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chilling-seavey · 29 days ago

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↳ A/N In some of my casual concepting I do in my spare time, this random blurb idea came out of it and I had to flesh it out to post because it genuinely [and embarrassingly] made me laugh out loud.

↳ Summary: Your curious two-year-old son discovers something he shouldn't.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 2.3k

↳ Warnings: Unedited. Mentions of adult related items in not adult situations, possible secondhand embarrassment, honestly it's just a good ol' lighthearted silly blurb

“You never realize how much useless stuff you have until you’re packing.”

George chuckled at your sentiment as he leaned against the open doorway to your shared bedroom, arms crossed over his chest and his skin tight work-out shirt. He had just returned from his early afternoon gym session — skillfully scheduled right over your two-year-old son’s nap time — and had found you amongst another round of attempting to pack up your Monaco apartment for your impending move.

With a toddler and balancing George’s chaotic race schedule, it was hard to actually find time to dedicate to packing so you took any chance you could get. It was a slow but sure process; but also meant you were going to be living out of cardboard boxes for a few weeks. How glamorous.

“As good a time as any to bin anything useless then.” George replied, watching you putter between the dresser and the half-filled cardboard box positioned on the foot of the bed. “Only important things are coming with us.”

Your freshly awake and quite lively two-year-old was blissfully exploring your bedroom, wobbling around your legs and into every corner as he babbled away to himself. His favourite toy car was clutched in one hand (he rarely went anywhere without it) as he peered into open drawers of the dresser and explored the half closed cardboard boxes neatly lined up by the wall.

“The only important things I need are you two.” you replied to your husband with a proud smile.

George’s eyebrows raised as a smirk pricked his lips and he pushed off the doorway to saunter farther into the room, “Oh, really? Well, then, we might as well just live in one of these boxes since we need nothing else but each other.”

You smiled back at him as he approached you, his hands navigating to your hips like second nature. Fiddling with the random cluster of wires you had pulled out of your bottom dresser drawer, you kept his tender eye contact as you replied to him softly, “As much as that is so appealing, I feel we may have Children’s Aid called on us.”

Before George could offer any sort of rebuttal, your toddler let out a giddy squeal from across your room followed by an adorable, “Uh oh!”

You both looked over quickly to see what he had gotten into now (foolish of you both to even take your eyes off him for more than three seconds), only to find your two year old beside one of the packed cardboard boxes, bottle of lube in hand. Except the bottle had been opened by his tiny nimble fingers and he was squirting the clear substance all over his hands and arms. That was NOT something either of you wanted your son to get a hold of.

Your eyes widened in sheer shock, “Oh-”

George felt his heart drop into his stomach, instantly moving away from you with a stern call of your son’s name followed by a, “No, no, no.”

He bent down beside the toddler and quickly grabbed him by the wrist to keep him from spreading the lube everywhere, his other hand snatching the now half-empty bottle from him. George looked back at you, shock and embarrassment written all over his face.

Despite the unideal situation, you couldn’t help the amused smile that threatened to spread across your face and you lifted a hand up to your mouth to try and hide the upturn of your lips.

“Yucky!” your son giggled, clapping his hands together to make the wettest slapping sound.

“Jesus.” George muttered with a shake of his head, reaching over the kid to set the slippery bottle on the bedside table for the time being. He had a toddler now smeared in lube to deal with first and, God, he didn’t know where to start. Staring down at the smiley kid, he directed to you (or the universe), “Why does he have to find the most embarrassing stuff to play with?”

You went back to trying to untangle the clump of cords as you offered half teasingly, “Maybe we should look into drawers that lock for our new house.”

“Yeah, maybe you're right. We should start locking up everything before he goes destroying the whole place before we are even moved in,” George said, a hint of resignation in his voice.

The little boy, with one wrist still in George's firm grip, reached out his other hand towards his father’s face, announcing proudly, “Slimy.”

George leaned his head back, out of the toddler’s reach, with a strained, “Oh, no. No, no, no, don't you dare-”

With an amused giggle, the toddler took his hand back and, instead, went to bring his little fingers to his mouth to taste.

George saw what he was about to do and his eyes widened in horror. The last thing he needed was his son putting lube in his mouth.

“No, hey, stop that!” George exclaimed, quickly grabbing your son’s other wrist with his other hand to prevent him from touching his mouth. “You can't put that in your mouth, mate. It's all kinds of wrong. It's for adults only!”

Threading the cords through your fingers, you offered unhelpfully, “Well, it is safe for consumption, technically.”

George shot you a dirty look, only half truly exasperated, shaking his head in disbelief at your comment. Your attempt to hide your laughter wasn't going unnoticed.

“Oh, yeah, because that's reassuring,” he replied sarcastically, “Safe for consumption or not, our son does not need to be putting that in his mouth. Especially not while it's all over his hands like this!”

“Little one needs a bath, I think.” you said in a gentle voice.

George nodded in agreement, his annoyance quickly replaced by a resigned sigh. He hadn’t even had a moment to wash off from his gym session himself and now he had to deal with a lubed up toddler’s majorly required bathtime.

“Yeah, you're right. He's made quite a mess of himself, hasn't he?” George said, still holding tight to your son’s tiny wrists to prevent him from getting more lube all over the place.

“Did you want me to bathe him?” you offered, easily noting the slight frustration in his voice.

“No, that’s alright, I can handle him.” George relented and cautiously let go of the little boy’s wrists so he could pick him up under the armpits and set him on his hip. He started to walk around the cardboard boxes towards the ensuite, speaking to your son in a stern but affectionate tone, “Alright, mate, let's get you clean. You're sticky and slimy, and Daddy's not too happy about it.”

He barely stepped foot in the bathroom when the little boy smacked a slimy palm against his father’s cheek with a giggle.

George's eyes widened in shock and disgust, grabbing his wrist again with his free hand and a firm huff of your son’s name, “Ugh, seriously? That's gross!”

You spoke before you could think, a smirk playing at your lips at the entire situation, “You've had it in worse places.”

At your comment, George shot you a disapproving look over his shoulder, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of course, you had to bring that up at the most inopportune moment. Trying to keep his voice even as he continued into the bathroom, he replied with a flat, “Now is not the time for that kind of smartass remark, love.”

Once they were inside the bathroom, George set the two-year-old down on the ground next to the bathtub. He turned on the water, making sure it was the right temperature before testing it with his hand, not bothering to interact with how the little boy smacked his greasy hands on the front of his shorts.

“Okay, buddy, let's get you cleaned up,” George said, still trying to sound stern despite the underlying amusement he felt from the whole situation. He started to take off the boy’s clothes, one piece at a time, while shaking his head in disbelief.

The little one squirmed, protesting with a little whine, “Nooo bath, Dada.”

George let out a sigh as your son protested against the bath, his toddler stubbornness making itself known once again. The joys of the terrible and trying twos.

“Oh, come on, mate, you need a bath. You're all sticky and slimy. You'll feel much better afterward, I promise,” he said, gently but firmly, trying to keep up a patient demeanor while he removed the last of his clothes. He folded them haphazardly and left them on the closed toilet lid beside the tub.

The toddler tried to put his fingers in his mouth again.

Once more, George caught his wrist just in time, “No, no, no, we don't do that. Keep your hands out of your mouth, you little rascal.”

Without wasting another second, George lifted the toddler up and into the bathtub and immediately submerged his hands to try and get the worst of it off. Of course, he would still need a scrub since the lube somehow got everywhere. George then grabbed a washcloth and started to lather it up with some baby-safe soap.

“You know, I never imagined I'd be bathing my two-year-old son in the middle of the day because he decided to play with lubricant,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief with a faint chuckle as he scrubbed the boy down. The irony of it all wasn't lost on him.

Unknowing what he was really talking about or meaning but still liking the soft tone of George’s voice, the little boy giggled along with him. George’s fingers raked through his son’s hair, only to find remnants of slippery lube somehow streaked through the soft strands too.

“Yeah, it's funny now, isn't it? Just wait until you're a grown-up, and I tell this story at your wedding,” George teased in return to the clueless toddler, gently soaping up and rinsing the boy's hair. “We'll be talking all about the time you decided to turn yourself into a slimy, wriggly little mess by playing with mommy and daddy's private stuff.”

Soon, once the giggly little boy was sufficiently scrubbed and rinsed and clean, George drained the tub and wrapped him in a soft, fluffy towel.

“There we go, all clean and spiffy again.” he said, picking up the toddler and starting to dry him off with gentle pats.

Wrapped in the big fluffy white towel, the little boy looked so cute and tiny in his arms. He stared back at George with only his little face and a small tuft of damp hair poking out from the towel that nearly swallowed him, nothing but big blue eyes taking up most of his face.

George couldn't help but melt at the sight of his son, all wrapped up in the towel, looking at him with those big, blue eyes that were his very own. It was moments like those that made all the stress and chaos and mess of parenting worthwhile. He cuddled his boy close, running his hand gently over the little one’s back over the thick fabric of the towel to keep him warm and dried.

“You're a little troublemaker, you know that?” George muttered against your son’s head before pressing a kiss to the same spot, “But you're my little troublemaker, and I love you.”

Content and warm and cozy, the little boy flopped his head onto his father’s shoulder.

George smiled and felt a warm, protective feeling fill his chest as the toddler leaned his head against his shoulder. He snuggled him closer with a soft and gentle voice, “Yeah, you're all cuddly now, huh? All that exploring and playing and bathing wore you out?”

When he carried the little one back out into your bedroom, you looked up from your packing, smiling fondly at the sweet sight of them. George, somewhat frazzled but still as handsome as ever with your son on his hip in a towel far too big for him but one that made him look ridiculously adorable.

You greeted them softly, “There are my boys.”

George walked over to you, his hands under the little one’s bum to hold him snuggled against his chest, his cheek resting atop his son’s head.

“Yeah, here we are.” he said in a breathy sing-song voice, only ever used around your little one, “All cleaned up.”

Your son’s big blue eyes sought you out and he wriggled away from George’s chest to reach his tiny arms out from the towel towards you instead with a sweet call of, “Mama.”

“Come here, my little love.” you cooed, reaching for him in return.

George passed him over to you, the exchange making the towel slip off the little boy’s body for a moment until you gathered it back from your husband’s hands and tucked it back around the toddler. George chuckled faintly at the sight of the little one just as naked as the day he was born and still searching for the comfort of your embrace.

When your son was snuggled up in your arms instead, you asked him sweetly, “What’s the big idea going through mommy and daddy’s things, hm?”

George tutted in agreement and made sure the towel was sufficiently wrapped around his little body to keep him from catching a chill. The toddler just smiled innocently and batted his long lashes at his father and clung onto your shirt.

George shook his head, amused and charmed, “It's not fair. He's so sweet and adorable that it makes it difficult to stay cross with him.”

“He’s just a curious little explorer.” you said with a smile, peppering a few kisses to your son’s head. “Who can be cross with him for that?”

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chilling-seavey · 2 months ago

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I apologize for this but it has been my brain-rot. You know those scenes in movies where the wife is in bed and reading a book while wearing silk pajamas and their husband comes in the bedroom, freshly showered with the wet water dripping down their hair and only wearing sweatpants, which really turns on the wife. I get that vibes in The Way It Goes, especially after your son is put to bed for the night

↳ A/N No apology needed whatsoever, anon!! I am always so willing to hear your brain rot and the fun creative things it may inspire...like this!! Also, thank you to @sadiethekoala for helping me pick this idea as my next blurb to write out of my few I have planned :)

↳ Pairings: Husband!George Russell x Fem!Wife!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 1.5k

↳ Warnings: Unedited. George gets silently stared at with slightly lustful undertones? Brief mentions of post-partum body changes.

You once remembered a time where sunset in Monaco meant the night was only just beginning. Back in those days where your responsibilities finished with the end of a work day, life felt free and limitless. When George would be home for days between race weekends and you’d spend hours out on the harbour until your only company was the stars or the odd night out at some of the higher end clubs that made up the roaring nightlife of the Principality.

Now, barely two years later, and life looked a lot different. It was different in a sense where you felt yourself growing up and maturing; taking on responsibilities that stretched far past the confines of a 9-5. You were starting to find the beauty in that, the appreciation for those quiet nights-in and the comfort that stability and routine provided. You found yourself blossoming in motherhood more than you had ever anticipated.

It was hard to believe it had been just over a year since your son was born; that sweet blue eyed boy sleeping so soundly in the adjacent room. You could hear his faint breaths through the baby monitor on your bedside table, the red power light blinking slowly at you under the warm illumination of your table lamp. It was a reassuring rhythm that kept a fond smile ghosting over your face even as you were focused on the novel in your hands. The most beautiful boy with the most beautiful breaths. Ridiculous to those who had never experienced parenthood, but entirely true.

Your page fluttered as you turned to the next one, careful eyes skimming the words in the calmness of your quaint apartment. Flattened moving boxes were resting against the white paneled wall by the closed door of your bedroom, a few more scattered throughout the place in various rooms, still yet to be assembled and packed. With your little boy growing up and you and George already in agreement that more little ones would be following him in the future, it was only a matter of time before you moved onto bigger and better things.

But, for now, Monaco was still home and that little apartment you and George picked out together back when you were engaged was still your own corner of the world.

The sound of the shower turning off from the ensuite piqued your attention but not enough to tear your eyes away from your book in hand. The comfort of your freshly washed sheets you were snuggled under and the plethora of down-filled pillows you were propped up against kept you perfectly content where you were. You turned another page. Your son slept soundly.

Soon, the bathroom door opened and out poured a cloud of warm damp air and, with it, your husband. George traipsed out, barefoot, donning only a pair of sweatpants that hung low and haphazard on his hips. He ruffled his towel through his damp hair, bare torso still flushed from the heat of his shower, a few missed droplets of water left unnoticed and glistening across his collarbones.

You looked up from your book, shamelessly letting your eyes wander his entrancing figure and following that fair strip of hair from his navel into the waistband of his sweats. George - either ignorant to your staring or so familiar with it that he didn’t bat an eye - made his way over to the closet and pulled open the doors to rifle through the drawers.

When he found what he was looking for, he shut the closet and turned back to you, holding up a pair of briefs, announcing with an amused tone, “Forgot something important.”

You snickered softly with a shake of your head, looking back down to your book, “They’re not that important.”

George moved around the bed again and knelt on his empty side to lean over towards you, his damp towel in one hand and his underwear in the other. You glanced up when he got into your vicinity and you effortlessly accepted his sweet kiss.

“How was your shower?” you asked with a calm smile as he pushed himself off the bed and headed back into the ensuite.

“Wet.” he answered cheekily from around the corner.

“Lonely?” you teased, a playful lilt in your voice.

He reappeared in the doorway, a sly smile tugging at his lips, now with the band of his underwear peeking out just above the waistband of his sweats. He was casually applying moisturizer to his face, his eyes glinting with amusement as he replied, “Incredibly.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” you crooned.

“Yeah, well,” George chuckled as he shrugged and disappeared back into the ensuite.

You looked back at your book although your mind was straying so you couldn’t quite process any of the words you were trying to read.

You glanced back in the direction of the ensuite and called out to him, “Did you manage to get that workout you wanted to do done today?”

George appeared in the doorway again, toothbrush in his mouth. His nose scrunched a little, eyebrows furrowed, and he lifted a hand to tilt it back and forth to mime a response indicating ‘sort of’.

“Why sort of? Aleix wasn’t free?”

He shook his head but then shrugged as if to say ‘oh well’.

“Tomorrow?”

He gave you a thumbs up.

“Confirmed?”

A nod.

“Your usual time?”

He shook his head and balanced his toothbrush in his mouth to show off ten fingers before returning to his teeth brushing.

“Okay, ten is fine.” you looked back to your book.

George disappeared back into the ensuite. You heard the faucet turn on.

He soon returned, flicking off the bathroom light before climbing onto the bed with you, “I meant to check with you before I confirmed with him, sorry.”

“All good.” you held up your arm to welcome him closer. “You can do your workout whenever you please.”

He draped himself across the bed on top of the duvet, resting his arm over your lap and propping his chin in his hand as he gazed up at you. You paused, your book still clutched in one hand, but a single glance at his face had you setting it aside, bookmarking the pages to give him your full attention.

His hair was still damp from the shower, and as you ran your fingers through it, you felt the faint stickiness of his styling lotion. Your touch had him sighing contentedly, his long lashes fluttering for a moment. With a playful gesture, George extended his finger to lightly brush across the front of your silk pyjama shirt, gently hooking his pinky around one of the buttons.

He offered a soft mumble, “This is nice. Is this new?”

“It’s only from Christmas. I just haven’t gotten around to wearing it yet.”

George hummed in acknowledgement, his fingers slipping under the fabric to rest innocently against the warmth of your stomach. You were still carrying a bit of that extra skin around your middle that your pregnancy left behind, but George was always a fan of the physical memories of the strength and miracle of your body. His thumb brushed over it and he let out another small sigh.

You shifted in place to get a bit cozier under the blankets and George took your lead to join you, settling into his side of the bed. The room was bathed in only the light of your single bedside lamp, the curtains long since closed to block out the speckles of light from the Monte Carlo nightlife surrounding your corner of solitude. Together, you adjusted your pillows and tossed the extra ones to the floor before naturally finding your way into each other’s arms.

“Can’t believe what a year it’s been and it’s only the end of March.” you thought aloud as you settled at his side.

“Mm.” George agreed faintly, snaking an arm around your waist and needily pulling you closer under the sheets.

You continued, “Our baby turned one…you’re a close second in the Driver’s Championship…”

He tutted and replied modestly, “It’s only two months into the season.”

“Plenty of time to surpass Lando.”

George only chuckled and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple.

Romance not lost after a few years of marriage and a kid, you straightforwardly asked, “Wanna make out until we fall asleep?”

George smiled against your cheek, “Absolutely.”

The duvet rustled around you both as you shifted into a more comfortable position, laying facing each other, arms lazily draped around bodies and under necks, tangled in sheets and each other.

You once remembered a time where your nights together were full of passion; uncomfortable and lust-stemmed sex in club bathrooms or on the sand of the harbour beach after dark. Risky and carefree and limitless. Now, a little bit older but even more in love than you had been back then, all you really needed to satisfy your nights was the embrace of each other and lazy kisses in the security of your shared home.

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