#george russell f1

[binisainz]

that's how the light gets in ⸻ 𐙚 ⸻ george russell x reader.

i never thought you'd happen to me.

word  count.   0.9k a  study  on.   pre-relationships,  second  dates,  los  angeles  traffic,  studies  on  falling  in  love,  tooth-rotting  fluff author's  note.   finally  going  through  my  requests  and  i'm  posting  them  as  i  feel  like  it  !!  title  is  technically  from  the  anthem  by  leonard  cohen,  but  i  fr  was  just  listening  to  leonard  cohen  by  boygenius  the  entire  time.  also  got  inspired  to  do  this  first  bc  i  finally  watched  the  first  half  of  sg  episode  on  drive  to  survive  and  oh…  oh  george  russell  you  have  endeared  yourself  to  me  with  your  carry-on  pillow  and  duvet  (he's  just  like  me  fr). also  this  actually  is  based  on  an actual  study  —  is  there  any actual  merit  to  it?  who  knows!  but  i  read  about  it  in  a  romcom  book  a  million  lifetimes  ago  and  i  consider  it  as  fact,  tyvm  !!

you try not to feel self-conscious about the fact that you and george have now been sitting in your car, in the same unmoving spot on a congested los angeles road, for longer than you actually spent eating dinner.

george had flown in just for this— well, technically, for a few other media obligations too— but you’d like to think this was the real reason. he’d texted you days ago, apologizing so charmingly for pushing the date back (again), but you’d seen the race schedule. you’d seen how busy he was. it wasn’t his fault, and honestly, you’d been half-expecting it.

because dinner was ... actually pretty nice. perfect, even.

george is every bit the gentleman— opening doors, pulling out your chair, letting you steal fries off his plate like it’s a privilege he’s more than happy to grant. he listens when you talk— like, actually listens— and his laughter comes easy, unrestrained, as if he’s enjoying himself just as much as you are.

but then, of course, los angeles happens.

"well," george says from the driver’s seat, amusement in his voice. "this is going brilliantly, isn’t it?"

you groan, pressing your forehead against the dashboard for dramatic effect. "i swear l.a. traffic has never been this bad before."

"mm, i have heard that before, actually," he muses, shifting slightly in his seat. when you glance at him, you catch the way the streetlights flicker through the window and reflect off his jawline. he’s smiling, easy and relaxed.

you sigh, exasperated. "you flew all the way here just to spend half your time stuck in a rental car. this is not how the date was supposed to go."

he chuckles. "are you kidding? i think this is the most authentic los angeles experience i could’ve gotten."

you groan again, but there’s laughter creeping into your voice.

george, ever the optimist, just leans back. "you know, in a way, it’s kind of nice. more time to talk."

you shoot him a look. "okay, mr. silver linings."

"i am a bit of a romantic, i can’t lie."

that makes you pause. not because it’s surprising— george is sweet, thoughtful, the kind of person who probably believes in soulmates and all that, even if he won’t admit it outright. but because it makes you curious.

“do you believe in it, then?” you ask, propping your elbow against the window, watching his profile as he thinks.

​​george blinks at you, then tilts his head slightly, considering. "bit of a deep question for a second date, isn’t it?"

"traffic does that to people," you say, lips quirking.

george hums. “in romance? in love? of course. but i think it’s different for everyone, you know? some people fall fast, some slow.” he glances at you, eyes catching yours for a split second. “why? are you a skeptic?”

“not a skeptic, just... curious.” you bite your lip, debating. “there’s this study, you know. apparently, if you stare into someone’s eyes for four minutes straight, you’ll fall in love with them.”

george raises a brow, amused. “that can’t be right.”

“it’s science,” you insist, grinning. “and since we’re literally stuck here, we might as well test it out.”

he chuckles, but there’s something intrigued in his expression. “alright. let’s do it.”

you pull up a timer on your phone, balancing it on the dashboard. “ready?”

“ready,” george says, already looking at you like he’s so sure this is going to be so, so easy.

spoiler alert: it isn’t.

the first attempt lasts about five seconds before you burst into laughter.

"oh, come on," george groans, though he’s grinning too.

"i can’t help it," you protest, giggling. "your eyes are so blue— like, really, really blue. like, even in this lighting, they’re aggressively blue. but also green-ish?"

"well, i certainly hope so," he teases. "been this way my whole life, you know."

you try again. and again. the third time, you actually make it to about thirty seconds before you start laughing again, because god, how is it possible for someone’s eyes to be that bright in such dim lighting?

"you’re not taking this seriously at all," george says, though he’s chuckling too.

"i am! i swear!"

"mm-hm."

fourth time’s the charm, apparently.

you hold his gaze, and this time, you don’t break.

at first, it’s funny, the absurdity of it. but then— somewhere around the two-minute mark— it changes.

george’s smile fades into something softer, his expression unreadable, like he’s really seeing you, not just looking. and you—your heartbeat stumbles, because suddenly, the car feels smaller, quieter, like the rest of the world has blurred at the edges.

you don’t realize how close you are leaning in until the timer rings.

you both blink, breaking apart, and suddenly it’s like the whole atmosphere changes.

and, as if on cue, the traffic eases. the car in front of you moves, and george— almost too quickly— clears his throat, shifting gears.

the moment passes.

the drive to your place is quieter than before. not awkward, exactly, but… different. neither of you acknowledge what just happened, but it lingers anyway.

when george pulls up to your place, he turns to you, smirk playing at his lips. “so?” he asks. “have you fallen in love yet?”

you roll your eyes, pushing open the door. “goodnight, george.”

twenty minutes later, you’re in bed, scrolling aimlessly, when your phone buzzes.

from: george r made it back to the hotel

from: george r also, i looked it up, and apparently the study says you’re supposed to ask each other deep questions during the four minutes.

from: george r so we’ll ask the questions next time, yeah?

you bite your lip, heart skipping.

to: george r next time, huh?

three dots appear.

from: george r i’d like there to be one.

your stomach flips. you smile into your pillow.

to: george r okay. next time :)

[chilling-seavey]

The Formula 1 Career of George Russell: A Visualization

2 Teams. 128 Career Races. 711 Career Points. 8 Fastest Laps.

George's Russell's entire Formula 1 career thus far is summarized and displayed visually in these two infographics. Exploring data visualization design through the extensive and detailed data provided by Formula 1 on their website, I was able to compare the difference between more formal and statistical design against creative and symbolic design options.

(Note: The infographic on the left was my final assignment submission and thus the information ended just after the Vegas GP 2024 weekend because of where the due date fell in the F1 calendar.)

[emmasallowart]

haven’t been able to get this picture of george out of my head since i’ve seen it. he’s so jskksjsjzkaksjdjndmx

colourized version coming soon :)

[piastrisluvr]

messy twitch quartet headers || like or reblog if you save.

[that-one-little-soybean]

im newer to f1 so im just a bit confused why did george russell get 30 pts for p1 oscar piastri for 25th for p2 etc at the austrian gp this year when p1 is usually only 25 pts, pt is 18, etc??

[gordonstanheight]

continuous series of drivers in ads: george russell for ubs!

[p2pc2e]

From the Archive: The Brawn Ultimatum

The Brawn Ultimatum: Iberianmph joins fakes news movement.

[theereboseffect]

all the f1 x gladiator drawings i've done so far

[binisainz]

to fall in love ⸻ 𐙚 ⸻  george russell x reader.

word  count.   1.3k feat.   third  dates,  first  kisses,  indoor  picnics. author's  notes.   this  has  been  sitting  in  my  drafts  for  a  bit  but  anon  requested  a  sequel  to  that's  how  the  light  gets  in  and  how  could  i  refuse  ??  i  have  found  george  russell  soooo  fun  to  write  and  i  love  him  bad  !!  anyways  ,  once  again  ,  the  questions  are  based  on  this  study.  i  am  not  going  to  be  the  expert  on  how  real  it  actually  is,  but  to  #me  it's  sooooo  real . also , anon , i hope this recruit you to the george russell agenda .

you were supposed to plan this date. 

it’s your third date, technically, but somehow, george is the one standing in your doorway, looking unfairly good in a fitted cream sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms like some kind of rom-com lead, a picnic basket in one hand and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. he looks sooo pleased with himself, which means you should probably be suspicious.

you cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “are you hijacking my date?”

“hijacking is a strong word,” he says, grinning. “i’d say… enhancing.”

you narrow your eyes. “george.”

“i just figured,” he continues, all innocence, “since someone insisted that four minutes of uninterrupted eye contact is enough to fall in love, we should conduct the full study.” he lifts the basket slightly, like it’s proof of his good intentions. “properly.”

your stomach does something strange at that, but you ignore it, instead eyeing the basket he’s holding. “… you’re serious?”

“completely.” he shifts his grip on the bottle of wine, brandishing it slightly. “thirty-six questions, uninterrupted eye contact, and, if you’re very lucky, some expertly curated snacks.”

you stare at him, trying not to smile. “you’re so committed to the bit.”

he shrugs, that ridiculous grin still on his face. “who says it’s a bit?”

you meant it as a joke, something to pass the time in the car during that ridiculous la traffic, but george—george, with his penchant for overachieving, for doing things properly—apparently took it seriously.

your lips twitch. “george. are you manufacturing our own rom-com?”

he doesn’t miss a beat. “i have absolutely no idea what you mean.”

you exhale, shaking your head, but you’re already stepping aside to let him in.

george spreads out a blanket in your living room, like this is some kind of indoor picnic, setting up an arrangement of cheeses, crackers, chocolates, and what might be the most meticulous selection of grapes you’ve ever seen. he even lights candles.

“you take date-planning very seriously.” you say, amusement in your voice, as you sit across from him on the blanket.

his lips curve upward as he pours two glasses of wine. “can’t go around setting low standards, can i?”

and, no, you don’t let yourself think about what that means— about what he might be setting a standard for. instead, you watch as he pulls out his phone, scrolling until he finds the list of questions. his brow furrows in concentration for a second, before he looks up, eyes bright.

“alright,” he says, settling in. “thirty-six questions. you ready?”

you nod. “hit me.”

he clears his throat, dramatically. “question one: if you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?”

you hum, considering. “anthony bourdain.”

his brows lift, impressed. “solid choice.”

“and you?”

he tilts his head, thoughtful. “robin williams, i think.”

it starts like that— light, easy. dream dinner guests, childhood memories, perfect days. but then the questions start to shift—

“what’s your most treasured memory?”

you pause, taking a sip of wine, running a finger along the rim of your glass. “one summer when i was a kid, my parents took me on this totally unplanned road trip. no reservations, no itinerary—just driving. we slept in crappy motels, ate at diners that probably failed health inspections, spent entire days at the beach doing absolutely nothing. i don’t know. i just remember feeling… free. happy.”

when you look up, george is watching you. his expression has softened— not just in that polite, interested expression, like how you see him on tv. but something more genuine, more… here, for lack of a better word.

“that sounds incredible,” he murmurs.

your heart stumbles slightly. you clear your throat. “what about you?”

he smiles, smaller this time. “winning f2 was special, obviously. but i think… after my first f1 podium, i just sat in the back of the garage for a while, taking it all in. it was the first time i felt like—” he exhales. “like i’d finally done it. like i belonged.”

you don’t say anything, but you reach across the blanket and squeeze his hand. his fingers tighten around yours, just for a moment, before you both let go.

the questions keep going. they get deeper.

“what do you value most in a friendship?”

“what’s your biggest regret?”

“when was the last time you cried?”

at some point, the wine glasses empty. the snacks dwindle. but you hardly notice.

because somewhere between all the words, between the quiet laughter and the confessions, the entire room feels smaller. like the world has shrunk to just this— just you and george, sitting on this blanket, looking at each other like nothing else exists.

and then—

“alright,” george says, exhaling. “last one.”

you inhale, suddenly aware of this moment. of him, sitting less than two feet away.

“question thirty-six,” he reads, gaze flicking up to meet yours. “share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how to handle it.”

you hesitate, at first. but then, quietly, you admit, “i overthink things too much.”

george’s lips twitch. “i have noticed.”

you groan. “oh, shut up.”

he laughs, shaking his head. “go on.”

you sigh. “i get in my own head a lot. especially with people. i overanalyze, second-guess, assume the worst.”

george watches you, thoughtful. “okay. here’s my advice.”

you brace yourself.

“whenever you start overthinking,” he says, completely serious, “just ask yourself: ‘what would george russell do?’”

you stare at him. “george.”

he grins. “i’m just saying—”

“george.”

he’s laughing now, full and bright, and you don’t even realize you’re smiling too.

but then— “there’s one more part,” he says, voice quieter now.

you know what it is. four minutes of uninterrupted eye contact.

“think you can handle it?” he teases, but his voice has dropped, low and steady.

you nod once, silently, and your heart starts picking up speed.

he sets the timer. presses start. the world narrows instantly.

one second. two. his eyes meet yours.

your first instinct is to laugh. that’s what you did last time, in the car. but tonight… you don’t. you don’t want to. you just look. and he looks back.

not smiling anymore, no— his expression vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache a little.

three minutes in, he shifts ever so slightly— his fingers brushing against the blanket.  your throat feels tight and your palms warm and it hits you, suddenly, how close he is. how still he’s sitting.

how badly you want to move. but you don’t. not until the timer goes off.

a soft chime. four minutes. and yet, neither of you move. not even a blink.

you don’t know what he’s thinking, but you see it— the flicker in his eyes, the way gaze drops, just slightly, from your eyes to your lips.

your breath catches.

and then, he reaches for you, slowly, with the kind of reverence that makes it seem like he’s afraid he’ll break the moment if he moves too fast. maybe it is, then, the reverence.

his fingers trace along your jaw, light as a feather, before settling there, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. your skin burns under his touch, and his breath is warm when it hits your cheek, and when he leans in, he does it like he’s asking, not assuming.

you meet him halfway.

the is kiss slow, deliberate, full of every unspoken thing the questions didn’t quite get to. every glance. every answer. every inch of closeness that had been building from the moment he walked through your door.

when you finally, finally pull back, it’s only far enough for your forehead to rest against his. the closeness doesn’t break. neither of you speak at first, the silence buzzing softly, only the silent hiss of the candles hitting the wet wax beneath it. it sounds like a thousand decibels in this moment.

then, in a voice just above a whisper, george murmurs, “so, uh… have you fallen in love yet?”

you huff out a breath— half laugh, half exhale— but it comes out shaky, like your body still hasn’t caught up with what just happened.

“ask me again after date four.” you whisper.

“deal.”

[foudreika]

F1 Rainbow Illustrations

All the rainbow illustrations I did between last year and this year! :D Always super satisfying to put them all together lol

[russellius]

[calionmain]

[piastrisluvr]

messy twitch quartet headers || like or reblog if you save.

[georgiasbrainstuff]

The demons in my brain trying to convince me to do/make something stupid

[ef-1]

last media day of the season

[choscar-op81]

Its giving