#and this is after i had a lil cleaning burst WHO tf am i

[jonathanbiers]

mental illness and burnout is so fuckin weird bitches will have one good day and then do the things they've been putting off for weeks. it's me i'm bitches

[misshoneyimhome]

DAD WILLY okay I love the vids where babies are like shook when their dads shave off their beards so what about post season Will shaves his beard for the summer break and it’s the first time your lil nugget has seen him without one and he cries because like who tf is this strange man where is my dad…and Willy is so upset that your baby is scared of him but you’re cracking up because you love his beard too and go “he’s just as upset as I usually am when you shave” 🤣😉

Alright, so, I didn't really intend to post this today, but I just couldn't resist 🙈 I loved the idea for this scenario so so much, and I just had to create something out of it - even if it's a bit brief 😉

So, let's imagine it's set a few years earlier than this, with baby Eliot just over a year old during the off-season 🤗

[What can I say, I just love Willy with a good beard 🙈]

Dad!Willy x reader

Word count: 1.5K

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"He’s just as upset as I usually am when you shave" I William Nylander

"Hmm…" William mumbled to himself, running his hand over his beard while looking at his reflection in the mirror.

"Don't you dare," your voice came from behind him as you stood in the bathroom doorway, catching his attention.

"What do you mean?" your boyfriend chuckled lightly, as he contemplated what to do with his facial hair.

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean, babe... you know I don't like it when you shave it all off, which I know is what you're thinking of doing right now," you said firmly, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms as you glanced at him, noticing the shaver on the counter.

"Well, it's my beard... I can do what I want with it," he countered with a mischievous grin, knowing he had some say in the matter. After all, it was his face and his choice. But you couldn't resist reminding him how much you preferred him with the beard, or at least some stubble.

"I know, Willy... it's just..." you said, offering a light smile. "You're just really hot with a beard – it gives you a rugged and manly look," you flirted your best.

"You mean I look like a tramp... or a monkey," he joked playfully, playing with the shaver.

"Well, maybe a little, but you're my monkey," you said with a sweet smile, walking towards him and wrapping your arms around his bare torso, resting your head on his shoulder after giving him a soft kiss.

"But babe, it's just too hot in the summer... And I prefer the clean look, you know," he explained with a gentle smile.

"I know, I know... just, please consider letting it grow back before the season starts," you pleaded, giving your best puppy-dog eyes.

"We'll see," he merely replied with a light chuckle. "But I am shaving my chest."

"Why though?" you asked.

"Because it's better for when I'm tanning," William chuckled.

"But I love your chest hair!" you whined playfully, adding a hint of mischief to your tone. "If I can't have your beard giving me love burns between my thighs, at least let me have something to grab onto on your chest," you winked teasingly, subtly hinting at potential sexual activities.

Causing William to burst into laughter, as he found your complaints about him shaving both his beard and chest every summer incredibly sweet and endearing. But nothing seemed to change his mind. Well, perhaps you had one little trick up your sleeve.

As he took hold of the shaver, you gazed intently at him through the mirror.

"Alright, but I'm warning you, if you keep shaving it off all summer, I won't shave my fanny for you…" you teased, testing the waters knowing how much he preferred your down stairs area to be neat and clean.

"You wouldn't!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I would!"

"No, you wouldn't, babe," William chuckled. "We both know you won't be able to let it grow without getting irritated... especially not during summer when you'll be wearing a bikini."

And you knew he was right.

But before you could counter with a witty remark, cries suddenly emerged from the kitchen.

"You win this round, Nylander," you chuckled lightly, before heading back to the kitchen to comfort your little son, who seemed to indicate that you'd spent too much time chatting with Dad in the bathroom.

"Shh, mummy's here, love," you reassured Eliot, lifting him out of the high chair and holding him close until his crying softened.

And while comforting your child, you suddenly heard the familiar buzzing noise of a shaver coming from the bathroom.

"Oh fuck," you softly murmured to yourself in disappointment.

Truth be told, it's not that you didn't like William without a beard. You always found your boyfriend incredibly attractive to say the least, but you just had a preference for him with facial hair. And not the delicate little moustache he occasionally attempted to sport. It just made him look like a young teen who couldn’t grow a proper beard, or a creep. No, you adored the thick stubble that adorned his masculine jawline and trailed down his neck.

Well, at least when he kept it well-groomed.

William had a habit of neglecting to style his beard during the season, letting it grow a bit longer than usual. And then eventually, he'd grow tired and irritated with it, deciding to trim it. But just a bit.

You always felt that William looked more rugged with a beard. Given his particular fondness for fashion, jewellery, and his lack of prowess in handy crafts, he wasn't always the epitome of traditional masculinity. However, seeing him with some facial hair just added a touch of toughness that you appreciated. Especially given that you knew he had a rougher side, both on and off the ice.

In a way, you saw it as a primal biological attraction – a preference for a masculine male, someone robust for breeding, to ensure the growth of a strong child.

And truth be told, he had played his part in that aspect: giving you Eliot, your first son. Who at just one year old, he bore a striking resemblance to his father. His big blue eyes and bright blonde hair had been copied and pasted directly from William. And if that wasn’t enough, he was a solid and hungry child, much like his dad.

As you held the toddler close, finally managing to soothe his cries of feeling momentarily neglected – again, a perfect mimic of William, you handed him a pacifier, gently set him down, and guided him towards the play area scattered with his toys.

And for nearly ten minutes, you engaged in playtime with your son. However, the abrupt halt of the buzzing noise signalled the deed was done. You almost dreaded how your man would look upon his return from the bathroom.

And as he emerged in the doorway, you had to stifle a chuckle. The tough and strong hockey player had transformed into someone who could easily pass as a college frat boy. And it didn't exactly please you.

Yet, as he approached you and Eliot, wanting to join in the playtime, squatting and settling down with his little family, you accepted the outcome as it was. However, Eliot did not.

The young boy took one look at his father, then suddenly burst into tears as if something had deeply upset him.

"What the-?" William was genuine bewildered by his son's unexpected cries.

And you couldn't help but burst into laughter, watching Eliot’s reaction to the sight of his own dad.

"He's crying... why is he crying, babe? What did I do?" William sounded almost panicked as he attempted to reach for his son. However, Eliot instead tried his best to crawl away from the unfamiliar sight and reached out for you to pick him up and hold him close.

"Shh... it's okay, baby," you tried to comfort your son. "It's just daddy," you reassured him in a calm voice, though laughter was bubbling up inside you.

Eliot's wide, terrified eyes remained fixed on William, while seeking solace in your motherly embrace to stop crying. But every time William attempted to approach and touch him, Eliot turned away, crying even louder despite the pacifier in his mouth.

And you just couldn't contain yourself any longer.

"Shit, what's happening?" William asked, utterly confused.

"He's just as upset as I usually am when you shave," you chuckled deeply, still holding and comforting your son in your arms.

"He's seriously crying because I shaved?" your boyfriend asked, throwing his arms up in defeat as his son gradually calmed down and settled his breaths in his tiny lungs.

"Seems like it, Willy," you grinned. "Apparently, he doesn't quite recognise you," you added with a soft smile, feeling rather pleased that your son seemed to strongly agree with your opinion about William's facial hair.

"I shaved last summer too," he tried to justify.

"True, but then he was just a newborn, love," you smiled again. "He's only seen you with a beard for the past six or seven months as his little brain has developed more."

And this time, William had to concede defeat.

Eliot had made the verdict, and it seemed the beard had to make a comeback.

"Hmm... I guess I'll have to let it grow back then," William chuckled lightly, releasing a deep sigh.

"Yeah, I really think you have to," you replied with a content smirk, already looking forward to when the scruff would once again adorn his handsome face.

Luckily for you, your monkey of a boyfriend had a good dose of testosterone, resulting in rather fast hair growth. So, during your holiday in Sweden with the Nylander family, Eliot could once again recognise his father.

That was until you told the rather amusing story to William's brother and sisters, who then convinced him to shave again, just to witness Eliot's reaction. And as predicted, it led to another bout of tears from your little boy, this time expressing very clear disapproval of his father's altered appearance.

Amidst the laughter, both you and Camilla realised it wasn't fair to Eliot. He was genuinely distressed, unable to recognise his own father - only a strange-looking man attempting to interact with him.

So, you persuaded William to let his beard grow once more and resist any temptation from Alex or Sandy to shave it off again.

However, there was one concession: he insisted on shaving his chest hair. That was non-negotiable.