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thewintersoldierdisaster · 12 days ago

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a/n: this fic exists in all her glory because of you guys and how much excitement and love you showed ace and willy from the start 🤍 i’m overwhelmed by the response to the blurbs before they even got a full fic and i’m so excited to be putting this out in the world. many thanks to @youunravelme for being the ultimate bestie and hype girl 🥰 i can’t wait to see your reactions!

part 1 word count: 31.9k

tw: pregnancy, mentions of vomiting and gagging, mentions of nausea, dirty talk/innuendo, oral sex (f receiving, brief m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, come play, nipple play, minor depiction of labor

summary: accidentally pregnant, your relationship with william nylander grows and deepens from fuck buddies to more over the course of a year

“I’m going to need you to say something.”

Your fingers are twisted together so tightly the skin is turning white from lack of blood flow. Your stomach gives an anxious lurch and you swallow heavily, difficult around the lump of emotion clogging your throat.

William Nylander, forward for the Toronto Maple Leafs and your fuck buddy of the past seven months, just blinks at you from his spot sprawled in his armchair. His jaw is slightly slack and he runs a hand through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp.

“Huh,” he mutters, more to himself than anything and you almost want to scream.

But you bite down on the inside of your cheek and resist, knowing he needs - deserves - a minute to process the bombshell you just dropped.

Sensing your anxiety, Pablo hops up onto the couch and drapes his paws and fluffy blond head on your thigh, tongue lolling out of his mouth. You smile faintly and untangle your fingers to scratch at the top of his head, the knot in your chest loosening with each pass of your hand over the dog’s soft fur. Getting to spend time with Pablo and Banksy is one of your favorite things about the arrangement you have (had? You’re not sure where you stand at this point) with William. Growing up, you’d never been allowed to have a dog, so getting to play with your fuck buddy’s pets is the best thing.

“Sorry,” William says suddenly, startling your attention away from Pablo. He clears his throat and shakes his head a little, like a kid clearing a drawing from an Etch-a-sketch. “Sorry,” he repeats and this time his lips twitch up at the corners, not even close to a full smile or even the smirk he likes to give you when he knows you’re about to come. But it’s amusement on his face and not anger, which is the emotion you’d most been worried about.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, hand cupped over Pablo’s head. “I know…this wasn’t ideal. The pregnancy or the timing, but I couldn’t…you kept texting and I felt -“

Bad. You felt bad for ghosting him the past three weeks. Every time William had texted, you’d glanced at the words on your phone’s screen with a wave of guilt and swiped the notification away.

The positive pregnancy text had thrown your life off its axis and you’d retreated into the safety of your own apartment to process and decide what to do.

“Yeah,” William huffs a laugh, “I wasn’t expecting this when you finally reached out again.”

He puts a slight emphasis on “finally” and you cringe a little. But you’ve had three weeks to process and William’s had three minutes, so you’re more than happy to let him have his moment.

“It was shitty of me,” you admit, resuming scratching at Pablo’s ears. The dog yawns and relaxes further onto your thigh, making sure your jeans are covered in light dog hair. “I was freaked out. But like I said, I’m not expecting you to be any more involved than you want to be.”

It hadn’t taken long for you to decide to keep the baby - a few minutes, really. And then you’d remembered that there was a professional hockey player out there that needed to be told he was going to be a dad. And you’d promptly started ignoring all of his messages, feeling increasingly guilty with each unanswered text.

Really, William’s taken the news a hell of a lot better than you thought he would. There wasn’t an immediate demand of a DNA test or a proposal, both of which would’ve pissed you off for different reasons. Instead, he’d gone quiet, a dazed look in his eyes.

“I know, Ace,” he laughs more genuinely now, the nickname rolling off his tongue and warming you from the inside out. He can’t possibly be that upset if he’s still using your nickname. “You said it like four times during your monologue.”

“I ramble when I’m nervous,” you mutter in defense of yourself. “I was nervous. I’m still nervous because you really haven’t said anything and I know I dumped this on you right before the playoffs start.”

There’s still a week before the start of the playoffs, a few more games left for the Leafs to play. But they’ve long since clinched a spot in the dance - that’s part of the reason you’re sitting here. February had been a major playoff push for the team to gather as many points as possible and you’d found yourself in William’s bed nearly every night that he was home. At some point, the condom must’ve broken or you’d forgotten to use one, because your period hadn’t appeared when it was supposed to.

A second line on the pregnancy test though?

That had appeared right away.

William snorts a laugh and the noise startles Pablo on your lap. The dog lifts his head and looks around for a moment before settling down again. You stroke at his ears.

“Yeah, less than ideal timing, Ace,” he scrubs a hand over his face. “But I’m glad I know. Fuck, a baby?”

There’s no heat in his tone though, just disbelief, and you nod.

“Yeah, a baby,” you nod. “Sometime in late November.”

It’s quiet for a beat and you can see William doing the math in his head and his lips curl up in a little smirk when it clicks. He laughs, “this is a result of the February sex marathon?”

His laughter and the easy way he’s accepted the news makes the remaining vestiges of your anxiety fade away and you manage a faint laugh of your own. “I think so. I’m eight weeks next week,” you shrug, “so that puts it right around the All Star break.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist me in that jersey,” he teases and you roll your eyes.

“I’m a simple girl,” you shoot back. William grins and you smooth your hands over your thighs. “So, um, I’ve taken up a lot of your time. I’m going to head out. Let you, like, get ready and stuff. You’ve got a game tomorrow, right?”

“Mhm,” William nods. “Detroit’s in town - your favorites. You want to come?”

You’d actually love to go to the game, since the Red Wings are your hometown team and your dad’s favorite, so by default your favorite. But you find yourself shaking your head, even though the fact that William remembered that they’re your team is making your heart do a funny little flip.

“I’m okay, thanks though,” you rub at the side of your nose. “I need to…well, now that I’ve told you about the baby, I need to tell my parents.”

They’re not going to be thrilled, but at a certain point they’ll get over it, especially when the baby actually gets here and they can be grandparents that spoil the shit out of the kid.

“Oh shit,” William’s eyebrows lift closer to his hairline, realization dawning on his face. “I’ll have to tell my parents too.”

You’re ready to tell him that he doesn’t have to say anything, not if he doesn’t want to. But he continues, a smile lifting the corners of his lips, “they’re gonna be thrilled. But hey, before either of us starts telling people, let’s figure some plans out? I’ll take you to dinner on Sunday, we’ll talk?”

He leans forward and taps the coffee table in an absent pattern. “I want to be involved, Ace, I do. I just, you know, can’t figure it all out right now.”

“I know,” you murmur, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m glad you want to be involved, because honestly, I’m terrified.”

Pablo yawns on your lap and you resist the urge to gather him up in your arms and squeeze him like he’s a stuffed animal. William catches the dog’s action and reaches out to scratch at his ears.

“Lazy bum,” he mutters with an affectionate smile. His fingers tap against yours, tangled in Pablo’s fur. “We’ll figure it out, yeah? We were a good match in bed so why not in parenting too.”

A watery laugh startles out of your mouth and William looks delighted that he was the cause.

“I don’t think those things really correlate,” you say.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he replies and squeezes your fingers. The last of your anxiety settles and you find that you’re really glad that William is going to be the dad to your kid.

——-

The Leafs lose in overtime and you can’t help but feel excited for your Wings, even as you’re texting William that he played a good game.

His response is delayed, coming in after you know he’s home from the arena, and it makes you laugh out loud.

WN88: oh so when i’m a loser you can text me, but when i was hard up to get my mouth on your pussy, it was radio silence? i see how it is 🙄

You: And here I was, thinking I was being sympathetic. Never again!! LGRW!

WN88: that’s actually the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, ace. take it back

You: Nope, can take the girl out of MI but can’t take the MI out of the girl 💁🏼‍♀️

WN88: i was gonna bring the dogs to dinner tomorrow, but not anymore! you’ve lost privileges

A huge smile is on your face as you text him, the conversation flowing easily. Historically, you and William don’t text like this, or at all really other than to coordinate when and where you’ll meet up. You’ve always gotten along with him and had fun, your little no-strings hook up arrangement wouldn’t have lasted half as long if you didn’t.

But it had always been just a hook up, when William needed a little extra “luck” for a game or you were feeling particularly hard up for an orgasm. You’re not dating and you’re basically just acquaintances, bordering on friends. Not that you’ve ever hung out with him beyond the occasional dinner or breakfast after a hookup. You can count on two hands the amount of times you’d stayed at his place and vice versa.

While you scroll back up through your messages with William, you decide that the sex part of your relationship should probably end. It’s already going to be stressful enough navigating a co-parenting relationship, why add the extra emotional attachment of sex into the mix?

Especially when he’s being kind of adorable over text and your hormones are going wild.

Especially when you were already developing a little bit of a crush on him.

He sends a picture of the dogs, flopped on the couch in a little pile, and an invite that has you feeling soft at his thoughtfulness - “we can do dinner at my place if you want? you can hang with the emotional support freeloaders and wear sweats”

You reply with a thumbs up, trying to avoid thinking too much about William and how wonderful he’s been in the past twenty-four hours.

He’s just your baby daddy, maybe your friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

——-

William orders in from Sugo - so typical of him and it makes you smile when you see the bag on the counter. Until your stomach churns with a wave of nausea and you run off to the bathroom with an embarrassed cry, hovering over the toilet for a few moments. You gag a few times, but don’t actually throw up, which is a small miracle in and of itself. Ever since you took the damn test, your symptoms have been loud and proud.

“You okay?” He asks, forehead furrowed in concern, when you get back into the kitchen. You notice that he’s got the food put away now, either in the fridge or hiding in the oven, and that small gesture makes tears well up in your lash line.

You nod, cheeks heated, “yeah, I am. Sorry, it’s just,” you wave your hand in the air to encompass everything, “smells make me nauseous. Flavor makes me nauseous. It’s been a really unpleasant few weeks.”

William hands you a seltzer from the fridge and you accept it with a small smile. The fizz settles your stomach and the cold can feels good when you lean it against your cheek.

“Guess I should’ve asked before I ordered Italian,” William comments dryly. “Got a lot to learn.”

“I should’ve mentioned it,” you shoot back, sitting on the bar stool closest to you. “I’m good with just like toast, honestly.”

He shakes his head, “no way. You need to eat more than that. Can you handle plain pasta?”

Mercifully, you can, and twenty minutes later William’s returning from the lobby of his building with another Sugo take-out bag and plating up the plain buttered pasta for you both.

“You can eat what you ordered originally,” you protest, thanking him after taking the bowl he offers you.

“Nah,” he shakes his head and drops into the same armchair he’d been sitting in when you told him about the pregnancy two days ago. His bowl is the same size as yours, but looks smaller in his huge hands. You can’t help but stare at the veins that crisscross the backs of his hands and up his forearms. “I’m not going to make you nauseous if I can help it. I’ll eat it tomorrow.”

“You’re being so nice,” you hiccup, tears falling down your cheeks, overwhelmed. You swipe at your face. “I don’t think any other guy would be so nice in the same situation. You haven’t even asked me if I’m sure it’s yours.”

William shrugs and shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth. After he swallows, his eyes crinkle up at the corners, “it’s not like you did it on purpose. I’ve always wanted to be a dad, why not now and with you?”

He pauses and adds, “besides, you’re not a liar. And I think I kept you so busy in my bed, when would you have had time to sleep with someone else?”

Banksy hops up onto the couch and curls up at your side, looking at you with big eyes, begging for pasta. You rub the dog’s ears, loving that you get their comfort every time you’re here.

“There’s a million reasons,” you point your fork at him, blatantly ignoring the fact that he’s right and that you were only sleeping with him for the past few months. “We’re not together, you’re Toronto’s golden boy and I’ve just baby trapped you…”

You trail off when William starts laughing and you scowl him.

“Ace, that’s two reasons and they’re both shitty,” he teases you. “I think we established that you didn’t baby trap me. A condom broke, we forgot one. Either way, we’re both to blame. And who cares if we’re not together, we’re friends, we can co-parent.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” you mumble, eating a bite of pasta.

“It wouldn’t be easy even if we were together,” William runs his socked foot over Pablo’s back, the dog sprawled on the floor in front of him. He hesitates and squints suspiciously at you. “Are you trying to talk me out of being involved? Do you, uh, do you think I’d be bad at it?”

“I…what? No!” You exclaim. “I’m just…I’m just trying to keep everything realistic. If anyone is going to be bad at it, it’s me!”

Your chest starts to feel a little tight and William abandons his bowl to the coffee table so he can come sit next to you on the couch and wrap you up in his arms. The hug feels good and you melt into his touch like you had so many times before. He smells good, warm and cozy, and you press your nose against his chest.

“I don’t think I said it the other day,” he says quietly, more serious than he is usually. “But I’m really excited about this baby. And I’m glad we’re doing it together, even if you are a Red Wings fan.”

“I’m really excited too,” you whisper wetly. “And scared.”

Banksy climbs onto your lap and cuddles up between you and William, making him laugh into your hair.

“I’ve kept these two alive, how hard can a baby be?” He teases.

“Oh yeah,” you push away from him, the hug and being surrounded by his scent making you lightheaded, “it’s definitely the same thing.” You hesitate and then ask, “I have my eight week ultrasound next week. Do you - want to come?”

William’s eyes light up. “Thought you’d never ask, Ace,” he beams and his smile softens and the air crackles like it used to and William’s hands are on your upper arms, sliding up to your neck and then curling around your jaw and he’s leaning in. You could lean in too, fall so easily into his arms, but you blink and press your palm flat against his chest, fingers flexing against his pec and keeping him at arm’s length.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur in response to the confused look on his face. “I think…I need to keep this just co-parents, Willy.”

There’s a split second of disappointment on his face, but it’s gone as fast as you can blink, and he’s nodding at you. His thumb caresses the edge of your jaw. “I got it.” he agrees easily. “We just focus on being friends and the best parents we can be.”

You’re not sure why his words leave you a little melancholy, but you chalk it up to hormones and from there it’s easy. You both settle back into the couch with your pasta and the dogs, chatting about the upcoming playoffs and the filming William will be doing for the Amazon Face Off series.

“Yeah, it’ll be pretty cool,” he says, feeding Banksy a piece of linguini. “Me and Pasta, we’re the focus for an episode, I think.”

“You guys know each other from when you were kids, right?” You prop your head on your palm, elbow leaning against the back of the couch. Both dogs are on your lap, a warm, heavy weight that’s got you half way asleep.

“Teenagers, but yeah,” Willy grins. “It’s fun, you know, battling against friends in a rivalry.”

“I can’t even imagine it,” you reply. “If I had a guy running me into the boards at top speed during a game, I don’t know if I could be friends with him off-ice.”

“We compartmentalize,” William shrugs. He hesitates and you brace yourself for whatever’s coming next, but it’s honestly a relief when he says, “I’m not going to talk about you or the baby, when I’m filming, is that okay?”

Everything in your body relaxes and you nod. There’s no way you want to be mentioned or shown on an Amazon documentary, you’ve seen how some hockey fans act on social media, that’s not a stressor you need in your life right now.

“That’s totally fine,” you reply. “I definitely do not want that kind of attention. I’m not even going to make some announcement on my own social media. Like, not to hide you or anything, but I’m not here to be seen as some puck bunny, baby trapping gold digger.”

You’re slightly out of breath when you finish the sentence, a little stunned when you realize how forceful you’d been. Clearly, there was a part of you that’s worried about the perception.

Willy smirks at you. “Been thinking about that a lot, huh?” He asks. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to subject you to the fan base either. My private life is my private life. But the guys are definitely going to want to meet you.”

You’d very briefly met Ryan Reaves and Calle Järnkrok on the same night you met Willy for the first time, but haven’t met anyone else since. The thought of meeting all of his friends and teammates is daunting and the apprehension must show on your face because William nudges your thigh with his knuckles and forces you to look at him.

“The guys are chill,” he reassures you. “And you don’t have to meet them any time soon, if you don’t want to. I don’t know when I’m even going to tell them. I kind of want to keep this just for us right now.”

“I like the sound of that,” you reply quietly. The little bubble you’re in with William and the dogs is so domestic it almost hurts. Popping it is going to be a painful reality check.

——

The next day, William leaves for a back to back in Florida and they lose both, which means he’s in a funk when he meets you at your apartment before your ultrasound on Thursday.

He has a few hours in Toronto before they leave for Boston and you feel guilty that he’s using up that free time on the doctor’s appointment. Especially because it seems like he’s struggling with something.

“So do we find out if it’s a boy or a girl at this one?” William asks, standing in front of you as the TTC rumbles to life and zips off towards your stop. He’s got one arm up, holding onto the bar for stability and you can’t help but appreciate the ease of his movements. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, even though it’s fairly bright in the car.

You shake your head. “That’s twenty weeks,” you explain with an authority that’s due to obsessively Googling pregnancy the last few weeks. “This one is just a general physical and medical history. We’ll get the hear the baby’s heartbeat though, and probably find out the due date.”

“You said November, right?” William asks and you nod.

“That’s my best guess,” you pause to press your lips together as nausea rises in your throat. William reaches into his pocket and wordlessly hands over a ginger candy. You take it with a grateful smile and pop the candy into your mouth, nose burning as the ginger hits your sinuses. The nausea fades though.

“I did a little reading on the plane,” William grins sheepishly in explanation, reaching for your hand as the train comes to a stop and the doors open. He keeps a firm grip on you through the crowds, not letting go even when you’re back above ground and heading towards your OB/Gyn’s office. His fingers are warm and calloused around yours, his touch familiar and comforting even if it triggers a Pavlovian response to get you aroused. William leads the way, allowing you to turn off your brain for a moment and just follow along, safe in the knowledge that he’ll get you where you need to be.

The appointment itself is fairly boring and William waits in the hallway while you’re examined, excusing himself without needing to be asked.

He gets called back in when it’s time for the ultrasound, so he can hear the heartbeat, and you both cringe when your doctor pulls out a condom-covered probe.

“What’s that?” William asks and then he blinks when it dawns on him where exactly the probe is going.

“Transvagjnal ultrasound,” Doctor Knight informs him cheerfully. She looks like she’s enjoying his discomfort - sadist. “Before twelve weeks this is the best way to get a sense of how the pregnancy is progressing.”

You frown and involuntarily try to press your legs together, but your feet are hooked in the stirrups and it’s impossible. All that happens is a clanking noise as you jostle the metal. William’s little “oh” breezes past your ear and he shuffles back a step, so he’s almost behind the exam table. Thank god there’s a sheet draped over your knees and hiding your lower half.

Not that he isn’t intimately familiar with that part of your body.

Dr. Knight applies a liberal amount of lube to the ultrasound probe and you brace for the insertion, biting at your lower lip. There’s an initial sting, but nothing as thick or long as William’s cock, your brain helpfully supplies that thought and you nearly groan.

“Relax,” Dr. Knight laughs and you mutter, “easy for you to say,” under your breath in reply.

William runs a soothing hand over the top of your head and you crane your neck back to look at him. His upside down smile is soft at the edges, reassuring and nervous. He mouths, “yeah, relax” at you with a lift of his eyebrow and you have to bite down on your tongue to avoid the burst of laughter that bubbles up in your chest.

The probe feels strange and you hold your breath while Dr. Knight moves it, searching for a heartbeat. It takes a few seconds and you swallow anxiously, reaching back for William’s hand. He grabs it without hesitation, squeezing twice in quick succession.

“There we go,” Dr. Knight murmurs, just as the steady, rhythmic thumping heartbeat fills the room. “Nice and strong.”

Tears fill your eyes and roll down your cheeks, an overwhelming rush of love taking your breath away.

That’s your baby.

“Whoa,” William gasps above you, squeezing your hand again and lowering his face down next to yours. He brushes his lips over your temple, soft and sweet. “That’s our baby.”

“Yeah,” you agree on a wet laugh, “that’s our baby.”

Dr. Knight lets you study the image on the monitor for a few more minutes and then you’re given multiple printouts of the sonogram and William’s back in the hallway so you can get dressed.

You schedule your twelve week appointment with William at your side, asking if it can be early so he can come too. Once that’s done, he plants his hand on your lower back and guides you to the elevator and down to the lobby.

“I can’t…” you hesitate, grinning at the sonogram in your hands, “I can’t believe that’s our baby. Like it just feels so real now.”

“Yeah,” he nods, tapping at the little blob on the picture that’s the baby, “November 25th will be here before we know it.”

It’s so scary to think about, how fast time is going to move, how much there needs to be done before then. But William shoots that grin at you, the one that made you a little weak in the knees all those months ago in the bar and got you into his bed, and you find yourself grinning back.

“Let’s go get you some lunch,” he says, leading you out to the sidewalk. “I gotta tell you something.”

You’re nervous until he confesses sheepishly that he told Ryan Reaves about the baby while they were down in Florida and that the Amazon cameras had caught the moment.

“I just kind of blurted it out,” he shrugs a little. “But I spoke to the coordinator, asked if they would cut that from the episode. She was great about it, it won’t be included. But that means the guys are definitely going to know pretty soon. Reavo can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Oh,” you murmur around a mouthful of chicken soup. It’s bland and perfect. “I mean, I guess that’s fine? It’s really up to you when you tell your friends and stuff. I’m just glad Amazon’s not going to include it.”

William reassures you they won’t and that’s that. It doesn’t really matter to you when he tells his friends, you’re going to be nervous when you meet them anyway. And then William drops another bomb.

“Y’know. My birthday is the first, my parents will be in town for the playoffs,” he hedges. “Alex and my sisters too.”

You blink at him, spoon halfway to your mouth, broth dripping back into your bowl. “You, I’m sorry, you want me to meet your whole family in the middle of playoffs? On your birthday? Oh my god, to announce that I got knocked up and that we’re not even together? Do you want them to hate me?” You’re aware of the rising panic in your tone, the frenetic way the words are spilling out of your mouth, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

William holds a hand up at you, the universal gesture for calm down, and says, “okay, yeah. So when you lay it out like that, it doesn’t sound great.”

You open your mouth to continue, but he shakes his head and interrupts you, “but they’re not going to hate you. I can promise that. I don’t hate you, so they won’t. In fact, my sisters will probably love you and my mom will just be so thrilled to be getting a grandkid, the only thing that would turn her off is if you’re a murderer or something.”

“Gee,” you mutter dryly, “the bar is really high.”

“Just think about it,” he says, gathering up the garbage on your table. “You’re going to have to meet them eventually.”

He’s not wrong, you’re just scared as shit that they’re going to think you’re some kind of gold digger who baby trapped their son.

But either way, you promise to think about it and by the time William drops you back off at your apartment with a good-bye hug and a strip of the sonogram images in his pocket, you’re ready for a nap.

It’s been a long morning and you can feel the telltale soreness in your eyes that means you’re doing too much and you’ll likely pay for it in a few days with a migraine.

But, knowing that it’s not going to get easier the long you wait, you decide to be a big girl and call your parents.

You FaceTime your mom, knowing she’ll be home for a quick break to grab lunch before going back to the antique store your family’s owned on Main Street since long before even your mom was born.

Surprisingly, when she answers, you can see that she’s still in the store, the original Lingermore Antiques sign hanging on the wall behind her.

“Hiya, honey,” she greets you with a wide, if slightly confused smile. You never call her randomly in the middle of the morning, so you can’t blame her. “What’s going on?”

Something unlocks in your chest when you see your mom’s face and you feel like a little kid again, excited to tell her and nervous all the same.

“Hi, mommy,” your smile is smaller and feels slightly strained at the edges, your heart beating fast in your chest. You prop your phone up against the fruit bowl on your counter and sit back a little.

“Mommy, huh?” She laughs. “You only call me that when you’re trying to butter me up. What trouble did you get yourself into?”

You should ask if your dad’s around, tell them both at the same time, but you can’t resist and you hold up the strip of sonogram images, letting them unfurl. A hesitant smile plays at your lips and you watch your mom’s face reflect half a dozen expressions in seconds as it registers what she’s seeing.

“Surprise,” you say, half-sheepish, half-excited.

“Oh, honey,” your mom breathes, eyes wide, hands clapped over her mouth. Her eyes look wet and you can’t tell if she’s angry or sad or excited. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod, your nose burning from holding back your own tears. “Yeah, eight weeks today. Clean bill of health from my doctor,” you pause, knowing her next question will be about the dad, before continuing, “I’m due in November.”

Your mom blinks silently as she processes and you try not to feel a little hurt. It’s a shock for her, you know, especially since your last long term relationship ended nearly two years ago and as far as she knew, you weren’t seeing anyone. Technically, you’re not seeing anyone, but explaining a long-term hook up situation to your mother isn’t something you really want to do even though you’ll probably have to at some point.

“I didn’t…” she starts, lips twisting to the side. Her gaze is locked on the sonograms you’re still holding up to the screen. “You’re seeing someone? Seriously?”

“Ah,” you rub at the dip of your Cupid’s bow and your mom frowns at you, catching the tell from childhood that you were about to lie.

She full names you and you wince, course correcting.

“No,” you admit. “We’re not seeing each other, but we’re friends and he’s going to be involved. He’s really excited about the baby, mom.”

Her next question is also expected. “Does he have a name? Are we going to get to meet him?” The skeptical look is fading and you can see the excitement start to glitter in her eyes.

“Yes, he has a name,” you smile, lowering the sonograms - your arm is starting to hurt. “And yes, you’ll get to meet him, eventually. Is Dad around?”

Your mom pinches her lips together at you, clearly wanting to say something else, but shifts slightly to the side so she disappears from the screen, calling out your dad’s name. You laugh and he appears a few moments later, holding a huge silver candelabra and a cleaning cloth.

“What’s going on? Oh hey, is that my little starfish?” He beams at you through the phone, leaning in slightly. His reading glasses slip off his forehead and he huffs a good-natured scoff before pushing them back up.

“Hi, daddy,” you return his smile, biting your tongue at the way your mom is practically vibrating with excitement behind him.

“‘Daddy’, huh?” he laughs loudly and turns to your mom. “What trouble did she get into now?”

Jeez, you didn’t think you were that transparent and predictable.

“Just wait,” your mom laughs, tipping her chin back to the phone.

That’s your cue, you suppose, to lift the strip of sonograms again.

“What’s - “ your dad starts and then cuts himself off, looking between you, the sonograms, and your mom in disbelief for a few seconds. “You’re pregnant?”

He’s so choked up his voice cracks on the second half of the word and then suddenly, all three of you are crying and you’re repeating the story you’d told your mom. Only this time, you cop to William’s identity.

That stops your dad, die-hard Detroit Red Wings fan and season ticket holder since 1972, right in his tracks.

“Who? Who’s my grandbaby’s father?” His serious tone is at odds with the slightly manic glint in his eyes.

“You heard me,” you shake your head. “Don’t be weird about it, please.”

Your mom gets bumped to the side as your dad leans in closer to the screen, grinning like a fool. “Mom and I are going to drive up this weekend and have dinner with you two,” he says it like it’s a done deal.

“Joke’s on you,” you counter. “Will’s off to Boston for the playoffs and frankly, I’m embarrassed that you don’t know that, Mr. Hockey.”

He cocks his head at you and tips it in concession. “You’re right, starfish. You get a reprieve now, but we do want to come and meet him.”

“I know,” you nod. “But when you do, please behave. This is, um, kind of a lot for us to navigate. We’re happy, but we’ve got a lot to work out and he doesn’t need the Spanish Inquisition from you.”

“We’ll be on our best behavior,” your mom speaks over your dad, who’s saying, “I just want his thoughts on the strength of the division.”

After a little more chatter, mostly your mom asking how you’re feeling, they both tell you they love you and “the future 2042 first round draft pick.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you mutter wryly, hanging up after promising to send a picture of the sonogram.

———

You text Willy a good luck the next morning, but don’t hear anything back. Not entirely unusual, but a little strange.

You keep yourself occupied with work and making lists of things that you need to get for the baby, things you need to discuss with William. The lists make you feel better.

And then that spirals out into anxiety the next day when you still haven’t heard from Willy and he’s not on the Leafs’ lineup. Both teams are taking the ice for warmups and you’re watching from the couch, shoulders stiff and a tell-tale ache behind your right eyeball. You rub at the inner corner of your eyebrow and jab blindly at your phone, calling William.

He answers on the last ring and sounds awful. “Hey, Ace,” he greets you. “Sorry about the lack of responses.”

“Are you okay?” You bite down on the panic that’s rising in your chest. “I thought you were playing? What’s going on?”

It feels strange to be so worried about him, when you hadn’t paid too much attention to his health during the regular season. But now there’s the baby to think about too and you want William to be okay.

“I’m fine,” he grunts down the line and then laughs, a more muted version of his usual, “well, not fine, obviously. I’m still at home. Migraine finally kicked my ass.”

“Migraine?” You repeat. You hadn’t known he suffered from them too.

“Yeah,” he replies and you can hear fabric rustling like he’s shifting around in bed or on the couch. “Started feeling it during the Panthers game. Played through it, but now I’m paying for my stupidity.”

You can hear the strain in his voice and you know it can’t be easy for him, and he must be in some serious pain to not play in the playoffs. This is what all hockey players live for and they don’t take the opportunity for granted.

“Do you need anything?” You ask softly, your own temple giving a little throb in sympathy.

Willy exhales into your ear and replies, “I’m okay, thanks, Ace.” He pauses and you wait. “Do you, no pressure, want to come over and watch with me? Could be nice to have some company while I suffer.”

It doesn’t take long for you to make up your mind and you tell him that you’ll be there soon.

It’s nice, because he only lives a few blocks away from you, so you change and head over after grabbing some supplies. Ice cream and Excedrin and a two liter of Coke - you’ll need all of them if your own migraine develops further which you hope it doesn’t, but either way, it’s all good stuff to have around for Willy. And the ice cream is always good when you’re watching a game.

William greets you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, dark circles under his eyes and his hair a mess. He looks like a man in the middle of a crisis. And still, you feel like a perv for appreciating how hot he looks in his glasses.

“They’re losing,” he says seriously, heading back to the couch and TV. He doesn’t even acknowledge the bag on your arm. Pablo and Baksy scratch at your legs and you lean down to pet them.

“There’s so much hockey left,” you reply softly. “Meanwhile, Leafs Twitter thinks you’re dead.”

You hadn’t been able to resist scrolling through the hashtag and you wish you hadn’t. There’s a lot of negativity out there in the Leafs-sphere.

“Just dead enough to not be able to play,” he grumbles, running a hand over his face. His eyes go wide and he swings his head to look at you, “shit, I’m sorry, Ace, I’m being a dick. Do you want anything?”

You’re in the kitchen, putting the Excedrin in a cabinet and the soda in the fridge before putting a scoop of vanilla in a bowl for yourself.

“No, no,” you wave him off and curl up on the end of the couch with both dogs and your ice cream. “Pretend I’m not even here. The dogs and baby and I will just be silent emotional support.”

William’s mouth curls into a tiny, delighted smile. “Baby. I like that you’re a ‘we’ now, you know. Two for the price of one.”

It takes a second to process, but when it does, your jaw drops and you let out a loud burst of laughter that has William joining in a second later. “Oh my god,” you gasp around laughter, “that’s such an insane way of putting it, but I kind of love it?”

“My brain is so scrambled right now,” he complains, nudging at your thigh with one hand. “You are a two for one deal right now!”

“I guess I am,” you shake your head. “A package deal.”

“Buy one, get one free,” your baby daddy grins.

“Free gift with purchase,” you shoot back.

William pauses, thinks, and shakes his head. “I got nothing, you win,” he teases.

You pat at your stomach, flat and covered by the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, “I do like my prize.”

He winks at you and your stomach twists, not unpleasantly.

The Leafs lose game one and win game two and by the time game three rolls around, both you and William are stressed beyond belief. He’s still not cleared to play, the lingering headache and double vision making him a liability on ice, and you know it’s driving him crazy to have to keep missing time.

The morning of game three, William calls while you’re on the way to work.

“Hey,” you greet him, crossing the street and flipping off a driver that skirts slightly too close to you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, fucking pissed I’m out another game,” he says and you can hear the eye roll that accompanies his response. “But hey, are you going to come over to watch the game tonight?”

That’s a thing you’ve been doing now, spending every night for the past week hanging out at William’s place, whether or not it’s a game night. It’s been really nice, spending time with him and getting to know him while he’s been dealing with the not playing stress. It’s actually made you even calmer and confident in your decision to tell him about the baby, because he hasn’t been a total rage machine when things haven’t gone his way.

You knew he was chill and laid back, but getting to see how passionate he is about hockey and his team is just adding an extra layer to how much you like him.

“I…yeah, if you don’t mind. I’d like to come over,” you find yourself saying.

“Cool,” you can hear him whistle for the dogs before he continues, “I should warn you. The Amazon guys are going to be recording and Alex is coming over too.”

“Alex? Your brother?” You swipe into your office building, palms sweating. You’re still trying to decide if you want to meet William’s family on his birthday.

“Uh huh,” Willy laughs. “He’s excited to meet you and promised not to be weird.”

“You told your family about me, about the baby?”

“Just Alex,” he promises. Not that you could blame him for telling his whole family, he has that right. “He’s excited to be Uncle Al.”

“Oh,” you gasp a little, free hand slipping to rest on your stomach. The baby’s going to have aunts and uncles and so many people excited to meet them. As an only child, you hadn’t really thought about William’s relationship with his siblings, but now you’re realizing that they’re important to him and if his brother is the only one he told, well, he and Alex must be so close. Something inside your brain clicks and you want to be part of his family, but you’re a little surprised when you hear yourself blurt out, “I’ll come to your birthday dinner, if that’s still okay?”

William laughs in your ear warmly. “Not the current question, but yeah, it’s okay. I want you there to meet everyone. Tonight though? If you come, I’ll tell the Amazon people not to get you in the footage.”

“No, it’s okay,” you don’t want everyone to have to worry about making sure you’re not included in the footage when they’re trying to film and you don’t want to get in the way of Willy’s time with his brother. “I’m going to stay home tonight, but we’ll talk, okay? Enjoy your time with Alex.”

“You sure?” William sounds almost like he wants you to change your mind and join, but you nod even though he can’t see you. “Ace?”

“Sorry, yeah, I was nodding,” you giggle. “Forgot you couldn’t see me. I’m sure. I’ll see you on your birthday, okay?”

——-

William’s birthday rolls around faster than you expected, sandwiched right in between games 5 and 6. Boston is leading the series 3 games to 2 and Toronto feels like a powder keg waiting to explode.

So of course having birthday dinner with your baby daddy and his entire family is the perfect way to spend the night.

You’d called him first thing in the morning, wishing him a happy birthday and congratulating him on the win the night before. He’d sounded tired, but excited and determined. Dinner plans had changed, he tells you, instead of going out to eat in a city that’s definitely not going to leave him alone, his dad is cooking dinner at home.

“Just bring yourself and the baby,” William had said, as if you weren’t a package deal.

By the time you’re outside William’s door, juggling the bottle of wine for his dad, the bouquet of flowers for his mom, and the small wrapped birthday gift for the birthday boy himself, you’ve worked yourself up to the point of nausea.

William pulls open his front door and both dogs are at your ankles immediately, clingy as usual when you’ve been over here. He greets you with a big grin and leans in, almost as if he’s going to kiss you, but course-corrects at the last second and kisses your cheek.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” you return his smile, anxiety receding. “Happy birthday, old man.”

“I’m only a year older than you,” William shoots back, nudging Pablo and Banksy back into the condo with his foot and guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back. “You look good by the way.”

“Oh,” your cheeks heat up and you look down at your body. You can feel the slight bloat of your stomach, a tiny swell between your hipbones that hadn’t been there a few days ago, and it’s strange, but you don’t think it’s visible to others yet. “Thank you, but you already knocked me up, you don’t have to sweet talk me anymore.”

He rewards you with a bright laugh and you feel the warm pride that comes with making him laugh.

“I’m not going to stop, Ace,” he warns you with a twinkle in his eye. “So just accept it.”

You shake your head and juggle the wrapped gift box into his hand. “This is for you, I honestly had no idea what to get you. So…” you trail off with a little shrug and William palms the box easily, fingers spread wide.

“I’m gonna love whatever it is,” he reassures you. “Everyone’s in the kitchen, you ready?”

“No,” you reply honestly and are rewarded with another laugh.

He promises to stay by your side until you’re comfortable, but “they’re going to love you and they’re gonna be thrilled about the baby. Besides, it’s my birthday and my damn team is down in the series, they can’t be mean.”

You reward him with a little giggle this time and his hand slides from your lower back to your hip and squeezes. He’s tactile, William Nylander, and it’s something you didn’t realize you missed until you didn’t see him for all those weeks.

“Hey,” Willy announces loudly when you get into the kitchen, “this is Ace.”

With a small smile and a wave, you correct him with your real name, “Willy just calls me Ace. It’s nice to meet you all.”

A kitchen full of blonde Swedes all turn to look at you and give you a once over. It doesn’t feel unkind or judgmental, so you try not to fidget. William conveniently left out what, exactly, he told his family about you. To fill the silence, you lift the bottle of wine and flowers, “um, I wasn’t sure what we were having, but I figured a good cab goes with everything. And these are for you,” you pass off the flowers to William’s mom, Camilla.

She smiles warmly at you - God, she and her son have the exact same face - and it eases your nerves. “Thank you, this is very sweet,” she has a slight accent rounding her words and that seems to break the ice a bit.

William’s dad - Michael, he introduces himself - approves of the cab, commenting that it’ll go perfectly with the Italian food he’s making.

The red sauce simmering on the stove smells delicious and you tell him so, even as the smell makes your stomach lurch a little. William must notice something in your expression, because he hands you a piece of crusty Italian bread for you to nibble at. You pick at the bread and his siblings introduce themselves, Alex’s grin a shade shit-eating compared to his sisters’.

“Welcome to the family,” Alex says, giving you a one-armed hug.

“Yes!” Camilla beams, stirring at something on the stove. “Willy never brings girlfriends home, you’re special.”

You bite down on your tongue and look over at William for guidance, he’s six inches away and dipping a piece of bread into the sauce pot. He looks up and, with a mouthful of bread, cuts in for you, “ah, Ace isn’t my girlfriend, Mamma.”

Camilla and his sisters all look at him, heads cocked ans matching expressions of confusion on their faces. Alex clearly knows the situation and Michael looks between you and William, something dawning on his face.

“Then you just brought a friend to your birthday dinner?” Michelle, William’s older sister asks. To you, she says, “not that we’re not happy to have you here.”

William clears his throat and his lips curl in a sheepish little smile, “Ace and I are having a baby. In November.”

It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room.

The only noise is Pablo and Banksy prancing around, their nails clicking against the floor, and the quiet bubble of the sauce on the stove.

“William,” his mother’s eyes are wide, “you are not dating? But there is a baby?”

He nods and you can’t help but feel like he’s being too calm about the whole thing. You twist your fingers together in front of you, mouth opening and closing, but nothing comes out.

William’s sisters are all staring at you with wide eyes. Ella, the youngest, has a big smile on her face.

“I’m - we’re - pretty excited,” William says, a smile on his face. He dips his piece of bread back into the sauce and his dad nudges at his hand, muttering about double-dipping. It almost makes you burst out into laughter, how normal that is, how it’s the one thing his dad is reacting to.

There’s another beat of silence and then Camilla bursts out a torrent of rapid-fire Swedish, William and Michael joining in with hand gestures and more excitement than you’ve seen in a conversation in a while.

Your heart kicks anxiously against your chest, the idea that you’re causing an argument between William and his parents overwhelming. A cool hand tugs on yours and you blink, looking over at Ella.

She grins toothily, distracting you, “I love your dress.”

“Oh, thanks,” you look down at the silky midi dress, tiny flowers covering the fabric, “it’s AllSaints, I figured I needed to wear it before I don’t fit in it any more.” Your sentence trails off in an awkward little laugh.

You don’t realize it while it’s happening, but William’s siblings have formed a sort of semi-circle around you, guiding you into the living room and before you know it, you’re sitting on the couch with Pablo draped over your lap and Banksy curled up on top of the vintage Frye boots you’d found thrifting.

Steph tries to pull Banksy onto her lap, but the dog whines and refuses to move, making her laugh and comment, “I guess they’re being protective of the newest Nylander too.”

“They have been super clingy every time I’m over,” you reply, softly stroking at Pablo’s ears. The rapid-fire Swedish is still going strong from the kitchen and you chew at your lower lip anxiously.

“Are you going to come to the game tomorrow?” Alex asks curiously, lounging comfortably in the armchair.

You shake your head. “No, um, I don’t actually go to Willy’s games,” you cut yourself off before you can expand that it was part of the lucky charm superstition that had developed early on in your situation and then became a way to keep yourself at arm’s length from the superstar.

“Well you should!” Ella chirps from her spot at your side. You immediately like Willy’s youngest sister, her cheerful smile bright as she steals your phone from your side and enters her cell phone number. “It’ll be fun to have the whole family there, cheering Willy on.”

But I’m not family, you want to say, I’m just the baby mama.

Before you can counter Ella, William is at your back, warm hand on your bare shoulder. He leans against the back of the couch and his breath tickles your ear when he whispers, “everything okay, Ace?”

A shiver runs down your spine and you nod, warm all over from William’s proximity and his siblings’ ease.

“Good,” he murmurs, and then louder, for his family’s benefit, “you have full permission to tell any of these idiots to back off, if they’re too invasive.”

That sets off his siblings and they all talk over each other, wonderful chaos that draws attention away from you. Which, based on the wink William shoots your way, was exactly his plan.

Whatever William and his parents were discussing, it’s changed the mood and when you’re all at the table eating, Camilla squeezes your wrist on her way to her seat. You look up at her and she’s smiling warmly again, her eyes twinkling in the same way that William’s do.

“With Willy,” she comments idly, “I was sick every day until twelve weeks and then,” she snaps her fingers, “like that, magic, I was eating everything in sight and so horny.”

“Mom!” William’s voice goes high pitched and you feel your face burning.

“Oh, um,” you can’t manage to find words and then suddenly, everyone at the table is snickering and it’s contagious so you’re giggling too.

And just like that, the ice is broken and you’re part of the family.

Camilla and Michael are happy to share stories about William growing up and his siblings round it out with the more embarrassing ones. Pablo and Banksy circle you like two furry, protective helicopters, and Ella becomes like a shadow too.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” she comments when the night is winding down.

“You have three,” Jackie deadpans, slicing up the chocolate cake William had just blown out the candles on.

“Yeah,” Ella licks a smudge of frosting off of the side of her hand, “but none of you are having a baby. So, Ace is my favorite.”

You laugh, accepting a slice of cake from Jackie, and tuck your feet up underneath you. “I mean, I think I’ll probably be happy to have you babysit whenever you want,” you say, attempting a small bite of cake, for luck. The chocolate is rich and sweet and your stomach rejects it almost immediately. You pinch your lips together and William rubs at the spot between your shoulder blades absently.

You lean into his touch and let the conversation flow around you, a yawn fighting to escape.

After cake, William opens his gifts, grinning like a fool when he sees the hat you got him. Navy corduroy brim, cream colored fabric, and bold navy letters proclaiming DAD on the front.

“Shit, Ace,” he says, scraping back his hair and settling the hat on his head, “I love this.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek and you shrug.

“I honestly wasn’t sure what to get you,” you reply, patting your stomach. “I don’t know what tops a baby.”

Willy laughs. “No, the hat’s good. Can’t wait to wear it out.”

By the time you leave, Willy insisting on waking you home, all of his siblings are following you on Instagram and his mom’s enveloped you in no less than four hugs. Ella and Steph have insisted on going for breakfast in the morning and you were happy to find that it was an easy thing to agree to.

“Sorry,” Willy says at your front door, “I probably should’ve told them before today or warned you that I hadn’t. But I told you they’d love you.”

“You did say that,” you murmur. “I really like your family.”

Willy twists his lips, like he’s going to say something, but seems to think better of it and instead kisses your forehead. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll talk to you later,” his breath is warm and chocolatey.

“Okay,” you reply, resisting the sudden, strong urge to tangle your fingers in his shirt and keep him with you. You chalk it up to hormones and the biological impulse to keep your baby’s dad where you can see him. “Happy birthday, Willy.”

“Best one yet,” he teases.

——

The Leafs tie up the series, a win with Willy scoring both goals, and then again, Willy’s the only one to score in their Game Seven loss.

You experience a roller coaster of emotions, so you can’t even imagine how he’s feeling.

He carried the team on his back even though he missed three games and you couldn’t be more proud of him and his effort. But at the same time, you know he’s probably beating himself up for missing those three games and not doing enough.

Willy’s quiet for the first few days after they get bounced, texting you just enough to know that he’s back home. But then he does his exit interviews and all of a sudden, it’s the second week of May and Willy’s on summer break.

On the morning of your twelve week appointment, Willy is at your door three hours earlier than he needs to be, the hat you got him for his birthday pulled low over his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, offering you a small smile.

“Hi, stranger,” you greet him, waving him inside your place. “How’re you doing?”

“It sucks,” he shrugs, “but we weren’t good enough to win. Boston’s got our number every fucking time.”

You know he doesn’t want platitudes or empty words, so you just step into his space and wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. He relaxes under your touch and rests his cheek against the side of your head. With your face buried in his chest, your senses are filled with his scent, warm and comforting and familiar.

“Hey,” he perks up a little, “if we win next year, we can put the baby in the Cup.”

“Yeah,” you smile against his chest just thinking about it, “we definitely can.”

When he steps away from the hug, you’re surprised at how cold you feel from the loss of his body heat and you almost shuffle closer to tuck yourself against his side.

“How about some lunch before your appointment?” Willy suggests. “Or are you still nauseous?”

“Nope,” you announce happily. “Turns out this Nylander babe is pulling the same shit as its dad. Nausea was basically completely gone when I woke up the other day and now I’m starving. I had three fried eggs for breakfast.”

Willy laughs at your huge smile and chirpy announcement. “I’m glad to hear that, Ace,” he makes himself comfortable on your couch and adds, “hungry and horny, what a way to start the second trimester.”

You freeze. He’s right, but you don’t want to admit to that. You’d woken up the other day completely starving, for both food and William himself, wet between the legs and needy.

“Shit,” William grimaces, “sorry. That was overstepping a friends slash co-parent boundary, right?”

“No, um, it’s fine,” you shrug, trying for chill. “It’s not like we don’t know how the baby got in there.”

But now all you can think about is the ridiculous sex you were having with William, the positions and fun and how many orgasms you were getting. It’s enough to make your chest flush up to your neck and thankfully, William doesn’t point it out.

Instead he makes sure you’re fed and hydrated before your appointment, holding your hand while Dr. Knight runs the ultrasound over your stomach. Everything looks good, baby’s measuring about a week ahead of schedule, and now your only decision is whether or not you want to know the sex at your twenty week appointment.

You debate it all the way back to your apartment and land on being surprised when the baby is born, arguing successfully that it’s the only real surprise in life and you don’t mind setting up a gender-neutral nursery.

Within the next few weeks, your belly pops all of a sudden and you can’t stop stroking the curve, pulling your shirts tighter against the swell so you can see its shape.

On the first morning the belly pops, you text William a picture right away.

You: Look at this! *photo attached*

WN88: damn, ace! there’s really a baby in there!

You: Now I actually look pregnant and not like I had a huge lunch lmao

WN88: can you feel any movement?

You: Not yet, internet says most likely around 18-20 weeks, but could be later since it’s my first

WN88: *gif of Alien bursting out of Ripley’s chest*

You: 😒

WN88: 😇

———

youunravelme Tweet June 1

pretty sure i just saw willy nylander at sugo with his girlfriend

leafsbaee Tweet June 1

willy styles at sugo, fork found in kitchen

ownabanks Tweet June 8

just met pablo and banksy 🥹 and ofc willy styles! he was with a girl but she was really trying to pretend that she wasn’t with him. but like no way she wasn’t bc the dogs kept going to her side

misshoney Tweet June 10

okay am i crazy? or did i just see william nylander wearing a hat that says ‘dad’ on it???

reply from youunravelme: no because i saw him wearing a ‘dad’ hat too??

reply from m1234: willy styles in his dad era?!

reply from figmuffin2: it’s not like he’d ever confirm anything so we shouldn’t speculate

rachaelgreenwannabee Tweet June 18

not william nylander in a pretty heated conversation with his girlfriend at sugo. she def looks pregnant

reply from mhafanthings: guys we really shouldn’t comment on his personal life! what if she’s not pregnant?

reply from guccigem: he’s been spotted all over toronto with the same girl? and she’s holding her stomach like she’s pregnant so why shouldn’t we speculate?

reply from youunravelme: can you IMAGINE how cute that baby will be??

——

“I’ve said it once and I’m saying it again,” you grumble. “I’m not moving in with you.”

William scowls at you from across the table, the most annoyed he’s ever looked in the entire time you’ve known him. “It would be easier. Especially when the season starts up again,” he shakes his head, repeating the same argument you’ve been having for a couple of days now.

“Yeah, okay, but I also need my own space,” you shoot back, again, repeating the same argument you’ve been having. “I’m not giving up my place to live with you. That’s not a long term solution, what happens in the future, when…”

You trail off, cranky just thinking about William in a relationship with someone else. You cross your arms over your chest and scowl, leaning back in the seat. The bump is bumping today, your forearms resting on top of it.

Baby was measuring big at your sixteen week appointment the other day and per Camilla, Willy weighed nearly four and a half kilograms at birth. After you’d done the conversion in Google, your eyes had nearly fallen out of your head and you’d snapped at William that if the baby was ten pounds at birth, you were kicking him right in the balls.

Willy shakes his head, ignoring the implied end of your sentence. “Temporarily, at least! So I know you’re okay and if anything happened, we’d be together,” he rubs at the bridge of his nose, dislodging his glasses a little.

“You live three blocks away and are out of town half the time,” you point out petulantly before plucking an onion ring from the basket on the table and dragging it through a mix of buffalo sauce and blue cheese dressing.

“You’re going to have heartburn,” Willy points out reasonably, making your stomach clench a little with how much he pays attention.

“Okay, but did you consider that your child is craving buffalo sauce?” You shoot back, shoving the fried goodness in your mouth. The mix of flavors is exactly what you’ve been craving and it’s so worth the pain later.

Willy snorts and pushes a napkin your way. “We’re starting that early, huh?” He laughs. “Seriously though, Ace. For my peace of mind, will you consider moving in?”

“I’ll consider it,” you allow, “but it’s not going to happen, Will. I need to be in my own space, to get a routine going from when baby’s born.”

It’s been a circular fight at this point and you’re not sure how it’ll end up being resolved. You need to keep your apartment and keep your space from Willy so you can make sure you’re not overly attached to him. If you’re living with him and even more entangled than you already are, it’ll be harder when one day he find someone he really wants to spend the rest of his life with.

“I get it, Ace, I really do,” he leans forward, palms flat on the table, and his hair falls over his forehead. His eyes flash warmly. “But it’s my baby too and you’re, well, you’re you. I want to help take care of both of you.”

He sounds so sincere and so firm, your nipples tighten painfully and you have to swallow against a lump of emotion. The way your hormones are wreaking havoc in your body is insane.

“I’ll think about it,” you promise, pushing away from the table. “But first I have to pee.”

William laughs and you can feel his gaze on you as you wander off. On the way back, you detour to the bar for another seltzer for yourself and a beer for Willy. It’s not overly crowded, but you do have to wait for a few minutes before the bartender reaches you.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” a deep voice echoes at your side.

You look over and there’s a tall, dark haired man looking at you like he wants to eat you. A giggle bubbles up in your chest - oh, this should be good. The last time a guy hit on you on the TTC, he’d gone paper white when he clocked the bump.

“But,” he continues, undeterred, “I was just wondering if you could help me find a way out. I got lost in your eyes.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, more because the line is so cheesy than because it actually worked. “Does that…do you have success with that?”

It’s so different from William’s opening line at the bar all those months ago - “Brave of you to be wearing a Red Wings shirt in a Toronto bar, I respect it.” - and you can’t help but feel bad for the girls this guy has tried that line on.

He looks momentarily frustrated, but the smile is back a half second later and he’s saying, “if it gets me your name and number, I’ll consider it a success. I’m Mark.”

The bartender puts your drinks down on the bar and a warm arm drapes over your shoulder, William’s cologne filling your senses. “Hey, Ace,” he kisses the side of your head, “thought you got lost.”

His arm is heavy on your shoulders, his hand curled down protectively with his fingertips almost grazing the top swell of your breasts. You lean a little into his side and his free hand comes up to rest on the bump, his favorite spot. His hand splays out wide, as if he’s trying to cover as much of the bump as possible.

“I thought I’d refresh our drinks,” you laugh lightly, looking up at him and clocking the tight set of his jaw. His fingers flex on your stomach and it clicks - he’s jealous.

And he’s being extremely hot about it.

Mark does a double take and realizes just who’s in front of him. “Oh man, Willy Styles!” He yelps, eyes going wide.

William’s mouth is a flat line, completely opposite from his usual fan interaction face. He nods at Mark and draws you closer to his side.

“It’s so cool to meet you,” he sticks his hand out to shake and you have to bite down on your tongue to smother a laugh when Willy doesn’t move his hand from your stomach. Mark doesn’t seem to realize and just keeps chattering, “can I buy you a drink? I told myself if I ever met you, I’d congratulate you on the epic game six and seven performance. Like too bad some of your other teammates couldn’t get this shit together. That chirp on Marner? You read him for filth.”

Your jaw drops at Mark’s audacity and William scoffs, tensing at your side.

“The guys and I win as a team and lose as a team,” Willy says stiffly. “Don’t talk about shit you don’t know about.”

Even Mark looks a little surprised, confused as to why he’s not getting the typical fan experience from Willy. As if he didn’t earn the attitude by offending Willy’s friends and teammates.

You loop your arm around William’s waist, squeezing him gently. He looks down at you and you cock your head, tipping your chin slightly back towards the table your stuff is still at. He frowns and you marvel quietly at the fact that you can have a whole silent conversation with this man.

Willy clears his throat and tips his chin down at Mark. “Enjoy the night, man,” he says roughly, “we gotta get back to our dinner.”

“Oh yeah, no worries,” Mark nods like a bobble head, hitting on you completely forgotten in the wake of meeting Willy. “Can I - can we get a picture?”

Finally taking his hand off the bump, Willy grabs up your seltzer and his beer in one hand and gives Mark a sarcastic grin, “no.”

“You were a little rude back there, killer,” you murmur, Willy’s arm on your shoulder guiding you back to the table.

He’s quiet for a beat and then blurts out, “come home with me to Sweden this summer.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. The complete change of topic is a little confusing.

“This summer,” he explains, setting the drinks down on your table, “we’re doing a big family trip. Back home to Sweden for a bit, Saint-Tropez, Monaco. Come with me.”

You take a sip of your seltzer, just to buy a minute to think. A whole trip with William and his family? While twenty weeks pregnant? You rub at the side of your nose, shaking your head slightly.

“I have a job,” you sigh. “That doesn’t allow for fucking off to Europe for three weeks.”

It’s harsher than you mean it to sound and William squints at you, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Sorry,” you continue, sheepish. Your hand floats to your stomach again. “That was harsh. But the sentiment stands. I have vacation time, but I can’t take it all at once like that.”

“Can you work remote?” He asks. “I think you deserve a break before the baby gets here.”

There’s something else in his tone that you can’t quite decipher and your head is too fuzzy with pregnancy hormones to try too hard. You trace your fingertip in the puddle of condensation forming on the tabletop and cock your head.

“I’ll ask, but no guarantees,” you warn. But Willy doesn’t seem to care, his smile brightening his whole face.

“You’re gonna love it. It’ll be a great trip, Ace,” he promises, clinking his beer against your seltzer. “Sweden’s life-changing.”

——-

The rest of June feels like a blur. Ella graduates college and invites you to the celebration. You get the go-ahead from your boss to work remotely from Europe for July, but only if you promise to bring her back legitimate Swedish candy.

Willy immediately texts you the flight confirmation when you let him know, leading you to suspect he’s had the ticket purchased for a hot minute.

Your parents finally get to meet Willy at the end of June too, a visit that everyone is looking forward to after it was rescheduled because of a quick boys’ trip Willy had taken at the beginning of the month.

The morning your parents are expected in town is a gorgeous late-June day and you wake up with the feeling like an ice pick is lodged in your eyeball.

“Fuck,” you whine, nausea rolling your stomach for the first time in weeks. Your vision is blurry when you manage to wrench your eyelids open and black spots dance around the edges of your vision.

You press your lips together tightly and close your eyes again. Even the slight movement to shift onto your side is enough to get pain stabbing through your skull.

The worst possible timing for a migraine.

Baby gives you a little kick, just to add to the moment, and you pat at the spot. “Not today, kid,” you mutter, knowing you’re going to need to figure out how to get back to feeling normal by the time your parents show up. If they follow their usual travel plan, they’ll be at your door by 5, bearing dinner even though you told them that you were going to cook.

You shift the pregnancy pillow between your legs and press your face into your regular pillow, trying to block out even the faintest hint of light.

The next thing you know is a warm hand against your cheek, a calloused thumb brushing your cheekbone, and Willy’s voice soft in your ear.

“Hey, Ace,” he murmurs, a hint of panic coloring the edges of his words, “what’s going on?”

Your brain feels fuzzy and slow, your whole head sore. “Mig’rne,” you mumble, barely even sure if you’re audible. “Hurts.”

“Yeah, I know,” Willy strokes your hair back from your forehead and you wince, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. Your neck and shoulders feel stiff and tight. “What do you need? How can I help?”

“Ice mask, pl’se,” you reply and the gentle pressure of Willy’s hand on your head is gone, his footsteps getting softer and then louder as he leaves and comes back.

He gently lifts your head, pulling the frozen migraine relief mask over your eyes and you let out a sign of relief, immediately feeling a little reprieve from the stabbing pain. You reach blindly for his hand and lace your fingers with his. He squeezes them gently and brushes a kiss over your cheek, “better?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Can you stay?”

You don’t have the energy to explore why you feel better with Willy’s hand in yours, just the clingy, needy grasping for comfort.

“As long as you want,” he promises, stroking the backs of your knuckles with his thumb. “Did you cancel on your parents?”

“No,” you whine, the ice freezing your brain in the best possible way. “They were already on their way. I’ll be fine.”

You’re not sure if that’s a true statement, but it’s going to have to be. You can’t put off Willy and your parents meeting any longer.

With his hand in yours, you drift off to sleep again, waking up to a warm pack on your head. The worst of the stabbing pain is gone, leaving a heavy ache and the feeling almost like your brain is too big for your skull. It’s bearable, as far as your migraines go.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Willy laughs from the floor next to your bed, reaching up to tug the mask from over your eyes. You squint at him, the room still too bright even with your blinds drawn. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply honestly, pushing up into a sitting position and pausing when nausea rises again. You haven’t eaten anything since dinner last night, so the combo of empty stomach and migraine is really doing a number on you. “How long was I out?”

“Four hours,” Willy consults the lock screen of his phone. “I’m kind of impressed.”

Your mouth fills with saliva and you widen your eyes at him, frantically tossing the pregnancy pillow to the side and lurching off the bed. Your brain rattles around in your skull, the pressure making your eyes hurt as you bolt for the bathroom and drop to your knees in front of the toilet. Nothing comes up, but you gag and spit, groaning when William’s hand pulls back your hair and rubs between your shoulder blades.

“Go’way,” you groan, reaching behind your back to swat at him. “‘S gross.”

“It’s not gross,” he counters, helping you stand when you’re done. “I’ve seen way worse on the ice. Mouthwash?”

You nod and slump against the wall. Your head is pounding and your vision is blurry. The Listerine stings as you swish it around your mouth, waking you up more.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you say after spitting.

He smirks at you. “Ace, I’ve seen you puke before,” he laughs, guiding you back to bed with a hand on your elbow and a hand on your stomach. He taps the bump, hoping to finally feel a kick. You can feel the nudge, but he doesn’t seem to be able to feel it from the outside.

“What? When?” You frown, trigging a sharp jab of pain to your temple.

“Do you want to go to the couch?” He asks. “Back in November, after we won the Calgary/Vancouver back to back? We went out to celebrate and you got wasted on the Bay Breezes, tried to give me a blow job and accidentally made yourself vomit.”

Horror dawns on your face and you stare at him with wide eyes. “I have no recollection of that, oh my god. And you still wanted to sleep with me after that? What’s wrong with you?” The questions come out rapid fire and you barely notice Willy grab up the pregnancy pillow and your blanket. He guides you out to the couch and sets up a nest for you.

“You were cute,” he shrugs. “Plus I had three goals and an assist in those games. You’ve been the ace up my sleeve all season.”

“Jesus,” you groan, feeling mortified on top of in pain. “I can’t even look at you now. Give me back my key and leave me. I’ll drop the kid off with an intermediary.”

Willy lets out a laugh, grinning. “I’m not leaving, I’ve got parents to meet and impress. Make sure they’re happy with the guy who’s gonna be raising their grandkid.”

You groan again, ignoring the throbbing pain gripping your entire head. Your vision isn’t improving and you still feel nauseous. It takes a minute to decipher the time on your cable box, but when you finally see the numbers and realize it’s already after three, you get a lurch of anxiety. The baby kicks in solidarity and you feel comforted by that at least.

“Can you,” you start, pausing, trying to organize your thoughts. You’d wanted to do so much to get ready for your parents’ visit, but now it looks like you’re not going to manage much. Thank god you’d cleaned the place over the last few days.

“What do you need?”

“Um, honestly? An ice cold McDonald’s coke and salty fries,” you reply, looking up at him with wide eyes. “The tried and true migraine cure.”

“No excedrin?” He asks, settling the ice mask back in your freezer.

“Nope,” you curl up in the blankets, cricketing your feet together. “Can’t have it while pregnant.”

“Coke and fries, it is,” he replies with a mock salute. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s halfway out the door when you call his name. When he turns back, you smile winningly and ask, “could you get me like three chocolate glazed Timbits?”

“Part of the migraine cure?”

“No, baby has a craving,” you reply with a pointed rub of your stomach.

Willy lets out another delighted laugh and promises to be back in a few. You wave at him as he leaves and once the door locks behind him, you roll briefly onto your back, stretching out a bit before swinging your legs off the couch and standing shakily. Just because your parents are going to bring dinner doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have a little something ready for them.

You ignore the ache in your head and pull together a quick charcuterie board, wrapping it in plastic wrap and storing it in the fridge.

By the time Willy returns, you’re back on the couch as if you never left it. Except for the fact that your head feels even worse and you think you’re sweating a little.

He stops short when he sees you, squinting suspiciously. “What did you do?” He asks, depositing your food cures on the coffee table.

“Nothing,” you reply reflexively, like a lying toddler. You snake a hand out for a french fry and moan involuntarily when the salt hits your tongue. “Oh my god, this is perfect.”

Willy’s shaking his head. “You got up and did something, you’re paler than when I left,” he stabs a straw into your Coke and hands it to you.

“Okay, maybe I made a quick charcuterie board,” you admit after the first hit of perfect, sugary Coke hits your bloodstream.

“Your parents definitely wouldn’t have cared that there was no charcuterie board, Ace,” he says firmly.

You shrug. “I care. I’m feeling better, I swear. Once I finish this stuff, I’ll be in peak form.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says dryly, pulling a bouquet of flowers out of the brown paper bag he had set on the kitchen counter. “For your mom,” he replies in response to your unasked question. He takes a chocolate bomb cake out next. “Your dad, you said he’s got a major sweet tooth.”

“I did say that,” you murmur quietly, trying not to get emotional that he was listening and remembered. You take a sip of Coke and eat a few fries.

Willy putters around your kitchen, cleaning the few dishes that are in the sink and wiping counters. “I didn’t know you get migraines,” he comments idly.

“Mhm,” you hum, sitting up and crossing your legs. You really are feeling better, even if your brain continues to throb inside your skull and your vision is still blurry. “I used to get Botox to treat them and probably could’ve continued with it while I’m pregnant, but I didn’t want to risk anything. I’ve been getting them since I was seventeen? No, eighteen. I was eighteen.”

“You just developed them?” He asks, stealing a Timbit and laughing when you swat at his hand.

“No,” you rub at your temple, the couch bouncing slightly when Willy drops to sit next to you. “I fell, hit my head on ice coming out of a jump.”

“A jump?” Willy’s eyebrows lift into his hairline.

You hate admitting this, especially to a professional hockey player who knows The Tessa Virtue personally, but “yeah, I used to figure skate competitively. Won a couple of national championships, but I never got to the Olympics. I fell before I could qualify.”

Willy looks nauseous himself at the thought of you hitting your head on the ice. He runs a hand over his jaw. “And you got concussed?”

You nod minutely, still jostling your brain. “I was knocked out for like ten seconds. I still have no memory of how the fall happened,” you give him a wry smile. “But the occasional migraine is a good reminder.”

“Shit, Ace. That’s fucking terrifying,” he reaches out to stroke your knee, raising goosebumps on your skin.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. “They’ve gotten a lot better as I’ve gotten older, even without the Botox. This is only the second one I’ve had since I got pregnant.”

Willy’s fingers are tracing over your kneecap and you can’t focus on his words.

“Next time it happens, let me know right away and I’ll come take care of you right away, okay?” He’s bossy and you find yourself nodding.

“I can do that. Can you get me the migraine cap again? I want to get rid of the last of this before my parents get here,” you pop the last of the fries in your mouth, with a Timbit chaser.

“Coming right up,” he jumps off the couch and you can’t hide the smile that pulls at your lips when he tugs it gently over your head again. “Get a nap in, I’ll wake you up before they get here.”

You yawn and curl back up around the pregnancy pillow. “You’re going to be the best dad, Willy,” you say sincerely, closing your eyes and letting your body relax.

“Thanks, sötnos,” he murmurs so softly you barely catch what he says. Before you can think to ask what the word means, the exhaustion tugs you under.

The next time you wake up, you notice two things: your migraine is reduced to a manageable soreness and there are more voices in the apartment.

You crack an eye open and lift the edge of the migraine cap, startled to see Willy and your parents sitting and chatting at your kitchen table like a bunch of old friends.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, drawing their attention. Willy gives you an apologetic look, knowing what’s coming out of your mouth next. “You said you’d wake me up! How long have they been here?”

You struggle against the blankets wrapped around your legs, wincing when your hand swings up and smacks into your head inadvertently.

“Honey,” your mom helps pull the blankets from your legs, laughing, “relax. Will has been wonderful, so polite, so charming. We’ve only been here an hour or so.”

An hour or so, per the time on your cable box, means nearly three hours and you groan. You can only imagine what they’ve been discussing.

“Yeah, Ace,” Willy chimes in, bold now that he knows your mom will back him up. Traitor. “You needed the rest. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“He’s right, starfish,” your dad pipes up. Another traitor. Willy looks delighted at the nickname. “We’re here for a few days, we don’t mind missing the first few hours.”

You frown and your mom wraps you up in a hug, whispering in your ear, “don’t be mad at him, honey. He was very apologetic that you were asleep, but adamant that he wouldn’t wake you.”

“Oh,” you melt a little, your annoyance fading. “Well. That was nice of him.”

Willy looks at you from around your dad, grinning. “Am I back in your good graces?” He asks, eyes dancing and you can only imagine the embarrassing stories your parents have been telling him.

“Yeah,” you laugh, leaning into your mom’s side while she strokes your hair, “you’re back in my good graces, Nylander.”

“Good, we can dig in on the charcuterie board I made for your parents,” he replies nonchalantly and it takes a second for his words to click.

But when they do, “oh my god!” you yelp. “Liar!”

Your parents make some confused noises, until Willy laughs. “Kidding, sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Ace made the charcuterie board when she was supposed to be resting on the couch,” he hits you with a stink eye and you roll yours back at him.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, climbing out of your nest and joining Willy and your dad at the table. Your dad kisses the side of your head when you take your seat, tugging off the migraine cap and tossing it to Willy so he can put it in the freezer. It feels too coordinated for men that only met each other a few hours ago.

It’s nice though, everyone getting along and making sure you’re okay. Willy has his arm draped over the back of your chair while he and your dad discuss the season. It’s domestic and easy and it scares the shit out of you because it’s not always going to be like this.

“Baby’s measuring big,” you tell your mom in a separate conversation, showing her the ultrasound from your last appointment. “I blame Willy, his mom said he was almost ten pounds at birth.”

Your mom snorts a laugh. “Oh, honey,” she pats your hand sympathetically. “You were nearly nine. Eight pounds, thirteen ounces and the chubbiest little cheeks you’ve ever seen. So if that baby is measuring big? Both of you are to blame.”

“You owe me an apology!” Willy crows, breaking away from his conversation with your dad. “You keep blaming me, but it’s your fault too!”

“Son,” your dad laughs, “when a woman is pregnant, everything is the man’s fault. Even things that aren’t.”

Willy nods his head in agreement. “I guess that’s fair. Hear that, Ace, you can blame me for everything until November,” he winks at you, laughter dancing on his features.

You catch your parents looking at each other, little half smiles playing on their faces. You know what they’re thinking and you ignore it, not wanting to deal with your own feelings right now.

Instead, you shoot Willy a wry grin and say, “don’t be surprised when I take you up on that.”

——-

The rest of your parents’ visit goes as expected. They love William, are beyond excited for the baby. Your mom is planning on coming back to Toronto to help after the baby’s born and she was a little surprised when you said you didn’t want a baby shower, but understood when you told her that you weren’t trying to publicize the William Nylander of it all, that you didn’t want the scrutiny from friends and family who wouldn’t be able to resist posting about the news.

Early July is spent packing for Sweden and making sure it’s okay to travel. Your OB gives you the go ahead at your twenty week appointment, just a few days before you’re scheduled to fly out.

“Just wear compression socks and make sure you stay hydrated,” she tells you. “It’s perfectly safe to fly.”

“Sexy,” you mutter at the thought of wearing compression socks, but you do as you’re told and before you know it, you’re tucked into a window seat next to Willy for the eight hour flight.

It’s an uneventful flight - Willy sleeps for most of it, with his hand splayed over your stomach protectively. He still hasn’t been able to feel kicks, but you’re pretty sure it will be any day now since the movement you feel is intensifying. You’d think the constant touching would get frustrating, but honestly, you want him touching you more. It’s been impossible to keep your lust for him tamped down, to the point where you’re using your fingers or vibrator multiple times a week to take the edge off of your arousal.

Willy’s insistence on being shirtless all the time doesn’t help.

By the time you land in Sweden, you’ve finished one of the ARCs you “borrowed” from work and polished off two ginger ales, which means you bolt off for a bathroom the second you’re in the terminal, leaving Willy to head to baggage claim by himself.

He meets you outside the bathroom with all of the bags, your vintage, quilted Vera Bradley duffle slung over his shoulder. The bright pattern makes you smile and the contrast between your bright luggage, including a hot pink Away roller, compared to Willy’s black Tumi luggage feels even more pronounced in the middle of the Stockholm airport.

“Ready to go?” Willy asks brightly, wide awake after his nap on the plane, and so clearly excited to be back home.

You nod, a yawn catching in the back of your throat, and follow him towards the exit. “I can take my duffle,” you tug on the strap and get waved away.

“I’ve got it, Ace. It’s too heavy for you to be lifting,” he looks over his shoulder with a smile. “You’re carrying the most important thing anyway.”

“Right, the all dressed chips for Ella,” you nod, deadpan, as you pat your tote bag. Willy snorts and you grin. “Oh, you mean the baby,” you giggle, smoothing your hand over the bump of your stomach, seemingly larger than it was before you left, “I guess that’s pretty important too.”

“Have you even thought about doing stand-up?” Willy replies dryly. “You’re a regular comedienne.”

You beam and tilt your chin at him, doing your best impression of the kid-drawn Panthers crest, “it’s all part of my charm, Willy.”

He shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips, and leads you outside where Michael is waiting for you. He’s leaning against the side of his car, waving when he spots you both.

“Välkommen till Sverige, kiddo,” he smiles, wrapping you up in a hug before helping Willy put the bags in the car.

The warm welcome makes your heart clench, the Nylanders’ constant inclusion of you more than you could’ve ever hoped for before you met them. You’re so lucky that this is your baby’s family.

“Let me help,” you insist after greeting Michael with a huge smile. Both men roll their eyes at you and Willy practically folds you into the backseat himself. You feel spoiled and it’s almost too much concern, but as soon as you’re sitting, a wave of exhaustion hits and you slump back against the seat. As much as you’ve enjoyed the second trimester energy, not sleeping on the flight did take it out of you.

You close your eyes for a minute and the next thing you know, the car is moving and you can hear Willy and his dad in the middle of a conversation. Letting your eyes stay closed, you roll your head to the side so your cheek rests on your shoulder, half-listening to the Swedish that you don’t understand. Every once in a while, you catch your name. But Willy’s tone is so soft and warm, you know it’s nothing bad. Or at least you hope not.

Whatever he was saying, when the car stops in front of the house, Willy reaches back and nudges your knee. “We’re home, Ace,” he says, excited like a kid of Christmas morning. For a brief second, you catch a glimpse of what he must’ve looked like when he was little and you can imagine what your baby will look like.

It’s a gorgeous, sunny day and you feel all the stress melting off of your body. It’s well after lunch and you’re starving, but you don’t have a chance to even express the thought before you’re being ushered into the house by Ella and Camilla, wrapped in hugs and rapid fire questions about the flight.

The rest of Willy’s family has been here for a few days, so they’re all settled back into their routine. But they fold you into that routine as if you’d always been there, Camilla dispatching Willy to put your luggage in his room - “He will stay with Alex or in the guest room,” she murmurs to you, “his mattress is the best, our spoiled little prince, so now it is your bed for the trip.” - and sitting you down at the table for lunch.

Ella picks at the chips you brought, explaining that the rest of the siblings are scattered to town and will be back for dinner. “Can we feel the baby kick yet?” She leans forward on her elbows, hopeful smile on her face.

“Not yet,” Willy returns, changed out of his airplane clothes and into a pair of shorts and a linen shirt, unbuttoned nearly to his belly button. You can’t stand him sometimes. “Do you want to change, Ace, or have lunch first?”

“Lunch,” you laugh, already halfway through a slice of rye bread spread with sautéed mushrooms. “This is amazing.”

Camilla smiles and piles more mushrooms onto your plate. “They’re good for you too,” she says, adding pickled beets to the plate and then starting another plate for Willy. “Sit,” she points at him, “you’re making me nervous with the hovering.”

He steals a chip from Ella and drops down into the open seat next to you, his foot nudging yours. When you look over at him, draped obscenely in that chair, he leans in and quietly asks if you’re okay. You nod, reassuring him, and can’t help but melt a little when he reaches out to rub your belly, hand warm through the thicker fabric of your sweatshirt.

“Bet I feel the nugget kicking before we leave for Saint-Tropez,” he says, giving the baby a deadline of four days.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “That’s just before the twenty-one week mark. I don’t think you will.”

“Make it interesting?” Willy’s eyes dance, his fingers flexing on your stomach. The baby rolls around under his touch.

You raise an eyebrow at him, aware that his mom and sister are around and watching the both of you with knowing smiles on their faces. You have to ignore it for your own sanity.

“Like an actual bet?” You lick a drip of beet juice off the side of your thumb. “Okay, winner gets to name the baby.”

“Risky,” Ella pipes up, “what if he chooses a terrible name?”

You shrug and cock your head, “he’s not going to win. Mother’s intuition.”

“We’ll see,” Willy shrugs, rubbing his hand over the bump. He leans in and talks directly to your stomach, “if you love me, you’ll kick right now.”

You wait, holding your breath for a moment, but nothing. Baby’s settled happily into one position for the time being.

“Would’ve been really fucking cool if that worked,” Willy laughs.

After lunch, you get a minute to change and get a tour of the house. Willy’s bedroom that’s now your bedroom is decorated in calming blues, his trophies and medals displayed on the walls. He left your suitcases at the foot of the bed, which looks like a dream with a pile of pillows and a light comforter. Honestly, you’re looking forward to a good night’s sleep later.

“I’m going to stay on the couch out here,” Willy points to the comfortable looking sectional in the little loft area next to the stairs and just steps from the bedroom door.

“You don’t want to sleep on an actual bed?” You ask, seated on the edge of his bed and tugging off your compression socks to swap them out for a regular pair.

Willy shakes his head. “Couch is fine, it’s closer to you if you need anything in the middle of the night,” he says simply, completely unaware of the somersault your heart just did.

“Alex’s room is right down the hall,” you murmur, trying not to let on how sweet you find Willy’s concern.

“Too far,” he shrugs. “You’re not changing my mind, Ace, so don’t even try.”

He nudges your knee with his, smiling at you and holding out his hand to pull you to your feet. You let him, rolling forward a little on the balls of your feet as the new center of gravity in your body takes over. Willy keeps you balanced, free hand on your stomach.

“Okay,” you sigh, pretending to be burdened. “I guess I’ll let you sleep wherever you want in your own house.”

“How generous of you,” Willy responds dryly. “Want to head into town? We can walk around and I’ll show you some of the highlights.”

You nod, “that sounds like a perfect plan.”

Ella tags along and it’s nice, getting her life updates and being asked for advice. As an only child, you’ve always wanted siblings and getting to be friends at least with Willy’s sisters is a special treat.

As you walk around town, Willy laces his fingers with yours quietly, never saying a word about the physical contact. He points out different shops and the three of you dip in and out of the stores, grateful for the air conditioning as well as the shopping. In his free hand, Willy holds the bags from a few purchases you made already. You’re a sucker for some shopping and luggage weight limits are never going to stop you.

You all meet up for dinner in town and finally sitting down makes you totally aware of the throbbing in your legs and feet. Shifting on the chair, you wince a little, stretching your legs out in front of you.

“You okay?” Willy murmurs close to your ear and you nod.

“I think I overdid it with the walking,” you laugh sheepishly. “I forget how heavy the bump is.”

“Our giant baby,” Willy laughs affectionately, rubbing at your shoulders. You giggle and lean into his touch, drunk on the chill energy of Sweden and the way Willy’s scent is enveloping you. Everything in your body is screaming for him, the hormonal tug strengthening as the night wears on. You get a second wind and join the conversation happily, laughing and chatting with the Nylanders, Willy’s free hand always on a part of your body.

By the time the check comes and the brothers fight it out with Michael over who gets to pay, your energy levels have dipped again and you’re leaning on Willy’s shoulder, eyelids drooping shut.

Camilla says something to Willy in Swedish and the next this you know, he’s looping an arm around your waist and pulling you to your feet.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he laughs warmly, letting you snuggle up against his side on the walk to the car. He smells so good, like sun and sweat and cologne, you can’t help but bury your face against his shirt.

“That’s how I got here in the first place,” you quip on a yawn. Willy’s fingers press lightly against the side of the bump, keeping you close.

He’s quiet after that, a warm and steady presence at your side. Back at the house, he guides you to your room with a hand on your lower back, making sure you’re okay going up the stairs.

“I’ll be right outside,” Willy reminds you once you’re ready for bed. “If you need anything. Don’t try and go down the stairs in the middle of the night, okay?”

You smile tiredly, “I won’t. I’m pretty sure once I crawl under those covers, I’m going to be out like a light.”

Willy drops a kiss on the top of your head and wishes you a good night, but before he can leave the room, you call his name. He turns back and leans against the doorframe, effortlessly sexy and all your brain can focus on is the lizard instinct of mineminemine.

“Thanks for convincing me to come,” you say softly. “I’m excited for the rest of the trip.”

“Me too, Ace,” he grins. “Me too.”

——-

That night, you sleep for fifteen hours and feel like a completely new human being when you finally wake up. The house is quiet and there’s a brief spike in your anxiety when you realize how late it is.

You get dressed quickly, swapping your pajama shorts for denim, and slipping into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

Camilla is the only one in the kitchen, making sandwiches, when you enter the room. The floorboard squeaks under your bare feet and she looks up, clearly a little surprised.

“Sorry,” you wince. “I didn’t…I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Oh,” she laughs lightly, “don’t worry about that. They’re all outside, in the back,” she waves the knife in her hand in the general direction of the backyard, “playing volleyball or something. It’s a lazy day.”

You feel a little bit better about the late start then, if you weren’t holding up plans. The baby kicks and nudges and you smooth your hand over the spots, smiling.

Camilla notices and clears her throat, “little one is active? All of mine were like that too. Moving and bouncing and never letting me rest.” She chuckles. “Not much has changed.”

“Once the movement started, it never really stopped,” you agree. “Willy can't wait to feel it and I really think it’ll be any day. Do you need any help?”

“No, no,” she shakes her head. “Get some breakfast, a coffee. Relax.”

A comfortable silence fills the kitchen as Camilla preps and you get a light breakfast made. Camilla’s quiet humming as she builds sandwiches combined with the laughter from the Nylander siblings outside is making it feel like you’re in some kind of sitcom, but better since it’s your real life.

“It’s hot today,” she says. “And the lake is cool, I would change into your swimsuit and get outside as soon as possible.”

You’re happy to take her advice and in less than ten minutes, you’re wandering out the back door in your cutoffs and bikini top, the bump proudly displayed. You’ve always been fairly neutral about your body - neither hating nor loving it - but pregnancy has made you feel confident. Even though everything is bigger, you like to showcase the bump and not wearing a shirt over your bikini feels natural.

As you get closer to the group, the volleyball goes rogue and flies in your direction. Instinctively, you bump it back with your forearms, the contact stinging your skin.

“You okay?” A chorus of six voices rings out and you laugh, catching the matching looks of concern.

“I’m fine!” You call back and Willy jogs towards you, bare torso shining with sweat, his chest hair matted to his skin. You bite your tongue and swallow, lust sparking to life in your lower belly and your bikini bottoms growing slick. You’re really regretting that “let’s keep this relationship as friends and co-parents” line in the sand right now.

Willy skids to a stop in front of you, his jaw loosening and his eyes flickering from your face to your tits to your bump and back again. The tops of his cheeks are pink, but you chalk that up to the sun, and his lips quirk to the side.

“You look good, Ace,” his voice is low and makes your stomach twist, your clit throb. “Haven’t seen the bump bare like that.”

Your hands glide over your skin, slippery with a layer of Neutrogena SPF 75 - you’re not taking any chances with melanoma - and Willy’s eyes track the movement.

“Been a little cold back home to bare it,” you shrug, laughing. “Luckily, my baby daddy’s funding a Euro adventure so baby can feel some sun.”

You wink, the tease sliding out easily and Willy barks his famous laugh. His gaze keeps slipping down to the bump and you feel warm inside at the attention - and the way the front of his swim trunks is straining doesn’t hurt your ego either.

“Let’s get you set up right in the sun then,” Willy nods towards a cluster of chairs under a patio umbrella. “You can cheer me and Jackie and Michelle on.”

“Who’s winning?” You ask, wandering over the the chairs, purposefully swaying closer to Willy as you walk.

“Not us,” he laughs, holding your elbows as you lower into the chair. You let out a little huff when your ass makes contact with the seat, folded a little more in half than your body is used to these days. It’s not uncomfortable, but you shift and lean more on your side so the bump isn’t pressed against your thighs. “How about a kiss for luck? Like the old days?”

Willy winks at you before you can respond, jogging back to the net and serving up the volleyball in a perfect arc.

The move is hot enough that you think you might honestly come just from watching that alone.

Later, after joining everyone for a dip in the lake, where Willy is constantly paddling around near you to make sure you’re okay, you have to ask Jackie to reapply the sunscreen on your back. If Willy gets his hands anywhere near you, you’re pretty sure you’d jump him right out in public. It’s pathetic and it’s your own fault.

By the time you’ve showered and gotten ready for bed, you’re so keyed up a stiff breeze could probably give you an orgasm.

With the bedroom door shut and everyone in bed for the night, you let your fingers glide over the swell of your stomach and dip into the wet mess between your legs. A shaky sigh escapes your mouth, your entire body relaxing back into the mattress when your fingertips ghost over your clit.

You close your eyes and picture Willy, the pleasure coiling low and hot in your stomach. Every pass of your fingers over your clit brings you closer to the edge, arousal dripping down the curve of your ass and soaking the shorts you’d been too impatient to push off before starting. It feels like it’s been a million years since you’ve had an orgasm, even though it’s just been a few days, but your fingers and vibrators are barely enough when you’d gotten used to Willy’s fingers and tongue and cock.

Imagining that it’s his thick fingers in your cunt, you rub at your clit faster, breathing hard. You’re just there, almost -

“I almost forg- shit! Fuck, sorry, Ace,” Willy’s voice cracks and your eyes fly open, hand still buried down the front of your shorts, fabric distorted. A little shriek leaves your throat, your entire body frozen.

Your heart pounds in your chest, in time with the throbbing of your clit, and you feel stupid, slow to react.

“Sorry,” Willy repeats, belatedly throwing a hand up over his eyes to protect some of your privacy. Not that he hasn’t seen every inch of you already. His free hand digs into the pocket of his sweats, drawing your attention to the growing impression of his cock against the front of them. “I didn’t realize you were -“ he breaks off with a dry laugh, “I was going to give you these.”

You’re still frozen, like a rabbit in a trap, watching Willy’s hand as it withdraws from his pocket, a crumpled napkin and a few matchboxes in his grip.

“What -?” you manage to choke out the word, clit throbbing against your fingers, arousal pooling under your ass. Your orgasm is fading in and out, just the sight of Willy, shirtless and hardening in his pants, enough to bring you close again.

“From the restaurant?” His voice ticks up at the end, his hand finally coming down from his eyes. His gaze is locked strongly on your face. “For your journal? With the garbage?”

Your junk journal, you realize.

“You,” you clear your throat, “you noticed that?”

Willy laughs and the sound shoots right to your core, making you painfully aware that you’ve still got your hand down your pants. Slowly, you withdraw it, wet fingers resting on the lower curve of your belly. His eyes track that movement too, pupils dilating.

“Yeah, I noticed it, Ace,” he replies, voice a warm rasp. The matchsticks rattle in their boxes. “I notice everything about you. Plus, it was really hard to miss the four inch thick notebook that you keep on your coffee table.”

“Oh,” you murmur, overwhelmed, “yeah. It’s, um, it’s a lot.”

He settles the so-called junk on the dresser next to your sunglasses and pile of jewelry. “I’ll…let you get back to, um,” he laughs, uncharacteristically hesitant and tongue-tied. You can’t find words either, biting at the tip of your tongue.

At the door, Willy curls his fingers around the doorframe and looks back at you. He doesn’t hesitate, “if you need me, Ace, all you have to do is ask.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click and you’re left alone in the room, needy and wanting.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own harsh breathing and you know you’re not going to be able to find an orgasm on your own tonight. Or any night again, if you’re being honest.

You look at the pile of matchboxes and napkins on your dresser and on autopilot, you swing your legs out of bed and pad to the door. There’s no hesitation in your movements and you poke your head out of the room, your eyes immediately finding Willy lounging on the couch. The glow of the TV flickers across his face, the volume a low hum.

He looks up at you, head tilted in a silent question that you’re all too happy to answer.

“Will,” you whisper, “please, I need you.”

Before you can blink, he’s off the couch and in front of you, cupping your face in his hands, grinning. “Though you’d never ask, Ace,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss you long and deep, reminding you of everything you’ve been missing.

His tongue traces your lower lip and your mouth falls open, giving him access to suck gently at your tongue. You whimper into Willy’s mouth, clutching at his bare shoulders while he walks you backwards toward the bed.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against your mouth, thumbs stroking against your cheekbones. “Been torture, seeing you look so goddamn gorgeous and not being able to touch you.”

The backs of your knees hit the mattress and buckle, your hands on his shoulders the only thing keeping you upright. Fire floods your veins, arousal soaking your panties and sticking the fabric to your cunt. You whimper, curling your fingers around the back of his neck and pressing yourself closer to him. The bump provides a barrier, but you can feel his cock against your thigh and you’re desperate for him.

“Willy,” your voice cracks and he nods.

“I know,” he glides his hands down your side, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I’m going to take care of you, okay? You relax and I’ll do all the work.”

Your shirt is over your head and tossed to the floor, bare breasts exposed to the cool air of the room. Willy’s hands cup them reverently, their new size filling the palms of his hands and spilling out around his fingers. He tweaks your nipples and you moan, the sensation shooting right to your clit, a powerful burst of pleasure.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips thrusting involuntarily against your thigh. “Knew these got bigger, but they feel so good. Such perfect tits, Ace, and all because you’re having my baby. Our baby.”

His fingers knead your skin and you drop your chin to your chest, surrendering to the pleasure of his touch. You don’t have enough blood flow in your brain for a coherent thought other than it feels so good to have Willy’s strong, calloused hands on you again.

Willy keeps playing with your tits, bending down to get his mouth on them, licking and sucking at the swell of them. You whine and bury your hand between your legs, fingers immediately coated with your arousal.

“I need…” you murmur, choking on a gasp when Willy sucks one nipple into his mouth and laves the pebbled bud with the flat of his tongue. His fingers pinch and roll your other nipple and suddenly your knees are buckling with the strength of your first orgasm, gushing over your fingers and soaking down your thighs. “Oh my god,” you whine, rubbing your clit with slippery fingers.

“Did you just come?” Your baby daddy laughs against your breast, pressing a nipping kiss against the underside of it. “All I had to do was suck these pretty nipples and you’re coming? Oh, Ace, I’m going to have fun with you.”

“Please,” you murmur. “I need more. Missed your touch, Willy.”

“Just my touch?” He glides his hands from your tits and over the curve of your belly, splaying his hands as wide as they’ll go to see how much he can cover. “Did you miss my tongue? And my cock too? The cock that gave you this baby.”

You nod, feeling like a bobble head, untethered from reality with Willy’s hands all over you and his mouth running on overdrive. The dirty talk was always one of your favorite parts of hooking up with him.

“I need everything,” your voice is breathy, needy and desperate to your own ears, hitching when Willy strokes your belly and leans down to kiss the peak of it. The scrape of his stubble tickles against your skin and you instinctively reach your hands out to bury in his hair, accidentally leaving a wet smudge of your come on his forehead. “Sorry,” you whisper, wiping at the smudge with the palm of your hand gracelessly.

Willy chuckles against your belly, making the baby react and roll around. “Ace, baby, if I’m not covered in your come by the time we’re done, I haven’t done my job very well,” he teases, kissing just below your belly button and making you shiver. You clit throbs and your cunt clenches around nothing.

You barely know how to respond, tightening your grip on his hair.

“I can’t fucking believe how gorgeous you look,” he guides you down onto the bed, your legs instinctively coming up to wrap around his waist, trapping him in place. Your belly rises between you, your increased heart rate making the baby restless.

“All round and perfect with my baby. I’ve been waiting for your okay, Ace,” he continues, his hands hot on your stomach and slipping down to the waistband of your shorts. “Seeing you in that bikini earlier? Took all I had not to strip you bare and fuck you outside.”

You whimper when his fingers hook in the band of your shorts and panties, tugging them down. He steps away and peels the fabric down your legs, leaving you completely naked in front of him. The thick outline of his cock in his pants makes you breathe hard, cunt spasming when you remember what it feels like buried deep inside of you.

“Do I have your okay?” Willy murmurs, the backs of his fingers running up and down your inner thighs, fallen open to the sides and spread wide for him.

“Yes, okay, okay,” you chant, completely unselfconscious for him. You’ve never felt anything less than gorgeous when having sex with Willy, but this is something else. You’re more aroused than you’ve ever been and Willy’s eyes are nearly black with desire. “Please, need your touch.”

Finally, his fingers find the seam of your cunt and you hiss, tossing your head back and bucking your hips up into his light touch. You’re so wet you can barely feel his fingers glide through the mess, collecting your arousal and smearing it over your skin.

Willy clicks his tongue and coos sympathetically. “So wet, have you been this wet all these weeks? With nothing but your little fingers and toys to satisfy you?” He circles your clit and you clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the wail that falls from your lips. Willy’s eyes twinkle.

“That’s a good girl,” he pushes his sweats off with his free hand, cock springing free. You nearly drool at the sight of it, thick and red and leaking at the tip. You’ve missed the feeling of it in your hand, on your tongue, stretching your cunt. “I’m going to give you all the orgasms you’ve missed, a reward for growing our baby so nicely.”

A sob catches in the back of your throat, Willy’s fingers working expertly over your clit. He hasn’t missed a step, all of your little tells and favorite spots clearly at the front of his mind. Your legs bend and kick, toes curling with each tight circle bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, Ace,” Willy mutters, cheeks flushed and sweat beading at his temples. His forearm tenses. “Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”

He pinches and twists your clit and you’re coming again, gripping the sheets in white knuckled fists, moaning his name wantonly.

Your vision is blurry and your chest heaves, Willy’s praise muffled by the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Too much,” you mumble, “don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

It’s more pleasure than you’ve been able to manage, different when it’s Willy giving you the orgasm. Your thighs are spread wide by his bulk, the stretch in your hips nearly painful but so worth it.

Willy slips two fingers inside of your cunt with ease, curling and pumping them and you’re coming for a third time, tears running down your temples and dampening your hair.

“You’re so tight and hot and wet, Ace,” Willy mumbles, more to himself than to you. His fingers never stop moving and you can see his cock bobbing with each pump of his hand, his whole body tensed as he milks your orgasm from you. “Never imagined it could get better, but pregnancy agrees with you.”

“It’s so easy,” you whine, breathless. “Easier to come now, but I haven’t had you. I should’ve said sooner.”

You’re not even sure if you’re making sense, all thoughts completely gone from your head. Your entire world is narrowed down to Willy and the pleasure he’s giving you.

“I think you have one more for me,” he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your hip bone, nipping at the spot with his teeth and then flattening his tongue over the spot. “One more on my tongue, I want to taste how sweet you are when pregnant with my baby.”

His words spark a liquid want in your stomach and you nod, squirming on the bed, damp sheets sticking to your sweaty skin. It should be uncomfortable, being on your back for so long and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but you never want it to end.

“Yes, yes,” you babble, lifting your hips as best as you can with the extra bulk of your stomach. Willy kisses the lower curve of your bump and then lower and lower until he can wrap his lips around your sore, sensitive clit. He sucks lightly and you wail, bucking your hips into his face, covering your mouth with your hand.

Willy’s tongue traces around your clit and you bite down on the palm of your hand, muffling a scream. He chuckles, the vibration sending your whole body spiraling towards another orgasm, and strokes gently at your inner thigh.

You crane your neck, trying to see his head buried between your legs, but the swell of your bump blocks part of the view. You whine his name and he lifts his face from your cunt, peering at you from around the bump. His hair is a mess, the lower half of his face shiny with your arousal.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Ace,” he promises, kissing your hip, the side of your stomach, your belly button. “Just relax and play with those perfect tits of yours.”

“Just fast, please,” you moan, his fingers sliding into your entrance again, stroking at your inner walls. “It’s too much.”

“Let me enjoy you,” he replies lazily, resting his cheek on your thigh. “I need to make up for lost time.”

You hiccup a gasp as his fingers press on your g-spot, firm and insistent. “Four’s too much,” your voice is slurred from the pleasure, your hips arching into his touch. You let your own fingers dance over your sensitive, puffy nipples, contradicting your own words.

He laughs and drags his teeth over your thigh, licking sweat from your skin. “Four’s not enough,” he counters. “You’re growing our baby, you deserve to be spoiled.”

Any argument you could make is gone, Willy’s mouth back on your cunt, his tongue flat against the seam and making you kick your feet with pleasure. He dips his tongue into your hole, licking you clean as more arousal drips from your body. His nose bumps against your clit and you pinch your nipples in response, groaning with the pleasure-pain sensation.

His hands are all over you, gripping your ass and holding you closer to his face, reaching up to caress the sides of your stomach, sliding over the sticky wetness of your cunt. It’s just pure sensation, lips and teeth and tongue and when Willy nips at your clit, you have to swallow back your scream, core clenching and orgasm hitting more powerfully than before.

Your cunt spasms and Willy’s licking you through it, the gush of your orgasm soaking his face and hands and shoulders.

“Oh my god,” you wail, hips working over his face, heart thumping painfully hard in your chest. Your fingers dig into your skin, nipples painfully tight while you squirt all over William.

“Good girl,” he rasps from between your legs, his ass bouncing as he grinds his hips into the mattress. “Taste so good, god, I can’t believe it’s been months since I drowned in you.”

You can’t catch your breath, aftershocks of your orgasms making your body tremble. Your arms flop out to the side and you’re completely spent. The itch for an orgasm has been satisfied, finally, and you blink sleepily up at the ceiling.

Willy continues to nudge his nose against your clit, licking at you lazily while he humps the bed, one hand braced on your hip and the other snaking down to fist his cock. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging until he hisses and grunts your name.

“C’mere,” you mumble, trying to get him to lift up. “Put it in.”

You don’t even want another orgasm, you just want him to feel good finishing inside of you instead of in his fist.

He ignores you and comes with a desperate moan of your name against your cunt, his hips twitching and spasming as he makes an even bigger mess on the bed.

“Next time,” he gasps breathlessly, leaning on your thigh and giving you a cunt drunk smile. “If you want.”

“I want,” you reply honestly and there’s relief in the line of his shoulders, a sweet something in the kiss he plants on your belly. You both settle into a comfortable silence, breathing together. Willy’s fingers find their way to the bump, come-smeared and soft as they trace nonsense patterns. It should be gross, you should feel some kind of embarrassment at the state you’re in, but instead it just feels right.

Eventually, Willy gets up and wipes himself off with his sweats, manages to get you cleaned up and in fresh sheets without waking anyone else up (another thing you realize after the fact, how loud you’d both been in a house full of Willy’s family, but you’re too sated and sleepy to be concerned for long).

“Stay,” you lace your fingers with his, still naked and curled up under the fresh sheets. You could’ve found new pajamas, but your skin still feels like it’s buzzing, the baby rolling around happily, and you’re too warm from the inside.

Willy’s entire face is soft when he looks between your interlaced fingers and your face. He squeezes your fingers gently, “as long as you want, Ace.”

He tries to slip into a pair of boxers and offers you a shirt, but you shake your head. “Just you,” you say quietly, something warm clawing at your chest. “I just want…I need to…”

You can’t articulate what you need from him, a primal need from somewhere deep in your soul, but luckily Willy seems to get it. Without another word, he crawls into bed with you, tugging the sheets up around your bare shoulders, and letting you curl your naked body around his. Your belly presses against his side, your leg draped over his lap. Willy’s hand rubs slow circles on your lower back, his other hand resting lightly on the side of your belly. It’s so easy to notch against his side, to press your nose against his chest and inhale the scent of his sweat.

Baby moves and nudges, settling in a way that you’re so used to by now you can ignore it and let your eyes flutter shut. William’s heartbeat is steady under your cheek and you tighten your arm over his ribs.

You’ll have to talk about this eventually, the shift that you’ve let happen by sleeping with him again, but that’s a problem for a different version of you.

Right now, you’re just at the edge of sleep when Willy mumbles, “gimme five and I’ll give you another.”

“Huh?” You breathe into his chest, confused.

“You’re nudging me,” Willy yawns. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but I need a second.”

You shake your head. “I’m not nudging -“ Your eyes fly open and you lift your head off Willy’s chest at the same moment he seems to realize the same thing.

“Is that -?” He asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” you nod rapidly, tears welling up. “That’s, I’m being kicked. Can you feel it? You can feel the baby?”

You’re both wide awake now, Willy’s hands on your stomach as you push up into a sitting position. The baby pokes at your side, right where Willy’s left hand is splayed and you watch as a look of shock spreads on his face, quickly giving way to glassy-eyed wonder.

“That’s the baby,” he murmurs, looking from your belly to your face, smiling wider than you’ve ever seen him. You’ve been feeling kicks for weeks, so it’s beyond exciting that Willy can feel them now.

“Yeah,” you nod, wiping tears from your cheeks. “That’s the baby.”

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, laughing when his palm is kicked again. “Oh my god, that’s crazy.”

A wet laugh shakes your body and Willy looks up to capture your mouth with his in a sweet kiss. You kiss him back for a second before he breaks it and shifts down so his mouth is next to your belly.

“Hi, kiddo,” his lips are pressed to your skin, muffling his words, “I’m your dad.”

You press your hand to your mouth, muffling a little choked-off sob. You still can’t believe that this man is your baby’s dad.

His eyes twinkle when he looks up at you, looking too perfect to be real with those blue eyes and that perfect mouth pressed to your belly. Your heart kicks in your chest, skipping a beat.

“Just so you know,” he laughs, thumbs stroking an arc over your skin, the baby jumping under his touch, “Mama and I are in Sweden and that means your name is gonna be Banksy Junior if you’re a boy and Pablo Junior if you’re a girl.”

You bark out a delighted laugh at his tease, pushing at his forehead. “Both of your dogs are boys,” you grin, tears still falling down your cheeks. You press your hands over his.

“Pablina, then,” he jokes, still grinning like a fool.

All you can do is return his huge smile, feeling something shift as you sit up in the bed for another hour, Willy’s hands never leaving your belly as he talks to the baby and waits for a kick or nudge in response.

———

By the time you leave for Saint Tropez two days later, you’ve gotten another seven orgasms and the rest of Willy’s family has been able to feel the baby kick at least once.

Willy’s unable to keep his hands off your stomach or your ass or your tits, stealing little kisses here and there. It feels normal and natural and you’re confused that it feels so right. But you can’t and don’t want to stop him, enjoying his touch and craving it. His family must notice how he’s constantly touching you, but no one has said a word. You’ve caught a few glances between his parents and sisters, but then the baby will kick and you’ll offer up your belly for them to feel, even though Willy’s hands are usually already there.

You and Willy share a room in the Saint-Tropez rental, curling up in bed at the end of the night and waking up in the morning to soft yellow sunlight and an hour of peaceful quiet to feel the baby move around together.

“It feels real now,” he says one morning, head propped up on his palm, fingers dancing over your stomach to follow the baby’s movements. “Not that it didn’t before, but…”

He trails off and you know what he means. The first time you felt the bubbling feeling of the baby’s early movements, you’d been hit with the lightning bolt realization that there’s a baby inside of you. Before being able to feel movements, the baby felt a little more abstract. But now it’s a concrete little being, joining you in just a few short months.

“I like that you can feel it now too,” you reply, stretching out on your back for a few seconds. That’s getting harder now, the bump having grown in the last few days.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says slowly and you cut him off with a tease - “Ooh, dangerous.” - that he rolls his eyes at. He reaches up under your shirt and tweaks your nipple, making you yelp. “Are you done? Anyway, like I said, I was thinking and I know you won’t move in - I’m not asking you to,” he says firmly, squinting at you as you open your mouth to protest. “But things are going to get chaotic when the season starts again and will you at least stay with me during November, so when you go into labor I’ll know?”

“I…” you pause, swallowing back your initial urge to say no. You do understand where he’s coming from and you know you’ll want Willy to be the first to know when you’re in labor. “Can you stay with me? At least while you’re in town? I’ll probably sleep better in my own bed.”

He agrees easily and you both feel like you’ve won a compromise. It’ll be nice to have him around when you’re that pregnant anyway.

Saint-Tropez is exactly what you think of when you imagine a European vacation.

The days are slow and lazy, full of good food and even better weather.

You spend your time on the beach or by the pool, this time tossing the Neutrogena bottle to Willy so he can reapply sunscreen to your back and belly. His hands linger on your skin and your bikini bottoms grow damp without you stepping into the pool or ocean - something Willy is all too happy to tease you about in hushed whispers against the shell of your ear at dinner.

He’ll snag junk from the restaurants with one hand, pockets full of matchbooks and napkins and receipts, while stroking at your inner thigh under the table with the other.

On one of your last days of vacation, you and Willy head back to the villa in the middle of the day, leaving his parents and siblings on the beach with only the thin excuse of you getting overheated as the reason why you’re leaving.

You’re fairly confident that none of them believe the excuse, if the eye rolls his siblings throw your way are any indication. But Willy had spent a solid hour toying with the strings on your bikini bottoms while you tried to read and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I need you to go hard,” you demand, losing the skimpy fabric of your bikini to Willy’s roving hands, and climbing onto the bed. “Before I’m too big to really enjoy it.”

“Hard isn’t gonna be a problem, Ace,” Willy teases, kicking off his own bathing suit and stroking his cock with a tight fist.

You roll your eyes at him and get on all fours with your ass facing him. It’s easier this way, without your growing belly to work around. Neither of you has a problem with Willy taking you from behind and you wiggle your ass at him in invitation.

“He’s got jokes, everyone,” you tease, leaning down on one elbow and snaking your free hand down to your clit. It’s already stiff and swollen, eager to be played with. You’re not quite used to the feeling of your tits and belly hanging so heavily, but it is nice to have a little extra room to breathe without the baby all wedged up in your ribs.

Willy’s hand lands on your ass in a spank that jolts you forward and draws a happy shriek from your throat.

“Oh god,” you press your forehead to the mattress. “Do it again, please.”

He complies, your skin stinging with the impact. “Fuck, Ace,” he grumbles from behind you, hands on your hips and dragging you back. “You get so fucking wet when I spank you. Little glutton for punishment.”

“I’m wet all the time,” you whine, fingers slipping over your clit. Arousal is making a mess of you. “We established that and I need you to take care of me.”

“Bossy thing,” Willy shifts behind you, biting down on your ass. You hiss and he chuckles against your skin, soothing the spot with his tongue. “Be good and I’ll give you what you need.”

You nod and Willy’s fingers tighten on your hips. He sucks in a breath and you wiggle your ass in his face again, tits swaying heavily. Everything’s grown in the last few weeks and you’re not sure how long you’ll be able to hold this position. Willy seems to get your sense of urgency, but he still takes his time dragging his fingers over your skin, pulling your cheeks apart and spitting between them.

You gasp at the contact of his warm spit against your tight hole, grinning into the comforter when it slides down into the mess of your cunt.

“I just need you to fill me,” you complain, pressing back against the fingers he’s using to play with your cunt. He smears arousal all over you, dipping his fingers into your entrance to get them even more wet. Two fingers is an easy stretch for you, but you’re craving more and say so, getting a third as a reward.

“You’re so goddamn tight, Ace,” he grunts, fucking three fingers into you at a rapid pace. You keep playing with your clit and an orgasm blindsides you with its intensity. Willy groans as you come around his fingers, clenching down on them. “Jesus, you’re gonna strangle my cock with that perfect little cunt of yours.”

“Please,” you pant, dropping down to both elbows for balance. Your clit is left bare to Willy’s mercy and he rubs the heel of his palm against it, making you keen. “Oh god, more, please.”

Willy laughs and you can feel him move, his hand gone from your cunt and replaced with the head of his cock notched at your entrance. You arch back against him as best you can with your changed body and he slips the tip in, the delicious stretch making you sigh.

“Had my cock in this perfect cunt a dozen times over the last week and you’re still begging for it?” The question is rhetorical, falling from his mouth in a rasped grunt as he feeds his cock into you inch by inch. You drop lower onto your forearms, tits and belly brushing the bed, wailing as the angle changes. “You’re so gorgeous, sötnos, so pretty and pregnant. Full of my baby and my cock.”

His words are drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and your own babbled cries of his name. Willy’s thighs rub against the backs of yours, his hips smacking into your ass as he thrusts in and out. You try and meet him thrust for thrust, but it’s too much work and easier to submit to the pace he’s setting.

One of his hands tightens on your hip briefly before rubbing up your side to cradle your belly. He drapes himself over your back, deepening the angle his cock is hitting, and curls a hand around your breast, toying with your nipple. His chest hair grazes your back and it’s too many points of contact, too much stimulation, and you’re coming again, clenching around his cock and screaming his name into the mattress.

“Fuck, fuck,” Willy groans, cock thickening inside of you before he’s coming too, filling you with hot spurts of come. It’s messy and hot and perfect, the sensation of getting Willy’s cock bare a pleasure now that you’re not worried about getting extra pregnant. He catches his weight with his hands flat on the mattress next to you, hovering over your body while his hips work through the last of his finish.

“God,” you groan, reaching back to rub at his hip, scraping your nails through the coarse hair at the base of his dick. “If I wasn’t already pregnant, I’d say that would do the trick.”

Willy’s laugh vibrates through your body and he pulls himself out of you with an audible win and a wet squelch. You clench experimentally, a little dribble of come leaking out of your stretched entrance.

“Oh, she’s got jokes, everyone,” Willy repeats your earlier tease, dropping down to his side next to you, bouncing the mattress a little. You roll onto your side and stick your tongue out at him. The playfulness feels just like the early days of your hook ups.

This time though, Willy reaches down between your legs, teasing your entrance and pushing his come lazily back inside of you as it drips out. His fingers plug you up for seconds at a time, as if he actually were trying to get you pregnant.

“My jokes are better than yours,” you counter, reveling in the feeling of his fingers toying with your cunt.

“Debatable,” he grins back at you, rolling closer to press a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Do you want to head back to the beach or walk into town?”

“Town,” you reply, dragging your fingers through the hair on his chest and stomach. His stomach muscles jump under your touch. “I want to buy that dress I saw the other day even though I won’t be able to wear it for months.”

Your free hand smooths over your stomach, appreciating the round curve of it - twenty-three weeks, more than halfway to the end. Time feels like it’s moving at warp speed, but you still have today to enjoy.

And when Willy sucks your clit until you’re orgasming again, you certainly do enjoy it.

———

When you’re back in Toronto, you go back to your usual routine, except with the addition of Willy in your bed again.

There’s still a few weeks before training camp starts again, but his workouts are ramping back up and you’re getting a picture of what your fall is going to look like. You take Pablo and Banksy for walks during the day to soak up the warmth and fresh air while it lasts. Willy is in and out of your apartment for drive-by orgasms in between workouts and skate sessions.

You order furniture to turn your spare room into a nursery, swatching paint samples on the walls until Willy snatches the brush from your hands and orders you out of the room, ranting about paint fumes.

It’s all back ordered because you took a very Nylander chill approach to buying furniture, but at least you have a car seat.

Halfway through August, Auston Matthews is named the Captain of the Leafs and Willy’s excited about it, telling you that there’s going to be a whole team barbecue, wives and kids too, before the season starts. He asks you to join him while he’s balls deep in your cunt, knowing you won’t say no.

By the time the barbecue rolls around, you’ve worked yourself up about meeting his friends and teammates, cancelling on Willy no less than three times.

He shows up at your door anyway, grinning and looking like a snack with his South of France tan and blonde hair gleaming.

“I mean,” he drawls when he steps into your apartment and sees you in nothing but a bra and panties, “I appreciate the look, but I don’t want any of those jackasses seeing you like that.”

“Oh, ha,” you deadpan, hands planted on your hips. “Nothing looks right ever since your kid decided to have a growth spurt. I’m huge!”

Willy’s gaze roves over your body, from where your tits are spilling out of the cups of your bra to the curve of your belly, and a slow, hungry smile spreads across his lips.

Before he can say anything, you hold your hand up at him and scowl. “Do not start, Nylander. We need to leave now and I have nothing to wear,” to your horror, you can feel tears well up in your freshly eyelinered and mascaraed eyes.

“Hey, okay,” he holds up both hands like you’re a spooked horse and takes a step towards you, “do you want me to run out and buy you something? It’s casual, you can wear whatever you want, Ace.”

“But I want to make a good impression!” You wail, cradling your stomach with both hands. “I’m already the dumb bitch that baby trapped you, I can’t be dressed wrong too!”

You haven’t felt insecure about your relationship, or lack thereof, with Willy in a while. But something about meeting all the Leafs and their wives and girlfriends is making every old insecurity rise to the surface.

Willy wraps you in a tight hug and kisses the top of your head. “You’re not a dumb bitch and you didn’t baby trap me. Show me what the options are, I’m sure they’re not as bad as you think,” he says calmly. “And I want you with me, I’m the only one that counts.”

The firm pressure of his arms around you is grounding and you inhale a shaky sigh, feeling a little better.

Twenty minutes later, you’re dressed in a floaty floral sundress that you forgot you’d ordered a few sizes up from Abercrombie in a late night shopping binge and you’re tucked into the passenger seat of Willy’s car.

“Sorry about my meltdown,” you murmur, turning the air-conditioning vents more in your direction.

Willy laughs and reaches for your hand. “You can have as many meltdowns as you want, Ace,” he reassures you. “You’re carrying my baby, that gives you a total get out of jail free card for any and all behavior.”

“That’s sweet,” you reply, popping a piece of gum into your mouth, “but you probably should hold me accountable for some behavior. I could turn into a real brat.”

His eyes dance with laughter. “Good thing I know how to deal with you when you’re bratty,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the backs of your knuckles. You shiver a little at his rough tone and press your thighs together.

“Don’t,” you warn him.

“I’ll behave,” he promises. “Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a Scout,” you mutter.

The barbecue is in full swing when you get there, music and laughter drifting from the backyard. You hold onto Willy’s hand for support and he bumps your hip with his.

“Everyone’s gonna love you,” he says quietly. “Plus, there’s no pressure of meeting Tessa since she and Mo begged off with the terrible excuse of just having had a baby.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and elicits a giggle from you.

“That’ll be us in a couple of months,” you remind him.

Willy shakes his head and leads you into the house. “Nah, our kid’s gonna be partying with the team right away,” he jokes.

And from there, it’s a flurry of meeting the guys, who are all perfectly polite - almost as if they’d been warned ahead of time. Ryan Reaves and Calle Järnkrok pull you into hugs, both congratulating you on the baby before giving Willy back clapping hugs too.

Mitch Marner and his wife, Steph, are all smiles and easy small talk when Willy introduces you. You chat about summer vacations and about the baby, fielding questions about how you’re feeling.

Considering it’s his house and his party, it takes you a little bit to meet Auston. Officially, anyway. You’d seen him across the bar on the night you and Willy first met, but hadn’t interacted.

You know what he looks like, obviously, you’re a hockey fan and a Toronto transplant - his face is all over the city - but you hadn’t expected him to be so tall or for his smile to be so charming in person.

“I’m Auston,” he says warmly, holding a hand out for you to shake. “But you can call me Papi, everyone else does.”

He winks and you giggle, Willy suddenly appearing at your side as if by magic. His arm drapes heavily over your shoulders and pulls you against his side.

“She won’t be doing that,” he replies lightly, with a hint of tension underlying his words. His hand drapes over your shoulder, fingers curling towards your breast in a possessive claw.

You nudge his side with your elbow, frowning up at him, but Willy ignores you and Auston studies you. A slow smile curls his lips, something lighting up his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he laughs, having some kind of silent conversation with Willy before turning to you and asking about your job. You’re glossing over the more exciting parts of working in marketing for a publishing house while Willy’s hand is rubbing distracting circles on your stomach. The baby jumps under his touch, as usual, and Willy keeps tapping at the kicked spots - his way of playing with the baby lately.

Someone shouts for Auston and he excuses himself, but not before winking at you and commenting, “if you ever need a stepdad for the kid, get my number from Willy.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Willy snaps with an eye roll, drawing you closer to his side. Austin’s laughter echoes around the backyard as he jogs away.

“You’re being very grouchy with your friends today,” you comment lightly, turning to face him. Your belly presses against his and he sighs, cradling it with both hands.

“You know,” he pivots the conversation, “you look fucking incredible in that dress.”

“Mm, thank you,” you hum, noting that he completely avoided your comment. “Later you can peel it off of me and see how good it looks on the floor.”

Willy laughs at your tease and leans in to kiss you as if he can’t help himself, right in the middle of the backyard with his teammates all around. You flatten your palm on his chest, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, and return the kiss, knowing you’re just setting yourself up for more hurt later, but unable to stop yourself.

Your nipples tighten and chafe against the cups of your bra and you whine a little into Willy’s mouth. He nips at your lower lip and pulls away.

“Why wait until later?” He asks, letting his hands wander from your stomach to your ass. “The Cap’s got like fifteen bathrooms in this place, he won’t know if we have a little fun in one.”

“Absolutely not!” You hiss, cheeks flushing hot at the thought. “We’re at basically a work event!”

Willy chuckles. “Want me to eat you out in the backseat of my car then?” He cups and squeezes your ass cheek, the hem of your dress fluttering around your thighs. It feels like every eye in the backyard is on you.

“No,” you whisper, trying to step out of Willy’s gravitational pull.

“Shame,” he clicks his tongue. “I really want to eat you out right now. Bet you’re already soaked for me like always, huh?”

He’s right, not that you’d admit it, but you can feel your underwear growing damp and your willpower wavering.

“Slip away, there’s a bathroom off the kitchen,” he kisses your cheek and strolls off, not a care in the world.

You exhale harshly and rub a hand over the back of your neck, thighs rubbing together. It’s not a difficult decision to grab a bottle of water off one of the tables set up and wander into the house. You find the bathroom easily enough and knock once on the closed door.

Willy’s voice dances through the wood, teasing, “what’s the password?”

“What if I were one of the guys?” You ask, hissing through the wood, your face close to the door. “Open up.”

The door pulls open under your face and you stumble forward a bit, Willy’s hands strong around your upper arms as he steadies you. He tugs you inside the space and closes the door behind you, flipping the lock.

“I know it wasn’t any of the guys,” he laughs, pulling your body flush against his. “And you haven’t given me the password yet.”

Willy’s hands are on your waist, tugging at the fabric of your dress so it lifts inch by inch, exposing your thighs. He nudges your legs apart with his foot, lifting his leg so he can press his thigh tight against your cunt.

“Oh!” You gasp, rolling your hips over the firm muscle. Your hands lock around his neck to use for balance as you grind down. “More, please.”

“Good enough,” he laughs, dropping to his knees and pushing your dress up over your belly before you have a chance to process. He kisses just under your belly button, bumping his nose against the same spot when the baby kicks. You look down at him, blocked by the growing swell of your stomach, and feel your heart lurch with emotion for him. You can’t label it, won’t label it, but it’s there.

You lean back and brace yourself against the vanity edge, already breathing hard and he’s barely touched you. You mumble, “fast, Willy, someone’s going to notice.”

“No one will notice,” he nips at your inner thigh, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties and tugging them down to your knees. He looks at the wet fabric and grins up at you. “Ace, baby, you have to tell me when you’re wet so I can take care of you.”

Willy leans in and licks a stripe through the seam of your cunt, circling the tip of his tongue around your clit and any response dies in your throat. Instead you let out a moan, angling your hips into his face.

His hands are hot on your ass, holding you in place while he licks and sucks at your clit, stiffening his tongue and thrusting it into your soaked hole. Willy hums against your clit, vibrating your body and stoking the heat low in your belly.

“Oh god, right there, right there, Willy, oh my god,” broken chants fall from your lips, your fingers white knuckling the edge of the counter as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, hard.

His hair tickles the underside of your belly as his head moves, finding new places to put his mouth. You try to spread your legs, but your panties are restricting around your knees and all it does is give Willy a tighter space to work with. He buries two fingers into your cunt from behind, his thumb pressed up against the tight muscle of your ass, rubbing gently.

Static fills your brain as your orgasm builds and breaks, covering Willy’s face. Your cry echoes in the bathroom for a second before you clap your hand over your mouth to muffle it. Willy keeps stroking you through it, mumbling against your clit.

“Christ,” you mutter, slumping back against the counter. “You’re so good at that.”

Willy’s head pops into view as he leans back, a wicked grin on his shiny, wet face. “Thanks,” he laughs. “It’s easy when you taste so good.”

You kick weakly at his leg, shaking your head. He gently cleans you up with toilet paper and tugs your panties back into place, kissing you when he’s back standing. All you can taste is yourself on his lips.

“I’m going to miss this,” you sigh absently, not really thinking.

Willy, rummaging around in the medicine cabinet for some mouthwash, catches sight of you in the mirror and frowns, “you’re that horny that waiting another hour or two until we get home is bad?”

You startle a little and shake your head reflexively. Your lips roll in and you hesitate because you can’t say what really prompted the admission - that one day Willy’s going to find someone else he wants to spend his life with and you’ll just be the mom of his first kid - so you shrug and reply, lighter than you feel, “I’ll be so big in a couple of weeks? This won’t be, like, logistically possible.”

You watch out of the corner of your eye as he swishes and spits, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and turns to you with a serious look in his eyes.

“Ace, I’ll have sex with you in any position you want,” his serious tone is a contrast to his words and it makes you smile a little. “As long as you keep giving me the okay, I’ll keep giving you orgasms.”

“Okay,” you reply softly, still feeling that pit of loss in your chest. But Willy grabs your hand and kisses your palm, winking at you before he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the party.

By the time you’re back home, tucked up under your blankets and against Willy’s side, your phone is full of new numbers and you have a lunch date planned with Sanna Järnkrok for the next weekend.

It’s a nice feeling, to have been so welcomed by Willy’s friends and teammates, and you tell him so.

“Told you they’d love you,” he mumbles, smug.

———

nilliamwylander Tweet September 3

saw willy in west coast kids with his girlfriend. she’s so pregnant!

willystyleslover Tweet September 3

I JUST MET WILLY!!!! outside of love me do baby and he was holding a coffee and he looks so so good omg! i asked him for a pic and his girlfriend took the photo - she’s really quiet but nice!

reply from youunravelme: this is def the same girl he was with in june??

reply from leafsbaee: and the girl that was in the pic aryne posted a few days ago? of all the wags together?

reply from willystyleslover: YES! same girl for sure, she didn’t say much but she was friendly enough and holding the dog leashes. they were so cute too!

reply from youunravelme: i wish he would hard launch but that’ll never happen

mhafansthings Tweet September 7

pretty sure i just served willy styles girlfriend? she ordered a venti iced with cinnamon dolce syrup and cinnamon cold foam and muttered that she was going to get busted for the caffeine levels. maybe it wasn’t her tho bc she was wearing a ratty red wings hat 🤷🏼‍♀️

———-

“Anders?”

“Nah.”

“Axel?”

“Nope.”

“Freya?”

“That’s Pasta’s kid’s name.”

“Oh, right! She was adorable. Um, Elsa? Greta?”

“Ehh. Greta, maybe?”

“Bjorn?”

“Ace, how Swedish do you think I am?” Willy’s laugh fills the small room, making you giggle.

You shrug and scroll through more baby names. “Swedish enough that you’ve got two passports,” you sigh. “This is hard.”

You’ve been throwing around baby names for days now, the start of your third trimester making things feel extremely real. Willy’s building a crib, cursing up a storm as screws roll around the floor.

“It doesn’t have to be a Swedish name,” he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, squinting at the instructions laid out on the floor. “Do you see this piece?”

“There,” you point at it with your foot and Willy mutters a thanks. You rock a little in the glider chair, free hand caressing your belly, bigger and more in your face than ever, baby rolling away in the decreasing space. “I want it to be Swedish, that’s your heritage.”

He shrugs again and taps your foot, circling your ankle with his fingers. “Our names aren’t even that Swedish,” he laughs. “They could be German or English or whatever.”

You frown and keep scrolling the baby name website, ignoring him as he gets back to building. Last weekend, you’d done almost the exact same thing in his place, sitting cross legged on the couch and shouting names to him while he’d built a crib and changing table in his space room. The crib at your place is the last piece of furniture that needs to be built, everything else having come in one piece. You lean your head back against the cushion and look at the pale green walls of the nursery - gender neutral and making you feel like you’re in a fairy tale forest - thinking.

“Linnea?”

Willy makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “That’s nice, I like that. Linnea Nylander. Linnie.”

The baby’s getting Willy’s last name, per your decision. He’d asked if you wanted to hyphenate it, but you’d shaken your head and insisted on his last name, for a reason you couldn’t really articulate. It just felt right.

“Good, I’m pencilling in Linnea for a girl,” you pretend to write it down, scribbling your hand in the air to make Willy laugh.

“One down,” he says, propping up the two crib pieces he’s managed to get attached. “One to go.”

“Unless we want middle names?”

He groans, “we can’t even agree on first names. Let’s table middle for when the kid is born.”

You nudge a screwdriver towards him when he pats the floor looking for it. “Okay, yeah, that’s a good idea. Boy names, boy names. Let’s see,” you scroll back to the website, shifting in the chair and sending the baby on another movement frenzy. You get a kick to the ribs and wince. There’s still over eight weeks until you’re due and you can’t imagine the baby having less space than it already does.

“No,” you tap through the list while Willy works on the other half of the crib. “Nope, too hard to pronounce.” He chuckles at your monologue and you look up to watch his muscles work while he builds the piece. If you had gotten more than a handful of hours of sleep last night, you’d probably ask him to fuck you silly. But right now you’re too comfortable to move.

“Oh,” you cock your head to the side, “Gunnar?”

“Gunnar?” William repeats, leaning back to look at you. He doesn’t frown or shoot it down immediately.

You roll the name over in your mouth, “Gunnar Nylander. Meet Gunnar.” You like the way it sounds.

“Y’know,” Willy says slowly, “Gunnar’s my dad’s middle name.”

Your eyes well up, “that’s perfect! I like that he’ll share a name with your dad.”

Willy nods, his focus distant and he mouths the name, a smile ticking at the corner of his mouth. He scoots closer to you and rests his chin on your knee, reaching for your stomach. “Did we name you, kiddo?” He asks, fingertips tracing over the skin that’s exposed by your shirt riding up.

“Kick once if you’re a Gunnar and twice if you’re a Linnea,” you laugh. You get a frenzy of movement in response, Willy’s hand pressing into your skin to feel the movement better.

“Inconclusive,” Willy teases. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

———

You’ve been to plenty of hockey games in your life, but never while 34 weeks pregnant and the size of a small whale.

The guys lost their season opener against Montreal, but won game two against New Jersey. Both had been away games that you’d watched from the comfort of your own couch, but now it’s the home opener and all the Nylanders are in town and Willy had explicitly asked if you would come to the game.

“But only if you’re feeling up to it,” he’d said, legs tangled with yours under the covers. Your agreement that he stay with you for the month of November had quickly turned into a fifty-fifty split of where you felt like spending your time. More often than not, you were at his place, cuddling with the dogs.

And you had been feeling up to it, but god, lugging around the giant belly was starting to get old. Nothing fits right and you constantly have to get up to pee.

It’s worth it though, to sit with Willy’s sisters and cheer for the Leafs. He scores less than a minute into the second to tie the game at one and you jump up from your seat as best you can to scream for him.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, out of breath, dropping back into your seat. “Maybe I’ll only do that again if he scores again.”

Ella laughs and pats your arm. “I don’t know how you’re not home in bed,” she cocks her head at you. “You must really love Willy to come to the game.”

On her other side, Jackie nudges Ella and coughs. You squint at Willy’s youngest sister, her motivations not exactly subtle. She’s been digging into your feelings for Willy since you’d all been back in Sweden.

You shrug and rest your hands on the top swell of your stomach. “I mean, yeah,” you admit lightly. “He’s my friend and my baby’s dad, of course I love him.”

The words feel strange coming out of your mouth, the first time you’ve really strung them together in that order and in the context of your feelings for Willy. Strange, but not wrong.

Ella’s response is swallowed up by crowd noise as Matthew Knies scores to give the Leafs a lead in the game. You cheer from your seat while everyone else jumps up around you.

“I’m just saying,” Ella continues, settling back into her seat, the arena still buzzing around you, “Willy should know that you love him.”

She says it with more meaning than you had given the word, more gravity than you want to admit to so close to giving birth. You shake your head at her.

“He knows,” you say, whether or not that’s true. You’re not hormonally stable enough to have that conversation. To distract Ella, you grab her hand and press it to the side of your stomach, “Baby’s kicking, all that hockey adrenaline from daddy’s goal.”

She squeaks as her palm is kicked. “So crazy!! I can’t believe we’ll be meeting baby in less than two months,” she shakes her head and taps her fingers against your stomach gently.

“I know,” you reply, tracking the on-ice action as you speak. “I’m just glad we’ve gotten the nurseries and everything ready.”

The Leafs Ladies (as the group chat you’d been added into proclaims them) had very sweetly surprised you with a mini baby shower/lunch during the pre-season. Your mom and Willy’s mom, along with his sisters had also been invited. It was overwhelming in the best way, a shocker since you’re not dating Willy. But Aryne Tavares, the leader of the group since Austin’s single, had insisted on the party, telling you that as long as you were putting up with Willy, you were one of the girls. It had made you cry and the tiny Leafs onesie had made you cry even harder.

You’d also gotten to meet The Tesse Virtue and hadn’t made an ass of yourself. You even think you might be friends with her now since she’s a new mother and you’re rapidly hurtling towards the same situation. It’s surreal, for sure.

“If you and Willy lived together, you wouldn’t have to buy two of everything,” Ella comments and gets poked again by her sisters.

“You’re gonna get someone in trouble,” you laugh. “Me or you, that’s yet to be seen.”

The second half of the second period is a quieter affair, no goals after Knies gave them the lead and the Leafs still up by one, so you take the time to wander off in search of a snack. Back at your seat, you scroll through social media during the intermission, finding it extremely strange when your Twitter algorithm feeds up Tweets about fans spotting you in the arena. You wrinkle your nose and tap away from them - you and Willy haven’t been secretive about things, getting caught multiple times out in public by the fans, but it’s never not going to be weird. Your Instagram has been private for months now.

Mitch scores early in the third, extending the lead, and then Rakell scores for Pittsburgh, cutting the lead to one.

You’re on the edge of your seat, baby moving around like a maniac in your stomach, fingers twisted together as you watch the last few minutes of the game. By the time Willy puts the puck away in the empty net, the arena is primed for the explosion of noise. You scream, struggling to your feet and dancing along to Maxine Nightingale. You’re wrapped up in a Nylander hug, screaming even louder when Willy’s named third star of the night.

After the game, you head down to meet up with Willy and he’s shirtless when you spot him, naturally.

“Hey there, superstar,” you beam, stepping into his hug. You get a face full of chest hair and you think you can die happy.

Willy ducks his head and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Hey yourself,” he laughs, giving you a once over. “Is that my jacket?”

“And your jeans,” you shrug unashamed. “I wanted denim and leather and none of my stuff fits, so auxiliary closet it is.”

“Looks good on you,” he says, palming your ass. “I’ll finish up and we’ll head home?”

You nod. “Your family’s going to pick up some food and meet us there,” you let him know, shifting your weight from foot to foot. Your back is starting to stiffen up, so you lean against the wall and stretch until it pops.

“I’ll be fast,” he promises, squeezing your hip and disappearing back into the locker room.

While you wait, you chat with the girls and players as they leave, congratulating Mitch on his game winner before he leaves.

“Look who it is,” Austin’s voice is loud and delighted. “Hot mama!”

“Hi!” You laugh, accepting the huge hug he offers, enveloped in the warm, spicy scent of cologne and sweat. “Great game tonight.”

“Thanks,” he replies warmly. “Nice to know you and my future stepkid are out there supporting me and the boys.”

The tease makes you smile, even as it makes your spine stiffen, “don’t tell Willy.”

“Don’t tell Willy what?” Speak of the devil. He appears behind Auston, dressed in his suit again, bag on his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow at the Captain and scowls. “Are you being an ass again?”

Auston holds his hands up and smirks, “just appreciating the support of my future wife and stepkid.”

Willy’s face goes stony and you get the sense that the joke has been told more often than you realize. Willy shoulders past Auston, purposely smacking his shoulder against the other man’s, and wraps his arm over your shoulder possessively.

“Fucking enough with that shit,” Willy snaps. He’s tense against your side and you wrap an arm around his waist, squeezing gently. “I don’t wanna hear it again.”

“You got it, Willy,” Auston’s face is serious, his lips turned down in a deep frown. He cuts his gaze to you, but you’re not going to apologize for Willy. They’re grown men and truthfully, you don’t think you should get any more involved than you already are.

Auston gives a little two fingered wave and disappears down the hall, leaving you and Willy alone.

“Jackass,” he mutters under his breath and you turn slightly, your belly bumping against his side.

“Hey,” you draw his attention, “it’s just a joke. You know I’d never date Auston.”

Willy nods stiffly. “Yeah, but you know…” he trails off, shrugs one shoulder, “you never know.”

You think about your earlier conversation with Ella. Willy has to know that you’ve got feelings for him, you don’t think you’ve been very subtle and he’s not totally oblivious. This has to be some kind of possessive, feral instinct because you’re pregnant with his baby.

“I promise,” you murmur, resting your hand on his chest, “I’m not going to date Auston, ever. He’s just going to be the kiddo’s fun uncle. Nothing more, got it?”

Willy’s shoulders loosen and he gives you a faint smile, even though his eyes are still tight at the corners. “Yeah, okay,” he drops an easy kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s get you home, been a long night, huh?”

“Very,” you reply, relieved that the moment has passed and you’re on your way to the car. “Did you know that Leafs’ Twitter thinks I’m not fashionable enough to be with you? Even though I’m not with you and I’m literally wearing your clothes!”

He chuckles, but his fingers tighten on your shoulders. “You’re kinda with me. You know, sitting with my family, having my baby…”

“Well, yeah,” you hedge, feeling like you’re wading into murky waters, “I guess. But we’re not…and either way, they can’t call me unfashionable when I’m in your clothes. I guess the semi-exposed bump makes the fit trashy instead of classy.”

You tug at the hem of your white tee, a sliver of belly exposed when it rides up as you move.

“Fuck them,” Willy scoffs, holding your hand to help you into the passenger seat of his car. “I love when the bump is exposed. It’s hot as hell, you’re hot as hell.”

“If you want me to ride you, you just have to ask. We’re so far past the need for flattery,” you fall back into a teasing innuendo, feeling like it’s safer territory than wherever you were wandering off to before.

Willy squats down to kiss the exposed inch of your belly. “It’s not flattery when it’s the truth, Ace,” he rubs at your stomach, a smile on his face when he gets kicked on the palm. I know you said not to call you a MILF, but you’re a MILF, baby.”

You roll your eyes, quietly pleased. “This MILF was promised food and is going to get hangry any minute,” you say, lifting his hand off your stomach and pushing him gently so he’ll get the hint.

“Yes, ma’am,” Willy salutes and jogs around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat. He lets you play with the radio until you find a station you like and once you’re out of the arena parking, he says, “seriously, Ace, thanks for being here tonight. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m always going to be your biggest fan, Willy,” you murmur, the smooth ride of the car lulling you to sleep. “Pregnant or not, I’m always rooting for you.”

——-

October is a speed run of games and travel and nesting and before you know it, it’s Halloween.

You’re officially twenty four days away from your due date at this point and supremely uncomfortable, but you’re invited to the Leafs’ party and figure it’ll be one of the last times you leave the house for something that’s not a doctor’s appointment or actual labor, so you convince Willy to dress up as Bleeker to your Juno.

You sing the Sabrina Carpenter song around the apartment as you get ready - “Getting into character, Willy.” - and he laughs when you struggle to pull the striped shirt over your stomach.

“Should’ve gotten a size up,” he says, tugging at the fabric twisted up in your bra strap.

“Your giant baby grew in the two weeks since I bought this,” you grumble, breathing hard. The baby is settled up in your rib cage and you haven’t been able to get a full deep breath in days.

Baby Nylander is still measuring big and you’re starting to get anxious about giving birth. It was all fun and games six months ago when you had no bump. But now you’re facing down reality.

The party is fun, Willy’s costume shorts are obscenely small and tight, and somehow you end the night on your knees in front of the couch, choking on Willy’s cock.

“Ace, Ace, baby,” Willy grunts, bucking his hips into your mouth, “stop, wanna come inside you.”

You release his cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting your lips to the head. “I’m going to need help getting up,” you laugh hoarsely and Willy happily complies, helping you onto his lap and speared onto his cock.

“Feels good,” you sigh, sinking down on him. It’s harder than usual, both his cock and the position, but Willy makes it easy for you to sit on him and orgasm twice in quick succession while he alternates sucking and licking your nipples. Once he’s happy that you’re satisfied, Willy finishes inside of you, holding you on his cock to keep his come inside.

Willy drops his forehead to rest on your shoulder, kissing all the bare skin he can reach. You tangle your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp lightly.

“You always feel perfect,” he mutters into your skin. “Perfect fit, just wanna stay here forever.”

“Not kicking you out any time soon,” you clench around his softening cock. “I could take another before you leave for the weekend.”

Willy’s laugh vibrates your whole body and sends the baby into a frenzy. His hands find each spot, tickling lightly. You genuinely think you’d be happy staying in this spot forever.

Unfortunately, there’s hockey to play and last minute details to finalize. You pack your hospital bag and Willy is in and out of the apartment, racking up wins. Baby drops and your belly hangs low, making you uncomfortable no matter what you do. Your hips hurt and you waddle everywhere, assuming the stereotypical pregnant woman pose of one hand on your lower back and one bracing your belly.

When he’s home, Willy spends most of his time behind you, holding your belly up so the pressure on your pelvis is lessened. You slump back against his chest and complain about round ligament pain and Braxton-Hicks.

“You don’t have to come tomorrow,” Willy mumbles into your hair. “You could go at literally any minute.”

Alex signed a one-year deal with the Leafs yesterday and tomorrow is his first game, at home, playing with his brother. Today is your due date.

“No, I’m definitely coming!” You protest. “Your whole family is going to be there, I want to tell baby that they were there too when Daddy and Uncle Alex played together for the first time.”

You’d seen your doctor two days ago and she hadn’t thought you’d go into labor on your due date. You’re only about a centimeter dilated, so it will probably be another couple of days before anything happens. So, you’re going to the game.

“Stay in the family room at least,” Willy shifts, lifting your belly a little higher and you sigh in relief, your body relaxing. “I don’t want you in the middle of the crowds when you’re this pregnant.”

‘This pregnant’ is like carrying around an extra large watermelon under your shirt - nothing fits, your entire body is uncomfortable and the baby’s measuring at over eight pounds. Your skin feels stretched to its limits, sore and itchy even after Willy’s rubbed lotion into it. You keep knocking things over because you can’t comprehend how big your belly is and Willy’s gotten clocked in the head more than once as you’ve tried to pass him while he’s laying on the couch. You stepped on poor Banksy’s tail once because you can’t see the dogs when they’re in your blind spot and cried for an hour because you felt so bad.

“The last thing I need,” he continues, “is to be worrying on the ice about someone knocking into you.”

“I’ll stay in the room,” you assure him. “I don’t know if I’d even fit in a regular seat at this point.” You smooth your hands over your stomach and wince when the baby stretches in the minimal space left. The fact that you have just days left of this pregnancy is crazy.

The game goes off without a hitch, a win where Willy scores and you still don’t go into labor. You’re exhausted by the time you get home and curl up to sleep for as long as your bladder will let you.

Your parents come into town the day after the game, to stay with you while Willy is in Florida, just in case. They coddle you and your mom makes you walk around Toronto, one foot on the curb and one off, because she says that’ll help get labor going. All it does is make your back hurt even more.

You watch the Leafs lose to the Panthers with Pablo and Banksy curled up on your lap and your stomach cramping sporadically during the third period.

“Well, it’s three days past your due date,” your mom says, rubbing muscle relaxant balm into your back. “I would bet there’s a baby in the next few days.”

“I can’t wait,” you stroke the dogs’ ears. “I’m so ready to meet this little nugget.”

Your back pain worsens and your pelvis hurts, belly hanging lower than it had been. The baby’s definitely dropped and a little voice in the back of your head is telling you this is labor getting started. You can’t get comfortable on the couch or in bed, so you wander around your place, dogs trailing at your heels. You’d sent your parents back to their hotel when Willy had texted that the plane was leaving Florida and now you’re wondering if you should’ve asked them to stay. A cramp ripples across your stomach and you wince, sucking in a sharp breath.

It’s a Braxton-Hicks, but worse, and you’re pretty convinced that you’re in labor.

There’s still fifteen minutes in between contractions when you start timing them, so you relax a little, confident that you’re going to be okay until Willy gets home. It’s only a four hour flight.

And then your water breaks with half an hour still left in the flight.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, bending over the back of the couch. Your feet are soaked and the floor is splattered with amniotic fluid. The dogs are curled up in their beds, which you’re a little grateful for because you don’t want them trying to like, lick it up or something. Another contraction hits and you groan through it, swaying your hips from side to side while you’re bent over the back of the couch.

Time ticks down slowly and you chew at the inside of your cheek, wondering when the right time to call your parents is. Willy texts when he lands and you know it’s only another half an hour for him to get home.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself, “we can make it a half an hour. That’s nothing.”

You wish you had slept a little more, but there’s nothing you can do about that now. Standing for so long is hurting your feet though, so you waddle off to your bedroom, leaving the puddle on the floor, and change into a clean pair of sweats before sinking down onto the mattress. Your hands are in your stomach, rubbing in circles and pressing in when another contraction hits.

With your eyes closed, you focus on the breathing you’d learned in Lamaze classes, shifting in your position and spreading your knees to open up your hips a little.

Eventually, you hear Willy’s key in the door and the thump of his bag falling to the floor. He’s quiet, clearly thinking you’re asleep, and you don’t want to call out and scare him. But it happens anyway when he comes into your bedroom and sees you sitting on the bed.

“Fuck!” He yelps, jumping back a step. “Ace, shit, are you okay? What’s going on?”

He looks tired and rumpled from the flight and you wince, “my water broke about an hour ago.”

Willy’s eyes widen and his jaw drops. “I…what? An hour ago?” He’s at your side in a handful of steps, hands on your cheeks. You nod, tears filling your waterline because thank God, he’s finally home and you’re not alone. You’re terrified, but Willy’s here, so everything will be okay.

“I think we still have a while,” you whimper when another contraction hits, bending slightly at the waist. “But, um, we should probably head out.”

Willy nods. “Yeah, yes. Okay, let me change quickly and we’ll drop the dogs off at my place, with Al. You don’t want them here alone,” he’s rambling and you’ve never really seen him ramble. It’s endearing and your heart clenches with so much love for him.

You watch from the edge of the mattress as Willy changes quickly, dumping his suit in a pile on the floor and finding jeans and a sweatshirt in the drawer you’d cleaned out for him. He kisses your forehead as he passes you.

“I’m going to put the dogs and bags in my car and I’ll come back up for you, okay?”

You nod and Willy shakes his head, stopping short in the doorway to your bedroom. “I can’t believe we’re about to have a baby,” his voice is rough, full of emotion.

“Yeah,” you reply, crying, “baby makes three, right?”

Willy looks like he wants to say something else but you groan with another contraction and that spurs him into motion.

Less than ten minutes later, you’ve dropped the dogs off with Alex, who grinned like an idiot from the sidewalk and shouted ‘good luck’ to you, and you’re on the way to the hospital. Contractions are picking up and your breathing is shallow.

Willy grabs your hand and squeezes your fingers. “You’re going to be amazing, Ace,” he doesn’t take his eyes off the road, driving with one hand, “I’ve never met anyone stronger.”

“It’s starting to really hurt,” you bite your lip, free hand curled around the bottom of your stomach.

“It’s okay,” he lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the tips of your fingers over and over again. “We’re almost there.”

He’s true to his word, you’re parked less than fifteen minutes later and Willy’s got his arm around your waist while he guides you into a wheelchair and leaves you to check in. A nurse appears and after that it feels like a flurry of activity to get you in a room, into a hospital gown, and settled in a bed with a monitor strapped to your stomach.

“VIP treatment,” Willy teases, breaking off into a yawn. “That’s what happens when you have a baby with a Maple Leaf.”

“That’s what happens,” you groan, reaching blindly for his hand, “when you get to the hospital at 4 in the morning.”

“That helps,” Willy scrubs a hand over his face and you watch his body sag a little as the adrenaline drains from his body. He’s got to be so exhausted, but he doesn’t say a word.

He holds your hand through contractions, feeds you ice chips when you ask for them, helps you out of bed when you want to walk around. He’s the perfect partner.

The sun rises and you FaceTime your parents, laughing when your mom screams in excitement.

“Do you need us to come over? Or get the dogs from your place?” Your mom rapid fires questions at you. “How are you feeling? Oh, I should’ve known something was happening last night.”

“I’m okay,” you breathe heavily through a contraction and nearly drop your phone. Willy wraps his hand around your wrist to steady it. “We dropped the dogs off with Alex, so don’t worry. We’ve got it under control and we’ll let you know when there’s a baby to come love on.”

Your mom looks concerned but she accepts it, both your parents wishing you luck and telling Willy to keep them updated.

He grins, “check your phones, I already created a big ass group chat with my parents and siblings too.”

“Oh, nice name for the chat,” your dad comments, “Baby Nylander Hype Squad. Now, what’s a hype squad?”

“Dad,” you groan, clutching at the sheets. “Later, we’ll talk later.”

“Right, right, we love you, starfish,” your dad blows a kiss on the screen and you can hear him ask your mom what a hype squad is again as the call ends.

Willy grins at you, “my dad wanted to know what a hype squad is too. But Ella took over the explanation. They all say good luck too, by the way.”

You nod, panting through a contraction, the pain intensifying. “Up, I need to get up,” you whine and Willy helps you out of bed so you can lean your forearms on the mattress and sway from side to side to alleviate some of the pain. Your belly hangs low and your ass is hanging out of the back of the hospital gown, but you barely pay any attention. You’re having a contraction every five minutes now and they’re stronger too.

Willy tugs the thin fabric of the hospital gown closed over your back, covering your ass, and digs his thumbs into the muscles of your lower back at your command.

Time blurs together in a haze of contractions and nurses checking your cervix. At some point, Willy leaves the room and comes back smelling like French fries.

“Sorry,” he brushes your hair off your face when you scowl and ask about it. “I was starving, but didn’t want to eat in front of you.”

“I want a big ass sushi boat when this baby is out,” the end of your sentence lifts on a moan and Willy nods.

He calls Auston from the corner of the room, the giddiness in his voice clear as he’s telling his friend and captain that you’re in labor and he won’t be making it to practice today. The call ends quickly when you call for him, desperate for a hand to hold.

And then all of a sudden it’s the middle of the afternoon and you’ve been labouring through twelve hours of contractions and the nurse is snapping her gloves and telling you that you’re ten centimetres and ready to push.

#william nylander x reader #william nylander fic #william nylander x you #william nylander #nhl fic

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