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@missmisconduct
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
request guidelines wip list
Could I request a William Nylander fic: reader has tattoos and piercings, very different than the normal wag but he loves it and is always admiring her from afar. Agh just pure fluff that makes me wanna throw up from how cute it is 🥴
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.”
You dissolved into laughed. And honestly? You wouldn’t have wanted anything different.
Stanley Cup Playoffs 2026: Round 3, Game 3 Carolina Hurricanes @ Montreal Canadiens | May 27, 2026
Got a request for our Joseph Woll, reader is obsessed with chapsticks and always carries different ones with her along with stating how important it is to take care of chapped lips and Joseph knows this but he purposely never puts on any just so he can steal kisses from her and say “there mine are moisturized now” 😩
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.
Mostly because he was already kissing you again.
Montreal Canadiens @ Carolina Hurricanes ⤷ May 29, 2026 | Eastern Conference Finals Game 5
The Carolina Hurricanes are headed to the Stanley Cup Final for the first time since 2006!
Stanley Cup Playoffs 2026: Round 3, Game 5 Montreal Canadiens @ Carolina Hurricanes | May 29, 2026
The canes are going to the Stanley cup final 😭😭 Freddie and Jarvy and Svech are going to the Stanley cup final 😭😭😭
canes AHHHH MISTA SVECHNIKOV 🗣️
Hii I don't know if your requests are open, but could you request a scenario where it's Maple Leafs family skating day and the whole Nylander family is there, and the reader ends up getting hurt after being hit by another player or something like that? What would William's reaction be?
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.”
“Probably.” But he didn’t move and you didn’t ask him to again.
Stanley Cup Playoffs 2026: Round 3, Game 3 Carolina Hurricanes @ Montreal Canadiens | May 25, 2026
I JUST WANT YOU TO COME INSIDEEEE
I´m assuming this is a reaction to my most recent WN88 fic 🤭
sweating, smiling, uncollaring sid
Hey Jo , I love your stuff , I wanted to request either MacKinnon or Sid , where they invite reader to a game and it’s her first time going and she gets hit with a puck
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.”
He nodded once, leaned down to kiss you properly, before whispering “Good.”
in which Kniesy & Willy find out about the 2026 NHL Draft Lottery together...
How do we think willy would react if you asked him to come in you😋
so many Willy nsfw requests 🤭
Inside – William Nylander
You hadn’t meant to say it out loud in that moment. You hadn’t even meant to say it out loud in the next weeks probably.
It had been something that you thought about constantly, sure, but you and William had only been dating for a few months at this point and asking him to take you without the condom and finally come inside you seemed like too big of a step for that short timeline.
When William asked you to come over in the middle of the night, after he came home from yet another disappointing road trip, you knew what kind of call that was.
They happened occasionally after specifically bad stretches of play and this season had been bad stretch after bad stretch after bad stretch and all William wanted to do after that was to take you and to take you hard.
He had been open with you about that from the start and you were happy to help with whatever he needed. It had always been incredible for you as well, so who were you to complain.
So, when he called, you went over.
He greeted you at the door with the dogs, head hung low but desire already gleaming in his eyes.
When you bent do greet Pablo and Banksy properly, he sighed loud. “Someone is impatient,” you chuckled and when you stood back straight, he showed you exactly how impatient he had been waiting for you.
The kiss on your lips was harsh, harsher than they were most of the time. His hand immediately went to the back of your head and grasped your hair, slightly pulling on the strands making you moan at the sensation.
“Impatient and eager,” you mumbled against his lips when he gave you a second to breathe.
“I want to forget about this fucking trip.” Was his only reply to that before he lifted you up and carried you to his bedroom.
More harsh kisses followed after that. Lips smashed together in desired eagerness, hands wandering to your ass, squeezing almost painfully but it only turned you on more and let wetness pool between your legs.
William removed your hoodie, that was actually his hoodie you stole during your last time here and threw it behind him without a care in the world. Your bra and your leggings followed shortly after exposing you to him almost completely.
He leaned back on his heels for a second, admiring you spread out in front of him only wearing lacy dark red panties.
You hadn’t put them on intentionally but right now, with the look you were seeing on Williams face, you were glad you pulled those out of the drawer after a shower before bed.
“Shit, baby.” He leaned back down to kiss you, much softer this time, the frustrated hockey player replaced by the warm and sweet man you fell in love with. It was just for a second, until he leaned back up and desire overtook him again.
“I don’t have foreplay in me today, but I promise to eat you out after this. I just want to feel you clench around me.” His bluntness surprised you, but it also turned you on, on levels you hardly ever experienced before and all you could do was nod.
When he turned to reach for a condom from his nightstand was when the words slipped out like you physically couldn’t hold them back any longer. “Fuck me raw, William. I want to feel you pump me full of your cum.”
His head snapper around faster than you had ever seen it, eyes wide, mouth open in a mixture of shock and surprise. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Baby, don’t play with me right now.”
“I´m not playing.”
“You´re not on birth control, you told me just a few weeks ago.”
You could tell how it took everything in him to restrain himself.
“I started the pill a few days after that because all I could think about was this.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I promise you, it´s safe and I want it, so bad, Will. But if-“
You weren’t able to finish your sentence because his lips came crushing down on yours again with a force that almost knocked you out.
In the same movement he pushed his shorts and boxers down, his cock already hard and poking your upper thigh.
It was like the words had unlocked another level of William in the bedroom. An eagerness that you hadn’t seen before but were glad to have unlocked now.
He lined himself up with your hole but before he pushed inside, he locked eyes with you once more. “Are you really sure?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I weren’t.”
And with that he pushed into you in one smooth motion making both of you let out sounds of pleasure.
Having William without a barrier between you was an entirely different feeling and right at this moment you promised yourself to never let him put on a condom again.
At this angle you could feel the vein at the bottom of his shaft even more prominently and when his tip brushed your sensitive spot without something between them you almost came right then and there.
Williams thrusts were ruthless making you feel all the pent up frustration from the road trip with each time he sank into you again.
Pleasure overtook all of your senses and the only thing you could focus on was William and how perfect he felt when you clenched around him.
“Fuck, you feel perfect,” William muttered followed by another groan. “I´m never fucking you with a condom ever again.”
The words made you clench around him even more, pulling another groan from him, this time one that showed you that he was already close to giving you what you wanted all along.
When he sped up his thrusts even more your orgasm built quicker than it ever had as one of his hands finding your nipple starting to toy with it to increase your pleasure and he leaned down to kiss you almost gently compared to the harsh assault of your pussy.
“More,” you moaned. “Give me more, Will.”
You didn’t think he had another level in him, but the intensity of his thrusts increased even more, his tip brushing your sensitive spot each time he sunk back in.
“Fuck, I´m close baby.”
“Let go, come inside me, Will. I know you want to.”
That sent him over the edge, hot ropes of his cum spilling deep inside you as he let out a groan that could rival one from an actor in a porn movie.
Feeling his cum inside you for the first time sent you over the edge as well, snapping the coil in your stomach and letting you arch off the bed with a moan and a string of curses.
You flopped back down a second later, but he didn’t pull out then. He leaned back over you, cock softening inside your core and kissed you softly. Too softly for the hot and heavy sex you just had almost like he had to ground himself before doing anything further.
“I love you,” he mumbled against your lips before rising again and carefully pulling out of you.
You looked up at him in confusion. “I love you too?” but it was more a question than a statement this time.
He stepped away to grab a towel and a glass of water for you from the adjourned bathroom giving you a second to breathe and trying to figure out what made him react this softly.
When he returned, he smiled softly and kneeled down to clean you up carefully, a hiss leaving you at his hand brushing over your sensitive core. “Sorry,” he smiled softly eyes locked on the towel that was now covered in cum that pooled out of you.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly.
“Shouldn’t I ask you that?”
“You tell me, I´ve never seen you this soft after sex. Especially not after sex that´s supposed to help you blow off steam.”
“I don’t know. I guess you telling me to do that just hit me in that moment.” He leaned back down to kiss you softly once again. “Thank you for trusting me.”
You chased him when he sat back up, lips connecting with his once more. “What if I tell you that I have been thinking about doing that for weeks now?”
“Then I would ask you why you hadn’t asked earlier and then I would promise you to eat you out like promised and then do it all over again.”
“Big words,” you teased. “Are you ready to follow up on that promise?”
“Oh, baby,” he kissed you again, more passionate this time. “When have I ever not kept my promises to you.”
Six two – Frederik Andersen
summary: the canes lose 6:2 in game one of the eastern conference finals and Freddie takes his frustrations out on you.
pairing: Frederik Andersen x female!reader
word count: 5.4k
tropes/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, Freddie being a massive douche and a shitty boyfriend, happy ending
authors note: I wrote this to cope with how game 1 ended lol.
----
The apartment was too quiet when Freddie came home.
Not normal quiet. Not tired-after-a-game quiet.
This felt sharp. Heavy. Like the walls themselves knew better than to make noise around him right now.
You heard the front door open and close harder than usual. The rattle of keys hitting the kitchen counter. His shoes scraping across the floor.
For a second, you stayed where you were on the couch, blanket tucked around your legs, watching the muted highlights cycle across the TV screen. You had turned the volume off after the fifth replay of Montreal´s sixth goal.
Six to two.
After sweeping both Ottawa and Philadelphia, everyone had acted like Carolina was untouchable.
Analysts talked about destiny. About momentum. About Freddie looking unbeatable.
Tonight, he looked exhausted.
You heard him yank open the fridge. Then slam it shut.
You inhaled slowly before standing. “Hey.”
He didn’t answer right away.
He stood at the kitchen islands in sweats and a Hurricanes hoodie, shoulders rigid beneath the fabric. His hair was still damp from the shower at the arena.
He looked bigger when he was angry, like the tension expanded him.
You walked closer carefully. “Do you want tea?”
“No.” His voice came out flat.
You nodded once. “Okay.”
Another silence.
You hated this part after losses.
The waiting. The trying to figure out which version of him had come home.
Sometimes he was withdrawn. Sometimes quiet and clingy. Sometimes he wanted to rant for an hour straight about defensive breakdowns and bad rebounds and missed assignments.
Tonight felt different.
He rubbed both of his hands over his face hard enough to drag his skin down. “Unbelievable.”
“You guys will bounce back.”
He laughed once under his breath, but it was humorless. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know hockey.”
The words weren’t cruel by themselves, but his tone made them sting anyway.
You leaned against the counter. “I know enough to know one loss doesn’t end a series.”
“One loss?” He finally looked at you, eyes dark and exhausted. “Did you watch the game?”
“Yes.”
“Then you saw us get embarrassed.”
You stayed quiet.
“You saw me get embarrassed.”
“You had a bad night,” you said softly. “It happens.”
His jaw tightened instantly. “A bad night,” he repeated.
You already knew you had said the wrong thing. “Fred…”
“No, seriously. That´s what you think it was?” He shook his head sharply. “Jesus Christ.”
You folded your arms loosely around your stomach. “I was trying to make you feel better.”
“Well, don’t.”
The room went still.
You looked at him for another second before nodding once. “Okay.”
----
He paced away from the island and back again, unable to settle.
You could practically see the game replaying behind his eyes. Every goal. Every mistake. Every save he should have had.
“I should´ve stopped at least three of those,” he muttered.
“You still stopped a ton.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.”
“No, it doesn’t.” His voice rose suddenly. “Not in the playoffs.”
You flinched at the volume.
His eyes flicked to your face, but he kept going anyway. “We finally get momentum, finally play the way we´re supposed to, finally not face fucking Florida, and then I let in six fucking goals.”
“You didn’t lose alone.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I´m just trying to…”
“I know what you´re trying to do.”
The frustration in his voice cut deeper now. Not loud exactly. Just sharp. Worn thin.
You stared at him. “Then why are you talking to me like that?”
He exhaled hard through his nose and looked away.
You waited.
When he spoke again, his voice was colder. “Because you keep saying things that don’t help.”
The knot in your chest tightened. “Sorry for trying.”
He laughed again, bitter this time. “You think this is hard for you? Sitting at the arena watching?”
Your face fell slightly. “That´s not what I said.”
“No, but you´re standing there acting wounded because I´m upset.”
“I´m not acting wounded.”
“You clearly are.”
You pressed your lips together.
He kept pacing. “I don’t need a pep talk right now.”
“Then tell me what you need.”
“I need everyone to stop pretending this wasn’t humiliating.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
“But you´re minimizing it.”
“I´m trying to support you.”
“Well, maybe you´re just bad at it tonight.”
The words landed hard. Silence immediately following after them.
You could tell from the flicker across his face that he knew it too, but instead of apologizing, he looked away again.
Something in your started aching then. Not dramatic. Just tired.
You had spent years learning how to love him through losses. Through road trips and injuries and media criticism and the pressure he carried everywhere.
You knew hockey mattered to him more than almost anything. You knew he got cruel with himself before he ever got cruel with anyone else.
But sometimes it still hurt being the nearest target.
You swallowed carefully. “That was mean.”
“I´m not in the mood to babysit feelings right now.”
Your expression hardened instantly. “Wow.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I can´t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely between you. “The whole emotional conversation.”
“You started the conversation.”
“No, I came home after getting shelled in a playoff game and somehow I´m now comforting you.”
The disbelief on your face deepened. “You really thing that´s what´s happening?”
He didn’t answer.
You looked at him for a long moment. The exhaustion in his posture. The anger radiating off him. the shame underneath all of it.
You understood all of it, but that almost made it worse. Because you understood why he was hurting, but not why he thought hurting you would help.
“Okay,” you whispered.
He frowned slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to go calm.
You stepped away from the counter. “I´m going to bed.”
“It´s not even eleven.”
“I´m tired.”
He scoffed softly under his breath. That finally snapped something in you.
“You know what?” You turned back around sharply. “I get that you´re upset. I do. But I didn’t do anything to deserve your wrath.”
His jaw flexed.
“I sat there all night worried about you. I waited for you to get here worried as hell because I knew you´d be miserable after this game, and the second you walked through the door you started taking it out on me.”
“I´m not taking it out on you.”
That made you even madded. “You told me I´m bad at supporting you.”
“Because right now..”
You didn’t let him finish. “And you basically called me selfish for having feelings.”
His expression tightened.
“You think I don’t know tonight sucked?” you continued, voice shaking now despite your effort to stay calm. “I watched your face after every goal. I watched the bench stop looking at you. I listened to the commentators tear you apart after the game.”
His eyes flashed.
You immediately regretted saying that part, but you were too angry to stop.
“And somehow I´m still standing here trying to make sure you´re okay while you act like I´m your enemy.”
He looked away.
That hurt too.
You let out a shaky breath. “I´m sleeping in the guest room tonight.”
His head snapped back toward you. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“Oh my God.”
“No, Frederik, you don’t get to do that.” You shoot your head. “You don’t get to make me feel dramatic because you were awful to me.”
“I said a couple things because I´m pissed off.”
“You said hurtful things.”
“You´re overreacting.”
Your laugh came out disbelieving. “Okay.”
“You are.”
“Fine.”
You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore.
You walked past him toward the hallway before he could say anything else. Your chest burned painfully now, anger and sadness mixing together until you couldn’t separate them.
Behind you, you heard him mutter something under his breath in Danish.
You almost turned around.
Almost.
But you kept walking instead.
----
The guest room smelled faintly like clean laundry and dust.
You had changed the sheets last week after his parents visited, but nobody really used the room otherwise.
It felt colder than the rest of the apartment.
You brushed your teeth mechanically with a spare toothbrush you found under the sink, then climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling.
Your anger only grew the longer you laid there because the worst part was that you knew how badly he was hurting.
If he had just come home devastated instead of angry, you would have held him for hours.
You would have listened to every replay of every goal. You would have reminded him over and over again that one game didn’t erase everything he had done to get Carolina there, but instead he had looked at you like you were another problem to deal with.
Your eyes burned, making you roll onto your side and pull the blanket higher.
From down the hallway you could hear faint movement.
Cabinets opening. Closing. The TV turning on for a minute then off again.
At one point you heard footsteps outside the guest room door.
Then silence.
Then they moved away again.
You checked your phone eventually.
1:29 AM. Still awake.
You hated going to bed angry. Especially being angry with him, but you also hated how easy it was for him to assume you would absorb whatever mood he brought home.
You thought about all the times you had swallowed hurt because you knew hockey consumed him during playoffs.
The snapped answers. The pacing. The sleepless nights after losses where he turned for hours not finding any sort of rest.
Most of the time he apologized quickly.
Tonight he hadn’t.
----
A while later, exhaustion finally started dragging you under.
Then the mattress dipped behind you and your eyes snapped open instantly and you turned your head enough to see him in the dark.
“Fred…” you muttered.
“Sorry,” he whispered immediately, voice rough. “Did I wake you?”
“You´re literally climbing into the guest bed at two in the morning.”
“I know,” he sighed.
You pushed yourself halfway upright. “What are you doing?”
He sat there quietly for a second in his sweats and an old shirt, shoulders slumped now instead of tense.
In the dim light from the hallway, he looked wrecked.
Not angry anymore. Just sad. Heartbroken even.
“I didn’t want you in here alone.” He audibly swallowed. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “You´re the reason I´m in here in the first place.”
“I know.”
The honesty in it took some wind out of your anger.
Still, you shook your head and moved farther toward the edge of the bed. “No. absolutely not. You don’t get to treat me like garbage and then decide you want cuddles.”
A faint wince crossed his face. “I know,” he repeated quietly.
“Then go back to the bedroom and let me sleep.”
He looked down at his hands and for a second you thought he might actually leave. Instead, he said, very softly and barely above a whisper, “I´m sorry.”
The room wen still.
You crossed your arms over your chest. “That doesn’t magically fix it.”
“I know.”
“You were really mean.”
“I know.” You hated how broken he sounded.
He rubbed at his face tiredly. “I was awful to you.”
You didn’t reply.
“And I´m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”
A lump formed in your throat immediately, which annoyed you because you were still so angry.
“You said I was bad at supporting you,” you repeated.
“You aren’t.”
“You said I was making your shit night about me.”
“I know.” He swallowed. “I know what I said. Every single stupid word.”
You looked away.
For a long moment neither of you spoke. Then quietly, he admitted, “I couldn’t stop thinking about those goals.”
Your angers softened, just a little bit. “I know.”
“I kept replaying all of them. Still do.”
He sounded miserable now. Empty.
“The second one should´ve been covered. The fourth one – fuck.” He pressed his palms into his eyes. “I knew where he was going and still missed it.”
“Fred…”
He didn’t let you finish this time. “And everyone is acting like we´re suddenly falling apart.”
“You lost one game.”
“Six to two.”
You could hear the humiliation in his voice.
Goalies carried losses differently. You had learned that early in your relationship.
Skaters could spread blame around. Goalies sat alone with every puck that got past them.
He looked at you finally, eyes exhausted and glassy in the dark. “I was so embarrassed tonight.”
Something in your twisted painfully and you softened a little more. Still, you could not forget what happened hours earlier. “That still doesn’t mean you get to hurt me like that.”
“I know.”
“And honestly, I don’t even think you realize how cruel you sounded.”
His face tightened. “I knew.”
That surprised you.
He stared down at the blanket. “I knew while I was saying it.”
“Then why didn’t you stop? Why did you keep pushing and hurting me?”
A long silence followed.
Finally, he whispered, “Because I was so angry and I wanted someone else to feel bad too.”
The honesty of it hurt more than excuses would have.
You blinked at him. he looked miserable admitting it all to you. “I know that´s awful,” he muttered.
You let out a slow breath but there was no reason to sugar coat it. “Yes, that´s really awful.”
“I know.”
Another silence. Then he shifted slightly closer without touching you. Careful. Like he knew he hadn’t earned any closeness.
“I just…” His voice cracked faintly. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Your heart clenched immediately. Damn him for that.
You looked away toward the window because you knew that if you looked at him, you would give in immediately.
“I know you´re angry,” he continued softly. “You should be. Actually, you should throw me out right now for admitting I hurt you just so you felt as bad as I did.”
You stayed quiet.
“But please, don’t make me go back to the bedroom alone.”
Your eyes stung again and you hated how quickly your anger immediately tangles with sympathy around him. hated how easy it was to remember that beneath all the sharpness and frustration was just a devastated man who had spent the last six hours blaming himself for everything.
Still, you forced yourself to say, “You can´t do this every time you lose.”
“I know.”
“I meant it.”
“I know.”
“You can´t just tear into me and then crawl into bed wanting me to comfort you.”
He nodded once.
“And I´m still furious at you.”
Another nod.
You studied him carefully. There was no defensiveness left. No irritation. Just exhaustion and regret.
“You really hurt my feelings, Fred.”
“I know.” His voice dropped even softer. “I´m sorry,” he repeated.
You watched him for another long moment, then finally sighed through your nose and shifted reluctantly toward the middle of the bed again.
His shoulders loosened immediately.
“But we´re talking about this tomorrow,” you warned. “Actually talking.”
“Yes.”
“No brushing it off because you´re embarrassed.”
“I wonßt.”
“And if you snap at me again, you´re leaving.”
“Okay.”
You pointed at him slightly. “And don’t think this means I forgive you yet.”
A tiny, tired huff of laughter escaped him. “Okay.”
You rolled your eyes with a tiny smile and laid back down.
For a second he stayed sitting where he was, almost hesitant to move. Then, carefully and slowly, he laid down beside you.
The second the mattress settled, he reached for you instinctively, but you caught his wrist halfway around your waist. “No.”
His face fell immediately.
“You can sleep here,” you reminded him firmly. “But I´m still furious.”
“Okay.”
“I´m serious.”
“I know.”
Still, you went on. “You don´t get to act like that and then expect everything to go back to normal because you apologize.”
His throat moved when he swallowed. “I know.”
He fully settled on his side of the bed after that, leaving enough space between you.
No argument. No guilt-tripping. Just quiet acceptance because he knew he fucked up.
The room settled into silence after that.
You turned onto your side with your back facing him and pulled the blanket high again. Your chest still felt tight with anger, even if the sharpest edge of it dulled.
Behind you, you could hear the careful way he was breathing. Like he was trying not to take up too much space.
After a while, he whispered a “Goodnight,” into the dark.
You hesitated, deciding between pretending to be asleep and answering him, then quietly answered, “Night.”
----
Eventually, his breathing evened out enough that you thought he might have fallen asleep, but sometime later, when you woke briefly and checked the clock glowing faintly on the nightstand, he was still awake.
You could hear it immediately.
The shifting sheets. The mattress creaking every few minutes. A frustrated exhale through his nose.
But you kept your eyes closed.
Another rustle behind you. Then stillness. Then movement again.
He was tossing constantly and you knew that meant his mind was still spiraling. Replaying the goals. The mistakes. The headlines that would wait for him in the morning.
You felt bad, but you were still angry enough that you stayed where you were.
A while later you woke again to him sitting up slightly behind you. Not touching you. Just sitting there.
The room stayed dark and quiet except for the sound of him rubbing both hands over his face.
That’s when you almost turned around to ask if he was okay, but then you remembered the things he said earlier. The way he had looked at you like your comfort was annoying him.
So, you stayed still again.
After another minute, the mattress dipped again as he laid back down.
----
Around five in the morning, you woke for a third time.
This time he was turned away from you completely, shoulders tense beneath the shirt he slept in.
Even in the dark you could tell he wasn’t sleeping deeply.
One of his hand clenched and unclenched against the blanket.
You stared at his back for a long moment. Then closed your eyes again.
----
The last time you woke that night, pale morning light filtered weakly through the curtains.
For one blissful second, you forgot everything. Then you realized two things at once.
First, you were warm. Second, Freddies arm was wrapped around you tightly.
Your eyes opened immediately.
At some point during the night, he had moved close enough that your back was pressed against his chest, one arm locked around your waist.
His face was half-buried against the back of your neck, breathing slow and warm against your skin.
You stared down at his arm. You didn’t even know when he had done it.
Carefully, trying not to wake him, you grabbed his wrist and lifted slightly to slide out. Instantly, his grip tightened around you.
Your eyes widened. “Fred…”
A rough sleepy sound left him, somewhere between a hum and a groan, and he tightened his grip again before burying his face deeper against your shoulder.
“Don´t go,” he mumbled.
You blinked in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
One eye cracked open blearily. Then the memory of last night clearly hit him all over again, because his expression fell immediately. “Oh,” he rasped.
“Yeah. Oh.”
Still, he didn’t move, taking in the rest of the time he had with you in his arms.
You turned your head enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “Move.”
“No.”
“Frederik.”
“I´m sorry.”
You rolled your eyes instantly. “That´s not the issue right now.”
“I know.”
“Then let me go.”
His grip loosened only slightly, but not enough for you to actually escape. “Please don’t be mad at me anymore.”
You let out a short laugh. “That´s not how it works, and you know it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you holding me hostage at eight in the morning?”
A tiny, exhausted smile pulled weakly at the corner of his mouth. “Because you´re still here.”
Your expression flattened immediately. “That´s not romantic right now.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, you should be.”
He closed his eyes briefly like he physically felt the sting of that.
When he opened them again, they looked tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that came from no sleep and too much self-hatred.
“I was awful to you,” he admitted quietly.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t deserve it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
His arm tightened slightly again, careful this time. “I´m really sorry.”
You sighed through your nose. “Fred.”
“No, I mean it.” His voice roughened. “I was angry and embarrassed, and I took it out on you because you were there.”
The blunt honesty made your chest tighten.
“You were trying to help me, and I acted like you were annoying me.”
You stayed quiet.
“I just…” He swallowed hard. “I felt horrible after the game and then somehow I made you feel horrible too.”
“You did.”
“I know.”
He looked miserable.
Good, a mean part of you thought immediately. The you felt guilty for thinking it.
You shifted slightly, trying to sit up again.
This time he loosened his hold enough for you to turn toward him, but the second you faced him he reached for your hand like he couldn’t help himself.
You let him hold it for about three seconds before narrowing your eyes. “This is not back to normal.”
He sighed quietly.
“I´m serious.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t get girlfriend privileges while I´m still furious with you.”
That actually made him look alarmed. “Girlfriend privileges?”
“Yes.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means stop trying out cuddle your way out of consequences.”
Despite the situation you were in, he let out a startled laugh.
You glared harder. “Don’t laugh.”
“Sorry.”
“You´re not charming right now.”
That only made him laugh again.
“You´re lucky I even let you sleep here.”
His face softened immediately. “Thank you for that.”
The sincerity in his voice annoyed you because it made it harder to stay angry. So, you pulled your hand back before he could kiss your knuckles or something equally manipulative.
“We´re talking before anything else.”
“I said we could.”
“No pretending this never happened.”
“I won´t.”
“No minimizing it because you were upset about hockey.”
“No.”
“And you are absolutely not turning this around on me.”
“I know.”
You studied him carefully.
He looked genuinely ashamed. Not just apologetic because you were upset but actually upset with himself.
That mattered.
Unfortunately.
He rubbed tiredly at his eyes with one hand. “I barely slept.”
You stared at him flatly. “Good.”
That earned another tiny laugh from him.
You pointed at him immediately. “Don’t think being cute is helping.”
“I´m not trying to be cute.”
“You naturally sound pathetic when you´re sleep deprived.”
His mouth twitched. Then the humor faded again. “I hated hearing you cry last night.”
Your expression faltered slightly. “I wasn’t crying.”
“You were.”
You looked away. He watched you quietly for a second before speaking again, softer this time. “I really am sorry.”
You swallowed. “I know.”
“And I´ll talk about it properly, I promise.”
“You better.”
“I will.”
You finally pushed yourself upright, this time successfully escaping his arms. The cold air outside the blanket hit immediately.
Freddie stayed laying there watching you carefully, messy-haired and exhausted, eyes following every movement you made like he was afraid you would leave the room entirely.
You stood beside the bed and crossed your arms. “I´m making coffee,” you announced.
He nodded slowly. Then, cautiously: “Can I come with you?”
You stared at him for a second. Still pathetic. Still guilty. Still clearly needing comfort even while knowing he hadn’t earned it yet.
You sighed heavily. “Yes.”
----
The apartment stayed quiet while the coffee brewed.
Not tense in the explosive way it had been last night. Just fragile. Careful.
Frederik hovered near you like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was allowed to do yet. Normally mornings together were automatic—his hand on your waist while you reached for mugs, your body fitting against his without thought, sleepy conversation filling the kitchen.
Now there was space between you and he noticed every inch of it.
You leaned against the counter while the machine hissed softly. Frederik stood across from you in gray sweatpants, hair sticking up everywhere, eyes shadowed from almost no sleep.
He looked miserable.
Good, you thought again automatically. Then immediately felt bad about it again.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“You look rough.”
“I feel rough.”
You hummed once.
The silence stretched.
Finally, he said quietly, “Can we talk now?”
You crossed your arms. “Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you’re actually going to listen.”
His face tightened instantly. “I will.”
You studied him for another second before nodding toward the kitchen table. “Sit.”
Something about the immediate obedience almost made you laugh.
Almost.
He sat down across from you while you poured coffee into two mugs. You handed him one without a word before taking the chair opposite him.
For a second neither of you spoke.
Then Freddie rubbed a hand slowly over his jaw and exhaled.
“I don’t really know where to start.”
“The beginning would help.”
A faint grimace crossed his face.
You waited.
He looked up at you properly. “I was embarrassed after the game.”
“I know.”
“No, like…” He shook his head slightly. “Really embarrassed. I felt sick the whole drive home.”
You stayed quiet.
“I kept replaying everything. Every goal. Every mistake.” His fingers tightened slightly around the mug. “And then I came home already angry at myself, and you were trying to make me feel better…”
“And you decided that was annoying.”
His face twisted immediately. “When you say it like that, I sound awful.”
“You were awful.”
“I know.”
You took a sip of coffee.
Frederik looked down for a moment before continuing. “You were being nice to me and I just…” He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “I wanted to stay angry.”
Your expression softened slightly despite yourself. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I know.” He looked frustrated with himself. “But if I let you comfort me then I’d have to stop replaying everything for a second, and I didn’t feel like I deserved that.”
The honesty caught you off guard a little.
“You thought being comforted was…what? Letting yourself off easy?”
“Maybe.”
You stared at him. Goalies were genuinely insane sometimes.
“You do realize punishing yourself doesn’t magically change the score, right?”
A weak huff of laughter escaped him. “Apparently not.”
Your fingers tapped lightly against the mug. “You made me feel like I was stupid for trying to help you.”
His expression fell immediately. “I know.”
“And honestly? That hurt more than you being angry.”
He nodded slowly.
“I can handle you being upset after losses,” you continued quietly. “I understand that. But I can’t handle you treating me like I’m the enemy because you hate yourself for one game.”
His eyes dropped to the table.
“You don’t get to decide I’m safe enough to hurt just because I love you.”
That one visibly landed.
Hard.
Freddie closed his eyes briefly.
“I know,” he said quietly. “And you’re right.”
The sincerity in his voice took some of the remaining fight out of you.
You sighed and looked down into your coffee.
For a while neither of you spoke. Then softly, he asked, “Are you still really angry?”
You looked up at him flatly. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
“But I’m less angry than I was last night.”
He nodded once like that was more relief than he deserved.
Another silence.
Freddie pushed his mug aside and leaned forward slightly. “I need you to know something.”
You waited.
“I never think you’re bad at supporting me.”
Your expression softened.
“Ever,” he added firmly. “You’re the best part of bad nights for me.”
The knot in your chest loosened a little. “You literally told me the opposite.”
“I know.” His face twisted again with regret. “And I hated myself for it immediately.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Immediately?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after I went to the guest room?”
A reluctant smile flickered across his face. “Before.”
“Hmm.”
“I swear.”
You tried not to smile back. Mostly succeeded.
Freddie watched you carefully for a second before speaking again, quieter now. “When you left the room, I realized how bad I’d messed up.”
You looked away.
“I kept thinking about how upset you looked.”
“You should.”
“I know.”
“And then you still waited hours before apologizing.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
“That’s because I didn’t.”
Another tiny smile.
You pointed at him immediately. “Don’t.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re dangerously close to being forgiven because you look sad and that’s irritating.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Dangerously close?”
“Don’t push it.”
That finally got a real laugh out of him. Tired, but real. The sound softened something in you almost instantly.
You hated that too.
He saw your expression change and his own gentled immediately.
“Come here?”
You narrowed your eyes on instinct. “Absolutely not.”
“Please?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
You tried to stay firm for another few seconds. Then eventually sighed and stood up. The relief on his face was immediate and so genuine that your chest hurt a little.
The second you got close enough, he reached for your hips carefully - hesitating at the last second like he was waiting for permission.
You let him. His hands settled there lightly. “You’re still in trouble,” you informed him.
“I know.”
“You were a complete ass.”
“I know.”
“And if you ever tell me I’m bad at loving you again, I will leave you.”
His expression softened immediately. “I don’t think that,” he said quietly. “Not even a little.”
You looked at him for a long moment. Then finally stepped between his knees.
The second you did, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against your stomach with a long exhale like he’d been holding himself together for hours.
Your anger cracked fully at that. “Oh my God,” you muttered, resting a hand lightly in his hair. “You really are dramatic after losses.”
A muffled groan came from against your shirt.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You act like the world is ending.”
“It felt like it yesterday.”
“It was game one.”
“We lost six to two.”
You rolled your eyes, but your fingers kept moving gently through his hair anyway.
For a minute he just held you there quietly. Then, voice muffled slightly, he admitted, “I was scared you’d stay mad.”
“I was planning to.”
“What changed?”
You shrugged one shoulder. “You looked pathetic this morning.”
A laugh shook through him before he tilted his head back enough to look up at you, expression softening again. “I really love you.”
Your chest squeezed painfully. “You’re lucky I love you too.”
“I know.”
“And next time you’re upset, use your words like an adult instead of emotionally terrorizing me.”
He actually looked embarrassed. “That bad?”
“You told me I was bad at supporting you.”
“Right.” He winced. “Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
He tightened his arms around you slightly. “I’m sorry.”
You studied him quietly for another second before finally leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.
The relief on his face was almost immediate.
“There,” you muttered. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You kissed me first.”
“Don’t ruin this.”
A sleepy smile spread across his face for the first time since he’d gotten home.
He tugged at your waist gently until you finally gave in and let him pull you fully into his lap.
“You’re clingy today,” you complained weakly.
“I had a traumatic evening.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“But you love me.”
Unfortunately, he sounded very confident about that now.
You sighed dramatically before wrapping your arms around his shoulders anyway. His entire body relaxed the second you did it.
That part always got you.
No matter how upset you were, the way he melted the second you touched him made it impossible not to remember how much he trusted you with the ugliest parts of himself.
He pressed his face against your neck and held you tighter.
“I’ll be better next time,” he murmured.
You rested your cheek lightly against his hair.
“You better be.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
And this time, finally, you did believe him.
