#george russell x fem!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

httpsserene · 6 months

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𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟲: 𝗴𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝘃𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲 & 𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘆𝘀/𝗯𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: george has created a serious problem. you two have been dating for over three years, and he fed from you the first time about three months ago. the problem lies within the fact that he conditioned you to orgasm every time he used you as his glorified high-class wine bottle. on second thought, that’s a pretty good problem to have; his thirst is sated, and yours is as well. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. not beta read. vampires. dubcon (from the inherent plot). safe, sane, and consensual though. coming untouched. no penetrative sex. implied sex. blood drinking. biting. mention of multiple orgasms. unnecessary world building. the grid & mercedes knows about george being a vampire. hickeys/love bites. bruises. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: george russell x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: prey • the neighborhood

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: i guess i got too into the plot and lost myself in the exposition. i was originally going to delete the beginning ramblings of setting the scene and what not, but this would be like 500 words if i did that. for some reason, the entire grid knows george is a vampire? i couldn’t find the brainpower to explain who he’s hiding it from or how that would work in f1. the kink is more of the inherent tension from drinking somebodies blood. lol, anyways have fun reading 🫶🏽

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cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

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george had gotten enough schooling to learn what classical conditioning is. pavlov conditioned dogs to salivate at the sound of a bell ringing; a conditioned response. george may have done the same thing to you–he made the mistake of making sure you orgasm as he bites and drinks from you. now every time he feeds from you, you cum, even if there’s no sexual build-up at all; it could be the most bland feeding session and the minute his venom enters your bloodstream, you can’t fight it—he’s pavlov-ed his girlfriend. he should’ve never allowed himself to feed from you.

when george first met you, he was enamored with you from the start. after every morning run, he would end at a local coffee shop and you would already be cozied up in a corner seat working away on your computer. you smelled delectable, george quickly picked up on that. he was thankful the barista had already memorized his usual order, because he really wouldn’t have enjoyed explaining why his canines had elongated into fangs. he couldn’t handle the way your blood was calling to him and left the coffee shop as soon as he got his drink, running into several people on the way out. you would be in the coffee shop on two out of the three days he came in, and he would be a serious hazard to any customer who came in during the five minutes he was there. it was like this for two months and twelve days (not that he was counting or anything), until you weren’t in your seat one day. george sighed in relief, shoulders relaxing and the fixed grimace in anticipation sliding off his face—what he didn’t expect to feel is disappointment at the lack of your appearance and addicting scent. he dismisses the emotions, convincing himself that he’s just used to the constant repression of his instincts around you. he even takes the time to engage in small talk with the baristas; two months ago he was well-invested into their lives, he has a lot of catching up to do. he allows himself to be forced into a seat at the counter to drink his coffee and indulge in a few pastries that are definitely breaking his diet. it’s an off day for him, his only plans are to stream in the evening with the usual quartet, so he can afford to dine in this morning…and indulge in catching up on the coffee shop gossip, he’s only a man, alright?

george is halfway through his cup of coffee and laughing along to a story about how this adorable kid tried to buy hot chocolate with monopoly money when the entrance door jingles open. he chokes on his sip of coffee, almost spraying it over the counter in surprise as you walk up to the counter. he turns to look at you ordering at the register, to confirm he’s not imagining your presence and—you look amazing. you’re wearing flared black trousers with a short-sleeved, white, collared shirt tucked into them, elegant gold jewelry accented against your brown skin—you’ve dressed up today. it’s different from the usual hoodie and headphones george sees you wearing in that corner nook of yours; at least that’s his excuse for why he ends up staring you down. after finishing your order, you head towards your usual seat and end up making direct eye contact with george, because the universe hates him. he sees your attempt at a polite smile and his cheeks burn red at being caught, and jerks his head forward breaking his stare. he hears you continue to walk past him, and the barista stares at him disbelievingly, “mate…you fumbled that.” george stutters through a denial, but then he hears your footsteps stop—and he knows you haven’t reached the corner seat yet. he picks up on the sound of you turning on your heels and heading back in his direction, and he drops his head into his hands, resigned.

“ah! someone’s taken your seat today,” the barista in front of george calls out to you—george narrows his eyes at the man in warning, “come sit at the counter then; you can tell me what you’re all fancied-up for.” the barista glances at george with a smirk, and he swears this may be the first time he bleeds a human dry.

you laugh and sit at the counter, one seat in between you and george. and george sighs in relief for the second time today; you’re wearing perfume and it taints the smell of your blood, enough for him to not start salivating, at least. its silent for a minute, and george can feel your awkwardness radiating.

“so…” you question teasingly, “not in a rush today, then?”

george turns to look at you, shocked that you’re even talking to him—he never figured he’d be in a conversation with you. while your voice may have been teasing, your eyes are soft, warmed with kindness, and george melts. he manages to muster a tease back in your direction, “no, not today. but, look at you—in business casual attire, i was starting to believe you only knew how to dress in sweatshirts?”

you roll your eyes at him, and a smirk replaces your painfully polite smile, “ah? today must’ve not been the only day you’ve been staring at me, if you’re so familiar with how i dress…even though we’ve never spoken to each other before.” george’s mouth drops open at you checking him, and he can hear both baristas giggling behind the counter. and at that moment, george is pretty sure he fell in love with you right then—even though he didn’t have the balls to ask you out for another month and a half.

for those weeks, every time george came to the cafe, you would wave him over to your table with a bright grin and invite him to sit down across from you. even on days when he really couldn’t afford to be late, he’d find himself sitting down to chat with you. instead of being early to zoom meetings with the mercedes team, he started being on-time, often enough for lewis and toto to comment on it. his only response to their gentle prodding at the change in his behavior being, “i added another mile to my morning run,” when he really was spending those minutes talking to you after his run. after he built up the courage to ask for your number (platonically, of course), he would show up to the driver’s briefings a few minutes late, rushing in yet tapping away on his phone struggling to hide the smile on his face. for all of his superior senses, he doesn’t notice how his grid mates stare at him like he’s lost his mind; eventually, one of the officials calls him out when he glances down at the notifications popping up on his phone screen for the fourth time in five minutes, “mr. russell, i am sure that whatever you find so interesting on your phone can’t be more important than our discussion about track conditions, can it?”

george flushed red (he knew he shouldn’t have fed until later) and stumbled through an apology. after the briefing ends, the drivers start teasing him for being ‘so unprofessional,’ and lewis doesn’t help when he reveals how george has started being late to mercedes team meetings, too. charles pretends to faint, alex gasps in horror, and lando’s eyes light up at the opportunity to be a gremlin.

“boysboysboys,” lando grins, gathering everyone’s attention, “i think it’s finally happened.”

george sighed, over the dramatics already, “what’s happened, lando?”

“you’ve managed to get yourself a girlfriend!” lando shrieks, his high-pitched laughter hurting george’s ears.

george flusters, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “she’s not my girlfriend!” and, he’s only made it worse.

alex’s eyes widen, pointing at george in shock, “oh my god—so you are talking to a girl!” george groans and spins on his feet to leave the room, ignoring the jibes and teases of the grown men behind him.

later that night, his hotel room is infiltrated by almost half the grid (including fernando, for some reason), all seeming to rally behind their common goal of getting george to ask you on an actual date. they debase all of george’s points about why he shouldn’t ask you out—the main point being that he’s a fucking vampire—and ask him the one question that he’s been refusing to acknowledge, “you can smell how she feels—does she smell like she likes you?”

george hisses at them half-heartedly, more like a frazzled kitten than a terrifying monster, “yes, i’m already aware that she’s interested in me—that’s the problem! i’ve already led her on this whole time, and she doesn’t know that she has a crush on an undead, immortal, vampire!” the room quiets at his outburst, and he can only groan and drop his head into his hands.

“so just tell her,” max states bluntly, not looking away from the fifa game he’s beating charles’ ass in. george stares at max, appalled.

“let her make the decision for herself, right?” max starts, pausing the game to look at george, “for some bizarre reason she likes you for who you are,” george scoffs, “so, just tell her from the jump—you’ve already led her on enough, so give her the opportunity to decide whether or not if she should date your lame ass.”

the vampire stares at max disbelievingly, “that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

the red bull driver shrugs, ears turning red under the surprised stares in the room, and quickly un-pauses the game and scores on charles. the monegasque screams dramatically, and the tense air is broken. george shakily sighs, anxious, and pulls out his phone to ask you on a date. originally, he was thinking about asking you through a text, but with almost every driver in the room disapproving of any way he goes about wording it, he bares his fangs at them, and steps out of his own room, to call you.

the phone doesn’t even complete the first ring before you pick up, and a pleasant, “hi, georgieeee,” slips from your mouth; he can hear how you’re smiling through the phone. he banters with you for a minute, listening to how you're singing praises about his performance even though the actual race isn’t for another day. when the conversation dies down, he blurts out the question, “do you want to go on a—“

“i would love to go on a date with you!” you cut him off, eagerly, “i mean–sorry, yes. i would like to go out with you.” george laughs, relieved and comforted by the fact that you’re as gone for him as he is for you. he can’t even bring himself to be mad when he hears the men in his room raucously cheer.

and when george took you out for brunch to the same cafe, ignoring the baristas’ proud expressions, he realized he had nothing to worry about. the conversation flowed easily, he made you laugh and you made him laugh, and most importantly, he didn't think about draining you dry like a caprisun. you’ve ditched the cozy outfits and dressed up again—dressed up for him—and george is out of his running attire and fancied up; and you make a off-hand comment about how unnatural this feels, and george is reminded of the one important thing he was supposed to tell you. time has flown by so quickly while the two of you were hidden away in your preferred corner seat, and it’s become mid-afternoon. george surveys the surroundings briefly and is shocked to find that it’s only the two of you, and the baristas in the cafe; it’s the perfect time to tell you.

when george states that he’s a vampire, you obviously think he’s joking, “well, you’re not burning in the sunlight, georgie–so i don’t believe you! i am afraid that if this is a kink of yours, i don’t see a second date in the future.” he tries to smile at your joke but it ends up as more of a grimace, and he exposes his fangs for you to see. he hears the breath catch in your throat, sees your eyes widening in shock, blown-out pupils shrinking in fear, hears your heart beginning to race in your chest, blood rushing in your veins, and smells your scent souring.

“george russell,” you whisper yell, glancing around anxiously, “what the fuck! i believe you—you shouldn’t do that in public! what if someone else saw?!” and that’s when he realized that sure, a small amount of your fear was from the confirmation that he is a supernatural being—but mainly that, you were afraid for him. and at that point, george knew that he could allow himself to be vulnerable with you.

and after three years together, he fed from you for the first time. a lot of planning went into the initial feeding: after the end of the racing season, a trip away just for the two of you, george would satiate his thirst with his usual blood donor supply, he wouldn’t drink more than six ounces from you, you’d eat a full meal and be properly hydrated, and of course, he’d drink from you when you orgasm. the bite hurts in the beginning—george has been told many stories from feeders—and the most common distraction to the pain is a simultaneous orgasm. you were apprehensive yet extremely willing to allow george to drink from you, and told him that you trusted him completely—you even sat through his numerous clinical rundowns of the plan without complaining.

however in the moment, george diverted from the script. instead of having you cum once, george forced three orgasms out of you and bit you on the last one. he practically mauled your neck, chest, and hickeys throughout the night, as if he was teasing himself with the indents on of his teeth on your body before he bit into you. you couldn’t figure out if it was the venom from his bite or the multiple orgasms that had you floating pleasurably. george couldn’t deny that seeing you covered in love bites and his actual fang marks didn’t provoke a hidden possessive trait in him. the love bites he left on your body would fade within a few days, the bite mark would fade in around two weeks—and you told george explicitly that if he ever wanted to feed from you again, he’d be more than welcome to do so.

the vampire always thought that he was the one who was at risk for getting addicted to your blood; his greatest fear being that he wouldn’t be able to resist sucking you dry. however, it rapidly dawned on him: you’re the one who formed an addiction.

george always made sure his thirst was properly sated with his usual blood bags before he drank from you. over three months, he’d consistently make you cum whenever he bit you, whether it was with his fingers, cock, mouth, thigh, etc. but he never quite realized that he conditioned you into cumming whenever he bit you, until the singapore grand prix.

singapore was hot. it wasn’t hell on earth like qatar, but it was still fucking hot. and then, he crashed. as he made his way back to the mercedes garage (stomping under the force of his self-deprecation), he became increasingly aware of the tingle in the back of his throat; he’s hungry, he needs blood. he ignores his race engineer asking if he needs medical attention, and asks for a ‘juicebox,’ the codeword for a blood-bag. only to find out, he had his last one yesterday after qualifying—the hotter race weekends have him draining his supply quicker than usual. the vampire whimpers, and suddenly he’s bombarded by you speeding over from the back of the garage. you’re tugging his face down to eye level, worriedly asking if he’s hurt, but george can only register how alluring your blood smells. contrary to popular vampiric-belief (if that’s a thing, he has no clue), blood does not smell sweet. it smells metallic, and the overall scent is affected by water content and ph-level; you smell velvety, and absolutely perfect to george.

the vampire briefly reassures you that he’s fine, before he grabs you by the hand and turns to toto. george begs his team principal to postpone any of his post-race interviews for as long as he can so he can get a brief feeding in with you before he loses his mind any further. toto cuts george’s pleads off immediately and allows him to do whatever he needs; the brit's temper is short enough already, if your blood can calm his mouth toto will personally send you a brand new g-wagon.

george pulls you along to his driver’s room, slowing when he hears how you’re tripping over your feet two match his speed. he shoves the door open, but kindly guides you with a palm on the small of your back into the room, before he steps in and slams the door shut, locking it with a quickness. he speedily sits on the edge of his couch, and pulls you onto his lap, staring up at you with wide, pleading eyes.

“love,” he starts, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip, “may i drink from you? i should’ve been smarter about preserving my supply, usually i’m more careful about it, but i think i was just overager with everything this weekend. i’ll only take a small sip, just enough to hold me over until we fly back home, yeah? i mean, if you’re uncomfortable, i will not drink from you. i should be able to wait—”

you cover the vampire’s mouth with a hand, and smile softly at him, “yes, georgie, you can feed from me. the whole point of drinking from me was to have me acclimate to the feeling for rare situations like this, yes? i’m okay with it, you can take as much as you need from me.”

george stares at you for a few seconds, for some reason, he’s surprised at your easy allowance, before he’s shaken out of his stupor by you waving a hand in front of his face.

“i won’t be able to make you cum—i need to get out there as soon as possible,” george rambles out.

“ok,” you state, looking at him oddly, “i’m pretty sure i’ll be able to handle it, and if not you’ll know before i do.”

the brit asks if you’re sure one last time, before he effortlessly stands up with you in his arms, spins around and places you on the couch, sitting you where he was. the vampire kneels in front of you, and parts your legs gently, before tugging at the waistband of your pants for permission. you’re still reeling from his easy manhandling (you forget about his superior strength, he never makes it obvious), and how he fell to knees for you—the duality of his actions has you embarrassingly hot. you lift your hips up allowing george to tug off your pants, and you see firsthand how he loses his train of thought.

when george brings you along to a race, he avoids leaving marks in a visible spots, so unfortunately for him, your neck and torso are complete bruise free; the humid weather in singapore meant that you would be wearing tank tops or cropped shirts, so he can’t risk someone seeing a smidge of a bruise on your body; they wouldn’t understand. although, george could take his fill of marking you up on your thighs. the dark skin of your inner thighs is mottled with bruises from his lips and indents of his teeth, all in various stages of healing observed by the various shades of purple they’re colored in. george slowly presses a finger into one of the marks and smirks when a strangled gasp escapes you from the pressure. if the vampire wasn’t so focused on the scent of your blood, he’d probably notice how that motion alone already had you wet.

george buries his head between your thighs, close enough that you can feel the exhales of breath from his nose over your panties. you shift, squirming away from the feeling—this is about giving george blood, which he needs for sustenance, not for you to get turned on at, you try to remind yourself. the brit halts your movements, his hands flexing around you only slightly. you try and buck your hips away to test his grip, and you don’t move a single centimeter. you glance down, making eye-contact with your boyfriend, and the teasing smile he’s hiding behind your thigh has your heart rabbiting faster, even though you roll your eyes at him. george begins to lick and nip across your thighs searching for the best spot to pierce your skin, and you are trapped in your own mind. you’re at the mercy of an immortal being, you have no chance of fighting him off if you needed to. of course, you’re very aware that george wouldn’t lay a finger on you, but your hindbrain runs off of instincts, and it’s telling you george is a predator and you’re clearly his next meal. the adrenaline thrumming underneath your skin causes you to start breathing a little heavier and you manage to wrangle the instinctual fear away to relax under him. george startles you from your thoughts when his cold hand leads yours to rest on the nape of his neck, and he pauses when he feels you jump underneath him.

“hey, you can still say ‘no’ if you’re not ready for this yet. there’s no pressure, love,” george reassures you. the calming tone of his voice has no judgemental lilt, and his words soothe you enough to double-down with your agreement.

“thank you for doing this for me, love. as soon as we get back to the hotel, i’ll take care of you properly–i promise,” george praises you, “now, remember, this won’t take any longer than ten seconds. if you need me to stop beforehand, pinch the skin on my neck and i’ll stop, okay?”

you swallow, clearing your throat, “yes, george. can we start already? my nerves will scare me away if we wait too long.”

george nods, hands petting at your waist reassuringly, before he focuses back on your thighs. his nose tracing along your sensitive skin for a few more seconds, until he stops and nuzzles at a spot almost on the underside of your left thigh, close enough to your pussy to have the fear fade under the anticipation of pleasure. the vampire kisses at the spot three times, before he lets his fangs slide out with an audible shlick. he presses them gently against you skin for a few seconds before he bites down.

the pain isn’t from the invasion of his fangs, but from the spread of the venom. it burns as it spreads through your bloodstream; you imagine this is what boiling alive feels like. the feeling is immense but fleeting. the initial bite has always been paralyzing, but when george takes the first pull of blood, the venom must have reached your brain and taken effect, because the pain instantly switches to an immobilizing amount of pleasure. the scream that was originally building in your chest transforms into a keening moan, the burning pain no longer present.

you feel your core tightening as george continues to feast on your blood; thighs trembling in pleasure, eyes rolling back overwhelmed, and toes curling. it’s happening so quickly, quick enough that you don’t register that you’re cumming. waves of pleasure crash over you unendingly, and you’re unable to figure out why. every drag of blood george takes ruins any chance you have to think. the pleasure is so catastrophic that you don’t even register when george releases the bite.

the vampire can only stare up at you in awe as your mouth parts, drool beginning to leak from the corner of your lips, your eyes slamming shut, and face scrunching from the force of the orgasm he ripped out of you. george soothes the bite closed with careful sweeps of his tongue, allowing you all the time you need to come back to him. he softly sucks a few more marks into the meat of your thigh before he fights himself away from cradle of your legs, brushing a kiss on your cunt over your panties.

the vampire slides his way onto the couch next to you, pulling you into his arms to allow you to shake through the aftershocks in his grasp. he presses kisses to your forehead, while he murmurs praises freely. while his mouth is running in one direction, his thoughts take a completely different turn.

he’s ruined you for any other person. he’s trained you to orgasm with a simple bite of his fangs. your body has correlated the painful spread of his venom with pleasure. george has tied you to him for the rest of your life. this is a huge fucking problem. his mind starts racing; if that’s the case he either needs to work that out of you, or he can never feed from you in situations like this again. you’ll be useless for the rest of the day, your brain has turned into jello. he needs to make sure that he manages his blood supply properly in the future, so he doesn’t have to drink from you where the media can discover how gone you are.

george has no idea how he would go about un-training your…pleasurable…response to his bite. on second thought, george doesn’t want to change your newfound reflex. if anything, it’s like an equal exchange. the vampire satiates his thirst, and you satiate your thirst. george coos at you adoringly when he hears the near inaudible moans your breathing into his neck—yeah, he thinks you’ll agree with him when you’re aware enough to do so.

he finds himself tracing the fresh bite mark with a thumb, groaning when your hips grind against him in return. he fumbles his phone out of his pocket to tell toto he needs at least another twenty minutes.

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captainreecejames · 1 month

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"You Can Call Her Phone" Series (George's Version)

author's note : okay here's the george version!!

pairing : George Russell x Fem!Reader

warnings : swearing, shitty men, and not proof read

word count : 597

“Darling!” George calls out to you from the kitchen. You’re currently folding laundry on the couch, and apparently nowhere near your phone. “Who’s this Josh Do Not Answer on your phone?” His question makes you groan and that makes him even more curious. “I’m going to answer it!”

“Wait!” You call out, jumping up from your spot to stop him, but you’re too late, speaker already next to his ear the by the time you get to the kitchen.

“Hello Josh!” George’s voice is cheery to the point of disgust and he’s smiling widely at you in way that makes you narrow your eyes. You try to grab the phone from him, but he just dodges your advances. You think Josh is talking, but you’re too focused on trying to grab the phone instead of straining your ears to hear him speak.

George’s eyes then narrow and he frowns, at which you stop trying to grab the phone and just wait. “Now, I don’t think that’s true at all mate.” He then directs himself towards you. “YN, you’ve told this Josh fellow that we’re dating right?”

His question makes you confused, because of course you have. And also, you’ve been dating for well over 2 years, there’s no way he could miss it. “Of course I have.” You’re sure you are loud enough for Josh to hear you over the phone.

“Yeah, she says that’s not true, Josh, and I have to believe her. But also, we’ve been together for almost three years, so there’s no way you could miss it. I’m sure it’s all over your social media because I’m a famous Formula One driver and she’s an amazing lawyer.” The subtle —not— brag causes you to roll your eyes, but it stops you from wanting to grab your phone and instead listen to how this plays out. “Let me listen,” you whisper to him as Josh is talking again and George nods, moving the phone away so he can put it on speaker.

“—She’s been giving me signals, mate. I’m talking sex eyes and lip biting.” That makes you roll your eyes even harder. “So, even if you two have been dating for a little while there’s no way she’s been loyal to you, not with the way she's been with me. Probably fucked half the grid behind your back.” That makes you scoff, and George can’t stop you from grabbing the phone from his hand.

“Hi Josh, this is YN,” your voice must be a shock to him, “I just wanted to let you know that those ‘sex eyes’ I’ve been making at you were actually ‘please get the fuck away from me you perv’ eyes.” George looks even more amused, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “I will also be filling another complaint with HR on Monday for the harassment after work. I think that will be enough to terminate your contract and get you a pretty long list of places to not even think about applying to after your unemployment.” At that you end the call, placing your phone back down on the counter and then giving your boyfriend a stern look. “And this is why he’s Josh Do Not Answer on my phone, George.”

He just shrugs, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in. “Yeah, but if I hadn’t done that I wouldn’t have gotten to see you be all Lawyer YN on him.” He pauses to give you a quick kiss. “And you know I think Lawyer YN is incredibly sexy.”

#george russell #george russell x reader #george russell x fem!reader #george russell imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #my stories

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httpsleclerc · 6 months

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Hi bestie :) it's me :) there's no prompt or anything but can I request George and Russell!reader (younger sister) always trying to spend time together whenever they can when it's during the season,, something like getting lunch/dinner or having movie nights?? Thank ya ✨🩷

big brother George im literally curled up in a ball on the floor pulling my hair out.

You giggled as you heard George groan as you flopped down on the couch beside him, you acted offended - How dare he be so offended at your, now often rare company, while it was his home race and he was home visiting his family; which included you, his annoying, yet admittedly lovable little sister.

You were 7 years younger than George, and had turned 18 earlier in the year, unfortunately, your birthday fell on the weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix, and your brother had missed out on all the festivities. He felt guiltier when your parents had told him that you didn't enjoy your birthday as much as they had thought you would, and when they asked you about it, you said that you just missed your brother. Since you had moved away to attend university, yours and Georges schedules never seemed to match up anymore, but since this was his home race, you decided it would be rude of you not to at least attempt to attend it.

"Don't act like you didn't miss me, Georgie," He hated that nickname, well, from anyone but you who called him by it. George smiled at you as you leant against him, the TV in front of you playing the newest Spider-Man movie on Netflix. "Are you nervous for your race?" You asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Let's not talk about the race, we're just having a movie night," He changed the subject, he already spent enough time away from you due to racing, so he didn't want to spend the little time he had with you talking about it. "How's uni going?" George asked you, knowing that you were a bit stressed out by all of your upcoming assignments for a while.

"It's fine, I passed all my first semester classes, which I didn't think I would," You mumbled quietly, fidgeting with your hands. "it's just really stressful." You admitted. George frowned at your admission - He knew how smart you were, and he knew what you were capable off.

"I know it's easier said than done, but try not to stress about it, okay? You don't need to be thinking about uni right now," You relaxed as you realised that your brother was capable of speaking sense, and you leaned into him as he put his arm around you, pulling you into his side. "I have missed you." George told you, although he wasn't lying, at this point he just wanted to see you smile - But apparently, his confession of sibling affection made you sleepy.

"Sorry, it was a long train journey this morning," You sleepily apologised, resting your head on your brothers chest as you found yourself getting more and more relaxed. George smiled, kissing the top of your head and continuing to watch the movie that played on the TV.

#george russell x fem!reader #george russell #george russell x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #George Russell x sister!reader #f1 x sister!reader #x sister reader

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jamminvroomvroom · 1 year

Text

on the weekends.

gr x fem!reader

finally done with the george win smut! sorry it took ages but we made it lol - mentally i am still in brazil. lemme know what you think ily ily ily!!

btw this is not linked to the george fic, this is a standalone! dedicating this one to @wetforwolff and @lovely-leclerc - you asked, you shall receive <3

warnings: 18+!! it’s smut!! bit of fluff, bit of angst, language, alcohol

3.5k words

you’d anticipated this day for as long as you’d known george. he looked like a winner, walked like a winner, talked like a winner. he fucked you like one, too.

back when you were just getting toto his coffee and george was making powerpoints, you knew this day would come. when you were taking on a bigger role and he was dragging the williams into q3, you knew this day would come. when you were finally at the top of the job ladder, draped in merc team kit in the garage every weekend and he was pulling a top five out of the bag every single time he got in the car, you knew this day would come.

you’d been stood in the back of the garage biting your nails, trying not to draw attention to yourself and your nerves. the humidity drove you insane, but not as much as he did. no one needed to know just how close you and george could get after a long weekend, and now wasn’t the time to publicise it. toto was back at the factory, leaving you exposed; usually you’d hide behind him when things heated up on track. you weren’t supposed to care which merc brought it home p1. a win was a win, a one-two was a one-two, and lewis was on the hunt. fair game. you knew you were fucked when you prayed that car number sixty three would come out on top. you knew it was foolish and selfish but a celebratory night in the sheets boded better than a consolation fuck.

a mercedes one-two and a meltdown at redbull rounded off your weekend perfectly. george had done it, just like you knew he would. lewis had pulled off the recovery drive that added more flavour to his greatness. a perfect day in the office, realised by three trophies to tell the tale.

toto was blowing up your phone. you answered, trying to wade through the masses in parc ferme. you lingered by the scales, pressing the big green button on your phone, toto’s face filling the screen, aged by a lacklustre season, masked by the elation of triumph. you beamed as you rambled about data and upgrades and and told him that you’d try and find george. you didn’t need to look much further.

a large hand ghosted over your waist, a shiver running up your spine and back down again. you turned, breath hitching in your throat. he was breathtaking; sweating, blue eyes clouded red, veins prominent in his trembling hands. his hair was a mess, body shaking from the adrenaline and his smile was so wide, so emotional that you almost doubled over. you couldn’t help but stare at him, at the blood, sweat and tears that had made him great. beautiful bastard.

you very rarely felt small in the presence of a man. you refused to, taking up space was the key to survival in your line of work. but for once, you allowed yourself to shrink, to succumb to it, the size of george. the size of success. he looked different, powerful. your thighs clenched.

all he did was stare back at you, a telepathic communication pinging backwards and forwards.

he was going to ruin you, and you were going to let him.

“are you there? hello?” toto grumbled, too excited to be mad at your ignorance towards him.

“oh- um,” you fumbled, thrusting the phone towards george. “it’s for you.” you smiled. his fingers brushed yours in the midst of the transaction and you shivered again. “someone’s very proud of you.” you murmured, eyes never leaving his.

you let your tongue swipe your bottom lip, hoping he knew that amongst all the chaos, you weren’t just talking about toto. it was dangerous to be so obvious in public, you could do that later, on your knees. with toto harping away in the background, george’s eyes darkened; it was too much, the adrenaline and your double meanings. dark blue eyes mentally undressed you, glancing hungrily over your body, and you felt naked in parc ferme. maybe one day you’d let him fuck you in the garage, you thought. perhaps if he won a title.

“i’ll bet.” he mirrored your action and licked his lips, the quickest wink being thrown at you, the most carefree you allowed him to be in public, and he turned his attention to your boss, who was bellowing away like the world’s proudest dad.

tonight was the night. brazil never disappointed.

hours passed, the muggy afternoon blurring into the hazy night. the champagne flowed, as did a few tears, the man of the moment being carried around on anyones shoulders and hosed down with alcohol. the team had craved this, worked for it, earned it. it was a bit like your relationship with george, really.

you couldn’t take your eyes off him, your entire body tingling in anticipation for later. so when it was finally time to go, you tried to slip away, get back to the hotel as quickly as you could. but of course, nothing ever got past george. he was the right amount of tipsy to grab both of your hands in his, right there at the entrance of the hospitality suite, and insist that you just share his ride back. it was stupid, utterly reckless, but you were the right amount of tipsy to accept.

hands intertwined, you stared at each other some more, until someone cleared their throat and you were being ushered out into the exposure of the paddock.

he didn’t let go and you didn’t make him.

he didn’t leave you any time to go back to your hotel room, coaxing you easily straight back to his. the tension between you was suffocating, it had been all afternoon, but nothing beat the journey from the track back to his hotel.

you’d gotten stuck in traffic, just as you always did in são paulo, which sent hands wandering early, carefully hidden from the driver that had the misfortune of picking you up. he trailed his fingers from your knee and up, up, up, occasionally grazing the fabric of your panties. your thighs would snap shut every time he did, your face a flaming shade of red. you looked out the window with wide eyes, trying to mask the urge to roll your hips, and all he did was stare at you, a devilish grin spread across his face.

you’d hurried out of the car, stumbling into the hotel lobby. you both did your worst at pretending that you weren’t tipsy, straight faces wavering as his hand dipped too low on the small of your back. you gave in, foolish, letting yourself lean into his side, giggling up at him with your head rested against his shoulder. your were caught up in the moment, blindsided by lovesickness, as he guided you into the elevator.

your breathing shook, fingers balled up as you tried to resist the cliche make out session in the elevator. it’s as if he could read your mind, pulling one of your hands into his and intertwining your fingers. he didn’t take it any further, not yet, knowing that no matter what the pair of you may have wanted, there was a time and a place. both were rapidly approaching as the lift reached its destination and you were let loose into the corridor. suddenly, nothing was funny anymore. urgency takes over.

down the corridor, force the key into the slot, wait for the green light. your back is against the door the second it’s been slammed shut. you’re used to this, the sudden pounce of him. your relationship survived on stolen moments and hurried touches, rapid pleasure. it was intense and the need for more fuelled you both because once could never be enough. so when he kissed you, it was quick, carrying the force and speed of a race car. you found yourself realising that for once, there wasn’t a flight to catch, or someone just waiting to interrupt, and your hands flew to his face, taking control of the pace. you deepened the kiss, slowing him down and licking your way into his mouth.

he seemed to get the hint, and you felt the slow press of his body moulding against yours as your lips moved together, nice and deep. it was different. your heart grew about ten sizes, on the verge of exploding for him. you moved across the room in some kind of trance, floating to the bed. shoes were kicked off, merc embroidered shirts discarded in a painful reminder of a pile, unidentifiable fingers working in the darkness to undo his trousers, to tug down your skirt. in nothing but your underwear, you tumbled into bed.

you were a mess of touches in the dark, clambering on top of him, his hands finding your hips. he held you tight, close, encouraging the roll of your hips and you sunk into his body. you could make out his face in the dim light, his shadowy features contorting as he lost any remaining scrap of control.

you were on your back in a blink, kisses pressed to your sternum, over the lace of your bra, peppered down your navel. your panties were peeled off, flung behind him onto the floor, instantly forgotten. he’d been waiting to get between your legs all weekend, desperate for you after the sprint, forced to wait by the reality of your jobs. he couldn’t wait any longer, wouldn’t. he slung one of your legs over his shoulder, open mouthed kisses pressed from your knee, all the way down to your inner thigh, as his arm wound its way around your other leg, spreading you open.

he was ready to dive in when you pushed yourself up on your elbows, one hand reaching down to cup his jaw, making him look at you. his eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why you’d stopped him when he could see just how bad you needed him, the way you glistened for him becoming a familiar, welcomed sight.

“george,” you breathed, “supposed to be celebrating you.” all he did was smile at you, leaning in closer to where you were aching.

“couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart.” and with that, he escaped your hold, licking a stripe through your folds.

you fell back into the sheets, eyes glazing over and quickly squeezing shut. george was messy with it, licking into your cunt with an enthusiasm that had you arching further and further into him. his large hands gripped harder on your thighs, tightening every time you moaned louder. his tongue swirled across your folds, alternating between long laps and featherlight flicks across your clit, the differing sensations having you embarrassingly close already.

“george, stop, i’m gonna cum. want you in me. please.” you begged, warning him of just how close you were to your undoing, desperate to feel him back on top of you.

he didn’t let up for a second, barely even acknowledged you. all he did was stare up at you, amused eyes twinkling through the darkness as he doubled his efforts. all of the sudden, you were numb with pleasure, writhing against the sheets. your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping at the dirty blonde locks so hard that it must of hurt, but just like everything else you threw at him, he seemed to be enjoying it, humming into your pussy as he helped you ride out your orgasm. it all felt too much, too overwhelming; you didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him even closer.

finally the pleasure began to subside, relief washing over you for barely a second before he was pushing two fingers through your folds. his tongue continued to curl against your clit as he slid his fingers inside you. you whined at the overstimulation, grinding your hips to meet his movements.

“george, i can’t-“ you started, panting, only to be cut off.

“you’re gonna keep coming for me, sweetheart. okay?” he told you bluntly, fingers working into you quickly. “do you know why? because i won.” he smirked, “i won and this is my reward.”

you could already feel your second orgasm building, his words along making you shake, his fingers hitting your spot each time with ease. you were dripping all over him, limp from the pleasure, desperate to cum just so that he’d put you out of your misery and fuck you.

“one more for me, yeah? one more, darling, and i’ll stop.” george murmured, thumb brushing over your clit, fingers beginning a deep grind into you.

“please, george.” you whined, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

he kept going, going, going, until you were shaking once more, seeing nothing but white, hips bucking wildly, uncontrollably. he had his mouth back on you, lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers buried inside of you, until he was sure that you were finished. you laid there lifeless, the aftershocks rocking your body while he licked his fingers clean. your mouth parted at the sight, eyes fluttering shut when you felt his lips working across your thigh, to the crease where your leg met your body, up, up, up, until he was hovering over you again.

your fingers interlocked at the nape of his neck, twisting in his hair to pull him close. he kissed you, ferocious, pulling your thigh over his hip to line himself up with your entrance. your mouths fell open as he slipped inside of you, broken moans tumbling from your lips and into his mouth. you could hear his breath stuttering as he sunk deeper and deeper into you, until his hips hit yours.

“how does that feel, darling? being fucked by the race winner?” george groaned lowly, lips skimming the shell of your ear as he spoke. you tightened around him inadvertently, feeling a rush of wetness at his words.

“so good, you’re so good.” you whimpered, absolutely pathetic beneath him. all you could do was give in, let him have his way with you. it’s what you both needed.

“i know, love. i know.” he muttered, his arrogance as he fucked into you making you weaker and weaker. it was obscene, the way his behaviour was such a turn on to you. if any other man dared to speak that way, so unsubtly cocky, you’d roll your eyes and find the nearest exit. but for some reason, when george did it, you were ready to fall to your knees; you got off on seeing him succeed.

“you feel like fucking heaven.” george sighed, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he slammed into you, rhythm never faltering, hard and deep into your dripping cunt. “all i could think about in the car when i crossed that line was you. knew you’d be soaked for me, darling,” he whispered. “knew it as soon as i saw you after the race, had that look like you were just waiting to be fucked. i would have done it right there, you know, in the middle of parc fucking fermé.”

you cried out, body shuddering at his admission, completely boneless on the bed as he rocked into you. you knew you were close, urgently approaching your orgasm, wanting to get him there too. you could tell he was getting closer to his end, breathing getting heavier, thrusts getting slightly more frantic.

“come on george, want you to cum for me. need it.” you pleaded, nails raking over his scalp and down across his shoulder blades, digging in to leave red tracks down his back. you could feel him tensing under your touch, chest to chest, breath mingling as he pulled away from your neck to look at you. to really, properly, look at you.

something happened, then, that you couldn’t quite grasp. it happened all at once, something changing in his eyes that you knew was mirrored in your own, something that you couldn’t articulate, that you’d never let him see before. you didn’t know if he was feeling it for the first time, or if he was like you, too scared of reality to let it slip through. as quickly as it happened, you were squeezing your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the pleasure of having him on top of you, your legs tightening around his waist, trapping him against you.

you fell apart, levitating somewhere above the clouds, seeing nothing but white. the only thing that brought you out of it, back to life again, was the feeling of his weight crashing down on top of you, not a millimetre between your slick bodies. the groan he let out was carnal, utterly delirious as he came down from his high.

when he kissed you after, making no effort to get off of you, you let yourself have hope for the first time ever.

afterwards, it was quiet. it usually was between you. sometimes there was only time for the quiet moments, no time for whispers across pillows or to be held in his arms. tonight there was time. you could hear his breath slowing, you own heartbeat still ringing in your ears. next, there was the crumpling of the sheets as he turned towards you.

you were laying on your side, facing away from him. you needed these moments after to compose yourself, to take it all in before it was over again, until the next time. his hand grazed your waist, down to where the duvet covered you, grabbing softly at your hip. you could feel his body heat, turning slowly to look up at him. he was resting on his forearm, fingers trailing over any bare skin he could find.

neither of you spoke yet, there was still no need. you curled into him as he laid himself back against the pillows, enveloped in his arms. your head rested on his chest, a sense of total calm settling over you. you dreaded these moments, because it always felt the same. he made you feel safe and warm and relaxed, and it was awful. it was especially awful when there was only one race left before he would disappear off on holiday, and then go back to his family, and you’d submerge yourself in christmas drinks in london and making sure that the w14 wasn’t as god awful.

then, you’d see him again in february wondering if he’d finally gotten a girlfriend, despite that inkling of hope, or if he was bored of your face every time he shut the door of a hotel suite. you were far too scared to broach either topic and somehow he always came back to you. what if he didn’t, though? what then? you’d never be allowed to enjoy him all the time because what if? what if? you were only allowed him on the weekends. he could only be yours on the weekends, when everyone else stopped paying attention. looks shared in the heat of the moment did nothing to change that.

“i meant what i said. couldn’t have done it without you, you know.” he broke the silence, and you were thankful that you didn’t have to do it.

you let his words sink in. you hadn’t been able to before, submerged too quickly into the white hot pleasure to form a coherent thought.

“it’s a team effort.” you whispered. you didn’t move to look up at him. you couldn’t bare it for some reason.

“no. that’s not what i mean.” his voice was somewhat even, only slightly laced with annoyance. george never liked having to over-explain himself, he was very good at making people understand the first time. apparently that had never quite translated to you, too much time spent second guessing him, and more importantly, yourself.

“what i’m trying to say is thank you. for everything. for believing in me.” he murmured, lips pressing against your hairline. his fingers found yours in the dark, lacing them together. “with you, it’s a different kind of team effort. always felt like you were on my side. when i was at williams, when i joined you at mercedes, you always had my back.”

you stayed silent, unsure of what this meant, words being spoken softly into the darkness. it was overwhelming, having him vocalise his gratitude to you, something he’d never really done before.

“always knew you’d do it.” you whispered, words fanning across his chest. it was all a bit too intimate, unfamiliar territory being explored for the first time.

he turned into you, your head no longer resting on his chest, the low visibility doing nothing to hide the desire in his eyes as he leaned in and kissed you. it was slow, soft, that feeling from before nagging at you as your naked bodies moulded together. one hand cupped his neck, the other still held tightly in his.

this never happened after. ever.

how long could it last? slow kisses turned into sleep, held tight against his chest as the night faded into the misery of monday morning, and the weekend was over.

we love an ambiguous ending lol

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @turningxstrange @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @organasith @micks-afterglow @blueflorals @juno-1610 @lqvesoph

i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working! pls let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist or removed! <3

#george russell #george russell x fem!reader #george russell smut #george russell fluff #george russell angst #george russell imagine #george russell oneshot #george russell x you #george russell fic #george russell writing #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 oneshot #f1 angst #f1 fics #f1 imagine

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disneyprincemuke · 3 months

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ღ this barbie is a race car driver

"did you hear who honda signed?"

"yeah, the daughter of the guy who owns the team."

"what's that about? can she even race?"

"that's what she claims, according to honda's team principal."

"i reckon they just said that cause she's the boss's daughter."

a pair of heels clicking against the polished ground makes the men huddled in a circle collectively turn their heads. the overwhelming clad of pink makes some of them raise their eyebrows: a baby pink dress peeking through her dark pink jacket.

"fans aren't allowed back here," max says hesitantly with a small smile.

"we can take a picture, if you'd like," lando grins, stepping forward. "have you got a phone on you?"

the woman tilts her head. her eyes are big as she stares at the crowd of men in front of her with her shiny lips puckered unknowingly. she furrows her eyebrows slightly, making alex suck in a deep breath.

great, another fan who will villainise them for pushing them out of a restricted area, is all alex could think.

they watch as she takes a deep breath. she perks up with a wide smile, throwing her head back dramatically. she waves her hand in the air with a laugh. "no, silly! i drive for honda," she says with a grin. "you must be lando! and, max, right?"

lando's eyebrows shoot up in shock. a small smile stretches his lips. "oh, i'm so sorry. i didn't mean to–"

"it's no problem!" she giggles, scrunching her nose at lando. "we never met so that's okay!"

she introduces herself and extends her arm out to them with a grin. "congrats on all the titles!" she says to max with a smile. she turns to george with a grin. "i love the hilfiger sweater. i can't seem to find one in my size when i went shopping yesterday."

"uh," george trails off, glancing at alex briefly before looking at her again. "i can try and get you one. no promises, though."

"right," max grins. he points further into the hallway. "the driver's briefing is the last door on the right."

"of course!" she claps excitedly. "it was nice meeting you! i'll see you guys later!"

she waves at them excitedly, earning herself a chorus of dull and monotonous goodbyes and unenthusiastic waves.

alex points at her figure walking down the hall. "very barbie."

"ah, that's who she reminded me of!"

taglist: @angsthology @cashtons-wife @darleneslane (comment to be added)

#max verstappen x reader #lando norris x reader #george russell x reader #alex albon x reader #disneyprincemuke sd #fem!driver #f1 fem!driver #female driver #formula 1 fanfic #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1

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oofthwoods · 2 months

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CHAPTER ONE! ── ˙ ̟ bring home the glory !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: "what is a legacy? it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. i wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me". | a victorious journey always begins with a death and an offer.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: funerals, grief and death. if you don't feel comfortable with these themes, go straight to the part after 2023. you won't lose much, i promise! the second part is somehow based on right hand man from hamilton, don't ask about it. this is pretty much a prologue number two tbh, but i still hope you enjoy it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 3.2k

⭠ previous masterlist next ‭→

2021

In the solemn setting of the cemetery, the sun hung in the sky, seemingly unaware of the grief below. Its golden rays contrasted sharply with the darkness consuming your soul, each beam of light piercing through the heavy clouds of sorrow. As tears streaked your face, the warmth of the sun felt out of place, a painful reminder of the world's indifference to your shattered heart.

Standing beside the graveside, you looked up to the sky, seeking solace in its vastness. But the heavens offered no comfort, no relief from the ache within. You wondered why the sky remained clear, why it didn't reflect the storm of emotions raging inside you. Its serene blue expanse seemed to mock your devastation, its unwavering indifference amplifying your pain.

Your mother and her siblings stood ahead, their shoulders bowed under the weight of grief, their sobs a haunting melody that echoed through the air. But you stood alone, isolated in your sorrow, drowning in memories that threatened to consume you whole.

Memories of your grandfather flooded your mind like a deluge, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had lost. His laughter, once a source of joy and comfort, now felt distant and painful, a cruel reminder of all that had been taken from you. His stories, his wisdom, his gentle touch — they all seemed like distant echoes of a life that was slipping further and further away with each passing moment.

You recalled his final moments, the frailty of his form, the sadness in his eyes as he whispered his last words to you. "Be proud of who you are," he had said, his voice barely a whisper, his breath brushing against your cheek. "And never forget where you come from. Your roots are your strength, my dear." His words had been a lifeline in the storm of your grief, a reminder of the legacy he had left behind, of the love that would endure long after he was gone.

As you stood beside his grave, the words offered little solace. They felt empty, a faint reminder of the warmth once found in his embrace. You longed to reach out to him, to feel the warmth of his touch one last time, to beg for just a moment more in his comforting presence. But he was gone, lost to you forever in a world that seemed infinitely colder and darker without him.

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely as you whispered your silent goodbyes to him, each word a prayer for his eternal peace. But even as you spoke, you knew that no amount of tears could ever hope to fill the void he had left behind, that no words could ever hope to capture the depth of your loss.

As you stood there, lost in your grief, the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind. You turned to see your mother returning, her eyes red and swollen from tears, her expression etched with the same pain that weighed heavily on your own heart. For a moment, you simply stood there, sharing a silent understanding born from the depths of your shared sadness.

Without a word, she wrapped you in a gentle hug, her arms providing solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. "I'm not sure I can go on without him, Mom," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Her embrace tightened, her fingers gently combing through your hair. "I feel the same way, sweetheart. But we have to find strength, for his sake," she whispered softly, her words tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

As you leaned into her embrace, the weight of your grief seemed to press down upon you, threatening to crush you beneath its relentless force. Your mother's presence briefly brought comfort, like a delicate lifeline amidst the stormy sea of emotions swirling inside you.

"I miss him so much already," you confessed with your voice trembling. "It feels like a part of me is missing, like I'll never be whole again."

Her arms tightened around you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone. "I know, my love. I do too," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He was the heart of our family, the glue that held us together."

A bittersweet silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Memories of your grandfather danced through your mind like flickering candle flames, casting shadows of laughter and love against the walls of your grief-stricken heart.

"Do you think he's watching over us?" you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the evening.

Her hand stilled against your hair. "I'd like to think so," she replied, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I'd like to believe that he's found peace, that he's somewhere out there, looking down on us with love in his heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined him, a silent guardian in the heavens above, watching over you with a warmth that transcended the boundaries of life and death. "I hope he knows how much we love him," you whispered, your words a fervent prayer whispered into the vast expanse of the sky.

"I'm sure he does, my dear," she murmured, her voice soft with tenderness. "And I know that wherever he is, he'll always be with us, guiding us through the darkness, lighting our way with the love that he left behind."

As your mother's words gently washed over you, a sudden movement caught your eye. In the corner of your vision, a flash of royal blue fluttered amidst the solemn surroundings. You blinked, momentarily startled, before fixing your gaze on the delicate creature that alighted on a nearby branch.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you beheld the bird, its feathers shimmering like fragments of the sky woven into living form. With a heart full of wonder, you watched as it stretched its wings, basking in the fading light of the evening sun.

"We can leave now, if you're ready, sweetheart." her mother murmured, delicately turning her daughter's face to meet her own.

As your mother looked into your eyes, you could see the sadness reflecting in them, speaking volumes on its own. Although she softly hinted that you could go if you wished, it was evident that she longed for some respite from the weight of your mutual grief. Beneath her calm demeanor, you sensed her vulnerability, a silent plea to escape the overpowering sorrow surrounding you both. With a simple nod, you silently agreed.

With a mix of sadness and resolve, you followed your mother's lead, letting her guide you away from the graveside and back into the world. While you walked together, a quick look back caught your attention, drawing your eyes to the scene you were departing. And there, on top of the gravestone, sat the blue bird, its colorful feathers standing out against the solemn surroundings.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you watched the bird, a silent sentinel overlooking the final resting place of your beloved grandfather. He seemed to look at you, and, if birds could smile, you would swear he did.

2023

You find yourself standing outside a closed door, your hand hesitantly reaching out to lightly tap against the wood. The muffled voices from within only add to your uncertainty, but the urgency of speaking with the team principal before the Abu Dhabi sprint pushes you to take action. Whatever discussion awaits behind that door must be significant enough to pull you away from your pre-race meeting with the mechanics.

In the stillness of the hallway, time seems to stretch endlessly as you wait for a response that never comes. With a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins, you finally muster the courage to grasp the doorknob. Its cool metal provides a fleeting sense of reassurance as you turn it slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest as the door swings open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, seated at a table, is Mr. Vowles, engrossed in conversation. Your presence at the threshold goes unnoticed for a moment until you gather your resolve and speak up, your voice barely above a whisper as you address him.

"Mr. Vowles, did you need to see me?" you venture, your words hanging in the air with a hint of uncertainty.

At the sound of your voice, James looks up, his expression softening into a welcoming smile.

"Williams, come in," he says, his warm tone instantly easing your nerves as he gestures for you to enter. "Have you met Sargeant?" he continues, motioning towards a figure standing nearby, their presence previously hidden in the shadows of the room.

As James mentions Logan, it's like a floodgate of memories bursting open, whisking you back to the time when you and Logan shared an unbreakable bond. You were inseparable, navigating the twists and turns of life at the academy with laughter, support, and a shared vision of the future.

But as the competition for a spot in Formula One heated up, your friendship began to strain. What started as friendly competition slowly morphed into something more complicated. The pressure mounted, and with it came a subtle shift in your relationship. Each race seemed to drive a wedge between you, rather than bringing you closer.

It was at the peak of your rivalry that things started to unravel. Every little disagreement or perceived slight seemed to fester, poisoning the once vibrant atmosphere between you. Despite your efforts to keep up appearances, there was an underlying tension that threatened to fracture your bond.

When Logan secured a seat at Williams while you remained in F2, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you. Of course, you were genuinely happy for him, but there was also a pang of envy and disappointment gnawing at your heart. It felt like a piece of your own dream slipping away, leaving you grappling with a sense of loss you couldn't quite shake.

And then, just when you thought things couldn't get any more complicated, James hinted at the possibility of you stepping into Logan's shoes. The idea of replacing your friend-turned-competitor added another layer of complexity to an already tangled web of emotions. It was a constant battle between your ambition and the fear of losing the one person who had been by your side through it all.

"Yes, sir," you respond, choosing a simple response. Logan's gaze meets yours, seeming to ignite with intensity. "We keep on meeting"

In a deliberate choice of silence, Logan sidestepped any engagement with you, his eyes fixed on the team leader instead. "As I was just saying," he began, his voice brimming with confidence, "I truly believe that with these adjustments, I can improve my control over the car."

James reciprocated Logan's smile, though his gaze hinted at a wandering mind. "Sargeant?" he interrupted, signaling a shift in focus to another pressing matter.

"Yes, sir?" Sergeant replied promptly, ready for further instructions.

"We'll talk about this later. Close the door on your way out," James commanded, his tone decisive, drawing their exchange to a close.

As Logan's footsteps faltered on his way out, a pang of unease settled in your chest. You couldn't shake the guilt that crept in, knowing your success might come at the cost of his dreams.

In the relentless world of Formula One, sentimentality was a luxury few could afford. You grappled with the harsh reality that success often meant sacrificing the dreams of others. It was a something you had grappled with since the beginning of your journey, one that forced you to confront the truth that in this fiercely competitive arena, there would always be someone waiting in the wings to take your place if you faltered.

As you redirected your focus towards James, the man who now held the reins of your family's team, you couldn't help but reflect on the rarity of such a moment. Conversations with him had been few and far between, a testament to the typical hierarchy within Formula One teams where direct interaction between a team leader and a junior driver, especially mere hours before a pivotal race, was uncommon.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” You ventured, a tinge of uncertainty coloring your tone.

"Not at all, quite the opposite actually," James responded, rising from his seat and leaning casually against the table, his arms folded. "Your stats this season are impressive—seven wins, numerous podium finishes. You've got a bright future ahead of you. But here's the thing, every day I see offers come across my desk to buy out your contract, and frankly, I find it amusing."

"Uh, sorry, I'm not following," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.

"Williams, why is it that no team seems to be able to snag you?" James clarified, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. "You're undeniably talented, but turning down offers from big names like Alpine and Alpha Tauri might not be the smartest move."

"To drive their tractor, or worse, become a reserve driver? I don't think so." you remarked with a disbelieving smirk.

"Think about it, a spot at Alpha Tauri could open doors at Red Bull down the line," James suggested, attempting to sway your perspective.

"Everyone knows they have their sights set on Daniel Ricciardo, or Liam Lawson at best" you countered, a note of frustration creeping into your voice. "I'm a bit lost here. Why are you laying all this out for me?" you questioned, a perplexed furrow creasing your brow. You knew full well the offers on the table and why you were declining them. James likely wasn't in the dark about your reasons either.

"I'm just being honest with you," He replied, his tone carrying a hint of earnestness. His hand reached up to rub his forehead, fingers tracing over the lines etched there as if seeking solace in the familiar. "We're on a tight budget," he explained, a touch of resignation in his voice. "We're short on engineers and mechanics compared to almost everyone else, except maybe Haas and Sauber. While we've made progress since last year, I can't promise our car will match up to the competition next season."

James lifted his gaze, fixing it upon you with a mixture of earnestness and concern. "I'm not one to squander talent. I know you've got your reasons for sticking with us, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have you on board. But I can't move forward without ensuring you understand exactly what you're signing up for."

"I'm just asking for a shot, James. Just one chance to prove that we've still got what it takes," you implored, your words tinged with determination. Images of past triumphs flickered through your mind, a reminder of the team's glory days.

With a weary smile, James let out a soft sigh. "Seems like sheer tenacity runs in the family, huh?"

"They used to say I took after my grandmother," you remarked casually, a wistful grin playing on your lips.

Turning to the desk, the man retrieved a piece of paper from a drawer, his movements deliberate and measured. "What are the odds?"

You knew precisely what he was referring to. "Iwasa's already out of the running. If I take the sprint, I'll have enough points to clinch the championship."

Extending the contract towards you, James presented it as if unveiling a glimpse of what lay ahead. "Win this championship, and the seat is yours."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the anticipation that crackled between you. With the contract poised like a tantalizing promise, the room seemed to hold its breath.

You reached out tentatively, fingers hovering over the document that held the potential to shape your future. The paper felt crisp beneath your touch.

"I know it's a risk, trading one rookie for another" James conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. "But I believe in you, and I need someone who believes in this team."

A surge of determination coursed through your veins, bolstered by James's unwavering faith. "I won't let you down," you vowed, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.

"TO TOP OFF AN INCREDIBLE SEASON, Y/N WILLIAMS WINS THE ABU DHABI SPRINT AND HAS ENOUGH POINTS TO CROWN HERSELF A CHAMPION." The narrator's voice reverberated through the sprawling circuit, amplifying the momentous declaration that crowned your achievement.

The roar of victory surged through the airwaves as your race engineer's voice erupted over the radio, a symphony of celebration. "You did it, Williams! Formula 2 champion, with one race to spare!"

Amidst the cacophony of cheers echoing from Rodin Carlin's garage, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, the weight of your accomplishment settling upon your shoulders like a mantle of triumph. Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, a torrent of exclamations, gratitude, and tears that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As you gradually eased the car to a decelerating pace, you couldn't help but feel the swell of pride and disbelief wash over you. With trembling hands, you lifted them skyward in a gesture of reverence, a silent tribute to the one who had inspired you journey.

"This one's for you, grandpa," you murmured, your voice a whisper against the backdrop of roaring engines and jubilant cheers. "I hope you're proud up there."

Amidst the jubilant chaos enveloping the pit lane, your thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm, each emotion vying for dominance in the tumult of your mind. As you joined in the exultant cheers of your team, a sense of disbelief mingled with elation, the reality of your victory sinking in with each heartbeat.

In the midst of the celebration, you couldn't help but steal a moment to glance towards the podium, where your destiny awaited. The anticipation pulsed within you, a heady mixture of excitement and nervous energy propelling youforward.

As you ascended to the highest step, each stride felt like a triumph, a testament to the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice that have led you to this pinnacle moment. Your mind hummed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a kaleidoscope of memories and aspirations swirling in the depths of your consciousness.

The thunderous roar of the crowd enveloped you like a tidal wave, the sound of applause echoing in your ears as you stand upon the podium, bathed in the radiant glow of the spotlight. Your chest swells with pride, your heart beating in time with the pulsating energy of the spectators.

Locking eyes with James amidst the sea of faces, you feel a surge of excitement washing over you. There's a silent understanding that passes between you, a shared recognition of the journey you will embark upon together. In that fleeting moment, as your gazes meet, you know with a certainty that transcends words— you'll be signing that contract.

With a triumphant smile, you raise the championship trophy high above your head, the weight of your accomplishment buoyed by the unwavering support of your team and your unyielding belief in yourself.

And in the middle of the bustling paddock, a blue bird chirped happily, swooping towards the girl as she lifted the trophy high. It appeared as though he'd be sticking around a while longer.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3 | italic means i couldn't tag you) :: @formulanni @clownrrari @leilanixx @notyouraveragemochii @alliwantisadonut @oooom4rie @watermelon-sugars-things @glitterquadricorn @minkyungseokie @formulaal @itsjustkhaos @thebearchives @hiireadstuff @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cptg00s3 @welovediaaxx @eugene-emt-roe @cha-hot

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merchelsea · 7 months

Text

private support- george russell

pairing: george russell x fem! model! reader

summary: you are constantly fighting george’s haters on interviews and socials, but when you need him to do the same, he doesn’t.

author’s note: my first time writing angst, please give me some tips to improve!! and i’m actually taking requests now, so if you have any, let me know!

word count: 2k+ (not counted properly)

warnings: angst, fighting, miscommunication, racism accusations, silence treatment, confused reader.

your mind snapped back to reality as your hairstylist, who also happened to be your best friend, playfully snapped her fingers in front of your face.

"what are you thinking about?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and concern as she stood before you, demanding an answer.

"nothing," you quickly shot back, though the truth was quite the opposite. you had been mulling over everything that had transpired in the past week.

a false accusation of racism had been circulating on the internet, and it had been so well-constructed that people started believing you were capable of such a thing.

it was frustrating that almost no one believed you, but it was even more frustrating that you couldn't deny it. this whole scandal had brought up an unwanted spotlight, and you were obligated to follow a contract, which meant that, if they were to push you under the bus because they'd benefit from it, they could. and that is exactly what they did.

you felt anger and disappointment toward those you worked with daily, as you never thought they would betray you in such a way. in response, you had pulled all available strings and taken legal action to clear your name. while you had managed to set the record straight publicly through the legal process, it did little to ease the weight on your mind.

"that’s bullshit, you have been watching that tiktok for 15 minutes." your friend quipped, redirecting your attention to your phone, which had been playing the same vogue advertisement repeatedly. "so, what's on your mind?"

you sighed, contemplating the flood of thoughts but reluctant to discuss them. "a lot of stuff, but I really don't want to talk about it." your friend took a deep breath and reluctantly accepted your reluctance. "fine," she conceded. as much as she could try to hide it, you knew her, and realized she wasn't happy about it. "don't get mad."

"I’m not mad. I just don’t understand why you never talk with me about this stuff." you furrowed your brows as she moved to hold your hair from behind, starting to curl it again. "I mean, I’m supposed to be your best friend, you should be able to talk with me."

"it's about george," you exhaled as she began working on your hair, curling it once more. "what did he do?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. "you guys never fight."

"he didn’t do anything, that’s the problem." you explained, feeling the heat of anger dissipate. the woman behind you turned your chair to face her, and you knew it was time to open up about it.

"what happened, babe?" she asked, pulling over a bench and sitting down. it was clear that she recognized the importance of the conversation.

you silently wondered about what to say for minutes, because even tho it was something really clear in your mind, you had no idea of how to put it into words.

she grew impatient in front of you, drumming her fingers in the bench she was sat in, waiting for you to break.

"he still hasn't said anything about this. he talked to me, told me he knew I could never do such a thing," you began, picking up a makeup pencil to occupy your hands. "but people asked him in interviews, and he didn't even deny it. he would just say hat he wouldn't comment on it."

You felt a mix of emotions, ranging from sadness to disappointment. You had always defended George in similar situations, in interviews, instagram stories, fighting people on twitter. in every way you could.

unintentionally, you expected him to do the same for you when the time came. but it came and he didn't. you couldn't really blame him because you never even talked to him about it, he had no way of knowing, but you did, you blamed him.

you blamed him and you felt awful for that. it was all an endless circle of guilt and shame that you were trying to run of. confused, stressed, attacked. how could someone be fine while feeling all of that?

questions lingered in your brain as your best friend talked to you, trying to help you in the better way she could. besides all of the mess, she was the one thing you were sure off, she was your rock, stabling you through the storm.

posting that video and coming clean about the situation had been a good step, but it hadn't eased the stabbing pain in your chest.

coming home to him was harder than ever. you had ignored his calls and every single one of his attempts to contact you. it was childish of you, and you were aware, but you just couldn't help it.

anyways, things had to be said.

as you entered the room, you found george lying on the couch in his mercedes shirt. he smiled when he saw you, relieved that you had come. he thought you wouldn't come, that caused by the three days left on read and the 14 missed calls.

seeing you was a relief for him. he immediately got up and walked to you, but you denied his attempt to touch your face. the smile on his face disappeared as fast as it came on.

"hey, what happened?" he attempted to caress your cheek, but you pulled away his arm. "what did I do?" his confused and saddened gaze filled you with regret and you realized what you were doing.

you weren't being fair.

"I'm sorry. I just—" you began, stepping back. his reaction made you realize that you needed to communicate openly. "I need to talk to you," you said, and george nodded, ready to listen. he looked genuinely terrified as you refused his touch, not understanding what he had done wrong.

"okay... hm. lets sit down." he suggested, trying to make it as comfortable as he could for you.

you both moved to the couch, sitting on opposite ends. george looked you in the eye, waiting for you to speak.

"so, you know about that racism accusation, right?"george nodded, not daring to speak. "I'm kind of upset about it."

"well that's understandable, yo-"

"george," you interrupted, wanting to clarify your point. "I'm not really worried about the accusation itself right now. you haven't said anything about it yet." the brit furrowed his brows.

"what? I told you exactly what I thought that same night. you could never do such thing and I know that very well." you sighed, annoyed again. it was difficult to try and see things from his perspective, but the truth is that you weren't explaining him things clearly.

"that's not what I mean. you've talked about it with me, but you never did on public. you never said that 'i could never do such thing' to anyone else." his eyes fall on you again, softened this time.

"oh." it lingers in the air for quite some time as he gets ahold of his thoughts and you grow inpatient. "I'm sorry about that. I never thought you wanted to." some other words danced on the tip of his tongue. he contained himself, but he could've easily ended this argument.

"you never thought? how's that?" you offendedly ask. how could you not want your boyfriend to have your back?

"well, once you told me you didn't like the thought of being seen as dependent of me. that you wanted to be seen as an independent and strong woman. I respected, and still respect that." you recalled saying this after a long night in monaco. deep conversations had become a regular occurrence between you two after his race weekends.

"it's not about depending on you; it's about you supporting me," you raised your voice, making it clear how upset you were. "I always do that for you, and it doesn't mean anything."

"yeah, because the media and society are twisted as fuck, and we both know that," george said, turning his body towards you, now more open to discussing the issue. "tell me that if it were me in your position, you wouldn't be labeled as a woman who needs her boyfriend to protect her. do you have any idea of how you would be talked about?"

you hated it when he was right, but he was right now. however, he seemed to miss your perspective on all of this.

"I wouldn't care. I would know you were by my side and I wouldn't care."

"your such a bad liar. you would care. you would and you will because I gave an interview like two days ago, talking about it." he sighs. "because even though I knew it wasn't what you would've wanted, I could not keep quite while you were going through all of that."

silence fills the room as you both just stare at each other. how could have you missed this? okay, you had been avoiding anything george related for the past days, but you would know. wouldn't you?

"of course that, I could've told you if you just picked up your damn phone." george got up and left for your bedroom before you had a chance to react. but he did exactly what you needed—he gave you some time to think, to process, and to feel guilty for treating him poorly when all he had done was thinking of you.

you took out your phone and searched his name on twitter. the first thing coming up being exactly what you were looking for.

"it's unacceptable. it's actually unacceptable that someone can do this and live their life in peace. that person screwed her over — her name, her work, everything she represents. yeah, no, I can not deal with this shit. I mean, she is the most admirable person in this earth and people who can't deal with other's happiness just keep trying to mess that up. they wont succeed, though. she is incredible enough to not let that happen." "george, does it bother you that it was a fan of yours who came up with this?" "fan? sorry but that can't be called a fan. that is just a jerk who tried to ruin someone's life. does it bother me that is the love of my life being attacked? a lot. it drives me crazy. as I said before, I can't deal with this. I honestly think it would be easier if I was the one being attacked. I just can't understand why someone would do this to her. she always does what's best for others, she supports everyone, is always out there in the world fighting other's fights and this is how she is payed? it's not fair, it's just not fair." "i have only one more question for you. why did it take you so long to speak about this? even your teammate, lewis hamilton, talked about this the day it came out, and you're only just now coming clean." "well obviously I wanted to talk about this from the moment I saw it. it took a lot of me to not start a war right there. but we all know how fucked up the world is and how she would've been talked about if I came straight to interviews. she probably will even get a few comments about me but I couldn't keep it in. if she is not allowed to speak, I'll speak for her. that's how we work. we love each other and we support each other." "uh, i'm sorry george. not allowed?" "thank you for having me."

his face displayed anger, and he seemed more than ready to start a war. you couldn't help but smile throughout the whole video, feeling grateful for the man you had by your side.

and then it hit you—you had been treating him horribly when he didn't deserve it. in fact, he deserved the opposite. so, you got up and went to apologize.

opening the bedroom door, you saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door. he had been waiting for you.

"I'm sorry," you said as you moved closer. he pulled you close by the waist, hugging your body, and you caressed his hair.

" you need to talk to me," he murmured against your belly.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry," you said, taking his head in your hands and forcing him to look up at you. "I promise you that from now on, we'll discuss everything. I love you so much."

"I love you too. you know that, right?" you nodded your head with a big smile. if this had shown you something, was that he loved you.

"I know, and I'm sorry for cutting you off when things went bad. that was really shitty of me." you looked up, admitting your mistakes.

"never do that again, I got so afraid. I thought I had lost you."

"I'll never do it again. I promise." you stuck out your pinky and he took it. sealing the promise with a kiss on your enlaced fingers.

#george russell #george russel x reader #george russel imagine #george russel x you #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #george russell x you #george russell x y/n #f1 imagine #formula one #fem reader #f1 reader #formula one story #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #fem reader f1 #mercedes reader

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rhey-007 · 6 months

Text

I can't help falling in love with you

serial killer!Max Verstappen x reader || 18+

Summary: Moving back to your childhood house was never in your plans, but after your parents' death you couldn't let go of it. After moving in and meeting your new neighbor everything seemed to fall apart, but you're too oblivious to notice the obvious.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, GORE (gutting), mentions of smut, kidnapping, restraining, torture, violance, female reader, creepy/jealous/yandere Max

A/N: It's Halloween y'all! So I decided to write a Halloween horror story :)) It's the first time I wrote something like this but I feel like it's good. And I've been writing it for past 2 weeks and can't seem to finish so there will be a part 2 on Sunday 😭 + sorry for typos 😬

Wordcount: 4364

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

Moving back to your childhood house was never in your plans. But there you were, standing in front of the small, falling appart house taking a deep breath and opening the creeking door. The noise was so loud you could bet the whole street heard it.

After one last breath you slowly walked in. The inside looked just as you remembered, but old, dirty and dusty. Family photos hanged where they always did – you were surprised your parents haven’t taken them down after you left – an old bouquet of dead flowers stood on the welcoming console – you already planned on keepping them as you loved collecting dried flowers.

Walking further in you noticed your old drawings still hanged on the fridge door – neither of them dirty or ripped – as well as all your magnets from various family trips. In the living room your baby blanket layed on the sofa.

It surprised you, everything as for right now showed that your parents never forgot about you even though you didn’t have any contact. You wondered if your room looked the same as you left it, and it did. You always thought your parents would change it into a home gym or something like that but it was left untouched, only your favourite teddy bear was missing.

Roaming the house further you’ve found it in your parents’ bedroom on the nightstand. Tears started to fill your eyes, you were so cruel for them for the past few years and they never forgot about you, even tried to have you as close as they could even though you were far, far away. Warm hands creeping around your waist shook you out of your trance.

“Hey, it’s okay...”

Your boyfriend George whispered and placed a kiss on top of your head before spinning you around and pressing against his chest into a tight hug. A few tears fell down your cheeks, wetting George’s shirt but he didn’t mind. You were greatful you had him, especially in such hard times.

After you calmed down the two of you went back downstairs to bring inside your suitcases and boxes with stuff. A young man, new neighboor, caught your eye when you left.

He was mowing the grass, or rather struggling with turning on his old lawnmower, and he noticed you too. He gave a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his neck while a soft blush appeared on his face. You chuckled a little and asked George to come over with you and offer help.

The man agreed with a sigh and soon you were standing in front of your neighbours house. It was way bigger and prietter than yours, which made you wonder and imagine what it looked like inside. It looked like a mansion outside so you thought it had to look so bougey inside too.

“Hi, we’re your new neighbours. Well... kind of... I lived here as a kid”

You explained quickly with a sweet smile.

“I’m Y/N and this is my boyfriend George, can we help you?”

You introduced yourself and George before offering help which the man reluctantly agreed to.

“I’m Max, nice meeting you. And I’m sorry for the problem... I really need to buy a new lawnmower but don’t really have time...”

Max sighed and smiled awkwardly at you while George tried to turn on the machine and you chatted with Max. He moved in a few years ago so he might have known your parents.

He admitted he was an owner of quite a big company, that was why he lived in such a luxury but you wondered why he opted for a small house in the suburbs instead of a flat in the middle of the town. He on the other hand, found out that you were a daughter of his late neighbours.

“They were good people”

He said, but you knew better. Max watched you closely as you talked, watched how your dimples showed when you smiled, how your ginger hair shined in the sun, how you fiddled with your fingers as if you were anxious but your demeanor said otherwise. Just in those few minutes the man was able to memorise your behaviour and ticks.

After a few tries and some digging in the engine, your boyfriend finally turned the machine on.

“There you go buddy”

He smiled kindly.

"Now excuse us, we gotta head back to unpacking”

He politely excused yourselves before leaving.

“I wish I could help but knowing my luck if I turn this shit off right now I won’t be able to turn it back on later. But! Maybe you could come over and eat supper with me and my friend? Will 6pm be okay?”

“Oh um... I-I'm not sure... We don’t want to be a burden...”

“Oh you wouldn’t, believe me. Daniel loves meeting new people and I could pay off the debt... Sooo? “

"I’ll have to ask George but I’m sure he’ll agree”

“Great! Then see ya later, good luck!”

“Good luck to you too!”

You waved goodbye before rushing off to help George with a heavy box. He insisted on carrying it in by himself, but you knew better to not let him or he’d break something, again...

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

By the time the evening came you were done cleaning almost the whole house and unpacking just the most necessary things. George wasn’t keen on eating supper with the newly met neighbour and his friend but you’ve managed to convince him with a fun time afterwards. It always worked.

You changed from your house clothes to something more suitable but still comfortable for a meeting and left dragging your boyfriend behind yourself. You didn’t even manage to knock or ring the doorbell when a tall, dark haired man opened the door and let you in.

"I’m Daniel. You’re new neighbours right?”

He greeted eagerly, shaking your hands like crazy. The man was full of energy which terriffied you a little, but it quickly changed further into the night.

“Daniel don’t scare them!”

Max’s voice rumbled in the kitchen .

“Come in, don’t be scared. He’s just excited! "

Walking into the kitchen you could finally take a good look at the interior. It was just how you imagined it to. Modern with a hint of vintage, light walls, golden chandelier hanging above the glass table and fully equipped and up to date kitchen – which you could only dream about. It was beautiful.

You sat down by the table after George pulled a chair for you, as he always would. You’d never thought you’ll find yourself a true gentleman but there he was, all yours. Inhaling the scent of the dish made you remember about saturdays at home.

Your mom used to always make lasagna on saturdays, it was so delicious, you remembered it’s taste even now when you haven’t eaten it for years – and you won’t anymore. Max sitting in front of you with a huge smile made you realize the table was fully set and Daniel and George already started to eat.

“Something wrong?”

The man asked quietly to which you responded with a slight shake of your head and a smile, before trying the food. It was delicious, so delicious you couldn’t believe the blonde made it.

„Homemade or ordered? "

Asking bluntly you felt George's elbow poke your side. It wasn't really polite from you but Max didn’t care.

„Homemade. I know it tastes too good, but I tried my best and it paid off”

The man admitted. He wasn’t affected badly by your question, instead responded with a warm smile that didn’t seem to ever fall. Your honesty impressed while your beauty amazed him.

The supper was enjoyable. Daniel turned out to be a really sweet guy, just a little overjoyed, considering the fact he scared you a tad at first.

Following the meal came board games and wine, even though George wasn’t happy to compete with Max against you and Daniel, but you kind of addpoted the tall man. He was too cute to ignore, making your boyfriend hella jelous, but you were going to recompensate him that later anyway.

The two of you won every round of whatever game, which didn’t please Max. You could see it. You could see the way the vain on his forehead throbbed while he struggled with George, how his hands curled in fists every time Daniel laughed at him, but he tried not to explode as best as he could.

You felt bad for the blonde. Daniel later explained that he was a bad looser but worked on it and that such session was good for him. It made you feel relieved at least a little bit.

When the night started to fall and more and more yawns escaped your lips George decided that it was time to leave. You reluctanlty got up and gave Daniel a huge goodbye hug before shaking Max’s hand and leaving the mansion with George’s arm wrapped around your waist.

When you made it to your new bedroom – which was an old guest room – you insisted on pleasing your boyfriend just as you promised, even though he said you didn’t have to as he knew you were tired. But you were too stubborn and soon George layed underneeth you half naked as you undressed yourself, his hands roaming your body.

Sitting up the man wrapped them around your waist pulling you closer while his lips planted soft kissed along your jaw then down your torso. You couldn’t bother to close the curtains, no one could see you anyway, especially in the dim light of your small nightstand lamp.

But a feeling of someone watching you was constantly appearing in the back of your head.

After you, left also Daniel, leaving Max alone in his huge house - as always. The man didn’t feel alone in it, not anymore knowing that a beautiful and georgous woman like you lived just across the street.

Instead of cleaning the mess Max made his way upstairs to his master bedroom. Not turning on the light but instead opening the curtains letting the moonlight in, the man sat on his bed watching every your move, trying to remember every detail about your body and how it moved.

He wished he was the one laying on the bed, surveying your body, touching your soft, pale skin as you undressed, instead of your stupid boyfriend.

The blonde couldn’t believe someone like George was able to pull you, such a sweet and mesmerizing creature. Have you not noticed his humongous, terrifying eyes staring into your soul? It was quite long since someone caught Max’s eye the way you did. All of them were awlays already taken, but not for long...

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

A few months passed since you moved back to your childhood house. Those few months were very calm and enjoying although you always had a feeling someone watched you. Watched your every step, every move, everything you did. Also some of your things started to disappear, or maybe it was just your amazing ability to loose them.

All the free time you had, you used to bring the building back to life. It looked way better than before. Fresh, pastel yellow paint graced the outdoors walls, pots filled with red flowers hanged from the ceiling on the porch, a white, wooden swing sat there too.

The only thing you still had to work on was the lawn, but you needed George’s help who worked longer hours than you, coming back home late in the evening, drained from life and any energy.

You told him multiple times to change the job as the money wasn’t adequate to working hours nor the amount of things he did, but he refused saying he won't be able to find a better one.

Sometimes you wondered if he enjoyed the work and exhaustement, that's why he refused to leave. Him not having a job wouldn't have changed much anyway, you've earned more than him anyway and your salary alone was able to cover all the expenses.

Max saw that too. He noticed how you struggled alone with the lawn, just to quickly give up and go back inside, how you did all the chores around the house by yourself which clearly pissed you off.

He noticed that your boyfriend came back home late, not able to please your needs or at least talk with you. If it was him on George's place he wouldn’t care if he was tired or not, instead being all over you the moment he came back home, doing everything you needed him to and more, talking with you about everything and nothing.

He couldn’t let you suffer because of him. No... He had to do something about that.

One night George didn’t come back home at all, which made you worry. He could either be cheating on you or something happened, there was no other option.

To addition to your worry he didn’t answer your calls nor texted back. It was midnight when you heard a car pulling up, you shot up from the couch and run up to the window just to be disappointed immediately.

It was just Max coming back from work. It was weird though, he never came back so late. You sighed and decided to call it a day and try to contact your boyfriend the next day. But he didn’t answer then either, nor the next day.

You finally decided to go to the police station and report his missing. They took it immediately and they assured you they’d try their best to find him. But they didn’t succeed...

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

That day George was back home way before you, wanting to surprise you with a dinner he was about to make, then try to clean the house as much as he could.

He walked into the house, not bothering to lock the door behind himself, then stepped into the kitchen and dropped the bags full of ingredients onto the kitchen counter.

After changing into home clothes, George started to prepare everything needed for the spaghetti, when he felt a huge pain in the back of his head and his vision went black.

The man woke up after a few hours, to the sound of classical music and sharpening knives. He tried rubbing his head, but was restrained, tied to a chair in a dark basement.

„You finally woke up Georgie”

Russell heard a voice say, but was unable to tell who the person standing in front of him was, because of the darkness. The lamp hanging above his head barely lightened him, not reaching far into the room. The man walked up to George and put his sharp knife under his chin, making him look up.

„You thought one dinner would be able to recompensate Y/N all the time she has to spent to keep the house in a good condition?... "

A sharp laugh vibrated through the room, until it suddenly stopped and the knife pressed against George's neck.

„You're funny "

The strange man stepped closer to George, the light finally hitting his face. Max smiled maniacally, he was going to have whole lotta fun...

Russell’s head hit the metal table, almost knocking him out before Max splashed cold water onto his face.

„Uh, uh, uh. No sleepin, we haven’t even started "

The man strapped him down then approached a trolley, his fingers running through the various torture tools he owned.

„What should I use first... "

Max wondered out loud while George tried to release himself, without success.

„Wha-what do you even want from me?! What have I done?! "

He screamed into the dutch'es face after he turned around, holding a pair of scissors then cutting George’s sweater in half.

„Oh you know well what you've done. If you were smart enough, you'd notice I even said it”

The man could feel Max's cold finger run down his chest to his abs. He picked back his knife and pressed it to George’s stomach, pushing it slowly in and listening how the man screamed in pain.

When the knife was deep enough, he made a sharp move, opening him up and revealing his intestinal tract.

„Looked at these beauties... "

Max peaked inside, opening the wound more and more while Russel choked on his tears. He breathed heavily, which was hard because of the toument, fear spreading through his whole body.

„Is this really... J-just about me... Not having time?... "

He managed to choke out while looking down his body, the sight made him sick. Max's fingertips were already covered in blood, from touching the intestines, his lips spread in a horrific smile, eyes shining in awe at the sight.

„I knew... I knew there was something wrong with you... You better stay... Stay away from her! "

He tried to fight, but the slightest move turned into an unbearable agony.

„Well... It's not like you’re gonna do anything about this lover boy. Not anymore at least... "

Max shrugged and flashed George his white teeth then his hand dipped inside his stomach to soon pull out the large intestine. Russell cried out in pain, closing his eyes which angried Verstappen.

Throwing the organ to the ground he opened his eyes with force. He clipped his eyelids pulling them softly out so his humongous, blue eyes could stay open the whole time and watch the terror.

„You're gonna watch how I ruin you, either you like it or not... "

The man whispered into George’s ear, his hot breath made a shiver run down his spine, their eyes locked. Max's hand traveled back to the wound, slowly creeping inside.

„I want you to say it... Say sorry for your absence... "

He whispered once again before straightening up and watching George from above. He studied his face, how his nose scrunched at the pain, eyes desperately trying to close and chest rising and falling rapidly.

He liked that sight. No. He loved it. He loved to cause him pain, thinking it was fair and well deserved. The man pulled out his small intestine, inch by inch, waiting for the apology.

„I-I'm sorry okay... I-I tried... I tried... I should have... I should have changed the fucking job god!... I fucked... I know I did... But it's not a reason to kill me you psycho!”

With one sharp pull his small intestine was out and on the ground, blood splattered everywhere, some sticking to Max's face. In that moment he looked like a true serial killer and George started to fear about you.

„That's the only thing I wanted to hear. Now... See you on the other side”

With that words Max reached for George’s heart pulling it out with one go and finally killing the man. He then stripped him off the meat and the skin from the face, hanging the later made mask obove his desk.

„Well... It surely was fun... "

„Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you... „

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

It was a month since you last saw him. The first few weeks you cried yourself to sleep which hurt Max. It hurt him to look at you in that miserable state, crying over a man that didn’t even deserve you.

Weirdly, he was the only person able to fully comfort you. He invited you over for dinner or supper every day or visited you to join eating so you wouldn’t be alone, he helped you around the house – even hired a maid in the first weeks to help you.

The man was so sweet and caring, he made you forget about George by the time Christmas came. He then thought he finally had a chance with you until you appeared on his porch, holding a hand of some strange man, introducing him as your new boyfriend.

“Max, this is my new boyfriend, Sergio. Sergio, Max is my neighbour – obviously – and my close friend”

You smiled up at both men as they shook each other’s hands, Max gripping Checo’s tightly giving him a death glare. Max understood you tried to finally move on and live a normal life, but why couldn’t you move on to him?

After all those things he had done for you, all the nights he’s spent by your side, all the money he’s spent on you, you chose some stranger over him?

Blood boiled in his vains thinking about it and watched your new boyfriend hand him a Christmas gift. He accepted it only because of you, smiling sweetly when you were leaving.

‘’I don’t think he likes me...’’

Sergio whispered as you walked away but you just shook your head with a chuckle.

Checo was just as sweet as George. You tried not to compare them together but it was too hard. You've noticed they were really similar, but Checo had way more time for you than George did.

You've also noticed the change in Max's behaviour, it wasn’t anything big but after a year of your friendship you knew when something was wrong, you just couldn’t figure out what. It started when he met Sergio and from then on he was so cold towards him, not like towards George.

The vain on his forehead was about to pop every time he saw you two together, everytime you smiled because of the Mexican, every time you laughed because of him.

„Was he jealous? "

You wondered but pushed that thought aside. He couldn’t, he was your friend after all.

Sergio was a dream boyfriend, a knight on a white horse. He helped you around the house, didn’t rush your relationship letting you get used to him before doing something and most importantly he truly listened to you and didn’t ignore even the stupidest of your fears or needs, not like George.

But the dream quickly fell appart when you let down your walls and the two of you got too comfortable around each other. He moved in with you without even asking, as his landlord kicked him out.

You couldn’t understand why thought. He had a well paid job yet couldn’t affort a low budget apartment? Well, turned out he lost it some time ago and haven’t told you about it.

From that time he stayed home all the time, doing shit, occasionally leaving in the evening for a few hours. He was really stressed and frustrated, sometimes rising his voice at you when you did something wrong, but then quickly apologising and offering a massage to comfort you.

But that aslo passed rather quickly and with time his shouting became a daily thing. One day he hit you. A juicy slap across your face, leaving a red mark.

You were fighting over his shouting again but this time he didn’t hold back. That’s when you found out how he really was.

Brutal, disregarding your opinion, caring only about sex and a ‘maid’, in one word – despot. Yet he was so sweet at the beginning. You felt fooled...

You were too scared to tell anyone, so scared the man would hurt you even more and you had enough of bruises and cuts you tried so good to cover.

No one seemed to notice it, beside Max. He didn’t want to mention them though, as he figured you wouldn’t like to talk about it.

Every time he invited you over for dinner you either didn’t come because Sergio didn’t let you, or came just for a few minutes before the man burst in and dragged you back home angrily.

Max couldn’t understand why you just didn’t kick him out and leave him. Only two months after Checo started to be aggressive he disappeared. You felt so good when he didn’t come back home for a few days straight and quickly threw away all his stuff. You finally felt free...

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

Kidnapping Sergio was the easiest thing ever. The man wandered through the two , eventually stopping by one if the alleys and walking in. He lit a cigarette and watched the stary sky while waiting for a dealer. Soon a car parked in front of the alley, a hooded man walked out making his way towards Checo.

„Here”

He handed him the money and stretched his other hand waiting for stranger to give him the drugs. The man quickly took the money then tazed Checo, getting him unconscious.

Slowly opening his eye, Sergio grunted in pain. His body was stiff, half naked, laying on cold metal. The man looked around, the only thing he was able to see was himself, but he could hear footsteps from behind. Trying to roll his head up, he noticed his hands tied to some machine and a back of a man, quietly humming an Elvis song.

„Well... Well... Well... Look who has finally woken up... "

The Dutch smiled from ear to ear, making his way over to Perez.

„Verstappen?! I knew there was something wrong with you! You better let me go or-"

„Or what? "

The blonde cut in.

„It's not like you're gonna do something about this. You can’t afterall... Besides... You deserve it”

Max hissed turning on the machine that bit by bit started to stretch Sergio's body. The Mexican screamed, wiggling and trying to break free but was tied too hard, only giving himself more pain.

„You son of a bitch! You're a fucking monster! "

He shouted and spat on Max's face. The Dutch frowned and only turned up the speed slightly, after wiping his face.

„I am a monster? Maybe tell it to Y/N, after all... You were the key hurting her. Not me... Now. You better apologize”

He hissed and increased it even more, the screams and noises of breaking bones and muscles filled his ears, they sounded like honey. But Sergio wasn’t going to apologize. Nothing was going to make him to apologize for what he'd done. He'd rather die than say it.

„Fine... "

Max sighed unsatisfied finally raising the pace to maximum. Sergio’s body teared in half, blood splattered everywhere making the man groan in pleasure and lick the blood off his lips.

"Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you? "

286 notes · View notes

leclercsainzz · 4 months

Text

RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIME

— 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: not much, just a small series collection of taylor swift’s songs with the formula one drivers

in which they say that timing is everything when it comes to love, and that sometimes the right person can come into your life at the wrong time

➝ f1 drivers

→ → → → → → → → → → → → →

i. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂 - red

— “losing him was blue, like i’d never known … missing him was dark gray, all alone … forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met, but loving him was red”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: as time passed and they went their separate ways, the intensity of that love faded into a dull ache of longing and regret

ii. 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 - champagne problems

— “she would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to say “yes” to his proposal

iii. 𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 - the way i loved you

— “you were wild and crazy … just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated got away by some mistake”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: despite knowing the fact that they aren’t good for each other, they can’t help but want each other

iv. 𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 - cardigan

— “i knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which memories of their time together come flooding back, making it hard to fully move on

v. 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋 - my tears ricochet

— “and you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain crossing out the good years”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which his bitterness and resentment erase the moments of happiness they once shared

vi. 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎 - i don’t want to live forever

— “i’m sitting eyes wide open and i got one thing stuck in my mind, wondering if i dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which she might’ve dodged a bullet, but he certainly lost the love of his life

vii. 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 - i bet you think about me

— “i bet you think about me when you’re out at your cool indie music concerts every week”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: they’re over, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about her every now and then

viii. 𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈 - you’re losing me

— “my heart won’t start anymore for you ‘cause you’re losing me”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which she’s slowly falling out of love

ix. 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐘 - mr. perfectly fine

— “how’s your heart after breakin’ mine?”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: despite being the one who ended things, he’s more heartbroken than she is

x. 𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐍 - the great war

— “i vowed not to fight anymore if we survived the great war”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: many of them did not survive the great war of heartbreak, and unfortunately, they were among those who did not make it through”

xi. 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 - exile

— “all this time, i never learned to read your mind … i couldn’t turn things around”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: “he was so focused on his own feelings and needs that he failed to notice the subtle hints she was trying to send

xii. 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐍 - right where you left me

— “you left me no choice but to stay here forever”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which she’s still at the restaurant

xiii. 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 - happiness

— “no one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you and you know you hurt him too”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in which they both deeply hurt each other

xiv. 𝐌𝐈��𝐊 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 - better man

— “push my love away like it was some kind of loaded gun”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: she’d been hurt many times before and didn’t want to risk getting hurt again, so she pushed his love away and caused more heartbreak

xv. 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒𝐎𝐍 - bigger than the whole sky

— “what could’ve been, would’ve been, what should’ve been”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: what could’ve, would’ve, or should’ve been the one for her, but sometimes things don’t work out as you hope

xvi. 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎 - sad beautiful tragic

— “distance, timing, breakdowns, fighting … silence, the train runs off its tracks”

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: maybe it was the distance that kept them apart, or the timing that always seemed to be off

author’s note: helloooo! so i decided to start a new series:) i got inspired by some of @love-belle series of the drivers, so make sure to check her page out:))

i’ll still be posting request that you guys have sent in … if you have sent requests, don’t worry i’ll get to them eventually 😊

231 notes · View notes

earlgreyflowers · 5 months

Note

Smut Prompt List: GEORGE.

25, 39 and 43.

A/N - This one takes a while to get started, I got a bit too into the story :/

Word count - 1.4k

--------------------------------------

There was very little about the relationship between you and George that could be deemed simple. You'd known George for years, growing up with him and watching him race against Alex and Lando since you were all kids. But this George, tall and breathtakingly gorgeous George, he made things difficult. You adored him, after all he was your best friend, but you wanted him in ways you could never explain, needed him; biblically. And here he was, sat in front of you, sticking his tongue out to be fed, like a whore. You couldn't help but stare, feeling a jab in the ribs from Alex before he whispers "Close your mouth Y/N."

"Only if he does first." You whisper back, feeling George's stare burning into the side of your head. Alex snorts lightly, falling back into his chair to continue his conversation with George. Before you know it you're in the Mercedes garage, watching George race. Your mind is still consumed by the sight of his tongue, so much so that you don't even register the chequered flag as George crosses the line in P1. It's only when the entire garage erupts in celebration that you're snapped out of it, beaming with pride at his first race win. Everything passes in a blur of champagne and cheers, barely seeing George in order to congratulate him.

The pair of you get your first moment of peace in the car on the way to the hotel, George sleeping quietly on your shoulder, the adrenaline slowing leaving his body. Your hand smooths through his hair, relishing the way he nuzzles closer to you. "Glad you were by my side today Y/N." He whispers, "Never want anyone else there." Your heart skips a beat at his words, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head.

"You have no idea how much I want you." He mutters before dozing off for the rest of the journey, your mind reeling with the meaning of his confession. You pull out your phone and text Alex, 'Code White, George is confessing in his sleep again.'

Alex shoots back a laughing emoji, 'Can't be worse than what he told me in Monaco.'

'Will you ever tell me what he said that day?' You send, a pleading hands emoji at the end.

'Absolutely not, I'm sworn to secrecy on the life of the Albon zoo.'

You don't see George again until you get to the club, being escorted straight to the V.I.P. booth with Alex and Lily. You're dressed in a silky black slip dress, silver chains replacing the usual spaghetti straps. Mercedes' colours. George is slightly tipsy when you arrive, sipping what looks to be a vodka lemonade through a straw. He pulls you in for a hug, "You look insane." He yells over the music. You blush, "So do you." You yell back, taking the opportunity to look him up and down. He's dressed in black trousers with a white button up, the top few buttons open, exposing his toned, tan chest. You catch yourself staring too long, looking back to his face only to find a sinful smirk painted on his lips. He winks at you and you have to look at Lily to make sure it was real. Her and Alex stand side by side, jaws hanging in shock at his boldness.

George is practically glued to you all night, constantly finding a way to touch you. He doesn't let you pay for a single drink, a hand on yours stopping you from pulling your card out of your bag. A hand on your thigh or arm when he leans in to listen to you. Brushing your hair out of your face. The last straw comes when he drags you to the dancefloor, holding you close to his body as you dance to the music. He consumes every thought, every sensation is him, you can't escape, and you're 100% certain that you don't want to. You manage to slip away from his hold for a brief moment, heading to the bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. You look wrecked in the bathroom mirror, hair slightly tousled from where your head was thrown back against George's shoulder, your cheeks pink with heat and arousal.

The night passes and soon you find yourself in George's suite with him, Alex, Lily, Lando, Charles, and both Max Verstappen and Max Fewtrell. Slightly tipsy, you and Lily manage to convince everyone to play a game of Truth or Dare. So far, Lando has confessed to putting laxatives in Max's coffee once, Alex has given Lily a lapdance, you and Lily have told the story of the time you got stuck on a boat in Monaco, and Charles and George have both taken a shot in replacement for an answer.

It was back to Alex, and he chooses truth. "What did George confess to you in Monaco?" You ask, alcohol giving you a newfound courage. Alex, George, and Lando seem to have a silent conversation, weighing up Alex's options. After a heavy minute of silence, he sighs, "He told me that the girl he hooked up with the night before had slapped him in the face for calling her the wrong name when he, uh, finished." Alex hurries out. George's cheeks are tinged pink as he chooses dare for his turn. Charles speaks up, "I dare you to tell his whose name it was." Everyone bursts out laughing, but George holds eye contact with you. "It was Y/N's."

Your jaw drops as 'oohs' and whoops fill the room.

You stand up, "Everyone leave right now." Confusion clouds everyone's faces. "Unless you want to see George and I naked, get out." Almost everyone scrambles to leave, except Lando, who lingers on the floor before being pulled up by Max F. "I wanted to call her bluff," He whines, the door shutting behind him as everyone exits.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" George asks, stepping closer, "Because once we start, I might not be able to stop." He tells you, placing a hand on the back of your neck.

"Please don't stop." You whisper, breathless at the proximity.

His lips slam onto yours, stealing any remnants of breath you had. His hands support the back of your neck, pulling you down on top of him as he takes a new position on the sofa. He kisses down your neck, your back arching and hips grinding down against him. "Please George, need you." You whimper, reaching for his belt. He pulls himself out as you remove your underwear, both of you too desperate to remove your clothes fully. You ache to feel George inside you, whining as he rubs the head of his cock against your lips, feeling your wetness.

"Oh my god, you're soaked. Have you been this desperate all night?" He groans, pressing himself into you. You slide down onto his length, relishing the burn as you finally get what you wanted. "Since you were fed that food before the race and you stuck your tongue out." You whine, bottoming out. "My dirty girl, if I'd known you were this needy I would've bent you over in the bathroom of the club instead of waiting this long to fell you." George tells you, thrusting up into you.

He maintains a harsh pace, thriving on your whines and pleas for him to not stop. "Believe me I'm not planning on it, you feel so good." He whimpers the last part, your walls squeezing him.

"I'm not gonna last much longer my love, tell me what you need." George whispers against your lips. You grind against him, "Choke me George." You moan and you swear his eyes turn black. He smirks filthily, "Such a whore." He groans, squeezing the sides of your neck. Your walls continue to flutter around him as he urges you to cum around him, one final squeeze is all it takes before your eyes are rolling back and your thighs are shaking.

George pulls himself out of you, finishing partly on your thigh and partly on his stomach, panting with the force of his release. You collapse on top of him, head buried into his shoulder. "I always thought we were just friends, I didn't think you liked me this way." You mutter, pressing a kiss to his neck.

"We're not just friends and you know it, we never have been." He sighs.

"Oh please, the girl from Monaco knew more than I did, you idiot." You huff out a laugh, feeling George's chest shake with his own laughter.

A knock sounds on the door, bringing you out of your stupor. The quiet voice of Lando comes from the other side.

"Are you guys done? I left my phone."

#f1 fanfic #f1 smut #george russell #george russell x reader #george russell smut #george russell x reader smut #george russell x you #gr63 #gr63 x reader #gr63 smut #formula one smut #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #fem reader #smut requests #smut prompts #brazil gp 2022

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kiwisa · 1 year

Text

grid dynamics ✩ the harpy

F1 Grid x Fem! Driver! OC

⏤ series masterlist

✩ GEORGE RUSSELL

#GEOSTRÉE... ıllı NOW PLAYING: You’re My Best Friend, Queen !

George was the first person to welcome her, to reach out to her. If their meeting seems to have been determined by the fact that Astrée debuted with Williams, the extent to which her teammate went to put her at ease shows the sincerity of his intentions. Very quickly, their collegial relationship turned into a true friendship that kept growing until Astrée came to consider George as her best friend. If it is usually complicated for her to open up to others, George soon imposed himself as an obvious choice.

He has in a way become her pillar in Formula One, being her protector and mediator on the paddock, whether with the press or the other drivers, both of whom can sometimes take Astrée's unintentionally rude gestures badly.

George is always pushing his friend to try new things, dragging her into messy plans like post-race parties where the alcohol flows freely or holidays spent climbing mountains—Astrée hates hiking.

Since Astrée's transfer to Red Bull and George's to Mercedes, the two former Williams drivers don't see each other as much as they used to, but they take advantage of the races to catch up and they sometimes even fly to see each other, either in Monaco (where Astrée lives) or in London. At each break, whether summer or winter, they spend one or two days together. It has become a tradition that has yet to be broken.

✩ CHARLES LECLERC

#CHASTRÉE... ıllı NOW PLAYING: Bad Liar, Selena Gomez !

It took Charles a long time to dare to approach Astrée. He was intimidated by her. It must be said that he is perhaps one of the only drivers to have followed her career closely, and not only when her arrival in F1 was announced. The many praises he heard from his brother Arthur in F2 didn't help either to shake off the image of Astrée as a racing prodigy. The first time they really spoke was when Astrée congratulated Charles on his podium finish at Silverstone⏤which ended with a DNF for the woman⏤three months after she had joined the grid. If Astrée hadn't made the first move⏤which in itself is a miracle⏤they could have gone on for a long time without talking to each other.

The reason for this is very simple. Although he will never admit it, even under torture, Charles has developed a little crush on the French girl since he discovered her existence. Unfortunately for him, not admitting it doesn't mean he doesn't show it: this boy has no concept of discretion. Looking at her with puppy dog eyes and blushing every time she deigns to speak to him are not the definition of "secret." Internet users put two and two together rather quickly and, since then, ship them together.

Excluding his inability to function normally around her, the two French speakers have managed to build a strong friendship, which is underrated on the paddock and internet, perhaps because we see her more with George or Lando. Yet, Charles is the mediator between her and Max and perhaps the only one who gets them to talk to each other without insults.

✩ LANDO NORRIS

#LASTRÉE... ıllı NOW PLAYING: True Love, Pink !

Lando is the perfect example of the bad first impression Astrée can trigger in others. Outwardly cold, as she is reserved and cautious by nature, Astrée was immediately intimidating to the young Britishman. Although they are almost the same age, Lando's reactions to Astrée suggest that he is much younger than she is. Fearful of confronting her on the track, of talking to her, the driver is never at ease when the Frenchwoman is near him. Even the simple fact of being in the same room as her terrifies him: Astrée is silent, cold, charismatic, unpredictable and Lando hates it.

However, what started out as a distance between the two due to shyness on Astrée's part and some form of intimidation on Lando's has evolved into a friendship with a unique dynamic that many internet users love for the content that emerges from it. Lando and Astrée are like cat and mouse. And Astrée is definitely not the mouse.

Numerous videos⏤there would be enough to make an hour-long compilation (fans often have a field day doing precisely that)⏤have captured all the times Astrée has terrorised Lando. If at first she didn't realise it and just found this Englishman rather strange… she soon understood what was going on and learned to use it to her advantage to get her daily dose of happiness. There's something hilarious about seeing an almost 25-year-old man screaming because of her "hello." She can't help it: her sadistic side comes out with Lando.

If the latter is the victim of her numerous attacks, he can count on his tormentor to also be his defender. Every time someone other than her dares to make fun of the McLaren driver, they are violently put in their place by Astrée.

Even though Lando still fears the woman, he knows that these seemingly sadistic gestures are actually a way for her to express her friendship (he would prefer words of affirmation or gifts but, as the famous saying goes, it is what it is).

✩ DANIEL RICCIARDO

#ASTRIEL... ıllı NOW PLAYING: Here Come The Sun, The Beatles !

No one thought these two would get along, but they proved to everyone that opposites can sometimes be a good fit. If one is the sun and the other, the moon, their differences allow them to reach a certain balance that just works. They complement each other so well. Daniel can drop his constant positivity around Astrée for a few moments without her judging him and Astrée can, for once, let down her guard.

Astrée is never as smiley as when she is with Daniel, and everyone sees that ⏤ drivers and internet users alike. Many times, the woman has been spotted bursting into laughter. This is rare in the paddock and when it happens, you can be sure that Daniel was the one to tell the joke. Like George, Daniel pushes Astrée out of her comfort zone and shows her that showing positive feelings is not a sign of weakness but can become a strength.

Since he has become Red Bull's reserve driver, and therefore they don't see each other at every race⏤running into each other once in a blue moon at the HQ is not the same⏤, many people notice that Astrée has turned in on herself, and smiles even less than before. The one who managed to calm the storm is no longer there to chase away the clouds, to the great displeasure of the others who thought they would see a lull on the paddock and track. This does not mean she tried to dissuade Daniel from making this choice, however. On the contrary, it was she who convinced him to leave McLaren: Astrée always has his back and will not stand to see anyone disrespecting him.

✩ LEWIS HAMILTON

#ASTRIS... ıllı NOW PLAYING: Your Song, Elton John !

Their beginnings were somewhat catastrophic, full of awkwardness, embarrassing moments, and sickly shyness (see their first conversation after the Imola GP) which can be explained by the great esteem Astrée has for Lewis. If he is not the one who inspired her to start racing⏤she owes that to a certain Michael Schumacher⏤he was the one who proved to her that everything was possible even when the world was against you. Lewis is, therefore, the only person who manages to intimidate Astrée. Normally, the exact opposite occurs (see Lando or Charles' personal experiences).

Astrée took a long time to get over the fact that yes, she knew The Lewis Hamilton and that, yes, this same Lewis Hamilton wanted to get acquainted. Their friendship was one that happened in private, away from the cameras. If various interactions on Twitter or comments on Instagram showed everyone that they are friendly acquaintances, the outings to Monaco, the skydiving, and the few holidays spent together were kept secret.

The transition from friendship to love went smoothly after a year of a somewhat ambiguous connection. These two are very much in love but remain hidden, for the same reasons as their friendship was: apart from the desire to keep it to themselves, they want to avoid hateful comments on the internet. They have no plan to launch their idyll any time soon, preferring to enjoy each other's company without being judged by strangers. They are well aware that their considerable age gap would be a bone of contention.

If they⏤and particularly Astrée⏤are determined to protect their relationship, it is because the latter acts as a true protective bubble for both of them. Astrée is the only one who understands Lewis and manages to take the weight off his shoulders. The opposite is also true, but, above all, he helps her to get past the criticisms which, despite two years, continue to persist.

No one knows about it, except for George who has become their diversion, but some suspect it. Probably because Astrée is shipped with every driver. Perks of being the only female driver, I guess.

✩ MAX VERSTAPPEN

#MAXÉE... ıllı NOW PLAYING: Me And The Devil, Soap&Skin !

Many thought that these two would get on well together. Two drivers with a sharp competitive spirit and a cold appearance: it seemed written in the stars. Their way of being on and off the track is quite similar. Perhaps a little too much so. For many, it is this very similarity that is the source of their discord. Rather than seeing the things they have in common as an opportunity for friendship, they become a weakness, a mirror held up to them that they would rather ignore.

They make everyone’s—the other drivers included—heads spin as their relationship constantly oscillates between hate and friendship. Many paradoxical gestures do not help internet users to determine what is going on between them. While Astrée abandoned her race at the 2021 Silverstone GP to help Max and suggested that two of the season's best drivers were getting along, the Frenchwoman's past tweets criticising him and the many jabs at each other in press conferences suggest otherwise. The chaos that was the 2021 Netherlands GP gave the final blow to what might have been.

For these two, the professional ruins the personal. It is impossible for them to get past the status of rivals and bond. Every time they interact, each other's victories and defeats come back to the front like bad memories—which they essentially are.

Astrée's transfer to Red Bull did not help. On the contrary, it has reinforced the immense rivalry between these two: neither of them wants to be the second driver. What was supposed to be a dream team—made up of two exceptional drivers that everyone expected and feared—quickly turned into a nightmare where chaos and quarrels coexist, much to the dismay of one Christian Horner who would very much like to send them to couples therapy.

✩ taglist !

@xcharlottemikaelsonx @i0veless @simping4marauders @muglermami @fxllfaiiry @exatse @lilsiz @iloveandsuffer @notaceventura @missamericana69 @kageyamama-hinatatata @gentlemonsterjennie1 @sad1esgf @16solace @kenanlotus0 @till1am @itsnotgray @starkwlkr @missflobelova @mehrmonga @crimeshowjunkie @anicega @kosmosgalore @lovemarvel16 @charles-dimple @hiding-behindmy-glasses @serenityleah @flowerchild-96 @hopiiex @ivegotparticulartaste @jivas0 @screechingtrashkid @gxp30 @lauren--maex @idkiwantchocolatee @javden @lighttsoutlewis @rowansshit @like-fire-love-blog @ironmaiden1313 @tpwkforevermore @thydarkestknight @almostjollypizza @sunfairyy @scuderialavender @erinisrightheree @f1version @motorsp0rt @mango-bear @xoxmariaxox @rippl3s @mactavishly

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ynbabe · 1 month

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Hii, could you do a part two of "bite me"? I love reading these types of stories <33

Bloody red ୨୧ Charles Leclerc x Reader- Vampire AU

| Part 1 | Heyyy y'all- I'M BACK!!! Okay so reader is at the end for this but I promise y'all will love this- it's Charles, how could one not? Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you wanna see next! REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

Charles could almost throw up from the sight in front of him, he was exaggerating of course but it was close.

A large spread of food- human food. The drivers had all gone out to celebrate, he didn't know what, maybe it was a pity meal after the absolute mess in Australia. He hoped so, looking at how George and Logan looked- faces pale, eyes dark, looking like they could throw up.

Across from him Fernando hadn't touched the food and was sipping on his suspiciously red win, Lance sat to his right and Checo to his left. He spoke animatedly to the Red Bull driver in fast and whispered Spanish and Lance gossiped, loud (for the vampire) in French to Esteban, who seemed equally engrossed in what the Canadian was saying.

Charles swallowed thickly, it wasn't as if he couldn't eat human food it was just that it tasted bland and quite frankly gross to him and Fernando, whom he still suspected to be a vampire. How could he not? That man was surprisingly fit for a man of 40... not that 40 was old.

He fiddled with the spaghetti on his plate but finally gave in an shoved it in his mouth, swallowing like it pained him to do so.

When he looked back up, he saw Fernando staring at him, with a look on his face that Charles couldn't for the life of him figure out. So he decided to torture that old man, why not?

"The food's nice isn't it Nando?" He asked, pulling the table's attention to the two, he smirked as he saw the older man's eyes widen for a second before he regained composure and smiled- no smirked back.

"Yes, yes, it is," he replied, his accent thick, "You don't seem to have eaten much though, not to your taste?" he stressed the last word in an insinuating manner, the meaning lost on all others who were listening in, but he knew, he knew that he knew that he knew- okay this was getting confusing.

"Oh no, I like it, your plate has been empty though?" This was fun, Fernando shook his head and returned to his wine, everyone on the table seemed to have moved on, other than a few prying eyes, unknown to the two drivers.

As the night went on the herd began to thin, as most of the younger drivers- Max, Lando, Oscar (on Lando's insistence, which consisted of him dragging the poor boy out with him,) Zhou, Pierre, Alex, Carlos, Yuki and of course, Daniel had decided to go clubbing. Nico, Kevin, Checo, Valtteri and Esteban had returned to their hotels, tired of the weekend and its festivities.

Left at the table were Fernando and Lance, who seemed to be having a hushed conversation, too soft even for his ears, George and Logan, who seemed to be slightly panicked about something and Lewis who was paying the bill, but just as he was done, he nodded at Fernando in some sort of silent agreement and headed out, patting the drivers in his way, including Charles, on the back and gracing the others with a small wave.

The Aston-Martin driver's conversation finally ends, the younger man laughing at something Nando said as he gets up from the chair and walks away.

Then suddenly, all Fernando's attention is on Charles, unwavering, eyes like a hunter on his prey, "You know," he says nonchalantly, leaning back, "and you know that I know," his eyes still piercing into his own, "So what are we going to do about it?"

Charles knows there's no real danger, after all, he couldn't hurt him without having his secret out, right? Regardless he's terrified, but he's also a gutsy, annoying little shit, so he responds in kind.

"Nothing," and bares his fangs, sipping his own cup of wine, it actually was just wine. He felt pride as Fernando's face morphed into shock.

"This... this I did not expect," he surrendered, hands in the air, "but, I am not unhappy," he smiled, baring his fangs back the monegasque.

Somewhere further along the long table, they were seated at, something clattered, making the two vampires turn their necks at breakneck speeds, well for humans at least.

"What... the fuck!" The American cursed, the tall Brit ext to him equally shocked, his jaw locked shut.

Oh god, how could they forget about them? They were truly screwed now.

"George, think about this-" he began but he was cut off by him opening his pursed mouth which let a small stream of blood dribble out.

Before he had a chance to think the American opened his mouth, teeth- no fangs, stained red. They lifted the small metal decanter they had been drinking from throughout the dinner, he'd just assumed it was alcohol.

"Okay then, " Nando sighed and chugged from his glass of what he now knew was blood. He motioned for the two boys to come closer and they looked around before speeding to sit next to the older man, George where Lance was once seated and Logan where Esteban was.

All he could do was stare, "W-who? What?" slipped out his mouth before he could stop it.

"Well, I was turned very long ago," Fernando confessed.

"How long?" He asked,

"Let's just say Formula was as interesting in the '50s," he smiled, making the three younger men exclaim in various degrees of disbelief.

"That's- impossible, what?" Logan called out, clearly shocked.

"You're a vampire and that's what you think is impossible?" George sassed.

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?" Logan snarked back, using an unused baguette to smack the taller blonde across the head making him hiss in reply.

"Well, I was going to ask who turned you but I guess that's answered," Fernando said, looking at the younger boys.

"Wait, who turned you, George?" Charles asked.

"Lewis, he didn't mean to... it just kind of happened," the boy shrugged.

"And you, Predestinado?" Nando asked, ever theatrical but Charles was a little ashamed now.

"I- uh, I don't know actually," He replied making the other three look at him in concern.

"It happened at a club and I've been feeding off my girlfriend, ever since..." he let out and watched as Logan and George moved closer to each other and Nando sighed.

"Y/n, yes? She's a good kid, Charli, try not to hurt her, this life... it is not an easy one, you know," he warned but the look in his eyes told Charles he was speaking from experience.

----------------------------------------------------

The door opened just as you had dozed off, tired of waiting for Charles.

"Y/n, belle, are you awake, Cheri?" he whispered as he walked into the expensive hotel room.

You startled awake, immediately smiling at your boyfriend. He laid next to you and you moved to let yourself burrow into his arms, head on his chest. At first the lack of a heart beat scared you , but now it was almost comforting, knowing the the sounds you heard were your blood running through his veins.

"Bebe, you will not belive who else is a Vampire," he started off, making you awaken more properly than before.

"There's more of you?" you questioned in shock, leading to perhaps the most important gossip session of your life.

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httpsleclerc · 6 months

Note

Hi bestie :] can I request - sharing one bed with Mr George Russell ? 😌 Thank ya <3

hello bestie !! thank you for your request your my favourite ever ever!!

george russell x fem!merc!driver!reader

It was unfair to say that you hated George.

Maybe strongly disliked was a better option, strongly dislikable enough that the very thought of staying in a room with him any longer than you needed to made you want to tear your hair out. To make it worse, you were forced to act as though you could at least tolerate - the perks of hating your team mate were not great.

Adding salt to the wound, the hotel that you and the other drivers had been booked into had double booked both yours and Georges rooms, meaning that you would have to share a room together, and now, as it seemed, a bed as well.

"Oh, great," You complained, spotting only one double bed as you walked into the room you would be sharing with your arch nemesis and also team mate for the weekend. "I'll sleep on the couch." You comprised, as much as you thought you hated George, he was 6'2, there was no way he was fitting on the couch and you didn't want him to have a sore back - otherwise he'd perform poorly, that was the only reason you cared, right? It was all about his performance, not about how you noticed how he stopped gelling his hair after you had drunkenly told him it looked better without the gel, how despite how you treated him, he was still friendly towards you.

No, you mentally scolded yourself, you are not. in love with him

"No, you take the bed, honestly, it's fine," He waved you off. Curse George and his British politeness.

"No, you take the bed. You're a giant, you won't fit on the couch," You tried to reason with him, you were too tired at this point to argue, it had been non-stop since Austin and you just wanted one good nights sleep, even if it was on a couch. George sighed as he shook his head, throwing your bag onto the bed.

"Honestly, Y/N, it's fine," You were ready to stomp your feet and throw a little tantrum at how polite this man was. How polite, tall...handsome...No. Enough of that. You huffed out tiredly.

"Fine, we'll both sleep in the bed," You were too tired to care about what he would reply to that with, but you were shocked at how he didn't second guess accepting your invitation. "What? No snide comments?" George quirked his eyebrow at your response - he had never been snide with you, in fact quite the opposite.

George was sure he was head over heels in love with you, even though you acted in the exact opposite way towards him, but that didn't matter to him, he was hoping if he was nice enough to you, that maybe it would make up for whatever he had done to make you hate him, even if he had no clue what he had done in the first place.

He supposed he could understand your hostility - You were a young woman in a male dominated sport, lucky to sign with such an esteemed team as Mercedes in your rookie year was a blessing, but for you, it was filled with sexist remarks, doubting your ability in the sport, which time and time again you had proved yourself in, often outperforming your teammate. However, it didn't seem to matter how often you outperformed George, however many podiums you won, everything you did was undermined because you were a woman.

"Nope," He shook his head, giving you a small smile, he saw you fight back one in response. "I'll go get changed in the bathroom, you can stay in here." He said, taking his pyjamas into the large bathroom with him. You sighed as you sat on the bed, sinking into the mattress as you ran your hands over your face, before eventually getting into bed with your pyjamas on. The pounding of the rain against the window caught your attention, the crashing of the thunder causing you to jump, and run into bed; your face a scarlet red as the embarrassment of still being scared of thunderstorms at this age hit you. By the time George came out of the bathroom, the red from your face had died down and you were half asleep on your designated half of the bed. He quietly and gently got in beside you, not wanting to wake you up since you already looked so peaceful when you were only half asleep.

It didn't last long, as you woke up with a panicked gasp at a clap of thunder, your heart dropping at how vulnerable you now were in front of George. You were half expecting him to laugh at you and call you childish, but instead, he tentatively reached out for your hand in the dark, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry," You said bashfully, looking away from him despite the room being pitch black. George sighed and lay back down, pulling you down with him.

"It's okay love, you've nothing to be sorry for," He said softly, still holding onto your hand, causing the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach to multiply.

Maybe hate was a strong word.

Was in love with him now a step too far?

#george russell x reader #george russell #George Russell x fem!reader #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #mercedes amg f1 #f1 fic #x reader #f1 x reader #comfort #enemies to lovers #mercedes

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jamminvroomvroom · 2 years

Text

i think. part 6.

george russell x fem!reader

find the other parts on my ✨masterlist✨

okay so writers block kicked my arse but i’m back. hi. this chapter has it all. smut, fluff, angst. we stan an emotional rollercoaster. n e wayz bon appetite, enjoy, lemme know what you think/what you wanna see from this fic going forward!!

in which it’s perfect, until reality kicks in and it isn’t anymore.

warnings: 18+!! minors stay back!! smut, ANGST, fluff, language, someone gets called a slut in a not hot way, an i am stupid-esque moment

6.1k words

a week in italy with george was enough for you to know that you’d stumbled into something special.

you spent a week apart after hungary, visiting family and recuperating after a hectic first half of the season, before he’d whisked you away. he seemed to enjoy that, taking you places that were symbolic of romance. the amount you missed him during that week apart was almost shameful, and you’d made sure to tell him every night when he called to ask about your day. you were less embarrassed when he said it back, a lazy smile ingrained in his voice that triggered your own.

you spent the early flight to milan slumped against his shoulder, attempting to read a book that you simply weren’t interested in. instead, you stared at him, scanning his side profile as if you wanted to commit every little detail to memory. his high cheekbones, the way his eyelashes curled in a way that made you envious, his full lips that you couldn’t help but press your own against. he was so beautiful, and he was yours.

a quick trip through the airport and you were set free into the heavy italian heat, the sunshine seeping into your bones. george collected the mercedes he’d been given for your travels, driving you both through the countryside until you reached one of the most beautiful houses you’d ever seen. a lavish italian villa stood before your eyes, surrounded by nothing but blue sky and serenity. there was nothing and no one to disturb you; peace, at last.

you spent your days lounging by the pool, tasting wine at a local vineyard, letting him touch you in all the ways that somehow only he could. if you weren’t rolling around your shared king sized bed, he was taking you on long walks when it cooled off in the late afternoons, showing off his terrible italian skills, holding your hand on your incognito trips to the supermarket. you took pictures for him to post on instagram, noting the ones that his friends would take the piss out of him for. he caught you off guard, obsessed with taking candids of you, of documenting all the little things.

you couldn’t formulate an idea in your head of what could ruin this. you were so undeniably happy, and it was all because of george. whatever this was between you, it was written somewhere. it had to be. how could two people, so sick of the sight of one another, so filled with disdain, end up holidaying in the italian countryside, on the verge of saying three words that would change everything? quite impressive, really.

the topic of your old ways had uncomfortably come up one evening as you sat on the balcony and stared at the stars. it had started as a joke, george questioning how you’d ever managed to resist him, but one look in your eyes made him stop in his tracks. you looked so apologetic, almost guilty, that he’d immediately thrown his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest.

“sweetheart?” he’d whispered, voice so gentle, even as he despised the small frown on your face and the way your eyebrows furrowed.

“i’m sorry.” you’d mumbled. you couldn’t look at him.

“for what?” he sounded genuinely confused, and that was enough of a persuasion for you to whip your head up and meet his eyes. he looked borderline concerned, thrown off course completely by your apology.

“everything i said. all of it. i had no reason to go after you like that in the press.” you confessed, words coated in regret. the doubt you’d cast on his debut with mercedes was uncalled for. sure, he had annoyed the ever living fuck out of you, but he was still the best upcoming talent on the grid. you had no right to question him. sat in his arms, on an italian balcony, staring at the stars, he’d given nothing to doubt about him.

“you were just doing your job.” george almost shrugged it off, but you could see how your words had pulled at a heartstring. he looked a very strange combination of sad and touched.

“no, george, that was not my job, it was disgraceful and unprofessional and stupid and i’m so sorry, i’m so-“ you were rambling, your words moving a million miles an hour, until they couldn’t anymore, warm lips pressed gently to yours to ease your worrying. the crease in your eyebrows melted away, as did the rest of the tension in your body, until you were left with nothing but his touch, moulding your languid body against him.

a quick break for air, and his thumbs were stroking your cheekbones, barely a few centimetres between you. foreheads pressed together, eyes locked, he spoke.

“you were just doing your job.” his words were firmer this time, hanging heavy in the space between your lips until they settled across your entire body, easing you finally. all you could do was nod, in awe of him, nothing new.

how did you get so lucky? how was he everything you needed? a six foot two needle in the worlds haystack, and somehow you’d found him.

when he’d kissed you into the sofa, pressing you into the cushions, it had felt different. his kiss was slower, every movement was guided by a different type of intent to what you were used to with him. you were anxious to get him on top of you, and usually, he took great pleasure in hearing you beg for him, but that night was different. his lips didn’t leave yours as he’d undressed you, swallowing your whines as he caressed your bare skin, goosebumps decorating your skin as the cold air of the night dusted over your naked body.

only when he decided he’d needed a taste of you did he pull away from your lips. there was a look in his eyes, an intensity that startled you, took your breath away. a look that you quickly missed as he began to pepper kisses down your neck, your chest, his eyes fluttering shut as he got lost in the map of your body. as his lips moved across your lower stomach, the creases of your hips, you seemed to melt even further into the sofa, a hand settling on the back of his head. when he’d spread you apart, guttural moan tearing from the back of his throat as he licked into you, you were lost. you didn’t know if anyone else would ever measure up.

under the italian stars, everything was different.

after the break, nothing could have burst your bubble. you were practically high on him, sickeningly falling. there had been some sort of gravitational shift between you, something unspoken worth a million words. you’d had a couple of days back home in london to recuperate and prepare for belgium, a million and one things on your to do list. that didn’t stop you from falling asleep against his chest in his apartment every night. you’d slotted into each other’s lives almost seamlessly.

you’d kissed him deeply on your doorstep when he left for the airport, his flight to belgium a few hours before yours, raking your fingers through his hair. sweet whispers passed between you, see you later’s and i’ll miss you’s. another few kisses and he was gone. you couldn’t wait to share the weekend with him, you had a sneaky feeling you were in for a good one.

it was raining in spa when you’d arrived, tanned and beaming, nothing all that shocking. you were refreshed, and excited to be back at work, never too far away from the man that you were pretty sure you were in love with. cloud nine had never felt better, and you had floated into the weekend raring to go. nothing could have burst your bubble, you thought.

naturally, nothing lasts.

it had started out as whispers. a few people in the paddock looked at you for a second too long, eyes squinting as they looked rapidly between your face and their phones as you passed by. you’d continued your walk through the paddock with furrowed eyebrows, self conscious beyond measure. you felt like a zoo animal, under scrutiny with every step you took. you wondered, stupidly, what it could possibly be about. you refused to acknowledge what you knew it had to have been. you refused to accept that they knew. you thought back to articles you’d written, your tweets, a podcast you’d been on, something controversial you’d said or done, anything to settle your mind.

but you knew what it was.

when you’d bravely unlocked your phone, after retrieving it with shaky hands from your bag, you opened twitter, trying to hold your head high as you typed your name, followed by george russell, into the search bar. you’d had to re type it more times than you’d care to admit, uneven breath and twitching fingers making the simple task harder than it needed to be. you could have burst into tears when you’d seen what everyone else already had, your obvious suspicions confirmed instantly.

you and george, candids from the italian supermarket. a couple of shots from the airport. his hands were on you. it was undeniable.

the low quality pictures would have been amusing to you, had you not been on the verge of collapsing in the middle of the paddock. the domesticity, the mundanity of george russell pushing a shopping trolley with one hand, the other one loosely linked with yours, should have made you smile. you scrolled through twitter, another mistake. tweet after tweet made your eyes prick further with tears. you’d just about scoffed, a strangled laugh leaving your rapidly closing throat as you read the words “wannabe ted kravitz slut”, when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“sweetheart-“ you heard his voice before you’d even turned around.

“george, what the fuck are you doing?” whipping around to face him, you cut him off. what on earth was he doing? you were out in the open, exposed to the rest of the f1 community. there had to be at least ten cameras on you already.

“please don’t cry, we’re going to sort this out-“ he looked pained as he watched tears track slowly down your face, the fear clouding your eyes. you looked broken.

“no, you need to leave me alone. we can talk about this later, but you need to go.” somehow, you found conviction. even in such a state, you still burned fiercely.

“as if i can leave you here like this.” he argued, as if it was glaringly obvious, which it may well have been, but you had worked far too hard for your career to let a paddock sighting with your newly exposed boyfriend ruin it.

“well you’re going to have to. we cannot let this get even worse than it already is.” you almost sounded amused. perhaps it was just the panic seeping in.

“it’s not that bad.” george tried to be level, rational. bless him. there was no use.

“maybe not for you, george. this will ruin me.”

“sweetheart, please. i know the press are bad but-“ you didn’t let him finish his sentence; there was no ‘but’.

“i know the press are bad! i’m one of them! they’re going to eat me alive.” you rambled. “you need to get away from me.”

“darling, i can’t just-“

“yes, you can. go!”

“but i-“

“go!” he looked defeated, as he finally gave in and stepped back from you.

your eyes told him to keep walking, and so, he did, backing away slowly until he managed to bring himself to turn around, convincing himself that it’s what you wanted. you kept your eyes on him until he disappeared from your sight. very calmly, you wiped your face, clutching your bag even tighter as you plastered a neutral look on your face and kept walking.

you reached your media building, walking up the few steps that led inside, waving at your producer who gave you a tight, uncomfortable smile. you placed your bag down, took off your rain jacket, and made your way into the bathroom.

you couldn’t be sure of exactly how long you’d sat in the cubicle sobbing, but you definitely knew that you needed to fix your mascara before you went on air.

how long would you and george last, now that the world was against you?

the tension only increased. you spent the entirety of thursday and friday suffocating on air, the weight of the world sitting on your chest. it didn’t help that you were avoiding george like the plague. he knew to keep his distance, knew that he had to, no matter how much you missed him. it killed you, watching him ignore you out of the corner of your eye, pretending like you didn’t know each other. even before you’d fallen into bed, it was rare for you to miss a media session together. somehow you’d always sought one another out, enjoying the chase, the proximity. neither of you were enjoying this forced separation.

you were on strict orders to stay away from george all weekend. the lecture from your boss and the bollocking you’d gotten from your producer was enough of a warning. you knew what was at risk if you dared veer into his arms, and so, you behaved, perhaps for the first time in your career. just this weekend, they’d insisted, just until this blows over. you knew it wouldn’t.

saturday came, rain trickling drearily from the sky, doing absolutely nothing for your sour mood. george had qualified well, just as he usually did, making the corners of your lips upturn as much as they were allowed to with your bosses and the rest of the media pen watching you. you didn’t let your eyes wander around the pen as you waited for the drivers to turn up, focusing on your notes to avoid the stares. the rumour mill was truly pathetic.

you were first joined by lance, then seb, mick, lando, daniel. a few more of them. you finished your slot with plenty of stellar quotes, some quality content and absolutely nothing from the british driver staring at your helplessly from beside his disgruntled press officer.

as your sunday progressed, you realised that things seemed to be looking up. there were less filthy looks and your producer actually managed to crack a smile at you. quite the result.

the churning down of the dramatic saga was probably aided by someone at redbull saying something slightly distasteful about someone at ferrari, and the effects of silly season catching up with everyone, but you were just happy to seemingly be making it out of the weekend alive, and with a headline. at least redbull were useful for some things.

you still hadn’t seen george alone. it was rather ridiculous to you that it was mostly your own doing. had you have not sent him away as soon as the dam broke, the weekend may have been slightly less excruciating. you were a couple, supposed to fight through these sorts of things together, and you had pushed him away at the first chance you had. he’d called you multiple times and you’d let it go to voicemail, staring anxiously at the screen. his texts were replied to with short and snappy answers, yes, you were okay, and i promise we’ll talk about this.

george was going crazy and you felt horrible.

you supposed you were in a way. george wanted to follow his heart, while you were hellbent on listening to your head. self preservation, you were calling this isolate stint. if this got any worse, he’d keep his seat, toto would probably even give him a high five for keeping the press on his good side. you would not be so lucky. you were more inclined to receive a slap on the wrist and a torn up contract. luckily for you, things had calmed down.

you watched on, under the cloud strewn sky as he brought it home p3. your boyfriend had definitely earned his nickname, mr consistent jumping out of his car to hug lewis and slap charles on the back. you watched him on the screen in the media pen as all three podium sitters disappeared from parc ferme and made their way into the cool-down room. you smiled stupidly as you watched him chatter with the other drivers, downing a bottle of water as he did. his little comments on the race highlights had you laughing quietly to yourself behind your notebook; it had been a rather dramatic race.

“i’m going to get slandered for that.” george laughed as the monitor showed him overtaking perez, and you knew he was right. the other driver had been less than impressed over the team radio. charles and lewis laughed along with him, lewis quickly engrossing himself back into the race. charles, however, did not.

“i wouldn’t worry, mate, it’s not like your girlfriend is gonna let you get bad press-“ as if his words had suddenly registered, the monegasque man went as red as his race suit, slapping his hand over his mouth. george paled in comparison, tensing in his seat, while lewis’s head snapped round to stare at the pair of younger drivers. charles might have muttered a few lines of apology, a chorus of “i am stupid”but you couldn’t be sure. all you could hear was white noise as your cheeks burned bright, suddenly under everyone’s intense stare once again.

you knew charles hadn’t meant to say it. you knew drivers had a tendency to forget that the cameras were rolling, what with all of that adrenaline. but the damage was done. you’d just about clawed your reputation back with some good old fashioned journalism and an unbothered - albeit fake - smile, only for that hard work to be absolutely obliterated in a matter of seconds by a joke between friends.

you had a quick decision to make. you could go, shove the microphone in your quivering hands at your colleague; run away and let the paddock swallow you whole, cry a bit in a quiet corner. or, you could stay, complete the job you’d been brought here to do, and then go and cry in a corner. if you went with the latter, you might actually keep your job. or, you’d be fired anyway for causing a scene before any drivers had even turned up. there were too many ‘ifs’, ‘buts’, ‘what ifs’; with your head held high, you would get this over with and then you would find your boyfriend, sort this out once and for all. he’d done nothing wrong, done nothing to cast any doubt in your mind, and you wouldn’t blame him if he was doubting you. all you needed to do was a couple of interviews, ask a few questions, and this mindfuck of a weekend would be over.

it was gruelling.

the entire media session was slow, borderline painful, but it was over. as far as you were aware, you still had a job. exhausted from the soul sucking weekend and the gloomy weather, you trudged through the hotel lobby. you looked a wreck, hair thrown up in a makeshift bun, mascara further darkening the bags under your eyes, but it was over. the weekend was over. as you walked past the receptionist, a young blonde, she glared at you. you had no issue, basking in your pity party, with glaring back. you were past caring about people giving you dirty looks, past caring about people at all. there was just about one person that you cared about and he was locked away about eight floors up.

you caught sight of yourself, your murky reflection staring back at you in the reflection of the elevator doors as you waited. shoulders sagging, bag clutched tightly, you looked like a shell of your usually confident, put together self. you shuffled into the elevator as the doors slid open, staring blankly at the buttons for a second, but you knew that there was only one place that you needed to go. without a second thought, without letting that voice in the back of your head convince you that george hated you now, you hit the button for the eighth floor. when the elevator doors opened, you crept up the corridor. stopping outside of his door sent your heart rate spiking.

he won’t want to see you.

yes, he will.

go back to your own room. the mini bar is stocked.

oh, just knock on the damn door.

you didn’t even realise that you were already rapping your knuckles against the wood, the thought barely registering until the door swung open. your hand fell limply to your side.

you stared at him.

he stared back. his expression, unreadable.

his hand reached out, gently grasping your wrist, tugging you into the large hotel room. silence surrounded you both, no sound apart from the door slowly meeting the hinge with a muffled slam.

“congratulations, baby.” you whispered. your voice was so weak, you wondered if he’d even heard you. you couldn’t even attempt to crack the code of his elusive expression, tears welling in your eyes, blurring the beautiful man in front of you.

george didn’t respond, using his grip on your wrist to pull you in to him. one of his hands stroked your back, the other one stroking your hair as you buried your face into his chest. you let a few stray tears slip out. you’d desperately missed his touch, wrapping your arms around his waist to keep him against you for as long as you could.

“how are you doing, sweetheart? are you okay?” george murmured against your forehead, peppering kisses there.

“it’s over now. i’m going to take a few weeks off.” you replied, somewhat defeated, but you’d do what you needed to do to move past this. you felt him nod against the top of your head.

“i’m sorry about what charles said. he couldn’t stop apologising.” george continued.

“it’s fine. don’t care about anything else. just want to be here with you.” you mumbled. “i’m so sorry, george.”

he pulled back, hands coming to rest on your sides as he stared down at you.

“you have nothing to apologise for, darling.” his tone was firm, but you weren’t having any of it.

“yes, i do. i let us down, i- i left you to deal with all of that shit alone because i was too worried about myself and-“

“you silly girl. stop it. stop apologising for things. my team took care of most of it. these things happen, it was bound to come out eventually, but you were caught off guard. i can’t blame you for that.” george’s voice was so soft, so velvety as he spoke, commanding all of your attention as you stared at him in awe.

“i don’t deserve you.” you breathed. he scoffed. “it’s true! i’m a disaster.” you continued. you could already feel yourself lightening up as you heard him laugh softly. you might have even cracked a small smile.

“you’re perfect.” he mumbled, staring down at you. it was your turn to scoff. “my disaster.” he added. you melted a bit. you were still his.

you kissed him. it had been too long, too many days had passed. you held his face in your hands, thumbs grazing his cheekbones as he wrapped his arms around your waist. he kept you close, kiss firm, passionate, and you melted right into him. something changed, snapping within you, and you were pushing him over to his bed, overcome with the sudden urge to feel every single part of him. you needed it.

when he sat down at the foot of the plush hotel bed, you followed, splayed out across his lap. you lips stayed connected, tongue licking into his mouth as you moved frantically. he broke away, pulling back to search your eyes, zoning in on the way you shook ever so slightly on top of him.

“shh, shh, sweetheart,” he stroked your arms, alleviating some of the shakes but leaving goosebumps in his wake. “what do you need, baby?” he crooned, lips moving over your collarbone.

“need you, george. missed you so much.” you emphasised your words with a roll of your hips. your skirt had rolled up, the only thing covering you being the dark lace of your underwear. he just smiled at you, all lazy and smug. he’d been waiting all weekend to hear you say those words. he knew you’d come back to him.

“yeah, sweetheart? missed me?” you nodded rapidly, so easily falling under his spell. “i’ve missed you too. gonna let me show you how much i’ve missed you?” he looked you square in the eyes as he spoke, loving that way yours fluttered shut. kisses trailed over your collarbone and your neck. he licked over your sensitive skin, finding that spot on your neck that made your thighs clench, only spurring you on to grind down on him. you rolled your hips over his, feeling the way he was straining against the material of his sweats.

“are you gonna let me show you, sweetheart? or are you gonna keep grinding on me like my needy little slut?” george whispered in your ear, sending your back into a perfect arch. you couldn’t even help yourself, panting as you rocked your hips faster, your clit stimulated with every movement. “bet you could cum for me like this, couldn’t you? have you really missed me this much, my love?” you whined at his words.

“come here, love, just like that.” george spoke as he readjusted you on his lap, your legs now straddling one of his thighs. “take what you want. make yourself cum for me. can see how bad you want it, so take it, baby.” he ran his thumb over your bottom lip as he instructed you, eyes fixed on yours.

he didn’t have to tell you twice, your hips grinding down, just as they had been. you could feel how wet you were against your underwear, hips rolling erratically to get yourself off through the material. you were a whining mess, embarrassingly close already as you chased your orgasm. he groaned softly, an accidental buck of his hips giving away just how much he’d missed you too. his eyes darted between your own and where you were joined to his thigh, a growing wet patch on his grey joggers making him curse. his grip on your hips tightened, urging you to move even faster.

“george, please.” you sounded broken, desperate to cum. your eyes had glazed over, one of your hands resting over your clothed breast, the other one tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.

“come on, sweetheart, that’s it. such a good girl for me. you’re so good, cum for me, my good girl.” his string of praise had you falling forward on his lap, burying your head in his neck as you came.

you rested there for a moment, breathing heavy. he traced circles into your hips with his thumbs, soothing you as you came back down. as you settled, you ran your tongue up his neck, pressing a kiss just below his ear.

“need you, george. please.” you whispered, your voice still laced with a needy edge that sent his jaw slack.

“what do you need, sweet girl? what do you want?” he hummed, pulling you away from his neck to look at him.

“need you to fuck me. anything. just need you.” you breathed, doe eyes meeting his darkened one. it was amazing, how he instantly had you at ease.

“yeah? you want me to fuck you? you need me inside of that dripping pussy?” he flipped you over as he spoke, guiding you up the bed until you were laying back against the pillows, comfortably underneath him.

“please.” you whined. your arms went around his shoulders, clawing at the material of his shirt. george made quick work of yours, tugging it over your head. his hands grazed your abdomen as he moved to unzip your skirt, that quickly followed your shirt as it dropped to the floor. his hand reached the band of your underwear, long fingers gripping the fabric to peel them off of you.

“fuck, sweetheart, what a mess.” george muttered, slowly bringing his hand between your legs to graze your clit with his thumb. your hips bucked, irritable whine leaving your lips.

“no, no, just want you.” you groaned, barely coherent. “now. come on george.” you demanded. he smirked down at you, at the way you’d suddenly switched up.

“then take me. i’m all yours.” his smirk never faltered, amused at your demanding tone, your hands flying to his shirt to tear it up and over his head. they travelled down his abdomen, smoothing over his taut skin before your fingers were skimming his sweats. you pushed them down his thighs, eyes fixated on the way his body rippled as he kicked them off, his underwear following. something about his words hit your square in the chest, a new type of warmth blossoming through your body.

you ran your hand over his cock, pumping the length a few times before you guided him inside of you, sighing in relief as he filled you up. he settled on top of you, brushing some stray hairs out of your face. george stayed there for a second, hovering over you, as if to let you adjust, but he was admiring you. the crease in your eyebrows, the way your eyelashes dusted the tops of your cheeks, the blush that had tinted your skin. you were a sight to behold and he couldn’t get enough.

“anything you want, however you want me, i’m yours.” he groaned, hips rocking against yours as he began to move, deep thrusts fucking you into the mattress.

george set a pace, intense, not too fast. over the months, he’d learned what you liked, learned what you both needed. he’d learned you. he knew when to fuck you that little bit faster, deeper, just right. you were ruined for anyone else and you couldn’t have been happier about it. you cried out as you felt yourself closing in on your orgasm, his cock driving into you hard as his fingers moved away from your fingertip-bruised hip to toy with your clit. teasing circles over the bud had you squeezing around him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge too.

“it’s so good.” you bit out, eyes rolling back in your head as the knot tightened. “missed you.” you reminded him. you couldn’t let him forget that after the hell you’d put him through.

“not going anywhere, sweetheart.” his hips were losing any sense of rhythm, erratic thrusts making your eyes squeeze shut. everything felt lighter all of the sudden, as his fingers rubbed against your clit just right and you fell apart beneath him. you shattered into a million pieces, raking your nails down his back as you whimpered against his shoulder. he collapsed on top of you, his more than welcome weight grounding you in the moment.

you needed him to stay there, right where he was. you felt soothed, his warm, bare skin pressed against yours doing wonders to pull you out of the isolating headspace you’d found yourself lost in. kisses were being trailed all over your collarbone, your neck, your chest; tiny reminders that he was there and this was real and you were not dreaming. that he was not going anywhere.

ever so slowly, he’d pulled himself off of you, quiet murmurs of words that you couldn’t quite decipher as he stood from the bed. you watched him, trailing your eyes over this his lean frame as he moved slowly around the room. you felt like you were underwater, utterly exhausted in every sense of the word.

your eyes were drooping as you relaxed into the mattress, your ears pricking at the sound of water running in the distance and george’s footsteps somewhere across the room. it all hit you then, the entire weekend catching up with you and you realised that you hadn’t processed it all yet, as much as you tried to convince yourself it was over. now that your relationship was out there, resting in the palm of the media, exposed to thousands upon thousands of eyes, it would never be over. but as you saw george’s face come into focus above you, his calloused hands gently pulling you up off the mattress and into his arms, careful as he carried you towards the bathroom, you decided that you were okay with it.

you never wanted it to be over, this, you and him.

george lowered you down, your feet hitting the tiled floor. he held you against his chest until the ridiculously large bath was full, a light floral scent invading your senses, keeping you as alert as the sound of his heartbeat in your ear. he only stepped away from you to turn off the taps, checking the temperature of the water before he lowered himself into the tub. he held a hand out to you, settling into the water as you stepped in and sat yourself between his legs.

“come here, sweetheart.” george crooned, pulling you against him, your back to his chest. he brushed your hair over one of your shoulders, a couple of fleeting kisses pressed to your damp shoulder as you relaxed into him.

you allowed your eyes to flutter shut, inhaling deeply as the warm water washed over your aching body. you hadn’t realised how much you needed this until you were here, a combination of hot water and him being the perfect way to wash away the stress. your body truly did ache, frail against his long limbs behind you, and yet you were at peace. actual, genuine peace. he was made of magic, you were sure of it.

you knew, in that moment, the top of your head resting against his chin, one of his hands trailing across the soft skin of your belly and the other drawing meaningless shapes into your hip. you just knew. there wasn’t another person that evoked this kind of feeling in you. there wasn’t another person that kept you on your toes and made you feel safe and had you laughing and smiling and feeling in the way that he did. it seemed strange, truly, after everything. every jibe you’d made with a twinkle in your eyes, every time he’d touched you, every time you’d heard his laugh. it all brought you back to the same place. it all led you to him and the way he had completely consumed you.

“george?” you hummed, a barely noticeable quiver in your voice, that, of course, he noticed. you turned your head, able to see him in your peripheral vision.

“are you okay?” he asked instantly, his head tilting down, nose brushing yours. you nuzzled further into him, just about managing to make some eye contact with the angle.

“yeah.” you whispered, lips mere centimetres from his.

“what is it?” he hummed.

“i, i just,” you started, distracted by his tongue swiping over his lips. you were unable to help yourself, craning you neck a bit more to brush your lips over his. he laughed quietly and your loss of concentration.

“yeah?” george had that underlying tone of amusement in his voice, snapping you back to reality. you loved the sound of his voice when something was funny. that all encapsulating sense of happiness that dominated his tone. it spurred you on to finally tell him.

“i think i love you.” you whispered into the hot air, your words echoing off of the bathroom walls.

“really?” his voice was barely above a whisper. you couldn’t decipher the emotion shining through at first, because it wasn’t one you’d ever heard him display. he was nervous. wrapped around you in his bathtub, george russell was nervous. you’d caught him off guard and you were almost satisfied.

you hummed in response. there was nothing more to say.

you felt his arms tighten around you. his head dropped down, open-mouthed kisses trailing from your shoulder up the slope of your neck until his lips were right below your ear. you shivered, couldn’t help but, even in the warm water. and then you heard his voice, all shyness and insecurity banished, oozing confidence as he always did.

“i think i love you too.”

genuinely sick and unwell over writing fluff lol

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#george russell #george russell fic #george russell smut #george russell fluff #george russell angst #george russell x fem!reader #george russell x reader #george russell x you #george russell imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 oneshot #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 angst

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disneyprincemuke · 6 months

Text

best dress * fem!driver

when pictures circulate on instagram of her on a night out in her best dress, the guys start to get curious who she’s out and about with on a saturday night

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, george russell x fem!driver, lando norris x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver

warnings: none

notes: i may have gotten carried away with this one… and this might have played out a LOT funnier in my head than it does written down

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

-> the aftermath

she pushes the door open and steps out of her racing home. she looks left and right cautiously, careful not to catch her colleagues’ attentions. there’s many nights she’d appreciate their companionship but tonight is not that night.

she can only step one down before her worst nightmare comes to life.

“hey, where are you going?” she turns her head, mouth agape as she meets lando’s curious eyes. his eyes scan her body and his head tilts. “and why are you all dressed up?”

she straightens her body and pats her dress down. she flicks her hair behind her shoulder, trying to ignore the awkward tension in the air.

“um,” she trails off, glancing at the group of engineers walking past them without another thought. “i’m going out tonight.”

lando’s smile drops. “oh,” he slouches, “i was here to ask you if you wanted to grab drinks with us at the bar tonight.”

“hey lando, did you f- what are you wearing?” oscar’s jaw drops, nose scrunched up as he points at her in what can only be described as disgust. “where are you even going?”

“out,” she answers with gritted teeth, glancing at the gantries of the paddocks. it’s so close yet so far away. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay? i’ve really got to go.”

“but you never turn down post-quali drinks at the bar,” lando frowns. he presses his palm against his chest and throws his head back. “i can’t believe you’d betray me like that.”

oscar looks her up and down, eyebrow raising as it gets to the heels she’s put on. “why are you wearing heels? seriously, where the hell are you going?”

“exploring the city!”

“exploring the c– we’re here year after year. we know the best spots!” lando defends. “come on! we’re going to have so much fun!”

“you’re exploring the city in heels?”

she narrows her eyes down into a mean glare. of course this is the one time that oscar decides to remember she doesn’t wear high heels for exploration purposes. “yeah.”

“you know you want to come with us.” lando shimmies his shoulders, face hopeful that the driver would change her mind. but she still shakes her head and his smile immediately drops. “fine. be that way.”

“i’m sorry, i already arranged my plans even before we flew to miami,” she laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “if you guys are going out tomorrow, i’m free to join.”

lando intertwines his fingers. “okay. but if you cancel again, i’m crashing into you the next race.”

“okay,” she chuckles, readjusting the strap of her purse. “i’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”

oscar rolls his eyes, but a smile still stretches his lips. “don’t get lost. it’s a big city, (y/n).”

“yeah, penelope’s doing amazing,” max nods, his arm resting on the back of lando’s chair. one of his legs over the other, he takes a swig of his beer. “she just started school recently.”

“oh, i s-“

“hold up!” lando holds his arm out to max’s chest, his scream startling everyone seated around the table. the light from his phone illuminates his face as everyone turns to him with a puzzled stare. “oh, my god!”

“what?” max answers just as enthusiastically, smacking lando’s thigh to get his attention. lando lifts the phone up into his face, squinting as he tries to make out the person in the picture.

“yeah, don’t cut me off,” george scoffs as he folds his arms over his chest. “i was just asking if-“

“(y/n)’s out on a date!” lando yells, smacking max’s chest. he pushes himself off the chair and throws the phone into george’s lap. “dude, i knew it! i knew there was a reason she’s all dressed up!”

“seriously!” george screams towards his fellow brit.

“a date?” oscar scoffs, in absolute disbelief that his best friend could even have the ability to attract a man. “there’s no way.”

max grins sheepishly, handing the phone over to the australian. “i’m afraid so. someone saw her in a restaurant with a guy,” max states, “it’s all over instagram.”

oscar snorts, slowly analysing the grainy picture of the girl in a restaurant with somebody. sure, it’s similar to the dress she wore when they caught her sneaking out of the paddocks, but how sure can they be that it’s her?

“we should go and find her!” max suggests, his face lighting up and cheeks flushed from all the alcohol. he jumps in his seat and smacks george’s thigh lightly. “dude, let’s find her!”

“are you crazy?” george grabs max’s hand and throws it back at his body. “her date’s none of our business!”

though, lando disagrees with his friend. he clasps his hands together with a loud sound. “let’s go, gentlemen. we’re crashing (y/n)’s date.”

but only max stands up, hands on his hips and chest puffed out. “i’m ready. i’ve got my brave face on.”

“you look absolutely ridiculous,” george raises an eyebrow, “i don’t believe you used to scare off victoria’s suitors when you were younger.”

“me neither, but it somehow worked,” max nods proudly, turning slightly to look at george. “come on! this is practice for when it’s penelope’s turn! i have to make it believable this time.”

“you’re so drunk, mate,” george sighs. yet he still gets off his seat. “but i kinda want to see this with my own eyes.”

lando turns to oscar, still planted in his seat. lando doesn’t get to say a word before oscar starts shaking his head vigorously.

lando slouches. “why not?”

“i absolutely don’t believe that (y/n) is strong enough to take me in a normal fight,” oscar shakes his head, “but i’ve learned my lesson squeezing myself into a scenario that involves her dating life.”

george tilts his head. “what?”

oscar looks up, eyes scanning the three older men towering over him. “she gave me a really bad bruise one time when i scared off this guy that hit on her in the mall.”

“so?” max yanks oscar off his seat. “i’ll protect you. come on, i’ve got to see who’s sweeping (y/n) off her feet.”

“okay, but remember to tell her i tried to stop you,” oscar mutters, letting max push him towards the door.

after many dms sent on instagram, phone calls made, and struggles to find a taxi, the four have finally arrived at the restaurant. it’s a quiet establishment in the further end of the city, heads turning as passersby recognise the huddled men by the entrance.

“are you sure it’s this one?” oscar looks up at the sign. it’s a lot fancier than he expected. “doesn’t really seem like (y/n)’s gig.”

“if i were taking the grid’s princess out on a date, i’d take her to a fancy restaurant too,” max shrugs, following oscar’s stare.

the amount of time it took them to connect the puzzle pieces really sobered him up.

george taps his foot on the ground, craning his neck for a better look through the window. “are you sure it’s here? i don’t see her.”

“the girl that posted it said she was here when snapped the picture,” lando confirms, looking between his phone screen and the sign of the restaurant. “what if (y/n) tricked us knowing we’d come running?”

once the server comes back out, guiding them to their table, each of them does their own part to pick the girl from the crowd.

“i don’t see her,” max sighs, taking one last look at the restaurant’s tables and picking up the menu. “there’s no way we ditched the bar for a wild goose chase.”

“because she’s in the far corner over there,” oscar says nonchalantly, head flicking towards the other end of the restaurant where it’s slightly darker than normal. “i noticed her when we were outside the restaurant.”

george slowly turns his head to oscar. “while we were busting our asses looking for her?”

oscar shrugs, eyes boring into the menu for a snack to fill himself with. “i told you — i’m not getting another bruise for meddling with her love life.”

“nice! there’s a table closer to her!” max suddenly says, already on his feet to follow the waiter. he turns around and beckons his friends to follow him. “come on!”

they keep their heads low as the face of the familiar girl comes into sight. oscar even covers with his face with the menu, having learned his lesson from all those years ago.

they’re a table diagonal from her, menus up to cover their faces from her. “dude, who is she with?”

“i don’t know, i can’t get a look at his face without revealing mine,” george mutters, peeking slightly above his menu. he darts back down and rolls his eyes. “max, your turn.”

“don’t make it look obvious,” lando mutters, nudging max’s elbow with his. “look like you’re looking for a waiter.”

max swiftly turns in his seat, completely twisting his torso to get a look. but the man is faced away, the driver comfortably sitting in the booth seat as she giggles at something he said.

“dude, i can’t,” max shrugs, shying away behind his menu once more.

to the table next to them, a menu drops and reveals sebastian. “what are you idiots doing here?”

george’s jaw drops, pointing a finger at the older man. “we could ask you the same.”

“we saw her getting in a random ass car outside the paddocks.” the other menu across sebastian lowers, revealing logan with his hood covering his head. “we followed her here.”

“so you know who she’s with?” max asks in a hushed whisper, leaning towards their table. he looks down at the empty table. “you haven’t ordered anything?”

“it took us a while to get a table,” logan shrugs, pulling his hood further down to cover his face. “food’s in the kitchen.”

“oh, what did you get?” max asks, now looking back at the menu for something to order.

“mate!” george scolds, rolling his eyes before facing the other table. “who is she with?”

“according to blythe, it’s jacob elordi,” sebastian says, then shrugs with the roll of his eyes. “whoever that is.”

“oh, i’ve heard of him,” max nods, pressing his lips together. “he was in euphoria, wasn’t he?”

the table falls silent, heads turning to look at the dutchman as his confession falls from his lips. max notices their stares and he simply shrugs. “kelly and i like to watch shows over the break.”

“still not a show i expected you to be watching,” lando scoffs, turning slightly to get a glimpse of the girl once more. “isn’t he a bit too old for her?”

max straightens up, stiffly turning to look at lando. his head tilts as an unimpressed expression lands on his face. “dude. easy on the age gap.”

“yours doesn’t count,” lando sighs, “she’s practically a baby!”

oscar clicks his tongue. “but i mean… jacob elordi isn’t ugly, yes? an upgrade from her only boyfriend, right, max?”

max shrugs. “i guess.”

sebastian nods towards the table, his eyes suddenly widening at the empty booth seat. “where did she go? did she ditch him?”

“no, she caught you.” a low feminine voice makes all their heads turn to the end of the table. she looks down and pulls the hood off of logan’s head and shoves him forward slightly. “why are you here? you’re better than this!”

logan shrugs, chuckling slightly. “you were being secretive! i was just curious!”

“this is the last time i’m going on a date from the paddocks,” she grunts, stomping her heel into the ground. “go home, you guys! we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

sebastian hisses as the waiter stops behind her, dishes resting on top of the tray in his hands. “we already got some food.”

she narrows her eyes down, locking eyes with max. “you’re here too?”

max nods. “i suggested this,” his eyes go around the table, “team bonding activity.”

“i just wanted to see what would happen,” george admits. he points at max seated opposite him, “he said he wanted to scare off whoever your date is.”

“it’s true, i heard him say it,” lando nods, a small and guilty smile flashes at her. “we were just concerned about you.”

sebastian grabs her wrist gently, shaking her arm. “don’t be mad anymore. come on…”

“and you!” she points a finger at the australian sitting quietly between logan and george. his head snaps up at the yelp, wide and guilty eyes meeting hers. “i told you to stop meddling with my love life!”

“what?” oscar screams back, dropping his menu. “i was dragged here against my will!”

“i don’t believe you!”

“max!” oscar looks at max, then points at the furious girl as he awaits his explanation.

max stares at him for a second too long, and a giggle erupts from his throat. “right! right… we forced him here. he did not want another bruise, he said.”

“good,” she scolds, turning on her heel. “we’re leaving.”

“but we just got here!” lando squeaks. he cowers into his seat when she turns back around to glare at him, giving him flashbacks to a time when his mother would use it on him. “i mean, enjoy your time and don’t get too tired. it’s race day tomorrow.”

oscar doesn’t bother looking at her again. “see you tomorrow, loser.”

“where are you going?” george asks, a mischevious grin on his face to challenge her. “back to the hotel for some fun time?”

“a walk,” she sighs, dropping her head. she leans on the table. “my heels are killing me.”

“oh, i’ve got you,” sebastian mutters, disappearing underneath the table. out of his bag is a pair of doll shoes, the ones that she keeps in the garage when her time in the race car is over. “i saw these lying around aimlessly and thought i should keep them for you before it gets too dirty.”

she glares at him, hesitantly taking the shoes into her hand. “you took these from my room, didn’t you?”

sebastian shrugs. “you don’t wear heels very often, kid.”

“give me recommendations for date places,” logan smiles. “maybe next time i’ll have a girl out here with me. like you with jacob elordi.”

her mood changes back to what it was before: a mixture of irritation and not one of amusement. “i will kill you guys tomorrow. my date is waiting for me outside.”

oscar waves her towards the door. “i trust you’ll text logan and i about this later.”

“hey, i want in!” lando adds on, completely ignoring the girl walking away to the door.

“dude, this is seriously none of our business.”

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