#George Russell imagines
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Peter
pairing: George Russel x Reader
summary: George broke his promise to you, never coming back
a/n: no Carmen hate, I couldn't bring myself to write another sad ending
requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist
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George Russell was everything to you. Your childhood best friend, first and only love, and first heartbreak. You used to follow him around like a lost puppy, him your fearless leader as you made up adventures. You look at the old cedar closet in your childhood bedroom, the one the two of you believed would lead to Narnia one day.
"Y/n, you okay?" your friend nudges you, noticing you not paying attention to the race. The two of you lay in your bed with snacks, as tradition dictates between you and her. Even after all these years, George still holds the place of your best friend, even after he's hurt you.
"Was it something I did? Why doesn't George call anymore?" you ask the question that has been on your mind for the past could years. Your mind travels back to the last time you saw him.
"Y/n, please don't cry, It's just goodbye for now, not forever," George says before leaving for another race. He just said that the two of you need to take a break while he focuses on his racing for the next couple months and you go to university.
"You'll come and find me?" you sniffle, not wanting him to leave, knowing the truth deep down.
"Of course, I promise, just have some growing up to do," George references your favorite book, wiping the tears from your eyes. You were just babes, barely 18.
"Cheer up, I got us tickets to Silverstone next weekend, my job even threw in paddock passes," your friend throws a piece of popcorn at you. She was there when you realized George wasn't coming back to you anytime soon. She made you promise not to let the lamp burn waiting up for him.
"Can't wait," your stomach churns at the thought of getting a glimpse of him and his new girlfriend. You will never admit that you stalked her socials and professional life. It always hurts more when people mention to you how well he's doing when you can't seem to move on.
As you enter the paddock with your overexcited friend, you can't help but let your thoughts be filled with George. Is he still a mind reader like he was for you? Did he still steal the scene in every room he walked in, always attracting your gaze?
"He looks good," your friend says saltily, in solidarity with you, as you look at the video of him playing on the video board.
"Life was always easier on him," you hum, shaking him from your mind. You scan the crowd, noticing the fellow Brit not far from you, but you don't realize he also notices you before his attention is brought back to his girlfriend. It's like you exist under the same moon but live in different galaxies now, a hurtful realization for both of you.
"Can we go explore another place, I don't want to hang here any longer," you don't need to provide any more explanation before your friend pulls you to another area, unknowingly causing the two of you to cross George's path. He says nothing, only staring at the both of you as you don't notice him. The last memory he has of you popping into his mind.
"It's just goodbye for now," George mutters under his breath, kicking himself mentally for unintentionally forgetting about his best friend.
"What was that, George?" Carmen asks, utterly confused.
"Nothing," he brushes the question off. I grew up, I can still find her. George toys with the thought before the guilt of thinking about you while he is with his girlfriend makes him stop. The guilt of the promise he never kept adds to the pit in his stomach.
"George, are you okay? There's something off about you today?" Lewis asks.
"I'm not sure," George says before telling Lewis all about you, the closet that you two thought led to Narnia, your first kiss, your first 'I love you', your last goodbye, and his broken promise.
"Sounds like you really messed up, so what are you going to do?" Lewis processes the story told to him by his teammate, vowing to look you up later.
"I don't know," George sighs, leaning back in his chair. He imagines you waiting at home after the racing season and your first year at Uni.
You never told your friend how you spent your first semester waiting for George, letting the lamp burn at night. You turned down countless guys asking for dates in the hope that you'd return, standing outside your dorm, ready to tell you all that he learned.
You will never say anything because you never lost the love, it just changes with your perspective. You learned from your broken heart. You stopped sitting by the window waiting for his return, realizing George was lost to the racing part of his life. His Instagram post of him not even 30 kilometers away from you partying with other drivers during your first year of Uni, captioned 'the Lost Boys' solidified that for you.
Now you both were 25, and you grew up. The shelf-life of those fantasies had expired long ago, and despite your heart wanting him, it was time for you to move on. You tried to hold onto those days when you had each other, but there is only so much oil in a lamp to burn, and it is time to turn out the light. As you turn it out, there is a knock on your door.
"Y/n?" George's voice calls out as your hand reaches the handle. You cautiously open the door.
"George?" You say, utterly confused. His heart sinks a little, expecting you to call him Georgie.
"I grew up, I'm sorry, but I'm here now, please forgive me," George pleads, and you invite him in.
"You broke your promise," is all you say as you sit in a chair across from him in your living room.
"I know, and I'm so sorry, seeing you at Silverstone reminded me how stupid I am," George says, moving closer to you. Your head snaps up.
"Silverstone? George that was months ago. I'm sorry, the woman who waited by the window turned out the light. You have a girlfriend now and after everything I don't think I can be just your friend," you say, trying to figure out why he's here.
"Had. I had a girlfriend. When I saw you all I could remember was that last conversation, and I realized I was trying to fill the hole in my heart where you were," George says and you stay silent for a moment, taking his words in.
"I don't think I could take another heartbreak like that," you whisper. George and Lewis social media stalked you and old friends. George noticed that you never moved on from him, staying single. When his mind wouldn't leave the idea of you, he very gently broke it off with Carmen. She deserved better than someone who was filling the spot of someone else. "You forgot about me," you accuse, even if it is the truth.
"I never will again, please, I finally finished growing up, I finally came to get you," his eyes fill with tears, putting the ball in your court.
"One week. You get one week to prove your case, I'll make up my mind from there," you relent slightly, keeping the ball in your court so you get the final say in what happens. No more promises that are oceans deep.
two endings
#f1 imagines#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#george russell#george russell imagines#george russell imagine#george russell x reader#the tourtured poets department
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⸺ royalty!reader x george russell ♡ read under cut
you meet george russell at a charity event, both obligated to be there
he comes up to you, eyes filled with understanding
"do you ever feel like you're living a life that's not entirely your own?" george asks, looking over the sea of people
you start to bond
"let's escape from the world, just for a while," george whispers, his eyes sparkling with mischief
george takes you on secret trips, far away from the prying eyes of the media
first to the maldives, where you kiss under sunsets and sunrises alike
that's where the official relationship started
next to france, where you go on a roadtrip only visiting small and crooked towns, sharing a bed each night
while the public speculates about your relationship and your absences, you both cherish the moments you've stolen from them
you start to get worried on what they think
"our love is our own, and that's all that matters," george says, pulling you closer
on a warm summer day you decide to hard launch, george shares your love story with the world, posting an enchanting photo on insta
the photo captures both of you, hand in hand, standing at the edge of a breathtaking cliff, overlooking a vast ocean ♡
the caption reads, "in a world that tried to define us, we created our own reality. with you, i've found freedom and authenticity."
the post spreads like wildfire, scandalizing your family
in the end, you realise you don't care anymore
#george russell#george russell x reader#george russell x you#formula 1 x you#formula one x you#formula 1 x reader#george russell imagine#george russell headcanons#george russell headcanon#george russell imagines#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x you#george russell x female reader#george russell x y/n#formula one imagine#formula one imagines#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 imagines#f1 imagine#f1 imagines#f1#formula one#george russell fluff#george russell blurb#gr63#f1blr
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you always knew how to push my buttons
Alex Albon, long-suffering woman in motorsport, would really like to focus on her first year of racing for Williams. George Russell makes that difficult.
(or, girl alex galex)
masterlist
In Christian Horner’s defense, it wasn’t the worst idea. You have a second driver that’s doing badly, you need to pull them out but don’t want to look cruel, so you put in someone who’ll draw attention to who you’re currently sitting in your car instead of who you used to seat.
A girl is the perfect bargaining chip. The media gets so distracted by historic moments and trailblazers that they forget about the French kid Red Bull abandoned only a little bit ago, and when you tire of the girl, too, you can ship her back to reserve driverhood and still get the necessary pats on the back because, you know, you tried.
Alex Albon doesn’t want to be another token feminism card to play, though, and she certainly doesn’t want to stay in the shadows any more. This is something that Red Bull has learned upon hiring her. It might, perhaps, be something that they regret, because they’ve finally realized that Alex has absolutely no interest in being a little Media Darling Barbie for them, but they were still content to let her rot away in the aftermath of their fast-paced work environment.
Alex has her second chance now, though. She’s done her time in the prison of reserve driver status, and now she’s on the grid again. Williams is, admittedly, somewhat of a far fall from Red Bull, but every Icarus has their plummet to the sea, and she plans on reaching the glimmer of the sun again soon. She’ll be on a podium again. Then she can laugh at the rest of them as much as she pleases.
Until then, Alex is supposed to keep her head down but her chin up, ignoring all of the hundreds of people asking how terrible it must feel to only have less than two full years of being a second driver under her belt before getting booted. Her PR manager has trained her on how to handle the questions without getting abrasive. Williams is glad to have Alex on, of course, but they would really like it if she could play along with the interviewer circus for just a few months more before starting to crack.
Alex is not good at keeping her temper at bay. She is proving it now. It’s only a Thursday, barely a few races into the calendar, and already all of her media training is blinking out of her head like fading batteries.
One interviewer, seemingly sensing this, addresses his next question to her. “Alex, you’ve had a year to recharge as a reserve driver, and now you’re back with Williams. Are you disappointed to get your second chance only to be stuck with a backmarker team?”
Alex has often thought that it’s not drivers who should get media training but the actual media themselves, because how the fuck are you actually allowed to ask that in a professional setting. She grits her teeth into her best impression of a smile and tries to answer normally instead of, like, lunging out of the chair to gouge the guy’s eyes out or something. “I am happy to be back on the grid. Williams has given me a great opportunity, and it’s one that I’ll take as far as I can.”
The reporter frowns, scratching at his head a little before pressing further. “So you’re glad to be with this team, then? You wouldn’t have wanted any of the other teams to reach out with a contract?”
Alex stares at the guy. “I’m at Williams, and I like being here. Quit asking me about other people. Ask better questions.”
The interviewer purses his lips, giving Alex such vivid flashbacks of bitter and jaded old school teachers that she almost wants to ask the guy about his past career choices before turning to F1. However, she has a feeling that the only one who gets to be dissected about their resume is her. Delightful.
“That’s not really that nice, is it?” The man asks, voice so full of condescension that Alex has to squeeze her fingernails into her palms to avoid groaning out loud. “You know, when you first came to the grid, I thought you would be more friendly.”
“Yeah, well.” Alex says shortly. “There were nice girl drivers, but they couldn’t get through all of this. You’re stuck with me now.” Then smiles, like that’ll make all of this better. Oh, her PR manager is so killing her once this ends. Can the team doctors mend broken bones before Friday free practice begins?
The interviewer looks sour, but to her left, Alex actually hears someone laughing. She cocks her head to the side, curious to see who’s looking past her temper to discover a joke, and finds–
George. Of course it would be George.
George Russell is quite possibly one of the only people on the grid at the moment, or perhaps the entire world for that matter, who not only tolerates Alex’s snark and nonsense but likes it, too. Has since they were, like, tweens and teens. They’d observed each other in 2008, caught up between different karting circuits, but waited until 2011 to properly become friends. No self respecting twelve year old would ever interact with a boy who was merely ten, not while she was still winning, but fifteen and thirteen was better. They’re best now.
They were both small back then; George more so, almost a whole head shorter than Alex at that point, but he’s caught up remarkably fast, and not just in height. They were both stuck in the same fantasy, kids growing up at each other’s houses and dreaming of climbing the F3-F2-F1 ladder, and now they’re both here, swapping off places on the Williams team roster like a baton in a relay race. Time changes us all. They would never be the exception, even if it was kind of sort of wonderful back then, and Alex kind of sort of misses the way it was.
Not in the least bit because it meant less media duties for her back then. The interview ends in a pitiably long time, just long enough for Alex to wonder if reserve driverhood wasn’t better than this solely because she at least didn’t have to attend driver’s media days. She’s released soon enough, though, permitted to spill out into the dizzying sun of the paddock once more.
She pauses by the door to let George catch up to her; Alex likes walking quickly away, but she does owe George for breaking the ice back there. Once another driver had laughed, the interviewer could join in, nervously coughing and chuckling before quickly moving on to a better, more suitable candidate for terrible questions.
“D’you think I should put in a petition to the stewards asking for media days to be longer?” George asks conversationally, “I was kind of getting the feeling that you wanted to spend more time getting interrogated.”
Alex twists her face into a bitter glare. “I’d rather you just run me over with your car on Sunday and get the whole trouble over with. It’s like they want me to just start weeping over the wreck of my career already and give them a good show.”
George snorts. “They want drama, just ignore them. They’ll find a new victim soon enough.”
Easy for him to say, Mr. Saturday with the crisp Tommy Hilfiger lining on his new Mercedes team kit, he’s not the one getting picked to pieces. George had practically salivated over the shirt when he got his first shipment of merch, making Alex unbox it with him like they were vloggers or something.
He’d lingered over each cap and polo so long that Alex had threatened to slice the lot of it to ribbons with her box cutter unless he picked up the pace. Even still, George’s face had idled over the black and white fabrics long after everything was unpackaged, like he still couldn’t believe it was all real.
Alex stages a desolate sigh. “Yeah, yeah. They’ll all forget about me soon enough. It’ll be good.”
“Not all of them,” George corrects. “There’s still me, remember?”
His blue eyes are wide and accusatory. Alex finds it within herself to chuckle. “How could I not? We’ll skip media day and go hang out. Just us two.”
“Just us,” George repeats almost reverently, a prayer, a promise.
And it– it’s a joke, yeah, there’s no way in hell that either of them would be so dismissive of their seat that they’d willfully invoke the wrath of PR managers and team principles by skiving off entire days of the race week circus, but it’s still fun to imagine. George would be the one to do it with, anyway. George gets Alex. Always has.
Especially in connection with Alex’s hatred of the media. Alex has other hobbies than bashing interviewers, obviously, she does have a life that revolves around more than just despising bad questions and uncomfortable skits, but media duties are just such a prevalent part of being a driver that she can’t hide from them that often. That means someone has to hear her complaints, and more often than not, that person is George.
He’s quite used to it, though, having more than enough years to accept and subsequently tune out Alex’s rambling monologues on how useless it is to ask the same questions and hear the same forced answers every week without fail. More often than not, George is roped into various plots to get Alex out of the piercing eye of the camera, or at least make times like those more tolerable, like he did today.
A memory rises unbidden to the forefront of Alex’s mind. It was a few years back, when Alex was still with Red Bull and George was testing the limits of Williams. They’d been conducting post-race interviews, or Alex had, at least; George had appeared out of the mess of drivers and PR accomplices to kind of hover in the background of Alex’s frame, looming in a typical George-like manner.
Alex had really wanted to forget the whole race the second it ended– as if she couldn’t see Christian Horner shaking his head over the displays, as if all today accomplished wasn’t just a chance to give the public another set of Alex’s average speeds to be endlessly compared with Max’s– but the interviewer was dragging his heels, forcing one word answers into paragraphs of speculation.
At one point, the guy had pointed out a bloody scrape showing through Alex’s undershirt. She’d accidentally caught the skin against the edge of her car when she was getting out, but doubtless it would be used as just another chance to prove Alex wasn’t fit for the car or the team didn’t care about her or whatever. Alex wanted to leave, but the interviewer wouldn’t leave well enough alone, which meant it was time for more drastic measures.
She had rolled her eyes, then made some asinine one-liner about how that wasn’t the first time blood had shown up against a race suit. Jokes about periods always get the same awkward shuffling feet and vague mumbling about getting someone else to talk to. It’s a fairly dependable constant.
Everyone was uncomfortable, which was exactly what Alex wanted, because when they’re uncomfortable they don’t want her there anymore and she can leave. The interviewer already looked like he wished he could stab himself through the eyes with the metal straw Lewis was sipping through earlier that day, but George— George was still grinning. Fondly. And not at all put off.
Freak. Alex was kind of fascinated by him. Still is. If anything, the fascination has multiplied.
And that makes it sound like— but it’s not—
Alex has known George almost her entire life. As long as it mattered, really. Recently, though, she’s started thinking. About George. In ways that she had not before.
Because, at the end of the day, there is something to George Russell that Alex might have missed the first time around. Something she only noticed when he was getting out of the car, peeling off the outer layer of his race suit so she had no choice but to stare at the fireproofs skin tight against him. Or when he posted a hundred different shirtless selfies, practically daring her to look. It is not hard to look. Not at George.
George, who’s had her back since they were kids. George, who randomly interrupts her interviews to call her a warrior. Who goes on podcasts to go on long tangents about how Alex deserves better than she gets and calls her proper quick despite the fact that she’s past the days of winning everything. He’s in a Mercedes now, she’s in the dusty contrail of his speeding jet, and George still has the time of day to give to her. Maybe he’s the type of guy to deserve her looking.
It makes Alex seek him out more, even more than she did before. It makes her do risky, stupid things, like pull George into her driver’s room after another Thursday debrief so they can hypothetically make fun of all that was said that day but mainly just so she can sit right by him and look.
George is apparently immune to the looking. Alex is observing him like she’s one of the thousands of spectators out there, goggle-eyed and hopeless, but George seems not to notice it at all. Perhaps she should invest in a homemade sign or something. Maybe even a cardboard cutout of his face.
“There were quite a number of rumors about you today,” George is in the midst of noting, “mainly that you’re going to be switching teams already. If you are, can you tell me now so I can place bets?”
Alex laughs. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet, at least. Tell your fellow gamblers to cool it.”
George makes an elaborate display of shrugging. “You can’t be too sure of yourself. Ferrari’s always on the lookout for a new driver lineup, apparently, and McLaren’ll never pass up the chance for fresh blood.”
“I don’t want to give Zak Brown any of my blood,” Alex asserts, “But Ferrari would certainly be something. I’m sure the bad strategy is made up by other things like salaries and teammates. Charles is a pretty boy, isn’t he? That would help with the rest of it.”
George makes a sort of squawking noise in the back of his throat. Alex can’t honestly tell if he’s embarrassed for Charles’ sake or what, but there’s a hot pink shock of blush sitting high on his cheekbones now, starting to mottle his neck. “Did you just call Charles pretty?”
Alex’s nod is exaggeratedly slow, just to be obstinate. “Yes, I did. Boys can be pretty. Don’t forget what century you’re in, Georgie. We’re forward thinkers now.” She narrows her eyes a little, sensing weakness, then— “You’re pretty too, y’know that? Eyelashes and all.”
This, then, is the source of tension. George genuinely squirms in his seat, hands clenched on the armrests of his chair like he fully expects to melt into the floor if he isn’t white-knuckling the thing. “That’s— that’s not— I wasn’t trying to angle for a compliment.”
“You didn’t have to,” Alex says, divinely pleased with herself, “I gave it out anyway. Consider me in a charitable mood.”
George rolls his eyes. “Since when have you been charitable?”
Alex scoffs. “Since forever. I volunteer, y’know. I have been spotted giving caps to children.”
George settles back into his seat, a comfortable smile on his face. “I know. I take it back. You’ve always been good.”
It is, all things considered, a very simple thing to say. You have always been good. Good is subjective. The idea of Alex that exists in George’s head, the one that is good, she’s subjective too, not quite real but close enough. Alex wonders what that girl must be like, good enough to ease the annoyance of a friend’s teasing, enough to– to make up for the fact that it’s her, that it’s Alex, or maybe that was why George was here in the first place, because the Alex that won him over was the real Alex all along.
And it’s stupid because– Have you ever been alone in a room with a boy? The whole space is empty but he sits right next to you. And he’s looking at you like the sun, like the stars, like even as you blind him, he’s never seen anything better and he’ll keep on staring, just to see what else you can do. You’ve gone your whole life swearing up and down that just because you’re the only female driver on the grid, that doesn’t mean you’ll fall in love with the first male driver to stop and look at you twice, but.
George is looking at Alex, eyes half-lidded, mouth open slightly, mid-gasp without a sound, and Alex isn’t falling in love because she wouldn’t do that. If she did, though, she thinks it would not be the worst thing ever. She can hear her heartbeat echoing in her ears, loud as the drums race organizers bring out in the bands for their anthem before lights out and away we go. Just as bad, too, because the sound is tripping over itself, speeding up and slowing down and absolutely erratic.
Alex can feel her entire chest constricting, ribs bruising as they bend against each other. George tilts his head to the side, concern flickering over his expression. “Are you alright?”
No. “Yes,” Alex says. No.
George seems to believe this about as much as Alex does, and he reaches up to touch Alex’s forehead, two fingers exactly perpendicular against the warm flush of Alex’s skin. It’s so grandmotherly it’s almost ridiculous, George pursing his lips like he’s going to prescribe hot soup or a good night’s sleep or something else motherly and terrible, but instead he just shrugs and says that he doesn’t feel a fever. Alex doesn’t know if she’s more hurt by the dismissal or when George takes his hand away.
“You’re probably fine,” George tells her.
He’s leaned away again, but he keeps a firm hold on the same two fingers that had touched her skin like he’s nursing a cut, like having any contact with Alex should be imprinted into him forever. It makes Alex want to touch him again, forever, and never let go. They could be joined together at the hip physically instead of just metaphorically. It probably wouldn’t mess with racing that badly.
She lets out a weak chuckle. “Is that your expert opinion, Dr. Russell?”
George flushes, embarrassed, and looks away. “You probably won’t lose any limbs or anything.”
Alex cackles. “I should hope not. You’d have a terrible medical practice if I came in for a fever and you did, like, an amputation or something.”
George snorts. “It’s only the natural response to a fever, of course.”
He eyes Alex again as he says it, eyes rolling down her body as he mumbles the words natural response. Alex leans forward slightly, and George mirrors her by impulse. “Is that all that doctors do for their patients?” She asks under her breath. Not her best attempt at dirty talk, but she doesn’t really have the power to think of anything else more impressive.
It works, anyway. George shakes once, all over, a sort of head to toe shiver that forces the breath from his lungs. Alex can actually hear it as George’s words hitch in his throat, but there’s a sharp rap on the door before either of them can find out how he’ll respond.
George flies away from Alex, practically leaping off of the sofa as he attempts to quickly create distance between them. It’s a good thing that their intruder just stays on the other side of the door, announcing themselves to be Alex’s PR manager needing her to come out for another round of interviews before leaving, because George is panting like he’s run a footrace, all in the effort to make it seem like nothing had happened here at all.
Hadn’t it? Even as George announces that he’d better go since Alex is busy now, and even as Alex unhappily stands up at last to go face the dozen TikToks they’ll force her to make before she can escape again, she glances back one last time at the room before she leaves. It’s as if she’s expecting to see something there, some sign of the heavy tension that had been there just moments ago.
Nothing. Just creased pillows and an empty sofa. Alex indulges herself in a brief fantasy that there had been a better reason for that other than a brief conversation, but it can’t last long. She’s got media duties to scoff at, and she’s learned long ago that it’s better not to think excessively about George while there’s a camera in her face. For some reason, it causes her to lose all sense of what she’s saying.
The idea that something else could have happened, though, lingers in Alex’s head far longer than it should. It sticks around through free practice, appears in her thoughts after qualifying, even pops out of her head briefly during the race itself.
It’s turn four, Alex brakes as late as she dares, and as she pushes her foot decisively back onto the accelerator, her brain has the audacity to ask if maybe George would have touched her if they had stayed in that room even a little longer.
He had wanted to, maybe. His fingers had been clenching and unclenching the whole time, flickering in invisible piano-chord patterns ever closer to that gap where his leg ended and hers began. Senna, turning over in his grave, if you no longer go for a gap that exists, you’re no longer a racing driver.
This is what dumbstruck boys get you, then. At this point, Alex is feeling practically delusional. Half a second later, she remembers that she’s still, like, in a car, which is a more pressing matter to attend to than musings on what could’ve happened if more stars aligned, but. She does ask over the radio where George ended up when the race has finished, and she uses that information to decide to ask George to show up to her hotel room after night begins to fall.
This is no uncommon occurrence. The two of them often meet up at someone’s house or another’s room. It’s a more efficient vehicle for random conversations than extended phone calls. George appears at her threshold within ten minutes, panting slightly, and it could just be Alex’s overactive imagination, but she swears he looks nervous, like he wants something. They both do. Alex just has to be sure that it’s the same thing and not something grievously, totally different.
“So,” she says boldly. “Uh. Good race.”
George looks at her askance. “Yeah, thanks.”
God, it’s like they’re work acquaintances. Alex wants to die. How is it that she wants more, but the second she tries to say that, she becomes even less?
Second time’s the charm. She clears her throat. “I wanted to ask you something. About when we were in my driver’s room. Someone came in before– but I wanted to know if you, if we, were going to do anything if that hadn’t happened, and. Yeah.”
She is terrible. George still looks taken aback. “Oh, on Thursday? I don’t know, someone came in,” he repeats.
Alex is going to scream. “They did. If they didn’t, though.”
George swallows. “Right. I– I think I would have wanted something.”
As if that isn’t the vaguest thing that George could have possibly said. “Something?” Alex asks. "Like what, a new front wing?”
George sighs, exasperated. “No, Alex, like you.”
It hangs in the air for a while. Alex thinks that if she tried hard enough, she could actually see the words printed into the very oxygen she’s breathing. Like you. Alex, like you.
In retrospect, silence is not a good way to address such a thing. George, who has always been tense, who will always overthink things to the point of mental anguish, takes this as a sign that he misread the situation, and damage control is launched accordingly.
“Forget it,” George says abruptly, “This isn’t– Just forget it, alright? I’ll see you next week.”
He’s out of the door before Alex knows what’s going on. Alex stares open mouthed at the exit, a thousand thoughts churning through his head. As if Alex could just forget it. The idea is such an impossibility that it’s almost laughable.
Because– because Alex remembers what it was like, being young, being kids. Together. Alone in her house or his. A dozen inside jokes no one else gets. A hundred side eyes and bitten tongues and uncontrollable laughs. Alex ran away from it all when she was kicked off of Red Bull, when she was certain that it would never again be what it was– George her muse, Alex his idol, both of them the best and neither of them out of it. Running, though, running robbed her of it all. Alex wants it all more than she ever has before.
And maybe they’ll never have a podium together, and maybe Alex will never be at the top step of their pyramid anymore, but at this moment they’re two ships passing in the night, George relinquishing the Williams seat so he can hand it off to Alex, and maybe– maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s enough. If she tries hard enough, she can make it enough. Maybe he’d want it to be enough too.
Maybe he already did. Alex’s stomach twists as she thinks back to everything George has said to her over the recent months. He’s always been so genuine, says each word like he means it more than anything, but he’s put something extra into them as of late, something special. His hands move more when he speaks, maybe that’s it. Alex has taken the time to observe every digit, every ungnawed cuticle, every knuckle and bit of bone straining against the skin.
She’s watching for something, waiting for it to happen, and then in a clap of mental thunder Alex realizes that what she is waiting for has already occurred. George has already given her the go-ahead. Has many times over. Alex wasn’t aware of it because she was too scared to look, too afraid to ruin something good, but. Alex is looking now, and a far worse thing would be to have this before her and let it go.
Alex thinks about George wringing his hands and apologizing too much, lunging into her room before she barely even called him, second guessing and blindly firing and doing everything in his power to keep her. It’s stupidly charming, and overwhelmingly off putting at the same time, but it’s George, and it’s what Alex wants. Alex wants George. Alex wants George more than she has wanted anything. At times like this, she thinks she might give up anything else, that top step of the podium, the sweet taste of champagne scorching down her throat, if it meant she might be able to taste him, too.
Alex throws herself out of the room. George hasn’t made it that far, even despite his long, reedy legs, dragging each footstep like his shoes have been weighed down with iron. By contrast, Alex is jetting down the hall, sprinting out of her door so fast she’s not entirely sure that both her feet are ever touching the ground. She catches up to George in about half a heartbeat, thinks, fastest, thinks, pole position, and kisses him.
George goes as still as a statue. Alex is still moving when she hits him and does this abrupt careening around thing where her acceleration is still carrying her past him down the hall even as their lips connect. George has to catch her around the middle so she doesn’t fall over, his hands clumsily connecting at her waist, but at least that means he’s still thinking, because Alex’s brain shut off the second his mouth was on hers.
George has always been the thinker, though. George, sitting up late in the corner of the Albon family basement, blue eyes wide as he tucks his feet under himself and continues to extoll the virtues of minimized tire degradation, George, finally eye level with her and not looking up, matter-of-factly informing Alex that of course they’ll both be in Formula One together, are you kidding.
George today, brain whirring into overdrive, whose first thought isn’t to ask Alex what in the hell she’s doing but to urge the two of them to get back into her room before someone sees. Alex has no problem in accepting. Where he goes, she does too. They kind of work out like that.
And, when Alex wakes up lazy and late the next morning, when the first thing she spots is George’s shirt on the ground right next to hers, she remembers how well they work out, too. She stretches and yawns widely, flopping onto her back to discover that a) George is already awake, probably for hours (weirdo), and b) is now intimately connected with the most trustworthy news sources his phone can offer instead of with her (double weirdo).
Alex arches a brow over at him from where she still lies, tangled in linen sheets of a thread count that are probably higher than both their salaries. “Nothing like a fresh economic roundup to get you pumped to start your morning, huh, Georgie?”
George tends to pair a dramatic sigh with his eye rolls, Alex observes fondly. “There’s nothing wrong with staying informed, Alex. I’m not looking at the business section, though. I’m reading about us. Tabloids.”
For a moment, Alex’s heart freezes in her chest. She hadn’t counted on getting found out this quickly, and god, how could they, unless Red Bull really did want to capitalize on her downfall and, like, paid for a secret investigator to follow her around and take photos when she finally caved and pursued her best friend. Which, weird, but kind of foreseeable, too. They’d probably done it to Pierre at least once.
She scavenges about for her phone on the nightstand beside her and turns it on, typing geogre rhssel abd alrx albon tkgrther??? into the Safari search bar. She’s damn near unintelligible in her haste, but the search engine knows what she’s getting at and delivers anyway. Praise be.
Alex is expecting grainy surveillance photos of them making out in the hallway or something like that, but instead, she’s just greeted with more talk pieces on their long history together since they were karting kids, a few rumors here and there about what might be but nothing more than mere speculation.
“It’s okay,” she reassures George at last, “They don’t know.”
George frowns, still not entirely convinced. “It’s weird timing on a lot of these. At least three or four fan gossip pages put out stuff all last night. Why’d they all do it at the same time if they didn’t see?”
Alex shrugs. “Maybe they got bored, I don’t know. Odds are they saw us talking at the paddock earlier and decided to play off of interest so they posted.”
George counters, “Or, they might have posted, because we were, you know, we were kind of, uh, obvious, and–”
“We’re fine,” Alex says, rolling her eyes, “They don’t have anything new, just repeating the same stuff about how we might be fucking. No proof. Everyone’s dragging them for getting into pointless rumors.”
“Good,” George says, nodding his head emphatically like he’s committing every word to memory. “I don’t want anyone finding out that I– that we–” He can’t finish the sentence, unable to say more than a few words towards the audacious subject without tripping over the syllables.
Alex can guess at his meaning anyway, though, and it makes her laugh.
“What, you don’t want our bosses bringing up your potential plans to deflower me or something at the next team meeting, do you?” Alex says, cackling.
George’s cheeks turn an alarming shade of Ferrari red. “No. Not that.”
Still. Alex can’t tease him for blushing, because her cheeks have gone hot at the thought of it. If George were to– if they– It was a little late for that, of course, but if he really was the first–
“Your reputation remains intact,” Alex says, reassuring George of the truth but kind of herself, too. They’re both fine. No one knows. Wouldn’t it be something if they did, though. What they could do if they didn’t have to worry about getting caught.
Sometimes, Alex thinks that she does actually want to get caught. It would make sense. Every time she gets up the morning after, because it does happen again, despite both of them never formally saying it was a one time thing but kind of fearing it would be, anyway, every time she finds that they actually forgot to lock the door or they make out in one of the driver’s rooms such that you can still hear people going back and forth outside it, she remembers. George does too.
In fact, she thinks he likes it even better than she does. George Russell, newest boy to Mercedes, soon to a race win (everyone can feel it coming, even if it hasn’t yet), our glorious prodigy coming into everything, and the one who managed to get Alex’s heart, too, while he was at it. Heart and hands, body and soul. All of it. George has all of it.
It gets easier as time goes on, if that were even possible at all. How much can you improve upon a good thing when it already seems perfect? It’s like fine tuning a rear wing or shaving off seconds from a suspension. Alex never thought she’d describe love with something as insipid as car parts, but she has a sneaking suspicion that George might find it rather romantic. It’s relevant, at least, so that should count for something.
George would appreciate the practicality, at least. George would appreciate her. Does. Always does. Alex wakes up one morning, hair a mess, not sure which of their rooms she’s in nor if she had the presence of mind to carry her high heels back from the bar she’d been wasted at last night, and George still looks at her like she’s a work of art. He’s endearingly fond of her, which makes it even easier to be fond of him.
Alex thinks that she could be persuaded to stay here forever, lingering in this in between space of his-and-hers, the room belonging to both of them until she figures out which one of them has their name scrawled on the key card, but unfortunately there are still meetings to go to, interviews to conduct, engineers and team principles to appease.
Alex drags herself out of bed, grabbing the closest clean clothes before scraping at her hair with a brush and considering the whole affair handled as best it can be. Behind her, George’s figure appears out of the early morning shower mist on the bathroom mirror, the edges of his reflected skin and hair feathered over with steam.
“What do you think?” Alex asks, gesturing vaguely to herself with a languid hand, “Vogue cover ready?”
George snorts. “Oh, always. Do you have to head out already?”
“If I didn’t have to be somewhere soon, I would have slept in until noon,” Alex notes.
George hums in agreement. “So professional of you.”
Alex rolls her eyes. “You know me. Word on the street is that I’m highly coveted by all the teams for my winning mindset. That’s why they want me at the factory all the time, so no one can entice me away with a different contract offer.”
George laughs even despite the bad joke, then reaches to pluck at the fabric of Alex’s attire with a knowing, almost possessive, air of triumph.
“That’s my old shirt,” George observes, “You might want to change before you go out or someone’ll notice.”
Alex checks herself in the mirror, then shakes her head. George hasn’t gotten rid of all his old team kits, as it turns out; although this Williams tee isn’t Alex’s, it’ll do well enough. “It’s the same logo, how would they know it’s yours? It’s not got your name on it or anything.”
George’s eyes widen behind Alex in the mirror, veritable oceans swimming in the hazy glow of the hotel bathroom lighting. “What if they photograph you?”
Alex shrugs. “We’re the only ones who’ll know,” she tells George.
“Just us,” George agrees, but his hands coil in the extra fabric at the hem of her shirt, a silent reminder that it’s his, his shirt, his hotel room, and maybe– maybe Alex too, his.
The thought sends a hot shock coursing through Alex, pooling in her lower back near where George’s fingers still press against the fabric. She almost expects George to yank his hand back from an electric pulse when his knuckles accidentally brush her skin, but instead, he leans into the touch, and doesn’t let go until the stray buzzing from Alex’s phone grows insistent and it becomes clear that they can hide out here no longer.
Alex leaves first; George isn’t needed for half an hour after Alex, and they’re not stupid enough to leave a hotel together the morning after a drunken celebration. Not yet, at least. Idling listlessly in the elevator as it slowly ferries her down from the relative heaven of George’s hotel room, Alex thinks that it would be something to lose the last of her wisdom soon enough, to let the paparazzi catch her walking out of their shared hotel room, heels in her hands, dress from last night rucked up around her knees so she can walk.
Maybe she should tell George about it. She can imagine his reaction already, but the temptation of vocalizing it brings with it a sort of delicious rush that isn’t easily ignored. A ding echoes somewhere from the circuitry behind the wall of the elevator, and she steps out from the sliding doors, nodding at the receptionist before crossing the threshold.
The brightness of the morning blinds Alex when she walks outside. Somewhere out there, a car waits to carry her away, but for now, Alex lets the shocking sunlight bleach her clean of any expectations of driving or team principles or anything, anything at all.
She makes it halfway across the asphalt before giving in to the Orpheus-like temptation to turn back. Shading her eyes with her hand, Alex’s eyes chase the floors level by level until she finds one room in particular, one man who’s already gone to the trouble of throwing up the drapes on his window so he can peer out at the scene below. At her. She is in his shirt; was just in his room, in his bed; in his gaze now too, held and treasured.
Alex looks up at him and grins. “Good morning, Georgie.”
He can’t hear her. It doesn’t matter. They’ll have plenty of time for talking– and not– in the days and months and years to come. Just as before; so after, too. Alex would not want it any other way.
f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy
#alex albon#alex albon imagines#alex albon oneshot#galex#galex imagines#galex oneshot#galex fanfiction#george russell#george russell imagines#george russell oneshot#girl!alex galex#girl alex galex#fem!alex galex#f1#f1 imagines#f1 oneshot#formula one#formula one imagines#formula one oneshot
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The Right Man
Summary : George is one of your longest friends but he’s also your boss, and it’s wrong to have a crush on your best friend and boss right?! Rating : 16+ but please check the TWs Pairing : George Russell x Reader Word Count : 2,124. Trigger Warnings : adult themes, adult language, kissing, unrequited love delectation, best friend trope, boss employee trope, angsty but nothing too bad
Gif owner : @russellius 🥰
Authors note : Still sick but feeling better, thank god! I don’t know if I like this enough but I thought I’d post it and see what you guys thought. Also this fucking app decided not to save my original formatted post so there are a line or two that are missing and I can’t remember what they were so please forgive me if this makes no sense, I’ll run back through it at some point! The “read more” thing will be put in when I can 😘
The party buzzed around the small group you were a part of. Music thumped away in the background and the sound of people enjoying their summer holidays blended amongst it. You hadn’t been to Mykonos before. Hell, you hadn’t even been to Greece before but it was George that insisted you chum him on his summer break that brought you here.
“Keep me company and out of mischief” as he put it. And that was what you were currently doing. You had nursed your fruity cocktail for nearly 40 minutes - the ice slowly turning into water and diluting the strong alcohol due to the stiflingly hot Grecian air - so to keep a clear, open head incase George needed you. Although the notion of him needing you right now seemed ridiculous seeing as he hadn’t needed you professionally this whole trip. A few times you had even thought he might have wanted you here for other reasons. Just yesterday, while out on that yacht he chartered, you were convinced he was eyeing you up when you strolled outside in your bikini. But you almost became certain he had brought you along on false pretences when he practically pulled you into his lap when someone made everyone get together for a group photograph. You could still feel the imprint of his large oversized hand on the curve of your waist. It was almost seared on your flesh like a griddle mark on a piece of tuna. But then you thought he was just being George. Sweet, gentle, gorgeous George. The same one that had asked you to be his personal assistant without you having a single idea what the hell personal assistants even really did. The same George that as a result of that job allowed you to travel the world with him. The George that trusted you, implicitly. That was why your little fantasy of the “boss falling for his employee” seemed so far out of the realms of possibility it simply failed to even comprehend it could exist.
“…and what about you? Boyfriend?” The guy who seemed to know George very well asked, turning to you and shooting you a slight smirking smile “or girlfriend?”
“Uh no. No boyfriend. And no girlfriend.” You glanced at George upon your last word and you saw the cheeky hint of a grin momentarily glide across his mouth. You wanted to believe he had just had the vision of you and another girl together and he was enjoying the thought of it. Typical male fantasy, you figured. “Why? You are a beautiful, beautiful girl.” You realised the man that was talking to you seemed familiar and had a thick Spanish accent but seemed a tad out of place in such a noisy busy bar. Although, you felt you were being a little judgmental as he might have been younger than his salt and peppered dark hair would lead you to believe and besides, you were sure you recognised him from somewhere but you pushed the thought out of your mind in order to answer him.
“Haven’t found the right man.” You shouted above the music and this guys eyes instantly shot toward George which although made you feel sort of awkward, you also felt a bit “wait-a-minute-why-are-you-looking-at-him-and-does-that-mean-something-I-probably-should-know”-ish.
The night ended a little earlier than you had anticipated. You thought George would want to be out till the small hours of the morning. Partying, living it up and being centre of attention. But instead, George whispered in your ear he was ready to leave only an hour or so after the conversation with that guy (who you still couldn’t quite put your finger on how you knew) and so you organised a car to come and the you both up to go back to the beautiful villa he had rented. In the car you became aware that although the ice had been slowly melting in your drinks it had not diluted the alcohol quite as much as you thought it did and so the buzz you were feeling was very much real. Hearing George’s laugh as you swayed while the car went round a rather dramatic corner made you laugh yourself.
“Those drinks were stronger than I thought they were.” “That’s why you only had three and nursed them all the whole night? A little lightweight are we?” He enjoyed having a little fun with you. Mocking and playfully taunting you. Afterall, he was the only person in your life that could get away with it without you ever feeling offended. But that was what came with the decades of friendship the pair of you had. And it was the precise thing you were worried about when George asked you to work for him. You didn’t want to ruin the jovial, relaxed vibes between the pair of you that took so long to build. It may have also been the exact reason you always felt a little dirty and gross whenever you had a rather sexual dream about him or found yourself envisioning him whenever you touched yourself. But even if you were his friend and employee, you were only female and George was insanely hot so you always forgave yourself for it rather quickly.
The drinks really did work a wonder on you as by the time you reached the villa your body coursed with an free spirited buzz. It was a buzz that meant you hadn’t realised that any time whatsoever had passed even if it took a solid 25 minutes to get back to the impressively large abode overlooking the beautiful Aegean Sea. It was also a buzz that meant that you only felt happiness and joy and not any of those horrible other emotions people usually felt when they got a little too close to drunk rather than simply tipsy. Independently you strolled through the door after George. You thought you would head straight to your room and give him the space he was probably seeking when he decided to leave the club. But George gently said your name and asked if you wanted another drink, if you would have another drink with him. You accepted, without so much as a second thought.
George poured the pair of you two glasses of wine. You watched as the deep, dark crimson liquid flowed quickly from the bottle and swirled around as it filled two thin glistening glasses. He simply motioned toward the patio beyond the open doors behind you as he carried your glass for you. You took a second to think how lucky any girl would be who ended up with George. He was a gentleman with slightly old fashioned values. He always held open a door for a woman, offered his hand if needed or his arm if there were a pair of high heels involved, and he never let a girl carry anything. So right now, as he carried your glass outside for you, you felt a little high rush through you and allowed yourself to think of what it would be like if it were YOU that were his. The weight of the cushioned patio sofa dipped beside you after you sat down and it immediately brought you out of your trance.
The conversation was always easy. There was never a second it didn’t flow and it was never, ever forced. You knew everything there really was to know about one and other and so it was so comfortable and easy to talk to him. You took a sip from the emptying wine glass and realised George’s head was turned and his eyes were staring straight at you.
“What?” You whispered and he had that naughty glint in his eye that he had earlier when that Spanish guy asked if you had a girlfriend. “Why haven’t you found the right guy?” He asked it so plainly. It was exactly what you had said back in that bar. “That was what you said, you haven’t found the right guy.” You knew what you said. You didn’t need it repeating to you. Not by one of your closest friends that you happen to be having regular smutty thoughts about. “I don’t know….just haven’t.” You shrugged. Trying to muster up a little bit of sass as you did so so he didn’t see how awkward the question had made you.
“Well….what you look for?” You hadn’t thought the conversation was going anywhere specific but certainly not in the direction it currently was where George was offering to be a one man dating app. You sensed he would keep pressing the idea of you spilling what it was you wanted in a guy until you gave in, either tonight or at some point in the near future. So with the alcohol running through you you decided now wasn’t the time to put up a fight.
“Well….” You took a big inhale as if it were going to save you from the situation of explaining your ideal guy to, well, your ideal guy. “He has to be smart. Someone I can hold a conversation with. And I’d want someone who can make me laugh. Who makes boring, mundane things fun and enjoyable. And obviously a guy who is big on family and naturally wants his own someday. But also someone that makes me feel at ease and relaxed around them. Who makes me feel supported and as if I can take on the whole world.” You had started off by being generic and then as you went on and turned your head to look into those fucking soul boring eyes he had, you began tailoring it more and more to what you could say about him himself. George was every single one of the things you had described and it really was utterly stupid that you were somewhat ousting yourself in such a needy fashion. “But….physically, would be tall, dark and handsome. Strong but not too strong. Well groomed, maintained. Smouldering, simmering eyes like Idris Elba. And I guess, what girl wouldn’t want a guy with a big dick?” You laughed and George did too, but ducked his head down so you didn’t quite see it.
When George finally looked up at you you felt the strange shift in the atmosphere. It went from lighthearted and merry to sort of tense in a millisecond. Nervously, just for something to do you placed your glass on the coffee table right next to his. Had you overstepped a line? You’d talked about guys with him before, specific guys, and this had never happened. The burning need to find out if you had gone too far had you turning your body so you were angled more toward him and opening your mouth to apologise. When without a single shred of warning, warm, slick lips were on yours. George’s lips were on yours.
It took you a few seconds for your brain to catch up but when it did you immediately began kissing him back. You had thought about this moment so frequently that it truly felt rather impossible it was actually happening. And now, as his tongue swiped along your lower lip and his hand found the back of your head, you let a tiny small moan of appreciation rumble through your vocal cords. As you gave permission for George’s tongue to enter your mouth and caress your own he began to lean into you. An action that resulted in you slowly falling against the sofa pillows behind with George baring down on top of you. It was everything you had been wanting for the past few months and it dawned on you that perhaps you were right in your assumptions George wanted you too. You were so lost in thought that when he stopped kissing you momentarily you almost didn’t open your eyes.
“When you told Fernando you hadn’t found the right man, did you mean it?” “No.” You answered immediately. “I’ve known you were the right man when we first met as children. I just, didn’t think you would want me.” Your chest was heaving from either the kiss or the declaration you were making and you knew your eyes had to have been looking up at him full of expectation and longing.
“I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen. Of course, I fucking want you. I’ll never stop wanting you.” And then he kissed you again. It was all you had wanted to hear. The looks, the touches, the burning and feelings weren’t in your head at all. But in the moment all you could focus on what his mouth, his tongue, his taste. Your brain blocked out everything else so it was all about George’s kiss. Allowing you to finally enjoy what you had been longing for for so long.
#George Russell#George Russell fanfiction#George Russell fanfic#George Russell fic#George Russell one shot#George Russell imagines#George Russell imagine#George Russell x reader#George Russell x you#George Russell x y/n#best friend trope#unrequited crush#boss x employee#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 one shot#f1 imagines#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 one shots
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reader always leaves little post-it notes with cute/supportive messages on them in his suitcase and he find them once he gets to the hotel on a race weekend
You sneak around as he gets himself ready to travel, you leave post it notes on some of his things. You stick some on his jumpers, his shoes, his wash bag, his hat, his toothbrush. You post it on the door which you wrote ‘I adore you, go make me proud xo’. You leave a mixture of cute and supportive notes on them, and when he thinks he has got them all, he always finds more. A smile creeping on his face as he reads the different coloured notes, all signed with a smiley face and your initial.
#charles leclerc imagines#carlos sainz jr imagines#lewis hamilton imagines#daniel ricciardo imagines#mick schumacher imagines#lando norris imagines#max verstappen imagines#alex albon imagines#george russell imagines
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The Point (GR63)
Synopsis: "What even is the point of racing if I can’t compete? What’s the point of putting so much effort if I just keep failing over and over again?" The public and made have always been fast to criticize, not caring about who they hurt as long as they have fun.
Pairing: geroge russell x driver!reader
Genre: angst, some fluff
Word count: 4.4k
Warnings: anxiety, cursing, acohol, people being mean af, reader getting doubted, Alpine (adding them after today's circus), not proof read because who has time for that
The car had felt perfect coming out of Eau Rouge and into the Kemmel straight, you could see a papaya car ahead of you and as if on cue the voice of your race engineer came through the radio. "The gap to Ricciardo is 1.5 seconds, you are faster than him, keep pushing." You gave him a quick reply and focused on catching up to the McLaren driver, using your car's speed on the straight to your advantage, intending to be close enough in the next DRS zone. You could see him slowing down to face turns 7, 8 and 9, deciding to brake as late as possible, not wanting to give up the opportunity to shorten the distance between the two of you even if it was by a hundredth of a second. Turn 7 went by smoothly, effectively reducing the distance, only a second separated you from P10 according to your engineer, you picked up the pace once more on turn 8, wanting to brake late once again on turn 9, not expecting the brakes to lock up and spinning out into the gravel and onto the barrier as a result. "I'm okay." You muttered before you got asked. "Can't say the same for the car." After that you disconnected the radio, took out the steering wheel and got out of the car.
The walk of shame back from the medical center and into Alpine's garage felt longer than it had the right to, the public clapping once they saw you had made it back safe and sound. You were grateful the visor of your helmet covered the frustrated tears coming out of your eyes. You went straight to your engineer, apologies slipping out as he enveloped you into a hug. "You were great out there today, don't let this incident get to your head." You could only nod before apologizing again and leaving for your driver's room, needing to cool down before facing the press. Once the door had closed behind you, you finally took off your helmet, no longer needing a barrier protecting you from the outside world and the judgemental stares of the public and media, your balaclava was next before you plopped down onto the seat in the corner of the room. Don't let this incident get to your head. The words of your engineer replayed in your head as you reflected on what you did wrong, and what you did wrong in the previous race, and the one before that, today marking your fifth weekend out of the points and second DNF in a row.
Pity was the only way to describe the atmosphere in the media pen as you stepped in, it was only you and the journalists, the race still going in the background and the other 19 drivers still fighting in the track. All the interviews went the same way, they started off with questions about your wellbeing and the crash, moving onto the previous races and your recent bad streak, and ending with questions about your future, your contract with Alpine yet to be extended to the next season. You felt as if you were on autopilot as you answered the same questions for the fifth time in a row, only reacting when a different one was thrown into the mix. "Some people on social media have argued you don't deserve your seat in formula 1, do you have anything to say about it?" The words felt like a punch to your throat, making you fight the urge to scream by taking a deep breath, followed by what you assumed would be the most PR friendly answer. "To be honest, I can't bother myself with the comments in social media, after my first year in formula 1 I learnt people will criticize me no matter what I do." A fake smile adorned your face as you continued. "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't dare to say anything like that to my face, so I prefer to stick to the words of those closest to me." The reporter nodded before speaking up again. "Thank you so much for your time (Y/N), I hope the next weekend goes your way." A genuine smile replaced the previous one. "I hope that too."
Everything that happened after you left the media pen was a blur, with you being completely disconnected from the world until the post race team debrief, where you learned Esteban had secured P7 and the podium had been taken by Charles, Carlos and George. You let out a sigh as soon as your back touched the mattress of the bed in your hotel room, quickly rolling onto your side and bringing your knees to your chest, one of your arms holding them close, while your free hand held your phone. A quick scroll through social media wouldn't hurt as you ignored the messages on your inbox, yet the cat videos instagram was throwing at you could only distract you long enough from the never ending notifications from the group chat with your closest friends. The ones you've known since your first day in F2. Knowing you could only ignore those three for so long you opened the chat and sent a peace sign emoji.
Baldo: So you are alive, how kind of you to grace us with your presence (Y/F/N)
Cat mom: When did Lando learn big words?
You: Shouldn't you all be celebrating?
Cat mom: Not me
Handsome squidward: We would be celebrating if you opened your door
You put your phone aside and slowly made your way towards the door, checking whether they were on the other side or not before opening. "Maybe if you knocked I would open." You spoke, raising an eyebrow. "What are you even doing here?" You stepped aside letting them into the room, praying to whatever was listening that you didn't have any dirty laundry on the floor. "We're here to celebrate George's podium, Lando's point finish and to drink our sorrows away." Alex said matter of factly, passing you a bottle of tequila as he made his way to sit on your bed as if it was his own, the bottle soon enough being back in his hands. "What he said." The shortest of the three shrugged while pulling out 4 shot glasses and placing them on top of one of the nightstands. "What they meant is that we didn't want to leave you alone after today." George explained before sitting down on the couch on the side opposite to your bed, and patting the empty seat beside him for you to take. His arm was quick to wrap around your shoulders and pull you into a hug. "You've probably heard this a hundred times already, but everyone has bad streaks (Y/N)." You nodded quietly. "Yeah, just look at Albono." Lando let out a squeal when the Williams driver kicked him in retaliation, making you chuckle at their childish behavior. "Do you even have lemons and salt to go with this?" You tilted your head, carefully eyeing the glass Alex handed to you a few seconds ago. "I'm glad you asked." There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he reached for the bag they had brought, taking out different snacks neither of your performance coaches would approve of, before reaching a plastic box with already cut lemons and a smaller container with salt. "We came prepared (Y/N)!" Lando smiled, reaching out for the boxes, eager to start the impromptu sleepover. "We invited Charles and Carlos too, but they got kidnapped by Ferrari to celebrate their 1-2." George mentioned quickly as he reached for his own glass.
…
"George."
"George."
"(Y/N)."
The three of you answered Lando's question in unison as he laughed at Alex's fake hurt expression, a hand over his chest, right where his heart should be. "I thought what we had was special." He drunkenly spoke up as you reached for the bowl with chips, pretending it was popcorn as you watched their performance. "Alex, I can explain, I swear." George followed along, reaching out for the Thai driver, which, in your own tipsy state, was your cue to join them. "What about us George? Would you really leave me to go back with him?" Your eyes moved to Lando, who quickly put up his hands, signaling he preferred to remain a simple spectator, yet it was too late for him. "Who is your best friend on the grid anyway?" You shot Lando the same question he had asked the three of you, the attention being quickly diverted towards him. "Oh, Carlos." He said simply and you shrugged, that being the expected answer. "Anyways, it's your turn to ask something (Y/N)." You reached for your glass before passing it to Alex to refill it with more of the mix of vodka and orange juice he had prepared earlier into the night. "Who would you pick as your teammate for the next season?" You sipped your drink as your three friends seemed deep in thought, around a minute had passed, the music playing from the speaker being the only thing stopping the room from slipping into complete silence. "Honestly, I have no idea." George shrugged, being the first one to answer the question. "Oh don't lie George, we all know you want Albono by your side next year." Lando wrapped his arm around the Thai's shoulders, as if to present him to George. "I don't want George though." He shrugged, getting Lando's arm off his shoulder. "Then who do you want?" You interrupted George before he could reply to Alex. "No idea, I just want my redbull seat back." He leant back on his hands. "Didn't want you either." Both you and Lando laughed at their childish behavior. "You, y/n?" The shortest of the three men piped up when he stopped laughing, damn him for asking when he knew the answer, and if the mischievous glint in his eyes was anything to go by, he knew exactly what he was doing. "I'd like to have George as a teammate." You shrugged. "F2 days already proved we make an amazing team, plus he'd help me push myself further." You were too busy glaring at a smirking Lando to notice the way George's face lit up at your confession.
As the night went on, your friends fell asleep one by one, half empty glasses forgotten around the room, with the controllers of Lando's Nintendo switch beside them. The sound of the calm breathing and the eventual snoring basically throwing you into a trance, the same thoughts from earlier reappearing, the insecurities and self doubt spiraling out of control and soon enough your hotel room felt suffocating, the sound of your friends sleeping being too loud and the air insufficient as you felt anxiety crawling up your back. Quickly you stood up and made your way to the balcony, carefully closing the door so the noise wouldn't wake them up. The cold air of the Belgian night hit you like a splash of water, the change of temperature being enough to interrupt your out of control train of thought, instead deciding to focus on the positives in your career, the points you had scored, the podiums you had managed to climb onto, and most importantly, the people you had met. A few minutes later and you felt at ease, your heart slowing down to its usual rhythm, your stomach no longer felt twisted, and most importantly, it no longer felt like the whole world was crumbling on top of you. Your newfound calm was interrupted by the barely there knock on the glass sliding door separating the balcony from the inside of the room, you would have missed the sound had the city not been so quiet this late into the night, or maybe it was too early in the morning.
There was a frown on George's face when you met his eyes, a nod from your side signaling he was free to come out and enjoy the stillness of the night with you. "What are you doing up so late?" The both of you spoke almost at the same time, when he closed the door behind him. "Couldn't sleep." You replied sitting down on the floor, your back resting against the glass behind you. "What about you?" You looked up at him, searching his face for any kind of clue. "I woke up and you weren't there, I got worried." He sat down beside you, arms touching, hands only a few centimeters apart, the two of you slipping into a comfortable silence. "Care to share what's keeping you up at night?" His voice was low, quiet, not sure what would be an appropriate volume after the few minutes the two of you spent in silence. "I just can't stop thinking about the race." You looked down, your socks suddenly becoming way more interesting than the sky above you. "I've made so many mistakes lately, I'm afraid I won't have a seat next year." Your voice broke at the end of your sentence, as if voicing your fears made them a reality. "I've been such a shitty driver this season, barely making it into the points and crashing out of races I should be doing good in." You continued your rant as George listened, his hand reaching for yours and giving it a gentle squeeze, a silent signal for you to go on, to let out all the fears and insecurities weighing you down. "What if people are right and I don't deserve my seat? I wouldn't be surprised if Alpine regrets signing me instead of giving Oscar a chance." You could feel his fingers tracing soothing circles against the back of your hand and you looked at him. The frown from earlier was back on his face, just stronger, his eyes focused on yours, and it was only when he was sure you were done talking, that he spoke up. "I would choose you to be my teammate every single time." He stated matter of factly. "You are one of the best drivers I've partnered up with, you're confident, brave and you never back down from a fight." His free hand moved to your face, softly rubbing at the spot between your eyebrows, an attempt to push your frown away. "You put so much effort into everything you do, I wouldn't be surprised if you became a world champion, and hell, you'd totally deserve it." His own frown melted away as he spoke. "Personally, I think you're the strongest of all of us, you deal with double the criticism than anyone else on the grid. I just hope one day people realize they've been missing out on supporting you." And with that he stood up, using your still intertwined hands to pull you up with him. "Now, let's head back inside and try to catch some sleep, I'll be right beside you if you need anything." You nodded and followed suit, pulling him into a hug before stepping back into the different kind of calm filling the hotel room.
The days went by quickly, and soon enough it was wednesday, and you were in The Netherlands, it being a race week meaning you were running around the paddock, fulfilling your media duties and working with the team to have the car in the best possible condition for the oncoming practice sessions. All of this barely giving you time to hang out with your friends or check social media. It wasn't until one of the reporters brought up the most recent hate comments you had been getting that you realized they were still there. "To be honest, I feel like I should go live on twitch reacting to hate comments, they sure seem desperate for my attention." You chuckled, hoping humor would divert the attention of the viewers from seeing how much it actually hurt to know there were people out there that wanted you gone from the sport. "I think that would be one hell of a live. Thank you for your time and good luck on the weekend!" You gave him a quick nod in response before heading back to your driver's room, having some free time before your next responsibility.
You know how they say curiosity killed the cat? Well this was the perfect example. Not searching your name online, specially on social media, had been the first advice people had given you when you made your debut in formula 1. But today curiosity got the best of you. You were right to assume the comments the reporters brought up were some of the gentler ones. There were comments saying your successful first year had been beginner's luck, others saying you were finished, the replies saying you had never started. There were sexist comments, ranging from the ones saying Williams had given you a seat for free publicity, after all, a woman making it into formula 1 surely gave the public reasons to talk, then there were other comments saying you had fucked your way up the ranks, and of course, the ones saying you were bad because you were a woman and only men could compete in the sport. What you didn't expect to see when looking up your name on twitter was a tweet from George, only from a few days ago. Your eyes quickly focused on the text in front of you. "(Y/N) is one of the most hardworking drivers I've had the honor to race with, I wish every single one of you could see how much effort she puts into everything she does, and stop the mean comments being thrown her way" The replies were as diverse as you expected, ranging from people calling him a simp, to people gushing over your friendship, your favorite one reading "George Russell is the type of guy to defend his friends no matter what." You read out loud, letting out a chuckle as you left a quick like on the reply before deciding to close the app, sticking to his positive comment, instead of all the previous ones. What you missed was a different reply, yet similar to the one that had brought a smile upon your face; George Russell is the type of guy to fall in love with his best friend.
Friday’s practices went by smoothly and then it was Saturday, anxiety grew bigger as the qualy approached. You paced around the garage, the car had felt perfect during the practices, yet you couldn’t shake away the nerves that always accompanied the qualification sessions. Your incessant walk was interrupted by your performance coach, her gentle eyes popping into view as her hands settled on your shoulders. “Listen to me (Y/N).” Her voice was firm, but soft, not wanting to make it worse for you. “You can do this, you were amazing on all practice sessions and you made it look like the car was made just for you, just think about it like a fourth free practice.” She gave you a kind smile before pulling you into a hug. “You can do it, I believe in you.”
If only she had been right.
“And you’re out (Y/N), P12, you're starting from P12 tomorrow.” Your engineer’s voice came through the radio a few seconds after you saw the checkered flag at the end of your last fast lap. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes at yet another failure. “We’ll get them tomorrow.” You sighed. “Yes we will.”
“Well, I’m sure that the qualifying session didn’t go the way you planned.” You had waited until Q3 had been finished to show your face in the media pen, knowing that Alex would do just the same, and knowing both George and Lando would be there as well, wanting to be done as quickly as possible to rest before the race. “Yeah, it’s not what we expected, but it just means I get to give the fans a more entertaining show.” You faked a smile for the camera, even daring to choke out a little laugh. “That is if you don’t crash out like the previous races.” His words hurt, the idea of hitting the barriers in such a fast circuit making you ball up your hands into fists, willing the creeping anxiety to go away. “Trust me, she won’t crash out.” Alex’s response caught you off guard, startling you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Moving on to the next subject, your teammate Esteban looks way more comfortable with the car, why-” Alex didn’t even let him finish before he dragged you away. “She’s done with this interview, more people are waiting for her.” He shot the journalist a warning look as he pulled you closer to him. “Do you think you can continue with the interviews?” You just nodded as he let you lead the way to the next person waiting for you. “Oh Alex, it’s good seeing you two together.” The woman’s eyes lit up as you approached her, an audio recorder in her right hand as her left one held a notebook with different questions she wanted to ask the drivers. “It seems like you are still good friends from your time at Williams.” She spoke after pressing the button you assumed started the recording. “We’ve been friends way longer, ever since he was pushing me off track in our karting years.” You chuckled, hoping the interview remained lighthearted. “You clearly have an awful memory, I was the one being pushed off track.” You were so distracted laughing at Alex’s retelling of an incident on one of your races that you missed how the woman’s smile disappeared. “Well, it seems that neither of you need to get pushed off track nowadays, especially you (Y/N), anything to say about it?” Both yours and your friend’s smiles dropped as soon as the words left her mouth. “No comments.” And with that it was your turn to drag Alex away, wanting to be out of the media pen before you started crying. George caught you on your way out, the happiness of getting P2 evident on his smile, a smile that disappeared as quickly as yours when he saw Alex’s pissed off face, and your teary one. “What happened?” Worry was evident in his voice as he eyed the two of you. “Journalists happened.” Alex replied, kindly pushing you towards George as he mumbled something about talking with Williams PR team.
Now you were sitting in front of George in his driver’s room, freely crying and venting about the session and the media. “I just can’t believe I have to watch out not only for social media, but also for the people approved by the FIA to interview us.” You had no idea whether he could understand you in between your sobs and how fast you were speaking, but you couldn’t care less. “I don’t think I’ll keep driving next year.” You stated after a few minutes of silence in which you managed to calm down your breathing and your sobs. “You don’t mean that.” George leaned forward to place his hands on your shoulders. “There’s no way you actually mean that, everything is going to be okay, people will move on-” He couldn’t finish his sentence. "It's not gonna be okay!" You practically screamed. "It'll never be okay…" You looked down at your hands, which were resting on your lap. "Why would you say that? Just give it ti-" Once again you interrupted him. "What's the point?" You looked up at him, your voice close to raising once more. "What's the point of giving it time?" You pushed his hands away and stood up, your feet leading you around the room as your rant continued. “What’s the point of waiting for people to move on if it’s taking such a toll on my mental health?” Tears started falling from your eyes once more. “What even is the point of racing if I can’t compete? What’s the point of putting so much effort if I just keep failing over and over again? What’s the point of-” This time it was his turn to interrupt you, his hand wrapping around your arm and making you turn around to face him, now standing in front of you. “The point is that I love you anyway!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but seeing how much the situation you found yourself in was affecting you made him angry, angry at the people criticizing you without knowing you, angry at the journalists, at your team, angry at you, but most importantly, he was angry with himself for letting all of this get to you. “You…” You pointed at him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You love me?” You were blinking, trying to push the shock away. “(Y/F/N), I’ve been in love with you ever since our formula 2 days.” His tone had softened and before he could speak again you had pulled him down by his shoulders and kissed him, it was short lived as you pulled away quickly. “I’m so sorry, I should have as-” He leant down to capture your lips into a kiss, interrupting your apology, the hand that was still holding your arm moving up to cup your cheek as your hands moved to the back of his neck. “I love you so much, you have no idea.” He admitted once you separated again. “I love you, George, have for a while now.” You chuckled, letting him pull you into a hug and back into the couch, submerging into a comfortable silence, no worries, just the two of you.
You swore you could have fallen asleep in his hold if it hadn’t been for the knock on his door. “George, is (Y/N) with you?” You mentally cursed Lando for interrupting the moment of peace. “Come in.” George groaned as your friend opened the door, his and Alex’s faces coming into view, neither of them missing the way you were laying on top of him, barely awake, nor the way his arms were wrapped around your middle while he looked at you like a lovesick puppy. “Oh my god, you owe me 20 euros.” Lando stretched out his hand towards Alex, and the Thai rolled his eyes. “Well, she looks okay so we’ll be leaving.” And with that he dragged Lando away, closing the door on their way out.
#george russell x reader#george russell x you#george russel imagine#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#george russell imagines
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anyone interested in a headcannon about “f1 drivers as romance tropes”? i got very inspired by the idea
#max verstappen imagines#charles leclerc imagines#lewis hamilton imagines#carlos sainz imagines#mick shumacher imagines#daniel ricciardo imagines#max verstappen#charles leclerc#lewis hamilton#carlos sainz#mick schumacher#daniel ricciardo#lando norris imagines#lando norris#george russell imagines#george russell#alex albon imagines#alex albon
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MASTERLIST - F1
CHARLES LECLERC
Details Playlist and Aesthetic; part 1; part 2; part 3 (not finished yet)
LANDO NORRIS
Heartbreak and Healings part 1; part 2 (not finished yet)
DANIEL RICCIARDO
Medicine oneshot (not posted yet)
Savior Angel part 1; (not posted yet)
Last Updated: september
#f1 masterlist#f1 imagines#carlos sainz jr imagines#pierre gasly imagines#lando norris imagines#max verstappen imagines#mick schumacher imagines#yuki tsunoda imagines#daniel ricciardo imagines#lewis hamilton imagines#charles leclerc imagines#esteban ocon imagines#george russell imagines#formula one imagines
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𝗚𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲 𝗥𝘂𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗹
𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴
fire | @illicitlimerence-writes
death penalty and rome's women | @circiad
upper hand | @jamminvroomvroom
𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴
shy short girl | @gridgirldrabbles
#masterlist#imagines#imagine#one shots#oneshots#blurbs#headcanon#drabbles#george russell#gr63#formula 1#f1#formula one#george russell imagines#george russell x reader#formula 1 imagines#formula 1 x reader#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#formula one imagines#formula one x reader
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Peter - 2 endings
I get it, I also don’t always like ambiguous endings
main story
————————
George spent the week spending every free moment with you. The first day was a little awkward, you both didn’t know how to approach it, but after getting coffee, you didn’t feel so awkward.
You learned about what he had been doing the past six or seven years, and you told him what you have been up to, how uni went, how you got your first job. George hung onto everything you said.
A few days later you brought up Carmen, you couldn’t make a decision without knowing the full story with her. George told you everything. He told you that he felt like he was trying to fill a missing piece of his heart and she was the closest fit, but it wasn’t the right one.
By the end of the week, you were faced with two realities, but you’ve been thinking about it all week and only one actually feels right.
Ending One
“Y/n, if you need more time, I’m willing to wait,” George takes your hand, sitting beside you on your couch. His scent and his warmth and old comfort.
“It’s okay, I’ve made up my mind,” you turn a little to face him, taking a deep breath.
“I won’t lie and say what you did didn’t hurt me,” you start, looking down at his hands that gently hold yours. “This past week has shown me that you are willing to try, and I really appreciate that. If we are to go forward, the same level of effort has to be there,” you say, pausing so he can speak.
“It will, it always will. I don’t want to mess up again,” his blue eyes showing no hint of a lie.
“Okay, but we are keeping this quiet. You just broke up with a wonderful girl, and we still don’t know how this relationship is going to unfold,” you say and George practically tackles you as he hugs you.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” George doesn’t hold himself back when he kisses you.
It takes a few months for things to actually feel normal again, for you to accompany him to races, for you to reintroduce yourselves to each other’s families. But it also feels like coming home, like you were always meant to be together.
“Do you think the closet still goes to Narnia?” George asks one day as he holds you in bed, looking at the closet you took from home.
“I think so, Georgie,”
Ending Two
“Hi George,” you smile tightly as you sit down across from him at the coffee shop. Still George, not Georgie.
“Good morning, Y/n/n, I ordered your favorite already,” George smiles back, hoping your weird mood was just due to a bad morning.
You are naturally non-confrontational, so it takes the whole breakfast for you to work up the courage.
“George, I can’t do it. You really hurt me back then, and as much as it hurts now, I can’t take that risk again. I’m sorry,” you look down, not able to look at his reaction.
“Hey, hey, Y/n, look at me,” he says gently, his hand resting on top of yours. “I’m not upset, we tried. I understand,” George reassures you.
“I would really like to be friends still. I missed my best friend more than my boyfriend,” you offer, knowing you will still have to protect your heart. You finally got your romantic closure, that’s what mattered.
“I’d really like that,” George smiles, happy to have you back as his friend, even if that wasn’t the goal.
The process is slow to get back to normal. The both of you see other people while working on your friendship. You attend a race or two and get to know the boys who stole him away from you, and you fit right in. It’s not easy, but you both get to a place where you can just be friends and appreciate it for what it is.
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Professional Idiot
Happier
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f1 drivers and their reaction to "she's busy" ☆
summary: f1 drivers reacting to "she's busy bro"
warnings: fem pronouns, mentions of cheating, slightly suggestive, comedic threatening, nicknames (baby, babe, love) idk if there are any other???
charles, carlos, lewis, george, max
oscar, lando, alex, logan, daniel
an: tbf, if i dont get bf responses like this, im dying single. AND IF UR BF AINT RESPONDING LIKE THIS, LEAVE HIS ASS GIRL 🤞🏼
lemme know if u liked it 🫶🏼🫶🏼
#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#f1 instagram au#fanfiction#carlos sainz x reader#f1 fic#oscar piastri#lando norris x you#lando norris#alex albon#logan sargeant#george russel x reader#lewis hamilton#max verstappen x reader#logan sargent x reader#daniel ricciardo#lando norris fluff#lando norris x reader#formula one#boyfriend texts#f1 smau#lewis hamilton fluff#max verstappen#f1 fluff#carlos sainz fluff
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★ how does f1 drivers react when you call them pretty. . .
norris, piastri, leclerc, sainz, hamilton, russell, verstappen
cw: fluff, slight suggestive (verstappen), f!reader.
now playing: pretty boy by the neighborhood
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✹ lando norris
lando would be the type to act annoyed but absolutely loves it. he just won't admit it but you know it.
"hey, pretty boy", you whisper against his lips, leaving a sweet peck on it just to be met with a pouty and flustered lando. "i told you to stop calling me that!" he whines, but deep down he hopes that you'll never stop. you look at him with a playful smile, softly caressing his hair. "okay, i'll stop if it makes you uncomfortable", you wait impatiently for his reaction and as you excepted, lando start to panic. "i mean... you can but you know... just not in front of other people", he laughs nervously, hoping that his excuse is good and his cheeks start heating up. you can't help but laugh softly, pulling him close by the neck and lando pouts again, "stop making fun of me!", your smile softens and you plant another kiss on his lips, "sorry, you're just too cute, my pretty boy". lando's cheeks are now completely red and he tries to hide it by pulling you in a long and warm kiss, feeling the butterflies going crazy in his stomach.
✹ oscar piastri
oh my god, please don't do this to him. as soon as he hears the word, his brain starts malfunctioning.
"you did so good!", oscar pulls you for a warm hug, holding you as tight as he can. he loves seeing you after races and hearing how proud you are of him no matter what he do. you pull out, staring at him like his eyes holds stars and oscar can't help but feel overwhelmed by all the adoration he sees in your eyes. you put your hand on his cheek, stroking it softly. "i'm so proud of you, my pretty boy" and even though you mean it, a hint of teasing can be heard and oscar groans, pulling you in a new hug to hide his face in your neck "if you call me that again, i think i'm gonna die" he mumbles against your skin. you laughs, one of your hands slides in his messy curls, your fingers playing with it. you will never get over how cute your boyfriend is when you call him pretty.
✹ charles leclerc
he absolutely loves it and won't deny it, even if he gets a bit shy when you call him pretty. he can't control it, his heart gets warm and the butterflies in his stomach goes crazy.
you were getting ready for a cute date and charles was wearing a new shirt, with flowers on it. as soon as he's ready, you lock your arms around his neck and you look at him with a big smile on your face. after planting a sweet peck on his lips, one of your hands cup his cheek. "you're so pretty, baby", your voice is full of adoration and honesty and charles' smiles gets wider. "thank you, chérie", he says softly and he immediately pulls you for a gentle kiss, hoping that you didn't notice the way his cheeks has redden, but you didn't miss it.
✹ carlos sainz
he loves it, like really loves it. he finds it funny tbh. and he won't hesitate to give the word back to you.
"woah, what a pretty boy", you look at him showing you his brand new haircut. he laughs, posing in front of you a little more before joining you on the sofa, pulling you on his lap and placing a kiss on your nose. "got pretty for my pretty girl, we are such a pretty couple", you both giggles before sharing a kiss, laughing and smiling against each other's lips. but, even if he doesn't want to admit it, carlos can feel his heart beating a bit faster and a sweet feeling in his stomach when he hears you call him pretty.
✹ lewis hamilton
he would get so shy, make it seems like he doesn't like it and it annoys him but he can't hide it for long, he always ends up with a big smile on his face and a heart beating faster than it should.
"ahhh, stop it y/n", he whines as you continue to leave kisses all over his face, sitting on his lap. "but, you're so pretty!", you say, cupping his cheeks to look at him in the eyes. he groans, acting annoyed by pulling you out of his lap and you try your best to fight the smile creeping on your lips. you both know that he's just flustered and wants to hide his red cheeks. "come on, baby, let me finish my kisses", he doesn't fight you when you climb back on his lap but he crosses his arms, trying to hold onto his character and you laugh softly, going back to leaving small pecks all over his face. it doesn't take long before he finally smiles, his hands finding your waist to pull you close and kiss you back. he just can't resist you.
✹ george russell
he always tries to ignore the way it makes him feel and act unbothered but he can't fight the way his body warm and a smile instinctively forms on his lips. he just loves getting praised by you.
"baby, can you pass me the knife, please?" you ask, preparing the vegetables and george, who has been helping and watching you cook for an hour now, hand you the knife as fast as he can. you turn to face him, placing your free hand on his neck to pull him close, "thank you, pretty boy", you says softly and he places a kiss on your lips, smiling softly "you're welcome" he says, trying to sound as neutral as he can and you pout, acting disappointed, "what? you don't like when i call you that?", you know that he do. you just want to hear it. he looks at you, a playful smile forms on his lips. "i know what you're doing", he chuckles and pulls you for another kiss. you end up both laughing, george's heart feeling full.
✹ max verstappen
he gets all nervous and doesn't know how to act anymore. like, if you want to make a mess of this man, just call him pretty.
max have been acting flirty all day, enjoying teasing you and seeing you all flustered in front of other people. you tried your best to keep your cool all day, playfully punching him from time to time or just laughing it off. but when you two end up alone at the end of the day, you're finally able to get your revenge. you start making out, getting more and more touchy and needy. "take off your shirt, pretty boy", you whisper in his ear, and max almost startle. a playful smile forms on your lips and you don't even have to look at him to know that his cheeks are now red. after a good minute of no reaction from him, you finally meet his eyes, giving him a confused look. "is everything okay?", you try to hide your teasing tone but max doesn't miss it, a playful grin finally forming on his lips and he chuckles; "naughty girl".
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#f1 x reader#f1 fluff#lando norris x reader#oscar piastri x reader#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz x reader#george russell x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#max verstappen x reader#f1#f1 imagine#f1 drabble#f1 fic
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#max verstappen#Charles Leclerc#George Russell#Mick Schumacher#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 one shot#f1 smut#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 imagines#max Verstappen one shot#max Verstappen imagines#Charles Leclerc one shot#Charles Leclerc imagines#George Russell one shot#George Russell imagines#mick Schumacher one shot#mick Schumacher imagines#cheating trope
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After Lewis retires, in a press conference, George says how much he misses you guys and especially your kids. He sighs as he tells everyone that the Mercedes Factory feels so empty without hearing Cairo, Gisela, and Azalea running around in the background. Charles sitting next to him, saying the paddock feels empty too.
‘How you coping without Sir Lewis’ The journalist asks George who had been playing with his microphone the past twenty minutes. ‘I miss him, and his family they were a big part of the paddock and the family and they are missed’ he says with a small smile on his face. ‘The Mercedes factory hasn’t been the same without the kids laughter and hearing them running around and playing’ he says with a sma sigh. He was definitely missing them, the few years since he joined the team he had warmed up to them and enjoyed their innocence around a high pressure environment. Charles who was sat next to him was nodding in agreement, making a joke that he misses their pranks.
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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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