#willy nylander

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional distant sound of traffic far below. You had been running on empty since noon. Work had drained you completely — back-to-back meetings, a stupid argument with a client, and then the long commute home in the sticky Toronto heat. By the time you’d showered and crawled into bed wearing nothing but one of William’s old Maple Leafs shirts, your body felt heavy, your eyelids already drooping.

You heard the front door click open around eight-thirty. Familiar footsteps, the soft thud of his hockey bag being set down, the rustle of clothes being shed in the hallway. A minute later the bedroom door creaked and there he was — William, freshly showered after practice, blonde hair still damp at the ends, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants slung low on his hips.

His blue eyes found you immediately and softened “Hey, baby,” he murmured, voice low with that gentle Swedish lilt. “You look wiped.”

You gave him a tired smile. “Long day. I’m sorry… I don’t think I have it in me for full sex tonight. I’m just… exhausted.”

He didn’t look disappointed. He never did when you said no. Instead he crossed the room in three quiet steps, climbed onto the bed, and leaned over you, bracing himself on one arm. His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking slowly beneath your eye “That’s okay,” he said, and meant it. “I don’t need anything from you. Let me take care of you, yeah? Just lie back. Let me make you feel good.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding. The truth was, even bone-tired, you wanted his mouth on you. You always did, William kissed you first — slow, deep, unhurried. His tongue slid against yours like he had nowhere else to be. When he finally pulled back, his pupils were blown wide “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”

You obeyed. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs, careful, almost reverent. The cool air hit your bare skin and you shivered. William’s gaze dropped between your thighs and stayed there for a long moment, like he was memorizing the sight “Fuck, you’re pretty,” he whispered.

He settled between your legs, broad shoulders nudging your thighs wider. His hands were warm and steady as they pressed your knees apart, opening you completely to him. You felt exposed in the best way — safe, wanted, adored.

He started with kisses. Soft, open-mouthed presses along the inside of your right thigh, then the left. His stubble scraped lightly, sending little sparks dancing over your skin. Every kiss was slow. Deliberate. Like he was trying to soothe the tiredness out of your body one inch at a time.

When his mouth finally reached your center, he didn’t dive in. He licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, the flat of his tongue dragging warm and wet.

You gasped, hips twitching “William…”

“Shh. I’ve got you.” His voice was muffled against your skin. “Just feel me.”

He did it again. And again. Long, unhurried licks that parted your folds and made everything slick. Each time the tip of his tongue brushed your clit at the top of the stroke, he lingered for a second — a gentle flick, a slow circle — before dragging back down. It was maddening. Perfect. The kind of pace that said he was in no rush to end this.

Your left hand found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. Your right hand gripped the sheets. The tiredness was still there, but it was being slowly overwritten by heat pooling low in your belly.

He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked gently, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. Then he released it and went back to those long, slow licks, letting the sensation build and ebb like waves.

“You taste so good,” he murmured between strokes. “Could stay here all night.”

You whimpered. Your thighs tried to close around his head but his hands were firm, keeping you spread. The contrast — his strength holding you open while his mouth was so achingly gentle — made your head spin.

The first orgasm crept up on you slowly. No sudden crash, just a steady climb that tightened everything inside you until it finally broke. Your back arched off the bed, a soft cry leaving your throat as pleasure rolled through you in thick, lazy waves. William didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, tongue moving slower now, almost soothing, letting you ride every aftershock.

When your breathing started to even out, he lifted his head just enough to look at you. His mouth and chin were shiny. His eyes were dark and fond “One,” he said softly, like he was counting for you. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me.”

You were still trembling, oversensitive, but he didn’t pull away. He lowered his mouth again and started the whole process over — slow licks, gentle suction, the occasional soft hum that vibrated straight through your clit. Your second orgasm built even more gradually. Your body was already sensitive from the first, every nerve lit up, and William knew exactly how to work with that. He slipped one thick finger inside you, curling it slowly against that spot while his tongue kept its lazy rhythm on your clit.

The combination made your vision blur “Willy… fuck… I’m—”

“I know, baby. Let it happen. I’m right here.”

The second orgasm hit harder. Your thighs shook uncontrollably in his grip, your back bowed, and a broken moan tore out of you as you clenched around his finger. He kept going, licking you softly through the peak and the long, rolling aftershocks until you were whimpering from oversensitivity.

Only then did he finally ease off, pressing one last gentle kiss to your clit before kissing his way up your body — your mound, your stomach, the valley between your breasts, your throat, your mouth. You tasted yourself on his tongue and it made you moan into the kiss.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours “Two,” he whispered. “My good girl. Did so well for me.”

You were floaty, boneless, the exhaustion now wrapped in a thick blanket of pleasure. But you could feel him — hard and heavy against your thigh through his sweatpants. You reached down and palmed him, feeling the thick line of his cock.

He groaned quietly “You don’t have to,” he said, even as his hips pressed forward into your hand. “I can just hold you baby, you’re tired.”

“I want you,” you murmured. Your voice was hoarse. “Slow, like you promised. Please.” William’s eyes searched yours for a long second, making sure, then he nodded “Okay, I'll go Slow, just like this.”

He pushed his sweatpants down and kicked them off. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head already wet. He settled back between your thighs, one hand guiding himself to your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. He rubbed the head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself, teasing your still-sensitive clit with every slow pass.

You whined, hips rolling up to meet him “Easy,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”

He notched the head at your entrance and pushed in — one slow, steady inch at a time. The stretch was perfect, familiar, making your mouth fall open on a silent moan. William’s jaw was tight, his breathing controlled, like he was fighting the urge to thrust deeper “Fuck… you feel incredible,” he rasped when he was finally buried to the hilt. “So warm. So wet. Taking me so well even when you’re tired.”

He stayed there for a moment, deep inside you, letting you adjust, letting you feel how full you were. Then he started to move.

Slow.

Agonizingly slow.

He pulled out almost all the way, until just the head remained inside, then sank back in with one long, smooth thrust that made you feel every ridge, every vein. At the bottom of each stroke he rolled his hips, grinding his pubic bone against your clit in a way that sent sparks shooting up your spine.

His eyes never left your face. One of his hands found yours, fingers interlacing, pinning it gently beside your head. The other braced beside your shoulder as he kept that deep, rolling pace “You okay?” he checked, voice rough.

“So good,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He fucked you exactly like he’d promised — slow, deep, intimate. Every thrust was measured. Every grind against your clit deliberate. He kissed you between strokes, messy and sweet, swallowing your little moans. When he wasn’t kissing you he was whispering against your mouth, your cheek, your ear.

“Love you so much.”

“You’re perfect.”

“Look at you taking me so deep… fuck, baby.”

The third orgasm built differently — slower, deeper, centered low in your belly and spreading outward. The steady drag of his cock against your walls, the constant pressure on your clit, the way he filled you completely with every thrust… it all combined into something overwhelming.

When it finally crested, you came with a soft, broken cry, clenching hard around him. Your free hand clutched at his back, nails digging in as your body shook.

William groaned, hips stuttering for the first time “Shit… that’s it. Come on my cock, sweetheart. Just like that.”

He kept moving through your orgasm, slow and steady, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive again. Only then did he let himself go — a few deeper, still-controlled thrusts before he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural moan of your name. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, filling you up.

For a long minute neither of you moved. He stayed buried deep, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard. His thumb stroked the back of your hand where your fingers were still linked.

Eventually he pulled out carefully, wincing a little at the sensitivity. He disappeared into the bathroom for thirty seconds and came back with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned you gently, thoroughly, murmuring soft apologies when you twitched from oversensitivity. Then he cleaned himself, tossed the cloth in the hamper, and climbed back into bed.

He pulled you straight into his chest, one arm around your waist, the other hand stroking slow lines up and down your spine. Your head tucked under his chin. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear.

“You did so good,” he said quietly, lips brushing your hair. “Even when you were tired. Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

You smiled against his skin, already half-asleep “Thank you for wanting to,” you mumbled. “Even when I said no to everything else.”

William kissed the top of your head “Always want to take care of you, that’s never going to change.” His fingers kept tracing lazy patterns on your back. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

you’re laid out across one of the lounge chairs on the patio, sunglasses pushed up into your hair, bikini straps untied so you don’t end up with awkward tan lines later. heat sinks into your skin in a way that makes you feel boneless and sleepy.

behind you, the screen door slides open.

you hear willy before you see him—the scrape of sandals against the wooden deck, the quiet pop of a drink can opening.

“hm,” he hums after a second, voice thick with amusement. “this what we’re doing all day?”

you peek one eye open just in time to see your boyfriend stop beside your chair, shirt already abandoned somewhere inside, damp blond hair pushed back from swimming in the lake earlier. sunlight catches against the gold chain resting against his hair littered chest, and he looks unfairly good standing there with that smug little smile tugging at his mouth.

“you complaining?” you mumble.

“not at all.” willy’s gaze drags slowly over you, completely unashamed. “just trying to figure out how long you’ve been cooking out here.”

you snort softly, settling deeper against the towel. “like twenty minutes.”

“bullshit.”

a laugh slips out of you at the immediate response. he reaches down before you can answer, fingers brushing lightly across the warm skin of your lower back, testing the heat there.

“jesus,” he grunts quietly, hand lingering. “you’re already hot.”

you turn your head slightly to look at him over your shoulder. “I have sunscreen on.”

william just hums again, and crouches beside the chair anyway, forearms resting against the edge as his fingers trail lazily along your spine. it’s absentminded at first—light touches, teasing circles—but you know him well enough to catch the look in his eyes immediately. the one that always means trouble.

“I could help you reapply,” he offers casually.

you smile despite yourself. “pretty sure you’re just looking for an excuse to touch me.”

“yeah,” he says easily. “obviously.”

the sheer honesty of it makes your stomach flip in the stupid, familiar way it always does when it comes to william and his usual blatant cheekiness.

before you can answer, he reaches for the sunscreen bottle beside your chair, giving it a small shake.

“c’mon,” he murmurs, already grinning. “be nice to me. i’ll massage it in properly.”

you narrow your eyes at him over your shoulder, trying very hard to look unimpressed. which ultimately doesn’t work.

willy just waits.

the stupid thing is—he knows exactly how this ends. knows you well enough to recognize the moment your resistance starts slipping, the tiny twitch at the corner of your mouth that gives you away every single time.

“you’re impossible,” you mutter after a beat.

his grin widens instantly. “but you’re still saying yes.”

before you can argue, he squeezes some sunscreen into his palm from the bottle you’d left beside the lounger, rubbing his hands together slowly. the scent of coconut fills the warm air as he shifts closer beside the chair.

then his hands land on you. warm, and slow.

you inhale softly despite yourself as he spreads the lotion across your shoulders, working carefully over skin already heated from the sun. his touch starts innocent enough—methodical, teasingly thorough—but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it never really does with him.

because willy likes dragging things out.

his thumbs press into the tension gathered between your shoulders, slow circles that make your eyes flutter shut almost immediately. a quiet sound leaves you before you can stop it, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, and you hear his soft laugh right behind you.

“that feel good?” he asks, even though he’s smirking like he already knows the answer.

“don’t start.”

“i’m just wondering.”

you just hum as his hands slide lower. not too low—not yet—but still enough to make your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“you missed a spot,” willy says after a moment, shifting his weight as he leans in closer. his forearm brushing the back of your thigh while he works sunscreen carefully along your sides. every touch feels deliberate now. lazy—testing you.

you crack an eye open. “where?”

his fingers trace slowly along the curve of your waist, and when you does, you can feel it sting a little bit from the sun, proving his point. “here.”

your breath catches embarrassingly fast.

the smile in his voice is immediate. “sensitive today?”

“it’s hot out,” you mumble weakly.

he snickers, “sure.”

you can practically feel his amusement against your skin now. he keeps going anyway, palms gliding down your back in slow motions that are far less helpful than they are distracting. the sunlight, the heat, the steady sound of water from the water—it all starts blurring together until the only thing you can really focus on is him.

and he fucking knows it.

“relax,” willy mumbles softly near your ear. “you’re all tense.” one of his hands settles briefly at your lower back, fingers flexing there purpose before sliding just below the band of your bikini bottoms. then slips around until he’s at the side ties, tugging at them until the loosen completely.

you wither pathetically, making him chuckle deeply. “you gunna let me touch you baby?” he murmurs, half tranced on the way you’re already wiggling against the seat, half undone bottoms slipping away dangerously.

all earlier acts of playing hard to get, and general nonchalance, all but flies out the window. because your sexy man just rubbed you down and is now offering to rub you in other ways—and yeah, obviously you’re gunna fall for that.

“please,” you huff, half from the heat and half from anticipation. “need you.”

that’s all it takes from willy to grab the flesh of your hips and man handle you around so you’re on your back, facing him. next, he pulls the tiny triangle away, exposing your pussy.

“fuck,” he curses, tucking the loose material under the curve of your ass, keeping your lower half exposed. and when he drops to his knees in front of you, you almost feel like sobbing out. because in the snap of your fingers, you’re throbbing for it.

through a hitched breathe, you plead his name. you can barley hear it over the blood pumping in your ears, but it doesn’t even matter. because willy is then answering your prayers by spreading your folds with his thumb and forefinger, allowing the humidity and salty air to wash over you. netting your slick entrance and pulsating clit.

“fuck you’re already soaked,” he notes, thumb rimming your hole, collecting your drooling arousal, and slowly beginning to spread it. willy’s eyes flick up to your face, “all this from me?”

despite yourself, you manage to at least save yourself from total embarrassment. “from a massage,” you correct, cheeky, only to immediately crumble when he starts massage your slick against your needy bundle of nerves.

“oh shit,” you gasp, back arching off the bed.

he snickers from between your legs, delivering three more full, precise circles over that sensitive spot, and then lets his fingers trail back down to your entrance. which clenches around the pads of his fingers, as if trying to pull him in.

“done being a brat?”

your eyes meet again, and willy raises a brow, as if urging you to answer. but all you can manage though is a shake of your head, hips lifting on their own accord.

“use your words.”

swallowing, you try again. “yes.”

“good,” willy says, “now take out your tits baby.”

and because you’re desperate and sweaty and so ready to get your rocks off, your hands instantly dart up to your bikini top. pulling the barley there triangles to the sides, exposing your puckered, neglected nipples. not caring about how you’re not even properly secluded.

willy doesn’t need to tell you to play with them because you’re already ahead of him—switching between rolling the peaks with your thumb and middle finger, and squeezing the entirety of the mound in your palm.

he curses again at the sight, low and syrupy like the heat all around you, and then slips two of his fingers inside on your creamy walls, easing them deeper and deeper until he’s knuckle deep.

“oh my god,” you whimper, walls fluttering around his digits, “please.”

you don’t even know what your begging for, not when your head is so clouded with arousal and likely battling some sort of heat stroke. you just know that you need more—more pleasure, more movement, more him.

“want me to make you cum?” willy prompts between lazy yet affective thrusts of his wrist, fingers perfectly massaging up and down your walls.

with your bottom lip held between your teeth, you nod for what feels like the umpteenth time, followed by another moan laced response. “yes. oh god—“

he suddenly speeds up, skillfully and knowing just the right angles and timing and precision to start bringing you to that teetering edge.

the sound of your arousal is almost unfair, vivid squelches each time willy dives his fingers into your weepy entrance, only to pull them back out—glistening—just to repeat it all over again.

you’re withering and panting, sweat beading against your brow and pooling between your breasts. one of the hands that had been fondling your own tit falls to willy’s hand that’s pushing your thigh open, desperately clutching at his fingers when his fingers brush that oh so perfect spot inside you.

then, because apparently he wants to see you fucking float, willy switches his position. with one knee braced on the longer and a foot flat on the ground, he’s able to really plow into your pussy—palm against your clit, those same two fingers nestled deep inside you.

“you’re so pretty like this,” he grunts, and when you manage to flutter your tightly clenched eyes open, you can see he’s hard underneath his shorts. which shouldn’t be so erotic, but it is.

with tight, almost jerk like movements against your slicked up folds, willy continues to deliver you outstanding pleasure, and your pussy responds to that with so much sticky arousal that it’s drenching his hand—dripping off his fingers and soaking the bed beneath your hips. mixing with sun cream and sweat like a dirty, sun drenched dream.

you’re a moaning mess, naturally.

and when he tells you to cum for him, you can only do just that, with a shout that can probably be heard from across the water, making an even bigger mess that seeps through the canvas material of the lounge chair—which will definitely need a hosing down after this.

you’re still shivering and on a high when you meet willy’s gaze again, and you find him smirking down at you like he just witnessed the painting of the mona lisa rather than you climaxing—making you roll your eyes despite the smirk growing on your face.

For the past few road trips you have been staying in Willy’s apartment while he’s been gone. Willy claimed it was because he needed you to watch Pablo and Banksy for him, as well as the apartment. Though he would never admit it to you, the real reason Willy wanted you to stay in his apartment while he was gone was so he could come back to you and your scent in his home (and in his bed). Throughout these past few road trips, you’ve developed a strong bond with Pablo and Banksy Nylander. You treated them like your own children, you cuddled and pet them whenever they wanted, you gave them extra treats and food, and taking them on very long walks through downtown toronto.

Willy first noticed Pablo and Banksy’s favoritism towards you around the six month mark in your relationship, it was small, nothing major. You and Willy were relaxing after a game, usually Willy won’t let you sit on the couch unless you’re directly next to him (or on top of him), but this was different. The leafs had lost 6-1 against the sabers. the sabers, Willy couldn’t believe it. He just wanted some space to digress which resulted in you being separated by a single cushion, which may not be a lot to some, but to willy it was like the grand canyon.

Willy was staring at the tv, a random episode of friends playing in the background, when he reached down expecting to find a soft, curly dog head but instead all he found was the soft material of his own sweatpants. He glances around before setting his gaze on you, you’re laying down on your side, facing the tv with a blanket wrapped around you. Pablo is lying down in front of you, his nose tucked under your chin while Banksy is alseep half on top of you. The smile on Willy’s face was there the entire night.

The arena lights glowed warm against the ice, reflecting off the scattered Christmas decorations the Maple Leafs had hung for the annual family skate. Players were skating around with siblings, parents, partners—laughing, slipping, taking pictures, and, in Auston’s case, trying to lasso Matthew’s kids with a scarf.

Meanwhile, you stood off to the side, bundled up in your coat with a cup of hot chocolate clutched between your hands. From here, the ice was safe. Predictable. Not slippery. You were happy watching… sort of.

Willy didn’t notice at first—too busy showing off for his sisters, pretending to be an Olympic figure skater while Alex chirped him nonstop. They looked so at home on the ice, and so did his parents. The entire family glided around like it was second nature.

You? Not so much.

You shifted on your feet, pretending you weren’t dying inside every time someone looked your way.

That’s when Alex skated up to the boards, stopping right in front of you with a smooth turn that sent a little spray of ice towards you.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning casually on his stick.

You plastered on a smile.

“Of course! Just watching.”

He raised a brow. Clearly unconvinced.

“You sure?” he pressed. “You look like someone waiting for bad news.”

You laughed awkwardly. “I’m fine, Alexander. Really.”

“Hm.” He stared for one more second, then shrugged and pushed away. “Alright. Just thought it was weird you weren’t out here.”

You swallowed.

There it is.

Someone noticed.

Alex skated straight to Willy, immediately nudging him with the grace of a sledgehammer.

Willy looked confused, then glanced toward you, then back at Alex—who said something that made Willy’s eyes widen just a little.

And suddenly your boyfriend was skating toward you like a man on a mission.

He slowed at the boards, hands hooking over the top, breath puffing in small clouds.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Why aren’t you coming out with us?”

You stared down at your boots. “I’m fine.”

Willy tilted his head, hair falling across his forehead in that annoyingly perfect way he never had to try for.

“Alex said you looked nervous.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, “I’m going to kill him.”

Willy’s brows knitted together as he leaned a little closer. “Baby… what’s going on?”

You bit your lip, cheeks already burning. “Okay, don’t make a big deal out of it but… I can’t skate. Like at all. I’m horrible. I’ll fall and break my face and probably take out a small child on my way down.”

Willy blinked once.

Twice.

Then the softest smile spread across his face.

“That’s it?” he said gently. “I thought you were hurt or something.”

You scoffed. “You’re not embarrassed? Your family is literally pro-level.”

“Embarrassed?” Willy’s voice dipped playfully low. “You think I’m embarrassed of you?”

Your cheeks grew hotter.

He didn’t wait for your answer. Instead, he reached one gloved hand toward you.

“Come on,” he murmured. “I’ll teach you. I promise.”

You shook your head, but he wasn’t leaving without you. Not tonight.

“Willy…”

“If anyone laughs,” he interrupted, completely serious, “I’ll beat them up.”

You let out a startled laugh. “You’re not fighting your teammates and their families because I can’t skate.”

“I absolutely will,” he said. “Try me.”

You slipped your hand into his, and that was it—Willy was immediately helping you step onto the ice. His hands moved to your waist, steady and warm even through your jacket.

Your legs wobbled violently the second your foot touched the ice.

“Nonononono—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, arm tightening around you. “I won’t let you fall.”

He guided you slowly, one careful glide at a time.

“Bend your knees a little… good.”

“Don’t lean back, lean forward just a bit.”

“Perfect, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You were convinced half the team was watching.

You were equally convinced Willy would fight them all if they dared comment.

You clung to his hands so tightly he laughed. “You know, I need those.”

“No,” you said firmly. “These are mine now.”

He grinned. “As long as you stay on your feet, you can keep them.”

You took another shaky step, then another—until suddenly you were moving. Actually moving. Willy kept one arm around your waist, steering you, matching your pace with the ease of someone who could do this in his sleep.

When your ankle wobbled, he caught you instantly, pulling you flush against him.

“See?” he murmured against your hair. “Told you. You’re safe with me.”

You inhaled, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with skating.

His parents skated by, smiling like they’d been waiting for this moment. Alex gave Willy a thumbs up and then winked at you.

Willy pretended not to see, but his hand squeezed yours a little tighter.

After a few minutes, he gently let go with one hand, skating backwards so he could watch your face.

“You’re doing it,” he said proudly. “Look at you.”

You couldn’t help smiling. “I guess I am.”

Willy slowed until you glided right into him, his arms wrapping around you completely this time.

“Best part of my night,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And honestly?

You didn’t even care if you fell now.