#we72 imagine

[777bae]

YOURS TO HOLD WILLIAM EKLUND

Summary :: William Eklund doesn’t get jealous—not until he decides it’s necessary. One conversation, one too many laughs, and suddenly, he’s all possessive touches and dark looks. You should tease him, but maybe you like it too much. (REQUESTED)

Warnings :: small amount of jealousy (& possessiveness)

Word count :: 1.8k

William Eklund is, by all definitions, a golden retriever boyfriend—the kind of guy who radiates warmth the second he steps into a room. He’s sunshine personified, with an easy, boyish grin that never seems to fade and eyes that light up like he’s genuinely thrilled just to see you. There’s an effortless charm about him, something so naturally magnetic that it draws people in, but the way he looks at you? That’s something else entirely. It’s different. It’s devoted.

He’s always finding a way to make you laugh, whether it’s cracking a joke at his own expense, sending you goofy selfies from the locker room, or pulling you into his chest and murmuring something ridiculous just to hear you giggle against his hoodie. He thrives on your happiness, basking in it like it’s the most important thing in the world. No matter how long the day has been, no matter how exhausted he is after practice or a brutal road trip, he never hesitates to wrap you in his arms the second he sees you. And when he hugs you, it’s not just a fleeting embrace—it’s the kind where he holds you close, burying his face into your neck, letting out a deep breath like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

After a win, it’s even more intense. The second the final buzzer sounds, before the adrenaline even has a chance to fade, he’s already searching for you in the crowd. His hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, his cheeks are flushed from the effort, but none of it matters. The moment his skates hit the ice after the handshake line, he’s making a beeline for you, shoving his helmet halfway off as he grins like a little kid. His excitement is infectious—he’s breathless, exhilarated, but all he cares about is getting to you.

And when he does? He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you in, strong arms winding around your waist as he crashes his lips against yours, completely unbothered by the cameras, the crowd, or the teasing chirps from his teammates. The only thing that exists in that moment is you. You can feel his smile against your lips, feel the way his fingers tighten just slightly like he never wants to let go. When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, there’s a look in his eyes—pure love, pure adoration—like you’re the best win of all.

He’s not the jealous type. Or, at least, not usually.

William Eklund is easygoing, warm, the kind of guy who trusts you implicitly. He’s never been one to get possessive, never the boyfriend to hover or make a scene. He knows where you stand, knows that you’re his, and that’s always been enough.

But every now and then, something flickers behind those warm blue eyes. Something a little darker, a little more primal. A reminder that while he’s all golden retriever grins and easy affection, there’s a part of him that isn’t so laid-back when it comes to you.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The event is buzzing with energy, post-game adrenaline still lingering in the air as players and their significant others mix with fans, sponsors, and team staff. It’s nothing out of the ordinary—just another night of polite small talk and congratulations. You find yourself in conversation with one of the team’s new PR guys, discussing something lighthearted, your laughter slipping into the noise of the party without a second thought.

The guy’s charming, sure. Confident. But you’re just being friendly, the way you always are. What you don’t realize is that across the room, William is watching. And he doesn’t like what he sees.

His jaw tightens. His normally relaxed posture stiffens, his grip on the sweating beer bottle in his hand growing so tight that his knuckles turn white. He’s trying to be rational. He knows you love him. He knows you wouldn’t entertain anyone else. But watching another guy lean in—just a little too close, just close enough that William’s mind starts spinning—makes his patience run razor-thin.

Then you laugh.

It’s nothing more than a casual, friendly sound, but it sets something off in him. Because that’s his laugh to pull from you. His closeness to have. His spot at your side.

And then the guy leans in just a slight bit more, probably just to hear you over the music, but it doesn’t matter. Because William sees red.

Before you even register his presence, he’s there. An arm slides around your waist in one swift, decisive motion, pulling you back against a solid chest—warm and steady, yet unmistakably tense. The sudden presence sends a jolt through you, but the familiar scent of clean cologne and the faintest trace of hockey gear immediately tells you exactly who it is.

“Hey, babe,” William murmurs, his voice low, smooth, but tinged with something unmistakable—something territorial.

Your breath catches as you blink up at him, caught off guard by both his sudden arrival and the possessive energy radiating off of him in waves. His blue eyes, usually so full of light and mischief, are darker now, locked onto the PR guy with quiet intensity.

“Hey, William,” you say softly, tilting your head as you search his expression.

His grip on your waist tightens just a fraction, a silent warning as he finally turns his attention to the guy in front of you. His expression is calm—too calm—but there’s an unmistakable tension in the way his jaw is set, in the way his fingers flex slightly against your side.

“And you are?” William asks, his voice smooth and polite, but carrying just enough of an edge to make it clear he’s not in the mood for pleasantries.

The PR guy, still oblivious to the shift in energy, introduces himself with a casual ease, but William barely acknowledges it. He doesn’t shake his hand, doesn’t offer his usual friendly grin. Instead, he moves with deliberate slowness, dipping his head and pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips warm against your skin. He stays there just a second longer than necessary, long enough to make a point, long enough to let the other guy see.

You almost laugh. William Eklund. Jealous.

It’s ridiculous, really—this is the same guy who once tripped over his own skates mid-drill because he was too busy winking at you from across the rink. The same guy who always insists on carrying you on his back when you’re tired, who buys you stuffed animals from airport gift shops just because they remind him of you. The guy who gets chirped endlessly by his teammates for being so whipped. And yet here he is, standing tall, broad, and possessive, making it very clear that you’re off-limits.

The PR guy finally starts to catch on, his posture shifting slightly, eyes darting between you and William. He clears his throat, an awkward chuckle slipping out. “Well, I should probably—”

“Yeah, you should,” William cuts in smoothly, his voice lighter now but carrying an unmistakable finality. His golden retriever energy is nowhere to be found, replaced by something sharper, something almost wolfish. He doesn’t bother softening the words. He doesn’t need to. The message is clear.

The guy mutters a quick goodbye and excuses himself, disappearing into the crowd. As soon as he’s gone, you turn in William’s arms, crossing your arms over your chest as you peer up at him, your expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“Seriously?”

William doesn’t even try to hide it. He doesn’t stammer or deflect. Instead, he looks down at you, eyes warm but smug, his grip on your waist still firm, still possessive.

“What?” His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk, like he knows exactly what he just did and isn’t remotely sorry for it.

“You’re jealous.”

The words slip out easily, laced with amusement as you stare up at him, waiting for his reaction.

William scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the soft pink creeping up his neck betrays him. It’s barely noticeable in the dim lighting, but you know him too well—you see the way he shifts slightly, the way his fingers twitch like he’s debating whether to defend himself or just own up to it.

“I’m not jealous,” he insists, voice light, but you can tell he’s lying.

You tilt your head, giving him a knowing look. “William.”

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair in a mix of frustration and reluctant confession. “Okay,” he mutters, dropping the act, his voice quieter now. “Maybe a little.”

His blue eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up, holding your gaze with an intensity that sends warmth curling in your stomach. His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, like he’s making sure you’re still right there, still his.

“Can you blame me?” His voice is lower now, rougher around the edges. “Some guy’s getting all close to you, making you laugh like that…” He trails off, shaking his head, jaw tightening again for a brief second before he forces himself to relax. “I don’t like it.”

You bite your lip, trying—really trying—not to smile, but the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to hide.

“You know I’m yours, right?” you murmur, your fingers grazing over the collar of his shirt, lightly tracing the fabric before sliding up to rest against the back of his neck.

His gaze softens at your words, but the possessiveness doesn’t fade. If anything, it settles into something deeper, something almost reverent.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, forehead dropping to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “But I still don’t like it.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and you shift on your toes, tilting your chin up just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to his jawline. You feel the way his muscles tense for a second, the way his breath hitches slightly before it evens out again.

“Well,” you hum, barely above a whisper, “if it makes you feel better…” You pause, letting your lips graze his skin before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes again. “I like it when you get a little jealous.”

A deep, rumbling chuckle escapes him, low in his chest, and just like that, your golden retriever boyfriend is back—his lips quirking into a smirk, his arms tightening around you like he has no plans of letting go anytime soon.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is teasing now, playful, but there’s still a hint of something darker lingering beneath it.

You nod, grinning. “Yeah.”

His hands slide lower, his touch firm but slow, deliberate. He leans in, so close that his lips just barely brush against yours, teasing, waiting.

“Then maybe I should remind you who you belong to,” he murmurs, voice just above a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine.

And just like that, the rest of the room fades away.

[777bae]

PERSONAL HEATER WILLIAM EKLUND

Summary :: After a long, cold night, the warmth of William’s embrace feels like everything—until he pulls back, and you realize just how much you need him to stay close. (REQUESTED :: prompts 29 & 32)

Warnings :: none

Word count :: 2.0k

The night air bites at your skin as you step into the apartment, the cold so sharp it feels like it’s cutting through the layers of your coat and scarf. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, a soft exhale of relief escapes your lips as you stand in the warmth of the apartment, your senses slowly readjusting to the inviting heat. The contrast between the frigid air outside and the cozy warmth within feels almost overwhelming. Despite your thick coat, wool scarf, and the gloves you’ve only just slipped off, the cold still seeps into your fingers, making your nose and cheeks pink from the chill.

You linger for a moment, savoring the quiet, your breath puffing in the cool air. The heater hums softly in the background, its steady noise promising warmth, but it feels like it’s taking forever to reach you. Shivering slightly, you kick off your boots and rub your hands together, trying to thaw out your frozen fingertips. It’s strange, how the cold has a way of clinging to you, making it feel like it never quite lets go.

The apartment is still, save for the soft rustling sound coming from the couch in the living room. You glance toward the source and see him—William, exactly where you expected to find him. He’s curled up on the couch, a cozy blanket draped over his legs, the soft glow of the TV flickering across his face, casting light and shadows over his relaxed features. His tousled hair, the hint of a stubbled jaw, and the comfortable way he lounges make him seem effortlessly handsome, as though this simple moment was made for him. You can’t help but smile, watching him for a beat, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the sight of him.

You move toward the living room, your footsteps muffled on the carpet. The warmth of the space surrounds you, though you’re still feeling the bite of the cold on your skin. “Hey,” you say softly, your voice muffled by the wool scarf you’re unwinding from your neck.

At the sound of your voice, William stirs. His eyes flicker open, the soft blue of his gaze immediately meeting yours. There’s a dreamy, drowsy quality to his expression, his lips tugging into a sleepy, affectionate smile. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you with those half-lidded eyes, taking in your presence as if you’re the only thing he’s been waiting for.

“You’re home,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with the weight of sleep, each word a lazy rumble.

“Yeah,” you answer with a soft smile, the exhaustion of the long night in your tone. “Long day. Glad to be back though.”

You shrug off your coat, letting it fall carelessly over the back of a chair before making your way over to him. Even though you’re finally indoors, you can still feel the cold nibbling at your skin—your fingers are still numb, and your arms are crossed tightly over your chest as if hugging yourself will somehow make the chill go away.

William’s gaze sharpens slightly as he watches you, his eyes softening with concern as he notices the way your hands are rubbing together in an attempt to warm them. He doesn’t need to say a word; the expression on his face is enough to tell you he’s already noticed the tremors in your arms, the subtle way you’re trying to protect yourself from the lingering cold. His brow furrows as his voice drops lower, softer, full of warmth and care.

“You’re cold,” he says gently. It’s not a question—it’s an observation, one that pulls at your heart. “Come here.”

The invitation is instant, and without a second thought, your feet are moving toward him. You don’t even pause to think, your body almost unconsciously reaching for his warmth. He shifts on the couch, sliding the blanket off his lap and patting the spot next to him with a small smile. The moment you’re close enough, his arms open, waiting for you to fall into them.

You don’t need to be asked twice.

As you sink into his embrace, you let out a long, relieved sigh, finally feeling the warmth of his body against yours. His arms wrap around you tightly, and for the first time all evening, the chill begins to melt away. You let yourself relax against him, the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you, calming you. His warmth spreads through your body, and you feel the frost that had been clinging to your skin begin to thaw.

“Better?” he asks, his voice low and soft as he begins to rub slow circles on your back, trying to help ease the last bits of tension from your shoulders.

You nod, the words slipping from your mouth without thinking. “Much better,” you murmur, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. The scent of him—soft musk, a hint of fresh laundry, something uniquely him—fills your senses, making your eyes flutter closed in contentment. “You’re like a personal heater.”

William laughs softly, the sound vibrating in his chest, and you can feel the warmth spread through his body in the way his arms tighten around you. “I try my best,” he teases lightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, the gesture soft and familiar.

You stay like that for a few minutes, the quiet comfort of his embrace enveloping you. The hum of the TV is distant, almost irrelevant in comparison to the rhythmic sound of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. You let your body relax into him fully, the cold of the night and the stress of your day slipping away with each passing second.

A thought flickers in your mind, and before you even realize it, the words are slipping from your lips, quiet and hesitant. “You’re staying here tonight, right?”

William’s eyes shift toward you, his gaze soft, almost as though he’s afraid to disturb the peace of the moment. The hint of vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard when he responds, the question almost a whisper. “Yeah,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on you. “You’re not going anywhere, right?”

You smile, your lips brushing against his skin as you answer with a kiss, soft but full of warmth. “No, I’m not going anywhere. It’s nice and toasty here,” you add, a small chuckle escaping your throat.

William smiles too, that soft, affectionate expression that always makes your heart flutter. “Good,” he murmurs, pulling you even closer, like he’s trying to draw you into him, as though he wants you to be here forever, in his arms, where it’s safe and warm. “Because I don’t want you to leave this spot. Ever.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest swell, a warmth blooming there that matches the heat of his embrace. Without thinking, you press a soft kiss to his chest, the action instinctive, full of affection. You linger there for a second, letting your lips rest against his skin, breathing in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you. It feels like the world falls away in this moment—everything outside of his embrace fades into the background, and all that matters is the way he holds you, the way he makes you feel safe.

But then, just as you’re starting to settle deeper into his warmth, you feel him shift beneath you. His arm loosens around your shoulders, pulling away ever so slightly, and you instinctively feel the cold creeping back in where he was just holding you. It’s like the warmth of him is slipping away, and your body reacts with a small shiver, a wave of cold seeping into your limbs.

You pull back slightly, but only enough to meet his gaze, and you see the glint of playful mischief in his blue eyes. His lips curl into a teasing smile, and you feel your stomach flutter—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I thought you were all warm and toasty just a minute ago?” he teases, his voice light and full of playful amusement. “What happened?”

You frown, trying to keep up the pretense of being unaffected, but the chill in your limbs gives you away. You cross your arms in a half-hearted attempt to hold the warmth around you, but it’s no use—your body is still trembling, a slight shiver running down your spine.

“I was warm,” you retort, trying for annoyance, though your voice has an undeniable quiver to it. “Until you decided to take all the heat with you.” You shoot him a playful glare, even though your lips twitch at the corners.

William laughs, clearly enjoying the way you’re pretending to be upset. He shifts again, pulling the blanket tighter around him as he leans back, stretching lazily against the couch. His teasing eyes meet yours, and you can see the amusement dancing in them, knowing full well how much you need the warmth he offers.

“You sure you’re not just trying to get me to snuggle with you more?” he asks with a grin, his voice dripping with mock-suspicion. “You know, I think that’s what this is really about.”

You glare at him, trying your best to maintain the act, but it’s impossible to ignore the way your teeth are starting to chatter. You need him back, need that warmth again. “I’m not playing games, William,” you finally say, your voice becoming a little more desperate, though you try to keep it light. “I’m freezing. Come back.”

William doesn’t move immediately, instead stretching lazily, as though he’s savoring the power he has in this game. He lets out a little hum of consideration, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he glances down at you, a teasing smirk forming at the edges of his lips.

“Hmm,” he hums, acting as if he’s deciding whether or not to oblige you. “You were fine just a minute ago. What’s changed? Maybe I’ll just stay right here, and you can deal with the cold.” His voice drips with playful challenge.

You stare at him, your heart racing, the chill only deepening as your body leans forward unconsciously. “I’m too cold!” you finally protest, a mix of frustration and vulnerability slipping into your voice. “Come back!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, a soft but genuine plea.

William looks down at your hand tugging at his shirt, then back up at your face, his lips quirking into an amused smile. “You’re impossible,” he says with a soft laugh, clearly finding your vulnerability endearing. “Fine. You really can’t survive without me, huh?”

You narrow your eyes playfully, though your heart swells at the sight of him relenting. “What can I say? You’re irresistible,” you tease, letting a smile break through despite the cold still crawling under your skin.

With a dramatic sigh, William rolls his eyes, his affection for you still clear even through the mock exasperation. “You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters, pulling you back into his arms once more, the warmth of his body wrapping around you instantly, banishing the cold.

“Better?” he asks softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you as he pulls you close again.

“Much better,” you hum contentedly, finally feeling the warmth spread throughout your body. “Thanks, heater.”

William chuckles softly, his arms holding you securely. “You really like calling me that, huh?”

You smile, your head resting comfortably against his chest as you let out a contented sigh. “I don’t mind calling you whatever I want, as long as I get to be this close to you.”

He smiles, the affection in his eyes unmistakable. “In that case,” he says teasingly, “just remember—I’m the only heater you’ll ever need.

You laugh softly, pressing your face back into his chest, your body enveloped in warmth. “I know,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat beneath your cheek. “I know.”

[777bae]

THE ICE BENEATH OUR FEET WILLIAM EKLUND

Summary :: William finally manages to convince you to let him teach you how to skate

Warnings :: fear?

Word count :: 5.3k

William had a way of making everything seem easy—on and off the ice. Watching him skate during games felt almost hypnotic, like witnessing pure poetry in motion. The way he moved was so fluid and effortless, as if the ice itself bent to his will. Every sharp turn, each seamless pivot, and the explosive speed he brought to every play left you in awe. It wasn’t just his talent that captivated you, though—it was the joy that radiated from him. The gleam in his eyes, the easy smile that tugged at his lips, and the way he’d throw his hands in the air to celebrate, even during practices, showed how much he loved what he did. It wasn’t just a job or a passion—it was a part of him. And every time you watched him, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of longing, wishing you had even a fraction of that confidence or that grace on the ice.

But your relationship with skating was far less romantic. You’d told him countless times how clumsy you felt just thinking about stepping onto the ice. In fact, you still remembered the last time you’d tried, years ago at a childhood birthday party. Back then, the rink had felt more like a slick, unforgiving trap than a playground. You’d spent most of that experience gripping the boards so tightly that your knuckles turned white, silently praying that you wouldn’t fall and humiliate yourself in front of everyone. Even years later, the memory of your awkward, stumbling attempts to stay upright made you cringe.

Every time you brought up that story, William’s reaction was the same. He’d throw his head back with a warm laugh, the kind that made your heart flutter despite yourself, and then he’d reassure you: “One day, älskling (darling), I’ll show you how it’s done. You’ll love it.” There was always such certainty in his voice when he said it, like he truly believed there wasn’t a doubt in the world that you’d be gliding across the ice in no time with him by your side.

You never really thought he’d follow through—he was William Eklund, after all. Between his busy practice schedule, constant games, and travel commitments, there wasn’t much room in his life for teaching someone like you the basics of skating. But you should’ve known better by now.

The night before it happened, your phone buzzed with a text just as you were settling onto the couch. Picking it up, you saw William’s name flash across the screen.

“Be ready at 10 tomorrow. I’m teaching you to skate. No excuses.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, excitement and nerves tangling together in equal measure. You read the message a second time, your heart thumping faster with each word.

Teaching you to skate.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to learn—you trusted William more than anyone. But the thought of stepping onto the ice, of possibly falling flat on your face in front of him, made your chest tighten. You stared at the screen for a few moments, trying to think of a reason to say no. Maybe you could claim you were too busy, or that you weren’t feeling well. But deep down, you knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Another buzz pulled you from your thoughts:

“Don’t overthink it, baby. It’ll be fun. Promise.”

You smiled despite yourself, letting out a breathy laugh. He knew you too well—knew you’d be nervous, knew you’d try to talk yourself out of it. But his confidence was as steady as always, and that reassurance wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“Fine,” you muttered to yourself, typing out a quick reply: “Alright, I’ll see you at 10. But no laughing if I fall!”

The response came almost immediately:

“Never. I’ll catch you before you hit the ice.”

And just like that, your nerves began to settle. If anyone could make you feel safe out on the ice, it was William.

The next morning, you could feel the nervous fluttering in your stomach the moment you stepped out of your car and saw the ice rink looming ahead. The sheer thought of skating—something that had never come naturally to you—made your palms slightly clammy. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust William; you trusted him more than anyone. But there was still that little voice in your head whispering all the ways this could go wrong. What if you fell flat on your face? Or worse, what if you froze up completely and he realized how much of a disaster you were on the ice?

You pulled your coat a little tighter around yourself as you walked toward the entrance, your breath coming out in soft white puffs in the chilly air. But then, as you rounded the corner, you spotted him, and suddenly the nervous fluttering shifted to something softer.

William was leaning casually against the side of the building, his hockey bag at his feet and his hands tucked into the pockets of a gray hoodie. He looked effortlessly handsome, as he always did, with a black beanie snug over his messy blond hair, just enough of it sticking out to give him that endearing, slightly unpolished look. His face was rosy from the cold, but when his eyes met yours, a wide smile spread across his face, and the tension you’d been holding in your shoulders seemed to dissolve instantly.

“Hey, älskling,” he called out, his voice carrying that warm, familiar lilt of his Swedish accent. Somehow, it made the words feel softer, more intimate.

You gave him a small wave, trying to smile despite the nerves bubbling in your chest. But as you got closer, your hesitant expression must have given you away, because his grin turned a little more playful.

“Nervous?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he studied you. His tone was teasing, but there was a kindness in his eyes that told you he already knew the answer.

“More like terrified,” you admitted, laughing nervously as you came to a stop in front of him.

William chuckled, the sound low and warm, and took a step closer. “Terrified? Really?” he asked, his voice dropping just a little, as though to reassure you. “Baby, it’s just ice. It’s not going to hurt you.”

You gave him a look, your lips twitching into a half-smile. “It’s not the ice I’m worried about. It’s what happens when I hit it.”

“Hit it?” He laughed again, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re not going to hit anything. Not on my watch.”

Before you could protest, William reached for your hand, his gloved fingers curling gently around yours. His grip was firm but comforting, like he was grounding you in that moment, pulling you out of your own head. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and soothing. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

You glanced down at your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your heart skip. Somehow, the simple touch calmed the swirling nerves in your chest. When you looked back up at him, his expression had softened, the playful teasing giving way to something more tender.

“I’ve got you,” he added, giving your hand a little squeeze. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“Good,” he said, his smile returning. “Then just focus on me. Forget the ice, forget everything else. Just focus on us.”

The way he said it—so effortlessly confident yet so full of care—made it impossible not to believe him. You nodded, exhaling slowly as the corners of your lips turned up into a more genuine smile.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his grin widening as he reached down to grab his bag with his free hand. “Come on. Let’s get you skating.”

And just like that, the fear that had felt so overwhelming minutes earlier started to fade. With William by your side, it felt like maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be so terrifying after all.

Inside the rink, the cool, crisp air greeted you like a gentle shock, prickling your skin and causing you to tuck your coat tighter around yourself. The faint hum of the rink filled your ears—the distant sound of skates gliding over ice, soft echoes of laughter from a few skaters on the far end of the arena, and the occasional hollow clatter of a hockey puck ricocheting off the boards. It was quieter than you’d expected, the stillness making the vast space feel both intimidating and peaceful. The expanse of smooth ice stretched out before you like a blank canvas, waiting to test you.

William walked a step ahead of you, his stride easy and confident. He led you to one of the benches lining the boards, his hockey bag slung casually over his shoulder. He set it down with a heavy thud, the sound cutting through the quiet of the rink. When he turned back to you, his blue eyes gleamed with that unmistakable mix of enthusiasm and warmth he always seemed to carry.

“Alright, sit,” he said, gesturing to the bench with a nod of his head.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the pair of skates sticking out from his bag, but his expression left no room for argument. Reluctantly, you sat down, still feeling the faint tug of nerves in your chest.

As you reached down to pick up the skates yourself, William moved faster, kneeling in front of you with a playful shake of his head. “No, let me,” he said, his voice firm but teasing, a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You don’t have to do that,” you protested, though your heart skipped a little at the sight of him kneeling so casually in front of you.

“Yes, I do,” he said, glancing up briefly to meet your eyes. “What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t? Plus…” He grinned, his tone dropping into a playful murmur. “I don’t trust you to lace them properly.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound easing some of the tension you’d been holding. “Okay, fine,” you said, leaning back on the bench. “I’ll let you do it. But I’m expecting professional-level results.”

“Oh, you’ll get the best, älskling,” he replied confidently, already pulling the skates from his bag.

He gently lifted your foot, guiding it into the first skate with practiced ease. His touch was careful yet firm, and his fingers moved deftly as he began tightening the laces. He worked methodically, checking the fit every few moments to ensure it wasn’t too tight.

“Not too tight,” he murmured, glancing up at you briefly, his voice calm and focused. “But snug enough to keep you steady. We don’t want your foot slipping around in there.”

You nodded, watching him intently as he continued. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration, a look you’d seen countless times during his games when he was completely in the zone. But there was something different about it now—softer, more intimate. He wasn’t just lacing up skates; he was taking care of you, making sure you felt supported and secure before you even stepped onto the ice.

As he finished with the first skate, he glanced up again, his blue eyes sparkling. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” you said softly, testing the fit by wiggling your toes. “Perfect, actually.”

He smiled, satisfied, and moved on to the second skate, repeating the process with the same gentle precision. You couldn’t help but watch him closely, your heart swelling with a warmth you couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t just the care he was putting into something as simple as lacing your skates—it was the quiet affection in the way he touched your foot so carefully, the way he glanced up at you every few moments to make sure you were okay, the way he smiled so softly when he thought you weren’t looking.

When he finally finished, he sat back on his heels, studying his work like an artist admiring their latest creation. “Perfect,” he declared, his grin widening as he looked up at you.

“Think I’m ready to conquer the ice?” you asked, your voice teasing but still tinged with nerves.

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on your knees. “You don’t just look ready,” he said, his voice dropping into something softer, more reassuring. “You are ready. I promise, you’re going to be amazing out there.”

Something about the way he said it, so sure and steady, made you believe him—even if you didn’t quite believe in yourself just yet. You smiled at him, your heart feeling lighter than it had since you’d stepped into the rink.

“Let’s do this,” you said, your voice quiet but resolute.

“There we go,” he murmured with a soft grin, standing and offering his hand to help you up. “Come on. Let’s take it one step at a time.”

As you took his hand and let him guide you toward the ice, you couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, this would be the moment skating wouldn’t feel so terrifying. Not with him by your side.

As soon as your skates touched the ice, though, a jolt of panic shot through you. The surface was so much slicker than you’d expected, your feet sliding unsteadily beneath you despite your best efforts to stay balanced. Instinctively, you grabbed onto the rink’s boards, gripping the cold, rough edge with both hands as if your life depended on it. Your legs wobbled uncontrollably, and you felt a surge of self-doubt bubbling in your chest.

William, who had been gliding a few feet ahead of you with the kind of effortless grace you’d only ever seen in professionals, immediately noticed. With a laugh that was warm and reassuring rather than mocking, he skated back over to you in a few swift strides.

“Whoa, slow down,” he teased lightly, stopping just in front of you. His voice carried a playful lilt, but when he saw the apprehension on your face, his expression softened. He closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out to rest gently on your waist. His touch was firm but careful, steadying you as you clung to the boards.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said softly, leaning in just enough that his voice cut through the noise of your anxious thoughts. His blue eyes held yours, calm and full of reassurance. “You’ve got this.”

You shook your head slightly, your voice trembling as you muttered, “I really don’t.”

William chuckled again, though his tone remained gentle, understanding. “Yes, you do,” he insisted. His voice dropped, soothing and steady, as if he were trying to anchor you to the moment. “Just take a deep breath for me. Look at me—not the ice. I’m right here.”

You hesitated for a moment, still gripping the boards like they were the only thing keeping you upright. But there was something about the way he spoke, his quiet confidence and the way his hands stayed firmly on your waist, that made it hard not to believe him. Slowly, you dragged your gaze away from the intimidating expanse of ice beneath your feet and looked at him instead.

His face was lit with that easy, lopsided smile you loved so much, his blond hair peeking out from under his beanie and his cheeks flushed pink from the cold. There was no judgment in his expression—just patience and encouragement. Somehow, just focusing on him made it easier to breathe, the tightness in your chest loosening slightly.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, his voice soft but encouraging. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to move in front of you, and you’re going to take my hands. Don’t worry about anything else—I’ll do the rest. I won’t let you fall.”

He took a small step back, his hands sliding down from your waist to rest briefly on your arms before holding them out in front of you. His stance was relaxed, the movement so natural to him that it almost made you forget how unsteady you felt.

You hesitated, your fingers still clutching the boards like they were a lifeline. But the way he looked at you—calm, steady, and full of quiet confidence—made it hard to refuse. Slowly, you loosened your grip on the boards and reached out, your fingers curling hesitantly around his gloved hands.

The moment his hands closed around yours, a wave of relief washed over you. His grip was firm, warm despite the chill of the rink, and so reassuring that some of the fear in your chest began to dissipate.

“There you go,” he said softly, a proud smile spreading across his face. “Good. You’re already doing better than you think, älskling.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh, the tension easing just slightly. “I’m still standing, so I guess that’s a win.”

“It’s more than a win,” he replied, his grin widening. “Now, let’s take it slow. Push with one foot and glide with the other, like this.”

He skated backward a few feet, his movements fluid and effortless as he guided you forward. The grip of his hands never wavered, steadying you as you took your first hesitant step.

“See?” he said encouragingly, his voice soft but full of pride. “It’s all about balance. Don’t overthink it—just trust yourself. And if you don’t trust yourself, trust me.”

You nodded, focusing on his words and the way his hands grounded you. Step by step, you let him guide you forward, your legs still wobbly but steadier than before. The sound of your skates scratching against the ice was unfamiliar, but the warmth of William’s smile made it a little less intimidating.

“You’re doing great,” he said after a few moments, his tone gentle and sincere. “I knew you could do this.”

Hearing the pride in his voice made your chest swell, and for the first time, you felt the faintest flicker of confidence. Maybe—just maybe—you could do this after all.

Slowly but surely, the fear that had gripped you when you first stepped onto the ice began to fade. It wasn’t instant—your movements were still hesitant, and your legs wobbled with nearly every push—but you started to find a rhythm. William stayed close, never more than a breath away, his hands steady and reassuring whenever you faltered. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push you to go faster or further than you were ready for. Instead, he let you take things one small step at a time, his calm encouragement making it feel less overwhelming.

“Good, älskling!” William exclaimed after you managed to glide a few feet on your own without reaching for him. His voice rang out across the rink, full of pride and excitement. He clapped his hands together, his face lighting up with a smile so wide it made you laugh despite yourself. “See? You’re doing it!”

Your skates scratched to a stop as you turned back to face him, your chest heaving slightly from the effort. You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm—it was contagious, and the way he looked at you, like you’d just scored the game-winning goal, made the small victory feel monumental.

“I wouldn’t call it skating just yet,” you said with a breathless laugh, though there was a flicker of pride in your voice now. Your confidence was still fragile, but it was growing with each step.

“To me, it’s perfect,” William replied softly, his teasing grin softening into something more tender. His gaze was warm and steady, his blue eyes glinting with affection as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush, and you quickly looked away, trying to focus on staying upright rather than the way he was making your heart race.

As you continued practicing, William began to skate backward in front of you, holding your hands to guide you further out onto the ice. His movements were fluid and graceful, as if skating backward was as natural to him as walking. His strong, confident grip kept you steady as you followed his lead, step by step.

“Don’t look at the ice,” he reminded you gently, his voice low and soothing. “Look at me. Just focus on me, älskling.”

It was easier said than done, but you trusted him. You forced yourself to lift your eyes, meeting his gaze. The warmth in his expression melted away the lingering nerves, making it easier to keep going. With every small glide, your trust in him—and in yourself—deepened.

“You’re doing so well,” he said after a few more steps, his smile never faltering. “You’re starting to look like a pro.”

You let out a laugh at that. “A very wobbly pro,” you joked, though you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride at his words.

“Wobbly or not, you’re still incredible,” he said earnestly, his voice softening as he gave your hands a reassuring squeeze. “I knew you could do this.”

The way he said it—with so much belief and affection—made your chest swell. For the first time, you began to feel like you really could do this. With William holding your hands and encouraging you every step of the way, it was as though the fear that had held you back for so long didn’t stand a chance.

As you began to feel more comfortable on the ice, something shifted in the atmosphere around you. The tension that had gripped you earlier started to melt away, and with it, a playful spark seemed to ignite in William. His eyes glinted with mischief as he skated effortlessly around you, his movements graceful and smooth, like he was showing off just a little. The way he spun with ease, taking tight turns and then gliding away, was almost mesmerizing.

You rolled your eyes, your lips twitching into a smile despite yourself. “Show-off,” you teased, shaking your head as you watched him glide effortlessly, his figure a blur as he made another tight circle around you.

William let out a hearty laugh, not slowing down for a second. “Hey, I’m just trying to inspire you,” he said, his voice light and full of warmth. He shot you a playful glance as he circled back toward you, his grin widening. “Besides, I think you’re ready for your first race.”

“A race?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his confidence as contagious as ever. “Of course,” he said with a smirk, skating back a little to give you space. “But don’t worry—I’ll go easy on you, baby.”

You laughed, incredulous, but at the same time, a spark of excitement flickered inside you. “You’re on,” you said, shaking your head but feeling your own competitive spirit rising. Despite your nerves, you couldn’t resist the challenge.

William dropped into a relaxed stance at one end of the rink, the playful gleam in his eyes still there, as if he were ready to spring into action at any second. “Alright,” he called, his voice carrying across the rink. “We line up here, and when I say go, we’re off. Ready?”

You nodded, your heart already beating faster, a mix of excitement and nerves flooding your chest. You knew you wouldn’t win—not by a long shot—but there was something about being with him, his presence so confident and reassuring, that made you feel like maybe you could surprise yourself.

William gave you a grin, his body coiled like a spring, ready to go. “On your mark…”

You crouched down, balancing yourself as best as you could, already anticipating the race.

“Get set…”

Your pulse quickened, your legs still a bit shaky but steadier than they had been when you started. You took a deep breath, focusing on the sound of his voice, letting the world around you blur out of focus for just a moment.

“Go!” William shouted, and without thinking, you pushed off with all the determination you could muster, your skates biting into the ice.

You moved quickly, your legs burning as you tried to keep your momentum, but no matter how hard you pushed, you could feel him skating beside you, just a little faster, effortlessly gliding in a way that only came from years of practice. William wasn’t trying to pass you—he was just skating leisurely beside you, laughing at how hard you were trying to keep up.

“You’re not even trying!” you gasped, trying to catch your breath, the cold air stinging your face as you leaned into each stride.

He chuckled, not even out of breath, still skating slowly with ease. “I don’t need to,” he teased, his grin never leaving his face. “You’re already winning, älskling.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, breathless and grinning despite the fact that you were definitely losing. “Winning? I’m pretty sure I’m about to be lapped,” you said, shaking your head in amusement.

William, still gliding effortlessly beside you, let out a mock gasp. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said dramatically, raising one hand to his chest in mock shock. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to race you. I thought we were just having fun.”

“Well, I’m having fun,” you said between breaths, determined to keep going, even if you couldn’t keep up with his speed. You pushed yourself harder, trying to show that, even if you weren’t winning, you were in this for the long haul.

“You’re doing great, älskling,” he called out, his voice full of encouragement. “Just keep going. Don’t think about anything else—just enjoy it.”

By the time you reached the end of the rink, you were laughing, a little winded, but proud of yourself. William came to a graceful stop beside you, his eyes sparkling with affection and amusement as he caught his breath.

“Well,” you said, trying to steady your breathing. “I may not have won, but I definitely feel like I’ve just run a marathon.”

“You did amazing,” William said, his voice filled with warmth as his grin stretched wider, his eyes shining with pride. His gaze never wavered, holding you in that moment as if you’d just accomplished something monumental. There was something in the way he looked at you—something so genuine, so unwavering—that made your heart race. Every little victory felt huge in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but bask in the sincerity of his praise. “You’re a natural at this.”

You smiled back, still catching your breath from the race and feeling a rush of gratitude and happiness, mixed with disbelief. “Only because you didn’t let me fall,” you teased, your voice slightly breathless but full of affection.

William chuckled, the sound rich and full of warmth, as he skated a little closer, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Of course not,” he said, his voice dropping into something more tender. “I’d never let you fall.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, and your chest swelled with an emotion you weren’t sure how to name. There was something about the way he spoke, so calm and certain, that made it clear he wasn’t just talking about skating. He was talking about something deeper—about always being there for you, no matter what.

You found yourself looking up at him, your heart thumping as you asked, quietly, “You really mean that, don’t you?”

William’s gaze softened even more, and for a split second, everything around you seemed to fade. The cold air, the rink, the sound of skates scraping against ice—everything was gone, leaving only the warmth of his gaze and the connection that sparked between you. “Of course I do,” he replied, his voice low and filled with sincerity. He reached for your hand, his fingers slipping smoothly around yours, his grip solid and sure.

There was something about the way he held your hand—no rush, no uncertainty. His touch was a quiet promise, a feeling of safety and trust that wrapped around you like a cocoon. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so grounded, so secure in someone else’s presence.

And then, as if sensing that moment, sensing the unspoken words between you, William moved a little closer. You felt the space between you narrow, the warmth of his body radiating toward you. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, drawn by something deeper than the physical closeness.

His hand lifted to your face, fingers brushing softly against your cheek. The touch was tender, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the curve of your skin. Your breath caught in your throat as his thumb traced the edge of your jaw, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine.

“William,” you breathed, his name soft on your lips, a question in your voice, though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

But he didn’t need words. He leaned in slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, the intensity in his eyes sending a wave of warmth through you. His lips brushed gently against yours, tentative at first. You met him halfway, your heart racing, and then his kiss deepened, the world around you melting away entirely.

The kiss was soft and slow, as if time had momentarily stopped. His lips were warm, firm but gentle, a quiet promise wrapped in the simplest of gestures. His hand stayed cradling your cheek, his thumb moving over your skin in a tender rhythm, as if savoring the feeling of you, close and real in this moment.

Everything—the ice, the cold, the noise—was gone. There was only the softness of his lips on yours, the warmth that spread from where you touched, and the way his touch felt like home. Every little moment that led to this felt like it had been building up to this point, a quiet certainty that this was where you were supposed to be.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to rest his forehead gently against yours, the air between you seemed charged with something deeper. His breath mingled with yours, slow and steady, as if neither of you wanted to break the connection. His eyes were closed for a moment, as though he needed to be grounded, to make sure this moment was real.

Your hand instinctively reached for his arm, and you felt the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his jacket. You held on like he was the only thing keeping you anchored, and in some way, he was.

“You’re everything to me,” William whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the words almost too raw, too real, but still slipping past his lips with a tenderness that made your heart clench. “Always, älskling. Always.”

You opened your eyes, finding his gaze waiting for you, steady and filled with an affection that made everything feel right. There were no pretenses between you, no walls, just the two of you in this quiet space, connected by the kiss, by the moment, by the trust you had in one another.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the emotion of the moment still swirling around you. “For everything.”

William’s smile softened, his fingers brushing your cheek once more, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he moved his hand. “Always,” he said again, his voice steady but full of promise. “I’m always here.”

And in that moment, with his arms around you, his lips still lingering on yours, you knew that no matter what came next, you would always have this. You would always have him—by your side, supporting you, loving you—and that made everything else feel like it would be just fine.