#ask maple leaf

[ask-maple-leaf]

hey uhh mapley so my arm was uhh kinda cut off uhhh can you maybe uhh help me

OH MY GOD

[just-a-random-canadian]

Fun Fact

today is the Ask-Maple-Leaf blog's first birthday, happy birthday AML (The blog is still discontinued, though I might make a drawing to commemorate it at some point.)

Here's a little doodle though to satisfy your hunger.

[zieisonline]

More will

Literally anything just keep it cumming

Anything, you say? 👀

How about Willy being so turned on at the thought of you that he gets all distracted at practice and needs to take it out on you the second he gets home 🤭💗

Warnings: smut!, body worship, cum play, unprotected sex, a hint of dom!william

It’s safe to say William Nylander is obsessed with you.

From the softness of your thighs to the fullness of your lips, he spends every moment of every day thinking about you and your body. The second you part ways, his mind begins working overtime to cope with the loss of the feeling of your body next to his.

He tries really hard to focus on his work, to get through practice and team meetings without falling victim to the picture of your bare body searing its way through his brain.

But he stumbles.

Multiple times throughout the day he would catch himself fantasizing about you. From the way your hands feel on his skin, to the seductive way your clothes stretch over the valley of your hips. He gets lost in a haze; the thought of you clouding his mind so deeply it made it hard to focus on anything else.

Unable to pull himself together fully, his teammates begin to take notice of his distracted nature. Calling him out and teasing him for having his head in the clouds. They don’t mean any harm by the taunting, knowing that he was fully capable of locking in and getting the job done when he needed to, but the gentle prodding was enough to rile Will up inside.

That’s why when he comes home, there is a heavy, charged energy that engulfs him so wholly you couldn’t help but notice the second he comes into your view.

He was frustrated.

You had invaded his every thought and action throughout the day, haunting him with desire and need, driving him absolutely crazy. And yet here he found you in the kitchen, going about your day clueless to the spell you had him under.

It’s no use trying to greet him, or attempt to talk about his day, he has a mission. And that mission was to make all of his day dreaming a reality.

His lips meet yours, and you are surprised at the intensity, your hands tangling desperately in the fabric of his tee shirt, holding on for dear life.

He groans into the kiss, pressing his tongue past your lips, swallowing your sounds of surprise.

He backs you into the countertop, hands gripping your shoulders tightly. He leans his body onto yours, pressing flush against you.

“You feel that? That’s what you’ve been doing to me all day. Driving me crazy.” He mumbles against your lips, grinding into you roughly.

He’s hard, and by the way he’s acting, he must have been this way for a while now. His thick member protrudes out, warm and stiff on your thigh.

“I’m sorry babe.” You coo, moving a strand of hair off his forehead. “But you have me now. Want to tell me what was making you so worked up?” Your finger trails from his face down to fiddle with his earring.

Fire lights in his eyes, a wide grin cracks his face.

“You.” He smiles, hands dropping from your shoulders, down to your hips, rubbing soft circles over your clothes with his thumbs. “Your body…” He continues, placing a hot opened mouth kiss to your neck. Your fists tighten in his shirt. A strangled whine escaping your lips.

The sound fuels him, and his hands begin to creep up slowly, dipping under your shirt.

“Was thinking about taking you raw.” He pauses, gauging your reaction. When he catches the subtle movement of your thighs clenching together, he swipes a rough thumb over the fabric of your bra, eliciting a needy groan from you. “Thinking about filling that pretty pussy with my cum.” Your eyes flutter closed, your knuckles white from the tense grip you had on his shirt, your body practically vibrating from just his words.

“Are you imagining it now sweetheart?” He asks, leaning in to whisper in your ear, continuing to squeeze and knead your breasts over your bra.

You nod, unable to speak. Your body is on fire, his words like gasoline, fueling the flames.

“That’s how it was for me all day.” He explains, moving to nudge a knee in between your legs, adding some pressure to your aching core. You gasp at the contact, the vegetables you were prepping earlier long forgotten on the counter behind you.

“Couldn’t focus on anything.” He reaches around to unclasp your bra as he speaks, wanting to get you worked up with his words, but also wanting to see you naked as soon as possible. “Too busy thinking about my cum leaking out of you, making a sticky mess all over those perfect fucking thighs of yours.” You groan into his touch, hips bucking against his leg. The images he was describing sending your brain into orbit.

“I want that.” You plead, moving your hands from their position on his shirt to either side of his face, staring deeply into his oceanic eyes. “Please Will. Want you to cum in me.”

He stills, his hands leaving your unclasped bra and rumpled tee shirt to trail down to your sides.

“Say that again.” He demands, his eyes growing dark, the thigh of the leg currently pressed against you flexing tensely, causing the wetness there to grow even more.

You swallow thickly, loving the way he was ready to snap.

“I said. I want you to cum inside me. Make me a panting, trembling mess. Fuck me so good I forget my own name.” You all but sing your request to him, knowing the dirtier your words, the more he won’t be able to contain himself.

His resolve finally slips, and he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Your words and body pressed against him being too much for his brain to handle, and before you know it, he has you thrown over his shoulder, his hands wrapped securely around your thighs as he carries you to the bedroom, a look of determination etched into his face, no doubt.

You land in the center of the bed, and you instantly sit up to finish what Willy had started in the kitchen, tossing your shirt and bra somewhere behind where he stood, looking down at you hungrily.

“Fuck, your tits are so beautiful.” His eyes are transfixed on your bare chest, so enamored with your body.

“They’re a little cold.” You hum, your own fingers coming up to dance along the skin of your breasts. “Why don’t you come warm them up?”

Your invitation is immediately answered as he joins you on the bed, his large, warm hands meet your skin quickly.

He places one sweet kiss to your sternum before attaching his mouth to your peaked nipple, sucking harshly against your skin.

You gasp again, hands trailing up his back to tangle into the softness of his hair, tugging tightly as he works over your nipple in his mouth.

“Love these tits.” He hums, trailing warm saliva around your skin as he moves to taste your other nipple. “They’re mine.” He growls, teeth grazing your skin.

You moan at the contact. Squirming beneath him, the heat between your legs growing unbearable.

“All yours.” You babble, pushing his head closer to you, desperate for more. “I am all yours. Use me Will.”

He lets out a primal sound, your skin in his mouth muffling the noise.

“Need to fuck you.” He mutters, pulling away from your breasts.

You nod up at him, fingers dropping to pull at the hem of his shirt. His movements are fast, fueled by the burning in his lower abdomen, consuming him in desire and need.

Before you know it, he is bare, hovering above you, his large fingers pulling at the waistband of your pants, dragging your underwear along with them.

The urgency and need to be inside you clouds his mind, and your heart throbs at the sight of him, a man on a mission, so desperate to be inside you and feel you.

His eyes trail up and down your body, hungrily taking you in, his hands now following, roaming from your thighs up to your stomach and over your breasts.

You arch into the contact, squirming beneath him.

“Please.” You moan out pathetically, his gentle touch on your skin not doing much to ease the ache in your bones.

“Tell me what you want.” He demands, voice cool, but his touch on your neck warm as his fingers curl around your throat gingerly.

“Want you to fuck me Will. Please, I need it so bad. Want you to fill me up and cum inside me.” Tears prick the edges of your eyes as you beg, your pussy throbbing painfully in need.

A devilish smile creeps its way across his face.

“That’s my girl.” He praises, the weight of his hand resting on your neck soothes you, reminding you he was in control, he was going to take care of you. You look up at him through your lashes, gazing lovingly as he gives himself a quick pump before lining up at your soaking entrance. You are so aroused by him, that the second his tip is protruding your heat, your body is welcoming him wholly, his words were foreplay enough to have you wet and ready to accept him.

He sinks his bare length inside of you slowly, the stretch sends pleasure through your entire body in waves, lighting your skin ablaze in satisfaction.

“Fuck, William.” You cry, nails digging deep into the flesh of his broad back.

He lets out a stuttered breath as your walls clench tightly around him. The feeling of your velvet muscles fit snug around him driving him crazy.

“You’re so tight.” He groans, eyes screwing shut as he attempts to savor this feeling.

You whine below him, searching for friction. The movement shoots a wave of bliss throughout his body, and his hips jerk at the feeling.

You moan out, digging your nails deeper into his back, and he begins thrusting inside you.

His pace is relentless, the pent up frustration from throughout the day spilling over as he fucks you.

You hold onto him for dear life, your fingers pressed into his back enough to keep you grounded, mind focused on the pleasure of him drilling inside you.

He shoves his other hand between you, his thumb harshly begins rubbing messy circles over your clit as he continues thrusting deeply inside of you.

It’s sloppy and raw, his movements chaotic and disheveled as his body works on auto pilot, chasing the pleasure roughly instead of patiently savoring it.

You don’t mind, desperate to feel relief from the aching desire in your core.

His hips clash against yours aggressively, and you feel his cock hit your sweet spot, deep inside your wrecked body.

“Right there.” You cry, bucking up to meet him feverishly.

He takes note, adding more pressure to your clit as he thrusts into you again, deeper than before.

“Oh my god.” You clench around him, unable to speak as the heat in your belly reaches its peak.

“That’s it y/n.” He muses, falling into a rhythm where every thrust hits you exactly where you need him. “Cum for me baby.”

And you do.

The fire in your stomach engulfs you, setting the room ablaze in a euphoric haze as you release around him.

Your orgasm hits you hard, and the way you tighten and clench around him as you hit your peak has him reeling.

He continues to thrust inside you, thumb pressing firmly against your clit as you ride out your high.

The noises falling from your lips and the gentle sting of your nails on his back send him over the edge.

His thrusts become even sloppier as he looses control inside of you.

His warm, hot seed fills you and the feeling is overwhelming.

You convulse beneath him, chest heaving erratically as you attempt to catch your breath, too many sensations inundating you with pleasure.

He’s not done yet, gently pulling off and out of you, causing you to shiver and let out a huff in confusion, your hands fumbling pathetically for him.

He scrambles down the bed, hands on your knees as he gingerly pushes them up to bend towards you, your legs spreading open wide.

The noise he makes is primal, a deep guttural groan as you feel what his eyes must be trained on.

Your flushed cheeks heat up in embarrassment, picturing the filthy scene in your head as the air hits your freshly used hole.

William’s fingers tighten around your legs, his eyes transfixed at your enterance as a large string of his cum drips out of you, painting your folds in his creamy white seed.

“It’s prettier than I could ever imagine.” He explains in awe, hypnotized by the sight in front of him.

You whine and throw an arm over your face, the post orgasm feeling creeping into your bones, making it harder to speak or think.

You hear him shuffle at the edge of the bed, and for a moment, his touch abandons you. You sit up, your gelatinous arms screaming at you as you attempt to hold yourself up.

He is back before you can register where he went.

“Relax angel, I got you.” He reassures, sending you a soothing glance before placing a gentle kiss to your kneecap, rubbing a soft circle into your skin with his thumb.

You let your arms give out from under you and settle your head back against the plushness of the pillows.

He lays back down on the mattress, head level with your entrance as he stares lovingly at the mess he created there.

He gingerly places his fingers around you, spreading you open so that more of his release spills out of you.

It’s dirty, and your mind is too far gone to find the words to object him, so your eyes flutter closed, waiting for him to be done playing with your spent pussy.

He shifts, and the shutter sound of an IPhone camera going off has your eyes shooting open.

“You did not just take a photo of me.” You shriek, sitting up so quickly your head begins to spin.

Will has the biggest, brightest smile on his face as he looks up at you, phone in hand.

“You look so pretty y/n.” He coos, flipping the screen around to show you. “Look how gorgeous you are, filled up with my cum. Needed a little souvenir for the next time you distract me during work.”

You don’t know if it’s the way he looks so incredibly pleased with himself, or the way you know he’s always begging for dirty pictures for when he’s away on a roadie, or if it’s just the way your eyes are glued to the screen in front of you, the picture stirring arousal deep within you for the second time today, but you can’t be mad at him.

“Alright lover boy, you better enjoy that picture because I need to get cleaned up.” You sigh, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, heading towards the shower.

“I’ll join you!” You hear him giggle behind you, scrambling to follow you into what most likely will not be the productive bathing you had hoped for. 

[3416]

Mitch Marner RD1 GM1 Media Availability | 04.20.25

[misshoneyimhome]

"If you don't change out of those shorts, I'll have them around your ankles by lunchtime." QUEEN may i request this prompt for Willy??

Oh, did anyone see the sun shining and the temperature rising? Cause apparently, reader did 😉

Note - no, William hasn't proposed yet, that part is still in the works 😉💕

Tropes & warnings: Inexperienced!reader x Willy, established relationship, 18+ smut: semi-public - physio room, unprotected vaginal penetration, cum inside

word count: 1.9K

➼｡ﾟ

What goes around comes around | Inexperienced!Reader x William Nylander ✐☆

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the apartment, warm sunlight filtering through the blinds and casting lazy stripes across the hardwood floor. You were humming softly to yourself as you moved around the kitchen, barefoot, wearing a fitted pair of grey dress shorts and a white silk blouse.

You felt him before you saw him—heard the heavy, familiar sound of his footsteps behind you, the rustle of gym clothes as he padded into the room, towel slung over his shoulder and damp hair still tousled from the shower.

“You’re really gonna wear those?” came his voice, rough and sleep-warmed, still gravelly from the early hour.

You didn’t turn around. Just reached for your mug and brought it to your lips. “Good morning to you too, Nylander.”

He didn’t laugh. Not really. It was more of a low huff, like he knew what you were doing and wasn’t quite sure if he was annoyed or turned on by it.

(You knew it was both.)

“Seriously,” he said, coming up behind you. One hand rested on your hip, firm and possessive. “Where are you going dressed like that?”

You took a slow sip. “Brunch with Tessa and Aryne.”

“In that?” His palm slid down, fingers grazing the hem of your shorts. “You do realise those barely count as clothing, right?”

You turned then, just slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder and grin. “They’re comfortable. And it’s hot outside.”

His eyes dropped instinctively to your legs—long, bare, toned—and then back up to your face, his jaw clenching.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, stepping in closer, his voice dropping as his hand curled just slightly into the waistband. “If you don’t change out of those shorts, I’ll have them around your ankles by lunchtime.”

You bit your bottom lip, feigning innocence. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

William’s gaze darkened, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear. “You want to test me, älskling?”

Your stomach fluttered—god, that tone.

But instead of backing down, you gave him a little shrug and slipped out from under his grasp, heading toward the hallway to grab your bag. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Behind you, you heard him groan under his breath, followed by the sound of him muttering in Swedish—probably something about how you were going to be the death of him.

You tossed your phone in your bag, glanced at yourself in the mirror. Blazer. Shorts. Smug little smile. Perfect.

William appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and brows raised as he looked you up and down. “Don’t forget, I’ll see you at the game tonight.”

You batted your lashes. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And don’t think I’ll forget those shorts.”

You were already walking toward the door, keys in hand. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And as you slipped out the door, you heard him laugh—low, exasperated, and entirely laced with affection.

He was in trouble.

You were already planning to make it worse.

_

Brunch with Tessa and Aryne had been a blur of mimosas, gossip, and stolen glances at your phone. Mostly because you kept catching yourself rereading William’s texts from training.

Willy: “Thinking about those shorts.”

You: “You should be thinking about drills.”

Willy: “You’re gonna be in trouble when I get home.”

You: “Can’t wait.”

You were lying. You could wait. You were dying to wait. You loved the way he got when he was held back—coiled tight with tension, hungry from hours of wanting and not getting. And you knew exactly what you were doing when you wore those shorts. You’d even crossed your legs slowly at brunch, made sure they hit mid-thigh when you walked to the counter to grab your coffee refill, felt the heat of every stare.

But none of those looks mattered. Not really.

Only one did.

Now, the train ride back to your apartment was blissfully quiet—mid-afternoon sun filtering through the windows, the rhythmic hum of the tracks lulling the other passengers into a content silence. You had snagged a window seat in the corner, legs crossed, blazer folded over your lap, and your phone in hand.

You weren’t trying to tease him. Not really.

Except… maybe you were.

You snapped a picture—your thighs, bare and glowy in the sunlight, the hem of your shorts riding up just enough to give a flash of skin beneath. You didn’t include your face. Just enough to set him off.

You: “Still comfy. Still hot out.”

Photo attached.

It didn’t take long.

Your phone lit up with his name. A FaceTime request.

You declined.

The next text came in immediately.

Willy: “Answer the damn phone.”

You smirked, leaning back, tapping out your reply.

You: “Busy. Commuting. In public.”

Willy: “So help me god, if I see those shorts again tonight—”

You could almost hear the growl in his voice.

You: “What? You said lunchtime. It’s later now.”

The bubble on his end flickered. Typing. Stopped. Typing again.

Willy: “You’re a fucking menace.”

You tucked your phone into your bag and bit your lip, glancing around. A businessman in a suit was dozing three rows away. A teenage couple was whispering over earbuds. No one cared. No one noticed you shift just a little in your seat, press your thighs together, the dull throb of anticipation building low in your belly.

_

The hallway outside the locker rooms buzzed with post-game energy—equipment being packed, trainers wheeling carts, security quietly ushering out press. You leaned against the wall by the private entrance, phone in hand, legs crossed just so.

And of course, you were still wearing the shorts. Perfectly combined with the jersey with ‘NYLANDER’ across your back.

Once more, you heard him before you saw him—heavy footsteps, low laughter with teammates, the scrape of skates being dragged behind him in a gear bag. The second he turned the corner and saw you, everything shifted. His eyes locked onto your legs like a homing beacon.

He stopped mid-sentence.

“Fuck me,” William muttered, drawing out the words like a prayer, like a curse. His gaze dragged up your body, jaw tight, a bead of sweat still clinging to his temple. “You did not.”

You tilted your head, smiling sweetly. “I told you it was hot out.”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Just closed the space between you in three long strides, his hand grabbing your wrist like a magnet snapping into place. “But it’s not hot inside a fucking hockey arena. Come with me.”

You let out a small laugh. “You’re not even going to say hi?”

“No.” His voice was low, firm. “I told you what would happen. And you’re still wearing those fucking shorts.”

You opened your mouth to tease him again, but then he was pulling you down the corridor, past the equipment bins and stacked crates, toward a dimly lit side hallway you hadn’t noticed before. The hallway that led to the trainers’ treatment rooms.

Empty now.

Silent.

Until he dragged you inside and kicked the door closed.

“You’ve been playing me all day,” he muttered, backing you toward the padded table in the center of the room, his eyes never leaving yours. “Texting me. Ignoring my calls. Wearing this little outfit like you don’t know what it does to me.”

“I knew exactly what it would do to you,” you breathed, voice light despite the thudding of your pulse.

William stepped in close, his hands settling low on your hips. “And you think that doesn’t come with consequences?”

You shrugged. “You said lunchtime. It’s after the game.”

His eyes darkened, his hands sliding around to cup your ass, squeezing once—hard. “Baby,” he growled, “lunch is whenever I decide it is.”

And then he spun you around, guiding you with practiced ease until your front pressed against the cold vinyl of the treatment table.

Your hands braced on the edge.

Your breath hitched.

William leaned over you, his body flush with yours, his voice rasping against your ear. “You think teasing me in public is a game?” His fingers slipped under the hem of your shorts, dragging the fabric down slowly, deliberately, inch by inch. “Wearing these out like you wanted someone else to notice?”

“I didn’t,” you said, voice shaking. “Just wanted you to notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” he growled. “And now you’re gonna take what you’ve been begging for all damn day.”

The shorts hit your ankles.

And then his hands were on you—gripping, spreading, dragging up the backs of your thighs like he was memorising the shape of you with his palms. You felt him pause behind you, his breath heavy, warm against the nape of your neck as he cupped you between your legs. His fingers pressed through your slick folds, stroking slowly, deliberately, until a groan rumbled low in his chest.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, almost reverently. “You’ve been like this all day?”

You nodded, biting your lip, pressing back against his hand with a soft grind that had your breath catching in your throat. “Wanted you so bad.”

William let out a dark chuckle. “Yeah? That why you kept pushing me?”

“Wanted you frustrated,” you gasped, your voice already wrecked. “Wanted you rough.”

He didn’t need another word.

The sharp sound of his zipper filled the quiet room, followed by the unmistakable shift of his clothes. Then the heavy heat of him was pressing against your backside—thick, hard, and twitching with anticipation.

“You wanna be a brat?” he growled, voice thick with control. “You want to drive me insane all day, just so I’ll take it out on you now?”

You whimpered, nodding again.

“Then take it,” he snarled—and thrust in with one sharp, deep stroke.

Your cry was instant, your body jerking forward as his cock filled you completely, so sudden and so full it nearly stole the breath from your lungs. Your fingers scrambled for purchase on the edge of the treatment table, your nails biting into the vinyl as he pulled back and slammed into you again—harder.

William didn’t let up. Didn’t ease into it. He gripped your hips like a man possessed, using your body to fuck out every ounce of tension he’d been carrying all week. The rhythm he set was brutal, relentless, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing in the small room.

“You want to tease me like a brat?” he bit out, hand sliding up your spine to clamp over the back of your neck. “Then you take me like this.”

Your moans were a mess of broken sounds—pleas and gasps and whimpers all tangled together. He was hitting just right, his cock dragging perfectly over that spot inside you with every punishing thrust, his other hand slipping between your legs to circle your clit in tight, deliberate strokes.

Your body was already trembling, the pressure building too fast to stop. You could barely think—could only cling to the edge of the table as your thighs started to shake.

“Willy—” you gasped, your voice breaking into something high and desperate. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice raw with heat. “You’re gonna come, baby. And I’m not gonna stop. You’re gonna take everything.”

And you did.

Your orgasm slammed into you, wild and consuming, ripping through your body like a live wire. You sobbed his name as your walls clenched hard around him, your legs nearly giving out from under you. Your whole body shook, bent over that table like something shattered open inside you. But William held you—kept you grounded. His hand never left your neck. His voice never stopped whispering praise.

“That’s it. Let go for me. So good for me. Just like that.”

You were still trembling when he slowed his pace—just enough to keep you riding the high, to draw it out until you were whimpering from the intensity.

And then he pulled out—just slightly—only to thrust in again with a rough, growled, “Mine.”

You gasped, dazed, still wrung out. “W-Wait—too much—”

He leaned over your back, kissing your shoulder gently. “You can take it,” he murmured, his voice suddenly softer but no less commanding. “Just breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

He gave you a moment. One long, slow thrust at a time. Just enough to help you recover. His hand dragged soothing circles across your spine while the other slid down to squeeze your hip. His lips brushed over the back of your neck, damp with sweat.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, like he couldn’t help himself. “So tight. So perfect.”

You whimpered, slowly grounding again, your breath syncing with his. Your body still hummed from the orgasm, but there was something grounding in the way he held you now—in the heat of his body pressed against yours, in the way his voice melted into your skin.

“Ready?” he asked, nuzzling behind your ear.

You nodded. “Please.”

His pace picked up again—still rough, still deep, but tempered by a kind of reverence now. Like he’d taken what he needed, and now he was savouring the rest. He kissed along your shoulder as he drove into you, groaning into your skin with every thrust.

“I can’t—” he gasped. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—”

His movements turned frantic, desperate. His hips stuttered and he let out a long, guttural groan as he came hard, spilling inside you with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him. He collapsed over your back, chest heaving, arms curling around your waist to hold you close.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Just the sound of your breathing, tangled and shallow. The aftershocks. The weight of what just happened.

Eventually, William leaned forward, brushing your hair back from your sweaty face, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His fingers traced lightly along your sides, grounding you with every pass.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice thick with tenderness.

You nodded against the table, spent but full, and so utterly his.

He helped you upright gently, turning you to face him. His eyes were soft now—no more dominance, just love. He tucked your hair behind your ear and rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured.

You smiled, breathless. “Even when I’m a brat?”

He chuckled, kissing you slow and deep. “Especially then. Guess I really did keep my promise.”

You leaned into his chest, smirking. “You mean your threat?”

He kissed your forehead. “Same thing.”

And as he led you out of the room with a hand resting proudly on your ass, you knew he’d remember this little outfit forever.

But you also knew something else.

You’d never stop teasing him.

Because no matter how wild he went for it, he’d always want more.

[tiger-balm]

joeys post-game talking about mitch | march 10th 2025

[ipso-again]

[pencilnewt]

based purely on your art style i feel like you’d enjoy drawing simon benoit from the leafs, he is so very face (a good thing)

CORRECT!!! thank you so much for the suggestion anon

[crossbackpoke-check]

blessed be (lorscher bienensegen) | telling the bees (wiþ ymbe)

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[rokketeer]

if you’re still looking for hockey players to draw, would you draw fraser minten ? i would love to see him in your style 🩵

What a silly fella

[ask-maple-leaf]

*blows a massive gust of wind*

This does not count for the Magic Anon that's currently happening as it's not really an "ask"

- Creator

[just-a-random-canadian]

Art of the two fellas from @ask-maple-leaf Blog

[zieisonline]

Okay I'm late to the party and have never really been a william nylander girl (or cockwarming really) but I am obsessed

Like I need so much more deets, like him waking you up with super slow tender sex and then just staying inside you for hours holding his cum in as you watch movies in bed, or him coming back from a road trip and just being all clingy and finding hugging you, you're still to far away 🥵🫠

I’m so happy your eyes have been open to the world of William 💗🫶🏼 and cockwarming

I think you’ve said it best honestly, but some more filthy Willy thoughts below!

Warnings: detailed descriptions of somno, free use, cockwarming, and unprotected sex

Some days, the early morning is the only time he gets to spend alone with you, so he has to utilize his time wisely, wanting to have something to think back on throughout the day when he inevitably starts to miss you.

You would look so beautiful resting against the pillows, slow, even breaths causing your bare chest to rise and fall rhythmically. He just couldn’t bring himself to wake you, and after all, you had the discussion long ago that he was free to use you whenever he needed, and he needed you often.

Utilizing his strength to maneuver you onto your side to face him, he would pull one of your legs up to hook around his waist, securing you close to him before placing a tender kiss to your forehead.

He works quickly, unwilling to waste any more of the morning without being inside you.

He’s gentle, making sure to warm you up with his hand, not wanting to hurt you.

Your unconscious body reacts to him easily, and soon your hips are unknowingly rolling slowly and lazily onto his hand.

He’s so enamored with you and how you can be so absolutely perfect for him even while you were asleep.

Once you are both appropriately prepped, he enters you happily, burying himself deep inside you, not wanting an inch of space between you.

He raises a hand to move your disheveled bed head from your face and takes a moment to savor the moment of being here with you, safe in the small world you have created within the walls of your apartment.

He debates wasting the rest of the morning exactly like this; cradling you in his arms in a tender embrace as the sun rises in the window behind him.

But then he feels you move. Your walls clenching tightly around him, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you react to something in your dream.

The feeling engulfs him, and he feels the heat stirring in his lower abdomen, making it hard to hold back any longer.

Slowly at first, he begins to thrust inside you, trying his hardest not to wake you.

He doesn’t last long like that, the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped snug around his dick too much to handle, his pace increasing.

It’s a delicious feeling to wake up to. Your eyes are bleary and your body is moving before you can register why or how, and a soft moan falls from you unconsciously.

All of your senses are surrounded by him. By William.

His scent, his heat, his skin, and the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot deep inside of you.

You wrap your arms around him in a feeble attempt to ground yourself, your mind still lost somewhere between awake and sleep, suddenly only focused on chasing the euphoric feeling building within you.

“Good morning.” He would hum, and you would become transfixed in his tender loving gaze, lost in his sweet baby blue eyes.

“M-morning.” You would attempt, but the prickling feeling of pleasure blanketing you proves to be too much to focus on anything else.

He showers you in praises, squeezing you so close that his lips are touching your skin, mumbling about how beautiful you were and how lucky he was to have you.

He would continue to press firmly into you, hitting that special soft spot that drove you crazy until you became a panting, sweaty mess.

After having been together for so long, he can pick up easily on your tells, knowing you are about to cum before you even register it yourself.

He kisses you passionately as you unravel around him, moaning and gasping into his mouth, hands digging deep into his skin as the feeling awakens you fully, pulling you violently down to earth.

He isn’t far behind, the sounds of your orgasm going straight through him, making his dick twitch in pleasure.

You feel as though your bones are rubber, your body a liquified mess beneath him, but you do your best to work him through his high, arching into him, kissing him with the same passion he provided you.

He releases inside you, making you so full you squirm around him.

He nuzzles his head into your skin and lets his satisfied smile spread across his face.

“What a way to wake up.”

He giggles that signature Willy laugh and begins tracing small circles across your skin, unable to spend a moment without touching you.

“I didn’t mean to get you all sweaty.” He admits, looking down at you with his soft gaze. “I’ll go run a bath for you.” He leans down to peck your lips, but your grip on him tightens as a pout appears on your face.

“You still have another hour before you have to go. Let’s just stay like this for a little longer.” You beg, holding onto him as though he may disappear. “Please.”

He blinks rapidly, and wonders when you became a mind reader. When his thoughts became yours.

He would never be the first to pull away, instead settling further into the bed. Playing with your hands, tracing kisses along your exposed skin

You would savor the feeling of him holding his release deep inside of you for so long, feeling so close that even after he eventually leaves for the day you have the feeling of him nestled inside you ghosting throughout your body, reminding you of the morning you experienced.

This feeling would follow you all the way until you tuck yourself into bed at night, naked, just how Willy likes it.

And you would sleep, dreaming of being awoken the same way once again.

[3416]

kniesy's media today is sending me.... calling mitch and auston the 2 best players in the league and saying he learned a lot from them and then saying mitch is an incredible teammate and was always asking him to come hang out at his place like...... oh 233416 you're the best ever

[misshoneyimhome]

Okay… I have to ask for the Willy the girls out there!

Would you ever make a one shot of Willy x Inexperienced!reader testing out all his different styles of facial hair in the bedroom??

I know you did a one shot of him going down on her with just his moustache, I thought it would be a cool idea to try all the different styles of facial hair.

She must have a preference of the style of facial hair for Will ( just in general and in the bedroom 🫣 ) and he has his as well. But maybe one of them prompts the idea of trying out his different styles of facial hair while he goes down on her. He would want to see which one gets the most reaction of her, which one she loves the most, of course he would be cheeky with it as well. And I mean, I don’t think she would ever pass up the opportunity of him going down on her 😉

Ex. The full beard, just the stache, the grown out stache and some stubble on his face, or just some stubble.

I think it would be fun to see what style she prefers the most, and how Willy just makes her melt in his touch and how much fun he + her would have testing this out!

Oh love, this is perfect! 😍 We all know how Willy’s always switching up his facial hair—so of course, they had to test which style really does the trick 👅 Hope it’s along the lines of what you were picturing! 😉

Also a quick shoutout to @islandofthelostsoul for the inspo for the third night (sorry it took so long… ♥️)

Tropes & warnings: Inexperienced!reader x Willy, established relationship, 18+ smut: well, goes without saying, but a lot of oral sex (f receiving)

word count: 4.4K

➼｡ﾟ

Have you ever tried this one? | Inexperienced!Reader x William Nylander ✐☆

You didn’t even remember when you both made it to the couch—just that one second, William had come home from the game, hair damp from his shower and skin flushed from the post-win adrenaline, and then next, he was pulling you into his lap like he needed you more than oxygen.

Now, hours later, the TV hummed low in the background, the empty takeout containers had been shoved to the coffee table’s edge, and your legs were draped across his lap while his thumb traced absent patterns over your calf. You were curled into his side, head tucked under his chin. He was warm, solid, and felt like home.

“You’re comfy,” you murmured, brushing your lips along his throat, your words still slurred from the wine you’d shared and the haze of satisfaction that came from watching him score twice in a playoff win.

He chuckled, voice low and lazy. “I’m sweaty.”

You nuzzled in anyway. “Still comfy.”

William’s hand slid over your hip, then stilled. He tilted his head back against the cushions, one arm tucked behind you, and lazily scratched at the scruff along his jaw with his free hand. You could hear the rasp of it—short, stiff hairs dragging against his palm.

Then, out of nowhere:

“You ever wonder which version of me is the best at making you come?”

Your eyes blinked open slowly, warmth prickling in your chest… and lower. “Excuse me?”

He grinned without looking at you, still scratching his jaw. “Like—be honest. Do you have a favourite?”

You laughed, full and surprised, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Are you seriously asking if I’ve ranked your facial hair based on sex performance?”

William shrugged, playing it cool, but you could see the heat creeping up his neck. “It’s valid data. Beard, stubble, moustache—each one has a vibe.”

You narrowed your eyes, considering. “…This is a trap, isn’t it?”

He turned to look at you fully, grin wicked. “Depends on your answer.”

You snorted. “Okay, well, I mean—objectively? You with the full beard? Kind of a menace. That first week after the off-season? You barely let me leave the bed.”

William’s smirk deepened. “Strong start. Keep going.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “Just the moustache is pure chaos. The way you look at me with it? I can’t take you seriously. But… it does feel kind of amazing when you go down on me.”

He raised a brow, intrigued. “Yeah?”

“I’m not saying it’s the winner,” you hedged, poking him in the chest. “But I didn’t not lose my voice that night.”

He groaned, tossing his head back like it physically pained him. “God, I knew it.”

You laughed again, heart swelling at the sight of him—relaxed and playful and glowing with that post-game energy that only came after a big win. His cheeks were slightly pink, his lashes fluttering every time he blinked. You loved him like this. All soft smiles and dumb questions and teasing affection.

“Honestly,” you said, tracing a finger down the line of his neck, “I’ve always had a soft spot for the stubble. It’s just… you. Especially after a road trip. Little scruffy. Little cocky. You look like you’ve got no business being that hot in sweatpants.”

William hummed, pleased. “The classic.”

“But” you continued, settling back into his side, “that time you let the moustache grow out and kept the stubble underneath? That was a dangerous combination.”

He tilted his head. “Dangerous how?”

You looked up at him through your lashes. “You had me melting in, like, five seconds. That combo should be illegal.”

His mouth twitched at the corner. “So, what I’m hearing is… you’re a data-driven person.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a nerd.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, the mischief in his voice unmistakable. “We could conduct a very thorough experiment. See what gets the best reaction.”

“Oh my god.” You hid your face in his shoulder. “You’re serious.”

“For science,” William said solemnly, brushing his lips against your temple. “And your pleasure. Obviously.”

You were still giggling when he kissed you—slow and sweet, his hand sliding up your side with just enough pressure to promise more. Your fingers threaded through the scruff on his cheek, already imagining how it would feel if he had a little less… or a little more.

“I mean…” you murmured against his lips, pretending to think. “If we’re doing this, we should probably space it out. Four nights. Four different looks.”

He pulled back just enough to smile down at you, eyes sparkling. “You’re really gonna let me do this?”

You shrugged, playing coy. “If we’re being thorough…”

“Älskling,” he said, voice rough with amusement, “I love how committed you are to the process.”

You kissed him once more, longer this time. Then pulled back and whispered, “Let the experiments begin.”

And just like that, the games had officially begun.

_

Night One: Full Beard

You were already half-asleep on the couch, curled beneath a knit blanket with the scent of detergent and William. The game had ended hours ago, a solid win, and William had been in a good mood ever since. He showered, walked around shirtless for no reason, and now had his head in your lap while he absently scrolled his phone. His hair was still damp, and his full beard was rough against the inside of your thigh as he nuzzled in.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair.

He hummed, setting his phone aside and shifting to press a kiss just above your knee. “Not even a little.”

You smiled; your hand drifting lower to cup his jaw. You liked the beard. It made him look older, tougher, but the way he leaned into your palm so softly always gave him away.

“You remember what you said the other day?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Mmm?”

“About wondering which version of you is best at making me come?”

He grinned. You could feel it against your skin. “Oh, you’ve been thinking about that, huh?”

You felt heat crawl up your chest, but you didn’t deny it. “Maybe. I mean… if we’re doing a proper experiment, we should start somewhere.”

William sat up slowly, his smile growing wider. There was a spark in his eyes, like you’d just told him he scored the game-winning goal again. “Full beard first, then?”

You nodded.

He didn’t say another word. Just stood, picked you up bridal-style, and carried you to the bedroom like it was the most obvious next step in the world.

He laid you out on the bed carefully, like he was unwrapping a gift, kissing your ankles, your shins, the insides of your knees. His beard scratched with every brush of his lips, not painful—but so present. Every pass left a trail of heat on your skin, made your thighs clench with anticipation.

William looked up at you from between your legs, peeling away your shorts and underwear before his hands gripped your hips. “Ready to test my theory?”

You laughed breathlessly. “Always.”

He didn’t ease into it. That wasn’t the full beard version of William. No, this version was confident and a little feral, tongue broad and strong as it dragged up your slit. He sucked your clit between his lips with a low growl, the vibration sparking a jolt straight through your spine.

And the beard—God, the beard.

It scratched and burned in the best way, rough against your softest skin. Every flick of his tongue came with the added texture of him. You were squirming within minutes, hands tangled in the sheets, eyes shut tight.

“W-Willy—”

“That good already, baby?” he murmured, and you felt the words against you, felt the way his beard rasped over your inner thighs with each syllable. He held you open, relentless, his mouth devouring like he’d gone days without.

You gasped as his tongue slid inside you, as his nose brushed your clit just right. Your hips bucked, but his grip tightened.

“Stay still. Let me work.”

You whimpered, obeying, your whole body trembling. He licked you open, slow and deep, alternating between soft drags and sharp sucks. The beard was everywhere. Rubbing, rasping, teasing you to the edge.

And when you came, it was a full-body event. Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into warm skin, your cry broken and needy as you clenched around nothing.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept going, tongue gentler now, lapping up everything you gave, his beard still deliciously abrasive as he slowed you down, brought you back.

Eventually, he pulled back with a satisfied hum, beard completely soaked and lips glistening.

“One for full beard,” he said smugly, crawling up to lie beside you.

You let out a shaky laugh, tucking yourself against his chest. “That… that was a strong start.”

He kissed your temple, beard scratching your cheek. “Get some sleep, baby. We’ve got three more nights.”

You groaned. “I might not survive the week.”

William chuckled, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

“Science,” he whispered, smug and soft. “All in the name of science.”

_

Night Two: Stubble Only

It started the moment you walked into the bedroom.

William was already there—a loose pair of grey sweats riding low on his hips, nothing on top but the glow of his skin, still damp and flushed from training. He leaned against the headboard with one knee bent, flipping idly through something on his phone. But the moment his eyes met yours, his mouth curved into a slow, knowing grin.

“You noticed?” he asked, scratching along his jaw with two fingers.

You didn’t answer. You were too busy staring.

Gone was the thick beard from two nights ago. In its place: a perfect dusting of stubble, just enough to shadow the angles of his jaw, to catch the light when he tilted his head. Clean, sharp, precise. It made his lips look even fuller. Made him look devastating.

“I thought I’d give you the ‘classic Willy’ tonight,” he said, voice warm, teasing. “Thought I’d see how much you liked the original.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not fair,” you murmured, walking toward the bed. “You shouldn’t be allowed to look like that.”

William laughed under his breath as you climbed into his lap, straddling him on the bed, knees planted to either side of his thighs. His hands came to rest on your hips like they belonged there.

“Tell me something,” he said, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Did you like the beard the other night?”

“Of course, I did.” Your voice was already breathy, and he hadn’t even touched you yet. “But this…”

You ran your fingers along the line of his jaw, stubble rasping against your skin.

“This does something else to me.”

He smiled. Kissed your jaw. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You feel dangerous like this.”

“Good,” he whispered, voice low. “Because I plan to be.”

He rolled you onto your back in one fluid motion, body slotting between your legs. The weight of him felt perfect—solid, grounding. But there was a tenderness in the way he kissed you next, like he wasn’t in a hurry, like he wanted to savour you.

And then his stubble brushed your neck as he moved lower.

You gasped.

It was sharper than the beard. More distinct. It scraped gently against your skin, leaving tingles in its wake. Little stings that bloomed into pleasure a second later, like tiny fires under your skin. He kissed you there, then sucked lightly, pulling a moan from the base of your throat.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your collarbone. “That’s just the beginning.”

His lips trailed lower, kisses scattered between licks, slow nips, and long, deliberate drags of his mouth along your chest and ribs. The scratch of his stubble left your skin red and buzzing in the best way. He was slower than last night—softer, but also more focused. More attuned. Like he was reading your reactions with every shift of your hips and flutter of your breath.

By the time he reached the waistband of your underwear, you were writhing.

William hooked his fingers around the fabric and dragged it down your legs with purpose. Not rushed. Not teasing. Just… intentional.

He kissed your inner thigh first. A soft brush. Then a firm one.

Then another, directly over the tenderest part of your skin—and you jerked.

His stubble rasped like a match strike, and the sensation shot through you like lightning.

“Willy—” you breathed, fingers fisting the sheets.

He didn’t speak. Just looked up at you from between your legs, eyes heavy with affection and want. And then he bent forward and dragged his stubble across the inside of your thigh again—cheek first, deliberately slow—just to watch your body tremble.

When he finally licked a broad stripe up your centre, your hips bucked instinctively.

“God, you taste so good like this,” he murmured against you, his breath hot and ragged. “So soft. So, fucking wet.”

You whimpered.

And then he was eating you with a kind of devotion that made your head spin.

Slower than the other night. So much slower.

His tongue moved like he had nowhere else to be, curling deliberately around your clit, dipping lower to fuck into you before circling back up. He alternated between sucking and licking, between deep pressure and featherlight flicks. And in between each one, he kissed you.

Not teasing. Not playful.

Just soft, perfect kisses to the crease of your thigh, your mound, the edge of your hip. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he loved you too much not to worship every inch.

The stubble rasped everywhere his lips touched. That was what pushed you closer, faster. The contradiction—the sharp drag of his jaw, the sweet press of his kisses, the filthy way he licked into you like he was desperate for every drop you had to give.

“Willy,” you gasped, your hand buried in his hair. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

His hand spread over your stomach to hold you down. “Come for me,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Just like this.”

And you did.

The orgasm stole your breath. It made your toes curl, your thighs clamp around his ears, your hips rise off the bed. William held you through it—moaning into you, lapping through your high, never backing off until you were twitching under his mouth.

And when he finally pulled away, he pressed one last kiss to your thigh.

“Fuck,” you breathed, still trembling, vision hazy. “That was—”

“I know,” he said, sliding up to kiss you gently on the lips. His cheeks brushed yours, and you shivered at the sensation again.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “That stubble’s… lethal.”

He chuckled; eyes sparkling. “Noted.”

Then he kissed you again, slow, and sweet, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You good?” he asked softly, curling himself around you.

You nodded into his chest. “That was perfect.”

He smiled into your hair.

“Just wait till next time.”

_

Night Three: Just the Moustache

You didn’t hear him enter the room.

Fresh from the shower, your skin was still damp, and your hair wrapped up in a towel as you lounged on the bed, naked and warm from the steam. You were scrolling on your phone, basking in the post-shower haze, your legs lazily spread on top of the crumpled duvet. William had told you he’d be a few more minutes finishing up something in the kitchen. You didn’t expect him to make his entrance with zero warning.

But suddenly he was there, and you felt it.

A shift in the air. A sudden weight on the mattress.

And before you could register a single sound, William was between your legs—arms hooked under your thighs, his cheek brushing against your still-damp skin, moustache grazing the delicate, sensitive flesh like velvet and wire all at once.

You squeaked. “Jesus, Will—”

But before you could say anything else, he flipped the two of you in one fluid, practiced motion.

You landed with a soft gasp, your knees now resting on either side of his face, your bare core hovering above his mouth. His arms held firm around your thighs, keeping you anchored, flushed, breathless.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, wide-eyed.

He looked smug as hell beneath you. “Hi.”

You were going to murder him. After you came. Maybe twice.

“William.”

“Hmm?” He gave your thigh a gentle nip with his teeth before trailing his moustache across the opposite one. He was already grinning up at you, chin tilted, eyes wild with mischief. “Don’t mind me,” he said, his voice muffled slightly by your inner thigh as he kissed it. “Just performing tonight’s experiment.”

You tried to sit up a little straighter. “You said you needed time to digest. You were eating a snack!”

“You’re my snack,” he said smoothly.

The sensation was different. Just a whisper of friction, not harsh like stubble, not as dominating as the beard. It tickled and teased, fluttering against your skin with maddening precision, while his cheeks and chin were smooth.

“You look like a villain,” you muttered, clutching at the bedframe. “You know that, right?”

He laughed, low and pleased. “If I’m the villain, what does that make you?”

“Unsuspecting prey,” you breathed, because he’d just dragged the moustache down the crease of your thigh and kissed the spot where it met your hip. “Helpless. Horny. I don’t know.”

He hummed. “You ready?”

You nodded. Barely had time to breathe.

Because when his tongue was on you, warm and firm and slow, your eyes fluttered closed. “Fuck.”

The moustache was maddening. Every time he moved his mouth—every swirl of his tongue, every pass over your clit—you felt the press of it. Just enough texture to make you shiver, but soft enough to feel like a stroke, not a scratch.

“Oh,” you whimpered, hips jolting as he sucked lightly. “Oh, wow.”

His grip tightened around your thighs, keeping you in place. His thumbs stroked slow, grounding circles on the insides, while his mouth worked you over with calculated finesse.

“You okay up there?” he asked, pausing just long enough to let the words vibrate against your clit.

You nearly choked. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“You’re infuriating.”

He chuckled, then did something with his tongue that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

You moaned, letting your head fall back, fingers digging into his hair. “God, Willy. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

“Not planning on it,” he murmured.

He kept going, coaxing wave after wave of heat through your body until you were shaking above him, your orgasm building like a dam ready to burst.

The moustache made it worse. Or better. You didn’t stand a chance.

And when you came, it was with a gasp so loud you were sure the neighbours heard it. Your legs quaked, your body locking up as pleasure roared through you like a freight train.

William held you steady, face still buried between your thighs, working you through it with slow, purposeful strokes of his tongue. When you finally slumped forward, boneless and whimpering, he eased you down with care, kissing the top of your thigh.

Then he looked up at you, eyes shining.

“Well?”

You blinked down at him, dazed.

“How’s the stache ranking so far?” He grinned.

You couldn’t speak. Just gave a breathless laugh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair.

“High,” you whispered. “So, fucking high.”

_

Night Four: Grown-Out ’Stache & Stubble

By the time the last night rolled around, you were beginning to think you couldn’t possibly be surprised anymore. William had kissed and licked and worshipped you through beard burn, prickly stubble, and the unexpected magic of his moustache alone. You’d moaned for him, melted for him, practically dissolved under the weight of his mouth and the overwhelming affection in his touch.

But tonight? Tonight, he was trimmed to a perfect combination—his moustache thick and grown out, the rest of his jaw rough with fresh stubble. The sweet spot. The hybrid. A little scratch, a little softness, and a lot of everything.

You were stretched out in bed when he came into the room, shirtless, shorts hanging low on his hips, humming softly to himself, the light catching the sharp line of his jaw and the gold glint in his lashes.

You looked up, blinking slowly. “You kept it.”

He glanced at you with a smirk. “You noticed.”

You bit your lip. “I more than noticed.”

William crawled onto the bed, hovering above you on his hands and knees. The scent of him—a mix of faint sweat and cologne, something warm and unmistakably him—wrapped around you like a spell.

“So,” he murmured, dipping his face close to yours, his moustache brushing your cheek. “Ready for the final test?”

Your breath caught. “Yes.”

He kissed you first. Slow and deep. His lips soft, the scratch of his stubble setting off tiny sparks across your skin. You sighed into it, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the firm muscle shift beneath your palms.

Then he moved lower.

Down your neck, where he nipped and licked and kissed until your head tipped back.

Down your chest, his moustache dragging along sensitive skin, a ticklish, thrilling tease.

When he settled between your thighs, you were already squirming.

But he didn’t rush.

His hands gripped your hips with firm reverence, spreading your legs slowly, thumbs rubbing little circles into your skin. He leaned in and mouthed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, higher this time.

And then he licked.

One long, languid stroke that had you gasping.

The combination of moustache and stubble was devastating. Every flick of his tongue was edged with sensation, every kiss a balance of sharp and soft.

He moaned when you moaned.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered against your skin, breath hot. “You taste so good.”

You writhed, hips lifting involuntarily. And he didn’t hold you down this time. He let you move. Let you chase his mouth.

He alternated between slow, deep sucks on your clit and gentle circles with the flat of his tongue. Just when you thought it would be too much, he’d pull back and press a soft kiss just below your bellybutton, grounding you.

“Willy,” you whimpered, your voice cracking.

His eyes flicked up, dark and sweet. “Tell me what you need.”

You reached for him blindly, fingers threading through his hair. “Don’t stop. Please, please don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He pulled you closer, arms wrapping under your thighs like a vice as he pressed in deeper, licking and sucking with intent, with love, with that perfect, maddening edge of chaos he wielded so well. The grown-out stubble scraped deliciously against your thighs—sharp enough to burn, soft enough to make you crave more. His moustache was damp, brushing against your clit with every stroke of his tongue, and it was all too much. Exactly enough.

Your thighs trembled, but he didn’t let you pull away. If anything, he pulled you closer—anchored you down, your hips pinned tight against his mouth as his tongue flattened, then circled, then flicked until you couldn’t breathe through the pleasure. Until your eyes rolled back.

Needles to say, the orgasm hit hard.

Your body arched without your permission, a raw sound ripping from your throat as the wave crashed over you, blinding and hot and dizzying. You fisted the sheets with one hand, his hair with the other, barely able to gasp his name as the pressure released all at once.

But William didn’t stop.

Not even for a second.

He eased up only slightly—enough to let your body twitch and jerk in overstimulation, but not enough to let you come down completely. His hands traced slow, possessive lines up your ribs, then back down to your hips, holding you open with reverence as he dropped a soft kiss right against your still-sensitive clit.

You whined, legs shivering. “Willy—”

“Shhh,” he murmured against you, the sound low and coaxing. “One more, baby. Just one more.”

You barely had time to answer before he was there again—gentler this time, more coaxing than devouring. His tongue moved in languid, teasing strokes, licking up your slick, tasting the aftershocks. And when you started to squirm, when your hips bucked forward in response to the steady rhythm he built again, he smiled against you. You could feel it.

“Still so sweet,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Still so fucking perfect.”

Your thighs closed in around his head instinctively, your entire body tight and aching, raw nerves exposed. But he just held you there—one arm curled tight around your hip, the other sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple as he started to suck harder again.

It sent lightning through your core.

You tried to warn him. Tried to speak. But all that came out was a whimper as your second orgasm built with punishing speed—faster than the first, sharper, curling hot and high in your belly.

“Come for me again,” he urged, breathless and steady and maddeningly good. “Let go, baby.”

And so, you did.

You shattered.

This one was even messier, more guttural—your body jerking, fingers digging into his forearms as you sobbed through the release. He held you through every pulse of it, grounding you, kissing you through it like he was worshipping you. Like he’d never get tired of the way you broke open for him.

And when your body finally went limp, he loosened his grip, gently easing you down from the high. He pressed one last kiss to the inside of your thigh—so soft it made you shiver all over again—before he looked up at you.

His face was wrecked in the most beautiful way. Flushed, lips swollen, jaw glistening, the ends of his moustache curled just slightly with damp heat. And that smirk—lazy, proud, entirely in love.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You laughed softly, dazed. “Are you trying to kill me?”

He grinned. “Just doing science, baby.”

He kissed your inner thigh, your hip, your stomach—like he couldn’t stop touching you. Like he didn’t want to. Then he curled into bed beside you, pulling you onto his chest, still panting himself like he’d run a marathon.

You didn’t speak for a while. Just lay there, tangled together, your heart still racing.

Eventually, William chuckled, voice low and satisfied. “So. Winner?”

You lifted your head, gave him a lazy, blissed-out smile. “Keep the combo. Forever.”

He grinned. “For science?”

You pressed a kiss to his chest, humming. “For everything.”

And when he pulled the blankets up around you both, when he kissed your temple and whispered something soft in Swedish against your skin, you knew exactly how you liked him best.

And he knew exactly how to ruin you with it.

[tiger-balm]

soo important to me that this takes "doesn't like to talk" image the media has about him and reframes is as "doesn't want to talk TO YOU"