass, then had you in the background looking at the two of them and smiling fondly. It was adorable, and Mark assured that he'd send the pictures to you and Auston once he edited them.

After that, the three of you headed back to the booth, but not without saying bye to the Leafs fans you chatted with and told them you hoped they enjoyed the game.

Everyone welcomed you back excitedly at the suite before you all settled in and got ready to watch your guys play their first game of the season.

The Leafs ended up winning, which had the energy in the arena feeling insane but in the best way possible. On top of it, Auston scored two of the goals, which helped result in the team's 4-3 victory over Calgary.

By the end of the game, Mia was very tired. However, she wasn't getting fussy. She just continued fighting so hard to keep her eyes open and enjoyed her time being around people she was comfortable within this entirely new setting.

As everyone began clearing out of their seats, your whole group went back down to the Platinum Club and waited for the guys. Steph carried Mia all the way there, but after a few minutes, Mia began reaching for you because whenever she got exhausted, she only wanted her parents and would become overly snuggly.

Once you took her from Steph, she immediately clung to you and leaned against your shoulder while you assured her that you'd be going home very soon.

A few minutes later, the guys started filing into the waiting area, all happy to see their significant others and families as they greeted them after their big win. As you waited for Auston, you spotted Mitchy first, and he wasted no time coming over to say hi to Mia but was also very respectful of the fact that she was exasperated.

Not long after that, Auston entered the room and smiled so wide again once he laid eyes on you and Mia.

"There's my girls," he greeted happily as he approached the two of you, then took Mia from your hold, awing as she let out a yawn and immediately snuggled against him. "You tired, mini?"

"She's very tired, but she's trying hard to stay awake at the moment," you explained, then smiled as Auston wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss.

"And how are you feeling, baby mama? This was your first big night out with Mia, and I must say, you both sure made my night by being here."

You rolled your eyes at his baby mama comment but couldn't help the blush that burned your cheeks at the rest of what he said.

"You're making it sound like I don't have a life, babe. But I'm good. Really glad I decided to bring Mia out tonight. We had a lot of fun, didn't we, sweet girl?"

Mia didn't respond. You didn't expect her to, especially with her minimal vocabulary. Instead, she mindlessly brought her hand up to her mouth and began sucking on it, then using her other hand to rub her cheek. She'd been teething like crazy lately, and those actions were what she did when her mouth was beginning to bother her.

You and Auston looked at each other knowingly after that because you both knew how if she were in discomfort, mixed with how she was already so exhausted, things would get real messy real soon. So, without even having to agree on it, you both started saying your goodbyes and headed home.

Deep down, you knew that night would probably be a little rough with Mia and trying to get her to sleep comfortably, but you weren't worried. You were so content and knew that Mia also had a good night out, so it was worth it. And besides, you didn't have to do it alone. Auston was there too, he wasn't going anywhere, and you knew you'd get through whatever else your little family needed to face together.

[seungmvnnie]

Gryffindor!Jeno x Hufflepuff!Reader

word count; 4.3k words (I GOT CARRIED AWAY)

warnings; female reader, bullet point au, enemies to lovers (last enemies to lovers in this little series), you kind of need to understand quidditch to understand what they’re talking about, I expose myself as a fucking nerd in this one because I didn’t have to research anything for this fic, also somewhat of a ‘pushing people off/jumping off towers,’ joke at the end

Quidditch was your life

Ever since you could walk, your parents had put you on a broomstick

they were determined that you were going to be the next best quidditch player

You had taken to it immediately, although that was pretty much guaranteed, considering your family were entirely professional quidditch players

There was lots of pressure on you to be the next best thing, especially since your cousin Jaemin had rejected the family legacy as soon as he could

He was happy to play for fun but not as seriously as your family took it

He was kind of ‘the family disappointment,’ for a while, but that was until you both went to Hogwarts and you were sorted into Hufflepuff and he was sorted into Slytherin, which was the house everyone in your family had been in for centuries

Then you were both disappointments so it kind of cancelled out

Despite being sorted into Hufflepuff, you spent the majority of your first year with your cousin and his friends 

Which was when you met Lee Jeno, the Gryffindor puppy-eyed muggleborn and Jaemin’s best friend

It was hard not to be friends with Jeno for your first year and a half at hogwarts

He was sweet and likeable and if you were being honest with yourself, you found yourself with a bit of a crush on him in 2nd year

That was, of course, until you both became seekers for your respective quidditch team in 2nd year

You didn’t hold anything against him at first

What was wrong with some friendly competition? 

It wasn’t until the final match of the year, Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor, that everything went went wrong

the Hufflepuff team had a strong lead

your chasers were miles better than theirs

Realistically, the only reason the Gryffindor team had made it to the final was because Jeno hadn’t failed to catch one snitch the whole season

But neither had you

people had been betting on which team would win all year

You were faster than Jeno was, but Jeno was faster at spotting the snitch than you were

Maybe the fact that every student in every house was comparing which of you was better was where the cracks in your friendship with Jeno has begun

You had been idly circling the quidditch pitch, eyes peeled for any sort of flash of gold 

It wasn’t until the Gryffindor chasers finally scored a goal that your attention was drawn to the stands draped in gold and red, the Gryffindor audience’s boisterous celebration deafening everyone else on the pitch

Unbeknownst to the poor Gryffindors, their screaming was what made you spot the snitch, darting frantically above their heads

You dove into action from where you had been lazily hovering, groaning as the snitch similarly took off, zooming around the stands

Unluckily, Jeno was just behind you in spotting the snitch, but you zoned out his presence behind you and the screaming of the audience coupled with the quidditch commentators shouting and focused only on the snitch

You were so close, your outstretched fingers grazing the metal as your urged your broom to go just that little bit faster

When Jeno, who had gained on you without you even realising, slammed into you with his shoulder

The force as well as the surprise meant your grip on your broom loosened and his knock sent you hurtling about 30ft to the ground

The aftermath of the match was a bit hazy - apparently your head had slammed on the ground too hard when you fell and you had a concussion, which would heavily contribute to your difficult recollection

Not to mention a broken arm and a few fractured ribs

Jeno had caught the snitch shortly after you fell, which meant Gryffindor had won

You spent a week in the hospital wing following the match and whilst magic definitely healed you a lot faster than normal muggle remedies would, you still were banned from quidditch or flying for two months to make sure it definitely set properly

You were livid, to say the least

Jeno knew how much quidditch meant to you and your family but he seemed to care more about winning than the fact your parents would kill you for loosing the match

he didn’t even come visit you in the hospital wing when everyone else did

Needless to say, from then on you held quite the grudge against Jeno 

He tried talking to you a couple of days after you got out of the hospital wing, but apparently he hadn’t realised that he had basically declared war 

He got the message when you told him to ‘Fuck off, you cheating wanker.”

Realistically, if he hadn’t gotten the message at that point, you would have been incredibly concerned

The next year, the competition between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor was insane

Your house had supported you in being angry about Gryffindors dirty tactics and the Gryffindors were angry about being accused of cheating - contact was allowed in quidditch

At the centre of all of the competition was Jeno and you

It wasn’t long until you both had gotten the reputation of being the best quidditch players in the whole school, which your family weren’t very pleased about

You were meant to be the best, but you let someone who didn’t even know what a broom was until three years ago beat you?

And so, you started working harder

You pretty much bullied your quidditch team into training every second morning

You wanted to do every morning, but the quidditch captain at the time, a 6th year named Kun told you as nicely as he possibly could, to fuck off

The second the Gryffindor team found out about your training schedule, they were out training every morning too

When you were friends, Jeno was never as competitive as you were, or easily irritated, but apparently you had perfected getting on his nerves

Your team won that year, in record time 

Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff was the second game of that season and you and Jeno had both spotted the snitch about 5 minutes in, but unluckily for him, you were faster

Gryffindor won the year after that

Then in your fifth year, the quidditch captains for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor both left and you and Jeno got the job

The competition heated up even more 

The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams were trained religiously and if anyone had a problem with it, they were off the team

It wasn’t as though you had a lack of interest in people joining your teams; everyone wanted to say that they played quidditch with Lee Jeno and (Y/N) (Y/L/N), especially after the article on you two came out in the daily prophet about halfway through your fifth year

you and Jeno had been dragged out of your potions class by the headmaster and some annoying reporter who had apparently heard of your reputation and wanted to write an article on the, ‘future of quidditch,’ as she had put it

You were happy to comply at first, taking pictures with the Headmaster and Jeno and answering questions

simple stuff like, ‘when did you start playing?’ and ‘What are your plans for after school?’

You got questions about your parents, seeing as your family were already well known within the quidditch world

It wasn’t until the very end when everything went wrong

She had been shoving her parchment into her strange leather briefcase as you two hovered awkwardly at the door of the unused classroom, waiting for her to leave before you could go back to class

when she looked up and, adjusting her glasses said,

“Well, it was very good to meet you two. You make a very cute couple!”

You nearly choked as your eyes widened

“We are not together!” You exclaimed

Jeno had infuriatingly said nothing, almost as if he wanted this random woman to think you’d date him

She had only smiled knowingly, and replied,

“Sure.”

The walk back to potions was almost excruciating as you walked in an awkward silence, the stupid reporter’s words laying heavily with you both, until Jeno cleared his throat

“Well that was weird.” He glanced sideways at you, but you refused to look at him

“You’re weird.” You grumbled

He inhaled sharply as if he was going to say something, but stopped himself, taking a moment before he opened his mouth again

“You can insult me all you want, (Y/L/N), but I’m still going to beat you.”

You scoffed

“Not bloody likely. Your team is terrible, the only reason you’ve won a match this year is because the Slytherin and Ravenclaw seekers are terrible. Your chasers won't last 5 minutes against mine.” You looked at him this time, ignoring how his stupid red quidditch captain badge gleamed on his chest and how his stupid perfectly styled dark hair only emphasised his stupid good looks

He raised an eyebrow at you (which was stupidly attractive) and came to a stop as you approached the door of you potions classroom 

“Well then isn’t it a good thing that as long as I catch the snitch before your team can score 15 goals, I win.”

You scoffed again. As if you would let him beat you?

You mirrored his stupid eyebrow cocking thing and, taking a step towards him, lowered your voice to a whisper

“Well then isn’t it a good thing that there’s no way I’m going to let you beat me.” 

The annoying confidence he exuded flickered as his cheeks warmed to a pinky blush and you watched as the previous competitive glare in his eyes softened to something else as they scanned down your bod- Hang on, was he checking you out?

“Eyes up here, Lee.” You sniped, enjoying how his eyes snapped back to your face flusteredly

You spun on your heel before he could retort and entered your potions classroom, leaving him in the corridor

The article appeared in the sports section of the daily prophet a few days later and caused a massive uproar at Hogwarts

You had expected a small nerdy article about how both of you wanted to play quidditch after school and the upcoming Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor match, but that wasn’t quite what you got

“ -it appears that, outside of discovering a skill which could boost these two talented teens to success upon leaving school, they have also discovered their first whirlwind romance with eachother. A regular ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ their tragically romantic relationship blossomed amongst the fierce competition between the two’ - What utter bullshit!” You slammed the paper down onto the table, accidentally spilling poor Chaeryong’s (One of your chasers the year below) orange juice over her breakfast in the process

“Hey!” She cried out, but with a quick mumbled, ‘Scourgify,’ and a flick of your wand the orange juice vanished

You preoccupied yourself with slamming your head off of the table repeatedly as Chaeryong patted your back comfortingly

“If it helps, I doubt anyone will even read it.” 

She couldn’t have been more wrong

It was all the entire school was talking about by lunch time

You couldn’t turn a corner without someone asking you if you were actually dating Jeno

What was worse was when you received a letter from your parents the next day

You thought they were going to disown you, considering they had spent the past 4 years putting great emphasis on how badly you needed to beat Lee Jeno

but somehow, their actual reaction was worse

You weren’t expecting two pages of them gushing about how your children would be the best quidditch player the world had ever seen

They were honestly more disappointed whenever you sent them a letter informing them that would never happen 

Everyone wanted to join the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams because they seemed to be convinced that the teams knew you had some sort of affair going on that you didn’t tell anyone about

Most infuriatingly, Jeno didn’t seem to be trying to combat the rumours whatsoever

His nonchalant nature was so annoying that it only seemed to spur on your competitiveness

Which resulted in a Hufflepuff win that year

and the year after that

You had destroyed them two years in a row by your last year of school, although the last year was the most important for recruitment

There was one spot open on the best quidditch team in the country, the team your parents and aunt were on, and the team captain was going to watch your match against each other and choose one of you to join

Your team was trained harder than ever before and you made it very well known that winning meant you actually had a future when you left

you had the best team you think Hufflepuff had ever had

pretty much everyone was talented and incredibly competitive 

If one of your chasers, Zhong Chenle put his mind to it, he could definitely   go pro 

But he was more inclined to a career in music and he was friends with Jeno so you didn’t like to praise him too much

Your teams both flew (pun very much intended) through your games against slytherin and ravenclaw

The 7th year Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff match fell at the start of march, as to not interfere with your NEWT exams, which left plenty of time for preparations, and you left school for the christmas holidays content that you were ready to destroy Gryffindor

Which was lucky, considering it became the topic of conversation during boxing day dinner with your extended family, Jaemin included

“So, (Y/N), I hear you have a big match coming up.” Your aunt asked, taking a sip from her wine glass

You looked up from where you had been toying with the food on your plate and smiled politely

“Yeah, the finals are at the start of March against Gryffindor, as per usual.” You mumbled the last part of your sentence more to yourself than anyone else, but that didn’t stop the dirty look Jaemin sent your way

“Oh against Jaemin’s friend? Are you still dating him?”

You choked on your water

“Uh- we were never dating.” “Oh, that’s a shame. You would have been a very talented couple, you know. With very talented children, I’m sure.”

You were about one more comment about how beautiful or talented you and Jeno’s nonexistent babies would be away from stabbing yourself in the eye

You awkwardly laughed in response and kicked Jaemin under the table, who was positively dying laughing

“I’m sure you’ll win though.”

You perked up. Baby talk, you couldn’t do. Discussing how you were going to destroy the Gryffindor team so badly they’d be crying for years? That was right up your alley

“Oh, definitely. Their team is terrible, no one except Jeno could probably tell the difference between a Quaffle and a Bludger. He entirely carries the team. I lucked out, I have two beaters who are planning on going pro as well as one of the best keepers I think Hogwarts ever seen. We’re going to ruin them. There’s no way he’s getting that spot over me.”

Jaemin wasn’t laughing anymore, and instead made an indignant noise

“What’s wrong?” You asked, attempting to sound as though you were genuinely concerned for your cousin’s wellbeing to your parents, although you knew he was about to go off on one about Jeno

“Did you ever stop to consider maybe getting that job means a lot to Jeno too?”

Your hands halted their chore of playing with your food as you narrowed your eyes at him

“That job’s been mine since before he was even born, Jaemin.”

He rolled his eyes and you ignored the way your mum was tapping your leg in a silent attempt to get you to stop

“No it hasn’t. If it was, you’d have it, but funnily enough you don’t. Jeno needs that job to support his family, he doesn’t have any other career plans whereas you, little miss daughter of multi-millionaire quidditch players could never work again and live a much more comfortable life than him.”

“Na Jaemin!” His Mum scolded, cutting him off as he rolled his eyes and slumped down in his seat

Suddenly, the egg-shell table cloth was the most interesting thing in the whole world to you

You had never thought about what this meant for Jeno - you thought he had simply wanted to piss you off

On top of that it was important to you too! Your parents would be so disappointed if you didn’t get the spot on the team

but would living up to your parents expectations be worth what Jeno would loose if you won?

The rest of the dinner was... awkward, to say the least

So was the rest of the holidays; you just wanted to get back to Hogwarts and train the weeks away, which you did

You spent the next two months drilling your team as vigorously as you had been before the christmas break, but this time a lingering guilt panged at your chest with every exercise you put your team through

Finally the day of the quidditch match arrived and you were almost sick with anxiety

“(Y/N), you have to eat something.” Chaeryong brandished the toast she had brought you to the dressing room almost threateningly as you fidgeted with the neckline of your quidditch robes

“I’m being entirely honest when I say if I eat something right now, I will just throw up on you.” She stopped trying to force feed you pretty quickly after that

The entire Hufflepuff team was feeling your anxiety

Chenle even kicked out his friend, (they were definitely in love with each other, but no one talked about the hypothetical babies THEY were going to have, everyone was just obsessed with you and Jenos, which was entirely that stupid reporter’s fault) who usually sat in the dressing room with your team before you went out to play

Eventually the time came and you entered the quidditch pitch, for your last time at Hogwarts and maybe your last official time for the next while

The snitch was released 18 minutes into the game, at which point the score was already 50-0 to Hufflepuff

You hovered above the quidditch pitch, scanning the field as though your life depended on it - technically it did

But then you thought about it for a moment; your life didn’t depend on this snitch. Jeno’s did.

Almost perfectly timed, your eyes were drawn a golden glint just above the Gryffindor goalposts

You dove instinctively, Jeno who was behind you, mirroring your actions

You were so close, reaching out your arm towards the Snitch

Jeno was alongside you this time and you were almost neck in neck

almost

you had gotten that head start

although, your position here mirrored almost exactly the match in second year where everything went wrong which meant, if Jeno wanted to, he could slam into you again and win

but he didn’t

Maybe that was what made you purposely slow down that tiny bit that allowed Jeno to catch the snitch

You spent the entire afternoon and evening deliberating exactly what had made you let him catch the snitch

Also regretting it; the Gryffindor team and their supporters were definitely ones for rubbing their victory into the Hufflepuff teams faces

So much so, that to avoid the constant partying and celebrations of how Lee had finally beat you after a two year streak you decided to find somewhere quiet to yourself

which was how you found yourself perched at the top of the astronomy tower, legs crossed staring out at the Great Lake that wound around the castle and the dark sky which illuminated the dark countryside

If there was anywhere to lament about life, it would be here

You could hear the Gryffindor’s party from where you perched, the thumping music and screaming almost causing the whole castle to shake

You still found the space to think

Had you simply felt sorry for Jeno? You wished that you could say that was what it was, because maybe then it could save your pride

But in actuality, when you had pulled back, you hadn’t been thinking about what situation his family may be in, but instead those puppy dog eyes which lit up whenever he won

You had spent so many years determined to beat him, you had never stopped to really think about him as a person as opposed to the declared enemy on the quidditch pitch

You had been sat there for about an hour eyes closed and leaning against the wall, when a voice cut through the stillness

“You know, when Chenle said you had gone to the top of the Astronomy tower, I was almost scared you came here to throw yourself off.”

You didn’t have to open your eyes to recognise Lee Jeno’s voice

“Don’t flatter yourself, Lee. I would never throw myself off a tower because of a man. Throwing a man off a tower is a completely different story, though.” 

You opened one eye to look at where he stood at the top of the stone steps, clutching two red plastic cups, no doubt filled with firewhiskey

He had long ditched his quidditch uniform, much like you, and traded it instead for a pair of black ripped jeans, white t-shirt and oversized jacket which all looked annoyingly good on him

“Should I be worried?” He quipped, although you could sense there was no malice in his voice, but instead a joking tone

You didn’t say anything but stared out at the scenery of the castle grounds you would soon be saying goodbye to, not acknowledging the fact he sat down next to you, placing a cup beside your leg

He had taken the fact that you hadn’t tried to push him off the tower yet as permission to sit beside you

You sat in silence for a moment - although the silence was not awkward or uncomfortable in anyway, but instead comforting

“We’re still even by the way.” You mumbled, breaking the silence

“Huh?” He looked at you with those stupidly adorable puppy eyes

“We’ve been competing for six years. I’ve won three matches and so have you. Even.”

He stared down into his alcohol which he swirled in the cup for a moment, before he replied

“Not really. If you hadn’t have let me win, it would be four-two.”

You froze

“You think I’d let you win? Get a grip, Lee.” You covered. This was your worst nightmare. First you let him win, but now he’s going to ask you why you did it and realistically you didn’t even know why

“We both know if you had really tried, you would have beat me.” 

“Well, it’s not like you tried very hard either.”

“What do you mean?”

“You could have very easily pushed me off my broom again.”

“Yeah well- last time I did that I started world war fucking 3, so I wasn’t about to make that mistake again, was I?”

His words weren’t laced with hatred, but were instead playful and actually made you let out a small laugh

You lifted the cup he had handed you to your lips before speaking

“Why did you do that? In second year, I mean. You hadn’t really cared about quidditch that much before that match.”

“Honestly? I fancied you and wanted to impress you.”

You furrowed your brow glancing up at him, an amused look on your face

“Who the fuck told you breaking a girl’s ribs was a good way to impress her?”

His face flushed the same way it did that day in the corridor as he stared at his hands

“I was 12! And I thought winning would impress you which was why I went so hard, but I think I realised in fourth year that I was in the competition way too deep to give up at that point. By then I had grown to love it as much as you did.”

You crossed your arms and leaned forward, letting the silence envelope you again for a moment, the only sound the faint music radiating from the Gryffindor tower

“So - When’d you stop fancying me? Was it calling you a wanker or the fact that I literally wanted to destroy you?” You half-joked

You seriously wanted to know how long he had fancied you for

“I don’t think I ever stopped.” 

You straightened up immediately

That was certainly not the answer you had expected

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You scoffed, staring at him with wide eyes

You hated how cute the way his face had flushed was, as well as the honest look in his eyes

“I’m being serious. You hate me, (Y/N), but the hate was never reciprocated.”

You huffed out a sigh

“I don’t think I hated you, I just- I was jealous. You’re perfect, Jeno. Jaemin just had to knock some sense into me that maybe winning doesn’t mean everything.”

He faked gasped

“The Slytherin lecturing the Hufflepuff on being a good loser? How backwards!”

“Har, Har.” You said, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the real smile grow on your face as you met his eyes

The fond smile dropped from your face as you saw how he looked at you

Lee Jeno, the boy you had sworn vengeance on when you were twelve was looking at you as if you were his world - and you liked it.

“Can I- Can I kiss you?” He almost whispered, as though saying it any louder would break the spell

“If you don’t, I think I will actually throw you off this tower.” You joked leaning in to meet his lips halfway

He kissed you with 7 years worth of love and in that moment, you didn’t care about who got the spot on the quidditch team

Life was more than just quidditch, and you were lucky enough to have Jeno to show you that.

[insanityclause]

It’s been a long, long time since Broadway last held a Tony Awards ceremony.

Tonight, after a 27-month hiatus, the event honoring Broadway’s best plays and musicals is back.

There will be plenty of awards — there are 25 competitive categories this year — and lots of speeches.

But the thrust of the evening is a little different: reminding viewers that Broadway has reopened after a disastrously long pandemic shutdown, and hoping that a showcase of show tunes and sentiment will persuade audiences to return. There are now 15 productions running on Broadway, and that number is growing every week, but the pandemic is not over, and tourism remains down, so the industry is looking for a boost.

The event is part streaming, and part network.

This year’s Tony Awards are taking place, live and in-person, at Broadway’s Winter Garden Theater, starting at 7 p.m. Eastern, and scheduled to end at 11.

Most of the awards will be announced during the first two hours, at a ceremony hosted by the six-time Tony winner Audra McDonald. That segment of the evening will be viewable only on the streaming service Paramount+.

The second half of the evening will consist of a concert at which stars of the theater world will perform classic and contemporary show tunes. That portion of the event, called “The Tony Awards Present: Broadway’s Back!,” will be hosted by Leslie Odom Jr. (a Tony winner for “Hamilton”) and broadcast on CBS, and it will include three big awards, for best musical, best play and best play revival.

Because the coronavirus pandemic is ongoing, the ceremony is restricted in many ways.

The red carpet is shorter than usual. There is no official after-party. (A request for a permit to hold one on the street was rejected by the city.)

And the audience watching in person will be limited — the Winter Garden holds 1,500 people, compared to 6,000 at Radio City Music Hall, where the event was often held in previous years. All of the attendees must show proof of vaccination, and they are being asked to wear masks throughout the event.

The awards ceremony will honor plays and musicals that opened during a pandemic-shortened eligibility period — from April 26, 2019, to Feb. 19, 2020. Only 18 shows were eligible for awards — about half as many as usual — and only 15 scored nominations.

The most-nominated shows are the musicals “Jagged Little Pill,” with 15, “Moulin Rouge! The Musical,” with 14, and “Tina — The Tina Turner Musical,” with 12, as well as “Slave Play,” which with 12 is the most-nominated play in Tonys history.

The ceremony, originally scheduled to take place in June 2020, has been repeatedly delayed and rethought; the nominations, chosen by 41 theater experts who saw every eligible show, were announced last October, and electronic voting, by 778 producers, performers and other industry insiders, took place in March. The ballots were stored by the accounting firm Deloitte & Touche LLP, which somehow has managed to keep them secret ever since.

There are several unusual aspects to this season’s Tonys race.

All of the nominees for best score are plays — an odd situation caused by the fact that three of the four musicals that opened before the pandemic were jukebox musicals, meaning they did not have original scores, and the fourth was shut out by nominators.

In one category, best leading actor in a musical, there is only one nominee, Aaron Tveit of “Moulin Rouge!” He will win if he gets a positive vote from 60 percent of those who cast ballots in that race.

A starry concert will dominate the televised portion of the evening.

The Broadway League and the American Theater Wing, the two organizations that present the Tony Awards, decided, in discussions with CBS, that the portion of the evening with the broadest reach — that is, on network television — would be primarily a concert.

The goal is to highlight Broadway’s talent, and to remind viewers of the pleasures of live theater, with the hope that some of those viewers will then buy tickets to a show as theaters in New York (and around the world) seek to rebuild audiences.

What kinds of performances can you expect?

There will be, as per tradition, a razzly-dazzly opening number, led by Odom, at the start of the concert, celebrating Broadway and its shows.The evening will appeal to theater lovers’ nostalgia: Jennifer Holliday will recreate her performance of “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going” from “Dreamgirls” (which opened in 1981); Audra McDonald and Brian Stokes Mitchell are expected to perform from “Ragtime” (1998); Marissa Jaret Winokur and Matthew Morrison from “Hairspray” (2002); and Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel from “Wicked” (2003).

Each of the productions nominated for the best musical Tony Award — “Jagged Little Pill,” “Moulin Rouge!” and “Tina” — will perform, as always, but this year those performances were recorded in advance inside the theaters where those musicals are running. (Why? To reduce the cost to the pandemic-damaged productions. In ordinary years, producers spend several hundred thousand dollars per musical to staff and stage live numbers at the Tony Awards.)

Two shows that are receiving special Tony Awards will also present live performances. David Byrne will lead the cast of “American Utopia,” his concert show that is now running, for a second time, on Broadway, while Lin-Manuel Miranda will be featured in a closing sketch from “Freestyle Love Supreme,” the improv group he co-founded, which is scheduled to begin its second Broadway run on Oct. 7, followed by a national tour starting in San Francisco.

What else? John Legend will perform with the cast of “Ain’t Too Proud,” a jukebox musical about the Temptations that is slated to resume performances on Broadway on Oct. 16. Daniel J. Watts, a Tony nominee for “Tina,” is expected to perform a spoken-word tribute to the Broadway Advocacy Coalition, which is receiving a special Tony Award for its work on racial justice. And, at some point, Ben Platt and Anika Noni Rose are expected to pay tribute to high school theater students with a song from “Sunday in the Park With George.

”Plenty of other boldface names will be taking part in the broadcast, either as presenters or performers, including Darren Criss, Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Jordan Fisher, Andrew Garfield, Josh Groban, Jake Gyllenhaal, Cyndi Lauper, John Lithgow, Bernadette Peters, Lea Salonga, Black Thought and many others.

The awards show is being executive produced by Ricky Kirshner and Glenn Weiss, who have put the ceremony together for years. Weiss is also directing the event, and it is being choreographed by Sergio Trujillo, a Tony winner for his work on “Ain’t Too Proud.”

The nominees for best musical are all jukebox shows.

The three nominees for best musical are “Jagged Little Pill,” “Moulin Rouge! The Musical” and “Tina — The Tina Turner Musical.”All of them are jukebox musicals — meaning that their scores consist of previously recorded pop songs — and all of them opened in 2019.

The three nominated musicals are reopening this fall. “Moulin Rouge!,” which is an adaptation of the 2001 Baz Luhrmann film, began performances on Friday; “Tina,” which is a biomusical about the life and career of Tina Turner, returns Oct. 8; and “Jagged Little Pill,” a contemporary family drama inspired by the Alanis Morissette album, returns Oct. 21.

Only one show with an original score opened before the pandemic — “The Lightning Thief” — but it was shut out by nominators. Several other musicals with original scores were slated to open in 2020, but didn’t make it to opening night before theaters shut down.A fourth jukebox musical, “Girl From the North Country,” opened right before the shutdown but was deemed ineligible for awards because not enough Tony voters managed to see it. That show, a drama inspired by the songs of Bob Dylan, is scheduled to resume performances Oct. 13.

There are no nominees for best musical revival, because the only one that opened before the pandemic, “West Side Story,” also was not seen by enough voters. And now that production is over — its producers have decided not to reopen it.

Keep an eye on the play categories for some drama.

As hard as it may be to believe, the last time a play by a Black writer won the Tony Award for best play was in 1987, when August Wilson won for “Fences.”

That could change this year, when the leading contender is “Slave Play,” a daring drama by Jeremy O. Harris that uses an imaginary form of couples therapy to explore the lingering impact of slavery. The play scored more Tony nominations — 12 — than any in history; it won strong review from critics and managed to achieve a level of buzz that is rare for any play, although, like most plays, it ended its run without recouping its capitalization costs.

But “Slave Play” was also polarizing, leaving an opening for another drama to claim the prize. The most likely upset would be by “The Inheritance,” a two-part drama by Matthew López about two generations of gay male New Yorkers. That play was heralded in London, but was greeted with far more skepticism in New York; its run was also unprofitable, and was cut a few days short by the pandemic.

The most likely winner in the category of best play revival will be “A Soldier’s Play” or “Betrayal.”

“A Soldier’s Play” is a 1981 drama by Charles Fuller, about the murder of a Black sergeant in the U.S. Army, that won the Pulitzer Prize when it was first published. It was then adapted into a Hollywood film, but didn’t make it to Broadway until 2020. The production, directed by Kenny Leon, starred Blair Underwood and David Alan Grier, and was presented by the nonprofit Roundabout Theater Company.

“Betrayal” is a 1978 play by Harold Pinter about an extramarital affair. The revival was a commercial production, transferred from London, directed by Jamie Lloyd and starring Tom Hiddleston.

And what about the actors?

Eight acting prizes will be given out tonight — four for work in musicals, and four for work in plays.

The musical prizes all have heavy favorites, and the favorites would all be first-time Tony winners.

Look for Adrienne Warren to win the leading actress in a musical prize for her superhuman performance as Tina Turner in “Tina,” and for Lauren Patten to win as featured actress for her showstopping vocals in “Jagged Little Pill.”

Aaron Tveit, the only nominee for leading actor, should easily pick up that prize for playing the bohemian Christian in “Moulin Rouge!” (he needs to win support from 60 percent of those who cast ballots in the category to do so), while his co-star, Danny Burstein, is the favorite in the featured actor category, for playing the impresario Harold Zidler.

The play categories are thought to be much tighter, in part because there are fewer voters — to participate in any Tony race, a voter had to have seen each nominated performance, and that narrowed the pool of qualified voters.

But watch for one possible record to be set: Lois Smith, 90, is a leading contender for best featured actress in a play, for her work in “The Inheritance.” If she wins, she will become the oldest person ever to win a Tony Award for acting, a record previously held by Cicely Tyson, who won at 88.

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Request from @iwannagotospaceforever​: Could u do a Fred Weasley x reader maybe with prompt 12 and 13???

12: “I’m Fine!” “Y/n, there's blood coming out of your head!”

13: “You’re cute when you want to stab me”

A/N: I love this!!! I hope you guys enjoy, feel free to leave me any feedback or requests you might have <3

Prompt: You and Fred have been friends for a while, you’ll hang out together on school grounds, pull pranks with Fred, and just seem to get along well, unless its on the quidditch pitch, where your competitive natures can get a bit out of hand.

Warnings: Reader is not in the same house as Fred (Gryffindor), Swearing, mentions of blood, Frenemies type shit, Fluff, terrible quidditch writing

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walked onto the quidditch pitch, resting your broom against your shoulder as you swung your other arm, excited for game day. You were determined to win this round, Gryffindor having won the last couple games, and you were not going to let your house fall into the same fate. You had been getting up early the past two weeks, trying out new flying techniques, working on your stamina, and practicing chaser moves with Fred. 

You and Fred have been friends since fourth year, having met in Snape's potions class when your concoction may have blown up in Snape’s face. After that you were constantly hanging out. Fred joined in of course, pulling pranks and just talking about random things in general, but for some reason, you and the older twin just had a connection. It might have had something to do with your competitive natures constantly keeping each other on your toes.

You spotted him on the other side of the field with George, each carrying their beaters gear and walking to the Gryffindor rest area. His eyes met yours and a smile spread across his face as he waved. 

“You’re going down” He mouthed, his hand that was once waving now having a thumb pointing downwards. You smiled back.

“Fuck off” You mouthed back, going to give him the bird before you suddenly remembered Dumbledore was watching, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.

Fred made a fake sad face, making you laugh a bit before returning the gesture. Suddenly Lee Jordan's voice rang through the bleachers.

“Good afternoon everyone and welcome to the third game of the season, today we have Gryffindor against (Y/H). Lets have a good game, and may the best team win.

This signaled for you and the rest of your team to get on your brooms and fly up to the starting point, forming a circle with the other chasers on your team as well as the chasers on Gryffindor.

There was a bit of silence, before madam Hooch opened the trunk, releasing the bludgers and the golden snitch, before finally throwing the Quaffle into the air, officially starting the game.

After a few minutes you had finally gotten your hand on the quaffle, headed to the goal, and towards Fred and George. You saw George moving to block your left, and moved right, now having to face Fred. You had been practicing with him for the past few weeks, so you knew his weak spots, but he also knew yours. You faked going for the far right goal before quickly turning and going through the middle, scoring your team a point.

“That's ten points to (Y/H)!” Lee’s voice rang out, causing cheers and boos to ring through the crowd. You flew up beside Fred, having a moment before the next play started.

“You need to up your game Weasley” You said jokingly

“Please I saw you from a mile away” He joked back, suddenly making you think that he might have let you score.

“I swear to God Weasley, if you are going easy on me im going to kill you” You said, giving him a look, before starting to fly off, but not before Fred got in the last word.

“You look so cute when you want to stab me!” He said, causing you to look back at him and giving him a pose, causing the both of you to laugh, but secretly you had butterflies going insane in your stomach.

Did Fred Weasley just call you cute? You weren’t blind, you thought the twin were quite attractive, but every once in a while, you couldn’t help but think about Fred specifically, about how the sun caught his hair, or how his eyes crinkled when he smiled, or how he was able to laugh every day, but also made sure that you felt heard. 

You were quickly snapped out of your thoughts however when you made it back to the starting circle, putting your focus back into the game.

A few rounds later and you were 20-20 with Gryffindor. You had just gotten the ball again and was headed towards the goal, Fred facing you, a smirk on his face which only motivated you more. You were only a few seconds to scoring the goal, when Fred's face changed from irritating smugness, to worry. You didn’t have time to make out what he was saying before the right side of your head suddenly erupted with a sharp pain, and you were spiraling towards the ground.

The fact that you were still on your broom didn’t make the fall to bad, but before you knew what had happened, you were laying on your back looking at the sky.

“Looks like one of (Y/H) chasers got a good knock by one of the bludgers, that gotta hurt” Lee Jordan said

Madam Hooch was knelt beside you, asking you about the pain when Fred suddenly landed next you, running over and kneeling by your side.

“I know you said to not go easy on you but I swear it wasn’t me” He said, quickly, causing you to laugh a little.

“Fucking coward” You mumbled suddenly realizing that the game was still going on.

“Fred what are you doing go play I’m fine!” you said, finally sitting all the way up, your head spinning a bit.

“Y/n, there is blood coming out of your head!” Fred said, making you lift your hand to poke the side of your head, only to pull it back to see blood. Before you could say anything else to get Fred back to the game, Lee Jordan's voice rang through the crowd.

“Harry Potter has captured the Golden snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Lee said, causing the crowd to cheer.

“Well that sucks” You groaned. All the practice, only for the golden boy to catch the snitch AGAIN. You reached out your hand to Fred, motioning for him to help you up, which he took. However as soon as you were on your feet your head started to spin, but Fred saw you sway and caught you.

“I want you to go straight to the medical wing to make sure you don't have a concussion, Weasley can you take them?” Madam hooch said, making you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need to-” You started, not thinking your injury was such a big deal

“I would be happy to” Fred said before smiling at you, you glaring at him in return.

A few minutes later and you were sitting cross legged on on of the bed in the hospital wing, Fred making it his job to annoy you while  Madam Pomfry to checked on you.

“Be honest doc, how long do they have” Fred said, causing you to roll your eyes and swat his arm, which caused him to laugh.

“Y/N will be living for a long while, but you do have a very mild concussion, so I don’t want you to do anything labor intensive for the next week.

“What? But quidditch!” you practically yelled, horrified at the news.

“I don’t want to hear it, now at the end of the week, I want you to come back in so we can see how you’re healing, as for the rest of the day I want you to relax” Madam Pomfry said, giving you a sympathetic look before leaving to check up on someone who had a bad encounter with the wrong Polyjuice potion.

“It could be worse” Fred said, trying to lighten the mood, causing you to glare at him.

“How could it be worse?” You asked

“Well you could not have me to keep you company!” Fred said, causing you to groan.

“Death would have been a kinder fate” You said, before quickly laughing at Fred’s shocked expression. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding” You said, moving to get up, which Fred helped you do without fully realizing it.

“Are you sure you want to stick around? I can’t do any strenuous activities so I’m basically the most boring person in the world right now” You said, causing Fred to shake his head.

“Impossible, you could never be boring, but I have an idea if you’re up to it?” Fred asked, quirking a brow which made you suspicious, but you agreed non the less, nodding your head.

“Excellent, adventure awaits!” He said, before walking off while still having his arm around you.

A while later and you were sitting outside by the black lake, underneath a tree. You had been spending the last few minutes throwing rocks in the water, just watching the ripples.

“You think the squid is mad that we keep throwing rocks in his house?” You asked, causing Fred to laugh a bit.

“Why do you think I brought you along? If he suddenly wants to kill us I know you're going to be way slower than me.” Fred laughed, laughing even louder when you shoved his shoulder.

“Typical, you only bring me places to benefit your secret agenda” You joked, leaning your back against the tree.

“Nah, you're to pretty to sacrifice” He said, suddenly tensing up realizing he just said that.

You were feeling something similar, your face heating up as you shook your head, trying to dismiss the comment as something platonic. He just felt bad because you got hit.

“Fred, I am in dirty quidditch clothes, with crazy hair and a bruise on the side of my head, I wouldn’t describe myself as pretty right now” You said, thinking he would make a joke and that would be the end of it.

“Well I disagree” He said, the sincerity in his voice surprising you, you turned to look at him to see he was already looking at you, before looking down at his hands.

“You really scared me today” He started “When I saw you get hit, and saw you falling, I was so scared. I kept thinking of how it happened, how I could have stopped it, how you were probably out cold, but then I got down there, and you were the same you always were, calling me lame for not intentionally trying to kill my friend at quidditch” He finished, his joking tone returning a bit.

“I think the term I used was coward” You said, smiling a bit.

“Yeah, that I am, not because of quidditch though” Fred said, smiling a bit, but you weren’t, stuck trying to think about what he could be talking about.

“Fred, you pull pranks on professors for fun. You stole your parents car, for fun. I don’t need to say all the crazy things you’ve done to know you’re not a coward. Why do you think that?” You asked.

“Because I never told you about how I really felt” Fred said. Suddenly the butterflies in your stomach returned, causing your face to heat up.

“What?” You asked, not quite believing what you were hearing.

“I like you Y/n, I have for a while, but I haven't said anything because I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship” He said, still not looking in your eye and instead looking out on the lake.

“Well then I guess where both cowards” You said, causing Fred’s head to suddenly snap to look at you, which made you laugh a bit.

“What?” It was now Fred’s turn to look shocked. Instead of answering, you just shake your head and put a hand on his cheek, closing the space between you two and connecting your lips. Fred took no time to respond, moving his hand to gently cup the side of your face that wasn’t bruised. We stayed like that for a moment, before finally pulling away for air.

“Well, that was unexpected” Fred said, making you laugh.

“What that I like you back or that I’m such an amazing kisser even with a head injury” You said, making him laugh in return.

“Speaking of which, maybe we should stop, Pomfry said no strenuous activity and I wouldn’t want to-” Fred started but you knew he was joking.

“Just shut it and kiss me dumb ass” You said, smiling as he reconnected your lips again, this time the kiss going a bit further, his tongue sweeping your bottom lip. You opened your mouth, your hands moving to his hair and-

“Oi no snogging with a concussion!” George suddenly yelled from a bit a ways, Oliver and some of your team mates following.

“Mind your own business” Fred said, making you laugh.

“And here we are, trying to be good friends and make sure you haven't died or something” George said, shaking his head in feign disappointment. “This couldn’t have waited a week?”

“No!” You and Fred said in unison, causing the group to laugh before making their way back to the school, wanting to give you two some privacy, but not before George gave Fred a quick thumbs up, glad that he finally made his move.

“Well I’m glad you didn’t wait to tell me” You said once everyone was out of earshot.

“Me neither, except we still have to wait a week to-” Fred started, a suggestive smirk on his face.

“Fred Weasley I swear to God!” You yelled swatting his chest, causing him to fall into a fit of laughter which you quickly followed. Maybe getting hit by a bludger isn’t the worst thing that could happen.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ah, to be hit in the head by a giant ball and be comforted by Fred Weasley. The Dream. TBH I know this ending is trash! But still I hope you enjoyed it, let me know if you have any recommendations or feedback! Also @iwannagotospaceforever​ I hope you liked it!

[blueskrugs]

Some People Do, Part 2. | Nathan MacKinnon

the MacRedemption arc y’all didn’t need or ask for. this fic brought to you by taylor swift’s folklore

Part 1.

also huge shoutout to @burkymakar for beta-ing this monster of a sequel that turned out about three and a half times as long as the original.

length: 21.1k words

The Avalanche’s new season started. You didn’t watch the home opener. In fact, you weren’t even around to watch it. You left Denver. Took some leave from work, packed a couple bags, and went back to your hometown to be with your family for a while.

Or, to be somewhere where the ghosts of your relationship with Nate didn’t seem to follow you everywhere. You didn’t think Denver and the people in it would miss you that much anyway. 

Mel called you one afternoon at the beginning of the Avs’ first road trip of the season. “Linnea misses you,” she said gently after you picked up the phone. “The boys are out of town, and I want all the girls to come over to watch the game tomorrow night. I’ll buy that wine you like, and we can order pizza.”

You sucked in a deep breath, your hand pausing where it was buried deep in your parents’ dog’s fur. Mel misinterpreted your silence and rushed to keep talking.

“We don’t have to talk about anything. We just want to see you. No one’s really heard from you since the season started.”

“Mel, I’m not in Denver. I left.” You heard Mel drop something on the other end of the line. Zoey started barking in the background.

“You left? What d’you mean you left? Without telling anyone? Y/N!” Mel’s voice rose as she spoke. You winced a little bit.

“I mean, I told my mom I was coming home…” Mel sighed at you. “Look, I’ll come back eventually, probably, I just couldn’t handle being there, seeing his face or hearing his name everywhere anymore.” Mel hummed, a sad sound. “Please don’t tell Gabe or any of the boys that I’m gone. I don’t need them worrying about me.”

“Oh, they already do, but I won’t say anything, I promise,” Mel said. 

When your phone rang later that night and EJ’s name flashed across your screen, you groaned and cursed Mel under your breath. Of course she had told EJ anyway. You let it ring through to voicemail; he called again. He left a voicemail the second time, and then a minute later, your phone vibrated with a text, too. You didn’t really feel like listening to EJ scold you, so you ignored them both. EJ kept texting you through the night, all variations of “call me back.”

It wasn’t until you were curled up in your bed in the dark, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you leaned against your headboard, that you pressed play on EJ’s voicemail. He did indeed scold you for a moment before his voice softened. You could picture the worried look in his eyes clearly. 

“Please call me back, Y/N. Gabe’s losing his mind, and I want to know that you’re okay. I will fucking fly to your hometown if you won’t talk to me,” he threatened.

The thing was, you really didn’t doubt that EJ would use their next off day to track you down. You bit your lip, thumb hovering over the call button. The phone had barely rung once before EJ was answering it. 

“Thank fuck, Y/N.” He sounded a little out of breath, and a lot like he was trying to be casual about it, but failing terribly, which made you smile. “Mel said you left Denver? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Mel also said she wasn’t going to tell you boys. And I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t aware that I had to tell you everything, EJ. You’re not my brother.”

You could practically hear EJ rolling his eyes at you. “No, but I’m the closest thing you’ve got while you’re in Denver, and it would’ve been nice to know you’re safe or something.”

You scoffed. “Not like any of you have tried very hard to check on me before now. You could’ve called at any time, EJ.”

EJ sighed, “Okay, fair enough. Do you know when you’ll come home? Cox has been moping around the house since training camp started. We all know he misses you, but Nate doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t know if I will come back, E,” you said carefully. EJ made a sound like he wanted to argue with you but stayed quiet. “I love Denver, but so much of it is tied up with Nate, I don’t know if I can handle that.” “Okay, but consider this: someone’s gotta take care of Burky, because he’s still kind of an idiot.” That startled a laugh out of you, and when EJ spoke again, you could hear his grin. “I think he almost misses you more than Cox.” He paused. “We all miss you, Y/N.”

It was almost November before you made yourself get on a plane back to Denver. You went quietly, too afraid of how many Avs players would show up at your apartment door if they caught wind of you being back in town. You went back to work every day, and at night you would sit on the couch with a glass of wine and torture yourself by watching the Avalanche play. It turned out that not even a broken heart could keep you away from hockey for too long. You still had to catch yourself to keep from cheering every time Nate scored, though. Some habits were harder to break than others, apparently.

You still texted EJ every once in a while, carefully not mentioning that you were back in Denver. You wondered how long it would take him to figure out. 

You watched the games from the safety of your apartment most nights, and you never texted any of the boys, though the temptation was there sometimes, after someone scored a particularly good goal, or took a spectacularly stupid penalty. 

And then Nate took a dirty hit from a Stars player that threw him into the boards. It was his shoulder again, you knew, even before he got up slowly and made his way off the ice, even through the TV screen you were watching on. The camera panned over the bench once, showed you all the tense, worried faces of the players as they looked at each other, looked at the scoreboard—where they were losing with not enough time left—looked at where one of their best players had disappeared down the tunnel. 

Your phone was in your hand before you realized what you were doing. You were pretty sure you still had one of the trainers’ numbers from one of Nate’s last injuries, but as you pulled open the text thread, you didn’t even know what to say. 

No one knew where your relationship with Nate stood. Hell, you didn’t even know where your relationship with Nate stood anymore. No one even knew you’d come back to Denver. 

You chewed on your bottom lip as you watched the clock wind down. Your phone stayed unlocked in your hand, but you hadn’t typed anything. 

Instead, you backed out of the texts to the Avs’ trainer. You opened a text thread you hadn’t used much lately. Typed out a message and hit send before you could stop yourself. 

“Can I come over?”

You were half-asleep on the couch when your phone vibrated again half an hour later, hockey highlights on mute on the TV. You jolted awake, reaching for it in the half-dark. You blinked against the brightness of your phone screen. On it were two words: “of course.”

You jumped up, tugging a hoodie on over your pajamas. 

The roads to Nate’s house were familiar, even in the dark. Your hands shook on your steering wheel as you got closer. You weren’t really sure what you had been thinking when you had texted Nate, aside from some instinct to take care of him when he was injured. 

You weren’t sure what Nate was thinking by telling you to come over, either. 

The lights were on on the first floor when you pulled into the driveway. You sat in the car for a minute, steeling yourself, before making your way to the front door. 

You no longer had a key. You could hear Cox barking inside, his nails scrabbling on the hardwood as he raced towards the front door, and Nate’s frustrated, “God, shut up!” before the door was being pulled open. 

Cox barked one last time before he was barreling into your legs. You bent down to pet Cox, burying your face in his fur for a moment, choosing to ignore Nate standing in the doorway. If you were hiding a few tears, that was between you and Cox. Cox stopped deigning to stand still after a minute, wanting instead to lick your face, so you pulled back and stood up, meeting Nate’s eyes at last.

His arm was in a sling, and he looked tired, beyond the fact that he had just played a hard hockey game, and more like he wasn’t sleeping well. He shifted awkwardly on his socked feet; you tried not to notice the way he winced when his shoulder moved. 

His voice was quiet, shy, when he spoke. “Hi.”

Cox was still wiggling happily at your feet, and you almost didn’t hear him. You stopped petting Cox to grin sheepishly up at Nate. “Hey.”

Nate shook himself a little, taking a step back and opening the front door a little wider. “Come on, it’s dark out.”

You followed him inside, noting the stiffness in his neck and shoulders as he walked. Cox nudged at your hands as you walked, clearly ecstatic that you’d come home. Nate went into the living room and settled on the couch, but you walked into the kitchen to pull an ice pack out of the freezer. Your hands were shaking a little again.

You slowly made your way back into the living room, trying very hard not to think about everything that had happened the last time you had been in there. Nate had turned the TV on, but you didn’t look at it as you threw the ice pack at him. Nate winced again as he caught it, but still mumbled a “Thanks.” 

You stayed standing. Cox rolled over onto his back by your feet. Nate chuckled at him a little before an awkward silence fell over the room again.

“I didn’t know you were back in Denver,” Nate said finally. You had crouched down to rub Cox’s belly, but your head shot up to look at Nate. He hadn’t moved on the couch, and between the sling, the ice pack, and the tension in the room, he looked downright uncomfortable. You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel particularly sorry for him.

“I didn’t know EJ had told you I left,” you replied, making a mental note to kill EJ the next time you saw him. Nate shrugged as best as he could with an injured shoulder. “I came back a couple of weeks ago, been keeping to myself mostly.” Nate made a face that you couldn’t read. That was new. You’d always been able to figure him out, even when he was trying to hide his emotions. 

“Why are you here?” Nate asked quietly. Your hands paused in Cox’s fur again. You knew he wasn’t asking why you had come back to Denver, but why you were here in the house you used to share, getting him ice packs and petting Cox like nothing had ever changed. 

“I don’t know, Nate,” you sighed. “Honestly. I was watching the game and saw you go down, and some terrible fucking instinct of mine wanted to make sure you were okay, and here I am.”

Nate grinned, but his eyes were sad. “You don’t have to take care of me anymore. I don’t deserve it.” It was your turn to shrug. Cox was now attempting to sit in your lap; you pushed your face into his fur again, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “He’s missed you a lot, y’know,” Nate added. Cox rested his chin on the top of your head. “I think he’s mad at me or something. Gives me the cold shoulder when I get home from roadies now. Won’t sleep on the bed with me anymore, either.” 

You managed a laugh; you hoped Nate didn’t hear how watery it was. Cox snuffled in your hair, and you hugged him a little tighter. When you pulled back from him, Nate was smiling at both of you fondly, and a little wistfully.

You stood up, checking your watch. “I should- I better go. It’s getting kinda late, and I have to work in the morning.” Something flashed across Nate’s face again, but he stood up, letting the ice pack fall to the couch. He was clearly still in pain, but he was less stiff than he had been when you arrived. “Don’t leave that on the couch overnight,” you told him, looking over his shoulder at the melting ice pack. Nate rolled his eyes, but smiled softly at you.

“I won’t, I promise.” Nate followed you to the door. “Hey, can I drop Cox off at your place some days, and, like, for some of our road trips? I don’t know if he can handle you not being around much longer.” You both looked at Cox, who was also following you two to the door, suddenly looking dejected again. “Look, he knows you’re leaving again.” Nate bent down to squish Cox’s face as best as he could with only one hand, then settled for ruffling his ears. “He misses you.” You smiled in spite of yourself and bent to drop a kiss to the top of Cox’s head.

“I miss you, too, baby. My apartment is a lot smaller than you’re used to, but there’s a park we can go to a couple of blocks over.” Cox whined at you. 

“Text me when you get home, yeah?” Nate said. 

You looked closely at him before responding. His eyes were still tired, a little haggard and a little too old for his body, but they were brighter than they had been earlier. 

“Of course,” you said. 

You did text Nate as soon as your apartment door was locked behind you. It felt strange, something you had both always done in the early days of your relationship, but had stopped being necessary as time went on and you had moved in together. It hurt a little bit, knowing all the history and things you had shared with Nate, but feeling as if you barely knew each other after all this time. You had never imagined that you would have to start your relationship over with Nate. You weren’t sure you really wanted to. 

Nate started texting you again after that, just random, unobtrusive messages: pictures and videos of Cox or stupid things one of his teammates had said during the day. You never replied, aside from occasionally reacting to some of the messages, but Nate didn’t seem to expect or need a response from you, because they just kept coming. 

You started to look forward to seeing them everyday.

Cox did also start coming around to your apartment, though it was usually EJ or Burky bringing him over. The first time Nate had tried to drop him off, but Cox had gotten confused and wouldn’t let Nate leave. It had led to one very awkward walk to the park in silence. 

The first road trip was the hardest. It was nice to have Cox around again, curled up behind your legs in your bed as you slept and demanding attention constantly, but you couldn’t help but think of the things you now knew. The things Nate got up to on road trips. Was it just like last year all over again? Were you home with the dog while Nate was off with some girl that wasn’t you? Was he with the same girl as last time, was he still flying her out to games? Or had he found someone else new to pass the time with?

The Avs swept the road trip, but you couldn’t bring yourself to watch any of the games.

It was the week before Christmas when you found yourself outside Nate’s front door again. He had tried to give you a key– your old key– since you were taking care of Cox all the time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it. Today you had been baking, and Sarah had asked for your snickerdoodles for when she came to town. 

Cox didn’t bark when you came to the door anymore, but he did greet you with a toy in his mouth. 

“You’re a terrible guard dog,” Nate scoffed. Cox wiggled excitedly. “He still knows the sound of your car,” he told you. “You can never get another one.”

You laughed, handing the Tupperware of cookies off to Nate so you could bend down and throw the toy for Cox. “He’s a good guard dog when it counts,” you said. “Remember when he barked at EJ because he had his teeth in?”

Nate laughed as you followed him into the kitchen. “I think he growled at Burky for like two months, but only if he was wearing a hat.” He tilted the Tupperware of cookies up to the light. “Jesus, how many cookies did you fucking bake? You know I can’t eat any of these, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, whatever, don’t front. You and Tyson used to eat all sorts of shit I would bake during the season. And your sister asked for snickerdoodles, and I wanted to try a new recipe for gingerbread, so y’all get to be the guinea pigs for it, too.”

Nate’s eyes widened, and he tore the lid off the container and dug through it until he came up with a gingerbread cookie.  “Fuck, Y/N, I love you,” he groaned, mouth full of cookie, before he froze. “I didn’t- I’m sorry. These are really good, though.”

All you said was, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, MacKinnon,” just to see Nate’s blush. His words, however accidental, however impulsive, were still ringing in your ears, and you were trying not to think about them. 

Nate finished his cookie in silence. Cox had come back and was nudging your hand so you would throw his toy again. Outside the kitchen window, it had started to snow, fat white flakes floating by. You threw Cox’s toy a couple more times, watching as he skittered off down the hall.

“Big, scary German shepherd, my ass,” you muttered as Cox slid and wiped out on the hardwood. His tail was still wagging.

The snow was falling harder already. “I should get home before I get snowed in here,” you said, reaching for your keys.

Nate looked out the window, alarmed. “Like hell you are. It’s dark and already snowing hard. I don’t want you driving home in this.”

“Nate,” you sighed.

“I know, I know. But it’s too fucking dangerous for you to drive, and you can have the guest room and Cox, and I’ll stay out of your way. I meant what I said about leaving you alone when you closed the door. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

You sighed, looking over Nate’s shoulder at the snow falling outside the window. It really was falling fast already, quickly becoming a blizzard. You shivered in spite of yourself. 

“Fine, but I’m taking you up on sharing a bed with Cox.”

Nate grinned, and it hit you that you could never make yourself hate that smile. 

Cox trailed after you to the living room, but Nate lingered in the kitchen. You could hear him banging through cabinets and drawers. At one point, he called out, “Where’s the- never mind!” You and Cox just shared a look. 

Eventually Nate came into the living room, balancing two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate full of gingerbread cookies. You raised an eyebrow, but Nate just shrugged.

“It’s cold outside. By the way, you might need to make more gingerbread before Sarah comes.”

“I thought cookies weren’t on the diet,” you teased. Nate’s ears turned red, and you laughed.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said, taking a bite to punctuate his sentence.

A quiet fell again, and outside the window, so did the snow. You ran your fingers through Cox’s fur absentmindedly as you sipped your hot chocolate.

“Is that really what you want, Nate? Someone who doesn’t even like hockey?” you blurted. You didn’t regret shattering the careful atmosphere of the house.

Nate grimaced, and he rushed to set his mug down, nearly spilling hot chocolate on the rug. He turned to look at you. “Fuck, no, Y/N, I- I have never regretted anything more in my life. And regrets do fuck-all to fix things, I know that, but I want you to know that, given the opportunity, I would go back to the beginning of last season and change it all. I could still play the worst hockey of my career, and I wouldn’t care as long as I got to keep you at the end of it all.”

“Nate, some of the things you said...I spent so many nights awake last summer, thinking about them, wondering what I could’ve done better or differently, wondering if it was all my fault,” you said. You didn’t wipe away the tear that slid down your cheek. 

Nate looked like he wanted to reach out to touch you. “I believed what I said at the time, fuck, I was so stupid. One of the things I’ve always loved most about you is that you loved hockey before you met me. You understood hockey. And suddenly I had someone in my life who loved the sport I loved, but also loved me. You knew when to talk about the game with me, and you knew when to distract me. You would have loved me even without the hockey, and I was so fucking destructive, so fucking stupid that I threw it all away.” Nate’s blue eyes were clouded with tears now, too. 

“Where did I go wrong, Nate? Where did we go wrong?”

This time Nate did reach out for you, lunging across the couch to grab your hands, sliding down to his knees next to you. “No, no, fuck no. None of this is on you; it never was. I thought then that what I needed was the anonymity to ground me, but what I’ve always needed was you.” 

You let out a sob, wrenched one of your hands away from Nate’s to cover your mouth. Nate grabbed your wrist and tugged your hand back down, brushing a tear away with his thumb as he did. 

“You’re the one who’s always kept me grounded, got me out of my head when I would start to freak out. You never gave a fuck about who I was. I could just be Nate with you.”

You sat still for a moment, trying to process Nate’s words. “I left Denver because I couldn’t handle seeing your fucking face everywhere. Because no matter what you did, you would always be Nathan MacKinnon, face of the Colorado Avalanche. But you fucking destroyed me, Nate. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to trust myself or anyone else again. I didn’t know if I’d ever want to come back to Denver again. I hated myself for still loving someone who had proved that he could forget about me so easily.” You broke off with another sob; Nate rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand absently. “I meant what I said about not being able to do this again. I can’t just jump headfirst into the deep end. I can’t go back to the way things were, no matter how much I want to. I just can’t.”

Nate smiled, but it was small. “I don’t think I could ask you to go back to the way things were. I don’t wanna ask you to start over and forget everything, either. I don’t deserve that. But you’re here. And I wanna know if you’re willing to try, let me prove that I can do this right this time.” 

You sighed and looked away. Nate’s eyes, intense and cautiously hopeful, were too much to look at. “I don’t know, Nate.” Nate visibly deflated. “It’s not a no,” you added. “Just… I don’t know.” You were still gazing around the living room. It was the week before Christmas, but there weren’t any decorations anywhere, not even a tree. “Hey, where are all of our Christmas decorations?” you asked.

Nate shrugged and stood up. “Didn’t feel right, without you, I guess. Just never really seemed like Christmas,” he admitted. You pouted a little at him, but he just rolled his eyes.

Christmas had always been your favorite holiday, and, over the years, you had brought Nate around to loving it just as much as you did. 

You and Nate had only been dating a couple of weeks by the time the holiday season rolled around. Nate didn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic about Christmas as you were, even though this would be your first Christmas in Denver, away from your family. 

“Nate, where are your Christmas decorations?” you called, standing in the entryway and looking at Nate’s barren house at the beginning of December. 

He poked his head out of a doorway. “I have a tree?” he said. You must’ve looked appalled, because he added, “I don’t really need that much. We’re gone so much, it doesn’t feel like it’s worth the effort.”

“Okay, change of plans!” you said, already slipping your boots back on. Nate groaned, but he came into the hallway, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at you. “I wanted to get some new decorations for my apartment, and now you’re coming, too, so we can decorate this wasteland you call a house.”

“Hey! My mom did a lot of the decorating in here!” 

“Yes, and it still looks exactly like the house of a twenty-something professional athlete who doesn’t give a fuck aboout aesthetic or interior design. Now, come on, put your shoes on, let’s go!”

Nate groaned again, but he grabbed his keys and put on shoes. “Fine, but I’m driving,” he said, leaning down to give you a quick kiss. You grinned at him.

You already had most of the decorations you needed for your small apartment, but Nate’s house had pretty much nothing, and Nate had absolutely no idea how much time you could spend shopping, especially when it came to Christmas decorations.

You ended up dragging him to four stores over the course of a couple hours, with the promise of “I swear it won’t take long in there” every time. It never was true. By the end, the trunk of Nate’s car was filled with bags of decorations, including some cute wrapping paper and bows you had insisted he buy.

“You know I can’t wrap a present, right?” he had asked when you put the wrapping paper in the cart. You had let out a frustrated groan, poking him between the ribs.

“Well, guess you’re gonna have to learn, MacKinnon, because I am not wrapping your presents for you.”

It took the two of you nearly ten minutes to haul all the bags back into the house, with Cox excitedly running back and forth with you on each trip. Nate collapsed on the couch. 

“Babe, I’m tired,” he said. Cox, still excited, leaped onto his stomach. “Oof, bud, rude.”

“Did you still want to cook, or do you want to order something?” you asked, digging through a bag for the wreath you wanted to hang on the front door.

Nate checked his watch. “What about that one bar we went to last week? They had good food.” 

You nodded, now looking for the stocking you had insisted Nate buy for Cox.

After a couple more hours, Nate’s house had been decorated to your satisfaction, with lights, candles and garland. You had made Nate turn on Christmas music while you worked, and more than once you caught him smiling at you as you sang along. Nate was now slumped on the couch again. You threw a throw pillow at him.

“See, I told you it would feel more like a home if you decorated.” Nate sighed and hugged the pillow to his chest without opening his eyes, which you knew meant that you were right but he didn't want to admit to it. “Do you want to go to bed?” you asked. Nate nodded silently. The Avs didn’t have an early practice in the morning, and as the hours had ticked on while you decorated, Nate had told you to stay the night instead of driving home.

“Hey, wait,” Nate said suddenly as you walked through the doorway, tugging your wrist and spinning you around into his chest. “Isn’t there some tradition to do with kissing?”

“I didn’t buy mistletoe, Nate,” you teased, but you let Nate lean down to kiss you anyway, slow and deep, with one hand on the small of your back and the other cupping your cheek.

You got ready for bed in a comfortable silence. You were still humming the words to a Christmas song. Cox was waiting on the bed for you when you left the bathroom. Nate made him move over so you could have room on the bed, but he did so begrudgingly. You hadn’t been planning on staying, so you were drowning in one of Nate’s T-shirts.

You curled into his chest, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled beneath your ear. “You should come to the Christmas family skate with me,” he said casually, but you could feel his tenseness where your hand was resting on his hip. 

You pulled back to look at him. “You know I can’t skate, right?” And other than seeing Tyson Barrie a handful of times, mostly in passing, you hadn’t met any of Nate’s teammates, and you weren’t going to lie and say you weren’t a little nervous about the idea. 

“You’ll be surrounded by hockey players, babe. I’ll make sure you don’t fall, don’t worry.”

Nate broke you out of your reverie. “Would you- did you want to decorate? I can get everything out.” He sounded unsure. Decorating for Christmas had become an all-day affair over the years, complete with baking cookies and watching holiday movies. 

You thought about it for a second. Nate had been right, something about Christmas felt off this year, like something– or someone, you supposed wryly–  was missing.

“You go get the boxes, I’ll make more hot chocolate, and I get to pick the music.”

“Always,” Nate smiled, bright and wide and real, almost relieved that you’d been willing. 

Something told you that no one had seen a lot of that smile recently. 

While you waited for Nate to dig out the boxes of Christmas decorations, you stole his Bluetooth speaker to connect your Christmas playlist, and turned on the gas fireplace. Instantly, the room felt warmer and more welcoming.

Almost like home.

Nate set one of the boxes down with a thud, startling you. “Alright, here’s the tree, and we’ve still got like four more boxes, because someone has no self control when it comes to buying Christmas decorations.”

You blushed a little, but looked straight at Nate when you said, “Well, let’s get started then.”

You moved easily around each other, falling into a rhythm. You were mostly quiet, aside from Nate asking you where things went, and both of you singing along to songs, but it wasn’t awkward or tense like most of your silences had been of late. Nate didn’t even complain when you threw a throw pillow at him.

“Where Are You Christmas” began playing, Faith Hill’s voice filling the living room, and you smiled as Nate stretched to put the star on top of the tree. He turned and saw you looking at him; he walked over to you, slipping one arm around your waist.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he asked quietly.

“Feels like Christmas again,” you murmured. 

Nate wrapped his other arm around you and tugged you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around him, solid and strong like he’d always been, and let yourself lean into it. You stayed like that for several minutes, long enough for the song to end and another one to start. The living room had been mostly decorated, and behind Nate, the tree filled the room with a warm light. You could see the two salt dough ornaments you had made for your second Christmas together, when Nate gave you a key to his house and asked if you would move in, and when you had wrangled Cox into making one with his pawprint.

The song changed again. You smiled against Nate’s shirt. They’re singing ‘Deck the Halls’ but it’s not like Christmas at all, ‘cause I remember when you were here, and all the fun we had last year. Nate rested his chin on the top of your head; he was warm, chasing away the chill you still felt from the snow outside.

Cox nudged his way in between you, never wanting to miss anything, effectively ruining the moment. He jumped up, placing his paws gently on Nate’s chest. 

“Oh, do you wanna be in on the hug too, buddy?” Nate asked, ruffling Cox’s ears. You smiled at them as Cox wagged his tail, trying to fight back a yawn, but Nate noticed anyway. “It’s getting pretty late, isn’t it? Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?”

You had spent the day baking, so you weren’t dressed nicely, but it would be nice to wear something else to sleep in. Nate left you in the guest bathroom with an extra toothbrush, and an old, well-worn Avalanche T-shirt. Cox was laying on the floor, waiting for you. 

It felt strange, wearing one of Nate’s oversized T-shirts, in the house you once called home, sleeping in the guest room like a stranger. Everything was so familiar, but you no longer felt like you belonged. You were on your phone under the blankets when Cox jumped off the bed and whined at the closed door. 

“What is it, baby?” you asked, peering through the dark. You could just barely make out Cox’s dark eyes staring back at you. He whined again, this time pawing at the bottom of the door. “You wanna go sleep with Nate? C’mon.”

You pushed the blankets back and climbed out of the bed. Sleep didn’t seem to be coming any time soon, anyway. Cox whined again as you walked across the room and opened the door. He took a step out into the hall before turning back to look at you again. 

You groaned. “Cox, I know you know where the bedroom is. Go find Nate.” Cox took a couple steps, but stopped when he saw you weren’t following him. “Stupid dog, let’s go.”

Cox ran ahead as you made your way to the closed bedroom door. He sat next to you, looked up at you with his tongue hanging out, and you knocked quietly on the door. 

“Yeah?” Nate didn’t sound like he’d been asleep, either. 

“Cox wants to sleep with you, apparently.” Nate chuckled, and you heard his footsteps on the other side of the door. 

You took a step back as he pulled it open. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore?” he asked. Cox ignored him and leaped onto the bed. You both laughed as he settled in, looking very pleased with himself. You were on your way back to the guest room when you heard Nate speak softly again. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Ten minutes later, you were still scrolling aimlessly through your phone when it vibrated with a text. “he won’t stop whining at the door.” You frowned before replying. 

“that’s what he was doing in here. I thought he just wanted to be with you.”

There was a longer pause before Nate replied again; you were about to set your phone down and try to sleep. “I think he wants both of us” Then: “come to bed?”

You stared at that text until your screen went dark. You could go to sleep and pretend that it never happened, but something was stopping you. Something about the night you and Nate had shared gave you the distinct sensation that your relationship had shifted again. You still weren’t sure where you stood, not really, but thinking about your relationship no longer came with the sharp edge of heartbreak it had held for so long.

You crept out into the hallway again. Down the stairs, the soft glow of all of the Christmas lights you had put up still lit up the house. The door to your old bedroom was still solidly closed. You could picture Nate tangled up in the sheets, like he always used to be, with Cox stretched out near his feet. You paused with your hand on the doorknob. 

You could turn back now, and no one would know. You wondered vaguely, what kind of woman it made you, to even consider fixing a relationship with the man who cheated on you. Did it make you weak? Were you a fool? What did it mean that Nate had destroyed your trust, and you were willing to give it back to him, however broken?

You twisted the doorknob. As light from the hall flooded into the room, you could see Cox sitting up on the bed, staring at the door, and Nate was leaned up against the headboard. When he smiled at you, his teeth flashed white in the dimness.

Cox was thumping his tail against the bed. “Seriously, do you guard against anything?” you whispered as he licked your hand.

Nate was quiet as you set your phone down on the bedside table and settled into bed. “He’s pretty good at guarding my heart,” he whispered. There was an infinity of space between the two of you on the bed, but Cox was warm against your feet. 

“I think it took him three months before he stopped watching my every move when I was over,” you said back. “Too bad he couldn’t protect me against a broken heart.” Nate sucked in a sharp breath. You rolled over before he could respond.

The two of you laid in the dark and silence for a while; you couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but eventually you fell asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, you found yourself tangled with Nate. His bare feet were cold against your legs, but his hand was warm where it had slipped under your– his, really– T-shirt. Your face was tucked into his chest, and you could feel his slow, gentle breaths stirring your hair. 

Outside, the sun glinted off the snow, bitterly cold, but inside, in this bed, you were warm and cozy, Nate’s arm across your hip a comforting weight.  You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off to sleep again.

When you awoke again, Nate was awake, but he had pulled you closer. You tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. You weren’t sure what he was apologizing for anymore. 

You laid like that for a few minutes more before Cox stuck his nose under the sheets and whined. You laughed as Nate squirmed away from the cold.

“I think someone wants breakfast,” you said, stretching. Cox’s ears perked up. 

“C’mon, buddy,” Nate sighed.

When you wandered downstairs a few minutes later, Nate was standing in the kitchen, making breakfast. He had turned on Christmas music again and was singing along with Mariah Carey. You only barely resisted the urge to sneak your phone out and record him. As it was, you stood and watched him for a moment, leaning against the island with a small smile on your face. Eventually, Nate felt your eyes on his back and turned around.

“Still like your eggs the same way?” he asked. You had never changed the way you took your eggs in all the years you had known Nate, so you nodded. Nate had already turned back to the stove.

Things were awkward again in the daylight, the rawness of all the talking done the night before too much for the sunshine. You watched and waited as Nate put eggs on two plates, pulled some fruit out of the fridge, and slid you a mug of coffee. It was still hot, and made just the way you liked it. 

“They should have the roads cleared soon, and you can get home,” Nate said, breaking the silence. You looked up at him, startled, but his eyes were focused on his plate. Right. Time to break the spell and return to the real world. Christmas music was still playing quietly, but now it felt wrong.

“Oh, shit, I’m gonna have to clean off my car,” you groaned.

“I’ll help you,” Nate said easily, and maybe things didn’t quite have to go back to the way things were. 

Christmas passed without further incident, although André did text you and ask for more gingerbread cookies. Nate continued texting you, but now you started responding every once in a while, even sending him something first a couple of times. When Nate dropped Cox off the night before a road trip, he came with takeout from your favorite restaurant. EJ started texting you more, too, asking pointed questions about when you would come to a game or hang out with the guys.

You had been avoiding them, it was true, and you missed them, but you weren’t entirely sure that you could handle all of them. It turned out that you couldn’t avoid them any longer when Mel and Aleks invited– insisted, more like– you to come to a game with them just after the new year. 

You told them that you would think about it and took a full two days to respond. You said yes; you always knew you would say yes. You decided not to tell any of the boys that you’d be going, but you got a text from every other wife and girlfriend, all telling you how excited they were to see you again.

You found yourself getting excited, too, despite the lingering anxiousness of seeing Nate around all of his teammates. You’d always loved the energy of hockey games, and the Pepsi Center was no exception. It was thrilling, in a way, and it always seemed more energizing when you were dating one of the players down on the ice, listening to thousands of fans scream his name, knowing that you were the one who got to hold him after a game.

Now, though, you knew that you hadn’t been the only one who got to see Nate, to kiss him, after a game.

You drove to the Can with Mel and Linnea. You weren’t wearing your MacKinnon jersey, just a sweater and jeans; you had seen the jersey shoved in the back of your closet when you were getting ready, and paused, but you didn’t think you were ready for that, not yet. To her credit, Mel hadn’t commented on it when you climbed into her car. 

The Pepsi Center was as frenzied and intoxicating as you remembered it. The Avs’ last season had turned out to be a fluke, and the team was tearing up the Western Conference. Ashley Kadri laughed at you when she saw you simply staring around the arena like a child at their first hockey game, a giant grin on your face, but she draped her arm across your shoulders, pulling you in and saying, “Welcome back, girl.”

The Avalanche won in a wild battle against the Blues that saw Nate with two goals. You couldn’t help but think that you didn’t have a hat to throw if he had scored a third goal. 

The girls roped you into coming down to the family room to wait for your boys after the game. The adrenaline high of the game was wearing off, and you were nervous all over again about seeing Nate. Maybe you should’ve told him you were coming, you thought, as you chewed anxiously on your bottom lip. You didn’t think he’d get upset that you were at a game, he used to love it when you came to games, but things were so different now.

You were knocked out of your thoughts by a half-dressed, curly head of hair barrelling into you. You laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for balance as he clutched onto your waist.

“Christ, Burky, I saw you, like, last week.”

André squeezed you tighter. “Yeah, but now you’re at a game! You haven’t come to a game in ages!”

“Let her breathe, Burk,” Gabe said from somewhere behind you. André let go, but didn’t move far away from you. “He’s right, though. You’ve been avoiding us.”

“God, you sound like EJ. Can you blame me for not wanting to see you guys?” You heard the defensiveness creep into your tone. Gabe just shrugged.

“Leave her alone, both of you.” It was Nate’s voice this time. You spun around to face him, and Burky took a half step in front of you. 

Nate didn’t seem to notice, though, because his eyes were on you. You knew he saw that you weren’t wearing his jersey, but his eyes lingered on the necklace that hung around your throat, the same one he had given you three years ago.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he said. You bit your lip again. EJ appeared over Nate’s shoulder, like he could sense the tension, and was ready for a fight. “Shit, I mean, come here, yeah?” 

You dashed around Burky and into Nate’s arms. He had already showered, and you buried your face in his chest, breathed in the familiar smell of his soap and deodorant, as he held you. Distantly, you heard some of the other boys cheering, and Gabe shushing them. Nate pulled away from you and walked you over to a quieter hallway around the corner.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Nate repeated once the din of the rest of his team faded away.

You shrugged. “It was kinda an impulsive decision,” you lied, but Nate smirked at you.

“You never do anything impulsive. Besides, your hair and makeup are done, and it’s a Saturday night.” You stuck your tongue out at him instead of responding. Nate’s eyes softened as they caught the necklace you were wearing again. “I thought you would’ve gotten rid of that by now,” he said. 

Instinctively, your hand went up to fidget with the pendant. “I hadn’t been wearing it, but I thought I could tonight.”

Nate smiled sadly at you. “That was a nice night, wasn’t it?”

Your smile matched Nate’s. “Everything was nice back then.”

Your first anniversary with Nate actually fell in the middle of a road trip. Nate had called you to apologize when the schedule first came out, but you had just laughed and told him it wasn’t his fault.

He apologized again when you were sitting on his bed while he packed for the road trip. This time you stood up and wrapped your arms around Nate’s neck, going up on your toes to peck his lips.

“Babe, it’s fine, I get it,” you told him. “Cox and I will still be here when you get back.” Nate finally smiled at that.

“We’ll go out and celebrate properly then, I promise,” he said, tossing a pair of socks behind you at his suitcase. He missed. “By the way, can I have that hoodie back?”

You pulled the sleeves of his way-too-big hoodie over your hands. “What hoodie?” you asked innocently.

Nate laughed before wrapping his arms around your waist and picking you up. He tossed you easily onto the bed, and you shrieked as you bounced. And then Nate was on top of you, propped up on his forearms. He kissed you once, twice, and then a third time, deeper than the other two. You reached up and tangled your fingers in his hair. 

Nate pulled back just enough to murmur “I love you” against your lips before he was kissing you again. 

Downstairs, Nate’s doorbell rang, and Cox started barking. Nate buried his face in your neck and groaned. You scratched your nails down Nate’s neck; he melted into you.

“Tyson’s early,” you said. Nate groaned again. Cox was still barking at the door. “You should get off of me and finish packing.”

“Maybe if we ignore him he’ll just go away,” Nate said, voice still muffled into your shoulder. 

“Have you even met your best friend?” you asked, poking Nate in the ribs. He just rested his weight more solidly on top of you. As if to further prove your point, the doorbell rang again. 

Nate heaved a sigh and rolled off of you.

Nate ended up kicking you out of the bedroom while he finished packing, calling you a “distraction” and a “sweatshirt thief.” You settled for sitting on the couch with your feet on Tyson’s lap, Cox happily between the two of you, his head resting on your outstretched legs.

“So, what are you two doing for your anniversary?” Tyson asked, nosy as ever. 

“Fuck if I know,” you said. “Nate gave me his credit card one day last week to buy a dress, but he won’t tell me anything else about what we’re doing.”

Tyson laughed, and you kicked him. “Ow, rude!” Nate came down the stairs with his suitcase then. “Nathan, your girlfriend is being mean to me.”

“You probably deserved it,” Nate said flatly. Tyson looked absolutely affronted. Nate cut him off before he could say something indignant. “Come on, we’re gonna be late for the plane.” He shot you a grin and dropped a kiss on your head as he headed for the front door.

Tyson  grumbled as he shoved your feet off his lap and stood up, following Nate. 

“Text me when you land!” you called after them. Nate made a noise that might have been a “duh” at you before closing the front door. “Well, I guess it’s just us again, bud,” you said, looking at Cox, who decided he no longer wanted to be on the couch with you and flopped onto the floor.

When Nate Skyped you for your virtual date on your anniversary, you were surprised that he was in a button-down instead of his usual sweatshirt. You, on the other hand, were in an old Mooseheads sweatshirt that you had commandeered from Nate’s closet.

“Shit,” you said, “I didn’t know I was supposed to dress up for this.” 

Nate laughed; that was a sound you’d never get tired of hearing. “I’m still wearing sweatpants, don’t worry.”

You were in the kitchen this time, instead of curled up on Nate’s bed, as Nate had insisted that you eat dinner together, even going as far to order you a pizza from your favorite pizza place and have it delivered to you. Nate let you talk about your day at work while you ate, and then he told you about the practice they’d had that morning, and how the rookies were goofing off and got everyone in trouble. 

You talked for hours, you sitting at his kitchen table, Nate at the desk in his hotel room. It was getting late, and you stretched, Nate’s sweatshirt riding up your stomach.

“Hang on, what the hell did you do to my sweatshirt?” Nate asked, cutting himself off in the middle of a story.

You tugged the sweatshirt back down. You had gotten bored and cropped it, and you didn’t think Nate would ever notice. “I cropped it?” you said, more of a question.

“Babe, that could’ve been a collectible someday! And you destroyed it!”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve never even seen you wear it, and I can promise you no one is going to think this will be a collectible one day. Besides, I can still wear it just fine.” You stood up, ready to go to bed, and your stomach flashed a little again.

Nate shrugged. “Okay, maybe I don’t mind it being cropped.”

Nate came home late a couple of days later. He was trying to be quiet as he came into the bedroom, but he tripped over Cox, who was sprawled out on the floor. He stripped out of his suit quickly, leaving it in a pile on the floor to deal with in the morning, before crawling into bed and laying half on top of you. The Avs had lost two out of three games on the trip, and you had winced more than once as you watched one of the guys take a rough hit. 

“Happy anniversary, babe,” he mumbled, already half-asleep. 

“That was a couple of days ago, baby,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair. Nate hugged you tighter, but didn’t justify you with a response. 

When you woke up in the morning, Nate was still clinging to you, an overgrown, hockey-player-sized koala. The sun was streaming into the bedroom, which told you you’d both slept in much later than usual. Nate snuffled a little in his sleep, and you smiled down at him. 

You were still gazing at him when he started to wake up, snuggling in closer for a moment before rolling onto his back and stretching.

“Morning,” he yawned, before tugging you until you were on top of him this time, cuddling to his satisfaction. “We could stay like this all day, y’know,” he mumbled.

“I believe I was promised pancakes,” you said back. Nate sighed.

The two of you laid there for a while, just content to be close, until your stomach started growling. Nate laughed before pushing you off of him and getting up. You followed him down into the kitchen and watched as he pulled out all the things to make pancakes, including mix for some stupidly healthy kind that he insisted that he still had to eat.

The sounds of the coffee maker and Nate humming along to the radio filled the kitchen while you cut up some fruit. Nate only burnt a couple of the pancakes. 

You both laid around for most of the day, since you had the day off, and Nate skipped his optional skate. Cox seemed very happy to have both of his people around for the whole day. It wasn’t until late afternoon that Nate stood up, stretched and told you he was going to go shower. You lazed around on your phone for a while longer, until you heard Nate come out of the bathroom.

“My turn,” you said, coming into the bedroom. Nate shot you a look. “No coming into the bathroom until I come out.”

“But I haven’t seen your dress yet!” he protested. 

“Tell me where we’re going for dinner, and you can see the dress before I put it on,” you told him.

Nate stuck his tongue out at you. 

You emerged forty-five minutes later, makeup done and hair in place; you weren’t going to admit to how long it took you to get your eyeliner even. Nate wasn’t in the bedroom when you stepped out to grab your shoes and purse, so you snuck down the stairs barefoot. 

Nate startled when you put your hand on his shoulder, but when he turned around and saw you, he was struck speechless.

Your new dress was blush-pink velvet, long-sleeved, but with a short enough skirt to show off your legs in your heels. You twirled, albeit slightly self-consciously, for him.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“I love it,” Nate said, catching you around the waist and pulling you in for a kiss. “I love you,” he added, resting his forehead against yours. “Now get your shoes on, we’re gonna be late for our reservation.

Nate drove, like he always did. It wasn’t until you actually pulled up to the restaurant that you realized where you were going. It was the same restaurant Nate had taken you to for your first date, one of the nicest in Denver; you had scolded him for the extravagance of it then, and you opened your mouth to do it now, but Nate cupped your jaw and gave you a quick kiss before you could.

“Hush, I’m allowed to spoil my girl every once in a while,” he said before opening his door and climbing out of his car. 

You were still fumbling with your seatbelt when Nate came around to your side of the car to help you out. He didn’t move his hand from the small of your back until you were seated, and he settled across the table from you.

You let Nate order the wine, the appetizer, even your meal, because sometimes it seemed like he knew you better than you knew yourself. You kept up conversation throughout dinner, easy talk about anything and everything. You loved that you and Nate could still find things to talk about, even after spending an entire day with each other. 

You were almost through the dessert you were sharing when Nate started getting fidgety. You waited him out until the last plate was cleared, until he swallowed the last of his wine, still didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. You kicked him gently under the table.

“Don’t tell me you brought me here for a nice dinner just to break up with me,” you teased. 

Nate forced a laugh, but he looked less nervous. “On our anniversary? I would wait at least a week before I do that, but also I would never actually do that.” You laughed. “No, I got you something, but I just really want you to like it, and I-”

“Nate,” you said gently, nudging him gently with your foot again as you cut him off.

“Right,” Nate said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and pulling out a jewelry box. He opened it to reveal a dark red garnet pendant, glowing in the dim restaurant lighting. 

“Oh, Nate, it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Did your mom help you pick this out?” you teased.

“No, but Sarah did,” Nate mumbled, fumbling with the clasp as he tried to take it out of the box. “Turn around, I wanna put it on you.”

You rolled your eyes but turned and pulled your hair to the side so Nate could fasten the clasp around your neck. It hung perfectly just below your collarbones, and when you turned to kiss Nate again, it flashed and sparkled in the lights.

“I love it,” you murmured. In your heels, you didn’t have to stretch so much to kiss Nate. “I love you.”

“Hey,” Nate said, startling you out of your thoughts, “do you still have that Mooseheads sweatshirt you stole that week?”

You blushed, knowing exactly which sweatshirt he was talking about; you had been wearing it just the other day, but Nate didn’t need to know that.

“I thought you forgot about that,” you said.

“How could I forget about that? You cut off half of my sweatshirt!”

Your loud laugh caught the attention of EJ, who came over to throw an arm around each of your shoulders. 

“Alright, you two,” he said, dragging you back towards the rest of the team, “no more secret conversations. If Y/N is yelling at Nate for something, we all wanna hear it.”

Nate ended up insisting that he drive you home, and you found that you didn’t want to fight it. EJ pulled you aside just before you followed Nate out to his car, though, and asked if you were okay with it. The concern in his eyes was endearing, if unnecessary. You assured him that you would be fine, but you could feel him watching you as you walked back to Nate, who was trying very hard to pretend to be interested in something on his phone, and followed him to his car.

Nate connected his phone to the car’s speakers, but he turned on the playlist you used when you were driving. You looked over at him, surprised, but he was resolutely focused on backing out of his parking spot. 

“I didn’t think you still followed this playlist,” you said a few minutes later, after you had listened to Nate sing along to a Bastille song, the lights of Denver flashing by the windows.

He shrugged, still not looking at you, but he turned up the volume. “I still listen to it sometimes when we go on road trips,” was all he said. 

Nate started FaceTiming you from the road again. At first, he claimed it was so he could check in on Cox, but eventually he stopped asking to talk to the dog and just sat with you for hours. More than once you woke up with your phone still in your hand, having fallen asleep while talking to Nate. 

Nate came to pick up Cox one morning in February with a Starbucks in hand for you. It was exactly your order, which made you a little suspicious.

“Not that I’m complaining,” you said as you took a drink of your coffee, “but what’s wrong with the coffee I make here?”

Nate shrugged. He always seemed too large for your small apartment kitchen, but now, with his hands in his pockets and avoiding your gaze, he looked like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. Cox was sitting at his feet.

“Nate, what’s up?” you asked, taking a step across the floor to Nate. You set your coffee cup down on the counter, which made Nate look up at you.

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” he blurted out. His eyes went wide, like he had surprised himself. “I mean, do you- can we try this all again? I want to do it properly, so, like, will you go out with me?”

You grinned. “Is that why you brought me a Starbucks?” you asked. “Because we met in Starbucks when you took my coffee?”

Nate groaned, but all of the tension dropped out of his shoulders. “That was an accident, and you know it!”

“Mmhmm, you definitely weren’t just looking for an excuse to talk to a pretty girl.” Nate blushed, and you gasped. “You thought I was pretty!”

Nate’s face turned even redder. “Of course I did, how could I not?” Then he added, “I’ve always thought you were pretty.”

You stepped closer to Nate again and stood up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, Nate, I’ll go out with you,” you said.

Nate grinned, wide enough that his dimple appeared, and it hit you just how much you still loved his smile. You stopped yourself from just kissing Nate right there in the middle of your kitchen, but only barely. 

Nate texted you a couple days later to tell you what time he would pick you up. When you asked what you would be doing, all he sent back was “dress warm.” You bugged him about it for a while, but you knew you would never get it out of him. 

True to his word, Nate showed up at your door just as the sun was about to set. He smiled shyly at you as you opened the door. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway as you put on your boots and grabbed your coat.

“Are you ever gonna actually tell me what we’re doing?” you asked as you locked the door.

Nate pretended to think. “Nah.” He punched the elevator button, and your hands brushed together as he brought his back to his side. Nate clenched and unclenched his fingers as the elevator door opened.

As you stepped in and turned around, you took Nate’s hand, twining your fingers together. Nate relaxed and squeezed your hand once. He held your hand all the way out to his car, and then picked it back up once he started driving.

You couldn’t count the number of times the two of you had sat just like this, Nate driving one-handed, his other hand clutching yours across the console. Nate drove into the sunset, out of the city, the only sound in the car the radio and Nate’s occasional curse at another driver. It was a calm, comfortable silence, different than it had been recently with Nate. More like how it had been before. 

Nate drove you all the way out to a field somewhere in the middle of who-knows-where, Colorado. He told you not to move before he climbed out of the car and started pulling things out of the backseat. You couldn’t tell what he was doing out in front of the car in the twilight. 

When Nate finally came to open your door and help you out of the car, you smirked at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you drove me all the way out here just to kill me,” you said.

Nate rolled his eyes and tugged your hand harder than necessary, causing you to stumble forward into his chest. He wrapped an arm around your waist to steady you; he was warm against the late winter air. When he looked down at you, his breath came out in a faint cloud. It seemed like any retort he had died on his lips. 

Nate stared down at you for a moment, still holding you to his chest. Then he seemed to shake himself, taking a half step back and taking your hand in his again. He didn’t say anything as he led you over to a blanket he’d spread out on the ground. Nate sat and pulled you down between his legs to lean against his chest.

When he spoke, you could feel his chest vibrating underneath your back. “It’s not much, but we’ve done all the typical dates already. I thought we could just watch the stars for a while.” 

You twisted around to press a kiss to Nate’s jaw. “It’s a perfect idea, Nate.” Even in the dark, you could see Nate’s cheeks turn pink.

“I brought hot chocolate, too,” he said. You hummed and snuggled in against Nate’s chest more. 

He draped another blanket over you before wrapping his arms around you. It wasn’t quite dark enough to see stars yet, so you closed your eyes and just reveled in the fact that you were there, with Nate, and for a moment, you could let yourself forget that everything had changed. You could smell Nate’s cologne, familiar and comforting, and his heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath you. Nate tucked his nose against your neck, and that’s how the two of you sat for a long time, letting the darkness grow around you.

You shivered; the temperature had dropped with the sun, and even Nate, a walking furnace, could only do so much. 

“Here,” he said, shifting you a little bit so he could reach for the Thermos of hot chocolate. He unscrewed the cap before handing it to you.

You took a long drink, letting the warmth flow through you before handing it back to Nate. You blinked, trying to focus on the stars; you weren’t the greatest with constellations, but you had learned some of them when you were younger. 

Nate followed your gaze and pointed. “That one’s Orion, isn’t it?” You followed Nate’s finger to the three stars that made up Orion’s Belt and nodded. “That and the Big Dipper are the only ones I know,” he said.

“The Big Dipper is actually part of Ursa Major, which is a bear,” you said, tracing out the rest of it with your finger. Nate made an interested noise behind you. You looked back at Orion, following it towards Sirius and Canis Major. “That really bright one is Sirius, the Dog Star.” Nate pressed a kiss to your temple, and you smiled. You paused before pointing at another constellation. “I think that’s Pegasus, with the square, and above it is Cassiopeia.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Nate murmured, “I can’t really tell what you’re looking at, but the stars are pretty, and I could listen to you talk forever.” He rested his chin on your shoulder. 

“I don’t really know that many more constellations,” you admitted, but you suddenly remembered an old folk myth you had been told every summer as a kid at summer camp about how the stars were created. You started telling it to Nate, carefully so you didn’t leave anything out; you could never tell the story the same way you had grown up hearing it, but Nate seemed invested, anyway.

You spoke quietly in the dark field, the whole world seeming hushed and far away. Nate’s arms tightened around you once you had finished the story. He kissed your temple again, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence again, until Nate gasped and poked you in the side repeatedly.

“A shooting star!” he said, still poking you. A star had, in fact, streaked across the sky above you. 

“Yes, Nathan, I saw it, now stop poking me!”

“You’re supposed to make a wish, babe,” he said.

You sighed and closed your eyes. There, sitting on the cold ground in a field, wrapped up in Nate and his warmth, you couldn’t imagine ever wishing for anything else. You would give anything for this moment to last forever, for moments like this to become commonplace in your life again.

You sat out under the stars for a little while longer before you started shivering again. Nate laughed at you when he helped you up.

“Shut up, not all of us can be a walking heater,” you said.

“Go sit in the car, I’ll clean everything up, “ he told you, kissing your forehead.

The drive back into Denver was nothing like the drive out of the city. You took Nate’s phone and opened his Spotify, searching for your own playlist. Nate groaned when he saw what you were doing, but let you turn up the volume. You both spent the entire car ride singing along to the songs that came on at the top of your lungs. 

Nate didn’t kiss you when he left you at your apartment door, but he did duck his head and shoot you a shy smile when you told him you’d like to do that again, and it was a start for both of you.

More dates kept getting scheduled, hikes on days off, takeout and a movie on nights in, impromptu ones where Nate showed up at your work with lunch. Nate would ask you about work, or your family, and it really was just like you were getting to know each other all over again. You convinced Nate to start a new show one night, and you ended up binging a whole season, even though he had morning skate and a game the next day. You watched it together again over FaceTime the next weekend, and then it became a standing date. You argued more than once when Nate watched an episode or two without you, but it always ended with smiles and a promise that he wouldn’t do it again. Cox seemed overjoyed that his people were back together, and he always met you at Nate’s front door, his whole body wagging with excitement. 

Mel finally convinced you to come over for a girls night while the Avs were on their California trip. You had been lied to a little bit, as you had been under the impression that all of the girls would be over, but when you showed up at the Landeskog’s house, it was just Mel and Linnea, a box of pizza, and a bottle of your favorite wine. 

“I was led here under false pretenses,” you griped, but you gave Linnea a kiss and swiped a piece of pizza, anyway. 

“Is this a good idea? What we’re doing?” you asked Mel during the second intermission. Mel took a drink of her wine instead of answering. “Mel, answer me, please,” you begged, poking her with your foot.

Mel pursed her lips, eyes carefully focused on the TV. “I’m not going to pretend to know what’s good for either of you,” she said. “But I do know that you’ve both been happier since Christmas. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I were you. But Nate seems like he’s trying so hard, and he’s been asking Gabe for advice all the time. If anything, I think he’s proved that he’s willing to try to change, and I think he’s done a pretty good job at it, too.”

You rubbed Zoey’s ears thoughtfully. “The longer we try to fix this, the more normal it seems. It’s not stilted or awkward anymore. I’m just afraid I’m going to get comfortable again, and I won’t be able to come back from all of this a second time.”

“For what it’s worth,” Mel said, finishing her wine. “Gabe and EJ tell me that he won’t ever go out with the team after games on the road, anymore. Some shit about wanting to set a good example for the younger guys, but even Cale goes out every once in a while.”

You thought about the last time you had seen Cale drunk, all rosy cheeks and awkward limbs, and giggled; Nate had been responsible for getting him home, and he’d ended up crashing in your guest room, and then he laid around all day nursing a hangover. Then you thought about how Nate had started FaceTiming you from hotel rooms again, always at the exact same time, without fail. Maybe you shouldn’t have been surprised that Nate had sworn off the dive bars they went to in every city. 

The game started back up, and you and Mel refocused, letting the conversation die in favor of yelling at the TV.

You started going to games more often again, not every game, but as many as you could handle. You were no longer anxious every time you stood waiting for Nate in the hallway after a game, and he still shot you one of those small, shy smiles every time he saw you. You always told him when you’d be at games now, but he seemed to be surprised every time he saw you outside the locker room, like you would decide you’d had enough, would give up on him. You went out with the boys a couple of times, too, after some particularly fun wins. Nate stuck close to you the entire night those times, plastered to your side, keeping an eye on you when you went to dance or get another drink. 

You heard the boys chirping him about it when they thought you weren’t listening. It was all gentle really, teasing him for guarding you, the old comments about how gone he was for you. You liked the way he blushed all the way up to his ears when they teased him. 

Every time you got ready for your game, the jersey in the back of your closet seemed to be taunting you. The girls were getting less subtle about the looks they gave you when you showed up to games without it. At least you had dug your Avs baseball cap out. 

It was nearing the end of the season, and the Avs were still sitting comfortably at the top of the Conference, just cruising into the playoffs. It was the middle of March before you looked at that jersey with the A on the front and MacKinnon sprawled across the back and tugged it off the hanger and over your head.

Mel didn’t say anything when you climbed into her car, but you saw the small smile before she turned and started driving again. 

The Avs ended up losing. Nate looked dejected when he came out of the locker room, but then he glanced up and saw you standing there in his jersey; he did a double take before you were being swept up in his arms.

Nate hugged you tightly, pressing his face into your hair. You could hear the rest of the boys coming out of the locker room, but the world condensed until it was just you and Nate, wrapped up in each other, warm and safe. You didn’t want to pull away.

Eventually, EJ yelled something about sharing your attention, and you broke apart. Nate had knocked your hat off in his haste, and you quickly dried the few tears that had slipped out as he bent to pick it up. Nate placed it backwards on your head and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I was afraid I’d never get to see you wearing my number again,” he whispered before EJ was on you.

This year, when April rolled around, the Avalanche didn’t go home quietly to lick their wounds and recover. No, they were back in the playoffs, and they were back with a vengeance. 

“Hey, you’ll- will you come to the playoff games?” Nate asked one afternoon just before Round One started. 

You were lying on his couch with Cox on your chest. You both looked up at Nate’s words, and you craned your neck around to see Nate better where he was standing behind you.

“Do you want me to come to the games?” you asked, a little confused. Nate shuffled his feet and shoved his hands deeper into his sweatpant pockets. 

“Only if you want to,” he muttered. 

You turned fully then, causing Cox to jump off and pout at you. You reached out and grabbed one of Nate’s wrists and pulled him closer to you. He towered over you from your spot on the couch.

“I will be at every single game, and I will be cheering for you while wearing your name across my back,” you told him. Nate blinked down at you. You squeezed his hand and stood up. Nate was still staring after you as you walked out of the living room.

If someone had asked you in August or even October where you’d be if the Avs made it to the playoffs, you could’ve never told them the right answer. You could have never imagined that you would be walking into Pepsi Center for Game 1 against the Oilers, much less that you had been looking forward to this night for days. Your coworkers had all made fun of you that morning because you hadn’t been able to focus at all. They even caught you smiling at your phone when Nate had texted you around lunchtime, telling you how excited he was to see you after the game.

You weren’t going to live that down any time soon. 

You changed into your jersey before leaving work, drove straight to the Pepsi Center, and made it just in time to catch some of warm-ups. Mel pulled you aside as soon as you had said your hellos to everyone and thrust a denim playoff jacket with MacKinnon on the back at you.

“Mel,” you warned.

“Shut up,” she said, shaking the jacket at you. “I know you two still have some issues, but you are dating again, so you’re wearing the fucking jacket.”

You stuck your tongue out at Mel, but took the jacket. It was cute, you thought, looking closer at it. And it was true, you were still moving slowly, but you were technically dating Nate. Mel was still looking pointedly at you with her arms crossed, so you sighed and tugged the jacket on over your jersey. 

The other girls all squealed when you rejoined them, and you lost track of the number of pictures that were taken. You didn’t hesitate to edit your favorites and post them to your Instagram, MacKinnon proudly spread across your shoulders. 

They won, but it was close, and chippy and chirpy as playoff games always were. The boys on the ice were feeding off the energy of the crowd, and the crowd was feeding off the energy of the boys. It was a fight, but the Avalanche left the ice with a win at the end of the night.

The energy was still high, but carefully controlled, by the time all the families made it down to the locker room. One of the double doors stood ajar, and through it you could see the boys bouncing around, all in various states of undress, blasting music and yelling.

Nate was still grinning when he finally made his way out to you. He wrapped you up in a hug without taking a good look at you, but when he let you go, he caught sight of the jacket you were still wearing. He grabbed you by the shoulders and spun you around once before twisting you to face him again.

“Jesus, Mack, you’re making me dizzy, babe,” you laughed.

Nate just hugged you again, this time tighter than the last. 

The series with the Oilers went to seven games, because of course it did. You were starting to suspect that at least three different Avalanche players were secretly nursing injuries, but ignoring them, because of course they were. 

Nate asked you to come over the night before Game 7. He was quiet while he cooked dinner, and even your forced attempts at conversation while you ate fell flat. When Nate stood up and dropped his plate into the sink with a clatter, you jumped up and grabbed his arm, made him face you.

“Nate, I’m not doing this again. You asked me to come over, I’m here, and you’re all shut down like you were all last year.” Something like pain and sadness flashed across Nate’s face. “So you’re either going to talk to me, or I’m going home,” you said. 

Nate rubbed a hand across his face, and he suddenly looked very tired. “I know, I’m sorry, fuck, I’m just worried.”

You wrapped your arms around Nate’s waist and felt him lean into you. “Do you wanna watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine?”

Nate nodded and let you lead him into the living room, but pulled his phone out as soon as he sat down. You had a feeling he was rereading scouting reports again.

“Nope,” you said, plucking his phone out of his hands and locking it. Nate gaped at you for a second before he lunged. You held the phone behind your back, but Nate grabbed you around the waist and threw you onto the couch. He grinned down at you for a moment before he was tickling you, making you giggle and squirm.

“Nate, stop!” you gasped. “You’re not gonna get your phone back.” 

Nate paused, his eyes looking deep into yours. He was still leaning over you, your legs twisted together, and you could feel his breath against your cheeks. He pressed a kiss to your nose.

You found yourself wanting to close the distance between you, kiss Nate for real, but you weren’t sure if you were there yet. 

He hovered over you for a minute more in silence; you hardly dared to breathe. And then Cox barked at something outside, and the moment was over. Nate rolled off of you, but he tugged you up until you were cuddled into his side.

It was another close game the next night, but the team always seemed to play better at home, when the screaming crowd was screaming for them, not against. You watched anxiously as Nate stood on the blue line during the anthems, shuffling his skates back and forth, but he seemed calm, focused. 

When the final buzzer sounded, and the Avs won, you were already on your feet with the rest of Pepsi Center; you weren’t sure you had sat down the entire game.

You jumped into Nate’s arms outside of the locker room, his teammates’ shouts echoing off of the walls around you. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered.

The Avs went down 2-0 to start the second round. You hadn’t been able to make it to the second game because you got stuck at work late, but you had watched from home; you wore your MacKinnon jersey, even though no one was around to see you. It wasn’t a pretty game, either. The Avs had been sloppy and took a lot of penalties, and you could see Nate’s frustration through your TV.

You weren’t surprised, then, when Nate showed up at your apartment door, still in his game-day suit, but looking rumpled and more than a little upset. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to, because you just turned and let him follow you into your apartment.

“Do you want food?” you asked. “I doubt I have anything diet approved, but there’s ice cream and popcorn.”

But Nate shook his head, kicking off his dress shoes and stripping his suit jacket. “Can I change?” he asked instead, holding up a small bag you hadn’t even noticed at first. 

You just nodded and settled on the couch to wait while Nate made his way to your bathroom. When he came back in a hoodie and sweatpants, he looked distinctly less stiff, but there was still something like pain in his eyes.

“C’mere,” you said softly, tugging him onto the couch with you. You let Nate maneuver the two of you until you were on your back with Nate squarely on your chest, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. Only then could you feel some of the tension in his back and shoulders start to disappear.

The minutes passed in silence for a while before Nate spoke. “Did you watch?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied, idly rubbing Nate’s back in circles. 

“Was it as bad as it seemed on the ice?”

You paused. “Worse. You guys were a mess,” you said honestly. Nate sighed and pressed his face deeper into your chest. “What happened? We all know you guys are better than that.”

Nate shrugged as best as he could from his position on top of you. Honestly, he made for a great weighted blanket, but he was starting to crush you a little.  “Would you come to the games this weekend? If I got you a plane ticket?” he asked suddenly. “I know you have to work on Friday, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but-”

You moved your hand into Nate’s hair, and he stopped talking. When he lifted his head and rested his chin on your collarbone, he looked nervous. You carded your fingers through his hair, once, twice, watching Nate’s eyes close before you answered with a question of your own. “Do you want me there?” you asked. It wasn’t the first time you had asked Nate this question since the playoffs had started, but you needed to hear the words straight from his mouth. Needed to hear him say he wanted you, needed you, that whatever was happening between you wasn’t one-sided. 

This time, Nate didn’t look away from your eyes when he answered you. “Yes.”

You insisted that Nate stay the night, although he didn’t put up much of a fight. You had eventually turned on a movie, and he had started smiling more, but you could still see the desolate look in his eyes. You had seen a lot of that look last season.

You were laying in the dark, both of you on your sides facing each other. Nate’s eyes were closed, but you could tell he wasn’t asleep yet. You were busy tracing the lines in his forehead, his jawline hidden beneath the playoff beard, wondering what he would do if you reached out for real and touched his face, when he asked you a question.

“Do you think we can do this?” His eyes were open now, that blue you loved so much clouded with doubt.

You did reach out and touch Nate’s face then, brushing your thumb across the creases in his forehead and then his cheek. “I know you can do this,” you said confidently. That confidence must have shown through in your voice, because Nate lifted his hand to yours and smiled at you.

You fell asleep holding hands. 

St. Louis was hot. It was still only late spring, but it was humid as hell as soon as you stepped off the plane. You had managed to take Friday off, and Nate had pulled some strings to get you a room in the team hotel on short notice, but you still had to fly in and Uber to the hotel on your own.

Nate hugged you hello, but it was Burky who dragged you off to take a pregame nap with him. You grinned at Nate over your shoulder, and you were pleased that he looked distinctly disgruntled.

Enterprise Center was just as loud as the Pepsi Center had been during Round 1. You stood out in your burgundy jersey in a mass of blue. You got some looks as you made your way through the concourse towards your seat. You wondered vaguely if Nate had to call in any favors with Brayden or Ryan to get you tickets to the games. You weren’t sure when you had last been to a hockey game without the rest of the Avs’ WAGs by your side; it felt strange to be alone. 

Nate’s eyes searched the crowd during warm-ups. He finally found you and smiled stupidly at you, until Burky went flying into him, and they both went sprawling. 

The Avalanche won, 3-0 in a game that silenced the crowd at Enterprise.

Nate hadn’t been able to get you a VIP pass, so you made your way out onto the street with the rest of the fans, except you were the only one excited that the Blues had lost. Nate texted you while you waited for an Uber: “wait up for me at the hotel?”

You smiled down at your phone. “of course.”

You were still in the hotel lobby when the team poured off the bus. They were loud still, and you could tell that they were lighter than they had been earlier that night. EJ beat everyone else over to you. 

“Y/N, you’re officially our good luck charm, and you’re never allowed to miss another game,” he told you. 

You laughed and leaned into EJ’s side. “I’ll be sure to tell my work that,” you said. 

EJ rested his chin on the top of your head as you both watched several of his teammates play-fight near the doors. “Who knows, maybe they’ll thank you for it.”

Nate made his way over to the two of you. He was laughing at something Gravy was saying, and you took a moment to look at how his eyes crinkled when he laughed like that. 

“Trying to steal my girl, Eej?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

You tried not to think about how pleased it made you feel to hear Nate call you his girl again. 

“Always,” EJ replied easily, but let you go to follow Nate to the elevators. 

As the doors closed behind you, Nate pulled you close. “Thank you for coming tonight,” he mumbled. 

You tilted your head up to look at him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else right now,” you told him, and you meant it. 

You dragged a bunch of the boys to the zoo the next morning. JT sat on a bench in the butterfly house long enough that a butterfly landed on his hat. Josty, on the other hand, was weirdly fascinated by all of the insects, and you had to tell him more than once not to run inside. EJ and Cale complained until you went into the penguin house. You had to tell Z that he was almost certainly too big to fit on the train, but you couldn’t convince any of them that they couldn’t go on the carousel; they insisted you go on it with them. You took a great video of a highly-amused Burky playing with the seals at the glass. 

Nate held your hand the entire time you walked. When you pulled your phone out to take the video of Burky, you found that you had several texts from the boys, all pictures of you and Nate. Nate tugging your hand to go look at the elephants. Nate smiling at you while you laughed at Tyson. Nate reaching for you while you sat next to him on the carousel.

You saved all of them to your camera roll. 

The Avs won the next night, too, and suddenly the series was tied. Nate asked you to come to his hotel room after the game, and you both fell asleep while watching a movie. 

The Pepsi Center was deafening on the night of Game 5, and soon the Avs were up 3-2 in the series, instead of being on the verge of elimination. The team was playing with a new energy, too, and you thought they may have been yelling louder than the crowd when Mikko scored to end it in overtime. 

They went back to St. Louis, and Nate FaceTimed you from his hotel room. You could hear EJ and Gabe arguing over what to order from room service in the background. 

“I miss you,” Nate said when you answered the call.

“We miss you, too!” Gabe yelled from somewhere on the other side of the room. Nate rolled his eyes.

When EJ flopped down on the bed next to Nate, he groaned, but let him rest his head on his shoulder to talk to you too. 

You watched alone from your couch as they fought through Game 6. You stopped breathing for a while when Cale took a bad hit and disappeared off the bench for part of the second period, but he came back and scored a goal during his first shift. Burky scored a goal, too, and you thought for a minute he was going to fight Brayden Schenn until Nate stepped in. The game was still tied going into the third, and then it was halfway through the third, and then suddenly the puck was flying off Naz’s stick and landing neatly in the net behind Binnington. 

Your scream might have woken a few neighbors.

Nate FaceTimed you from the locker room, and soon your screen was filled with the sweaty, but happy, faces of the boys, all clamoring to say hi to you. Nate eventually fought them off, and it was just him and his broad shoulders on your phone, and you wished you were there to hug him. 

You all watched from Gabe’s house as San Jose beat the Flames in 7, and the Conference Finals became a rematch of the 2019 playoffs. 

André got injured in Game 1, some lower body thing that had probably been bothering him for weeks, but eventually his leg gave out on the ice. He showed up at your apartment door the way Nate had in the second round. 

“Nate said something about comfort cuddles?” was what he said when you pulled open your door and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Come in here, you idiot,” you said. 

You tried not to notice how he limped through your doorway and into your living room. He flopped gracelessly onto your couch, curls peeking out from underneath his baseball hat. 

“Do you want junk food?” you asked as he pouted at you. He nodded, still shooting you sad looks as he clutched a pillow to his chest. You sighed at him, shaking your head fondly, and went to retrieve a tub of cookie dough ice cream from the fridge and a couple spoons from the drawer.

You threw the spoon at Burky, and he caught it, a small smirk on his face now. “You eat ice cream out of the tub often?” he asked.

“How do you think I got through breaking up with Nate?” you replied, peeling off the lid and digging out a chunk of cookie dough with your spoon.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see André’s face fall, and he winced; you didn’t think it was because of the injury. “Shit, sorry,” he murmured, reaching across you to get his own spoonful of ice cream. He dropped his head to rest on your shoulder. “He talks about you all the time, y’know. He always used to, but it stopped last season, and we never knew why. Then all of a sudden after Christmas, it started again.” You ate your ice cream thoughtfully. “He’s so much happier now. We could have the worst fucking game ever, but he knows he has you again, so it’s okay.”

You rested your head on top of Burky’s. “I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. But, fuck, it feels good, it feels right, Bura.”

Burky hummed; his spoon scraped the bottom of the cardboard carton. “You’re out of ice cream,” he said. You flicked his nose. “I’m glad you’re back. We missed you,” he added softly. 

You knocked his hat off so you could play with his curls. They were grown out, and honestly you would take any excuse to play with them. He melted into you as you carded your fingers through his hair. He looked young sitting there on your couch, and you had to remind yourself that he was older than Nate, that he’d already won a Cup with the Caps.

André came over again to watch Game 2 with you, instead of watching alone from the press box. You sat curled into his chest on the couch, until Gabe scored a goal and he jumped up, knocking you off his lap and onto the floor. You had pouted at him as he helped you up, laughing his ass off, but from then on you just stretched your feet into his lap.

The Avs had won Games 1 and 2, and you could all feel the tension and frustration that San Jose was facing– you had all felt it yourselves just a couple of weeks before. Ashley’s nails dug into your arm as you watched Naz mouthing off to a Sharks player, his old beef with Joe Thornton spilling over, about to drop the gloves, but the refs stepped in– a couple of you booed a little, but Ashley’s grip just tightened– and it was over. Except it wasn’t, because then Naz got hit behind the play, and you were starting to think Ashley was drawing blood, even as Naz got up, albeit a little slowly, a little dazed. It wasn’t until he came back onto the ice for his next shift that she let go, but she did also sigh and say, “I need a stronger drink,” before swallowing the last of her wine in one big gulp.

They split the road games. The team plane landed in Denver in the late afternoon, and Nate came straight to your apartment to pick up Cox. He ended up coming inside and accidentally took a nap with you on the couch. He stayed for dinner, too, and only left reluctantly at the end of the night. 

Nate scored a hat trick in Game 5. You flung your hat down onto the ice with the rest of Pepsi Center, screaming with Mel as Gabe and Mikko tackled him to the ice. There was still time left on the clock, but it didn’t matter, because the game was as good as won.

 The Colorado Avalanche were going to the Stanley Cup Finals. 

Nate swept you up in a giant hug outside the locker room, spinning you around and squeezing you until you couldn’t breathe, but you never wanted to let go.

You reached up to cup his cheek– and that playoff beard that was still going very strong– and beamed at him. “I told you you could do this,” you told him, just see his grin turn shy. “And you owe me a new hat.”

“I will buy you any hat you want,” Nate promised, but then Josty swept past you and jammed a hat on your head. You took it off to look at it: Western Conference Champions. “But I kinda like the way that one looks on you. 

Nate asked you to come over the next night to watch the Eastern Conference Finals, Pens against the Flyers. He paced around the house through the entire pregame show, and you and Cox watched him, bemused, from the couch. 

“You good over there, babe?” you asked as Nate stood next to you and looked anywhere but the TV. 

“What if I don’t want the Pens to win this?” he blurted. You raised an eyebrow at him. “You know I love Sid, but I don’t know if I could handle facing him in the Finals.” 

You laughed a little and made him sit down on the couch next to you. “I’m sure Sid will forgive you,” you told him. 

He may not have wanted to face off against his best friend and childhood hero in the Cup Finals, but that didn’t stop him from cheering when Sid scored a goal, or cussing out Konecny for a dirty hit. It didn’t matter, though, because no matter how fast or angry the Pens were, the Flyers were faster and angrier. The Pens weren’t about to go down without a fight, but an empty net goal from Giroux with less than a minute left sealed their fate. Nate texted Sid an apology while you watched the teams shake hands on the ice, and you knew he meant it, but you could also see how he relaxed for the first time all night. 

Sid showed up in Denver with Nate’s family just before the Cup Finals started. 

“Didn’t feel like going home yet,” was the only excuse he offered, but you both knew how much it meant to Nate that he was there. 

Nate’s family stayed in a hotel, but Sid moved into the guest bedroom. A bunch of your things had started to migrate from your apartment and into that guest room, so you carried them into Nate’s bedroom. Nate watched with his arms crossed from the doorway, pretending to be stoic, but his cheeks were pink.

You were in the kitchen later, making lunch, when Nate came in and hovered near you. You bumped him out of the way with your hip.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

“Do you wanna just stay over here during the Finals?” he mumbled, fidgeting with the drawstring on his hoodie. “It’ll be easier, since you’re going to all the games and stuff, to just come over here at the end of the night.”

You looked up at him; he looked back at you from underneath his eyelashes. “Sure,” you replied, going back to making your lunch. You already had a toothbrush at Nate’s, anyway. “I’ll have to go get some clothes later, though.”

Nate mumbled a “Cool,” before kissing the top of your head and leaving.

Sid came in a minute later and raised his eyebrows at you. You just pointed your knife threateningly at him. 

You had never seen the Pepsi Center so loud. The noise had been deafening throughout the playoffs, but it had reached a fever pitch for the Cup Finals. Even when it was quiet, it wasn’t silent, a constant buzz of excited voices filling the arena.

You stood with the rest of the WAGs, in your jersey and denim jacket, Nate’s family and Sid by your side, and you caught yourself thinking that this was somewhere you wanted to be for the rest of your life. 

They lost Game 1, but Nate still smiled when you met him outside the locker room. He and EJ were both moving gingerly after a weird three-way collision with a Flyers player in the second. EJ still wrapped you in a hug, though, even if he groaned when Sammy plastered himself across his back. 

“You’re supposed to be our good luck charm, Y/N, what the fuck?” he teased. You dug your elbow into his bruised ribs in response. “Geez, I forgot how mean you are to all of us,” he said, rubbing his side. 

Nate laughed, settled his hands on your hips. You stuck your tongue out at EJ. 

“Wanna head home?”  he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Want me to drive?” you asked. Josty, who was walking past, stopped and raised his eyebrows, but JT dragged him away. Nate just pressed his keys into your hand. 

Nate wasn’t quiet on the drive home like you’d expected. He didn’t stop talking from the time the car door closed behind him until you pulled into his driveway. He complained about the Flyers, the refs, his own playing. It had been a while since Nate just let himself complain about hockey to you. It was nice to hear it again. 

Nate pulled you close in the dark that night, and you fell asleep wrapped up in his arms, wearing one of his T-shirts. 

When they won Game 2, you thought the Can was going to explode. 

The team plane left the next morning for Philadelphia. All of the wives and girlfriends piled onto a plane of your own and followed them. You took a nap in Nate’s hotel room in a pile with Cale and Burky while Nate watched film.

The Flyers seemed more powerful in front of their own crowd. They hit harder and chirped meaner, and all of their fans in orange yelled for them. Nate left after a slash to the wrist in Game 3, and the Flyers used that to their advantage. He was back the next night, but the Flyers still took both home games.

Nate was tense when you made it home to Denver. You and Sid shared looks behind his back when he came home late from skate, or sat down immediately after dinner to watch game film again. He was still icing his wrist. 

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Sid whispered to you as you both stood in the hallway and looked in on Nate. He had the TV on and his iPad in his lap and gave absolutely no indication that he knew you were watching him.

“I had to do this all last season,” you hissed back. “It’s your turn, Crosby!”

“You’re his girlfriend!”

“You’re his best friend!”

“I can hear you two,” Nate called, his eyes still not leaving the video in front of him. Okay, maybe your whispered argument with Sid wasn’t as quiet as you’d thought it was. “What time is it?”

Sid said, “Late,” at the same time you said, “Bedtime.” You looked at each other and tried not to burst out giggling. Nate sighed, but he turned off the TV and tossed his iPad onto the couch cushions. 

“I’ll meet you upstairs, yeah?” he said, kissing your forehead and holding up the now-melted ice pack he’d been using. You must’ve given him a skeptical look, because he chuckled and added, “I promise. And I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

You used Nate’s shoulder for balance as you stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. As much as you loved the beard and the playoffs, you couldn’t wait for him to shave; you were getting tired of kissing that. 

If the Flyers thought they would have it easy coming back to Denver, that the Avalanche would go down without a fight, they were very much mistaken. In fact, there was an actual fight early in Game 5, between Farabee and Calvert, over who knows what, but it was enough to energize the Avs straight to 6 goals. They took the next game in Philly, too, though the score was a lot closer.

Soon, you were back in Denver, and it was the day before Game 7. Nate was quiet all day, and you and Sid mostly left him to himself. He went to practice, and you went to lunch with Sarah. You came home, and Nate was heading out for a run. 

You were taking your laundry out of the dryer and resigning yourself to going to bed alone when Nate came and found you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pressing himself along your back and burying his face in your neck. You rested your hands on his and leaned back into him

When he spoke, his beard tickled your neck. “I’m sorry I’ve been shitty, I’m just- what if we can’t win this?”

You turned in Nate’s arms and wrapped your arms around his neck. You were still holding one of his socks. “No matter what happens tomorrow night, your family will still love you. Your team will still love you. Denver will still love you. I will still love you.” You pressed a kiss to Nate’s temple.

You stood there, in the middle of the laundry room, for several more minutes. When Nate pulled back, his eyes were shining, but neither of you said anything more.

Later that night, you pulled Nate into your chest in bed, letting him be the little spoon. He sighed contentedly and relaxed into you. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

As you were drifting off to sleep, you heard Nate whisper, “I love you, too.”

When Nate left for the game the next afternoon, he didn’t kiss you, but it was a near thing. You weren’t sure what was holding you back anymore. You liked that Nate seemed to be waiting for you to decide. 

Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final was the most stressed you’d ever felt. You wanted to live in the moment forever. 

Sid sat next to you and let you squeeze his arm when you got nervous. Mel was on your other side, and she smacked you every time Nate or Gabe touched the puck, which was often, as if your eyes weren’t glued to the ice every second. Someone brought you a beer during the first intermission, but it went mostly untouched.

The game was a tame one, or about as tame as a Game 7 in the Stanley Cup Finals could be. Penalties went uncalled, and tempers were flaring. It was tied going into the second, and then again going into the third, even though both teams scored two more goals in the second period. Your hand was beginning to cramp from where you held onto Sid’s forearm, but all he did was take your hand in his after a while; you kept squeezing until you were sure even his fingers were numb.

And then Giroux high-sticked Gabe and made him bleed. There was no looking the other way from that, Giroux was sent to the box with a double minor, and suddenly the Avs were on a power play halfway through the third period. They didn’t need the full four minutes, though. They didn’t even need a full minute before Nate was on a breakaway, and the puck was up above Hart’s shoulder and safely in the net between one breath and the next. 

You screamed with the rest of Pepsi Center, but yours were mixed with a few tears, too.

You still didn’t relax, felt like you couldn’t breathe, because it wasn’t over until that final buzzer. 

You watched the clock tick down above center ice. Twenty seconds; you were on the edge of your seat. Ten seconds; you were on your feet. Five seconds; you were screaming. Zero seconds; you were hugging Mel and Sid and anyone else you could get your arms around.

You weren’t sure if you were screaming or crying, anymore. Nate looked up to where you were sitting, and you were sure you’d never seen him smile that big before. 

The Flyers filed off the ice, and you spared a half second to feel bad, because they had wanted this just as badly, but then you saw Nate and André hugging and yelling in each other’s faces. You thought about everything you’d gone through the last two seasons, and you thought that, just maybe, the Avalanche deserved this. 

A hush fell over the arena as Gabe skated over to pick up the Cup, but it exploded again as he lifted it over his head for the first time. When he handed it off to Nate next, and Nate kissed it before lifting it over his head, you were definitely crying, but you also couldn’t stop smiling. 

Everyone insisted that you come down to the ice, though a part of you wondered if you still counted, if you deserved to be there, too. Nate was hanging off of EJ when you stepped onto the ice with his parents, but he looked up and saw you. His face split into an even bigger grin than before. Without thinking, really, you launched yourself at Nate, and then you were both tumbling to the ice. 

Nate was sweaty and still entirely in all of his pads, but his arms were wrapped around you and that was all that mattered. You thought he was going to kiss you lying there on the ice, but he didn’t, just helped you up and let you latch onto him again.

“I am so fucking proud of you, Nathan MacKinnon,” you yelled in his ear, standing at center ice.

Nate went home to Cole Harbour, and you stayed in Denver. Except this summer, he texted you every day and called you most nights. From his couch with Cox by his side, from the dock under the stars, from Sid’s deck with a couple of beers. Not a day went by where you didn’t talk to Nate. 

You missed him, and you loved him, but this summer it was different. You wished you’d told him before he left, but there had been parties, and a parade, and a lot of alcohol, and it had never seemed like the right time. So you’d stayed quiet, resisted the urge to kiss Nate in front of all of Denver, to tell the world that he was yours, that your heart was his. 

You missed him, and you loved him, and you had to hold yourself back from ending every phone call with those three words, because he was in another country halfway across the continent, and it wouldn’t feel right to say it unless you were in his arms. 

You wondered if he knew, when you fell silent on FaceTime and just watched him talk with a smile on your face. You wondered if he could see the love in your eyes again, if it had ever really gone away. 

You wondered if, somehow, you’d missed your chance. 

Nate’s day with the Cup came in the beginning of August. He asked if you would come. You told him you couldn’t get off work. 

You booked a plane ticket to Halifax. 

You made Sid come pick you up from the airport. He didn’t love that he was being forced to keep a secret from Nate, but he gave you a warm hug when he saw you anyway. 

“Do you know what you’re gonna say?” he asked after you’d climbed into his truck and were making your way towards Nate’s house. 

You laughed. Sid had rolled the windows down, and your hair blew out the window and into the August air. “Nope. I’ve been thinking about this all summer, I flew all the way out here, and I have no clue what I’m going to say to Nate. ‘Surprise? I love you!’ What if he doesn’t even want me here?”

Sid scoffed. You turned to glare at him. “I have had to listen to Nate complain every single day that you’re not here. It got worse after you lied and told him that you weren’t coming for tomorrow. At one point, he even pretended to be offended that you wouldn’t even come for my birthday.” He took his eyes off the road to look at you. “Nate wants you here, Y/N. Hell, I think you’re the only person he wants here.”

You played with your necklace; it was the necklace Nate had given you a lifetime ago. Sid’s gaze followed your fingers. “I just wasn’t sure for so long, Sid. What if I made him wait too long? What if he moved on?”

“I promise you, he hasn’t. I don’t think he ever would.”

Sid pulled up in front of Nate’s house then, put his truck in park, turned to look at you. You didn’t move. The sun was just starting to set over the lake, turning the sky gold and pink. 

“Get out of my car, Y/N,” Sid said softly. “He’s probably around back.”

You sighed one last time and unbuckled your seatbelt, closing the car door softly behind you. You made your way quietly around the house, hoping Cox wouldn’t bark at you. You found Nate sitting in an adirondack chair near the water and started to head towards him when you had an idea. 

You pulled your phone out and opened Nate’s contact. You didn’t hesitate before pressing the call button. You heard his FaceTime ring once, twice before the call connected and his face filled your phone screen. 

“Hey, Y/N! I was just about to call you actually,” Nate said, grinning at you. 

You suddenly hoped that you didn’t look like too much of a mess after your five hour flight. 

Nate squinted at his phone, at you. “Where are you? The sun shouldn’t be setting in Denver yet.”

“Huh? Oh, I’m, uh, not in Denver,” you said. Nate looked confused; you had started walking towards him again, were nearly right behind him. 

You would make fun of him for not realizing you were standing right behind him later. 

“Then where-” Nate cut himself off. He jumped up from his chair and spun around, finally saw you standing there. There, in Cole Harbour. 

You barely had time to hang up the call before Nate was tackling you to the grass in a hug. 

“Oof, Nate, babe, you’re crushing me a little.”

“Don’t care. You’re here!” Nate said back. Then he pushed himself up a little, rested his weight on his hands. “You’re here. What’re you doing here? I thought you said-“

You laughed, and it echoed off the quiet lake. “I decided to surprise you.”

Nate brushed your hair out of your face and rested his hand on your cheek before dipping back down and pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re really here.”

You turned your head to kiss his palm. “Yeah, Nate. I’m here.”

Nate smiled dumbly down at you for a few more minutes. If you didn’t look a mess before, you certainly did now, sprawled out on the ground in sweatpants and a T-shirt, grass in your hair. You raised your own hand to cup Nate’s cheek. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, rested it against your palm.

The sun was still setting, and you could see the sky turning colors over his head. Nate rolled off of you and settled in the grass next to you. You reached over and grabbed his hand, twining your fingers together. Above you, the sky was all kinds of pinks and purples and blues. 

“I’ve been thinking,” you said. Nate stiffened next to you. “I asked you to be patient with me. I said I couldn’t jump in headfirst. And you’ve been so good, so sweet. You’ve let me make all the decisions this time around. And you’ve waited on me for so long.”

“I would wait forever,” Nate breathed. You huffed out a laugh.

“Well, here’s the thing.” Nate looked away from the sky for the first time since you started talking and looked over at you. You rolled, pushing yourself up to straddle Nate’s hips. He propped himself up on his elbows, and you rested your hands on his shoulders, looking into Nate’s eyes. He looked apprehensive, but quietly hopeful. “I’m done waiting. I love you, Nate. I’m not sure I ever stopped. I needed you to prove that I could believe in you again. And, God, that’s all you’ve done since Christmas. From Cox, to the FaceTimes, to all of our little dates. Through the playoffs. I spent all summer wishing I’d said something before you left, stopping myself from saying something every time we talked on the phone.”

Nate’s hands had come up to rest on your waist, thumbs rubbing circles on your skin underneath your T-shirt. He still was looking at you like everything you were saying was too good to be true. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asked.

You had enough time to nod and laugh before Nate was leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. It was familiar and new and exhilarating all at once. It felt like coming home.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kissed Nate, or how long you’d been wanting, dreaming, wishing for it again. It didn’t matter anymore, though, because Nate was squeezing your hips and kissing you slowly, deeply. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he never wanted to be doing anything else. 

He eventually pulled away for air, resting his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing in the small space between you.

“I love you so much, Y/N. And I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to do that again.” He kissed you again, just a quick peck. “And now I’m never, ever gonna stop.” He started pressing kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, before coming back and kissing your lips again. 

The sun had set fully by now, and you shivered. Nate was still radiating heat, and he rubbed his hands over your bare arms. 

“Do you wanna go inside?” he asked. You shook your head, tilting your head back to look up at the stars as they appeared. “Okay, well let me go get you a sweatshirt or a blanket or something.” He tapped your thigh, and you climbed off his lap and stretched. 

Nate made his way back up to the house, and you wandered out to the end of the dock. The water was warm when you dipped your feet in. 

It wasn’t more than a couple of minutes before you heard Nate’s footsteps in the grass again. You turned and saw him carrying a familiar sweatshirt from your college. 

“Hey, wait that’s mine!” you said. 

Nate blushed. “I, uh, found it last summer, and never really gave it back.”

You grinned at Nate as you pulled the sweatshirt over your head. It smelled like him. “I just thought I left it at your house, and you got rid of it or something. But apparently you’ve been wearing it,” you teased. 

Nate blushed darker. “I sleep with it, sometimes,” he admitted. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore, but I still like it.”

You laughed. “Aw, you really are going soft, Mack.”

Nate just grabbed your hand and tugged you closer so he could kiss you again. 

“I really believed you when you said you weren’t coming for tomorrow, y’know,” Nate said quietly. “I was trying to figure out how I’d fucked up, what I’d done to make you pull away.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and played with his hand in your lap. “I always wanted to be here for your day with the Cup. I need you to know, to understand, how proud of you I am, how proud of you I’ve always been. At first, I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to come-” Nate scoffed; you elbowed him. “But then I started figuring out how I could surprise you. Besides, I missed this place.” You waved your hand vaguely towards Nate’s house and the lake. “And you, I guess,” you added.

Nate bumped your head with his shoulder. “How did you get here, anyway?” he asked.

“Sid,” you said simply.

Nate groaned. “I hate him. He told me he couldn’t golf today because he got guilted into spending time with Taylor!”

You both fell silent, just watching the stars and listening to the cicadas and frogs. 

“Hey, what did you wish for on that shooting star we saw?” you asked suddenly, your head still resting on Nate’s shoulder.

Nate looked confused for a moment before he softened. “This,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I wanted exactly this, for you to be happy, for us to be together.” You looked up at him, and he kissed you softly again. “Winning the Cup was a nice bonus,” he added, grinning at you. 

You shoved at Nate, but it didn’t really do much. “You’re an idiot,” you said, but you were smiling fondly at him, so it kind of ruined the effect. 

“Yeah, but you love me,” he responded, pulling you into a sideways hug.

“Yeah,” you said. “I do.”

You fell asleep next to Nate, which wasn’t new, but the kiss he gave you before you closed your eyes was. 

You spent the next day with Nate, his family, and the Cup. Sid took every opportunity to talk about how good Nate is, how proud he was. You were pretty sure it was mostly just to see how flustered Nate got every single time. How he’d splutter and blush and struggle to change the subject, but someone always brought it back to hockey, because how could you not, when you were standing next to the Stanley Cup? Whenever Nate wasn’t holding the Cup with both hands, his hand was in yours, or on your hip, or at the small of your back. He would never admit it, but you could tell he was absolutely having the time of his life, basking in the glory and the attention. No longer just the second best thing to come out of Cole Harbour, if even for a moment. For the first time, Nate was in the spotlight.

And you were right by his side the whole time, in every picture, in every memory. 

That night, after everyone had gone home and the Cup had moved on, you sat next to Nate on the couch with Cox as he went through pictures that had been taken that day. Ten minutes later, your phone lit up with an Instagram notification: @mackinnnon29 tagged you in a post. You looked sideways at Nate, but his phone was down and his eyes were on the TV. You unlocked your phone.

There were two pictures on the post. Both were of you and Nate, the Cup hoisted high over his head, glinting in the sun. In the first you were just gazing up at Nate while he grinned down at you, a loving smile of your own on your face; in the second, you were kissing, your hand on his shoulder.

His caption was simple: I’ve got everything I could ever need right here next to me.

[wolfs-hunt1]

Draco x reader

Pairing: Draco x Gryffindor reader

Summary: Your final game of quiditch of the season and your team wins, leading to a after party in the room of requirements with your boyfriend

Word count: 1635

A/N: I’ve started this last year and only now got around to finishing it, I’m so sorry it’s bad

Warnings: under age drinking, sorry for any typo

--- --- --- --- ---

Being a chaser had its perks. For one, it improved your reflexes outside of the pitch, so you were one of the best snowball fighters Hogwarts has ever seen during the winter months. And for another, you looked hot in your Quidditch robes. But being a chaser for the team wasn't always fun and games.

There were no dull moments during the game, to which you were actually thankful for, there was always something to do always someplace to be, and five other chasers to pay attention to, not to mention the other players. This also meant that there was never a moment where you could stop to rest. You would always have to pay attention. One distraction and it could mean the other team's Chaser took the quaffle and could score 10 points, and that could mean losing the match on some occasions.

Not quite like a Seeker, where all they did was sit atop a broom the entire game searching for a little golden ball. That ought to be boring, although the longer the game dragged on the more prone to tiredness one would get, despite what position they occupied.

This was the last game of the season, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. The most awaited match, the most rival teams, both with the most to lose. The winning team would win the Quidditch cup and seal the fate of the year, bringing great pride to their house, and they head of the house.

The score was 200 to 190, Gryffindor on the lead, it was a very head-to-head game, each team never letting the other score too much before closing in on the difference, and the golden snitch was nowhere to be found. Not that you had had a moment to look around, but you could see, from the corner of your eye, the two seekers zooming in and out searching for it.

In fact, despite the fact that you couldn't see him, you felt his gaze on you more than once throughout the game. His grey icy eyes lingering on you whenever he flew overhead, his silver and green robes matching his pale blond hair, making it hard to miss him. In fact, his smirk was so annoying that the next time he flew close to you, you didn't even budge, colliding into his side and steering him off course before continuing with the quaffle to the opposing team's goalposts. His chuckled laugh the last thing you heard. He was so smug his team was going to win he wasn't even paying attention out for the snitch!

You looked over to Harry for just one second, only to find him focused on the game. 'Now that is a true seeker. You could learn something from him Malfoy.' you thought with a snarky grin before scoring the next goal. The two teams were once more tied when Slytherin scored 5 min later. Catching the snitch would be the only way to win the game if the scores were kept this close together.

Getting the grip on your broom tighter you zoom out of the way of the bludger one of the Slytherin beaters had thrown at you, barely avoiding getting hit by it and plummeting down to the ground below. You quickly regained the balance of your broom and angled it upwards, getting back to the game as if nothing had happened, but keeping a keen eye out for those beaters. You could see Fred shadowing you a bit more closely after that though, keeping the bludgers away from your vicinity.

You manage to intercept the quaffle and quickly make your way to the opposing goal posts, throwing the quaffle in the air and making a somersault with your broom, hitting the quaffle with its bristles, and scoring another 10 points to Gryffindor, making the crowd cheer out your name when all of a sudden the crowd goes silent, only Lee Jordan screaming out what was happening outside of your field of view.

Apparently, both Harry and Draco had spotted the elusive golden snitch and were both toe to toe after it, everyone was holding in their breaths and even the remaining players had stopped playing to look at the seekers themselves, hearing on for their respective team member.

Most of the remainder of the game was a blur in the back of your mind. Harry had caught the snitch, and the entire Gryffindor house was at the pitch chanting the house name at the top of their lungs and carrying the Quidditch players above their heads, making you feel like you were floating in the air without the help of a broom.

Your ears kept the ringing from all the screaming, even after you were in the locker room, only the water from the shower making noise around you, washing out the sweat of the game from your body.

The Gryffindor tower was able with the after-party, which really started in the great hall during dinner and was brought back here so as to spare the Slytherins some of the humiliation the green-clothed pompous students were feeling.

Escaping the party was near impossible though, because either Freed or George always found you trying to sneak by partying students and manage to drag you right back to the thick of it, giving you another shot of firewhiskey they had managed to smuggle inside without the teacher's knowledge. You were starting to feel a bit hazy, but all the party noise was making your head pound more than it should on the basis.

So, after your fourth attempt at escaping, and after making sure both twins were busy with a small favor requested of Angelina, you finally managed to slip past them and the Fat Lady portrait, and slowly, so as not to trip over your own feet, making your way down the stairs, with the room of requirements as your destination.

Passing for a few seconds in front of the corridor the door to the room of requirements started to slowly appear, and as soon as it was fully visible you slipped inside, letting the door close behind you soundlessly. The room was too different from what you remembered from last year, the rows of piled-up furniture now contrasting with the way the room previously looked, despite it being able to change.

But this did provide you with some privacy in your nightly escapades since you could just hide behind a particularly dome-shaped pile and hope to not be noticed by anyone else. You made your way to this corner and noticed that he was already there, waiting for you atop the blankets and pillows you both had eventually brought there to make the corner more comfortable to spend the copious amounts of time you two spent there.

"You sure took your sweet time." the blond grumbled at you, pulling you to his lap once you were close enough, making you straddle his waste and sit comfortably on his thighs.

"Sorry, I had some trouble with getting away noticed." you slurred a bit on some words, making him push you a bit off his lat so he could look at you more clearly.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, with a scandalous tone on his lips, "And you didn't even wait to get drunk with me. I'm offended." his smirk was too distracting, though, making you not pay too much attention to his teasing words.

"Just shut up and kiss me, you git."

"With pleasure." the blonde says, raising his wands to your face and cupping your cheeks while his lips tentatively searched for your at first until he gained more intensity, kissing you like he was a starved man looking at a feast for the first time in forever.

"I'm sorry your team lost." you whisper in between kisses, moving your harms from his waist to his neck, getting closer to his body heat.

Draco stops kissing you for a second to look deep into your eyes, before answering: "I don't mind we lost, I got to stare at you play the entire time, and let me tell you, you were amazing. Just... don't tell my father that, he always expects ME to be more than great."

"Well, I did notice you totally spaced out during the game, but if I had known I was the cause of it, I would have made sure to acknowledge my fan." you giggle out at him, pecking his lips when he pouts a bit at you.

"So I've brought this for us to celebrate one of us winning, but I guess you already started celebrating without me." Draco says, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey from under his robes.

"I tried to get away sooner, but neither Fred nor George were having it, since I scored most goals for the team. But I'm here now to celebrate with you." he smiles at you and pours out some of the bottle's contents into two glasses, passing you one of them and toasting with you.

"To us, for the last game of the season, for the final days of the school year. For our two years together, and keeping it out of others noses." he laughs a bit when you mention that last part, remembering how hard it had been to keep your relationship hidden from every nosy person in the castle for this past two years, allowing the two of you to enjoy more together and giving no satisfaction to others.

For now, the two of you remain in your bubble, drunken kisses and cuddles leading to a sleepover in the room of requirements, and to a blissful few more moments together before having to catch the train to return home for summer vacations, until next school year rolled around bringing the two lovers back together once again.