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norrussell · 6 months

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A Helping Hand | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: feeling frustrated, you go to George for some aid where he offers to help you blow off some steam

Warnings: smut

A/N: goodness, this is the most I've spent on proofreading, rewriting and editing than on any of my other fics, probably because I babied this idea for a long time 💀 and probably because I was sick for the past few days that I couldn't do anything else except thinking about George taking care of me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it 🥰

You were frustrated. The irritation was welling up inside you, and there was no telling why. And nothing going your way wasn’t helping either. But what it is that you always do whenever you feel like this?

You go to George.

George and you were best friends for as long as you could remember. He played enormous role in your life, in a way that you would often refer to him as an older brother. No one else even came close to being as important to you as he was. He was always there to listen when you needed to rant about something, and the two of you were just as comfortable sitting in silence as you were engaging in deep conversations. Today was no different.

You walked over to George's apartment, knowing that he wouldn't mind your unannounced visit. You knocked on the door and waited a few moments before he answered, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to vent about. The door opened, revealing George’s smiling face.

“Hey there, buddy,” he said, pulling you into a hug. “What’s got you so worked up?” he questioned upon seeing your slumped shoulders and frowning face.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I just know I’m feeling a lot and it’s not good.” you walked further into his apartment, running a hand through your hair.

George followed behind you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, "I don't even know what's bothering me. I'm just feeling so damn… restless." and leaned against his kitchen bar.

George nodded his head, eyes fixed on your face. He knew that look and the manner in which you spoke. George had experienced this before with you. You would continue to speak until the words dried up, and he knew it was in his best interest to listen attentively. And he wanted to do just that. To be a friend and not interrupt for once your thoughts were drifting by. He loved the feeling of neediness you gave him.

So you started to spill your troubles. From everything that happened to you since you woke up to this very moment in the afternoon. He listened patiently, nodding and frowning in all the right places. You continued to talk, your words flowing out in a jumbled mess as you tried to make sense of your emotions. George listened intently, offering words of encouragement when needed. As you spoke, he moved closer to you.

It wasn’t a subtle move, you very much noticed him getting up and walking up to you, caging you in between his arms he rested on the counter behind you. He bowed his head so that his eyes were in level with yours and leaned forward, the words dying on your lips as he did so. Your faces were now only inches away, the air around you charged.

“When was the last time you got laid?” he asked.

You were taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. “W-What?”

He took a step back, giving you space to breathe. “You, my friend, are sexually frustrated.”

You hadn't been with anyone in a while, he was right, like he always was, but “And how do you know that?” there was annoyance in your voice as you crossed your arms.

He sat down in one of his kitchen chairs, leaning on the table behind and legs spread lightly. “How long have we been friends for?”

“Almost twenty years. Why?” you frowned, not really seeing the point of this conversation.

He gave a slight nod in agreement. “And in that long period of time you think I wouldn’t have learned your,” his gaze traveled up your body until it finally settled on your eyes, “body language?” his tongue clicked.

You swallowed hard, feeling the atmosphere between you two shift. There was definitely an undercurrent of something more, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to go there just yet.

“This-That has nothing to do with this.” you choked out.

“So you’re saying,” he moved his head from side to side. “If I offered you a solution you would say no?” his eyes found yours again and his gaze was piercing.

You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as George's eyes locked with yours. You had expected a hug or some words of comfort, not a proposition. You knew what he was insinuating, and part of you was tempted to take him up on his offer. But the other part of you was hesitant, unsure if you were ready to cross that line with him.

You had to admit, the idea was tempting. George was an attractive man, and you had always felt a certain level of chemistry between the two of you. But did you want to risk your friendship for a moment of physical release?

“I…”

Upon noticing your hesitation, George decided for you. “Come here.” he patted his thigh.

Bolts of electricity ran through your body at his words. There was no denying that the idea of him taking care of you in that way was incredibly arousing. And before you made up your mind, your legs carried you over to him.

He took your arm, leading you in front of him. “Turn aroud. Sit down.” he instructed softly.

“On y-”

“Yes, y/n, on my lap.”

If he wanted to, he could pull you by the arms and just place you there, but he waited for you to slowly sit down yourself, resting your hands on his knees, your back to him.

“Good girl. Now,” he leaned forward, hugging your waist. “If in any moment you feel uncomfortable or just want to stop for whatever reason, I want you to tell me. Alright?”

“Okay.” you nodded, his intense stare more than you could handle.

You were familiar with being this close to George; you'd even slept in the same bed side-by-side without any issue. You had held each other before, but his touch was always comforting and platonic. This time however, something more hung in the air - an energy that made your heart race with anticipation.

“Good.” he kissed your tense shoulder.

George's hands caressed your body with practiced ease, gently running down your sides, across your abdomen, up and down your jean clothed thighs in order to help you relax. Gradually, you leaned into him, your breaths deeper. His lips smoothed over your neck and you let out an unwilling moan.

“You’re doing good.” he reassured and you nodded, affirming that you heard him.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, diving under to caress your stomach. They were warm, but your back arched on a sudden skin on skin contact. He stopped for a moment until you relaxed again. Moving upwards, his fingers grazed the lace of your bra before he glided his palms to cup them.

You gasped and bit your lip, surprised by the new sensation of his hands so close to your growing chest, and leaned back on him even more, your nipples hardening. You loved the way George touched you, the way he made you feel. His hands ran up and down between you and your bra, squeezing your globes. His lips found your ear, nibbling on its lobe before he spoke.

“You have a beautiful body.” he whispered huskily.

A shudder ran up your spine at the pure lust in his voice. His right hand slipped under the cup of your bra, freeing your breast. You didn’t protest, you felt good. Instead, you arched your back more, pressing your chest more against his hand. His thumb and forefinger found your nipple and pinched and pulled on it, making you moan.

George lowered his head and licked your neck, kissing it softly and nipping it occasionally. His left hand joined in the fun and massaged your other breast, pinching its nipple just as his right hand was doing. You clamped your eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of his touch.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

You leaned back once again, despite your best efforts. Now his right hand made its descend down your stomach, making you wriggle in his lap, and reached the button of your jeans. Popping it open, that’s when you opened your eyes as well.

“George,” you gulped and put your hand over his. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” he pulled you closer, pressing his lips reassuringly to your neck. “Are you not?”

“I’m just worried what it means to us, our friendship. I don’t want to ruin it.” you finally voiced your concerns.

“You won’t ruin it, babygirl.” he smoothed over your hair. “Friends help each other out, don’t they? You can look at it like that.”

“Yes, but…” We shouldn’t be doing this… you thought to yourself.

“We can stop if you-”

“No!” you were maybe a bit too quick to cut him off. “Let’s continue. I… I like it.” you could feel the heat rush into your cheeks.

He kissed your neck, working his way up to your ear. “I’m glad. Cause so do I.” his hand went back to what it was doing.

He pulled down your zipper, but didn’t push your pants down, exposing just your panties. His hand went back to your breasts, kneading them, feeling their weight. Every now and again his hand would brush past your nipple, sending tingles down your body.

You’re breathing was growing heavier, his hands were good at what they were doing and you didn’t want it to stop. He could feel you squirming in his lap, his smirk evident even though your head was turned.

“Someone’s excited.” he teased.

“S-Shut up.” you bit your lip, embarrassed.

His fingers dipped under the elastic line of your panties, and you were glad that you decided to shave that morning. His fingers ran over your mound slowly, feeling every curve, every spot. He circled around your clit, teasing you, before he moved further down, dipping one finger in a bit before pulling it back out.

You moaned and he chuckled. “You like that?” you nodded, trying to contain your moans. “You want me to continue?” you nodded again, too aroused to speak.

His fingers dipped deeper inside your folds, feeling the warm, wet sensation. When his fingers reached the bottom, he started to rub your entrance, pressing just a bit, sending pleasurable sparks through your body.

“Mhm,” he moaned into your ear, “my babygirl likes that.”

“Yes.” you shook your head, agreeing.

“Tell me.” he demanded.

“Yes, I like it. I want it.”

His finger pushed a bit further inside, and you bit your lower lip, unable to keep quiet. “You want what?” he asked in a low voice.

“I want it.” you said in a higher pitched voice, trying to sound like a grown woman. “I want your fingers inside of me.” you blushed.

“You want more?”

“Yes. Please.” you ground onto his finger, your hips following his thumb’s rhythm.

He pulled his hand out of your pants and you audibly expressed your dismay at the lack of contact. He responded by placing his hands on your hips and forcing you up off the chair. Tugging your jeans down, you stepped out of them and he was quick to pull you onto his lap once again. With a nudge from his knee, your thighs opened into a desirable position. His arm was securely locked around your waist, making sure that you wouldn't move away or slip off his lap.

“Now,” he played with your panties, pushing them aside. “You said you wanted more?”

“Yes, George. Please, George.” you whined.

“Only cause you said please.” he smirked and you could feel his teeth graze your skin.

His finger entered you again, slowly, stretching you, moving only an inch or so before pulling out again. When he felt that you were ready for more, he rhythmically started to finger you, gauging your reaction. His finger pushed a bit further in, making you squirm. He pulled it back out, a bit of your juices clinging to it before he thrust it back in. You gasped, feeling the full sensation of his finger inside of you. He added another finger, and you moaned, squirming on his lap, feeling so full. Your breathing had turned into moaning, echoing through the empty apartment in which you were in.

"Shh, babygirl, it's alright. You're doing good.” George’s free hand tangled in your hair, pulling it back, your exposed neck bared to him. He nibbled on it, biting and sucking, loving your reactions.

“Just, please, more.” you begged him.

“I don't think you're ready for that yet.”

His fingers became more insistent inside you, pushing deeper and deeper. He rubbed your g-spot, making your moans turn into pants.

“No, no, no, no.” you panted. “Please, just a bit more.”

“Would my babygirl like to come already?”

“Yes, please, I’m so close.” you said, almost crying, needing to come.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“George, please. I want it. I need it. Please.” you begged.

“God, I didn’t think hearing you beg would be such a turn on.” he confessed, his voice a deep rumble.

“Please, I need it. I need to come. I love it when you touch me like that. Please!” you were almost screaming by the end.

He went back on rubbing you, his fingers moving faster and faster. Slipping his thumb a few times inside you while his fingers were busy doing you, the other hand clamped on your hip for support. His thumb pushed in deeper, your juices coated it and he rubbed your g-spot with it, making you squeal.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” you said over and over again, panting.

“Come for me.” he hissed and his other hand wrapped around your throat, holding you gently.

You didn’t even need his encouragement, your whole body was aching for release. His fingers moved faster, rubbing your g-spot, his thumb pressing hard against it. You were soaked, his fingers gliding inside you. You moaned, louder than before, mumbling incoherently.

Your hips bucked on his lap and he held you in place, his fingers continuing their assault on your body. You were his toy, his play thing, and you enjoyed it more than you should have. You didn’t care anymore, you were drowning in pleasure, letting it consume you.

Lights burst behind your eyelids when you came, biting hard into your lip, muffling your screams. Your whole body relaxed from the pleasure, your arms giving out and you would have fallen if he had not held you. You leaned against him, recovering from your orgasm. Your head was laid on his chest and all you could hear was his breathing, slowing down.

When the orgasmic waves subsided, you became aware of your surroundings again and blushed.

“Th-thank you.” you stammered, chest still rising and falling visibly.

“You’re welcome.” he kissed your temple. “Feeling better now?”

“Yes.” you nodded.

“Glad I could help.” he said, his fingers playing with your hair, combing them through.

“You did, but George… This can’t happen again.” you finished, standing up to find your jeans. It was just an excuse to put some physical distance between you for you don’t think you could get the last part over your lips if you were still sitting on his lap.

“Oh,” was all he said. You couldn’t determine was he disappointed or the realization hit him.

“We are friends and I want it to stay that way. You are too important for me to lose over... such thing.” you zipped up your pants.

“I understand.” he said, his voice not betraying his true feelings.

You had expected it to be hard to say it, but it didn’t feel like a lie at all, it felt like the truth. It felt like the right thing to do.

“Thank you.”

He meekly nodded. “Do you want to stay over? We can watch tv or something…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay.” he smiled and you smiled back.

You spent the rest of the evening wrapped in blankets on his couch, laughing as you watched bad television shows and poking fun at the characters and plots. Between you two was no uneasiness; you were laughing together like earlier events hadn't happened. And that moment looked like a promise that, no matter what, nothing will ever change between you two.

Or so you thought...

Next part

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the-offside-rule · 2 months

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George Russell (Mercedes) - Regency

Requested: yes

Prompt: 20) "It's like suddenly every love song is about you."

Warnings: nada

George and Y/n sat cozily on the couch, engrossed in an episode of Bridgerton. The soft glow of the TV illuminated their faces as they indulged in the Regency-era drama. As George and Y/n wrapped his arms tighter around his girlfriend, she turned to him, a playful glint in her eyes. "You know, you'd fit right in with the British charm on this show. Can you imagine giving me a dramatic love confession like they do?" George knotted his brows, partially confused. "How?" Y/n grinned mischievously. "Well, you're British, and you've got that dashing charm. Plus, wouldn't it be amusing if you had one of those angry love confessions, just like in the show?"

George raised an eyebrow, entertained by the idea. "Oh, you want an angry love confession, do you?" Y/n nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, and sitting up off him. With a grin, George cleared his throat, adopting a dramatic tone worthy of Bridgerton. "Very well, my dearest Y/n. Brace yourself for the torrent of my affection." Y/n giggled, settling in for George's performance. George chuckled, playing along. "Oh, my dearest Y/n, I must confess, my heart yearns for you in the most passionate manner," he said in a faux posh accent. "Do go on, Mr. George, I'm intrigued." Y/n giggled, encouraging him to continue. George stood up, taking Y/n along with him as though he was in the show. "Ah, my love." He began theatrically. "In your eyes, I find a celestial beauty that rivals the heavens above." Y/n's mouth was agape. "You're doing splendidly, darling. Carry on."

"My beloved Y/n, from the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew my heart was irrevocably yours. You are not merely a person to me; you are my stars, my moon, and my sun." Y/n's eyes widened in amusement and affection as George continued, his voice dripping with melodrama. "In your presence, it's as though every melody I hear is but a love song dedicated to you. Your laughter is the sweetest symphony, and your smile, oh, your smile, it could outshine the very sun itself."

Y/n couldn't help but laugh, charmed by George's theatrics. "Keep going, I'm intrigued!"

"Y/n, my love for you knows no bounds. It transcends time and space, like a love story woven into the fabric of the universe itself. To love you is to breathe, to exist, to live." George continued, looking into Y/n's eyes with mock seriousness. "The melody of my heart beats in sync with the rhythm of your laughter." George, still in character, took Y/n's hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "My dearest Y/n, my feelings for you are a tempestuous storm, yet in the chaos, I find the most exquisite serenity." She felt her cheeks heat up as he looked up towards her. Y/n couldn't help but smile. "Oh, George."

"What? You wanted a confession and you got one." George chuckled, kissing her lips. "I know but Jesus, have you been practising that?" George laughed falling back onto the couch with Y/n in his arms. "No, not at all. I just did a lot of poetry and literature in school. It's easy to come up with sometimes." He said it as though it were easy. It wasnt. To do it unscripted was something else entirely. "I know but it was quite romantic." She muttered. George leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Only for you, my dear Y/n. Only for you."

As they melted into each other's embrace, the echoes of their laughter mingled with the melodious strains of Bridgerton, creating a scene straight out of a love story—one that would rival even the most captivating tales of Regency romance.

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #george russell x y/n #george russell x you #george russell oneshot #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #george russell blurb #george russell fanfic #george russell fluff #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader

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charlesslut16 · 9 months

Note

I noticed you only have George fluff, and I love your smuts. Could you write a George one? Maybe something where it's your first time and so he's really nice about it but it's still good ya know...

-first time-

summary : you have your first time with george...

PAIRING : george russel x fem!virgin!reader

WARNINGS : 18+. smut, NSFW,first time, slight dom!george, slight rough sex, p in v, curse words, dirty talk, aftercare, unprotected sex (be safe!).

note : i wrote this while i watched the f1 race, so i hope that it will be alright. I hope you like it, love.

masterlist

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You and George have been dating for 5 and a half months now. He was your first boyfriend, you could tell him absolutely everything and he was always understanding.

The both of you would make out all the time, his hands rid up your thighs, made circles, traced patterns and placed chaste little kisses going all up your body.

He would always tell you how pretty you were, cooing at how sweet his girl was, but you would stop him every time, citing multiple reason, but he didn’t care as long as he got to spend time with his girl.

Today had been the exact same. You sat in his lap, him holding your thighs, caressing them, while you kissed. But at some point, George, wanted more than just kissing.

You stopped him, as you took his hands and climbed off his lap. Just as George wanted to tell you that it was okay, you stopped him. You sat next to him, with his hands in yours, and sighed.

"You know, that this will be my first time, so please be gentle, george." The words lightly spilled out of your mouth, and you shut your eyes, scared of his reaction.

"It's okay baby. I will be very gentle."

His hands trailed up, cupped your face, gave you a reassuring smile and gave you a kiss on your cheek.

George took your hand in his and walked to his bedroom. As you were in his room, you both walked to his bed. Then george laid you down, and you were quick to take your clothes off, but that was where the speed stopped.

He looked you in the eye, for your consent. He towered over you while you laid in the bed. You nodded as an answer, but that was not enough for him to continue this.

"You have to use your words, baby. If you don't say anything, I will not continue, okay?"

"Okay. I'm ready."

"Good girl. Thank you for using your words."

George lined his big cock up with your small pussy, looked at you one more time, thrusted slowly into you and waited as he was halfway in to let you adjust to his big size.

The feeling of his cock head against you was so good, the weight and heat of it had you gushing out some more of your arousal, helping him pop the head in some more.

George hissed, feeling your virgin hole clench as he pushed in some more, it all felt so, so good. You whimpered, your hands that were still pressed against his chest, as he lifted his head from your neck, looking down at you.

He could see the way your lip was held against your teeth, eyes wide and wet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay. I know it hurts.” George comforted you while he rubbed your thigh, his own eyebrows down turned in worry, that he might have hurt you too much.

You whined once more, bit back the pain in favor of seeing the concerned lines iron out from his face, you breathed in once, slowly moved your hips up against him.

“That's it, you’re doing so well.” he sighed, watched your thighs tremble as you pushed up against him, slipped more of him inside you, as he went to thrust in to you again.

But he stopped you, pushed a hand against your tummy to steel you down onto the bed, he’s the one who was going to be in charge of how much and fast you took him.

George did love the enthusiasm you showed him, as he knew that you were putting up a very brave face to please him and to make him very happy with you.

You were crying at the final stretch, hiccuped while the tears stained your face, his cock was so fat it had you clenching down, but it only furthers the sting you’re feeling.

The euphoria of it washed away the sting you felt, he was grinding against you with a bit of force, the smoothness of his pelvis basically rubbed your clit raw and red.

You felt like you were going crazy, eyes not able to focus on his pretty face anymore, hands moved to grab at his biceps, this was a feeling you had never felt or had been even close to feeling.

“George, f-feels so good. It feels so, so good.” you sob, clenching at every thrust of his cock.

His pace was excruciatingly slow, in between thrusts you could felt his lips drag all over your body, he treated you like a fragile porcelain doll that if he moved you too much you would eventually crack.

In between, he made sure that you were alright, comfortable and, above all, had pleasure. But you were moaning, gasping and panting, so he knew that you liked it.

As your orgasm came, you firstly felt weird, but george told you, that everything was alright and how it should be. But before you came undone, george stopped and tilted your head up, to make sure that you were looking at him.

"I need to cum, should I come into you or should I make it on your body and clean it up?"

"In me, please"

"Good girl."

He repeated it over and over like it was a mantra, he kept watching the way your body writhes under him, reacted so delicately as he eats it up, his girl looked so good right now.

He nodded at your answer and started to thrust into you again. Slow but sloppy, as he was seconds away from spilling into you.

“G-George…”

“I know, sweetheart.” He thrusted a few more times, hit spots you had never known existed, and all too soon the coil snapped. Clamped down on his cock, you let out a high-pitched whine.

And you felt him tense as his hips stuttered against you, his cock pulsed within you. He laid above you, his head rested on your shoulder, both breathed hard, emotion made up the majority of the exhaustion.

His lips moved against your skin, and you pushed his head up.

And seconds later, george spilled his seeds into you, with a loud grunt. He thought you looked like an angel with the tears rolling down your face, panting out nothing more than his name.

So cute in the way you were shaking, knees came up to press against his body. George had waited a short time and then pulled out of you, to go to the bathroom. He grabbed a towel and cleaned himself and then you.

"There’s my pretty baby." he smiles, kissing the freshly fallen tears.

“Was that good?” he asks, and you lightly nod.

“T-the best.” you keened, he lets out a laugh, once again coming to you, pulled you to him and pressed his nose against your neck.

"I love you, baby. You did great."

“George? I… I love you too.” You wrapped your arms more firmly around him, and the two of you rolled until you were nestled into his chest, limbs tangled and lips pressed together.

Now under the covers, you laid on your side with George's arm wrapped around your waist and your head rested on his chest.

George stroked your hair, felt your warm breath ghost evenly over his chest as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

#george russell imagine #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 one shot #f1 smut #f1 imagine #george russell fanfic #george russel imagine #george russell #george russell oneshot #george russel x reader #george russell x you #george russell smut

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cutielando · 4 months

Text

win ~ george russell

Summary: After a tough couple of years in F1, George finally gets the win he so desperately wanted and you are right there to celebrate with him.

Words: 1.0k+

Other works: my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

Waiting for your first win ever was excruciating.

Going into every race thinking it might be the one and then slowly losing hope as the race would progress, realizing there was even more waiting in store before it would happen.

That's how George felt.

He had been in Formula 1 for quite some years now, but his win seemed nowhere near happening. He was slowly losing hope, getting used to the idea that he wouldn't win a race in the near future.

His family kept reassuring him that his time would come, but George's faith in himself left his body with each race that passed.

You knew how frustrating it must be, seeing all the drivers around you consistently getting wins and you struggling to get just one.

It was tough on someone's mind, it would ruin their thinking.

You, however, didn't let yourself think like that. He had been so close to winning so many times, you could feel it in your bones that his win was approaching with fast steps.

And oh, how right you were.

♡♡♡♡♡

Silverstone was a fan-favorite track on the F1 calendar for the fans, but it was even more special to both George and you.

You met at Silverstone, you started attending every race after it and became George's good luck charm, it was his home race and the UK was home for the both of you.

Plenty of reasons that supported your certainty that George would get his win at Silverstone.

He had been a nervous wreck all weekend, aware of how much the track meant for everyone, including you and his family, and he wanted to perform well.

"Baby, can you calm down? You're stressing yourself out for nothing" you had tried calming him down at your apartment in the morning before he had to get to the circuit.

He had barely slept, didn't want to eat anything ahead of the day and had been pacing all around the apartment since the moment he opened his eyes.

"I can't. Don't you realize how much is at stake here? I can't disappoint everyone again and not win this one. I'm going to be a failure and everybody will hate me" your heart broke when you heard George talk about himself so poorly.

You quickly got up and jumped in front of him, finally making him come to a halt and stop pacing around.

"You listen to me, Georgie. Nobody is going to hate you if you don't win today. I know you think they will, but they won't. Their support and love for you doesn't depend on whether or not you get a win today or in the next race. You're still young, baby, you have so much time to show the potential and talent you have, so many great years ahead of you. Your win will come at the right time. Please don't be so hard on yourself, I hate seeing you talk so badly about yourself"

He bit his lip but nodded, kissing you on the forehead before bringing you in for a hug.

"I'm sorry for being like this. I just want to make you and our families proud" his voice was muffled slightly because he had buried his face in your hair, but you understood him nonetheless.

"We're proud of you no matter what. We just want you to have fun and be safe. If you end up winning, we'll cheer you on. If you don't end up winning, we'll still cheer you on. We'll love you no matter what" you stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his, silence sealing the promise that you would love him no matter what.

It was all he had needed to hear, his body slowly relaxing under his touch.

And it was also all he had needed to hear to motivate him to win today.

♡♡♡♡♡

You had never seen George drive so well.

From the moments the lights had gone out, he had been driving like his life depended on it. He was overtaking like it was second nature, battling for position with Lewis before the team had ultimately made the decision to switch cars because George was faster, racing Max for the first place like he had never before.

The whole garage was on the edge of their seats, staring at the screens with anticipation.

It wasn't until George had overtaken Max and crossed the checkered flag first that the chaos and celebrations had really begun.

Engineers high-fiving each other, shaking hands and screaming in delight, you and George's parents hugging in a corner away from the madness.

You hadn't even realized you had been crying until Alison had wiped off your tears, laughing when you noticed that she had been crying too.

As you walked out of the garage with the rest of George's team and waited for him to return to the pitlane, you couldn't help the excitement flowing through your veins.

All the sweat, the tears, the bad races, the bad strategies, the hopes and dreams of being a Formula 1 Grand Prix winner had finally paid off.

George had officially become a race winner.

And you couldn't be more proud of him.

When you saw his car approaching and parking in front of Number 1, you felt more tears run down your cheeks as you observed him getting out of the car.

The moment his helmet had come off, his eyes were searching for you in the crowd. When he spotted you, he gave his helmet to one of his engineers and quickly jumped over the barriers, scooping you up in his arms and twirling you around.

"You did it!" you exclaimed in his ear, holding onto his body tightly.

"I did it for you" he said, kissing your neck before putting you down.

"I'm so proud of you, my love. You can't even understand" you said as you held his face in your hands, running your fingers through his damp hair.

"I couldn't have done it without your support" he said before leaning down and kissing you, smiling a little when you both head his team wolf-whistle behind you.

As you stood there in the pitlane embracing each other, celebrating his first ever win, you knew that you would overcome everything life would throw at you together.

The win didn't just belong to George.

It was a win for both of you.

Yours.

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silversainz · 2 years

Text

my pretty girl

George Russell x reader

summary: in which George let's you know you're his only pretty girl

warnings: implied smut, light choking, petnames, praise kink, humiliating kink kinda, cooky!George kinda. rushed wrote this in under twenty minutes sorry!

"oh where's my pretty girl at" George asked as he walked into the kitchen getting down in one knee to pet the little dog that ran up to him. but you on the another hand turned around and looked at him with wide eyes and cheeks bloodshot red. George looked up at you and gave you a smirk. "What did you think I was talking about you huh?" you rolled your eyes at him and turned back around tying away on your laptop. but that still didn't stop him, because you felt the familiar touch of his arms wrap around your body pulling you back into his embrace while he put his head in the crock of your neck giving you light kisses.

"you know you're also my pretty girl right" you felt him smirk against your skin as you whimpered under his touch and he took this as his opportunity to slip his hand under your hoodie (his) and slowly ran his hands up your spine causing you to shiver at the coldness of his rings against your hot skin. "answer me love" his hands stopped moving, you whined at the lost of his touch and tried grabbing his hand but he only slapped your hand away and moved his hand up to your neck, wrapping it around lightly. "you won't be getting shit from me, unless you answer me love" he growled against your cheek, his other hand gripping onto your jaw and forcing you to look at him.

"yes" you managed to get out but that wasn't enough for him because he dropped his hand from your jaw and instead rolled your chair around to face him. and the dark look in his eyes almost made you whimper under his stare. he got down on one knee and looked up at you "yes what?" he slowly spread your legs apart, still waiting for an answer from you. "yes I know I'm your pretty girl" your face turned bright red at your own words, feeling humiliated.

he smirked at the redness on your cheeks and how you looked away from him, embarrassed by the words he forced you to say. he rolled his hoodie up to your waist and licked his lips at the sight of your black lingerie you were. you let out a grasp as he suddenly picked you up, pushed your laptop to the side and laid you down on the counter, pushing the hoodie up more your black matching bra showing. "God you're fucking gorgeous pretty girl" you covered your face with your hands feeling embarrassed, but he grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head.

"don't hide from me. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum"

a/n: first George post let's go! hope this wasn't too crappy. I'll have another fic for him coming out soon. this was just an wholesome version of what's to come ♀️

#george russell #george russell x reader #george russell x you #george russell imagine #george russell fanfic #George Russell smut #George Russell oneshot #george russell drabble #f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 smut #formula 1

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jamminvroomvroom · 1 year

Text

on the weekends.

gr x fem!reader

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

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

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

3.5k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tonight was the night. brazil never disappointed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this never happened after. ever.

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

we love an ambiguous ending lol

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works-of-fanfiction · 10 months

Text

Summer Rain || George Russell x Reader

Summary: The reader and George spend a lazy day inside, hiding from the rain. Warnings: None. Just sickly fluff tbh. Word Count: 1.7k a/n: after seeing those pics of George just looking super fluffy at the Canadian GP, I felt inspired to write some soft boyfriend George. this is cheesy as hell. enjoy <3

After a scorching heatwave had hit the streets of London, the city was relieved to see the heavens open up. Stepping out onto her balcony, she propped the sliding door open and welcomed the breeze into her apartment. She reached out over the railings, letting the droplets decorate the back of her hand. The smell of the rain rose from the pavement below and she breathed it in, smiling at the familiarity. This was her favourite part of the summer. “You’re crazy standing out there.” Her boyfriend’s voice was muffled by the sound of the rain hitting the balcony on the story above. He watched as she reached out further, standing on her tiptoes to better feel the rain as it came down heavier. Looking down, she saw a couple running to find shelter beneath the awning of a cafe across the street, whilst a group of friends huddled beneath umbrellas at the bus stop. Footsteps splashed in puddles and cars sped along the wet roads. She loved each and every sound and found peace in the heaviest of showers. Arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back firmly onto her feet. “Come back inside.” He whispered, burying his face into her neck and pressing a kiss to her skin. She shivered as the breeze blew across them, making the site of the kiss tingle and her baby hairs stand up. “Please.” He took her hand and she obliged with a small sigh, bare feet following him back into the bedroom. “Alright, but the door stays open.” She smiled, propping her pillow against the headboard and sitting on the bed with her legs laid flat. Her boyfriend, George, took off his shirt and she shook her head in amusement as she watched him fold it neatly and place it on one of the chairs.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, hands on his hips, his right leg sticking out to the side dramatically. She laughed at his pose, mimicking him from her spot on the bed.  “You’re such a neat freak. Come here.” She opened her arms and he sunk onto the bed, shuffling until his head was in her lap, his body between her legs. He glanced up at her with olive green eyes, his long lashes fluttering slowly as he blinked, sleepily humming as she ran her hand through his hair. One thing she would never take for granted was the time off the two of them spent together. Even something as simple as lying together in bed on a Friday afternoon was time well spent.

George gazed up at his girlfriend, admiring her features as she smiled down at him, her fingers finding his roots to lightly massage his scalp. His shirt hung loose off her chest, a few buttons undone to expose the skin beneath. He followed the trail up her neck and to her lips, pursed as she opened her mouth to speak. “You know, it’s rude to stare.” She raised a brow, lifting her hand to cover his eyes. George shook his head and tried to swerve her hand, before reaching up to poke her under the arm. She flinched, giggling and drawing back as he tickled her more, digging his fingers into her skin.

“Stop! Stop! You win!” She swatted his hand away, catching her breath and wriggling to get comfortable once more. The pair sighed in unison, seemingly sinking deeper into the mattress as George wrapped his arm around her left thigh, pressing his cheek against her skin. “Comfy?” She asked, hands finding their way back to his hair. She loved playing with the length on top, especially when he was freshly showered and hadn’t put product in. It was soft, almost fluffy. To George, it was enough to make him doze off, or at least get lost in a daydream.

“Yes, thanks.” He smiled, his voice getting lower as he held back a yawn. She scratched his head quickly like she was rewarding a dog, and he turned sharply to look at her with a small frown on his face.

“Don’t be falling asleep on me! We only woke up three hours ago.” She scolded playfully, leaning down to try and kiss his forehead. He propped himself up so she could reach before curling straight back into position.

“I’m recovering from breakfast, OK?” He mumbled, hiding his face between her legs. The slight stubble he’d started to grow rubbed against her thigh, making her flinch. He re-wrapped his arm around her to hold her still. “Those pancakes made me sleepy.”

“You didn’t have to eat five.” She poked his shoulder, a little red mark showing on his sun-kissed skin. He was otherwise fair-skinned during the colder months, but she loved how he caught the sun in the summer. His skin was golden and brought out the chestnut tones in his hair. Not to mention the way he looked without a shirt on, but that was pretty much a given.

“Shh… I can’t hear the rain with all this talking.” He teased, earning another poke to the shoulder. The two of them settled into one another, their breathing the only sound in the room apart from the downpour outside. Shadows danced slowly across the floor as the clouds darkened outside. There was no sign of it clearing up anytime soon, which just made the two happier. In the sun, they felt obliged to venture outside and do something with their day. In the rain, they had an excuse to lie in bed all day and only move for the sake of bathroom or snack breaks. She toyed with the idea of flipping the television on, but left it alone. George’s head was heavy in her lap, and his grip on her thigh began to loosen as the minutes passed. One thing about George was that he could fall asleep in an instant. She secretly hated him for it, especially during the nights when he’d snore away and she’d be drawing patterns on the ceiling with her eyes. She couldn’t count how many times she’d mentally traced triangles above her own head whilst he drooled on the pillow beside her. Gently removing her hand from George’s hair, she began to draw swirls and circles on his shoulder blade. He sighed, kneading his head against her leg. “That’s really nice.” He murmured, tucking his knees closer to his chest to better fit on the bed. She smiled as she watched her boyfriend curl and snuggle up to her. It was difficult being away from him a lot, but these moments made it all worth it. The moments of calm when neither of them had to worry about work or anyone else but each other. Hearing his key turn in the lock and his luggage hit the ground was among some of her favourite sounds. Knowing he was home made her feel complete. A low growl of thunder came through the open doors, closely followed by a brief flash of lightning. Squealing could be heard from outside the apartment as people on the street rushed to get out of the storm. George turned onto his stomach, looking up with heavy eyelids and pieces of hair stuck to his forehead. “I thought you were falling asleep.” She whispered, running her thumb across his cheek affectionately. Tilting his head, he pressed a long kiss to the pad of her thumb and she held it there for a moment, allowing herself to feel the very same butterflies she did the first time he’d kissed her like that. He flipped onto his back, shifting on the bed until he was laid flat with his head on the pillow. He tapped his chest twice and she turned to him, nestling under his arm, laying her head right where she could hear his heartbeat.

"That's better." George hummed, pulling her closer until their legs were entwined.

"I missed this."

"I know. I'm sorry I haven't been here."

"No, don't be sorry. Don't say that." Her tone was genuine, as he really didn't have anything to be apologising for. He had to travel for his job, a job that meant the world to him, and she had vowed to never let herself get in the way of that. When it came to George, no one was prouder than she was, even if that meant she had to spend weeks without him.

“We’ll make up for it next weekend. I promise.” He smiled, remembering the plane tickets burning a hole in his bag. She sat up, a hand still on his chest for balance.

“Next weekend?”

“Well, you know the race was postponed…”

“Yes…”

“I’d already booked the flights. So, instead of wasting the ticket, I bought you one too. Four days in Monaco, just the two of us.” She was about to speak and he raised his finger, stopping her in her tracks. “And before you lose your head over work, I already checked with your boss and she said it was OK.”

“You spoke to my boss?” She scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head. Her boss was a tyrant, and you really had to catch her on a good day if you wanted a favour or God forbid, some vacation time. George nodded enthusiastically, feeling quite proud of himself. “I don’t even want to know how you managed that.”

“I worked my magic! So, what do you think?”

“I think I should probably start packing.” She tried to stand but George pulled her back into his arms and held her against his chest, planting a kiss on her head.

“Relax! We fly in six days. You’ve got time.”

The two laid together, once again finding their comfortable silence. The weather outside began to clear up, the heavy shower slowing until all they could hear was water drizzling through the gutters. Listening to his girlfriend’s soft breathing, George closed his eyes and thought about Monaco and how much fun the two of them were going to have. It had been a while since they’d taken a trip together, and he planned to make it unforgettable. Of course he was disappointed about the race, but he knew it was the perfect chance for them to get away for a few days.

“Love…” He spoke quietly, gently nudging her. She didn’t budge and he looked down to find her asleep. He knew she was the type to lie awake at night, so he saw no need in waking her up now. “Now look who’s the sleepy one.” He rolled his eyes, pressing one more kiss to her head before drifting off himself.

#f1 fics #george russell x reader #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #george russell oneshot

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heliads · 9 months

Text

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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saltwaterburns · 29 days

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GEORGE RUSSELL IS THE PRINCESS OF THE GRIIIIIIDDDD !!!!!! ...!!!

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one x reader #formula 1 fluff #george russell #george russell x reader #george russell oneshot #george russel imagine #mercedes

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burntrubber-dirtyair · 1 year

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The Difference Between Us - GR63

It’s been a minute but I’m back with another one. This could potentially be followed by another part.. let me know if you’re interested

Pairing: George Russell x Reader

Warnings: a little angsty, a little smutty

Her mind blurred. The warmth of his hands on her hips was all she could focus on. Everything outside of the two was forgotten as he continued the slow sabotage of her body and mind. Pants and groans surrounded the pair as they moved in slow synchronised movements.

“Fu-fuck, George please don’t stop.” Her voice was broken as her begs met his ears. Her face flushed and glistening as her head fell back, neck extending in front of him. He grinned as his leaned to follow her neck.

“You never have to beg Love - I’d give you anything you want.” He mouthed against her neck, careful not to leave any marks as his lips made their way down towards her collarbone. Her groans turned to whimpers as his thumb met her swollen centre. His eyes traced her body as she started to shake in his arms. The white that took over her eyes was unmistakable as she fell apart. The pitch of her sounds now higher than they had been, and he revelled in the sound as she tightened around him.

“Oh god.” His words were cut short as he followed her to his high.

The pair panted, foreheads resting together as their breathing settled. His hands were soft against her hair as he moved it from her face. Her eyes stayed closed as a soft smile graced her face. His fingers traced her features as her heart settled and her breathing calmed.

"We need to move George. My dad will be back soon." His sigh was loud as she moved to stand, releasing herself from his arms as he leaned back into the couch. She quickly moved around the room, picking her clothes up as she went. They were silent as he slipped his boxers and jeans back over his hips, and she slipped her outfit back onto her body. This wasn't a new ending to the pair's time together, but George wouldn't fight it this time.

“Please say something.” Her voice was soft as her hand cradled his cheek. He leaned into it, a frown marring his face as he met her eyes.

“There’s nothing to say really. Your dad will be back soon. You should go.” He hated that her eyes teared up as she flinched away from his flat tone, but he couldn’t help but continue, “I’ll see you out there, hopefully anyway.”

“George- you- I- you know why, I can’t- we can’t” she stuttered as he moved to leave the room, his room, while she stood lost in the middle. She wanted to reach out to physically stop him but she couldn’t bring herself to.

“No, not we. You. You can’t, I can. I have been willing since the first time. You are the only one holding back.” His words bit into her as the tears built in her eyes, the small girl across from him unable to shield herself from his words. He regret hurting her immediately, but he refused to withhold his feelings any longer.

“I can’t just tell my dad I’m sleeping with his driver George!” Her words were fierce as he took a step back towards her, words only softened by the tears that remained in her eyes.

“See that’s the difference between us. I’m more than willing to tell my boss that I’m in love with his daughter.” Her breath was stuck in her chest as he turned and strut out the door. He didn’t look back as she moved to stand in the doorway, unsure of where to go from there.

#george russell imagine #george russell x reader #george russell x you #formula one imagine #f1 imagine #gr63 #forumla 1 #formula one #f1 #f1 oneshot #formula one oneshot #george russell oneshot #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 x reader

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norrussell · 6 months

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What Are Friends For | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: George is frustrated after a bad race and as his best friend you take it as your responsibility to make him feel better

Warnings: smut

A/N: this could be taken as part 2 of this, but you don't have to necessarily read it

George was charging through the Mercedes motorhome to his driver's room. Barely catching up to his long strides, you followed after him. Immediately, it was obvious that something was wrong. He didn't even stop to take off his helmet, much less check on you. The last time he had sprinted into the hospitality like this, he had collided with a TV crew and sent them rolling across the concrete floor.

The race started good, excellent even. The lead-in to the start was exciting. The initial straightaway was wide and flat, then leading down into a series of lazy curves. He blazed past the other racers with ease. Everything indicated that he was going to win that one, or at least end up on the podium. But everything took a wrong turn in the end.

Like he didn't know you were behind him, he almost slammed the door shut in your face.

"George!" you pushed through, but it was like he didn't even notice you.

He was in a state of frenzy, pacing around the room, his helmet still on and his eyes wild and unfocused. You had seen him like this only a handful of times before, and it always meant trouble. You knew how important this race was for George. He had been working tirelessly for weeks, preparing for this moment only to be taken away in a matter of seconds.

A stream of muffled curse words left his mouth as he finally began to remove his helmet.

"George, it's not your fault..." you knew better than to speak up right now, but you felt like you should say something when you're already there.

George turned to you with a look of anger in his eyes. "Not my fault?! Do you even know what happened out there?!" he shouted, dropping his helmet on the desk. "I was leading the race, and that idiot just had to ram into me and send me spinning off the track!"

You took a step back, not wanting to push him further, but George continued his tirade. "I had it in the bag, I was going to win, but now it's all ruined!" he yelled, pacing back and forth across the room.

"I know, George, but it happens to the best of them," you said, trying to calm him down.

George turned to you, his chest heaving with anger. "I don't want to hear it," he spat. "I'm sick and tired of this. I pour my heart and soul into this sport, and for what? To have it all taken away in an instant?"

You watched as he ran his hands through his hair, his eyes filled with frustration and disappointment. You knew that George was a perfectionist, and losing was not an option for him.

You nodded, understanding. "I'm sorry, George. I know it's tough."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know what to do. I feel like I let everyone down. My team, my sponsors, myself."

"You didn't let anyone down, George. These things happen. It's part of the sport," you said, trying to reassure him.

"But I was so close to winning. I could taste it," he muttered, staring off into the distance.

"You'll have another chance," you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're a great driver, George. You'll bounce back from this."

George glared at you, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't want to just win the next race. I wanted to win this one. This was my chance and I lost it."

You took a step back, unsure of what to say to him. You knew that he was in a delicate state, and any wrong word could set him off again. There was a moment of silence, as the two of you stood there, the weight of the disappointment heavy in the air.

"If there's anything I can do to help-"

"How could you possibly help?!" he snapped again, turning around.

You flinched at the tone of his voice, closing your eyes and reassuring yourself that he wasn't mad at you. He slumped onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. After a moment, he dragged them down along his face exhaling deeply.

"I'm sorry." he said more softly, his eyes searching for yours.

"It's fine." you said. "I've gotten used to it. I know you're not actually upset with me." you gave him a weak smile.

"I don't want you getting used to something that shouldn't even happen in the first place." he looked at you apologetically.

"I don't mind-"

"You should." he cut you off.

"Alright then, let me help you feel better." you walked up to him and stood in between his legs.

George looked up at you, exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I don't think anything can make me feel better right now," he said, his voice flat.

"Well, there's one thing I can certainly try to ease the tension." your hands undid the collar of his suit and found the zipper, pulling it down.

"Wh-What are you-"

"Just relax, George." you smiled, your hands removing the overalls from his broad shoulders and revealing his black fireproofs.

George's eyebrows furrowed as he watched you, confusion written all over his face. He was still too caught up in his own disappointment to understand what you were doing. You leaned in closer to him, your fingers trailing over his chest. Your palms slid down his abdomen as you sank down to your knees in front of him.

George's eyes widened as he watched you sink to your knees, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn't believe what was happening, but he also couldn't deny that his body was responding to your touch, his eyes darting back to the door for a moment before returning to you. You could see the tension in his body slowly dissipating as you continued to touch him.

Just when you were about to take his racing suit further down, he caught at your wrists.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"Yeah, you helped me last time, now I want to return the favor."

"You don't have to do this. You don't owe me anything." he looked more intensely in your eyes.

It's been a few weeks since the event that occurred in George's kitchen, but neither of you has mentioned it at all since then, as per your request. Although you didn't let it show, it was lingering in the back of your mind, constantly nagging you.

"I know." you said like it was obvious. "But I want to. Let me take care of you like you took care of me."

George hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then he nodded, his grip on your wrists loosening as he leaned back on the couch. "Okay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers continuing their exploration of his body, taking in the contours of his muscles and the warmth of his skin. George inhaled sharply as your hands continued to undress him, his hips lifting up to help you, revealing the tight black boxers he wore underneath. You ran your hands over the bulge in his shorts, feeling him start to harden under your touch.

"Is this okay?" you asked, your eyes meeting his.

His eyes seemed to soften, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He nodded slowly, "Definitely."

You dug your fingers in the waistband of his underwear, but there he was, stopping you again.

"It's not too late to back out of this if you want." he put his hands over yours.

"George, I swear to god if you interrupt me again I just might. I am not backing out." you said, your voice firm and unwavering.

"Sorry." he put his hands up in defense, smiling a little.

You slid his boxers down, taking in the sight of his growing cock, shiny and wet with a small drop of pre-cum. You rubbed your thumb over the head, feeling the pre-cum spread over his shaft. George moaned, his hands going to your hair, running his fingers through it. He let his head fall back on the couch, his eyes closed as his hips started moving in small circles.

George's cock was nice and long, and seeing it only made you want to taste it. You let your hand crawl up the column of his cock, teasing the underside with your fingers.

"Ahh, y/n..." he groaned, a look of pleasure on his face.

You felt a shiver run through your body at the sound of your name. The amount of passion and lust in that one word was like music to your ears. You felt your confidence rise at the sound of it, your lips wrapping around his head.

George let out another groan, his body arching towards you. You bobbed your head up and down, your tongue curling around his cock as you moved.

It was warm and smooth, and you couldn't get enough of it. The taste flooded your mouth. You felt yourself getting wet, the sound of George's heavy breathing spurring you on. You continued to work his cock, letting it hit the back of your throat before letting it slide back out, your hands softly cupping his balls.

George let out another moan as you nailed his sweet spot, his cock hitting the back of your mouth over and over. His hips started to buck against you as he approached his climax, a hand gripping the back of your head.

Your jaw was getting tired from sucking him off, but you didn't want him to finish just yet. You released him from your mouth, lapping at his tip, letting your tongue circle around him. You let go of him, taking a break before you took him back in your mouth, sucking on him even harder than before, letting your spit drip all over his cock.

"Please, don't stop." he panted, his voice hot and heavy.

You hummed a little around his member, your hands gripping his hips as you deep throated him more. You watched as his toes curled, his eyes closed shut, his face completely lost in pleasure.

"Ahh.. ahh..." he gasped, his body tensing up. "I'm coming." He let out one last moan before you felt his cock throbbing in your mouth.

Then he released, warm cum shooting into your mouth. "You don't have to... Fuck, you swallowed."

You let the salty liquid slide down your throat, massaging his cock as you slowly released it, sucking the last of it from the tip while keeping eye contact. You licked your lips, savoring the taste.

"Wait," he said, and ran his thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping off any leftovers.

You grabbed his wrist and put his finger into your mouth, sucking and twirling your tongue around it.

He sighed, his body feeling lighter than it has in a long time. "Holy shit."

You released his thumb with a pop, smiling mischievously. "Is that all you can say?"

"I'm still recovering from this," he said, his voice light and airy as he looked down at you. His chest heaved heavily as he caught his breath, his hands moving to brush through your hair, lightly gripping your scalp. "God, you're amazing."

"So... You feel better?" you asked, your eyes watching his, a light from within them that wasn't there before.

He nodded, a smile on his lips. "Much better."

"Good." you said, the sight of him making you feel good.

"Uh, I should clean up..." he said.

"Oh, right," you exclaimed, pulling up his boxer for him and standing up.

"Wait," he said, grabbing your hand. "Can we... not let this get awkward between us?"

Maybe George finally understood how you felt the last time when you asked the same from him.

You nodded, your hand still in his. "Of course not."

"Great," he said, his free hand grabbing yours. He pulled you towards him, his hand running up and down your side. "I really, really enjoyed this."

"I did too," you replied, your hand on his chest.

"Thank you." he kissed your forehead and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

As you sat at the desk, you couldn't help but think about what you had done. Even though the gesture was for George, there was a part of you that knew it was for yourself too. Ever since he helped you get off that one time at his place, your mind wouldn't stop replaying the memory. You knew that something like that could never happen again, but now that you've repaid him -even though he would have never asked- there was a weight lifted off your shoulders.

You understood that no matter what happened between you two, that even if things were awkward at first, in the grand scheme of things everything would be okay. Your friendship was stronger than anything else. You've overcome it before, you can certainly do it again.

That was, until…

Next part

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the-offside-rule · 7 months

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George Russell (Mercedes AMG) - Academic Rival

Requested: yes and I WOULD ARGUE THIS HAS BEEN ONE OF MY FAVOURITE THINGS TO WRITE

Prompt: 13) "Sometimes I think you do these things just to annoy me."

15) "You're a wonderful person. Don't ever forget that."

Academic Rivals with George Russell

Warnings: bout to be converted to a George girly

"Russell. George! Hey George Russell wake up!"

George snapped awake, looking around confused as his fellow classmates were leaving the lecture hall. "Late night?" He looked up to see Y/n, a girl in his class that he simply despised. She sat a few rows behind him and since they began university, they have been practically rivals. It had been tit for tat on who would get the better test result, who would get the better assignment result, who would get the better anything. "Very, if you must know. Had to finish that assignment that was due this morning." He replied, stretching back in his chair. "Well at least you got it done. I sent mine in last week." Geofge scoffed. "And I am simply delighted that you had enough free time to send it in before me." He replied in a harsh tone. "I've been sending the assignments in before you for the past few weeks, George. Not falling behind, are you?" He stood up quickly and began packing his bag. "Absolutely not! I've just been caught up recently, that's all." She chuckled. "If that's what you want to call it." Y/n opened her refill pad and ripped out a few pieces of paper,before handing them to George. He looked between her and the paper confused. "What is this?" He asked.

"I took the liberty of writing your notes for you." Y/n mumbled, handing him the paper. George examined each piece carefully, seeing her perfect handwriting of her notes on the topic. "You wrote these?" He asked. Y/n nodded and turned to leave. She was just about at the door when she heard the brit call her name, making her look back at him. "Thank you." He muttered, placing them into his folder and walking out of the class behind her. "So what are the plans for this evening?" George asked. "I have a date. My friend set me up so I'm hoping it's not a philosophy student again." George chuckled at the girl. "I'm gonna head this way. My flat is closer to this side." George said. "That's fine. I suppose I'll see you after mid-term?"

"You definitely will. Can't have You having an upper hand on me." Y/n smiled. "Not after today's naptime." George joked. The pair chuckled before bidding their goodbyes and walking their separate ways to their usual study places. Hers being the study hall and his being the old library.

Y/n smiled as she spotted her friend Debs sat at their usual spot with her coffee cup and her headphones connected to her phone and undoubtedly playing Taylor Swift's folklore again. "Hey Debs." Y/n smiled as she sat down and began to set up. "Hey, Y/n. How was class today then?" She asked. "Well, Russell fell asleep. It was funny to see." Y/n replied. "Ah, so noe you have blackmail material. Wonderful." Debs joked. "Actually, I wrote the notes out for him." Y/n questioned the silence after she said that. She looked up to see Debs staring at her eith a shocked expression plastered all over her face. "What?" She asked. "You helped George? Why would you do that? You hate eachother!" Y/n rolled her eyes. "I don't know, Debs. I think it's just a case of us actually maturing now that it's our last year I university together. Just kind of-" Y/n's face dropped as her eyes scanned her files for her document titled Mid-Term assignment but nothing. "Debs....I think I deleted my assignment. Or it didn't save or- fuck!" Debs scooted over to Y/n and scrolled through the laptop while the poor girl beside her, sat with her head in her hands. "Maybe you saved it somewhere else?" She asked. "No, I always save it here. I was working on it this morning! I-"

"Y/l/n." She groaned as she heard the all to familiar voice of her class rival, George Russell trailing behind her. "What the hell do you want?" She asked, continuing to walk and not dignified the brit with a glance. "Studying again?" He grinned. "Yes, I always do." She replied. "It's a shame you have to actually try to be here. It's like you almost don't belong." She scoffed. "And it's almost as if the only reason you're here is because your dad bribed the board." George clenched his jaw before walking over to a table nearby and setting himself up. "What the fuck is he doing studying here? Thats-"

"I'm just gonna have to go to my dorm and start over. All my notes and references I used are up there." Y/n said in a panicked state, began packing everything up and didn't bother herself with why her classmate wasn't studying in his usual spot. She didn't have the time. Every second mattered in this moment. "Debs, I'm I'm sorry. I'll call you tomorrow but I can't right now." Y/n said as she stood up quickly and hurled the bag across her back, grabbing the attention of a particular classmate nearby. She and Debs briefly exchanged goodbyes, before Y/n set off running to her dorm to quickly throw together her mid-term paper.

A few hours later, Y/n had just about managed to find half of her notes and that's about it. She groaned and chucked yet another folder to the corner and onto the next. A sudden knock caught her off guard from the task at hand. She figured it was just Debs coming to say goodbye before her parents came to pick her up so she sat up off the ground and opened the door with a bright smile, only for it to change to one of pure confusion as she was faced with George.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Y/n grumbled, looking up at her rival. "Well I heard your assignment got deleted." He said. "And what? You're here to laugh?" She arched a brow. "No, I want to help. I have some websites. Might be helpful?" Her face softened at his words. He wanted to help her? "Thanks." She muttered. George pushed past her into the room, taking his scarf off. "Right, you start writing, I'll put on some hot chocolate. Do you like marshmallows? Wait a minute-" He looked in the cupboards. "Do you even have marshmallows?" She shook her head confused. "Right, I'm heading to tesco. They should be open. I'll be right back!" He quickly tied his scarf back around his neck. "Wait, what? What are you doing?" Y/n asked as he walked off. "I just explained-"

"Yeah but you said your train back home goes at twenty past eight. It's a quarter to eight and the train station is a fifteen minute drive away." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's no problem, I'll just get the first one tomorrow." He reassured her and opened up his laptop laptop the websites her had. "Right, so these are the websites I used. Very helpful, but you might already have your references sorted out. So I'll leave you alone with my assignment and these websites and I'll head out. I'll be right back." George smiled and headed towards the door.

"I don't understand." She muttered, amking George stop in the doorway. "You don't have to Y/l/n. I'm trying to help my fellow classmate." He said. "But there's no reason that you of all people should be looking to help me." George chuckled and tied the scarf around his neck. "Think of it as paying it back for today. Its no big deal, swear." George said, going to close the door behind him but stopping to give the last word, as he usually did. "It's nice how you remembered when my train went though." He winked and closed the door, leaving Y/n and her burning red cheeks. She let out a shakey sigh as she tried to steady her heart. Did she...no! Out of the question! Its George, for God's sake!

He- he's kinda sweet.

#f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #george russell x y/n #george russell x you #george russell oneshot #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #george russell

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charlesslut16 · 9 months

Note

Hi,

I absolutely adore your writing and it has me falling in love all over again and I could reread it all over again.

I wanted to ask if you could possibly do something where one of the drivers (maybe George or whomever you prefer) dates Toto's daughter and everyone reacts to their cute relationship although some fans are a bit mean but her family and her boyfriend are there for her? Maybe she also works in the racing industry for mercedes?

~ Love, 🦘

-we are here for you-

summary : the fans don't like the relationship between you and george

PAIRING : george russell x fem!wolff!reader

WARNINGS : insecurity

note : I'm on vacation now, therefor the posts will come unregularly but i will try to post as much as i can. It is a bit short but i hope you still like it! And what are your thoughts on the race on Sunday? Much love!

faceclaim : Carmen Montero Mundt

masterlist

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In 2019, you and george met at the Belgian grand prix, as he was still driving for Williams. Your father brought you with him, where you met all the drivers and team coaches.

It had immediately clicked between you and george. You started to talk during the entire weekend and at the end exchanged numbers to talk in your private time.

And as you talked more, you started to become friends. When your dad, Toto, asked you if you wanted to come to the Singapore grand prix, you instantly agreed, as you wanted to see george.

And over the years, you and george turned into more than just friends. This new relationship was something very concerning for your dad at first, but in time he became comfortable with it.

And now that george was driving for Mercedes, you made your relationship finally visible for the public eye. It was the first time you were in the paddock with george and not your father.

It was uncomfortable for you, that all the fans were staring at you, asking questions or threw in some nasty comments about you and george. But you knew that you were safe when you were with him.

You also told the drivers and their wags about your relationship. All of them were super supportive and super exited for you. You felt safe and accepted with them.

But even tho you felt good in the paddock, the hate comments of the fans were always on your mind. First you had just ignored them, but now they were a bit much.

And as the summer break of the 2022/23 season came, george started to post about your holiday on insta. And as he posted it, you knew that there would be hate comments.

liked by yourusername, alex_albon and 145. 345 others

georgerussell63 enjoying summer holiday

view all 815 comments

alex_albon we have so MANY pictures together and you chose this!?

georgerussell63 it was the least ugly one, that you were in.

username they look absolutly beautiful together.

username y/n looks like a goddess. George is lucky to have her.

username She may be Toto's daughter, but SHE should be lucky that George chose her. george_russell_fanpage yes She should be lucky. I mean she's not that pretty and george still chose her.

susie_wolff hope you guys are having fun.

lilymhe you two are the perfect couple.

Every time george had posted about you or your relationship, the fans went absolutely crazy, some of the comments were really nice, but the rest were over the line.

Later on, while you were on the beach sunbathing, you and george talked about the hate. He comforted you and made sure that you were okay with the situation.

And after you talked, you completely forgot about the hate and enjoyed your time together. As Toto's daughter, you knew that you would be criticized by the social media.

But you were not prepared for the hate that actually occurred. As time went on, the holidays ended, you were criticized more and more, everywhere you went there were paparazzi.

Being for real, tho, no one could have ever prepared you for the hate that you have gotten and will get in the future. That is something you just have to come to terms with.

That day, you went home, to george and your parents. You sat down and told them how the hate and following made you feel. Anxiously, you sat there and waited for them to answer.

"When the hating starts it's very hard, but if you come to terms with it, you can just ignore it, süße." Toto said, with a soft, gentle, comforting voice. Honey

"There is nothing that we can do for you, you just have to help yourself, as hard as it seems, meine kleine maus." my little mouse

"Yes, after time it will be okay. Remember that I will always be there if the hate is becoming unbearable." George honestly answered and laid his arms around you to pull you more into his side.

He put his arm around you and stroked your shoulder and arm to bring you a bit of comfort. George knew how hard the hate is, as he had experienced it first handed.

"Your dad and I will be there for you if you need to talk. If you are having doubts, tell us, and we will be there" Susie took your hand in hers and squeezed them encouragingly.

"Thank you guys."

As you heard the words of your family and george, you felt supported, loved and absolutely understood. You know now that your family and your boyfriend are the best people in this entire world.

You know that what ever happens, those people will always be there for you, and you couldn't be any happier that you had them in your life for hopefully forever.

Standing up, you invited them all into a big group hug, to end the conversation and to celebrate, that you understood that the fans have no say in what you do and who you love.

And the next day you looked at the comments and didn't feel bad or not enough anymore. You know that the people, that you love, love you back as just as you do.

#f1 #george russell oneshot #george russel x reader #george russel imagine #george russell imagine #george russell #george russell fanfic #f1 one shot #formula 1 #f1 fluff #formula one

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a-v-d-g · 10 months

Text

#george russel imagine #george russell #f1edit #f1 #f1 fandom #formula 1 #mercedes amg petronas #Petronas #george russell oneshot #f1 lb

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gridgirldrabbles · 2 years

Text

Unrequited

Pairing: George Russell x Y/N

Words: 2k

Warnings: angst (ish)

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long!! This is my first time writing for George, I hope it’s okay <3 (would also be open to doing a part 2 for this bc I had lots of ideas hehe)

Request: I saw you said you'd write for George if you had the right request.

I was wondering if you'd write something like George falling madly in love with the girlfriend of another driver and doing everything to try to steal her.

I love what you write and I'd really like to know what's your vision for this.

You’d been on the formula 1 scene for a few years now. Your brother had someone worked his way into a group of streamers that focused on formula 1 called quadrant. That was how you met your current boyfriend, Lando. Max and Lando became close friends so quickly that it was inevitable that you would spend time with the racing driver.

You had tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the beginning, knowing how angry Max would be if you made a move on his best friend. But that all changed when one evening Lando confessed that he had feelings for you, and the rest was history.

That’s how you found yourself here, a year later, walking through the paddock at Silverstone, ready to support your boyfriend as much as you could. You knew how important it was for him to do well in his home race, and you’d done everything you could to make the past few days as stress free as possible for him. This included trying to find somewhere to fill up his water bottle for him while he was doing his stretches before FP1.

You must’ve looked confused wandering round the paddock, until you heard your name being called from behind you. You spun yourself around, your sundress fluttering lightly through the air at the motion. You felt the Mercedes driver before you could even set your eyes on him. His arms wrapped around you waist as he picked you up, making you laugh loudly.

‘Put me down, you lunatic.’ You playfully smacked his shoulder before he set you back on the ground. George and yourself had become good friends through Lando, having met each other on a stream one evening and then staying in touch ever since.

‘Why do you look so lost?’ He laughed at your still confused face, eyes still hunting for a water fountain.

‘That’s because I am! I can’t find anywhere to fill up Lando’s water bottle and he’s going to need it soon.’

‘What, he can’t do it himself?’ George raised his eyebrows at you as you rolled your eyes at his comment. As much as George liked Lando, he couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous about the relationship he had with you and it often led to him making little snide comments that you tried your best to ignore. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you can do it.’ With that he walked off, his long legs carrying his away from you much faster than you could catch up with the small heels you had chosen to wear for the special occasion.

‘Shut up you. He’s busy! Shouldn’t you be getting to free practice as well?’

He shrugged his shoulders at your question, ‘I couldn’t be getting in the car without saying hi to my favourite girl now could I?’ He winked over his shoulder towards you, laughing as he saw the embarrassed blush spreading across the apples of your cheeks.

‘You’re so cringe, just show me where I can fill up my water bottle.’

In fairness he did take you to the water fountain, one that you were sure you must’ve walked past at least three times throughout the day already, but he couldn’t help but make increasingly flirty comments whenever you were around.

‘Why aren’t you being this nice to me? It’s my home race too.’ He pouted at your lack of affection, ‘Why won’t you fill up my water bottle?’

‘You’re so dramatic it’s unreal, stop pouting! Plus, I’m not dating you, I’m dating Lando so he gets special treatment.’

George wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt a tug on his heartstrings when you mentioned the fact that you weren’t dating him. Of course, he knew that, you guys had met when he was still dating his last girlfriend. In fact, you had been a massive help to him after the break up, making sure he was okay and inviting him over for movie nights on the rare occasions you were both free. Obviously he thought you were attractive, who wouldn’t? But he’d never let his thoughts wander past the erotic thoughts of you that filled his head when he was lying in bed alone late at night.

‘How are you feeling about today?’ Your question pulled him out of his spiralling train of thoughts.

‘Uh yeah, pretty good actually. The car has been improving a lot over the past few races so I’m feeling pretty confident.’

‘That’s good! I’m really happy for you Georgie.’ The nickname you’d had for him suddenly felt different, strangely personal to him now. ‘I should probably get going, Lando will start to think I’ve run off. I’ll see you later, good luck!’

Before he could say another word you had turned around and left, leaving him dumbstruck in the middle of the paddock. He looked down at his watch, suddenly hyperaware that he was probably late already (which he was), and he took off towards the Mercedes garage. Why was he feeling so strange? He shook his head, almost as if it would shake out the thoughts of you.

Unsurprisingly, that didn’t work. His free practice session went terribly, not being able to focus on the track because all he could focus on was the thought of you in that stupidly gorgeous sundress that was so short, if you bent over even the tiniest bit he would be able to see everything. With his mind occupied, he managed to settle in a measly P9, pathetic as to where he had been coming in his last few races.

He got an earful from Toto when he got out the car, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He wasn’t even thinking about the race right now, all he wanted to do was see you again. George retreated to his drivers room as quickly as he could and pulled his phone out of his bad.

To: Y/N/N <3

Catch up later?

He knew you were probably with Lando so he didn’t expect a reply anytime soon. That’s why it came as a shock when his phone buzzed in his hand, his heart fluttering as he saw your name on the screen.

To: Georgie

I can’t ☹ having dins with Lan and his parents

Of course you were. You were here to support Lando, of course you would be busy. He groaned in frustration, flopping back on to the sofa in the corner of the room. Surely he could get your attention somehow, even if only for a little while.

While George spent the evening in his room moping, he tried to come up with a plan to get your attention. It wasn’t until he had spent over an hour tossing and turning in bed that he reached for his phone again. The time told him it was well past 1am, and he knew he had to be leaving for the track at 9 so he settled himself back under the duvet and closed his eyes. All he could see were memories he had shared with you. The way your eyes lit up when you smiled, the way your laugh made his heart beat faster in his chest. Looking back he realised that he’d liked you for a while and he'd been trying to repress his feelings because of you and Lando.

His fingers tugged on his hair in frustration and an annoyed groan left his mouth. He threw the duvet off his body, throwing on an extremely mismatched outfit and some sliders before picking up his room key and heading towards the lobby. He obviously wasn’t going to sleep any time soon so maybe some fresh air would help.

What he didn’t expect to find outside the entrance to the hotel was you. You were leaning against one of the many bollards outside, shorts and an oversized shirt adorning your body. ‘What are you doing out here at this time?’ His question made you jump, your body spinning to face him as his weary feet trudged towards you.

A small smile planted itself on your face, ‘I could say the same to you. I couldn’t sleep, all this travelling has really fucked up my body clock. I didn’t want to wake Lan so I came to get some air.’ He nodded knowingly, you both suffered when it came to the constant travelling, but you always insisted that George had it worse because he had to work alongside it. ‘What’s got you up at this time?’

George’s shoulders shrugged at your question, his foot playing with a stone on the ground. ‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind I guess.’

‘Anything you want to talk about?’ Your eyebrows were furrowed as you looked up at him, your eyes glinting with worry in the moonlight. He couldn’t help the way his heart ached for you, you were borderline angelic to him. He could tell from the look in your eye that you really wanted to help so he decided to take a gamble.

‘There’s this girl that I really like…but I can’t do anything about it.’ He refused to meet your eye as he confessed what was keeping him awake.

‘Why not? Does she work for the team or something?’

‘No, nothing like that, she’s seeing one of my friends.’ He could see the look of pity on your face and it made him want to scream. If only you knew he was talking about you.

‘Oh Georgie, I’m sorry. Do they seem happy?’

‘I think so, but I know I could treat her better.’

Your hand squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, your face offering him a sad smile. ‘I’m sure you could. But one day someone will come along who’s perfect for you, and she won’t be tied down to anyone else. She’ll make you so so happy, then you’ll be just like me and Lando.’

Your joke was meant in jest, but George felt his heart shatter into a million pieces in his chest. You were so happy with Lando, what was he even thinking? He was in love with one of his best mate’s girlfriends. He let out a strained laugh in order for you not to worry.

‘Yeah you’re right. I’m just being dramatic about it.’ His gaze lifted to meet your own and it took every ounce of self-control not to kiss you then and there. ‘I think I’m gonna go back to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He gave you a quick hug, not leaving you time to reply before he was walking back towards the elevator.

Once the doors closed behind him and the lift started moving, the tears started flowing. He had never felt more pathetic than he did in that moment. He kept his head down as he walked along the corridor, even though it was unlikely he would run into anyone at this hour.

The tangled sheets enveloped his body once more and he drifted into a restless sleep with a tear-stained face. He dreamt of you all night, it was like his body was torturing him for being so stupid. He woke up the next morning with bags under his eyes and a headache pounding throughout his skull, two of the most common symptoms of unrequited love. As much as he wanted to go to you for comfort, it was what he had done since the two of you became friends, he kept his distance and let you soak up the time with your boyfriend, settling for small waves across the paddock and good luck texts. If he couldn’t have you in your entirety, he would have you in whatever small dose you would give him.

#gr63 #george russell #george russell imagine #george russell oneshot #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 oneshot

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