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vitalverstappen · 19 hours ago

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To Be Your Muse - G. Russell

summary: as you and George navigate your relationship, you do the one thing you know how to: write a song.

pairing: George Russell x singer!reader

warnings: none

word count: 5.5k

masterlist

The lights dimmed. The crowd’s energy swelled, a crescendo of anticipation, and you could feel it in your chest - the electric hum that ran through Wembley Stadium. It was the last night of the European leg of your world tour. The opener had just wrapped up, and now, with every second that ticked by, the air was charged with an almost unbearable energy.

You took a moment backstage, standing in the silence before the storm. It was always like that right before you stepped on stage - the strange, almost sacred pause between worlds. The rehearsals, the travel, the soundchecks, the fans, all of it building to your performances. You knew you’d be leaving Europe behind for a while, but that night? That night it felt like the whole continent was there, in that moment, ready to explode.

The intro started, the low hum of the synth, the heartbeat of the drum pulled you forward, drawing the crowd closer to the edge. The lights flashed - blue, purple, white - and then, just like that, you stepped out onto the stage. The roar of the crowd hit you like a wave, the sea of faces illuminated by the lights, their arms raised, their voices joined together in that one collective sound. It was overwhelming in the best way.

The second George saw you step onto stage, he felt it - the shift. The crowd exploded, and even though he wasn't entirely sure what to expect, there was an undeniable pull to the moment. It was all so big, so charged, like the buildup before the lights go out on the racetrack, and the engines start revving. He couldn’t help but be caught up in it.

Lando and Alex, along with their girlfriends, had dragged him out to the concert. He wasn’t too familiar with your discography - only the songs that were played on loop on the garage playlist. Sure they were good. Really good. But here? In the stadium, with thousands of fans around him, George started to understand what all the fuss was about. It was something different. There was something real about it, about you.

There was something about the way you moved, the way you owned the stage. Your presence was effortless, but you had this force about you, this intensity that pulled everyone in, making it impossible not to watch.

As the night went on, he found himself not just lost in the music, but lost in you. There was a moment during one of the slower tracks, you were sat on a stool facing in George’s direction. The entire stadium was so quiet, so still, and all he could think about was how, for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just singing to the audience. It felt like you were singing to him - like there was something connecting the two of you in the darkness.

Stop it he told himself You don’t even know her.

But no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, he couldn’t pull his eyes away. His mind wandered to thoughts of the next time you’d be in town, or if there was any chance you might ever meet backstage, or what it would be like to talk to you for just five minutes, to really talk - not just about music, but about life, about anything. His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

At the end of the night, you disappeared under the stage, along with any hope George had that he’d see you again. Wembley Stadium was still buzzing with energy, the echo of your last song reverberated in George’s chest like a memory he couldn’t shake.

Lando was already tugging at George’s sleeve, urging him towards the exit. “Come on, mate, let’s go grab a drink. We’re all heading out to the after-party.”

But George wasn’t listening. His thoughts were elsewhere. He stood still, rooted to the spot, surrounded by people filing out, but all he could see in his mind was you. How you commanded the room without ever seeming to try, how your eyes locked with his for just a brief, electric moment. The way you sang, like you meant every word. Like you were telling a story that only the crowd could understand. And George, somehow, felt like you were telling it to him.

Stop it.

He tried to shake the thought from his head. You were just another performer. He was a racecar driver. There was no world where those two things overlapped. But as he moved toward the backstage area with the others, a strange sense of yearning crept over him. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t let go of the image of you on that stool, looking out at the crowd, as if searching for something.

“George, you okay?” Lando’s voice broke through his thoughts. George looked up, blinking as if he’d just woken up.

“Yea, just - just thinking”

Lando raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything more, Alex chimed in. “Mate, you were loving it. We all were. Don’t tell me you’re getting all soft on us”

George managed a weak smile and nodded. They made their way through the backstage area, the sound of laughter and chatter filled the hallway, but George barely heard it. His eyes scanned the shadows, hoping to catch a glimpse of you - anything, really. It felt ridiculous. What was he even hoping for? That you’d be just standing there, waiting to talk to him? He wasn’t that naive. But still, he couldn’t help himself.

He caught a few of the crew members milling around, but no sign of you.

Lando shot him a look, as if sensing something was off. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah, just-” George stopped. He was about to say something, but the words felt hollow. How could he explain that a moment of music, a few glances exchanged in the middle of a stadium, had left him feeling like he was on the verge of something that he couldn’t quite touch?

But then, just as he was about to leave, it happened.

The door at the end of the hall opened, and out you walked - head down, talking to one of the crew members, your expression still glowing with the afterglow of the performance. You donned an oversized hoodie now, but George still recognized the spark in your eyes. You looked tired, but content. The kind of tiredness only a performance like that could bring.

George froze. His heart did that weird skip thing again. His mind blanked, the rush of adrenaline from the concert still flooding his veins. He felt completely out of place, like an imposter in a world he didn’t belong to. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

It wasn’t until you looked up and your eyes met his that everything stopped. For a moment, everything else in the room faded away. Your gaze lingered on him for a beat too long, and for that split second, he swore he saw a flicker of recognition, maybe even something warmer in your expression.

He had to say something, but the usual charm and confidence he had behind the wheel, the jokes he’d throw around with Lando, had all vanished. All that remained was a sense of awkwardness that made him want to disappear.

“Hey” he managed to say, his voice a little breathier than he intended. You stopped walking, your brow raising slightly as if surprised, but not displeased.

“Hey” you said, your voice soft, but warm. “You’re uh, George, right? George Russell?”

She knows who I am? George’s heart hammered in his chest. He nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, that’s me.” He let out a nervous laugh.

“It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a big fan” you said with a genuine smile, stepping a little closer

George felt his heart race, a mix of disbelief and excitement running through him. A big fan? Of him? The thought barely had time to register before he found himself stumbling over his words, trying to find a way to sound cool, relaxed - anything but the nervous mess he was.

“Oh, uh, thank you! That’s… I mean, wow, I’m flattered,” he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as if it might help him gather his thoughts. His mind was still reeling from the fact that you knew who he was. And you weren’t just being polite; you seemed genuinely pleased to meet him.

“Of course, I’ve been watching for years” you continued, your voice light and friendly “I’ll actually be at Silverstone next week. Mercedes invited me.”

George’s mind nearly short-circuited. Silverstone? He tried to play it cool, but the news hit him like a bolt of lightning. The last place he expected to run into someone like you was in the pit lane at one of the biggest events on the racing calendar.

“Really?” he asked, his voice coming out a little higher than usual “That’s awesome. I’ll be there too”

You chuckled, “I would sure hope so. But it’ll be fun, I think. I’ve been to a few races before in a few different garages, but this is my first time at Silverstone. The energy there is insane.”

George nodded, his mind racing. You were already deep into motorsport culture, and for some reason, that made George feel a little more grounded in this bizarre situation. There was a connection, however small, that had nothing to do with the stage lights, or the cheering fans. It was shared experiences - racing, the adrenaline, the crowds, the atmosphere.

“Yeah” George said, his tone settling as he found his rhythm again “It’s one of the best tracks in the world. It’s… home for us. The crowd there, the history, it’s electric.”

“Sounds incredible.” you said, nodding. “I can’t wait to see it all in person. Your eyes sparkled.

The crew member you had been walking with approached you, muttering something to you. Your eyes glanced down the hall, then to George, and back down the hall as you talked. When the crew member disappeared again, you turned to face him.

“I am so sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.” you said

George’s heart sank for a moment, the sudden realization that the conversation was ending hit him harder than expected. He’d only just found his footing, and now you were about to leave. But he quickly forced a smile, not wanting to let any awkwardness creep in.

“No, no, of course. I get it” he said “You’ve got your hands full with everything. I didn’t want to keep you”

You smiled, the warmth of your eyes lingering as you met his gaze. “Thanks for understanding, George. It’s been nice talking to you” The genuine sincerity made a reappearance in your voice, making George feel a little lighter.

“Yeah, same here.” he replied, his lips curving into a grin “And hey, I’ll see you at Silverstone, yeah?”

“Definitely,” you said, your smile widening just as much “Take care, George.”

You stepped back, turning toward the backstage exit, but not before giving him one last look - your eyes locking for just a minute longer, as though there was something unspoken between the two of you. Then, you disappeared down the hall, leaving George standing there, still a little stunned.

Lando, having been watching the entire exchange from a distance, couldn’t help but nudge George with an amused grin. “Well, well, well. I didn’t know you had it in you”

George blinked, coming out of his daze, and shot Lando a half-hearted glare. “Shut up.”

Alex, who had been casually scrolling through his phone, finally looked up. “Mate, you’re definitely gonna need to find a way to talk to her again. That was smooth.”

George rolled his eyes “Stop it. It was nothing.”

Lando grinned wider. “That was definitely something, dude. You’re telling me you’re not gonna try to catch up with her at Silverstone? You know, maybe grab a coffee or something?” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

George sighed, already feeling his face heat up. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Not like I’ve got anything planned, right?” He tried to sound casual, but the excitement was bubbling under the surface. His mind was racing, replaying every word you’d just said, every glance, every moment of the conversation.

“You two were practically flirting. “Alex said with a smirk, glancing at George from the corner of his eye

“Alex” George groaned, but he couldn’t stop the grin that crept onto his face “Just - let it go”

Lando clapped George on the back “Nah, mate. It’s all good. You know you’re gonna be walking around Silverstone looking for her now.”

======

The next week crept by, but before you knew it, you had just arrived at Silverstone. There was a palatable energy in the air, something that only equaled the moments before you stepped on stage.

You walked through the narrow corridor between team garages, your eyes caught the branded uniforms of mechanics and engineers as they hustled to make final adjustments. The smell of fresh tire rubber mixed with the sharp scent of fuel made your pulse quicken. It was a whole new world, one you could only ever dream of getting a glimpse into.

As you made your way to the Mercedes garage, you passed some familiar faces, including Lando and Alex, who waved at you with smiles. You smiled and waved back, feeling a little less like an outsider there, a little more at home. You had spent time in the McLaren’s and Williams’ garages before, but today, you were headed to Mercedes.

Lando caught up with you as you slowed your pace. “I was wondering if you were actually gonna show up” he joked with a grin

“Yeah, I’ve just been getting my bearings. It’s always a little overwhelming first coming in” you admitted, taking in the busy paddock around you.

Alex, who had been with Lando, nodded in agreement. “It’s a lot to take in at first. You’ll get used to it.” His gaze flickered over your shoulder, a mischievous gleam in your eye “But you’re in for a treat. Wait until you see the cars on track”

The chatter around you died down as you bid the drivers goodbye and good luck before stepping into the Mercedes garage. You immediately recognized some of the team members, their sharp focus evident as they worked. The garage itself felt like a well-oiled machine - every mechanic, every engineer, every piece of equipment working in perfect harmony toward one goal. It was like watching a live performance of a different kind. No stage, but the stakes are just as high.

Your heart raced as you moved deeper into the space, finally spotting George near one of the cars. He was talking to an engineer, his hands gesturing as he made a point, his focus unwavering. Even in the middle of all the technical chaos, he seemed entirely calm, as if this was where he belonged. His helmet was resting on the table in front of him, and he was clad in his Mercedes team gear - sweat beading on his forehead from the heat of the garage, but there was a kind of coolness about him.

He glanced up, his eyes immediately locking with yours. A brief flash of recognition passed over his features before his face broke into a smile, making your heart skip a few more beats than it should’ve.

“Hey” he said, walking towards you, his steps purposeful but easy. “Glad you could make it. How’s everything going so far?”

Your lips parted into a smile as you spoke “It’s been unreal. You said last week that Silverstone was on another level, it’s insane.”

George nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets “I know exactly what you mean. It’s all part of the thrill though. The preparation, the team effort, the moments before you get in the car and the moment you step out of it. That's why I do this.”

You couldn’t help but admire how passionate he was about it. It was the same kind of passion you felt for your own craft, but this was on a whole different scale. His eyes shined with an unmistaken fire, that made him seem so much more than just a racecar driver.

For a moment, it felt like the madness of the paddock had paused. There was just you and George, sharing a quiet understanding. Then, the moment was broken by the sound of an engine firing up, the roar of a nearby car cutting through the air, and George’s eyes flickered to the noise.

“Looks like that’s my cue,” he said, a little regret in his voice, though he smiled “I’ve got to head out for the last few checks before practice. But I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

You nodded, your heart unexpectedly heavy. “Yeah, I’ll be around. Good luck out there George. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He gave you a quick wink and a thumbs up before heading toward the wall of computers on the side of the garage, and as you watched him go, you felt a rush of something - maybe admiration, maybe curiosity.

======

The day had been a whirlwind - so much to take in, so many new faces, and so much buzzing energy in the paddock. Most of your time was spent in Mercedes, watching the drivers as they sped on track, but took some time to wander the area, meeting with fans as you did so. It had been everything you hoped for, but there was one thing that had stuck in your head throughout the day. One person.

George.

You hadn’t expected to feel this drawn to him. Maybe it was the way he spoke to you like a normal person, or how passionate he was about racing, or the way his smile seemed to cut through the chaos. He was a racer, yes - but there was a depth to him that made you think there was so much more than what the cameras saw.

As the day drew to a close, and the buzz of the paddock began to quiet, you found yourself in Mercedes hospitality. Your mind was still in awe of everything that you’ve seen. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted him.

George was walking toward you, having traded his race suit for team gear. He looked tired, but there was something about the way he moved that told you he was never truly off the clock.

He approached, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was a pause, as if the noise had all faded away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet.

“Hey” he said, offering a smile that made your stomach flip. “I was looking for you earlier. Hope the practices were fun.”

You smiled back, trying to ignore how your heart was suddenly beating a little bit faster. “It’s been incredible. Honestly exceeded all of my expectations.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said, his eyes wandering out to the track below. Then, after a beat, he turned to face you again. His eyes locked with yours, a slight hesitation in his movements before he spoke again, as if he was weighing his words carefully.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” his voice softened, and you could hear the slight edge of nerves creeping in - something you weren’t expecting from him.

Your heart gave a little jolt at his words, that nervous edge in his voice making everything feel a little more real. He hesitated for a moment, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes flicking between you and the track as if he was gathering his thoughts.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you…” he repeated, drawing out the words as if they were a weight he had to work up to. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a half-step closer to you. “Since you’re sticking around for a few days, and, you know, it’s not often I get to ask… I was wondering if maybe… you’d want to grab dinner?”

Your pulse quickened. You hadn’t expected him to ask you out - certainly not like this. Not so casually, with that slight edge of hesitation. But there it was, clear as day.

You found yourself smiling before you even realized it. “I’d like that” you said, your voice feeling steady despite the rush of excitement.

His face lit up with a grin you’d seen earlier - a little crooked, but so full of warmth. “Yeah? I wasn’t sure if I was being too forward…”

“Not at all” you reassured “I’m kind of relieved, to be honest.” You let out a small laugh, feeling a little less nervous now that he seemed equally uncertain.

“Relieved?” he raised an eyebrow, a playful note returning to his voice

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you were just being polite or if you really wanted to spend time together” you admitted, suddenly a little shy under his gaze “But it sounds like you really meant it.”

“I did” he said, his voice soft again, his expression more sincere now ‘I’ve wanted to ask you out since the first time I saw you at the concert. I just didn’t know if you’d be into it. I just didn’t want to make a fool of myself”

You couldn’t help but to feel a swell of warmth at his honesty. There was something about the way he was laying it all out - no masks, no guard up - that made you like him even more.

“Well,” you said, taking a step closer and giving him a teasing smile, “you’re not a fool, George. I’m definitely interested”

His grin widened, and there was a twinkle in his eyes that made your heart flutter just a little. “I’ll take that as a win then” he replied, his tone light but with an underlying sincerity “Alright, so… dinner after all this? I’ll be finished by eight?”

“Perfect, I’ll be there” you replied, your stomach fluttering as you spoke, the anticipation filling the air.

======

The relationship had blossomed into something you hadn’t expected, a mix of racing circuits and late-night songwriting sessions. With every date, every stolen moment, you felt a connection that went deeper than you could have imagined. George was everything you’d hoped for and more - kind, thoughtful, and passionate. You two balanced each other out, like two pieces of a puzzle.

You’d always used music as an outlet, a way to process your emotions, your thoughts, your life. Fans always said your music was like a peek into your diary, so it wasn’t long until George found his way into your songs, though you were sure not to make it too obvious. You’d learned to weave little details into your lyrics - the way his eyes lit up, his passions, his love for the quiet moments with you.

George was sprawled on the couch, his legs hanging off the edge as he absently flipped through a magazine. The soft strum of your guitar filled the space between you two, the notes gentle but steady, like a heartbeat. You weren’t playing anything in particular - just letting your fingers wander across the strings as your mind drifted.

You looked up at him, your fingers pausing on the strings as you met his gaze. His eyes were warm, those quiet depths that always seemed to be watching you with such focus, like he was trying to understand every part of you, even parts you hadn’t figured out yet.

“You know” you began, your voice soft, but with that undercurrent of thoughtfulness you had come to expect from these late-night moments, “I wrote a song today”

“About me?” he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued

“Maybe…” you trailed off, biting your lip as you returned your gaze to the guitar, strumming a few notes absentmindedly

“Yeah?” his voice had that playful edge, but there was something deeper in there too, like he knew what you meant. “Let me hear it”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to share it just yet, but then you’d remembered how he’d always support your music, how he’d never made you feel like you had to explain yourself. Slowly, you played the opening chords, the melody coming together easily, flowing out like it had been waiting for the right moment.

The lyrics were simple, but meaningful. You’d written about finding someone who felt like home, even in the midst of a fast-paced, unpredictable world. About how, amongst the chaos and drama that both of your lives brought, you found someone who made it all fade into the background.

When you finished, the room was still. George didn’t say anything and for a long moment, his expression thoughtful as he let the words settle between you two.

“That’s… that’s really beautiful.” he finally said, his voice low, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he was talking about the song or about what it represented “Are you planning on releasing it?”

“I mean, if that’s okay with you?” you asked

George’s eyes softened, and for a second, he just watched you, taking in the vulnerability in your question. The way you hesitated, as if unsure how much of yourself you were willing to share. It wasn’t lost on him. He knew how personal your music was to you, how every song was like a little piece of your soul, laid bare for the world to hear.

He didn’t hesitate long before answering, his voice steady but filled with that quiet sincerity you’d come to adore.

“Of course,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours “If that’s what you want. I trust you.”

A wave of relief washed over you, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The idea of sharing something so intimate, especially something that felt so much like him, was scary. But George was different.

You smiled, a soft, genuine smile that reached to your eyes “Thanks” you murmured, feeling the weight of his trust settle between you two.

“Do you ever think of going public?”

The question caught you off guard. You had been lost in the quiet, comforting silence of his trust, and now, just like that, he was pulling you back into a reality you hadn’t fully faced. The thought of going public - of letting everyone know about the two of you - was daunting. You had always been protective of your private life, and this felt like a whole new level of vulnerability.

The question hung in the air, but there was no pressure in George’s gaze. It was clear he was leaving the decision up to you, giving you the space to think it through.

“I don’t know.” You shook your head slightly, the uncertainty creeping in. “I guess I’ve always been protective of the things that matter most. When I have let the world in, they’ve torn it to shreds”

George’s expression softened. He nodded, a small, understanding smile forming on his lips “I get that. I do.” His voice was steady, and there was an honesty in the way he spoke, as if he had been thinking about this too. “I guess what I’m asking is do we want to go public? Not just the world, but us?”

“I guess that’s the question, isn’t it?” you said “Is it worth the risk?”

“I think it is” George said without hesitation. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Because whatever happens, we have something real. I’d rather go public with you than keep pretending that we don’t exist. But only if you’re ready, and if you want that too.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words. He was right. What you had was real. It wasn’t a fleeting romance or something built on a facade. It was a connection you both had worked for, nurtured, and built in a world that often didn’t leave space for things like that.

“I think we should do it when the moment feels right.” you finally answered “We shouldn’t plan anything. Almost a spur of the moment, when you know you know instance.”

That moment came a few weeks later. The song had been released the weekend prior, and the buzz around it hit hard, like a wave, sweeping through social media and radio stations. Fans were left decoding the lyrics, trying to find who the muse was. The lyrics weren’t directly about George, but anyone who listened closely could see the thread of a connection, a quiet love that couldn’t be ignored.

But amidst all the attention, you and George remained under the radar. You both carried on, your lives unfolding between race tracks, concerts, late night phone calls, and stolen moments that felt both intensely private and fiercely treasured.

You were a guest on a radio show when you were finally confronted about the song. Most of the conversation was focused on your upcoming album, sharing tidbits behind the new songs and how your sound had changed over the years. But you knew deep down that the question was coming. It was only a matter of time.

“So, there’s been a lot of buzz around your new song, ‘Call It What You Want’. Fans are already digging into the lyrics, trying to figure out who the song is really about. Care to share any insight?”

There was a slight shift in the air, the pressure rising slightly. You glanced at the host, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. “Honestly, the song is more about a feeling than it is a specific person. It’s about finding someone who feels like home, someone who makes everything else fade into the background when you’re with them” You let the words linger, hoping they were vague enough to redirect the conversation.

But the host wasn’t satisfied. She leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Right, but you’ve been pretty open about your private life in your music before. And let’s be honest, we’ve all heard rumors. Is there anyone in particular?”

The moment arrived. You could keep dancing around it, stay guarded, and continue to play the game, but something inside you pushed back against that instinct.

You thought about George. About your relationship. A relationship formed in the shadows, not because you were ashamed, but because you both needed space to grow. You had needed time to see if what you had was something that could withstand the outside world. And now, it felt right. It was now about embracing what you had, regardless of the consequences.

“I guess it's no secret that the song is inspired by someone in my life. I’ve been seeing him for a while now, and he’s definitely had an impact on the way I’ve been feeling lately.”

The host’s smile widened, sensing the shift in the room. “Anyone we might know?”

Your gaze softened, and you gave the slightest nod. “Yeah” you said quietly, your voice carrying the weight of the truth “It’s George Russell.”

The host’s eyes widened, but she quickly masked her excitement with a professional grin. “Well, that’s a big revelation! George Russell, Formula 1 driver and now your muse. I think the world will have a lot to say about this.”

You chuckled softly, “Yeah, probably”

Little did you know, across the world, George had the exact same pressure. It was media day in Singapore, and he was stuck in the media pen, surrounded by microphones and cameras. All of them were focused on him as he answered questions about his performance, the race ahead, and of course, the usual speculations about his personal life. But today felt different. There was a certain tension in the air that George couldn’t quite shake off. His mind kept drifting back to the interview you had done a few hours ago, and the confession you had made to the world.

“So George,” the reporter began, leaning in a little “We’ve heard there’s a new song out that’s got some pretty… intimate lyrics. Any comment?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah, that’s true. I’m very proud of her. She’s an amazing artist. It’s funny, because when she writes, it’s like she captures all the things I didn’t know how to say. The song… Call It What You Want… it’s definitely got me in it, but I think she’s explained how she feels about it.”

“So it’s about you?”

George shrugged, his grin a little shy, but playful “I think it’s more about us, the journey. We’re both in fast paced worlds, but managed to slow down and figure things out.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow, “And you’re okay with that? Your relationship being a part of her music?”

The grin broke into a full smile. “I think it’s beautiful, actually. I mean, it’s her art, her expression. And if I get to be a part of it, well, I think I’m lucky”

You watched his interview the morning after, as you had long gone to bed when it was posted. But hearing him speak about your music like that made your heart swell with pride. It was one thing to write the songs, to pour your heart into them, but hearing George - your George - speak so openly about them, and about you, made it feel like it was all worth it.

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misshoneyimhome · 22 hours ago

Note

Reader is devasted by Willy shaving his beard, and Wily is on a mission to prove his stache is as good as his full beard. I got inspired by this picture of the reader talking dirty to him on the phone before his game https://www.instagram.com/p/C7b6t90I43X/?img_index=2

Oh babe! This is just way too hot 😜 I’ve got to admit, the moustache is growing on me, but I definitely miss the beard! 😏 Willy, of course, looks gorgeous no matter what, but just like the reader, I wouldn’t be able to resist teasing him either 🤭

Tropes & warnings: Inexperienced!reader x Willy, established relationship, 18+ smut, f masturbating, sex toy (magic wand), thigh riding, oral sex (f recieving)

Word count: 3.5K

➼｡ﾟ

Call me on my cell phone | inexperienced!reader x William Nylander ✐☆

William Nylander was everything from the absolute best boyfriend you could ever wish for to the worst of the worst. Just as caring, loving, and devoted as he could be, he was equally capable of acting careless and cool. But one thing he never neglected was you. Well, and his style—he just always carried an innate confidence about how he looked.

William knew he was good-looking, and it wasn’t just because social media constantly reminded him. He had this effortless charm, no matter how he styled himself. Whether it was slicked-back hair that made him look suave and polished, a long, untamed mane that gave him a wild edge, or even when he experimented with cornrows, he pulled off each look with undeniable flair.

His confidence wasn’t just about his hair though. It extended to his fashion choices, which were unapologetically him. William didn’t just follow trends; he set them. Baggy jeans, oversized t-shirts, caps perched at just the right angle, and a collection of jewellery that ranged from subtle chains to bold statement pieces—he wore each item like it was tailored just for him. It was this nonchalance about what others thought that made him so captivating. He wore what he wanted, how he wanted, and made it look effortless.

Sometimes, his style choices seemed deliberately contrary to what everyone else around him was wearing. If sleek suits and tailored cuts were the norm, William would turn up in something street-inspired, casual yet impeccably put together. It was as if he thrived on standing out, on being the one everyone couldn’t help but notice.

And you absolutely admired this about him—the way he could walk into a room and own it, no matter what he was wearing. His confidence wasn’t boastful; it was just there, an intrinsic part of who he was. It was one of the many things that made him irresistible.

Yet, today was different. Today, he had decided to shave his beard - into a moustache.

You’d seen the pictures from the morning skate, and your heart sank as you took in the sight of him. While the sharp angles of his jawline remained undeniably attractive, the sleek moustache felt like an entirely new persona. It was bold, it was daring, and it was undeniably William, but it also stirred a mix of emotions within you. The rugged charm that had wrapped around him like a warm hug was replaced by a playful confidence, and though he wore it well, you couldn’t shake the feeling of loss for the familiar softness of his beard.

The moustache was sharp and defined, drawing attention to his full, pink lips and the intensity of his gaze. You couldn’t deny that he looked good—hell, he looked fucking hot—but the change left you feeling a bit disoriented. The warmth and softness of his beard had been replaced with a distinct, clean line of hair that was both intriguing and unsettling. It was as if he had traded in one kind of intimacy for another, and part of you longed for the familiar brush of hair against your cheek when he pulled you close.

You sighed, staring at your phone, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Did you really want to address this? You knew you could text him, tease him about the new look, but a part of you worried he might take it the wrong way. After all, he seemed to be embracing this bold change, and who were you to rain on his parade? Yet the more you looked at the pictures, the more you felt compelled to share your feelings.

So, reaching for your phone, you decided to send him a quick message.

Hey, I know you’re probably getting ready for tonight’s game, but… I just can’t stop thinking about you. About how I’m still not over you shaving 😜

You knew William was probably resting in his hotel room, or doing some light work out, like he usually did before a game on the road. Still, your boyfriend—and his moustache—were very much on your mind.

And to your surprise, William called you within just a few minutes.

“Mmm, what do you mean? You don’t like it?”

His voice was rich with amusement, a playful lilt that made your heart skip a beat. You could practically see the smirk on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners the way they always did when he was teasing you.

You chuckled softly, pressing the phone closer to your ear. “I didn’t say that,” you replied, your tone equally teasing. “It’s just… different. You know how much I loved the beard. Especially between my thighs… giving me those sweet burns…”

William let out a low chuckle. “Ah, so that’s what you miss the most,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a deeper, more seductive tone. “Those sweet burns, hmm? You’re making it hard to focus on the game tonight.”

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of heat at his words. “Oops, I can’t help it,” you whispered, the playfulness in your tone laced with desire. “I was just thinking about… the way you used to kiss me… the roughness of your beard against my skin… it drove me wild.”

“Fuck, you’re not going to let this go, are you,” he said, his voice husky with longing. “But I mean… I can still give you everything you need, älskling. Just wait until tomorrow night.”

“Mmm, tomorrow night, huh?” you murmured, a playful smile curling your lips. “You think one night’s going to be enough to convince me?”

“I think one night will be more than enough,” he replied, his confidence dripping through the phone. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to keep the moustache.”

Your breath hitched at his boldness, your heart racing at the thought of what he had planned. “Big talk, Mr. Nylander.”

“Oh, you know I always back it up,” he teased, the smirk evident in his tone. “Get ready, älskling. Tomorrow night, it’s just you, me, and this moustache. Let’s see if you’re still missing the beard after that.”

“Hmm, I guess I’ll just have to be patient then,” you said, your voice a little breathless.

“We’ll see if you can do that,” he quipped, a chuckle escaping him. “But I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your racing heart. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he murmured, his tone softening slightly. “Maybe I’ll even show it off to the camera for you during the match. Giving you something to dream about.”

With that, he hung up, leaving you with a mix of excitement and nerves thrumming through your veins. Tomorrow night promised to be unforgettable, and you couldn’t wait to see just how persuasive William could be.

For now, though, you’d settle in and watch the game, your thoughts drifting to his words. Every glance he shot toward the camera, every determined look he wore on the ice seemed to feed the spark he’d ignited. But as the game wound down and the team celebrated a big win, the anticipation became almost unbearable. So, you slipped into your bedroom, a little smile on your face, unable to resist indulging in some alone time to tide you over until tomorrow.

Lying back on the bed, you allowed your legs to spread as you pleasured yourself with one of the toys William had bought you. The Magic Wand. You let your mind wander, replaying his voice, his confident promise. You could practically feel his rough stubble ghosting across your skin, his warm breath on your neck, that deep, playful look in his eyes as he teased you. With every memory of his touch, every thought of the way his beard had felt against you, the ache inside you grew. It was as if he were right there, his body pressing down against yours, his hands roaming over your skin.

The vibrations against your clit built up slowly, matching the steady beat of your pulse as you allowed yourself to let go completely. Each shift of your body and each breath drew you closer, and the more you imagined his rough hands on you, the deeper the pleasure became. With every whispered thought, every memory of his laugh and his teasing smirk, you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your breath coming out in broken, desperate sounds.

And the release when it came was overwhelming. Your body arched off the bed, his name spilling from your lips in a gasp as you rode the waves of pleasure, stars bursting behind your closed eyelids. For a moment, all you could feel was bliss, a warmth settling over you, leaving you spent yet entirely content.

As you lay there, catching your breath, a smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t wait for tomorrow night.

William wasn’t kidding when he said he’d show you just what he could do with his moustache—or rather, with his mouth. Though it wasn’t the first time he pleasured you orally, and knowing how skilled he was, you could barely keep up with him, caught up in the intensity of his kisses from the moment he stepped through the door.

After he’d greeted the dogs of course, he had only one thing in mind: you, straddling him, before you were his dessert for the evening.

The living room TV was on in the background, a show half-forgotten, serving only as the backdrop to the warmth of William’s hands on you and the heat of his mouth exploring yours. He kissed you deeply, tasting and teasing with every roll of his tongue. His hands cupped your buttocks, squeezing and guiding you as your bodies moved together on the sofa in a languid rhythm.

Your hands were in his hair moaning into his mouth, lost in the delicious friction as you rolled your hips, your body pressing against his. His lips were hot and insistent, the softness of his moustache brushing against your skin, adding a surprising thrill to each kiss. His hands slipped down to guide you further until you were straddling his right thigh, perched perfectly over the thick muscle, just where he knew you wanted to be.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his fingers tightened on your hips. “Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

You pressed down, finding a slow, satisfying rhythm as you ground against his thigh, the pressure building with every move. You were clad in nothing but a pair of panties and one of William’s t-shirts, leaving very little of a barrier between your sensitive core and his strong muscles. His hands on your hips held you firmly in place, encouraging each roll of your cunt against him. The bare skin of his thigh was already showing a damp spot where you were leaving your mark, and he couldn’t help but smirk at how easily he had you unravelling.

You whimpered as he brought his mouth back to yours, letting his lips trail down to your neck, leaving gentle bites and kisses along the way. Each graze of his moustache sent a shiver down your spine, heightening the pleasure as you rode his thigh. The friction, the heat between your bodies, and the delicious drag of your clit against his skin had you practically clinging to him, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as your breaths came faster.

William pulled back for a moment, his blue eyes dark with desire as he watched you, his smirk growing wider. “God, you’re soaked, aren’t you?” His voice was a mixture of admiration and lust, and you felt yourself blushing under his gaze, even as you continued to grind down against him, desperate for more.

“Willy…” you gasped, your voice breathless and needy.

“Mmhm?” He tilted his head, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he kissed you again, deep and possessive. “Keep going, älskling. Don’t stop now. I want you to come for me.”

You moaned as his hands returned to your hips, urging you to pick up the pace, your body moving against his thigh with a newfound intensity. Each grind, each press of your body, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building toward that perfect edge.

Finally, he shifted just slightly beneath you, his thigh pressing up harder, giving you just the right amount of pressure as you reached that crest. Your body tensed, and with a gasp of his name, you fell over the edge, pleasure crashing over you in shuddering waves as he held you close, his lips pressing against your neck in a trail of tender kisses.

When you finally came down, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathless and spent, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer.

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Now let’s move to the bedroom for your real treat, eh?”

His words were a low murmur in your ear, each one like a spark igniting the warmth still lingering in your body. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before William guided you to your feet, his hand finding yours with a soft squeeze as he led you towards the bedroom. The anticipation grew with each step. You stole a glance up at him, catching the glint in his blue eyes, that smirk still lingering as he took in the sight of you, flushed and slightly unsteady, completely under his spell.

Once inside, William wasted no time. His lips were on yours again, intense and unyielding, drawing every bit of tension from you as his hands explored, caressing your curves, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touched. He gently nudged you back onto the bed, following close behind as you settled against the pillows, his body pressing against yours with a comforting weight.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he almost growled, his breath warm against your skin. His hands found their way to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, his fingers grazing your sides as he peeled it off.

Every touch, every glance, was deliberate, his eyes drinking you in with such intensity that it made your skin tingle. He leaned down, letting his mouth trace a line from your jaw to your collarbone, his moustache grazing your skin. The sensation felt slightly new and electrifying, different from the beard you were used to, and yet it made you crave him even more.

With each kiss, each slow, lingering touch, he built you up again, taking his time as he mapped every inch of your body, his attention to you unwavering. When he finally pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes were filled with that familiar mix of adoration and heat, a look that always made you feel like you were the only one in the world.

“Ready for that treat, baby?” William’s voice was a low, gravelly whisper. His eyes glinted with mischief, and that knowing smirk told you exactly how he intended to ruin you tonight.

You nodded, barely able to find your voice, and he wasted no time. With a gentle but determined touch, he peeled away your underwear, his fingers grazing your skin, leaving you shivering under his gaze. He spread your legs, his broad shoulders settling between them as he leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours. The room felt electrifying, making every nerve in your body come alive.

And the moment his mouth connected with your already wet cunt, your head fell back against the pillow, a soft gasp escaping your lips as pleasure bloomed through you. His tongue started slow, deliberate, teasing you with featherlight strokes that had you squirming. The tickle of his moustache added sensation. And he clearly knew the effect it had, the way it made your smile falter into soft, desperate moans as his movements grew more intentional, more intense.

Your hands clutched at the sheets as his mouth fully claimed you, his tongue now moving in long, languid strokes that had your thighs trembling around him. He focused on every inch of your sensitive flesh, lapping up every reaction with relentless dedication. His tongue teased your clit, then your entrance, each flick and suck sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you, while his lips nipped and tugged, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on the edge with every movement.

It wasn’t long before you were utterly lost to him. The intensity was unlike anything he’d done before, a fierce passion that felt like he was on a mission to consume every part of you. And you knew he was—he wanted you trembling, wanting you to cry out his name until you could barely breathe. His hands held your hips firmly in place, grounding you, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, no matter how much you squirmed beneath his touch.

The room was filled with your cries, each whimper and gasp growing louder as William pushed you higher, his mouth never relenting. You felt like you were floating, like you’d lost control of your own body as you moved against his talented mouth, licks of his tongue, grazes of his teeth pushing you closer to that breaking point. Your hand occasionally threaded into his hair, tugging as you whimpered, desperate for more, for release.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he felt you writhe beneath him, his mouth never once losing its rhythm as he coaxed more desperate moans from you. The sensation of his moustache rubbing against your sensitive skin added a teasing edge, becoming more and more soaked from your juices. Each time you bucked your hips, trying to catch your breath, he pressed you down firmly, holding you in place with a possessive strength.

William’s mouth moved with a calculated, intoxicating precision. His tongue traced along every sensitive spot, his lips closing over your clit to draw out long, agonising waves of pleasure, only to release you at the last second, leaving you panting and eager for more. And he loved it—the way you came undone for him, the way his name slipped from your lips in breathless cries, filling the room. The smile tugging at his mouth was evident even as he continued, his lips curling against you each time you moaned louder.

“God, you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against you, sending another surge of pleasure through your body. The sheets beneath were soaked, only confirming he was doing everything just right. Then he paused just long enough to look up, his darkened eyes locking onto yours, a glint of mischief shining through. “I want you to let go for me, baby. Don’t hold back. Come all over this fucking moustache.”

With that, he plunged back into you, his tongue and lips moving with renewed fervour, taking you even higher, closer to that crest you’d been helplessly teetering on. Your breath hitched, and your hands flew to the pillow behind you, gripping onto it like an anchor as he continued to devour you, his mouth relentless and his touch demanding.

And as his name tumbled from your lips in broken gasps, William intensified his movements, his hands pressing you closer, his mouth drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could. You felt yourself reach that point of no return, a shudder wracking through your body as you were sent spiralling into climax, your cries filling the room as you came undone completely.

But William didn’t stop, his mouth working you through every wave of ecstasy, prolonging your release until you were nearly trembling from the overstimulation. Barely able to catch your breath, he slowly pulled back, his lips glistering from your wetness, lingering on your inner thigh with one final, possessive kiss.

He looked up at you, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes, and brushed his thumb over your thigh with a gentle touch. “Told you I’d make you love the moustache,” he murmured, a proud, warm smile spreading across his face. The smirk that followed had your heart racing all over again, as if he hadn’t already left you breathless.

Your smile was slow, still hazy with bliss as you managed to catch your breath. “Can’t argue with that…” you murmured, exhaling deeply, your body still buzzing from the intensity of his touch.

With a low chuckle, he moved up to press a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his mouth. The kiss was tender but hungry, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you closer.

Yet, just as you began to relax, thinking he’d let you come down from the high, he pulled back slightly, his gaze sparking with that unmistakable mischievous intent. “Oh no, älskling, one orgasm isn’t enough,” he growled, making your heart race all over again.

And before you could even catch your breath, he was lowering himself between your thighs again, his hands firm as he guided your legs apart, spreading you open under his gaze. The warmth of his breath teased over your skin, heightening the sensitivity still thrumming through you from your last climax. He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes dark with intent, as if promising he’d take you even further this time.

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