#George Russell imagines

[coco-loco-nut]

Broken Bones

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: George gets in a wreck and you happen to be the surgeon on-call.

a/n: i loved this prompt, i hope you love it ❤️

masterlist

————————

George was enjoying his home race, he was holding P3 with a comfortable lead due to some great defending earlier in the race. Unfortunately for him, mother nature decided to put her hand into the race and have a pop up rain shower come through.

“It should clear through shortly, let’s keep with the softs,” his engineer says, hoping to outsmart those pitting for inters. George says a quick response and continues focusing on the track, especially the dry line. With the rain pouring, he catches a wet line in turn 4, sending the car spinning and into a barrier.

You rush down a couple floors to where you have been paged. Being the only orthopedic trauma surgeon in the hospital and on-call, you have to make haste.

“Is there really no one else to take this?” you ask, looking at the chart that has initial images and the patient information.

“Big fan?” the nurse beside you asks as you mentally plan the procedure. Most of Britain is basically a fan of the racing driver.

“Yeah. It’s not ethical, but I took an oath,” you tightly smile, beginning the process of scrubbing in.

“You are a great surgeon, you will have no problem keeping the fan part of you out of your mind,” the nurse reassures you. You take a couple deep breaths before heading to surgery.

The procedure goes well, you repair the broken wrist and fix the damage as best you can. Of course, time will finish healing it, but you do your best.

Afterwards you scrub out, finish paperwork, and go home. You won’t need to check in until anesthesia wears off, and that can take a while. You return later in the day, dressed in business casual and your lab coat.

“Mr. Russell, how are you feeling?” you ask, needing to check on your work. You close the door behind you when you enter the room.

“You are so pretty,” George says, still a little out of it.

“Thank you. Mind if I check your arm?” you ignore your blush.

“You look like my wife. She’s a doctor too, soooo pretty,” George babbles.

“I know, love, let me see your arm,” you say gently, sitting beside him.

“What happened?” George asks with a confused look.

“You spun out and crashed into a barrier. It was raining, you were on slicks, and caught a wet line,” you explain, carefully examining the surgical site, removing the splint immobilizing the wrist.

“I know that much. Injuries?” he asks, eyes trained on your wound examination.

“Broken wrist. We are going to brace it rather than cast it,” you check his chart for other injuries noted.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, I love you,” George says, moving his non-injured hand to grab yours.

“I love you too, Georgie,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his hand as he processes everything. You note things in his chart, making sure your observations and updates are written down.

“I’m glad you did my surgery, I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” he smiles, you can’t help but smile back. It’s not illegal, but it certainly is borderline unethical to treat your husband.

“I’m happy to hear that. Why don’t I go and see if your family is out in the waiting room?”you hum, needing to stay inconspicuous. Of course, those close to you know who your husband is, but since you don’t share his last name it isn’t obvious.

“One kiss before you leave,” George pouts and you hesitate. “Please, I was just in a crash and your kisses make me feel better,” he pouts. You playfully roll your eyes and lean in, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you, I’ll be right back,” you reassure him. You find his family and Toto waiting outside in the waiting room.

“Family of Mr. Russell,” you say, calling them to you.

“Y/n, dear, did you do his surgery?” George’s mom asks, a little hopeful.

“I did, I was the only one here and on call. Thankfully nothing too major, he can probably get back into a car in a month if we rehab him correctly. Want to see him?” you ask, knowing the answer. You lead them to his room, but stop Toto before he walks in.

“Y/n-“ Toto starts but you don’t hesitate to cut him off.

“You got very lucky that the broken wrist was the worst of it. Keeping him out on slicks? Are you stupid, a win is not worth more than a life,” you fume.

“I know, I gave his engineers and strategists a talking to. I just wanted to check in on him, but knowing he is in your care is all I needed. I check in tomorrow then,” Toto stays calm, knowing you had to since George was brought in and you needed to yell at someone.

“I, um, thank you. He should only be here another day for observation. I’ll keep you updated,” you recompose yourself and watch as Toto leaves.

“She’s just the best doctor ever. So pretty too, and smart, and really good at surgery,” you overhear George tell his parents, he likely just got another dose of pain meds.

“Thank you, Georgie. You are a pretty good patient,” you smile from the doorway.

“Can you believe that doctor loves me? And she married me?” George asks his mom who laughs.

“You chose a wonderful wife. Why don’t you let her get back to work?” his mom asks, catching your amused gaze.

“Yes, I have another surgery scheduled. I will check on you in a few hours,” you walk over to your husband, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you so much, I want to have babies with you,” George blurts, causing your face to flame bright red.

“Okay, let’s talk about that later,” you awkwardly say, stepping out of the room.

You are quick to return after your scheduled surgery. You know the nurses rotations and know that they won’t check in for another hour.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” George grins as you walk in. “You look so sexy post-surgery,” he eyes you up.

“Really? I don’t feel like it,” you slide onto the bed beside him, careful to avoid hurting him. You relax in silence for a minute before you address the feeling eating at the pit of your stomach. “Please try not to crash again. I know it’s unavoidable, but the feeling I got when I saw your name and didn’t know how serious the crash was. It… I don’t think I can describe the panic,” you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and focusing on the sound of his heartbeat under you. The cool hospital air is a stark contrast to his warmth.

“I’m sorry, it’s the one part of racing I hate too,” George is unsure how to respond. He looks at the blank hospital wall, as if it’ll give him the answer. “I’ll always come home to you, and I have a badass surgeon to take care of me,” he laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood.

“I can only do so much, like brain surgery? You are on your own,” you grin, happy to let the vibe change.

“You could do it, you can do anything,” George says, he always gets gushy when he’s tired.

“Okay, baby, you should get some sleep. I’ll go home and get you clothes. I will be back tomorrow morning to check on you,” you yawn, also needing sleep. George knows you can’t stay in the room too long, and he wouldn’t want you to stay up in an uncomfortable chair.

“I love you. Drive safe,” he mumbles, tiredness washing over him in waves. You fix his sheets and make sure he is okay before kissing him goodnight and leaving. It feels weird, to go home and not have him there. You burn the rest of your anxious energy by reaching out to some good physical therapists that you know to help with George’s recovery.

Under your watchful eye, he makes a recovery similar to Lance’s, even with you fussing the first few races post-injury. You framed one of his x-rays. George had to listen to you talk about how beautiful it was, you claimed it to be your best work. It allows for a good story when having friends over, and it reminds George to not let it happen again.

[mrs-saturday]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Fluffy GR63 Headcannons

♥ masterlist | a repsonse to this ask! tysm!

♥ a/n : thank you SO much for my first request! means a lot to me and I had so much fun writing these headcannons!

♥ none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ no warnings needed here, it's pure, tooth-rotting fluff!

♡ he is OBSESSED with having his hand on your thigh while driving, he’s always gently rubbing his free hand across your skin while driving down country lanes in England because “it soothes his road rage”

୨୧ George has a dedicated section of his notes app for all your go-to orders at your favourite food & coffee places, and regularly sends you coffee when he knows you’re working or studying.

♡ he insists that he gets to be little spoon at LEAST once a week, he just like the feeling of being held and feeling your breath on his neck. Nothing is better to George than spending a day in bed feeling your hands trace circles around his stomach

୨୧ speaking of hands, he often feels insecure that his hands get super sweaty when holding yours, but you insist it’s cute that he still gets so nervous even after so long being together

♡ He has a load of memes of himself on his phone, and oftentimes sends them to you as reactions when he’s stressed, or when he thinks you need a little bit of a cheering up. His favourite is the clip of him sat on top of the car driving past Charles.

୨୧ George insists on footing the bill on dates, and takes great pride in handing his card to a waiter, a hotel receptionist, or the sales associate at your favourite stores. He is definitely on a first name basis with the associate at the stores you frequent the most.

♡ he has a fixation on your eyes for sure, always staring into them and making up similes to describe them. He even had a special helmet made inspired by them for a race that fell on your anniversary

୨୧ he’ll always help you apply moisturiser or fake tan on your back, even if he despises the smell of fake tan

♡ and whenever you’re running low on a beauty product, he takes note and makes sure to get you a new one, and a backup one. 

୨୧ he even keeps a mini of your perfume in his car glovebox for when he misses your smell

♡ sometimes, he wakes up a little restless in the middle of the night and can’t really sleep until he wriggles his way back to you in bed and plays with your hair

୨୧ and he loves stealing your shampoo & conditioner - even if it annoys you sometimes that he uses so much of it

♡ he helped you make friendship bracelets for the eras tour, and tried his best to learn all the lyrics to your favourite songs just so you could sing together at the concert୨୧ George even learned how to make the double stranded and even triple stranded beaded friendship bracelets just to surprise you, and made sure to include a few GR63 ones in there, just so everyone knows you’re his.

[tpwk-formula1]

Kinktober Day 16 - Breeding - GR63

George Russell X Reader

TW - This is probably gonna be my shortest fic for Kinktober! Crampie, breeding kink, talks of pregnancy, unprotected sex

WC 780+

Y/N POV

"When are you finally gonna let me put a baby in you?" Goerge asks the second we get back into the car from a family visit where I spent most of my time with the new baby of the family.

"George, be so for real right now. You know damn well we don't have the time to raise a baby right now," I tell him softly knowing we were both so ready for kids but neither of us knew how to do it with George and I's busy schedule.

"I think we could make it work. I mean you could easily go remote and not have to travel as much, and I would make sure to hire some help for the times I'm not able to be there. If we make a baby now, you would be giving birth around December which means I would then be home for the most part until March," George tells me softly as he drives us back home. It definitely gave me something to think about. I knew if I accidentally got pregnant we would be able to make it work so I don't see why we couldn't plan it.

"Okay, but if we don't get pregnant in the next couple months then we should wait a little longer. I like the idea of you being home the first few months of the baby being home," I tell him softly bringing his hand into my lap so I can play with his fingers. A nervous tick I had picked up when we first started dating. Now married I still found comfort in having George close.

"Deal," George said with a boyish giddiness.

When we get home it doesn't take long for us to make our way into the bedroom and completely stripped into nothing.

George loved to tease but tonight was different. Instead of spending his time edging me with his tongue before finally making me cum on his cock he just fingered me a bit to make sure I was wet enough to take his long length.

"God, you feel so good," George says while softly slipping into my pussy.

"Oh fuck," I gasp feeling George fill me in a way no one else ever could.

"Om my god," I moaned when George started thrusting his hips faster making me clench around him.

"God, I can't wait to watch you swell with my babies," George groans while softly rubbing my flat tummy that will one day hold our kids.

"Georgie, it feels so good," I moan loudly making George speed up his thrusts and making me whine that turned into a loud moan when George started teasing my clit.

"George, I'm gonna cum," I announced making George speed up his actions bringing me over the edge, where George starts cumming with me filling me up with his cum.

When we both came down from the high of our orgasm instead of pulling out George softly picks me up before turning us around so I was laying on George's chest while cock warming his softening cock.

"Don't wanna see a drop leak from that pussy," George mumbled into the top of my hair making me chuckle softly.

"Think that time worked?" I joked with a smirk making Goerge laugh softly.

"Not sure, maybe we should go again for the best odds?" George asks making me smirk and start to grind my hips into George to get him hard again.

When George is rock hard within moments I start bouncing on his cock using his chest to keep myself stable.

Neither of us ever lasted very long as the angle allows for George to reach new places in my pussy.

"I can feel your cum leaking out," I whine not wanting to waste any of his cum.

"I'm gonna give you more, don't worry pretty girl," George tells me while angling his hips to be able to thrust up into my pussy.

It's only a few minutes of rough fucking before George and I are both cumming again.

I stay seated on George's cock while cuddling before falling asleep.

6 weeks later

"I guess it worked you smooth talker," I joke when George and I flip the pregnancy test around to find the small little double lines.

"Oh my God, we're gonna be fucking parents," George says letting the shock settle between us.

"I'm excited," I whisper making George wrap his arms around my waist before kissing the back of my head and nodding.

"You're gonna make the best mum," George tells me making me smile.

"And you're gonna be the best dad," I reply back with a smile still stretched across my face.

[paddockgirlies]

⸺ royalty!reader x george russell ♡ read under cut

you meet george russell at a charity event, both obligated to be there

he comes up to you, eyes filled with understanding

"do you ever feel like you're living a life that's not entirely your own?" george asks, looking over the sea of people

you start to bond

"let's escape from the world, just for a while," george whispers, his eyes sparkling with mischief

george takes you on secret trips, far away from the prying eyes of the media

first to the maldives, where you kiss under sunsets and sunrises alike

that's where the official relationship started

next to france, where you go on a roadtrip only visiting small and crooked towns, sharing a bed each night

while the public speculates about your relationship and your absences, you both cherish the moments you've stolen from them

you start to get worried on what they think

"our love is our own, and that's all that matters," george says, pulling you closer

on a warm summer day you decide to hard launch, george shares your love story with the world, posting an enchanting photo on insta

the photo captures both of you, hand in hand, standing at the edge of a breathtaking cliff, overlooking a vast ocean ♡

the caption reads, "in a world that tried to define us, we created our own reality. with you, i've found freedom and authenticity."

the post spreads like wildfire, scandalizing your family

in the end, you realise you don't care anymore

[heliads]

going down with the ship - britcedes

There are two people left on a sinking ship. One is Lewis. The other is George.

masterlist

There are two people left on a sinking ship. Well, more than two. There are, of course, dozens trapped in holds and cabins, held back by wreckage or condemned to flooding chambers. But there are two people who have a chance at getting out. One is Lewis. The other is George.

Lewis has found a door and a paddle, and will use his own strength to carry him away. George is sitting on the highest point of the slowly sinking ship, a polished, curved section of the balcony of one of the nicer decks, the one where the heirs and heiresses used to promenade when the sun was out and they were not sinking. At one point, when the ship had already rolled and pitched until the bow was looming considerably far out of the water, he had been the tallest one around for kilometers. 

Now, the boat has slowly, lethargically sunk, and George is hardly a few lengths from the water’s surface. It creeps towards him constantly, dark and cold, swallowing every bit of light it touches like the keening maw of an animal. Lewis floats just within arm’s reach, asking him to leave with the soft and smooth tone typically directed towards those in risk of going mad. His door is disconcertingly red, either from blood or a bad paint job. It looks garish against the dark water. George turns away from it instinctively. In a situation like this, one must always maintain their dignity.

George focuses on the lapping of the water against the pristinely painted hull, letting it drown out the sounds of Lewis’ faint pleas. He will have to go at some point, perhaps. Or maybe he could stay here. Stand resolute on the shining wood until the water takes him. It would make a beautiful sight.

“We can still make it out,” Lewis says. 

He’s starting to lose the calm lilt to his words as the dark water creeps increasingly closer to the worn shoes of George’s feet. He had been a cabin boy in another life, George, or maybe just the life that had existed a few hours ago, before the grand and glorious ship struck an iceberg, before the immaculate hull was pierced, before the masterpiece of engineering design became no better than a stone in the largest puddle it could hope to see. Before the end, George had run around from first class cabin to first class cabin, refilling drinks, bowing and scraping, and wearing his uniform with pride. Always better to be the lowest of the high than the highest of the low, George’s father had told him once. And he’d done it better than anyone else on board.

“The captain goes down with the ship,” George tells him obstinately. He can’t help but puff out his chest a little as he says it. There is a certain heroism that comes with self-sacrifice. If George were a hunting dog with its paw caught in the trap, he would not gnaw off his leg to escape. He would sit there, brave and proud, until his owner found him; until they let him go; until they patted his matted chest and told him that he had been the very best.

Lewis sighs, but does it tenderly. “You’re not the captain.”

George’s eyes cut to him. They’ve gone red with the cold. “I’m the best they’ve got, anyways,” he says haughtily.

Lewis sighs again. It is less tender and more frustrated this time. “There’s no one left to rescue. This isn’t your job, George. You’re supposed to save yourself first.”

George looks darkly at Lewis’ makeshift raft. “Is that what you did?” He asks tauntingly.

“Yes,” Lewis answers him simply, “It is.”

George scoffs. “You should have seen if there were other people who needed help first.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing right now,” Lewis says. “Seeing if people need help.”

George turns his head away, fixing his eyes on the moon and widening them until the light spills like milk onto his upturned face. Twin pools of white in a chalky complexion. It’s like he’s dead already. “I don’t need help.”

“That’s what the rest of them said,” Lewis replies with chagrin.

George’s head snaps back to him, the corpse no longer dead yet. “So I wasn’t your first choice? What if your raft had filled up already? Would you have let me drown?”

“I thought the captain went down with the ship,” Lewis snaps, then closes his eyes briefly, remembering patience, and replies a bit more forcefully than he’d planned, “You can argue about that with me once you’re off the ship. Come on now, we don’t have much time.”

He’s right. George can feel the cold water biting into the holes in his shoes. He hates it; the captain wouldn’t have gaps like broken teeth in his fine Oxfords, it would disrespect the uniform, the position. Yet the frigid soon-to-be ice pools around his toes, biting against the threadbare socks, slipping through all the places he’s had to darn the fading fabric when it tore again, again, again.

“It’s not proper to leave like this,” he says remarkably calmly. “It’s like quitting.”

Lewis practically reels backwards in his attempt to keep his cool. He manages to stave off laughter, but indignation comes quick on its heels, and that he cannot avoid. “Quitting,” he spits out. “The ship is sinking. It has already sunk. There’s nothing left, George. For either of us.”

George goes silent again. Moody. Was he always like this, or just now, faced with the reality of Lewis’ abandonment?

Lewis extends his hand one last time. “George, please. Save yourself.”

He has to go soon, or he’ll be pulled under too, dragged down by that awful current. Lewis can already feel it tugging impatiently at his makeshift raft. All things go, and will go down into those freezing depths if he does not start moving right now.

George is glancing away again, peering closely at the ship below him in the shadowy waves. “I think I see the captain in one of the windows. I need to get to him.”

Lewis laughs bitterly. Sadness drenches the sound. “I thought you were the captain, George. There can only be one.”

George doesn’t look back. He’s busy staring at a waving shade in a broken window far beneath the surface that might be the captain, or might be nothing at all. A trick of the light. They are all alone here. When he glances back up, Lewis is gone. He thinks he might hear the splash of an oar in the distance, or maybe that’s the water around his waist.

He shouts in anger, in rage. This betrayal will never be forgotten, and when George gets himself out, Lewis will be sorry he ever thought about leaving George like this. Weren’t they friends? George is going to swim away, far away. He’s strong and he’s fast and he will cut through the black water like a knife. 

He just has to go back for the captain first, but the captain is far below him. And getting closer. Closer than Lewis. Closer than the obsidian sea closing over his head.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[paddockbunny]

The Right Man

Summary : George is one of your longest friends but he’s also your boss, and it’s wrong to have a crush on your best friend and boss right?! Rating : 16+ but please check the TWs Pairing : George Russell x Reader Word Count : 2,124. Trigger Warnings : adult themes, adult language, kissing, unrequited love delectation, best friend trope, boss employee trope, angsty but nothing too bad

Gif owner : @russellius 🥰

Authors note : Still sick but feeling better, thank god! I don’t know if I like this enough but I thought I’d post it and see what you guys thought. Also this fucking app decided not to save my original formatted post so there are a line or two that are missing and I can’t remember what they were so please forgive me if this makes no sense, I’ll run back through it at some point! The “read more” thing will be put in when I can 😘

The party buzzed around the small group you were a part of. Music thumped away in the background and the sound of people enjoying their summer holidays blended amongst it. You hadn’t been to Mykonos before. Hell, you hadn’t even been to Greece before but it was George that insisted you chum him on his summer break that brought you here.

“Keep me company and out of mischief” as he put it. And that was what you were currently doing. You had nursed your fruity cocktail for nearly 40 minutes - the ice slowly turning into water and diluting the strong alcohol due to the stiflingly hot Grecian air - so to keep a clear, open head incase George needed you. Although the notion of him needing you right now seemed ridiculous seeing as he hadn’t needed you professionally this whole trip. A few times you had even thought he might have wanted you here for other reasons. Just yesterday, while out on that yacht he chartered, you were convinced he was eyeing you up when you strolled outside in your bikini. But you almost became certain he had brought you along on false pretences when he practically pulled you into his lap when someone made everyone get together for a group photograph. You could still feel the imprint of his large oversized hand on the curve of your waist. It was almost seared on your flesh like a griddle mark on a piece of tuna. But then you thought he was just being George. Sweet, gentle, gorgeous George. The same one that had asked you to be his personal assistant without you having a single idea what the hell personal assistants even really did. The same George that as a result of that job allowed you to travel the world with him. The George that trusted you, implicitly. That was why your little fantasy of the “boss falling for his employee” seemed so far out of the realms of possibility it simply failed to even comprehend it could exist.

“…and what about you? Boyfriend?” The guy who seemed to know George very well asked, turning to you and shooting you a slight smirking smile “or girlfriend?”

“Uh no. No boyfriend. And no girlfriend.” You glanced at George upon your last word and you saw the cheeky hint of a grin momentarily glide across his mouth. You wanted to believe he had just had the vision of you and another girl together and he was enjoying the thought of it. Typical male fantasy, you figured. “Why? You are a beautiful, beautiful girl.” You realised the man that was talking to you seemed familiar and had a thick Spanish accent but seemed a tad out of place in such a noisy busy bar. Although, you felt you were being a little judgmental as he might have been younger than his salt and peppered dark hair would lead you to believe and besides, you were sure you recognised him from somewhere but you pushed the thought out of your mind in order to answer him.

“Haven’t found the right man.” You shouted above the music and this guys eyes instantly shot toward George which although made you feel sort of awkward, you also felt a bit “wait-a-minute-why-are-you-looking-at-him-and-does-that-mean-something-I-probably-should-know”-ish.

The night ended a little earlier than you had anticipated. You thought George would want to be out till the small hours of the morning. Partying, living it up and being centre of attention. But instead, George whispered in your ear he was ready to leave only an hour or so after the conversation with that guy (who you still couldn’t quite put your finger on how you knew) and so you organised a car to come and the you both up to go back to the beautiful villa he had rented. In the car you became aware that although the ice had been slowly melting in your drinks it had not diluted the alcohol quite as much as you thought it did and so the buzz you were feeling was very much real. Hearing George’s laugh as you swayed while the car went round a rather dramatic corner made you laugh yourself.

“Those drinks were stronger than I thought they were.” “That’s why you only had three and nursed them all the whole night? A little lightweight are we?” He enjoyed having a little fun with you. Mocking and playfully taunting you. Afterall, he was the only person in your life that could get away with it without you ever feeling offended. But that was what came with the decades of friendship the pair of you had. And it was the precise thing you were worried about when George asked you to work for him. You didn’t want to ruin the jovial, relaxed vibes between the pair of you that took so long to build. It may have also been the exact reason you always felt a little dirty and gross whenever you had a rather sexual dream about him or found yourself envisioning him whenever you touched yourself. But even if you were his friend and employee, you were only female and George was insanely hot so you always forgave yourself for it rather quickly.

The drinks really did work a wonder on you as by the time you reached the villa your body coursed with an free spirited buzz. It was a buzz that meant you hadn’t realised that any time whatsoever had passed even if it took a solid 25 minutes to get back to the impressively large abode overlooking the beautiful Aegean Sea. It was also a buzz that meant that you only felt happiness and joy and not any of those horrible other emotions people usually felt when they got a little too close to drunk rather than simply tipsy. Independently you strolled through the door after George. You thought you would head straight to your room and give him the space he was probably seeking when he decided to leave the club. But George gently said your name and asked if you wanted another drink, if you would have another drink with him. You accepted, without so much as a second thought.

George poured the pair of you two glasses of wine. You watched as the deep, dark crimson liquid flowed quickly from the bottle and swirled around as it filled two thin glistening glasses. He simply motioned toward the patio beyond the open doors behind you as he carried your glass for you. You took a second to think how lucky any girl would be who ended up with George. He was a gentleman with slightly old fashioned values. He always held open a door for a woman, offered his hand if needed or his arm if there were a pair of high heels involved, and he never let a girl carry anything. So right now, as he carried your glass outside for you, you felt a little high rush through you and allowed yourself to think of what it would be like if it were YOU that were his. The weight of the cushioned patio sofa dipped beside you after you sat down and it immediately brought you out of your trance.

The conversation was always easy. There was never a second it didn’t flow and it was never, ever forced. You knew everything there really was to know about one and other and so it was so comfortable and easy to talk to him. You took a sip from the emptying wine glass and realised George’s head was turned and his eyes were staring straight at you.

“What?” You whispered and he had that naughty glint in his eye that he had earlier when that Spanish guy asked if you had a girlfriend. “Why haven’t you found the right guy?” He asked it so plainly. It was exactly what you had said back in that bar. “That was what you said, you haven’t found the right guy.” You knew what you said. You didn’t need it repeating to you. Not by one of your closest friends that you happen to be having regular smutty thoughts about. “I don’t know….just haven’t.” You shrugged. Trying to muster up a little bit of sass as you did so so he didn’t see how awkward the question had made you.

“Well….what you look for?” You hadn’t thought the conversation was going anywhere specific but certainly not in the direction it currently was where George was offering to be a one man dating app. You sensed he would keep pressing the idea of you spilling what it was you wanted in a guy until you gave in, either tonight or at some point in the near future. So with the alcohol running through you you decided now wasn’t the time to put up a fight.

“Well….” You took a big inhale as if it were going to save you from the situation of explaining your ideal guy to, well, your ideal guy. “He has to be smart. Someone I can hold a conversation with. And I’d want someone who can make me laugh. Who makes boring, mundane things fun and enjoyable. And obviously a guy who is big on family and naturally wants his own someday. But also someone that makes me feel at ease and relaxed around them. Who makes me feel supported and as if I can take on the whole world.” You had started off by being generic and then as you went on and turned your head to look into those fucking soul boring eyes he had, you began tailoring it more and more to what you could say about him himself. George was every single one of the things you had described and it really was utterly stupid that you were somewhat ousting yourself in such a needy fashion. “But….physically, would be tall, dark and handsome. Strong but not too strong. Well groomed, maintained. Smouldering, simmering eyes like Idris Elba. And I guess, what girl wouldn’t want a guy with a big dick?” You laughed and George did too, but ducked his head down so you didn’t quite see it.

When George finally looked up at you you felt the strange shift in the atmosphere. It went from lighthearted and merry to sort of tense in a millisecond. Nervously, just for something to do you placed your glass on the coffee table right next to his. Had you overstepped a line? You’d talked about guys with him before, specific guys, and this had never happened. The burning need to find out if you had gone too far had you turning your body so you were angled more toward him and opening your mouth to apologise. When without a single shred of warning, warm, slick lips were on yours. George’s lips were on yours.

It took you a few seconds for your brain to catch up but when it did you immediately began kissing him back. You had thought about this moment so frequently that it truly felt rather impossible it was actually happening. And now, as his tongue swiped along your lower lip and his hand found the back of your head, you let a tiny small moan of appreciation rumble through your vocal cords. As you gave permission for George’s tongue to enter your mouth and caress your own he began to lean into you. An action that resulted in you slowly falling against the sofa pillows behind with George baring down on top of you. It was everything you had been wanting for the past few months and it dawned on you that perhaps you were right in your assumptions George wanted you too. You were so lost in thought that when he stopped kissing you momentarily you almost didn’t open your eyes.

“When you told Fernando you hadn’t found the right man, did you mean it?” “No.” You answered immediately. “I’ve known you were the right man when we first met as children. I just, didn’t think you would want me.” Your chest was heaving from either the kiss or the declaration you were making and you knew your eyes had to have been looking up at him full of expectation and longing.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen. Of course, I fucking want you. I’ll never stop wanting you.” And then he kissed you again. It was all you had wanted to hear. The looks, the touches, the burning and feelings weren’t in your head at all. But in the moment all you could focus on what his mouth, his tongue, his taste. Your brain blocked out everything else so it was all about George’s kiss. Allowing you to finally enjoy what you had been longing for for so long.

[macybeckham7]

reader always leaves little post-it notes with cute/supportive messages on them in his suitcase and he find them once he gets to the hotel on a race weekend

You sneak around as he gets himself ready to travel, you leave post it notes on some of his things. You stick some on his jumpers, his shoes, his wash bag, his hat, his toothbrush. You post it on the door which you wrote ‘I adore you, go make me proud xo’. You leave a mixture of cute and supportive notes on them, and when he thinks he has got them all, he always finds more. A smile creeping on his face as he reads the different coloured notes, all signed with a smiley face and your initial.

[gothicwidowsworld]

Professional Idiot

Happier

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Through Their Eyes ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Summary: lando and yn’s relationship through other people’s eyes

𝄞 ln x reader 𓇢𓆸

𝄞 fluff 𓇢𓆸

masterlist ☾☼

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

carlos

carlos had known lando since he was nineteen. being teammates with him made carlos realise that they had a lot of common interests, and their sense of humour matched, and in the blink of an eye, lando had become one of carlos' best friends. there wasn't a day that went by without carlos or lando talking to each other, and there wasn't a day that went by without the two learning something new about each other.

carlos prided himself on the fact that he could read lando pretty well. y/n was lando's age and had joined mclaren as part of their hospitality intern. she was not supposed to have much interaction with the drivers, especially considering that she was an intern. her main jobs on some days was to make coffee runs.

fortunately, the coffee runs were what brought lando and y/n closer.

"coffee for you, mr sainz, and coffee for you, mr norris," she had said when she put two cups down in front of them.

carlos had watched as lando was about to make a joke but seemed lost as he stared at the woman and then back at the cup, and back at the woman.

he decided to be a good friend in that moment and save the awestruck boy, "unfortunately, lando doesn't have coffee. he only likes milk. he's still a little boy,"

y/n had laughed, and carlos had watched again with a smirk as lando stared at her with the biggest smile on his face. "i'll be back with a glass of milk then,"

it had become a running joke between the three of them, and soon she had started accompanying them to races as well. in the two years that she had interned with mclaren, she had spoken to almost driver on the grid, and carlos had watched how y/n and lando had slowly become friends. though, friends would be a more appropriate word instead of saying 'lando followed her around and just stood behind her, lost in his daydreams while she spoke to the drivers'.

carlos had watched how lando was always including her in conversations where she stood near the wall, how he pushed her to give her opinion. he had watched how lando slowly helped her build her confidence as she began to become more sure of herself and her abilities.

carlos had also watched how she was always the first one to tell lando that he had done a good job. she sat with him whenever he reviewed all the places he went wrong and had to be better at. she helped him understand the right places for making jokes, and the kind of jokes. he had watched how y/n had slowly helped build lando's confidence.

carlos and lando had a similar humour, but he found very quickly that lando and y/n's humour were exactly the same. they had inside jokes and eyes that laughed every time they looked at each other. they had soft touches and fingers that always grasped the air in the end.

the night of one of the races, when people had left, and only a few were remaining, carlos had been looking for lando to tell him about the golfing range that they could try out during the two weekends they had free. he had walked around looking his friend, even calling out his name. eventually, he found him sitting on the curb of the track with y/n.

they had their masks off, and were sitting close to each other. considering that they were the only two people around, carlos had not reminded the two to wear their masks.

the two had been laughing and giggling and leaning, and carlos walked a little closer to listen to what they were talking about.

"what'cha gonna do for the next two weeks?" lando had asked. it was quiet, and they were quieter, but carlos could still hear them.

"actually, i've been so excited to tell you about it! so, you know how i joined mclaren as an intern, and well, i'm still at a beginner level because i told you that i didn't want to do this forever?" she had seemed excited.

lando had only nodded, still staring at her. it made carlos wonder if lando was actually listening to what was being said.

"so, i've been doing some research, because i finally figured out what i'm going to do with my life. my parents only let me do this because i was interested in formula one, and i wanted a break after high school. though, admittedly, the break was supposed to be just a gap year, ended up being two-three years, but that's fine-"

y/n was cut off, because lando had finally gotten the courage and kissed her. carlos' mouth fell open. lando had confided in him about his crush on y/n, but carlos knew long before that. hell, carlos had known from the very first moment possible.

she had kissed him back, and carlos turned around with a smile on his face as he gave them some privacy.

just as he was leaving, he heard y/n's voice sounding heartbroken, and stopped short.

"lan, i'm going back to university. that's what i wanted to tell you."

"what?"

"i was talking to the drivers the other day about their childhood and what they faced, what you went through. max with his dad, lewis with the bullying, all of that. i realised then that i wanted to study child psychology. i want to be a child psychologist."

"oh. so, when are you leaving?"

"i gave my resignation letter this morning. i found a good university in london too. i applied a while back, and i got in."

"you got in."

"i got in, lan!" she was trying to be excited, carlos knew.

"that's amazing, y/n, congratulations,"

carlos turned around to peek, just a little bit, and saw the two embracing. he watched as lando tried to hide his tears, and y/n, who couldn't stop smiling. he watched as lando found his eyes, and carlos didn't know what to do in that moment.

"it doesn't have to change anything. i mean, i know i won't be there for race weekends and at the mtc and stuff, but i'm here for you." y/n said.

the two pulled back. y/n frowned at the tears on lando's face, and gently wiped them off. carlos feared what was going to happen to their friendship now.

"and, i mean, if the kiss wasn't a fluke, i'd like it again. and maybe every time i see you next?" y/n said, smiling, hoping, and carlos sighed in relief. yeah, the kids were going to be okay.

he could hear lando laughing as he walked back inside. lando was going to marry y/n, carlos could bet his life on it.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

daniel

when daniel had joined mclaren, there was one thing that he saw and was sure of right from the first day: no one could handle lando norris like y/n y/l/n.

he had spoken to her, and was good acquaintances with her. he knew that she had been working with mclaren for a year. lando and y/n seemed to be better friends than lando and carlos were, and that was a tough duo to break.

daniel felt awkward with lando at first. the two had barely anything in common, and combine it with their ten year age gap, it felt almost impossible to bond with the boy over something. both of them felt awkward at first, and both of them knew it.

y/n was perceptive, though, daniel had to agree. she had forced lando and daniel into a room and gave them an hour. that did wonders for the new teammates, because by the end of it, they had become so much more comfortable with each other and just couldn't stop laughing.

that was when daniel started noticing more about lando and y/n's friendship. the way that she was always the first one there to congratulate him, and the last person he saw before he left the garage for a race. the way that he always looked for her, even when he was working.

at first, daniel couldn't understand the impact that a young 20 year old woman could have on a young 20 year old man. their lives were just starting, yet somehow, with them, it felt like their lives had reached the stage of contentment with each other.

when lando first launched quadrant, daniel had watched how y/n had surprised him with wearing the merch and proudly showing it off. he had watched and smiled at how lando had gotten so excited, he had picked her up as he cheered, "you're wearing quadrant! you're wearing my merch!"

she was there for all of the races at first, in the mclaren uniform. daniel had watched how she would talk to him before every race. daniel didn't know what they were talking about, but it always had a laugh and it always ended up with a hug. he honestly thought that y/n was a witch, with the way she could calm down the hyperactive boy. no one that daniel had seen had that effect on lando the way y/n did.

and then, after a point, y/n stopped coming to races. and, daniel wondered if lando and her had had a falling out. he didn't know if he should approach his teammate about it, because it could be a sensitive topic.

two races gone by, and y/n hadn't come. lando had looked upset during those weekends, and he always disappeared right before the race and right after. after one particular race, daniel decided to suck it up and ask.

"why doesn't y/n come anymore?" he blurted out. it wasn't the way he wanted to go about it.

lando smiled softly, and daniel wasn't sure what that smile meant, "she quit. she went back to studying. goes to a university in london."

daniel didn't know that.

"are you guys still in touch?" daniel tried to be as casual as possible, but he wasn't sure if he was doing a good job.

lando's smile got bigger, and daniel took it as a good sign, "yeah, we're in touch. we talk before and after races, and pretty much any time that we're free,"

"that's good to hear," the conversation had ended there.

daniel now knew what his teammate did before and after races when he disappeared.

the silverstone race was when he had finally seen y/n again. lando hadn't seen her yet, and y/n had looked jittery. spotting her, daniel approached her.

"hey, i haven't seen you in so long!" daniel exclaimed.

the two hugged briefly, "oh my god, it's so good to see you! i've just been so busy with uni. finally a race that i could attend,"

"missed us, did you?" daniel teased.

"so so so much," y/n said, and the two laughed.

daniel watched from over y/n's head as lando, who had initially been talking to one of his mechanics pause and turn around, as if he had heard her laugh. daniel continued his conversation with y/n, while also watching lando's reaction. he was looking around, a frown on his face. if daniel had to compare lando's reaction to something, it would be to a dog who could suddenly sniff his favourite treat from somewhere.

just as y/n was about to say something, daniel watched lando finally spotting her in her ln4 merch, before practically screaming, "y/n!"

y/n turned, her eyes lighting up, and lando ran from the other side, dodging people. daniel took a few steps back, wanting to give the two friends some space.

lando's arms had immediately wrapped around her waist, and he picked her up. his face was buried in her neck, and all he said was her name. okay, friends definitely did not hug like that.

pulling back from the hug, lando kissed her. daniel's mouth fell open in shock. y/n had kissed him back, before she pulled away, laughing. lando put her down on the floor again, and pressed kisses all over her face, whispering in between, "you're here, you're here, you're actually here, i'm so happy right now,"

noticing a cameraman approaching, daniel softly said, "cameras, guys,"

taking a deep breath, lando took a step back, folding his arms, "thanks, dan,"

"no problem. now, wanna tell me what's going on here?" his teasing tone only made the two grin bigger.

"we started dating my last night in mclaren," y/n said softly.

"i bet lando cried. finally kissed a girl, didn't you?"

"i did actually cry," lando said, and the three laughed.

kyle, lando's mechanic called out, and daniel bid goodbyes to lando and y/n. he turned heading back, looking back just once to see lando's arm across y/n's shoulders, and y/n's arm circling his waist as they walked to where kyle was.

daniel hadn't seen lando look that happy since y/n had stopped coming for races. something about him had changed. he looked more confident and pleased. he looked as if he could hold the world on his shoulders if he wanted to.

his confidence was seen on the track as well. despite losing two places, lando was happier than most, and daniel knew that just the presence of y/n could have that effect on him.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

max f

max remembered the day lando had called him, excited to tell him about a girl he had met and how carlos, she, and lando had joked around, and how beautiful her laugh was.

he remembered the blush on lando's cheeks and how excited he was. he denied liking her at that time, but no one ever called their best friend to talk about a woman for forty five minutes just to later claim that he didn't have a crush on her.

max had been apprehensive of the woman at first. lando was new to formula one, and he was bound to get famous. from what lando had told max, she was an intern, the same age as them. lando was a trusting fellow, and max felt the need to look out for his friend.

the first time lando had introduced y/n and max to each other, the two were just friends. though, the first meeting proved that max had no reason to be worried. y/n was quick with her witty responses like lando always was. she put up a good fight every time. their banter was entertaining, and y/n knew just how to keep lando on his toes.

they understood each other quite well too. max remembered when after a particularly bad race, the two were on a facetime call, where lando was explaining all that he could have done better, and max giving his inputs. their conversation had been interrupted when a knock on lando's hotel room was heard.

"might be carlos," lando had mumbled, before leaving max on his bed, staring at the ceiling. max could still hear everything, though.

"carlos, i don't feel like-" he heard lando's voice cut off.

"surprise!" a woman's voice, y/n's, was heard.

"what are you doing here?" lando had asked.

"well, i read somewhere that cookies and brownies fixed everything. but, i couldn't find enough ingredients for one particular thing, so i made brookies!" her voice was louder, and max assumed that she had entered the room.

suddenly he saw her face pop up on the phone, "hi max!"

"hey, y/n!" max waved at her.

"you baked me something?"

"uh huh. your flight isn't till nine, and i thought that i could help you pack since you're terrible at it, and max, you and me could listen to music and dance around and eat brookies!"

they had done exactly that, y/n and lando trying their best to include max in all their conversations as well. they jumped around, laughed, and ate brookies throughout. max yelled at lando to save some for him, but lando had pretended to not hear, and then y/n had promised to make more for him. lando was smiling again, and even though max knew that he still felt bitter about the race, it had distracted him.

it was silent for a few seconds, only the music playing, when max checked what was going on. he stopped himself from saying anything when he saw lando and y/n locked in a hug. his face was buried in her neck, and her fingers were in his hair. max didn't know what either of them were saying, but lando had a tight grip on her, his knuckles turning white, and y/n just held him.

max knew their relationship would change soon.

and it had.

after the two had gotten together, lando began coming to london more often, even if it was to spend time with y/n. he invited y/n everywhere, whether they went for quadrant shoots, or meeting new people for new business partnerships.

she would come with her textbooks and her laptop, insisting on studying while they did their thing. for the most part, she did study. during the plane ride to wherever they were going, lando and y/n would sit side by side, sharing wired earphones, listening to music while y/n studied. lando would usually stare at her, or play with her hair. during shoots, y/n would be just as enthusiastic as lando, always pushing him for new ideas.

she trusted him insanely too. any time he would drive at a speed that even scared him, max had seen the way y/n would be carefree, throwing her arms in the air and enjoying the wind.

y/n would even help out with designing lando's helmets. the two had a connection that max didn't understand that well. they brought out the best in each other and knew just how to handle the worst too.

max had seen lando more worried about whether y/n had eaten during exam season than he generally was about himself. max had seen lando care for something other than racing and quadrant. it was new and refreshing, and max knew it was a forever kind of deal.

it always was a forever kind of deal with lando and y/n.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

alex and george

alex and george had sort-of grown up with lando. they had raced each other in f2, and had become quick friends. lando used to look upto alex and george, and the boys knew about it.

they had known lando well when he was a young boy, had seen the way he drove, the way he acted, the way he was in general. they had seen his cocky attitude, and as much of a show he put up in front of the media, they knew that he looked upto almost driver that were on the grid as he tried to make a place for himself in between them.

they had seen how low his confidence was, despite being outgoing and getting along with almost everyone he met. he had been their topic of conversation many times, with the two trying to figure out how they could be there for their friend.

it had helped that lando had found a true friend in carlos, and then daniel. it had changed lando, a positive change that both, alex and george were incredibly happy to see. he still blamed himself after races, but carlos, a veteran, reassuring lando had had a greater effect than george and alex. the two men understood why. they had the same amount of experience in formula one as lando, so trying to convince him that he had done a good job wasn't as effective.

lando had really changed, though, after he met y/n. y/n was outgoing, like lando, and she could talk a mile a minute. she seemed to really give max competition when it came to yapping. but, the best thing that she ever did was make lando smile more often. george and alex were grateful for that.

y/n had a way of correcting lando or telling him new information without making him feel dumb. george and alex knew how insecure lando was for never finishing his schooling, unlike oscar. it was a shock to alex and george when lando told them random facts throughout the day. it was a good kind of shock, but a shock nonetheless. they knew almost immediately that it was the work of y/n.

lando had always been humble. online, he was arrogant. but, he knew what he needed to work on, he knew everything he could about his, and he always wanted to know more. george and alex had often teased him about leaving the last on saturdays after the qualifying session.

but, y/n had stayed with him, had encouraged him, and had showed him that even if he failed, he was still good enough. y/n showed him that even if he lost ten positions, he was still good enough as a driver, and as a racer. he deserved to be in f1, something that a lot of people, including george and alex agreed on.

over the years, lando had gotten good at saying what was expected of him. it was often things that he would go and directly tell people to their faces, but always play it off with the media. lando never forgot to remind alex and george how much he respected them, even if they told them in private. they knew that that was lando's way of making sure that they knew he was being sincere.

the world didn't understand it as much, and the media loved to twist all of their words. so, y/n helped him understand. and, y/n helped him grow. and, even though lando was always a good person, y/n made him better everyday.

alex and george often spoke about the difference five years, six years had made in lando. and they could agree that lando was still the same person, but just a little more grown up and a little more focused. it was his own doing, with some help from y/n.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

max v

padel with lando was one of his favourite things to do. lando was competitive, and he made jokes, and he was arrogant and deprecating, and somehow all of it just fit well.

they had a weekend free before the next race, and what better way could there have been than to participate in another sport with the same person who was the contender for the world driver's championship?

they had played for hours, and after the two had completely exhausted themselves, lando invited max over to his apartment for lunch. agreeing, max texted kelly about his lunch plans with lando, and the two drove to lando's apartment their individual cars.

parking, the two went up the elevator, laughing and giggling and gossiping on their way over. just as lando was about to unlock his front door, he paused and turned to max.

"my girlfriend is a little mad at me right now. i kinda paid off part of her university tuition and i didn't tell her, and now she found out, and i'm basically-"

"-fucked. you're basically fucked."

lando opened his mouth to retaliate, but agreed with max. he was fucked.

unlocking the door, lando called out, "babe, we're home!"

y/n appeared from the hallway, "hi, max! how was padel?"

max watched as lando moved towards her with his arms open, almost like a routine of when he comes back home, but y/n dodged his hands and stepped away. lando looked like a puppy who had gotten kicked, and as much as max wanted to laugh at the expression, he did feel a little bad for his friend.

"hey! um, padel was good. i beat lando, 5 games out of 8," he said.

y/n laughed, "that's wonderful. i'll get your lunch set up, so why don't you relax?"

she still hadn't said a word to lando, and as she turned to head towards the kitchen, he watched as lando followed her like a dog on a leash.

max settled on the couch, and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. he tried not to listen, to not eavesdrop on his friend's very private conversation. but they were loud, so technically, it wasn't his fault.

"baby, i'm sorry, i was trying to help!" lando's urgent voice could be heard. he was speaking softly, but in the quiet house, it was still loud enough for max to hear.

"helping means washing the dishes or getting me supplies for my exams! helping does not mean paying off my tuition!" y/n's hushed whisper came next. she was angry.

"but, why can't i just pay for the tuition? i've got the money, you and i are going to end up married anyways! what's mine is yours!" max had to admit, this was probably the first time he had heard lando so sure on marrying someone.

"exactly! you've got the money. not me. lando, i need to be able to survive on my own, and my tuition is my problem. not yours."

"you are surviving on your own! just 'cause i'm here doesn't mean that you can't lean on me for stuff!"

max heard y/n let out a groan of frustration, "i'm not as rich as you are, lando. i'm not a celebrity or a model, i don't have the money. i'm studying to be a child psychologist. this is my future, and my college, including my tuition fees, is my responsibility."

"yeah, well, you are my future. so, you're my responsibility, and that includes your college and your tuition fees and literally everything else in the world." max smiled. maybe lando would not have to sleep on the couch tonight.

it was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound came from the sizzling of the pan.

"darling, i'm sorry i paid your tuition fees without asking or telling you first. you were stressed out about it the other day, and you were telling me how you would have to take extra shifts at the diner, and i just thought that if i have the money for it, why can't i just get rid of that stress of yours? i really just wanted to help, nothing else." lando's voice was soft, and max strained his ears to listen.

"i feel like i'm taking advantage of you," y/n whispered softly. why were they talking so quietly? max couldn't hear a thing properly.

"advantage of me? love, no. you deserve so much more than what i can offer you. i hate that i have to be away for so long because of my job, but you've never complained and you've always supported me. sometimes i'm scared that i'm not showing you just how much i love you,"

"that's why you paid off my tuition. 'cause you wanted to prove that you love me, but you couldn't figure out how to open your mouth and say it to me,"

lando laughed. that was a good sign. it was silent again. maybe they were hugging? max wished he had a visual as well. and some popcorn.

"forgive me?" lando asked softly.

"only if you have ramen with me tonight, and watch tangled with me again,"

he expected lando to groan. he had listened to lando rant about how the movie was ingrained in his brain and how the songs were stuck in his head constantly because of his girlfriend's obsession with the movie.

"deal. i love you," lando said.

"i love you more,"

"not possible,"

"watch me,"

max smiled. lando was not sleeping on the couch tonight, that's for sure.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

oscar

there was time before the first practice race was supposed to start. oscar sat on his side of the garage, but was quickly getting bored. the mechanics and the race engineers were talking and discussing, and oscar really tried to listen to them and participate in the conversation, but all he wanted to do was go out and drive.

sighing, oscar decided to find lando. if there was anyone who could distract him, it was lando. moving over to his garage, oscar looked for lando, and found him standing with his race engineer, will. the two were in deep conversation about something. lando's shoulders were tense, and his fingers were digging into his arms as he had them crossed across his chest.

oscar sighed. he probably shouldn't disturb him, then. it looked like they were talking about something important, and it's not like oscar had anything specific in mind when he came to find lando. he just wanted a distraction and laugh about something, anything.

just as he turned to go back to his side of the garage again, oscar saw y/n. he smiled, and was about to walk over to her so that he could at least strike a conversation with her.

oscar and y/n were good friends. they had a lot of similar interests and often spoke or hung out outside of lando. lily and y/n also got along really well, and that was just another pro in his list.

just as he was about to go talk to y/n, he stopped short, as he watched her open her bag and rummage through it. the paddock pass was hanging from her neck, and the orange cap she wore almost made her invisible to the media.

finally pulling out, what he assumed was a fan, he watched as y/n weaved her way through the crowd and stood behind lando, who was still in a deep conversation with will.

oscar worried for a second. he knew lando well, and he knew y/n well. he knew that lando hated to be disturbed when he was working or when he was focused on something, especially if it was related to improving his performance. he also knew that while y/n always meant well, sometimes, she couldn't figure out the right timings for things. while oscar knew that lando would not yell at her or anything, he still worried that lando would accidentally say something in the heat of the moment that he would regret later, but it would inevitably hurt y/n. she was sensitive and she felt too much for everyone. he didn't want y/n to be hurt.

he stayed still, though. he wasn't sure if it was his place to interfere. it wasn't his relationship, and he was friends with both of them. so, he stayed where he was, and he watched.

he watched as y/n stood behind lando. he watched as will noticed her, smiling just slightly, before turning his attention back to lando. he watched as lando didn't seem to notice that.

he moved a little closer, just so he could make out a little bit of what they were saying.

he watched as y/n started fanning lando, a mischievous grin on her face. he watched as lando's shoulders sagged in relief from the cool air, and then watched him tense up. he watched as lando turned around, wanting to find out where the cool air was coming from, and was met with y/n and her fan.

the couple were laughing now, and lando hooked an arm around her waist and trapped her against him. oscar could see both of y/n's arms against lando's chest as she leaned back to look at him, her hand still clutching the fan.

he watched as the two spoke, far too softly for oscar to hear them. but he saw the smiles on their faces, and the love in their eyes. the fans called him oscar "heart eyes" piastri whenever he looked at lando. if the fans saw lando and y/n right now, "heart eyes" would be an understatement.

he watched as lando pressed a kiss to her lips, and he watched as y/n tucked herself against his chest. he watched as lando and will got back to their conversation. lando's hands were running up and down her back, and oscar watched as lando's shoulders relaxed, and how he wasn't grinding his teeth anymore, and how all the tension that he seemed to keep in his body almost all the time melted away.

in that moment, oscar realised that the things he knew about his teammate/friend and his friend, they knew it better. they knew each other better, and they were stronger like that.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

i may have messed up the timeline a bit somewhere in the start. but, this is one of my favourites that i've ever written! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

[coco-loco-nut]

Baby

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: Baby fever hits different when it’s George holding the baby

a/n: thanks to @glitterquadricorn for dropping the hint, it was received. i hope you enjoy it 🫶

requests open masterlist

—————

You always swore that you were never going to have kids. Well, maybe not never, but certainly not soon. George had talked to you about it, but respected that you didn’t feel ready and it wasn’t like you both were getting up there in age.

Now, you are sure that George had an ulterior motive than simply spending time with you and his family on a boat after driving around Monaco with his niece and nephew. One moment you were talking with his parents, and the next you are watching him gently hold a baby.

“Makes you want one, doesn’t it,” Alison says, noticing who you are looking at.

“No, not yet. But he does look utterly adorable holding her,” you say, ignoring the bit of baby fever growing in you. Okay, maybe a baby wouldn’t be so bad. It would be the cutest combination of you and George, and it would be a wonderful companion for when George is away. Oh, and showing up to races in a little race suit, then taking your kid karting just like it’s Daddy.

“Enjoy being young and child free, there is no rush,” she reassures you. You give her a thankful smile and stand up, walking over to George.

“Hi, Baby,” you coo, taking George’s niece from him. You may not want a kid yet, but you adored George’s nieces and nephew. George both loves and hates seeing you with the kids. He loves the way that you care for them, but he hates that it makes him want to have kids with you when you aren’t ready. It’s this moment that solidifies to him that he wants to marry you.

“Alright, it’s baby’s feeding time,” you pout as your favorite baby is taken from you.

“Auntie y/n!” Milly runs over and jumps onto the spot beside you.

“My favorite Milly!” you hug her. “did Georgie abandon you?” you ask her, hearing the jet ski out on the ocean.

“He’s with Leo on the jet ski,” Milly pouts.

“Well, that just means you get to spend time with the better one of us,” you say and wrap your arms around her. She looks tired from the sun as she rests her head on your shoulder. The two of you chat while George takes Leo on a ride.

“When are you and Uncle Georgie getting married?” she yawns.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, someday,” you gently squeeze her, letting her fall asleep on your shoulder. That’s how George finds the two of you, he quickly snaps a photo.

The family has been taking a lot of photos on this boat day trip with the intent of making a photo album. The sun is starting to set, so you head back to shore. You wake Milly up, reluctantly carrying her back to her parents.

“We will see you tomorrow for breakfast,” you stand a few steps behind George as he hugs his family goodbye. You follow behind, making your rounds before going back to his apartment.

“I am wiped, that sun makes me want to nap for a year,” you yawn as you enter the apartment.

“Cuddles sound nice,” George wraps his arms around you, his chin resting on your head. You hug him back, soaking in the moment.

“Go take a shower, then join me in bed,” you tell him, knowing he will want to clean the seawater off of himself. You quickly strip and put on one of his shirts before crawling in bed. George joins you a minute later.

“The kids love you, you are a natural with them,” he says, pulling you close.

“Please, the image of you holding the baby made me consider having a baby right now. You are dad material,” you chuckle as George blushes.

“You looked just as beautiful holding her too,” he says, kissing the top of your head. You turn so you can look at him.

“I know we don’t want a baby right now, but we can always practice making one,” you wiggle your eyebrows causing him to laugh.

“You minx,” George grins, leaning down to kiss you.

It is safe to say that you practiced once or twice that night. George proposes in front of his family the next night, you are quick to say yes. A year later, you get married in a small ceremony back in England.

A few years later, once George is more settled with the career, and you have traveled the world together, you decide that if you were to get pregnant, both of you wouldn’t be upset, but you weren’t going to make a conscious effort to have a baby as soon as possible. You are both enjoying the aunt and uncle life, anyway.

A year later, you are sitting in the doctors office, a rare day mid season that George can join you, waiting to find out the gender of your baby. You could’ve found out months ago, but your appointments always seemed to be when George was away at a race. He always did make sure to fly you to close races and come home as often as possible.

“What do you want?” you ask your husband, who is standing beside you, playing with your hair.

“A healthy mom and baby,” he smiles as you roll your eyes.

“Boring answer. You are such a girl dad, so I hope it’s a baby girl,” you tell him, gently rubbing your stomach. You just know it’s a girl.

You were right, you sent a selfie of you and George with the sonogram and the gender to the Russell family group chat.

“Should we announce it?” You ask George. Since you were well into the second trimester, you haven’t been to a race in at least a month, and fans were getting curious.

“Do you want to? I don’t want fans to overwhelm you,” George holds the car door open for you, extending his hand for you to hold as you climb in.

“I think I’m ready, we should before rumors start,” you tell him once he gets into the drivers seat.

“I will follow your lead, my love,” he tells you. You have a maternity shoot the next day, so you wait until you get the photos back to announce it. The outpouring support is overwhelming, and the fans are excited to see you at the Monaco Grand Prix. It makes you all the more excited for your little family.

George is incredibly thoughtful throughout the pregnancy, always having meals delivered to you, and he is a new level of clingy when he is home with you. You don’t mind because you are getting doted on when your body feels awful, so the idea of letting him do everything is appealing. He does hate the body pillow, he cannot wait until he can easily cuddle you again.

“George, I love you and this baby, but I want her out and I wish we never had sex,” you groan, your whole body aching as you struggle to keep your breath even when speaking.

“I heard that sex can help speed up labor,” George says and you perk up.

“Let’s have sex,” you tell him eagerly, just wanting to not be pregnant anymore.

“You have such a way with words, darling, so seductive,” he jokes, helping you off the chair you are sitting on.

“Let’s go, you got me into this mess a few years ago while holding a baby, now it’s time to get me out of it.”

[mrs-saturday]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Only Bought This Dress So You Can Take It Off 

♥ my masterlist!

♥ pairing: george russell x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: george needs it, and he needs it NOW.

♥ warnings: swearing, alcohol, oral (f! receiving) , p in v, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap guys!), sex in public,  breeding kink if you squint, smut with NO plot, public bathroom sex, club sex

♥ a/n: @chilling-seavey pookie this one is for you 🤭

♥ smut under the cut! ♥

If there is one thing you know how to do, it’s rile up George. And better still, rile him up at all the wrong times, like tonight, in that tight little dress that clings to your hips in all the right ways. The blue pearlescent straps of your heels, against the warm tan of your skin, running up your legs towards the matching dress,  are all he has his eyes on while stood with Lando and Alex by the bar of a club in Monte Carlo. 

“George, mate, anyone home?” Lando pushes a jagerbomb towards George, while Alex picks his up off the bar and chimes in “Earth to George, we’re trying to celebrate your win here” . He snaps back to reality, taking the shot off of Lando and smiling “Won’t be the only thing we’re celebrating tonight boys” he smirks, downing the shot alongside the other two Brits. “What do you mean Russell George?” Lando asks, leaning against the bar, ordering himself a vodka lemonade. “I’m making my move on y/n.” He states boldly, and Alex’s eyes roll a little “Really man? How many times have you said this now? Like 8000?”. George laughs a little, ordering himself 2 double rum and cokes, and nods “Tonight’s the night, I can’t keep staring at those legs, those hips, that ars-”, he gets cut off by the clack of your heels, and the soft bounce of your tits, as you come striding towards the three. Alex and Lando exchange glances, give George a pat on the back, and make their exit, as you lean against the bar, smiling innocently at the race winner, unaware of the strain in his dress pants.  

“So, Mr Monaco 25, how’s it feel to win again?” He tried his best to keep his eyes on your face, and ignore the Tiffany pendant resting on your chest. “Good- Good, I mean, always good to have another win under my belt, especially knowing you were there to see it” He smiled, his voice not sounding 100% convinced. “You sound strange, Georgie, too many drinks?” You giggled, looking at the two drinks in his hands, and he pushed a cup your way “One’s for you, actually, I was about to make my way over” He coughed, which sent the tight feeling in his crotch all throughout his body. “Oh really? Ever the gentleman, aren’t you?” Smiling, you took the drink from his hand, your fingers brushing, sending all the blood in your body to your cheeks. Perfect, he thought, this is his in.  “Care to come dance with me? Might sober up a bit with some exercise?” he glanced over at the dancefloor, then back at you. With a nod, you drag him over, the new Charlie XCX album pulsing through the floor as you start dancing, skirt riding, tits bouncing, and George feeling a primal burn in his stomach.

Something about the way your dress highlighted everything about you, your girlish little giggle, and those goddamn tits, sent Russell into overdrive, and his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you close unexpectedly, causing you to look up at the Mercedes driver. “This OK, princess?” he whispered in your ear, low and sultry. All you could do was nod, and deciding to take him by surprise back, pushed your hips into his crotch, feeling the tent that’s been straining there all night.

He groans, grip tightening on your hips, pulling your closer to allow the friction to ease some of his need. “Baby, I’m not gonna be able to hold off much long-” You cut his sentence short by grinding up against him, and pulling his hand closer to your left tit, with a massive smirk plastered across your face, unknowing of what you had just awakened. The taller man groaned a second time, and grabbed your wrist firmly, pulling you off the dance floor and towards the bathrooms. “Georg-” you begin, “Keep it down, princess.” George growls, dragging you into the free disabled stall, and locking the door, before pushing you up against the door. His hands roamed all over you, causing you to sigh softly, as he moved up to your face, tilting your chin up with his thumb and index finger.

“You’ve got no clue how fucking hard that dress has been making me Y/N” he whispered, inches away from your lips, and you find yourself frozen, red in the face, and can feel yourself dripping for his tone. “G-George-” you mumbled, and a look of regret flashed across his face, before you grabbed him by the hair and crashed your lips against his. Despite you being the one to make that move, George quickly established his control, prying your mouth open and leaving no corner undiscovered before moving to attacking your neck. “Mine..” he mumbled amidst hickeys “My girl.” You moaned and grabbed his hair, sliding a thigh between his legs, grinding it against his throbbing erection, eliciting a low moan from the man. 

“Nuh-uh, my job to make you moan” he huffed, hands making deft work of your dress straps, revealing the most perfect set of tits George had ever seen. You could have sworn you saw him drool in the split second between him gawking, and his teeth rolling your nipple between them, his other hand, warm and soft, giving your other breast a firm knead. He delighted in watching you throw your head back, mumbling against your skin as he yanked your dress to your ankles, and kissed down your stomach.

“Pretty girl…” he sighs, hands moving to your hips “Been waiting to do this for so long…” his fingers make swift work of the lace panties, and with a chuckle he stuffs them in his jean pocket “Think of it as a trophy. You can just wear something of mine when I bring you home” 

You find yourself going red, about to object, but not before George pressed a warm tongue to your clit, looking straight up into your eyes with a devilish glint. “Taste so good m’ love” he licks again, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him in closer. George felt his eyes roll back as he tongued your entrance gently, not even pulling up for air. It was almost as though he felt no need for oxygen when his mouth was full with you. Rutting your hips against his tongue to chase down relief became your primary focus, but George held you still, moving his mouth to look up at you, face and chin glossy. A small string of your wetness kept George’s lower lip connected to you, and fell as he spoke. 

“Turn around, hands on the sink Y/N” He commanded. You did as he said without question, and feel the sharp sting of a spank as you hear his pants hit the floor. Turning to look at him, your breath hitched as you saw his aching cock against his stomach, dripping with pre-cum, and George with a condom packet between his teeth. “No need” you mustered, smirking at him as he raised a brow “On the pill, and I’m clean.”. It seems he needed no more than that to line up at your entrance, tip teasing your hole. “M’ God- You’re dirty aren’t you princess? Want to take me raw, yeah?” 

“Please, Georgie”you whined, to which he slowly pushed himself into you. You winced, the stretch of the Brit’s cock feeling unfamiliar and he stops with a worried expression plastered all over his face. “Too much princess? We can stop-” you shush him, and push yourself onto him until he’s in to the hilt “Just that you’re fucking massive Georgie.”

The moaning, the nickname, the praise. It all sent George over the edge, and you felt the man thrust in and out of you at immeasurable pace. Your wetness dripped down your thighs, and you cried out for the way he established a steady but quick rhythm. To silence your screams, a veiny hand wrapped it’s way around your throat, squeezing gently as the older brit growled into your ear. “Pussy’s mine, right darling?” he sounded rough, and dark, and the possessiveness elicited another whine as he kept talking “Need to fill you up princess, need you full of me” He kept thrusting, hips snapping back and forth to the sweet sound of your strained cries of pleasure. “Need everyone to know you’re mine. My girl. My princess. My cock-drunk baby” He hissed, finally finding your sweet spot, indicated by the scream of his name, which only served to turn him on more. “There? You like that, huh Y/N?” he tightened his grip, cock twitching at the sight of your undoing in front of him. “Gettin’ close, princess” He grunted, and you nod to signify that the feeling is mutual. 

“Together?” He pants, the knot of an orgasm building in your stomach. “Please, fuck, Georgie, together-” you cried, cut off only by the warm gush of your orgasm and the feeling of George spilling into you, warm and sticky. George stayed put inside you well after he finished, face nuzzled into your neck. “So good for me Y/N…” he sighs, kissing all the purple blooming across your neck “Gonna have to talk about this when we’re sober” You pause, body tensing, and as if George read your mind, he added “T-this wasn't a drunk mistake Y/N, I have serious feelings, feelings that deserve us being sober” You relax back into him, knowing the crush is mutual, and hummed as he pulled out, and you pulled your dress back up.

“So, fancy coming home with me?” He smirks, your panties in his hand, and a twinkle in his eye.

“Thought you’d never ask, Georgie”

[verstappen-cult]

ACCIDENTALLY SENDING HIM AN AUDIO MOANING, F1 GRID.

✶ THE GRID. max verstappen. charles leclerc. oscar piastri. lando norris. daniel ricciardo. george russell.

content warnings ✶ disclaimers. fem!reader. smau. sexting. suggestive content. attempted humor.

do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own. | © verstappen-cult, 2024.

GWEN RAMBLES — helloooo 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️ what is this? you may ask yourself. well, this is just a silly little thing i wanted to try. let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more of this. i had a very fun time doing these! comments & reblog are greatly appreciated.

[csainzoperator]

boyfriend duties ☆

summary: random boyfriend texts

(f1 drivers x fem!reader)

trigger warnings: nicknames, suggestive, extremely flirty, curse words (lots of them..sorry i cant last long without using one), thats it i guess (?)

an: enjoy babies, just a lil something for now. i'm working on your requests! luv you my lil freaks

charles, carlos, lewis, george, max

lando, oscar,

end.

part 2 wil come up soon! until then, have fun reading! let me know what you wanna see next :))

[iheartmonaco]

Calling them "good boy"

🔸inc.: Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel

🔸Gender Neutral reader

🔸masterlist

[f1luvrr]

texts au- send me a selfie

summary: you ask your boyfriend to send a selfie

includes: lando, carlos, daniel, max, lewis, oscar, george and charles

[heliads]

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