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obsessedhoneycomb · 1 hour ago

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I don't know if you're taking requests or not, so I'm hoping I won't bother you with this... I was wondering... could we perchance get a fic for George visiting reader's parents with them? Usually, reader visits their parents by themselves because George is so busy racing. However, this time, they go during summer break, so George sees this as an opportunity to join them. Reader protests because they're a little bit embarrassed about how George would react to where they lived (upper lower class in like the deep south of the U.S.) and doesn't want him to go. It takes some time for George to convince reader to let him go... and I feel like I'm rambling so much so you can definitely choose how the plot goes after they arrive at reader's parent's house!

I’ve been thinking about this ask the whole weekend when I was visiting my mom. Wrote this at work today and it made me realise some things. I hope you like it. 😇

the scent of the cookie dough

George Russell x fem!reader

-> George’s masterlist

Summary: George is trying to convince you to get him to meet your parents. Finally you say yes but you still have those ashamed thoughts because you’re scared he’ll be disgusted by how “poorly” your parents live.

Warnings: angst, tension, fluff, love, theme of complicated relationship with parents and their lifestyle

Word count: 1.7k

—

You turned this idea in your head for maybe about a millionth time. Every time your mind prodded that thought, you shivered in shame and despair, George not aware of your nerves.

His parents were so sweet, England was great, you loved the countryside, the little farm his father had. His side was full of warmth and love.

Then there were your parents. Of course, they were nice, giving you their best they could do, but still, for the life you were living now - independent, middle class society, having your own flat to live and good paying job to be able to afford to travel more with your boyfriend because you didn’t want to be some kind of gold digger.

Placing dishes in the dishwasher you were FaceTiming George while he talked about his day.

“What’s the matter with you, darling?” He knew. He always does. Like an open book, he could read you.

Standing upright, you sighed, looking anywhere else but to the camera. “Nothing, just tired.”

“Hm… so, I saw your mom was tagging you at some kind of event in your hometown, I think it would be a great opportunity to give your parents a visit maybe?”

The bolt of annoyance shot through your body. “No.”

George huffed softly, the noise of him packing the suitcase came through the speaker. “I know we talked about it, but… I want to meet your parents. We've been together for over two years, you’re spending so much time with my family and I think… it would be fair.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, George. I’m tired.” You wanted to avoid it.

“You’re always tired.” The remark slipped past his lips faster than he could think about it. “Sorry— I—“

“Stop it, George. This is not a good time. You should get some rest as I do.” You cut him off sharply and he just hummed you a good night.

Leaning against the counter, listening to the dishwasher doing its job, you started to think that maybe he’s right. Maybe you should believe that he won’t leave you because of how your parents live. Because he loves you for who you are.

—

The sleek Mercedes car stopped in front of the small house at the end of the street, the lawn outside mowed not so perfectly but it still made you smile a little as it brought back some memories.

You remember it clearly as a day when your mother was ecstatic to spread through the small town how you’re dating the famous F1 driver and that her girl is gonna be rich. After that you received so many judging stares and scoffs whenever you visited because you left the town and your parents, not staying to become a little wife to someone local.

Slowly and carefully you walked side by side with George to the small porch, the cracked wooden railing making you cringe your face. Looking at George you frowned softly. “I’m sorry, this is— it’s not what you’re used to.”

He just gave you a sympathetic look and squeezed your shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not judging. I’m still just a human, with or without money.”

You opened your mouth to say something but at that moment the entrance door swung open with a noticeable squeak. The smell of the house, the combination of something baked and the polished wood hit your nose when your mother stood there with a huge smile plastered across her face.

“Finally! Hey, honey, our daughter is here! And her boyfriend also!” She shouted at your father and you crinkled your nose, the sweat forming on your palms while George stood there, his hand on the small of your back.

“Mom.” You just blurted out and she grinned softly, hugging you tight, as if she wanted to squeeze the life out of you.

“Honey bee. Long time no see.” She gave you a sloppy kiss on your cheek when she turned her attention to George. He tried to be polite and stretched his hand to greet her but he was squished instantly with her weight only to be kissed on his cheek too.

“Hello, young gentleman. George, right? The lover boy of our baby.” She chuckled and she led him into the space of the house, him looking over his shoulder at you with a panicked face but you hid a smirk saying ‘here you go, you wanted this’.

Once you got settled in the small living room of your parents house, your dad measured George from a distance while he sipped on his coffee. You took in how it was still the same, the old carpet that smelled like cats your mom used to have. The old photos of your grandparents hanging on the wall uneven. But maybe this was the atmosphere of the home, of the love and care nobody could understand.

“So, how was your ride?” Your dad cleared his throat, taking a glance outside at George’s Mercedes. You lightly squeezed George’s knee to give him reassurance. He took in your hint, grabbing your hand while looking at you with a soft smile.

“I love driving, so it was pleasant and I enjoyed it. It's clearly different here from the roads in England or in Monaco but not much.”

“That car of yours, how much?” Your dad was straight as always.

“Dad—“

“No, it’s okay. I can give you a ride if you want?” George suggested with a shrug of his shoulders and the dread spread through your body as your eyes widened.

Your dads eyes lit like a Christmas tree and he smiled widely. “Oh, that would be lovely, George.”

“Awesome! We can make some cookies for the afternoon, the neighbours will come over.” Your mom was full of energy as always, disappearing into the kitchen.

While George got up, following your father to the hallway, you stopped him by grabbing his hand. “Are you sure?”

He leaned closer to you, kissing your forehead. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle things like these. Be good to your mother. She’s trying.” And with that he disappeared.

You sighed, swallowing your uneasiness, heading to the kitchen. Your mom was moulding the cookies like usual, it was her family recipe, the one you adored. Standing beside her, you took off your rings and you helped her to place the dough at the plate to the oven.

After a while your mom decided to speak through silence. “He looks like a nice guy. Is he good to you?”

You smiled with a nod. “You can’t even imagine, mom.”

“I want the best for you. I always did.” She sounded like she’s gonna cry.

“Hey, mom, don’t be emotional, it’s okay.” You tried to soothe her, but she just waved her hand dismissing you.

“It hurts me that you’re not visiting much. I know we don’t fit into your posh life but you shouldn’t forget where you come from.” She sobbed softly, wiping her tears into the apron.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, leaning against the kitchen counter, your finger brushing over the crack at the top of it. She was right. You tried to conceal the shame in your heart that you’re not coming from a rich family and that your parents are barely making it each month. But they’re happy. And it was everything that mattered to them the whole time.

“And I know that you were scared that we might shush George away, that he would be intimidated by the way we live. But the love, my little dove, that’s everything. Not that polished car he has and not your acrylic nails you wear along with those fine clothes.”

“Mom…”

“No, sweet girl. It’s true. We’re happy that you’re where you are, that you live the best possible life but we were the one to raise you to be a good person with great manners and you shouldn’t be ashamed of us. Because that would mean you’re ashamed of yourself.”

That hit you hard. The faint blush of shame crossed your cheeks when you gulped. She suddenly cupped your cheeks, her fingers covered in flour from cookie dough. Her eyes were glossy but full of warmth and love just like you remember as a child.

“You’re always welcomed here. And your lovely boy too. He looks like he’s not the one of those judging pricks you used to date.” She chuckled, patting your face softly so it left a little bit of flour there.

You laughed softly. “No, he’s not. He’s caring and loving, I can count on him. He’s… I can’t describe it even.” The way you talked, the breath hitched in your throat.

“I’m just— I didn’t want you guys to be hurt. Because of my life.” You sobbed a little, your mom pulling you to her arms.

“Awww, darling. My sweet baby.”

—

When George got back with your dad, your mom instructed him to follow you to the room in the back of the house, while she listened to the amazed talk of your father about the Mercedes car.

George walked into the small room, his eyes landing on your figure looking at the pictures pinned to the wall. Hand sliding down your back to your hip, he placed a kiss on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You turned your head a little to give him a soft look and nod.

He got you in his arms, holding you close, swaying your bodies a little bit to make you even more comfortable.

After a while you led him to the tiny bed, lying down on it and snuggling against his chest. George raked his fingers through your hair, smile on his face, taking in the intimacy of the moment. He was in your childhood room, in your safe space and it even smelled like you. Like home.

“I dreamed about my knight in the shiny armor every night here.” You murmured with a soft grin. George chuckled playfully, kissing your temple, his lips brushing over your skin longer than needed.

“Really? A shame you didn’t get him.”

You lifted your gaze to look him in the eyes, your fingertips brushing his cheeks. “No. I didn’t. I got someone even better.”

—

Tags: @chilling-seavey @withering-daylight

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obsessedhoneycomb · 20 hours ago

Text

I LITERALLY SPED THROUGH MY WAY HOME, NEARLY GOT A SPEEDING TICKET TO READ THIS!

And well…. IT LEFT ME WET. And needy.

I was lost and my mouth was hanging when he was holding that cheeky smirks, and that sentence about “I don’t judge my patients getting wet” oh good lord, SIR 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

THAT KISS ON THE CLIT?

The description of the stretch, of her being moulded around his —————> 🤯🤤🤤🤤

Holy hell. I’d love to see dr Russell because my gyno problems would disappear in his BEST HANDS AND AROUND HIS CO— *gunshots*

“you did so well” -> YES BABY

“don’t move ill clean you up” -> NOT MOVING AN INCH

Slow kiss on the thigh… not gonna sleep because of this.

Absolutely delicious and amazing. Yummy.

EDIT: I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THE IDEA OF GEORGE TOUCHING ME WITH GLOVES ON HIS HANDS.

Yes, I’m a naughty girl, but I love it. 😏

in the best hands ☆

wc; 3k~ (i really tried to make this longer sorry)

à/n; uh I hate this. enjoy!! also sorry for the very slow writing I have been horribly sick and doing exams 🤍 oh and I was half drunk and on very strong pain meds writing this lol (and ignore my horrible editing skills of george in a lab coat)

warnings/tags: dark smut, pwp, manipulation, first time ish?, uncomfortable topics for some, fingering, oral (f receiving), honestly borderline very wrong if your gyno does this shoot them, overstimulation, having to be quiet???, also borderline exhibitionism, choking, very unrealistic LMAO, praise, degradation sorta, implied squirting idk i wrote this drunk tbh, spanking, lmao idk what else it’s 3am not proofread

you never wanted to go. you never wanted to be sitting in the one too many degrees cold reception room, on these plastic chairs staring at the marbled floor tiles, leg bouncing up and down in the mid thigh yellow sundress you had worn to your errands beforehand, goosebumps forming on your thighs and arms and manicured nails tap tap tapping at the empty seat next to you.

it felt sterile in here, like the air had been filtered through machines that sucked out anything remotely human. the faint buzz of a vent above you, the chemical-clean smell of disinfectant, the fluorescent lighting that washed out everyone’s skin tone and made the teal walls seem even more duller than they already were. your ankle crossed over your other knee, uncrossed, crossed again, nerves bubbling up your throat every time your eyes darted to the clock.

it was your first time, always knew you had to go but never really got around to it, that was until there was a problem that needed to be fixed— no other choice but to book an appointment, luckily one of the highest rated in the city was vacant for you, vacant on this sunny wednesday afternoon, a day you would’ve enjoyed on normal circumstances, but this a day you were dreading.

you hugged your purse tighter against your lap, nails tapping now against the leather strap as your eyes wandered the room again. you looked over the array of posters scattered around the room, poor graphic design and bold letters saying things that made you uncomfortable to think too hard about— signs of endometriosis, know your cervix, dilators: normal or taboo? the words swam in your head as you looked away quickly, bright cartoonish colours clashing horribly against the aura of the room.

the receptionist typed away with long acrylics, clicking against the keyboard while barely glancing up, the sound filling the silence between the occasional shuffle of another patient’s shoes.

you thought about leaving— about actually getting up and walking out the door before they called your name. you imagined the embarrassment of rescheduling, of your mom or your friend asking “so how did it go?” and you having nothing to say because you chickened out. you almost convinced yourself it’d be fine. almost.

but just as you were considering making a beeline for the exit door, the thick white wooden door swung open, the light from across the room reflecting on the plaque that showcased his name with some degree abbreviations in a clean black font.

dr russell, george.

the sound of the door made you jump, already skittish as he emerged from the too white room, his hair pushed back, long white lab coat and clipped on name tag making you shiver with nervousness.

his presence shifted the atmosphere immediately— tall, broad-shouldered, the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times, and yet his eyes when they landed on you… sharp, like they lingered a fraction too long.

“uh, y/n l/n? come through when you are ready.” his voice was calm, professional, yet low enough that it curled into your chest. he looked over the other two clients in the room, their eyes not meeting his own— rather turning his attention to you, assuming that you were his next patient, although which unfortunately for you— you were.

you stood up too quickly, tugging your dress down with nervous fingers, dragging your hands over the crinkles and wrinkles like that would somehow smooth your nerves too. legs shaky as you walked over to the receptionist, who slid you the folded gown without even looking up.

it was thin, white with small pink symbols you couldn’t quite describe, and holding it made your palms sweat. you clutched your purse too, whispering a soft thank you that came out cracked and small before turning on your heel and stepping toward the door he held open for you.

he stood with one hand braced against the frame, lips pressed into a straight line that twitched upward like he was hiding a smirk. his eyes flickered down— just for a second— over your dress, your bare thighs, before he shifted back to let you pass.

your stomach flipped.

you stepped inside and instantly felt swallowed by the space. his office was spotless— desk on one side, computer monitor glowing, files stacked in neat piles. on the other side: the examination table. the one you had been dreading. too white, too high, stirrups gleaming like cold metal restraints, and the leather stool tucked beside it like his throne.

“you can get dressed in here,” he said, clipboard in hand, voice smooth but distracted as his eyes scanned his notes. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. once you’re ready, just lie down on the exam bed.”

his smile was brief, polite, but his eyes— his eyes lingered as if cataloguing every inch of you before he turned and left. the door shut softly, but the soundproof click made you feel locked in.

your fingers fumbled with the sundress, dragging it down your body. the gown felt papery, unflattering, falling awkwardly against your skin. you stripped your underwear from beneath too, cheeks hot as you tucked it under your folded dress. it wasn’t like it mattered— he’d be face to face with your body in minutes anyway.

that thought made your thighs clench together, a betraying warmth pooling between them.

you set your bag and clothes carefully in the corner, scooted yourself onto the exam table with a little hop, the leather squeaking under your bare thighs. you swung your legs, nerves buzzing through every inch of you as you stared at his desk, at the monitor, at the diplomas neatly hung on the wall— anything to keep from thinking about what was about to happen.

but then the door opened again, quiet, controlled. he slipped inside, closing it with a soft click, his lab coat catching against his legs as he crossed to his stool.

his smile— small, knowing. his eyes— striking, ocean-blue, slicing right through your flimsy gown.

“afternoon… y/n. how are you today?” he said your name like he wanted to taste it, voice calm as he wheeled himself to his desk and logged into your chart.

“um.. nervous— mostly.” your laugh was awkward, high-pitched, betraying everything. your skin prickled from the cold air, goosebumps stark against the warmth flushing through your stomach.

“I can see that. first time?” he turned to you then, pulling on gloves with a snap, brows raised just slightly.

you nodded, throat dry. his mouth curled— that almost-smirk again— and he wrote something down on his clipboard.

questions followed— routine ones about periods, contraceptives, discharge. you answered haltingly, fingers twisting in your lap, his pen scratching notes that felt like they wrote pieces of your body into permanent record.

and then—

“alright, and are you sexually active? or ever had sexual intercourse?”

your pulse stuttered. your eyes darted anywhere but his face. “well uh, i’ve tried but it didn’t exactly work… that’s sort of the reason i’m here.”

his pen stopped mid-scribble. head tilting up, eyebrow raising, gaze locking on you like a scalpel.

“what do you mean you have tried?”

you swallowed hard. “well, you see… i’ve tried multiple times, but whenever i… you know— when he tries to put it in—”

“put what in?” his tone was innocent, clinical, but his face was unreadable. serious, intent.

your cheeks burned. “do i really need to say it? i feel like you understand.”

his laugh was low, a rumble under his breath. “it’s okay, i do— just standard questions. you wouldn’t believe what goes on with other patients.”

the joke loosened something in your chest, a giggle bubbling out despite yourself.

you coughed, then continued. “like i was saying, when he tries to, it doesn’t fit. and it’s not a size thing, because… it’s happened with everyone i’ve tried with.”

he nodded, jotting notes down. “okay. i haven’t encountered this often, but it can be fixed with training—”

“training? sorry, what do you mean by training?” your panic cut through his calm tone.

“pelvic floor training. another option is a dilator, where you—”

“yeah i know what a dilator is,” you blurted, cheeks hot. “um, sorry if i’m being rude, i’m just… nervous.”

“that’s quite alright,” he said smoothly. then he patted the stirrups. “now, could you raise your legs up here for me?”

your stomach dropped. his gloved hand patted the cold metal like it was nothing.

hesitant, you lifted one trembling leg, then the other, gown sliding back until your thighs were bared.

his voice cut through again, casual but sharp. “and you have tried prepping yourself beforehand, yes? fingers, orgasms… that sort?”

you froze, the question slamming into you harder than expected. “uh— well that’s the problem really… i can’t really even finish beforehand because even my— their fingers hurt.”

his eyes darkened, raking over you like a predator. “i see.” he snapped the glove tighter onto his wrist. “may i start the exam?”

you whispered consent, voice thin, and then his hands were on you— flipping the gown up to your midriff, exposing you fully.

the cool air kissed your folds, glistening under the harsh light, and his gaze lingered— too long, too intense.

“don’t worry,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “i don’t judge how wet my patients get.”

you shivered.

then his fingers— long, precise— traced your thigh, brushing your folds. you flinched at the contact, your hips jerking involuntarily, heat spiking inside you.

he spread you carefully, clinically, but his eyes told another story.

you clenched around nothing, your body betraying you.

and when his finger slid inside— thick, slicked with lube— your gasp cracked the silence.

“does this hurt? we can stop.”

you shook your head frantically, too eager, too desperate.

the second finger stretched you, your moan muffled into your palm, cheeks burning.

“shh… doing so well. just say my name if it’s too much.”

your vision blurred as his fingers curled, thumb circling your clit, his lips suddenly pressing a wet kiss against your sensitive nub.

your body arched off the table, muffled squeaks spilling out as he worked you with practiced rhythm, as much as you knew this was wrong you couldn’t help but let yourself drown in the pleasure.

“gonna come on your gyno’s fingers like the slut you are?”

your orgasm hit like a wave, white-hot and blinding, your back arching, thighs trembling violently.

he didn’t stop— spitting onto his gloves, pressing deeper, his free hand pinning your stomach down as he pumped into you.

“fuckin’ hell baby,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “let’s see if you still can’t fit a cock inside you now, huh?”

you whimpered, gown sliding off completely as he lifted you, bent you over the table, his hips grinding into your bare ass.

“please— dr russell—”

“no no, darling… you don’t want me to stop, do you?” his zipper lowered, the sound sharp in the sterile room as you shook your head violently.

he pressed his cock against your soaked slit, slapping it, coating himself in your slick.

“ready, baby?”

you nodded helplessly.

the tip breached you, stretch burning, your squeal muffled into the padded table.

“shh… don’t want the other patients to hear, do we?”

he pushed in, inch by inch, then slammed fully, your scream vibrating into the leather.

“this is how you adjust, yeah? moulding this pussy to me.”

you squirmed, instincts pulling you away, but his grip was like steel .

he hauled you up, hand around your throat, turning you to face him. his hair was damp, face flushed, blue eyes dark with hunger.

he picked you up effortlessly, legs wrapping around his waist, lowering you onto his cock again.

the stretch burned— but the pleasure eclipsed it, tearing a cry from your throat.

he bounced you on his length, his hands gripping your ass, your tits pressed against his chest as the gown slipped away entirely.

“there you go,” he murmured, low and smooth, his lips brushing against your ear as he thrust up into you. “told you it just needed the right training. you feel that? cock stretching you open like you were made for it.”

you whimpered, arms tightening around his neck as he moved you with ease, your thighs shaking as you struggled to keep up with the pace. his cock filled you so completely it was dizzying, every push against your cervix making your eyes roll back.

he pulled back slighy to look at you, to watch your expression twist with the mix of discomfort and bliss. your mouth hung open, breaths coming in little gasps, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming stretch.

“look at you,” he chuckled, dragging you down harder on his cock until you cried out.

“first appointment and already taking me like this. thought you couldn’t fit anyone inside you, hm? and now you’re dripping down my cock.”

you could barely respond, your body trembling, nails scratching against the stiff cotton of his lab coat as you held on.

his hand slid from your ass to the back of your head, gripping your hair, forcing your gaze to meet his. his eyes were darker than before, blown with lust, his jaw tight as he thrust into you with sharp, deliberate snaps of his hips.

“answer me, darling. do you like it?”

your voice cracked on a moan. “y-yes— dr russell— oh my god—”

he smirked, satisfied, and pulled you tighter against him, the edge of the examination table digging into your back as he fucked up into you.

the clinical room around you blurred— the glow of the monitor, the smell of antiseptic, the crinkle of the disposable paper beneath you. the world shrank to just him, his cock dragging through your walls, his breath hot against your cheek, his voice in your ear.

“such a tight little cunt. fuck— squeezing me like you don’t ever want me to leave.” his pace quickened, his words filthier now, slipping past the thin wall of professionalism he’d held onto earlier.

each thrust sent sparks shooting through you, pain fading into pleasure until you were keening, eyes shut, head pressed against his shoulder as your orgasm built again.

he felt it— the way your cunt fluttered around him, your thighs trembling harder, your nails digging into his coat.

“you gonna come again? yeah? on your OB’s cock this time?”

you nodded frantically, unable to form words, your body tensing as the heat coiled low in your stomach.

his hand slid between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with brutal precision.

the combination was too fuxking much.

you came with a strangled cry, your whole body locking around him, cunt pulsing, juices spilling down his length. he groaned, fucking you through it, holding you tightly as you shook.

“that’s it, baby. that’s it. show me how bad you needed this.”

your thighs twitched, overstimulated already, but he didn’t slow. instead, he carried you across the room, still impaled on his cock, and pressed you down against his desk. papers scattered, the monitor wobbling as he bent you over the wood.

the new angle had you gasping, his cock hitting deeper, sharper, the edge of the desk biting into your hips.

you cried out, your voice echoing in the otherwise silent room, and he reached forward to clamp his hand over your mouth.

“shh. patients outside,” he whispered against your ear, thrusting harder, relentless now. “can’t have them knowing what a needy little slut you are for me.”

tears slipped down your cheeks, the mix of shame and pleasure twisting in your gut. you moaned into his palm, your body giving in completely.

his free hand trailed down your spine, settling on your ass before delivering a sharp slap that echoed. you jolted, the sting sending another wave of wetness dripping down your thighs.

he laughed softly, darkly. “fuck. you love that, don’t you? look how your pussy clenches when i spank you.”

your muffled whimper was answer enough.

he pounded into you, the desk creaking under the force, until your arms gave out and you slumped forward. he didn’t let up— pulling you back by the hair, arching your back so he could watch your tits bounce with every thrust.

“god, you’re perfect. never seen someone open up like this for me. bet you’ll never think of another man again after this cock.”

your body was unraveling again, pleasure overwhelming, every nerve lit up as he used you with clinical precision.

“dr— george— i can’t—”

“yes you can. one more. give me another, darling.” his thumb found your clit again, ruthless circles sending you spiraling.

your scream was muffled by his hand again as your orgasm tore through you, violent and all-consuming. your legs gave out completely, your cunt spasming around his cock as he groaned, his thrusts faltering.

“fuck— gonna fill you up, baby. take it f’me— good girl-“

his hips slammed flush against you, cock buried deep as he spilled inside you, warmth flooding your cunt. he held you there, pressed down against the desk, his breath ragged in your ear as he emptied himself.

for a moment, the room was silent but for your shared breathing.

his hand loosened on your mouth, sliding down to your throat, holding you gently now as he pressed soft kisses along your shoulder.

“you did so well,” he murmured, his voice softer, almost tender. “better than you think.”

you were dazed, trembling, your body slick with sweat and cum, the gown crumpled uselessly on the floor.

he eased out of you slowly, the loss making you whimper, his cum spilling down your thighs onto the edge of the desk.

he smirked at the sight, reaching for a box of tissues, dabbing at you with surprising care.

“don’t move. i’ll clean you up,” he said, professional mask slipping back over his face, though his eyes still glinted with something darker.

as he wiped you gently, you caught his gaze, your lips parting to speak but no words coming out.

his smile returned, slow and knowing.

“i think we’ll call this… the first session,” he said quietly. “you’ll need follow-up training, won’t you?”

your stomach flipped again, heat sparking despite your exhaustion. you nodded weakly, already knowing you’d be back.

you couldn’t move, couldn’t think, just laid there trembling, trying to catch your breath and nodding to his question.

he leaned in, pressed a slow kiss to your thigh, softer this time, almost careful. “session’s over,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

but the look in his eyes made it clear it wasn’t over at all. not really.

#George Russell x reader #George Russell #fics recs

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