Jo

Jo | she/her | 23 | european trying to keep up with the nhl  ABOUT ME: goalie defender first. leafs fan second. part time canes enjoyer. avs curious. unfortunately obsessed with too many players outside of these teams.

requests are: OPEN

-> main masterlist -> requests masterlist

Specials -> 100 follower celebration -> halloween special -> jo´s week of christmas prompts Series/collections -> pretending series masterlist -> Willy´s videos collection

yes more jarvy!!!!! I really hope the canes win tonight I already feel sick to my stomach 😭😭

Lovesick – Seth Jarvis

Seth had been in love with you for so long that it started to feel less like a crush and more like something stitched into him.

It was there when he woke up, when he got dressed, when he stepped onto the ice, and when he laid in bed at night staring at the ceiling. It followed him everywhere, quiet and constant, and no matter how hard her tried to act normal around you, it never faded.

You were his best friend, which somehow made it both better and worse.

Better, because he got to be close to you. Worse, because he was close enough to know exactly what he was missing.

Every time you smiled at him, he felt it. Every time you laughed and touched his arm, every time you leaned your head on his shoulder during movies, every time you texted him first, every time you called him when something good happened or something bad happened – he felt all of it far too deep.

And you never seemed to notice.

Or maybe you did, and Seth was too terrified to ask.

He hated how hopeless he felt around you.

Not because you were cruel. You were never cruel. You were warm and affectionate and trusting, and maybe that was part of the problem.

You treated him with so much love already that he didn’t know how to ask for more.

He couldn’t tell where friendship ended and where something else might begin. So, he stayed silent.

He told himself it was safer that was. Still, his feelings slipped out in smaller ways.

He was always there.

When you needed someone to pick you up, Seth was already grabbing his keys. When you were cold, he was handing you his hoodie before you could ask. When you mentioned liking something offhandedly – a certain snack, a book, a silly trinket – he remembered.

He always remembered.

You once told him, laughing, that he paid more attention to you than anyone else.

Seth nearly stopped breathing in that moment, but then you smiled, nudged him with your shoulder, and said “You´re seriously the best.”

The best.

Not the one you loved.

Just the best.

He smiled back anyway, because what else could he do?

“You deserve it,” he said, and he meant it more than you realized.

You deserved everything.

That was part of why he never pushed.

Seth was terrified that telling the truth would ruin what you already had. He couldn’t stand the idea of losing your late-night conversations or your easy affection or the way you looked for him first in crowded rooms.

So, he settled for wanting.

It was miserable.

----

His teammates noticed, of course.

They saw the way his entire face changed when you walked into a room. They saw how quickly he answered your texts, how often he talked about you, how his voice softened whenever he said your name.

“You know you´re down bad, right?” Jesperi told him once.

Seath groaned and threw a towel at him, but he couldn’t even deny it.

Because he was and pathetically so.

----

It got worse when you started talking about dates.

Not serious ones. Just casual stories, mentioning the same guy who flirted with you or someone who asked for your number.

Seth took it like a punch to the ribs every single time.

He tried to act supportive. “Did you like him?” “Was he nice?” “Do you want me to beat him up?”

You laughed at that one, like it was a joke.

Seth laughed too, even though part of him was painfully serious.

He didn’t want anyone else having your attention. He didn’t want anyone else learning the details he treasured, hearing your laugh up close, holding your hand, kissing you.

The thought alone made him sick.

But he never said that.

Instead, he listened.

And hurt.

----

One night, you were sprawled across his couch, rambling about another disappointing date, your shoes kicked off and your head resting against the armrest.

“I´m giving up,” you said dramatically. “Maybe I´m just impossible to love.”

Seth´s whole body went still.

He looked at you like you had said something unbelievable. “Don’t say that.”

Your eyes flicked to him, surprised by the sharpness in his voice.

“I´m serious,” he added, quieter now but somehow more intense. “Theres nothing impossible about loving you.”

The room went silent.

Your expression shifted, softer now, uncertain too.

Seth realized too late how much he had revealed.

His heart slammed against his ribs while you stared at him.

And Seth, poor hopeless Seth, looked away first, because he couldn’t bear it.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly feeling exposed. “You´re…” He swallowed. “You´re amazing. Any guy would be lucky.”

You were quiet for a moment, then you gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Seth.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

Unfortunately, Seth couldn’t let it go, because for one terrifying second, he thought maybe you had understood and maybe part of you had but you didn’t say it.

----

After that, things shifted – subtly, but enough for Seth to notice.

You looked at him longer sometimes. You hugged him tighter. You seemed almost nervous in moments where you had once been completely comfortable.

Seth didn’t know if it was good or bad.

He overthought everything.

Every glance. Every text. Every accidental touch.

He was losing his mind.

Then came the breaking point.

It was after one of his games.

You were waiting for him like always, wearing his jersey, smiling proudly, and Seth honestly thought you might be the death of him.

He was exhausted, sweaty, emotionally fragile, and completely gone for you.

You threw your arms around him the second he reached you. “You were incredible.”

Seth laughed breathlessly, holding you a little too tight. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I´m always proud of you.”

Always.

That word nearly destroyed him, because Seth wanted more than proud.

He wanted everything.

----

Before he could stop himself, he said your name. The tone alone made you freeze.

“What´s up?”

His hands were still resting on your waist. He should have moved them, but he didn’t.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

Your brows furrowed. “Do what?”

He looked terrified, which was rare for Seth. “Pretend.”

Your breath caught, and suddenly, everything became very still.

Seth´s voice shook slightly, but he kept going. “Pretend I´m okay just being your friend.”

Your entire expression changed.

Shock. Realization. Something deeper.

“Seth…”

“I´m in love with you,” he said, like he physically couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I´ve been in love with you for so long, and I tried not to be, because I didn’t want to ruin thins, and I didn’t want to lose you, but I can´t keep standing here acting like it doesn’t kill me when you talk about other guys.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed.

Seth looked miserable at the same time.

“I know this is unfair,” he added quickly. “And maybe you don’t feel the same, and if you don’t, I swear I´ll deal with it, I just – I need you to know.”

He was breathing hard by the end, like confessing had taken everything out of him.

You couldn’t speak for a second, because suddenly, all the little things made sense.

The constant devotion.

The was he always showed up.

The jealousy hidden under humor.

The tenderness.

The longing.

Oh.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Seth´s face fell slightly, clearly interpreting that as rejection and that was honestly ridiculous.

Because this boy – this beautiful, devoted, hopeless boy – had loved you right in front of your face, and somehow you hadn’t fully let yourself see it.

Until now.

Your hands came up to cradle his face. “Seth.”

He looked so nervous it almost broke your heart. “You idiot.”

His eyes widened, then you kissed him and Seth completely froze.

For one second, he didn’t move at all, like he genuinely couldn’t believe it was happening.

Then his hands tightened around you, and he kissed you back like he had wanted this for years.

Which, obviously, he had.

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t smooth. It was desperate and relieved and overflowing. Like finally coming home.

When you pulled back, Seth looked absolutely stunned. “You-“

“I am in love with you too,” you said, almost laughing.

His brain visibly struggled to process that. “What?”

You smiled, softer this time. “I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

Seth actually let out a disbelieving sound. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

He stared at you for another second before breaking into the most overwhelmed, joyful smile you had ever seem.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You laughed, and Seth kissed you again because apparently, he was making up for lost time.

“I spent all this time suffering,” he mumbled against your mouth.

“That sounds so dramatic.”

“I was tortured.”

You laughed harder, and Seth swore he would never get tired of being the reason.

----

From that point on, loving you openly became Seth´s favorite thing.

He was still hopelessly gone for you, but now he didn’t have to hide it.

He held your hand constantly. Kissed your forehead. Looked at you like you hung the stars.

His teammates were unbearable about it, but Seth didn’t care, because you were his and he was yours.

Every suppressed feeling, every painful moment of uncertainty, every second of silent yearning – it had all been worth it, because now, when Seth looked at you, he didn’t have to wonder.

Because he knew and if he sometimes still stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. After all, you had been the love of his life long before he ever knew how to tell you.

as someone that has tattoos and piercings I would LIVE for an NHLer to date someone like that ngl

Admired – William Nylander

You leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping your iced coffee while scrolling through your phone, only half paying attention to the TV playing softly in the background.

The morning sun filtered through the condo windows, warm against your skin and lighting up the tattoos that ran along your arms. Tiny pieces of art, each one a part of you.

The silver sings on your fingers caught in the light too, along with the small hoop in your nose and the collection of earrings climbing up both ears.

You had gotten used to the looks.

Some people stared because you were with William Nylander. Others stared because, standing beside the polished image most people expected from an NHL girlfriend, you looked different.

More edge, more attitude, more unapologetically yourself.

And William never just looked. He admired.

Even now, from where he sat at the dining table eating breakfast, you could feel it.

You glanced up, catching him staring openly.

His fork paused halfway to his mouth, his expression soft and almost stupidly lovestruck.

You raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “What?”

He blinked like he had been caught doing something embarrassing, then smiled. “Nothing.”

You snorted. “You were staring.”

“I know.”

His honesty made you laugh, and he leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered. “You´re just…” He shook his head, like he couldn’t properly explain it himself. “You´re hot.”

You rolled your eyes, but heat crept into your cheeks anyway. “Very romantic, Will.”

“I´m serious.”

He stood, abandoning his breakfast entirely, and crossed the kitchen toward you like he was being physically pulled in your direction.

His hands slid around your waist, fingers hooking lazily through the belt loops of your jeans.

“I mean it,” he said, quieter now.

His gaze dropped to the tattoo on your collarbone, the one he claimed was his favorite even though he said that about all of them. His thumb brushed lightly over it before he pressed a kiss there.

Then another.

Then one to your jaw.

“You´re beautiful.”

Your entire body softened.

It didn’t matter how many times he said it. It didn’t matter that you knew that he always meant it.

It always hit you the same way.

“You see me every day,” you murmured.

“Yeah,” he said easily, like it was obvious. “And?”

You laughed again, because of course that was his answer. William always acted like seeing you was still some kind of reward waiting for him in the morning or after a long day at practice.

Whether you were dressed up for events, sitting in one of his oversized hoodies, or fresh out of bed with messy hair and smudged eyeliner, he looked at you like he had won something.

It was almost disgusting.

In the best way.

----

Game nights were somehow worse.

Or better.

Depending on who asked.

You sat in your usual seat, wearing his jersey over black leather pants, your rings and piercings adding your own touch to the team colors.

Other wives and girlfriend often dressed differently – more polished, more expected – but you stopped worrying about the comparison a long time ago.

Mostly because they didn’t care about how you dressed and because William had made it impossible to care.

The second he stepped onto the ice for warmups; his eyes searched for you.

Every single time.

And every single time, he found you.

It didn’t matter how packed the arena was, his gaze locked onto yours and his entire face changed.

That soft, private smile appeared, reserved just for you.

You grinned and waved, and he skated closer to the glass, pretending to casually adjust his gloves while sneaking another look.

Your stomach flipped.

Beside you, one of the other girls laughed. “He literally never stops looking at you.”

You tried to play it cool, but you knew she was right. It was almost embarrassing how obvious he was.

During games, between whistles, from the bench – somehow, William always found moments to glance toward you.

Like checking that you were still there.

Like reminding himself.

After one game, a teammate had jokingly called him out for it.

“Bro, you spend more time staring at your girl than the puck.”

Willian had only shrugged, completely unfazed. “Can you blame me?”

You thought about that constantly, because no. No, apparently no one could.

----

There was one event in particular that really stayed with you.

A formal team dinner.

The kind where everyone dressed elegantly, where appearances mattered and where cameras flashed.

You had spent longer getting ready that usual, not because you felt pressured, but because you wanted to.

Black dress fitted perfectly. Tattoos visible. Heels sharp enough to kill. Your piercings glinted intentionally, and your confidence settled into place before you even left.

When you stepped out of the bedroom, William – already dressed in a tailored suit – completely froze.

Actually froze.

His mouth parted slightly. His eyes dragging over you slowly, from head to toe, then back up again.

“Oh my god,” he muttered.

You laughed. “What?”

He looked personally offended. “You cannot just walk out looking like that.”

“Like what?”

He moved toward you, almost dazed. “Like…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Jesus.”

His hand settled on your waist, and he just stared.

“You´re unreal.”

You smiled, suddenly shy. “You like it?”

His expression turned incredulous. “Like it?”

He leaned down, lowering his voice. “I´m about to fight every person in that room for even looking at you.”

You burst out laughing but you knew he wasn’t entirely joking.

The entire night, his hand never left you for long.

On your back. Your waist. Your hand.

And every time he thought you weren’t paying attention, you caught him looking again.

Across tables. During conversations. While you laughed with someone else.

That same expression.

Pure admiration, like he still couldn’t believe you were his.

By the end of the night, once you were finally alone in his care, you couldn’t help but tease him about it. “You were clingy today.”

William glanced over, looking entirely unapologetic. “I can´t help that you´re stunning.”

“That´s your excuse?”

“It´s the truth.”

He reached for your hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing your knuckles. “I love that you´re you.”

Your chest tightened. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged softly. “You don’t try to fit into anyone´s expectations. You´re just…” He smiled. “You. And I love every part of that.”

Your throat actually ached, because William wasn’t just saying he loved how you looked.

He loved what made you different.

The tattoos.

The piercings.

The confidence.

The sharp edges.

He loved all the things that made you feel most like yourself and somehow, he made you feel adored for them.

----

Quiet nights were your favorite, though.

No cameras. No team obligations. Just you and him.

You sat between his legs on the couch, his arms wrapped loosely around you with the dogs on either side of you and some random movie played unwatched on the TV.

His fingers traced absent patterns over your tattooed skin.

He did that often, like he could never stop touching, admiring and appreciating.

“This one is still one of my favorites,” he murmured, brushing over the ink on your forearm.

“You said that about three tattoos ago.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You always do.”

“Because you keep being cool.”

You laughed so hard you nearly snorted. “Cool?”

“Yeah.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “You´re the coolest person I´ve ever met.”

“That´s such a boyfriend answer.”

“It´s true.”

He shifted slightly, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I still remember when we first me.”

You smiled. “You were staring then too.”

“I was.”

“You were supposed to be listening.”

“I couldn’t.”

You turned your head enough to look him in the eyes. “Do you still remember why?”

His grin turned boyish. “You had that nose ring, those tattoos and that attitude…”

“Attitude,” you fake gasped.

He laughed. “You absolutely had an attitude.”

You gasped again. “I did not.”

“You did,” he laughed, leaning down to kiss you sweetly. “And I was obsessed immediately.”

Your heart did that annoying melty thing again. “Obsessed?”

“I still am.”

He said it so casually, like it was a fact. Like loving you was the easiest thing he had ever done.

And maybe it was, because William Nylander never made you feel like too much. Never made you feel like you needed softening. Never asked you to be anything other than exactly who you were.

Instead, he looked at you like your differences were his favorite things about you.

Like every piercing, every tattoo, every bold part of you was something worshipping.

And honestly?

He kind of did worship you in soft glances, in lingering touches, in constant admiration and in every kiss pressed against inked skin.

“You know,” you said quietly. “You stare at me a lit.”

His arms tightened around you. “I know.”

“Why?”

He was quiet for a moment, like he as genuinely considering how to answer. Then: “Because I still can´t believe you´re real.”

You went completely still.

That was it.

That was the one.

The sentence so sweet it made your stomach hurt.

“William,” you groaned, covering your face. “That was disgusting.”

He laughed against your shoulder. “But you liked it.”

Unfortunately, you had.

At lot.

“You´re ridiculous.”

“And yet you love me.”

You sighed dramatically. “I do.”

He turned your face gently toward his again and kissed you soft, slow and familiar. “I love you too,” he murmured.

Then, because he was still him, his eyes flicked towards your newest ear piercing. “That´s really hot by the way.”

That was such a cute request

Chapped – Joseph Woll

There were at least five chapsticks around you at all times.

One in the side pocket, two floating somewhere at the bottom, one in your coat pocket and one on your nightstand.

You never went anywhere without one, because unchapped lips were not something you tolerated. Dry, cracked lips were uncomfortable, annoying and entirely preventable.

Joseph knew this well.

He learned early in your relationship that if your lips even felt slightly dry, you were immediately reaching for one of your many, many sticks. There were flavor ones, medicated ones, tinted balms, expensive brands and drugstore favorites – options for every situation you could possibly be in.

And you took it seriously.

“Lips are important, Joseph,” you had told him once while applying a fresh layer of balm in the passenger seat of his car. “People ignore them until they´re painful, but prevention is key.”

He had glanced over, clearly amused. “Prevention.”

“Yes,” you nodded firmly. “You take care of it before it gets bad.”

“Interesting.”

You had narrowed your eyes at his tone. “I´m serious.”

“I know,” he said, smiling.

At first, he had seemed mildly entertained by your decidation. Then he started noticing how often you remind him.

“Your lips look dry, honey.”

“Do you need chapstick?”

“Here, use this.”

You offered constantly because Joseph, for some reason, never seemed to carry his own.

You assumed he was just forgetful for a while. Then you started dating him longer and you realized Joseph Woll was absolutely doing it on purpose.

“Your lips aren’t chapped again,” you said one afternoon as you sat beside him on his couch.

He touched his mouth absentmindedly. “Aren´t they?”

“Yes.”

You were already digging through your purse. “Here.” You held out a tube, but Josph didn’t take it.

Instead, he looked at you for a second too long, then leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to your mouth and pulled back with the smallest grin. “There,” he smiled. “All moisturized now.”

You stared at him.

Joseph looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Did you just…”

He shrugged. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“You could have just used the chapstick.”

“I could have.”

You squinted at him suspiciously.

“But that was way better.”

----

After that, you started noticing patterns.

Joseph never accepted your chapsticks right away.

Every single time you pointed out that he had dry lips, he somehow found a way to kiss you instead.

You were standing in line for coffee one morning when you noticed him rubbing his lips together. “You need balm,” you pointed out immediately.

Joseph glanced down at you. “Do I?”

“Yes.”

You pulled one from your coat pocket and handed it over. To your surprise, he actually too it this time.

You felt victorious for approximately one second, because then he grabbed your wrist gently, tugged you closer, kissed you in the middle of the coffee shop line, and handed the chapstick back to you.

“There,” he said casually.

You blinked. “You didn’t even use it.”

“Nope.”

“Joseph.”

He smiled like he won an award right in this moment. “What? My lips feel better already.”

“You´re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning down slightly. “You keep carrying all this chapstick.”

----

It became one of his favorite ongoing habits.

At the arena.

In the car.

During walks.

At restaurants.

Anytime you mentioned his dry lips, he acted like your concern was merely an invitation.

One winter afternoon it was particularly bad.

Toronto weather had been brutal, and cold air had done absolutely no favors for anyone´s skin.

You had come prepared, of course, with your usual collection of lip products.

Joseph, however, looked personally victimized by the weather and his lips were visibly dry at all times.

“Okay, absolutely not,” you said the second you saw him after practice.

Joseph was halfway through taking off his gloves. “What?”

“Your lips.”

“What about them?”

“They´re awful.”

He laughed. “Awful?”

“Yes. Sit down.”

You were already pulling out your medicated balm, while Joseph dropped onto the couch, watching you with obvious amusement.

“You´re very aggressive about this.”

“Because you refuse to take care of yourself.”

“I take care of myself.”

“Not your lips apparently.”

You stepped between his knees, uncapped the balm and held it up. “Open.”

Joseph looked at you, then, instead of obeying, he placed his hands lightly on your hips and tilted his head back. “You could just help me another way.”

You immediately recognized that look. “Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“Because you actually need chapstick.”

He smiled. “I need a kiss too.”

“Joseph.”

He leaned forward before you could stop him, kissing you slow enough that you momentarily forgot your argument.

When he pulled back, he looked unbearably smug. “There.”

You stared at him, annoyed despite the fact that your heart was doing something deeply inconvenient. “That doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely does.”

“You are impossible.”

“But my lips are moisturized.”

You huffed and finally applied the balm yourself while he laughed.

“See?” you muttered. “Was that so hard?”

Joseph´s hands stayed comfortably on your waist. “I still like my method better.”

You tried not to smile but failed.

----

His obsession with this routine only grew the further it went on.

He started deliberately mentioning his lips. “I think they´re dry.”

You would look over suspiciously. “Are they actually?”

“Maybe you should check.”

“Joseph.”

Sometimes he would exaggerate dramatically too.

“Wow,” he would sigh. “It´s really rough out here.”

“You are so annoying.”

“And yet.” Then he would kiss you before you could get in another word.

He especially loved doing it when you had just applied your own chapstick. Your favorite vanilla balm quickly became his favorite too, purely by association.

“You taste expensive,” he said once after stealing another kiss.

You laughed. “That´s not a normal sentence.”

“It´s true though.”

“It´s vanilla.”

“Luxury vanilla.”

He was shameless too.

One evening, after a long day, you were both stretched out on bed. You were doing your usual nightly routine, which absolutely included lip care while Joseph watched from beside you as you carefully applied an overnight lip mask.

“You really have a whole system,” he noted.

“Yes.”

“Day balm, night balm…”

“Yes.”

“Emergency balm?”

“Obviously.”

Joseph looked genuinely impressed even though he had seen this about twenty times. “You´re committed.”

“Healthy lips matter, Joe.”

You capped the container and set it on your nightstand. Joseph immediately shifted closer.

“So.”

You gave him a look. “So?”

“Any chance I can benefit from this dedication.”

You laughed. “Do you want your own?”

He pretended to think about it. Then he shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

Joseph leaned in, his voice quieter now. “Because I like yours better.”

Before you could respond to that, he kissed you again, slow and familiar.

You immediately understood. “You did not just avoid chapstick again.”

He grinned against your mouth and kissed you again. “There,” he murmured after. “Mine are moisturized now.”

You groaned. “You planned that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Unbelievable.”

But you were laughing too hard for your annoyance to be convincing.

----

One day, determined to break his habit, you bought him several chapsticks.

Different brands. Different flavors. You even put them everywhere.

His car. His hockey bag. His jacket pockets. His bathroom counter.

He came home, held one up, and immediately knew. “What´s this?”

“An intervention.”

Joseph laughed. “You´re being serious.”

“Very.”

“You stocked my entire life with chapstick.”

“Yes.”

He looked almost touched then, unfortunately, amused. “That´s adorable.”

“It´s practical.”

Joseph stepped closer. “You know this won´t stop me.”

“It should.”

He slid an arm around your waist. “But then how would I do this?”

And once again, he kissed you.

When he pulled away, he was smiling. “There,” he said softly. “Still better.”

You sighed dramatically. “I give up.”

“Good.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out one of the chapsticks you had planted there, and finally applied it.

Your eyes widened. “You actually used it?”

Joseph nodded. “Of course.”

“Then why all this?”

He smiled, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Because I can use chapstick.”

You narrowed your eyes. “But?”

“But stealing kisses from you is more fun.”

You could not argue with that.

Requests are always open!

Worried – William Nylander

The rink was louder than you expected for something labeled “family skate”.

You noticed the difference the moment you stepped through the doors with your hand tucked into William´s.

Instead of the sharp, focused intensity of a game day, everything felt lighter and warmer.

There were kids running around in oversized jerseys, players and families chatting in small groups along the glass, laughing in a way you didn’t see often during the season.

“Family skate,” William had said earlier that morning, like it was no big deal, but you knew it meant something to him.

He didn’t say it outright, but you could tell by the way he had been a little more relaxed getting ready, a little more patient, a little more present.

And then there was his family.

They had all shown up for today.

Michael stood near the boards already in skates, talking to Alex, who looked like he hadn’t changed at all since the last time you had seen him – same easy grin, same playful energy.

Camilla was nearby with Jackie, both bundled up but still stylish in a way the Nylander´s always where, watching everything with soft smiles.

Ella and Michelle were off to the side taking pictures, while Stephanie laughed at something one of the kids said in passing.

It was a lot of people, but it didn’t feel overwhelming, not anymore.

You squeezed William´s hand. “Everyone´s here.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, glancing over at them. “They´re not missing this stuff.”

There was something softer in his voice when he looked at them, something grounded. It made your chest feel tight in a good way.

“Come on,” he added, nudging you. “Let´s get you skates before my dad starts coaching all the kids.”

You laughed. “I saw him give directions to Calles daughter earlier.”

“Of course,” William laughed.

----

Getting onto the ice took longer than expected.

Not because you couldn’t skate – you could, years of being with William taught you -but because every few seconds someone stopped William.

A teammate, a kid asking him something, a coach.

He handled it all easily, smiling, joking, making everyone feel like they had his full attention.

You stayed close, used to it by now.

When you finally stepped onto the surface, you felt that familiar wobble for a second before finding your balance.

William was right there immediately, one hand hovering near your arm like he didn’t trust the ice not to betray you.

“I´m fine, babe,” you laughed.

“I know,” he shrugged, not moving his hand.

You pushed off slowly, testing your edges. “You gonna let go, or…?”

“Maybe.”

“William.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed before letting go, he stayed close though, skating backward in from of you with that effortless glide that always made it look like he wasn’t even trying.

“You remember how to do it?”

“Yes,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I´m not completely useless.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You heavily implied.”

“I didn’t imply anything, älskling,” he smiled.

“You absolutely implied,” you shot back.

He grinned again. “You´re doing great, baby.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Your cute nicknames won´t save you, Nylander.”

He laughed, the sound carrying across the ice, making you smile and your heart bloom.

----

The rink filled up quickly.

Kids zipped past in unpredictable patterns, some of the players skating slower to help their partners or children, others showing off a little too much.

There was a lot of noise. Laughter, skates cutting into the ice, pucks sliding occasionally despite the “no pucks” rule the team had put up.

You spotted Michael skating with one of the younger kids, guiding him carefully while offering quiet instructions.

Camilla stood at the boards, talking to Jackie and some of the wives, occasionally calling something encouraging.

“You good?” William asked, pulling up beside you again.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “This is nice.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

For a moment, you both just stood there, watching everything unfold.

It felt normal in a way that surprised you.

“Come here,” he said suddenly, reaching for your hand again.

“Where are we going?”

“Just around.”

He didn’t give you much choice, gently pulling you along the ice.

You followed, picking up a little more speed than you would be going on your own. “You´re trying to make me fall,” you accused.

“I´m not. You´re perfectly fine at this speed.”

“You say that now.”

“You are,” he insisted.

He glanced over his shoulder briefly, checking behind you both, than guided you into a wider loop around the rink.

You focused on your footing, trusting him to steer.

“You´re better than last time,” he noted.

“That´s because last time you made me try to race you.”

“You agreed to it.”

“You promised you wouldn’t go full speed.”

He smirked. “I didn’t go full speed.”

You gave him a look. “You´re the worst.”

“You love me anyways.”

“Barely.”

“Not barely,” he laughed.

You opened your mouth to argue, but a shout from across the ice pulled your attention away. One of the players had hearly collided with someone else, both of them laughing it off as they steadied themselves.

You shook your head laughing. “This is chaotic.”

“It is,” William agreed. “That´s kind of the point though.”

----

You didn’t notice the moment everything shifted.

It wasn’t dramatic, there was no warning, no sudden sense that something was about to go wrong.

You were just skating, your hand still in William´s, your attention split between him and the people around you.

“Watch out,” someone called faintly, but you didn’t register fast enough.

William´s grip tightened suddenly. Then everything happened all at once.

Someone came from your left, moving faster than most people on the ice.

You barely had time to turn your head before there was contact – not hard enough to seem intentional, but strong enough to knock you completely off balance.

Your skates slipped, then the world tilted sharply.

You heard William say your name, but it sounded distant. Then you hit the ice.

The impact knocked the air out of your lungs instantly. Your shoulder took most of it, followed by your hip, and then your head barely missed the surface as you tried to brace yourself too late.

For a second, everything went quiet and you couldn’t breathe.

“Hey – hey – hey.”

Williams voice broke through first, sharp and panicked in a way you had never heard before.

Hands were on you – his hands – careful but urgent. “Don’t move,” he said quickly. “Just stay still for a second.”

You tried to take a breath, but it came out uneven. “I´m okay,” you managed, though it didn’t sound convincing even to you.

“You´re not okay,” he shot immediately. “You just went down hard.”

“I´ve fallen before,” you managed to say.

“Not like that.”

His voice was tight, controlled but just barely.

You bilked up at him. His face was closer than you expected, his expression completely different from anything you had seen earlier in the day.

The easy smile was gone. In its place was something sharper – concern, fear, and a kind of anger that wasn’t directed at you.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

“Shoulder,” you groaned quietly, wincing slightly as you tried to shift.

“Don’t move,” he repeated, gentler this time but still firm.

“I´m fine, Will…”

“Just give me a second, okay?”

He glanced up, scanning the ice quickly.

You could see him searching for help, for someone – anyone – that could assess the situation better than him in that moment.

“I didn’t see you,” a voice said nearby.

You turned your head slightly to see Max Domi, the player that had apparently hit you, looking a little shaken and apologetic.

“It´s okay,” you said automatically.

William didn’t respond to him right away. His focus stayed entirely on you. “Can you move your arm?” he asked.

You hesitated, then tried carefully.

A sharp pain shot through your shoulder, and you sucked in a breath.

“Okay,” he said quickly. “Don’t do that again.”

“I told you it hurts,” you snapped.

“I know, I´m sorry.”

His jaw tightened.

“Can someone find me a trainer?” he called, raising his voice slightly. “We need some help.”

----

It didn’t take long for people to gather.

One of the trainers came onto the ice quickly, kneeling down beside you and asking a series of calm, practiced questions.

William stayed right where he had been before, one hand still hovering near you like he didn’t want to lose contact entirely.

“What´s your name?” the trainer asked.

You answered without hesitation.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Scotiabank Arena.”

“Good. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I got hit,” you said, glancing briefly at William. “It was an accident.”

The trainer nodded. “Alright. We´re going to help you up, but we´ll go slow, okay?”

You nodded.

 “On three.”

William´s hand slid into yours agin, squeezing gently. “I´ve got you,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” you whispered.

They helped you sit up first.

The movement made your shoulder throb, but you managed to stay steady. Then, slowly, they brought you to your feet.

Your legs felt shaky when you stood.

“Easy,” William murmured, staying close enough that you could lean into him if you needed to.

“I´m good,” you said, though your voice wavered.

“You don’t have to be, right now.”

----

Getting off the ice felt like a longer process than it should have been.

William didn’t leave your side for a second. One hand staying on your back, the other ready to catch you if you stumbled in any way.

He kept talking to you the whole time too – not about anything important, just small, grounding things.

“Just a few more steps.”

“You´re doing fine.”

“Careful here.”

By the time you reached the bench, his family was already there.

“What happened?” Camilla asked immediately, her voice full of concern.

“She got hit and fell,” William explained, still focused on helping you sit down.

“Are you alright?” Jackie added, stepping a little closer.

“I´m okay,” you said again, though it still didn’t feel very certain.

Michael looked at your shoulder, his expression serious but calm. “Let the trainer check it properly, okay?”

“They´re going to,” William almost snapped.

His tone was sharper than usual, protective in a way that made everyone take a slight step back without being told.

----

In the locker room, things slowed down.

The trainer examined your shoulder more thoroughly, asking you to move it in small ways to assess the damage.

Each motion sent a dull ache through your arm, but it wasn’t unbearable.

“Doesn’t feel like anything is broken,” the trainer concluded. “Probably a bad bruise, maybe a minor stain.”

William exhaled quietly, like he had been holding his breath the entire time.

“Ice it, take it easy for a few days. If it gets worse, go to a doctor.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Thank you,” William added.

----

The room felt quieter once it was just the two of you.

You sat on the bench, an ice pack resting carefully against your shoulder.

William stood in front of you, still in his skates, his hands on his hips as he looked at you.

“You scared me,” he admitted.

You met his gaze. “I´m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for something that is not your fault.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling again. “I just…didn’t like that.”

“I noticed.”

There was a pause.

“Are you really okay?” he asked, softer now.

“Yeah, it hurts, but I´m okay.”

He nodded slowly, like he was still convincing himself. “Come here,” he ordered gently after a moment.

You shifted slightly and he stepped closer, careful of your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your temple.

His hug was firm but controlled, like he was holding back just enough to not hurt you.

You rested your head against him.

“I´ve got you.”

“I know you do.”

----

When you eventually came back out, the atmosphere on the ice had settled again, but William didn’t take you back onto it.

“No chance,” he said when you suggested it lightly.

“I could just stand by the boards,”

“No,” he shot you down immediately.

“William.”

“You´re done for today.”

You sighed. “Now you´re overreacting.”

“Maybe I am, but I´m looking out for you.”

You looked at him, trying to gauge how serious he was. He didn’t waver.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But only because my shoulder actually hurts.”

“Good.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You´re enjoying this.”

“I´m definitely not enjoying this. I just want you to be okay.”

“I am okay, Will.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I just want it to stay that way.”

----

Later, as things started to wind down and people began leaving, William found you again after skating off with some off his teammates and their kids earlier.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

He helped you up, instinctively positioning himself on your injured side.

“You don’t have to hover,” you chuckled.

“I am not hovering.”

“You´re so hovering.”

“I´m just walking next to you.”

“Very closely.”

“On purpose.”

You huffed a small laugh. “You´re impossible.”

Nathan it is!

The Accident – Nathan MacKinnon

When Nathan texted you that morning - “do you want to come to the game tonight?” – it looked casual, like it meant nothing huge, but you knew better.

This wasn’t just any night; this was your first time seeing him play in person, your first time stepping into his world instead of waiting for him to come back into yours.

You stared at your phone longer than you should have before answering: Yeah. I´d love to come.

He sent back a thumbs-up, then, a minute later: I´ll leave your family pass at will call. Text me when you get there. That was how he was – direct, focused, already halfway into game mode even hours before the puck dropped.

----

By the time you got to Ball Arena, the place was already alive.

People in jerseys filled the sidewalks, some laughing, all of them moving with the same purpose.

You felt slightly out of place in your simple outfit, even though you had tried to match the team colors without looking like you were trying too hard.

Inside, everything was louder.

Music echoed off the walls, screens flashed highlights, and the smell of food hung in the air so prominent it almost made your stomach growl.

You picked up your pass at the place Nathan had sent you to, your hands just a little shaky, and followed the signs until you found the section your seat was located in.

It was better than you expected. Close enough to see faces clearly, not just numbers on jerseys. That alone made your stomach flip.

Sitting down, you clutched your phone like an anchor as you sent him a message: I´m here.

You didn’t expect him to reply this shortly before gametime but a few minutes later it buzzed in your hand: Good. I´ll look for you during warmups.

----

Warmups were different than you imagined.

The players came out casually, like it was just another routine, but the energy in the building shifted immediately.

Fans crowded closer to the glass, kids banged on it at the same time, and pucks started flying across the ice with sharp, clean sounds.

You stood without realizing it, scanning the ice until you spotted the familiar number 29.

Nathan moved differently than everyone else.

It wasn’t just speed – it was control. Every stride looked deliberate, every pass precise. Even in warmups, there was this intensity to him that didn’t fade.

For second, you wondered if he would actually see you or if that was just something he said casually to make you feel better.

Then, as if he had heard your thoughts, he glanced toward your section, but you weren’t sure if he could pick you out.

There were too many people, too much movement, but then his gaze settled, and you felt his eyes land on you.

He didn’t smile – he rarely did in this setting – but he lifted his stick slightly in acknowledgement before turning back to whatever he was doing.

It was small, quick, but it was enough to make your heart race.

----

The game started fast.

You didn’t know much about hockey beyond basics, but it didn’t take long to get pulled in.

The speed surprised you the most – the was everything happened in seconds, the constant shift from offence to defense, the physical hits that made the crowd react instantly.

You started to understand why people loved this.

Midway through the first period, Nathan scored.

It happened so quickly you almost missed it – a clean pass from Martin Necas, a sharp move, and then the puck was in the net and his teammates were crowding him on the ice and the arena exploded around you.

You stood too, caught up in it, your chest tight with something that felt like pride.

He skated past the glass during celebration, and for a second, you thought he looked toward you again.

You couldn’t be sure, but the idea stayed with you for longer than you wanted to admit.

----

By the second period you felt more comfortable.

You relaxed into your seat, letting yourself enjoy the game instead of worrying about how you looked or whether you were reacting in the right way.

You even found yourself shouting a few times, joining the crowd when things got intense.

That was probably why you didn’t see it coming.

The play had shifted toward your side of the rink. Players crowded near the boards, sticks clashing, skates scraping against the ice.

The puck got pinned for a second before suddenly popping free and shooting upward.

You barely had time to register what was happening.

There was a sharp, cracking sound, and then something slammed into you.

Pain hit instantly, bright and overwhelming, centered somewhere near your shoulder and collarbone, the force knocking you back against your seat, breath leaving you in a rush.

For a second, everything went quiet.

Then the noise rushed back all at once. People were shouting, someone was asking if you were okay, the game whistle blew.

You blinked, disoriented, your hand moving instinctively to where it hurt. The area was already throbbing, the impact radiating outward in waves.

“I- yeah,” you said automatically, even though you weren’t sure.

An usher appeared almost immediately, crouching beside you. “Are you hurt?”

You hesitated.

The pain was sharp, but you could still move your arm. “I think I´m okay,” you mumbled, though your voice sounded uncertain even to you.

“Let´s get you checked out anyways,” he said firmly.

At first, you wanted to argue and tell him that it wasn’t a big deal, but as you tried to stand, the ache intensified enough to make you wince. “Okay,” you agreed quietly.

----

The walk to the medical room felt longer than it should have.

Your adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a dull, persistent pain.

You replayed the moment in your head – the sudden movement, the impact – trying to make sense of how quickly everything had changed.

The medical staff was calm and efficient around you.

They asked questions, checked your range of motion, pressed gently around the sore area. “Looks like a bad bruise,” one of them explained. “You´re lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”

You nodded, even though “lucky” didn’t quite match how it felt.

They gave you an ice pack after and told you to rest for a bit, leaving you to sit there, holding it against your shoulder, staring at the floor.

Your phone buzzed in your pocked.

Nate: Are you okay? I saw what happened.

Your chest tightened when you saw his name.

I I´m fine. Just got checked out. Bruised but okay.

The typing indicator appeared almost immediately, then disappeared, then came back.

Nate: I´m coming down in a second.

You frowned at the screen.

I You don’t have to.

But just a few minutes after you sent the message the door opened.

 Nathan stepped inside, still in full gear except for his helmet. His hair was damp, his expression tight in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“You got hit with a puck,” he said, like he needed you to confirm it to him.

“I´m okay, Nate,” you assured, lifting the ice pack slightly as proof. “Just a bruise.”

He moved closer, his eyes scanning you quickly, assessing. “Where?”

You shifted the pack some more to show him.

He didn’t touch you right away, but his hand hovered for a second before he let it drop. “You should have been sitting further back,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You almost laughed, even though the discomfort. “I didn’t think I would get attacked.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Pucks don’t usually care what you think.”

There was a pause.

“I´m really fine,” you assured again, softer this time.

He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to release the tension from his body. “I know. I just…” He stopped, shaking his head. “I didn’t like seeing that.”

You studied him for a moment.

This version of him – the one standing in a medical room instead of on the ice – felt different. Less controlled.

“I´m okay,” you repeated again.

He nodded like he was finally accepting that. “Stay here a bit, okay? Don’t rush back out.”

“Says the man that is in the middle of a hockey game,” you pointe out.

“I know.”

“You should go back.”

He hesitated, clearly not wanting to.

“I´ll be fine, Nate,” you added.

After a second, he nodded again. “Text me if anything changes.”

“I will, even though you won´t be able to read it.”

He lingered for a moment longer, then turned and left again.

----

You stayed there for the rest of the period, letting the pain settle into something manageable.

By the time the third period was halfway over, you felt steady enough to go back.

You returned a little more cautiously this time, flinching slightly whenever the puck came too close.

The game picked up again, intense and fast. You tried to focus, but part of your attention stayed on the lingering ache in your shoulder.

Still, when Nathan got the puck, you watched.

----

Near the end of the game, he assisted on another goal.

The crowd roared again, and you found yourself smiling despite the pain.

The Avalanche won.

As the final buzzed sounded, the energy in the arena shifted into celebration. Fans stood, clapping and cheering as the player acknowledged them.

----

You weren’t sure where to go after.

People started filing out, but your phone buzzed again

Nate: I sent someone to bring you down to the locker room, but I´ll be a bit.

Downstairs you met some of the other wives and girlfriends. Some you already knew, some that were new to you but greeted you like they had known you forever.

Together you waited.

It took the first players about an hour to appear.

When Nate appeared, now back in his pre-game outfit, his hair still a little damp from a shower.

He walked toward you with purpose, his gaze locking onto yours immediately. “You stayed,” he concluded.

“Of course I did.”

He glanced at your shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you admitted. “But it´s manageable.”

He nodded.

There was a brief silence before he spoke again. “Not exactly how I planned this night to go.”

You shrugged lightly. “I still had fun and I really enjoyed watching you play in real life.”

That seemed to settle something in him.

“Next time, I´m getting you seats next to the other partners, they´re higher up.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That sounds less exciting.”

“I don’t care about exciting; I care about you not getting hit by a puck again.”

There was something in his tone that made your chest tighten again, but for a different reason.

You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Okay.”

He softened but still hesitated before speaking again. “You still want to come again?”

You didn’t have to think about that. “Nate, I´ll come to as many games as I possibly can.”