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jamminvroomvroom · 2 years ago

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on the weekends.

gr x fem!reader

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

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

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

3.5k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tonight was the night. brazil never disappointed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this never happened after. ever.

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

we love an ambiguous ending lol

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @turningxstrange @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @organasith @micks-afterglow @blueflorals @juno-1610 @lqvesoph

i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working! pls let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist or removed! <3

#george russell #george russell x fem!reader #george russell smut #george russell fluff #george russell angst #george russell imagine #george russell oneshot #george russell x you #george russell fic #george russell writing #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 oneshot #f1 angst #f1 fics #f1 imagine

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racingliners · 13 days ago

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⭐ for tros, please! xx

fanfic writers directors cut

Again there is SO MUCH I want to talk about with TRoS!!! Like I could go full PowerPoint presentation, but alas it's twenty to 11 at night as I'm typing this so that'll have to be for another day.

So for now, I'm gonna talk about the podium scene in the Spanish GP chapter!

(Under a read more, I got chatty.)

So with Seb being Chief Strategist there was always the possibly of him being picked as a Constructor's representative for the podium and I 1. obviously wanted to write about Seb getting soaked in champagne while wearing a famous white Merc shirt and 2. wanted it to be a Lewis win for Sewis reasons.

The way I do worldbuilding for AUs means that I like to include echos or references of canon/IRL events. In this case in the 2017 season Lewis and Seb were 1-2 on the podium at the Spanish GP, as well as sharing so many podiums over their careers, as well as having a Seb-Lewis-Jenson podium at Barcelona in 2011, so I really wanted to make reference to both of those races.

I also wanted to play around in the "How does Engineer!Seb feel about his F1 career and does he ever miss or think about what he could have had?" sandbox.

Hence why I opened the chapter with the following paragraph:

Sebastian hadn’t been able to pinpoint the exact moment he’d stopped feeling like an imposter when he walked through the paddock entrance. It had just… happened. He’d scanned his pass while chatting with James Vowles and stopped feeling the watchful eyes of every paddock photographer, pundit, commentator and journalist leering on him. He no longer felt like Seb the Red Bull prodigy turned reject playing dress up, but that he finally matched the words on his accreditation – Sebastian Vettel, Chief Strategist at Mercedes AMG Petronas Motorsport. (It was a wordy job title, but he adored every single letter).

Sebastian's happy, and most importantly comfortable in his new role in the F1 world. That is until he's told that he's been picked to be the Constructor's rep on the podium and a lot of stuff shoots up to the surface.

As Seb looked into James’ kind eyes, all he felt was a slight tightening in his chest. And yet, he didn’t want to let anyone down, or more accurately didn’t want to disrespect the team, by saying no. “It’s just champagne Seb,” James Allison clapped a heavy hand on Sebastian’s shoulder that just about managed to pull him back into the present. The bright blue sky, the roar of the crowd, the concrete beneath his feet, and the eyes of all of his colleagues now trained on him. “You might actually enjoy it.” Seb half forced himself to let out a small laugh and nervously pulled at his ear. “If you wanted to see me soaking wet before now, you should have just asked.” He said with a shy grin, and thankfully everyone either rolled their eyes or tutted instead of looking at Seb with concerned glances.

Seb Vettel 101: When faced with the realisation that 10 years after having your F1 driving career crushed to pieces you're finally going to stand on the winners step of the podium - be slutty to distract your colleagues from your impending crisis.

Sidenote, writing about Seb and his developing friendships with the other Mercedes engineers makes me so happy, you cannot even begin to imagine

I was in two minds for the longest time about whether or not to write the podium from Seb's or Lewis' POV, I eventually settled on Lewis because I wanted him to have his "oh wait Seb's kinda hot" moment, because as we know the Mercedes engineers look very good in their champagne sodden shirts.

But before I switched POVs, Lewis in typical Lewis fashion bounds into the cool down room on cloud nine and he manages to lift Seb's spirit just enough that he willingly walks onto the podium of his own free will. And (shockingly) Seb actually has a very nice time. (Mercedes 101: Always listen to James Allison).

As the British anthem ended and the German one began, he went to glance down at his mechanics, but hearing a quiet but definitely there voice singing stopped him. Sure enough when Lewis looked over his right shoulder and peered past Jenson, he could just make out Seb quietly mouthing the words to the German anthem. Lewis quickly looked away, not wanting to make Seb feel embarrassed, and quietly smiled to himself as he inhaled the warm afternoon air and felt the sunshine on his face. ... He set the trophy down so he would have his hands free to applaud Sebastian, who stared at the constructors trophy wide eyed and slightly breathless. He nervously shook the hand of the official who presented it to him, and looked at the trophy for a couple of seconds before his face split into a familiar bright grin, and he lifted it up into the air to the cheers of all his teammates gathered below, and the quiet applause of Lewis a couple of metres away. He was briefly taken aback by just how relieved Sebastian looked.

Something Seb was always meant to be on a podium with a winner's trophy something.

“Alright!” Seb shouted loudly over the podium music as champagne dripped from the tips of his hair. “Fuck, you got me.” Lewis burst out laughing as he turned to face the crowd and sprayed over the edge of the podium fence towards the team before looking back to see Seb wiping champagne from his eyes. Lewis stepped back up to the top step of the podium, and gestured for Sebastian to join him. He hesitated before slowly climbing the podium steps, and accepted the now half empty bottle when Lewis offered it to him. “Have they always been this heavy?” Seb asked once he’d taken a long sip, weighing the bottle in his hands. Lewis just nodded and put a hand on Seb’s shoulder, smiling at him proudly. “Back where you belong mate.” Lewis said quietly looking right into Seb’s eyes, not wanting the other two drivers to hear. Seb choked out a small laugh before he set the bottle of champagne down by Lewis’ feet. His bright blue eyes still wide and sparkling. “Back where we belong.” He pulled Lewis in for a long hug before either of them had the chance to say anything else. They kept their arms round each other’s shoulders as they stood for the podium photograph, before people walked out carrying team caps and microphones and Seb was quietly asked to leave. He quickly shook hands with Jenson and Daniel before jumping down off the podium. “Hey Seb!” Lewis called out, and Sebastian paused as he went to pick up the constructors trophy. “Wait for me?” “I will.” He said with a smile, and Lewis watched as Seb carried the trophy out of view.

I wanted Seb to mis-remember what some parts of being on a podium (the size of the cooldown room, the weight of the champagne bottles etc) so that when he experiences it for real, it sort of shatters the image he had previously held in his mind and he realises that podiums are fun actually!!! And where he and Lewis belong!!!!! (As the author I DID wail out loud when I came up with that piece of dialogue, thanks for asking😭😭😭).

And yes, dear reader, Seb does wait for Lewis because they're just Like That™️ about each other. To which, we finally lead to, Big Revelation 1 of The Rules of Strategy:

“You good?” Lewis asked, putting a firm hand on his shoulder while looking Seb up and down. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Seb nodded with a breathy sigh. “I missed it, standing on a podium.” Seb bit down on his bottom lip and looked down at the floor as his grin grew even wider. His shirt was still soaked through, accentuating the toned muscles of his torso. For some reason Lewis just couldn’t stop looking at Seb while he wistfully glanced out of the window back towards the podium. The way the sun hit Seb’s hair made it look like it was gilded with gold. ... Lewis shook his head, and forcefully pulled his mind back into focus for his post-race media duties, not wanting Jenson or Daniel to see that he was distracted – even though Lewis wasn’t entirely sure just what had briefly confused him.

Seb is hot and this is the hill I will die on.

Lewis, being Lewis, off-screen fixes his brain back into PR mode and then into driver mode for the post-race debrief so he probably tucks that train of thought deep down in his brain where it can't bother him (when it's actually going to be a surprise tool that will help us later).

I loved coming up with and writing this chapter as it's the first shift in the development of Seb and Lewis' relationship. It's definitely still professional and platonic at this stage, but seeds have been planted at the very least on Lewis' side and things are slowly starting to grow.

#sorry of this went off on multiple tangents and stopped making sense I had a lot to say adfvbfdbjshfn #as ever if anyone needs me to clarify things - please just ask!!!!#asks #palewolfcheesecake-blog #ars tag #sewis merc au

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