#george russell x oc

[chilling-seavey]

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —FIFTEEN

↳ A/N Thank you for bearing with me in this last week of silence! Here is another chapter to make up for it hehe

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 3.7k

↳ Chapter Warnings: Brief mentions of sexual activity.

The later the night got, the more Rosaline was beginning to believe Lando Norris had died. It was the only logical explanation for why he hadn’t responded to her message in over five hours. Tragic, really. A truly devastating loss to the academic world. 

Rosaline tapped her fingers impatiently against her desk, trying to focus on one of her assignments that was staring back at her from her laptop screen, but the looming presence of the yet-to-be-touched Jane Eyre debate was sitting heavy on her shoulders. Professor Russell couldn’t be too angry with her for doing the entire assignment on her own if her partner had dropped off the face of the earth, right?

Her phone was lying face up on her stack of books beside her laptop and she reached over to grab it and unlock it. The text thread with Lando stared back at her, two blue text bubbles above a small, grey, ‘seen’.

-Hey it’s Rosaline

-When are you free to meet up this week to work on the project?

She thought that had been a good text. It was polite, professional, nothing excessive. He read it not even thirty minutes after she had sent it and then there had been radio silence ever since. Nothing bothered her more than work partners who weren’t willing to pull their weight and everything about Lando screamed ‘slacker’ to her. As much as she liked George, she was incredibly irked that he let her be paired up with someone her polar opposite. 

It wasn’t until Rosaline had shut her laptop for the night, washed up, and climbed into bed to set her alarm that Lando finally replied. A text notification slid down from the top of her screen.

L: hey soz i was streaming

L: we can meet on thurs?

Typical. Rosaline didn’t bother hesitating before replying—this was just Lando, after all.

-Yes, Thursday works. I have class until 3:00 but we can meet in the library after.

She chewed her lip, watching the small ‘delivered’ label turn into ‘seen,’ silently praying he wouldn’t leave her hanging for another five hours. Thankfully, the typing bubble appeared almost instantly,

L: ok see you than :)

- :) 

With a sigh, Rosaline locked her phone and plugged it in for the night on her bedside table. It wasn’t much, but at least they had a plan. She wouldn’t feel fully at ease until they actually met and made progress on the project, but for now, it was something.

On Thursday afternoon, Rosaline arrived at the library at exactly 3:00 pm, nearly out of breath from speed-walking across campus. The librarian greeted her by name when she stepped over the threshold and right away, she felt at home. Most of the tables in the library space were filled with students as the midterm season was in full swing and she walked down the main aisle to try and find an open spot to save for herself and Lando. One of the long tables near the back had some space at the end and she plopped herself down and already started to take out her laptop, notebook, and trusty copy of Jane Eyre. 

Rosaline glanced at her phone—3:15. With a quiet sigh, she set it face down just as Lando strolled into the library, moving at his own pace like he wasn’t late at all. He stopped at one of the tables on his way to share a fist bump and arguably too loud of a laugh with someone he knew. When he finally reached Rosaline’s table, she glanced up as he dropped himself into the chair beside her—not across from her, like she’d expected. 

He unzipped his backpack and pulled out his laptop, settling in like he hadn’t just wasted fifteen minutes of her time, greeting her with a casual, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she echoed, watching him for a moment as he got himself set up.

There was a slightly awkward pause. Lando let out a little giggle. Rosaline cleared her throat and turned to her novel on the table in front of her, just about to open her mouth to speak when there was a gasp from beside her.

“Oh my God,” Lando reached over and grabbed her copy of Jane Eyre, holding it up to show off the colour coded sticky tabs poking out from the pages, his voice raising an octave, “what is this?”

“Jane Eyre…” Rosaline answered hesitantly, not quite sure what he was getting at.

“No, the freakin’,”  Lando wiggled the tips of his fingers through the tabs, making them rustle, “...colours.”

She couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her at his ridiculous dramatics and she grabbed the novel back with a playfully exasperated, “I re-read it this week and marked the parts that’ll help us with this debate.”

“You read all that in two days?” Lando gaped. 

“It’s not even 500 pages,” she shrugged, thumbing through the well-worn novel, “And I’ve already read it plenty before. It was more of a skim, really.”

With a shake of his head, Lando commented, “You make this whole ‘being ridiculously smart’ thing look easy.” 

Rosaline scoffed bashfully, “Hardly ridiculously smart.”

“No, mate, you’re, like, mega smart,” Lando insisted, “The whole class was hoping to be paired with you.”

“Yeah, well,” Rosaline sighed, toying with the corner of the novel, “I guess that doesn’t really surprise me.”

Lando stared at her for a moment as if trying to read her neutral expression, like he was reading into something she wasn’t saying. Then, shifting in his seat, he muttered, “I’ll really try to help, okay?"

Rosaline glanced at him.

He continued, almost awkwardly, an unfamiliar look on the usually so often sure-of-himself Lando Norris, “I’m not good with, like, reading and anali-sizing stuff but…I’ll try.”

Her lips quirked at his near mispronunciation, but she didn’t correct him. Instead, she gave a small nod and a gentle thanks, accepting the effort for what it was. They then reviewed the project brief on the class site and, as she pulled up the document, Rosaline tried not to stare at George’s headshot in the corner beside ‘Professor Contact Information’. 

Instead, she focused on reading out the requirements for the assignment, “One of you will argue that Rochester in Jane Eyre is a romantic hero, while the other will argue he is a manipulative villain. Prepare a 10-minute argument and submit a 1,500-word co-written analysis incorporating critical sources.”

Lando rocked back in his chair, balancing on the rear legs, “So, like, what side do you want to take?” 

“Mm,” Rosaline pondered the question for a moment, “I’ll take romantic hero, I think.”

“Mint,” Lando exclaimed in agreement, the front legs of his chair falling back onto the floor with an echoing slam. A few startled students around them looked over with frowns. Lando seemed unbothered, “I love a good manipulative villain anyway.”

Despite their vastly different approaches to academics, Rosaline found herself settling into an unexpected ease beside Lando, tucked side by side at a library table crammed with frazzled students. They likely wouldn’t be best friends, but he was easygoing, and his humour added a lightness to what should have been a frustrating partnership. Normally, she’d be on edge, dreading the burden of carrying the project alone, but with Lando, it didn’t feel quite so dire. And when Rosaline felt at ease, her sharp wit had a way of slipping out effortlessly.

Without missing a beat, she replied back with a smirking, “Yeah, I got that impression when you ignored my text for five hours.”

Lando’s mouth twitched and he recoiled slightly in a dramatic show of feigned offence, “Oi, I told you—I had a valid excuse.”

“Streaming, yes, you said,” she retorted, “Five hours is a little excessive though.”

“It’s my job,” he corrected.

“Your job?”

“I have half a million followers on Twitch,” he explained, with only a hint of bragging in his tone, “I sometimes make, like, a couple grand a night.”

Rosaline couldn’t help the way her jaw literally dropped at his statement and Lando’s eyes scrunched at the corners with a small laugh at her reaction. Once she composed herself in the face of a man who somehow made exceedingly more than minimum wage in a single night and yet constantly had a look about him that he just rolled out of bed, she had to ask, “What do you stream?”

His face lit up at her interest, twirling his pen around between his fingers as he slouched back in the chair, “Bit of F124 mostly. I was doing a race against some of my viewers, but, like, I turned damage off ‘cause they just try to take me out for fun—”

“So you ignored me for five hours just to lose to a bunch of kids?”

Lando grinned, his voice raising a little in playful protest, “Mate, I don’t lose to kids. I just… strategically let them win sometimes.”

She shook her head, “I feel like this explains a lot.”

Lando chuckled, clicking his pen absentmindedly, “You ever watch F1?”

“Once or twice. I watched the race last weekend with my—” she caught herself, “friend.”

“Yeah?” Lando straightened up, seemingly coming alive as the conversation drifted from literature to Formula 1, “Who does your friend support?”

“Hamilton.” 

“Ugh, of course, easy answer, going for the greatest of all time,” Lando tutted with a roll of his eyes before pointing his pen at her, “If you’re not a Piastri fan, we can’t be friends.”

Rosaline laughed lightly, raising her hands in defence, “I don’t even remember which one that was.”

Lando let out a scandalized gasp, but before he could launch into what she suspected was a passionate rant, she turned back to her notes. 

“Anyway, back to Rochester—”

Perhaps Lando meant what he said about wanting to try because, much to Rosaline’s pleasant surprise, he seemed somewhat invested as they began to buckle down to work. They huddled over the copy of her book together and typed up notes on her tabbed pages and discussed how they would want to tackle their overarching joint essay. Lando asked her questions about the book in parts he didn’t understand and he seemed to cling onto her every word as she rambled in reply about the plot and the characters and the deeper meanings. And it wasn’t too serious either, with Lando, of course, offering unserious banter to keep the pressure of University assignments at a minimum. 

It was almost nice. 

“He’s a hero ‘cause he’s rich and has a big house,” Lando declared, his knee nudging hers under the table.

Rosaline deadpanned, “That’s your argument?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause that’s, like, the whole reason she falls for him, innit?”

Rosaline sighed despite her amused smile at his ridiculousness, shaking her head, “I am so writing the opening paragraph.”

Just as Lando let out a laugh, a familiar voice interrupted them.

“Well, well, well,”

Rosaline’s head snapped up to see Max and Charles approaching their table, hand in hand, each wearing knowing grins. Max had his backpack slung over his opposite shoulder as if they had either just arrived or were just about to leave. Silently, she hoped it was the latter. 

Rosaline’s expression faltered like she wasn’t sure how she felt about the appearance of two of her best friends. Sure, she hadn’t seen them in a while, but with these two—especially Max—no one could know what he was going to say. Especially as they stumbled across her sitting there with a boy; she knew how it could look. So, Rosaline asked as casually as she could, “What are you two doing here?”

“Studying for midterms,” Max shrugged, lifting the shoulder carrying his backpack before nodding toward the pair of them. His casual smile did little to mask the amusement dancing in his eyes. Rosaline could see it—the barely contained Max comments waiting to strike. “You?”

“Just working on an assignment,” she answered plainly, nudging her glasses up her nose with the back of her index finger.

Charles, practically vibrating with curiosity, blurted out in a squeaky rush, “Is this the mystery guy?”

Rosaline’s stomach dropped, “What?”

Max snickered, eyeing up incredibly confused Lando for a second, “You know. The guy.”

“N-No! He’s not— This is— It’s just an assigned partnership for a class assignment,” Rosaline spluttered, glaring at Max and Charles. “Can you not—?”

“Mm, that’s what they all start out as, don’t they?” Max teased a little more. 

“Mystery guy?” Lando looked between Rosaline and her friends, suddenly immensely curious, “What mystery guy?”

She shut her eyes briefly, willing the ground to swallow her whole. Really, the last thing she needed was for Lando to know about her secret escapades that even her closest friends weren’t technically supposed to know about at all. Although she had been comfortable around Lando since they had met up, something about him made her believe he wasn’t the greatest secret keeper.

Charles just laughed softly, in that fond way he always did, “Alright, alright, mon cœur, if you say. We will let you work.”

“Yes. Bye.” she replied curtly, desperately just willing that moment to end. 

Charles, still grinning, leaned down to press a quick kiss to her cheek in parting before letting Max tug him away, their hands still laced together.

Now left alone again with Lando, Rosaline huffed and looked back to her laptop, very sure there was an immensely obvious blush across her cheeks. She tried to focus on the notes she had written in the document staring back at her but her mind felt frazzled. 

Beside her, Lando was quiet for a moment, then shifted in his seat, “So…” he said, his voice more curious than teasing. “A mystery guy?”

Rosaline flipped open her notebook with an air of finality, “We have work to do.”

Lando didn’t push right away, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying her reaction. She could only silently hope he didn’t go pressing the matter. She had never been a great liar.

“They really got under your skin with that,” he observed, his tone softer than before. Soft in a way she didn’t realize he was quite capable of. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear without tearing her eyes away from the lined pages of her notebook, “It’s just… complicated.”

Lando nodded, although he didn’t seem quite satisfied. He simply leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, “So… who’s the guy?”

Rosaline nudged her glasses farther up her nose again, gaze still downcast, “There is no guy.”

He hesitated for half a second before nodding, “Right.”

Even she could tell that he didn’t quite believe her. 

But, instead of pushing the situation, Lando nodded towards the novel laying open between them, “Alright. Jane Eyre. Tell me why I’m about to lose this debate.”

She glanced at him, caught off guard by how easily he shifted back to their assignment. She had expected more teasing, more of that cheshire cat grin—but instead, there was just this strange sort of attentiveness, like he actually cared if she was flustered or agitated, wanting to make her more comfortable.

She let out a breath of relief at the change of subject, a tentative smirk pricking at her expression, “Because I actually know what I’m talking about?”

Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he clicked his pen a few times, “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see about that.”

The following night, Friday, Rosaline, once again, found herself in Professor Russell’s house, laying with him in his bed, both naked apart from his bedsheets. It has become an unspoken routine—every weekend, somehow, escaping to the privacy of his townhome and away from the prying eyes of Oxford; a place for them to just be. 

After a rather experimental attempt at 69-ing (an overrated position, George had claimed and, afterwards, Rosaline heartily agreed), they were cuddled up in his bed. She had her head on his chest and his fingers dancing aimlessly over her arm and shoulder, the room silent apart from the sounds of their breathing and the pattering of rain on the window.

George turned his head to press a soft kiss to Roaline’s forehead and she smiled softly, melting into his touch. She could feel her heart doing somersaults in her chest, her stomach filling with butterflies just like it always did when he showed her affection. It was still all so new to her but she was growing more and more comfortable with it, loving the way physical touch sent warmth through her veins in a feeling that was so hard to accurately describe in her writing. 

For once, it was nice to not have to live and experience through only her written word.

“How’s your debate assignment going?” George asked softly into her hair.

Rosaline tilted her head back a little to look up into his eyes, an amused smile, “Is that your idea of pillow talk? Discussing class assignments?”

George laughed lowly, his chest rumbling faintly under her cheek, and she smiled wider at the sound of his joy. He rubbed her shoulder, his tone soft, “No, but after how unhappy you were with me on Tuesday, I was wondering if you had a change of heart.”

“Mm,” Rosaline pondered her answer—a tad dramatically—as if she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Her hand gently rubbed across his bare pecs, fingers absentmindedly dragging through the faint dusting of chest hair between them. Finally, she relented, “it’s surprisingly okay, I guess.”

“Okay?” George echoed, leaning away from her a little to look into her eyes, “You’re not just doing the whole thing yourself, are you?”

“No,” she chuckled faintly at how well he knew her tendencies, “I met with Lando in the library yesterday and he was very…helpful actually. Very willing to actually try.”

“Really?” George replied, the simple answer slightly drawn out in disbelief. 

She snuggled into his chest some more and his arm instinctively tightened around her as she continued, “He was being so odd yesterday…very out of character, I assumed.”

“Odd? Such as?” encouraged George. 

Rosaline went on to summarize their meet-up to him and George listened quietly, his fingers still lazily dancing over her shoulder and holding her close. She explained how Lando complimented her intelligence and how he made a point of saying he really wanted to pull his weight in the assignment, how he kept making jokes that were somewhat actually funny, how when Max and Charles teased her about being with him, he seemed strangely comforting. 

She left out the part about the curiosity about her mystery man, however. George didn’t need to know that her friends knew even the slightest bit of information about them. 

When she finished her spiel, George hummed in acknowledgement before replying, a hint of amusement in his tone, “All that you told me makes it sound like he’s into you.”

Rosaline scoffed with a roll of her eyes, “No way.”

George laughed just enough to have her glancing up at him and he leaned in to kiss her forehead again before speaking, “Oh, darling, you really are a little oblivious to male attention, aren’t you?”

“Hey,” Rosaline frowned. 

“I say it kindly,” he reassured her, cuddling her closer under the sheets, keeping her naked body warm against his, “but, honestly, I’ve always wondered how you’ve never had a boyfriend or experienced male interest because you’re so gorgeous and so intelligent and so witty…but you have, you just didn’t realize.”

“Lando Norris is not into me,” Rosaline said firmly, propping herself up on her elbow to look him in the eyes but she couldn’t hide the slight hint of panic in her own. 

“Consider me your in into the college-age male brain.” George pitched, tucking her hair behind her ear, “Not only have I been one, but I am around them daily.”

She nibbled at her bottom lip. Her mind was whirling.

“Did he sit across from you or beside you?” George asked, diving into a slight interrogation to help her see the reality of the situation. 

Rosaline hesitated as if not wanting to tell him the truth, “Beside me, but—”

“Was there a spot available across from you?”

She paused. Then, softly, “Yeah.”

“Did he touch you at all? Graze of your hand, nudging your arm when he made a joke, leaning into your space?”

“I mean, we shared my copy of Jane Eyre so we had to be close—”

“You were in a library which houses dozens of copies of Jane Eyre.”

With a groan, Rosaline flopped face first into his pillow with a whining, elongated, “Stop.”

George laughed warmly at her momentary distress and he rolled over closer to rub her back, right between her shoulder blades, as if he found the entire situation entertaining. Rosaline was having a full blown existential crisis and he was entertained. 

“So what if he likes you?” George inquired, “It’s not the end of the world.”

Rosaline turned her face out of the pillow to look at him, very aware that she was likely blushing like a fool, only made worse by his handsome face already staring right back at her in such close proximity. She nibbled at her bottom lip for a moment and he reached over to gently drag the pad of his thumb over it to urge her to release it.

She sighed and answered in a timid voice, “I don’t want him to like me…because I like you.”

It sounded stupid and childish the moment it came out of her mouth and for a second she willed it to be swallowed back in. But George smiled and gave a piece of her hair a little playful tug before he leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth with how she was half hidden in his pillow. 

“I like you too,” he assured her, his voice a warm whisper, “And don’t think for one second I’m just going to pass you off to some college boy who doesn’t know the difference between Jane Eyre and Charlotte Brontë.”

Rosaline melted into an easy smile, slinging an arm around his shoulders to lift her head up long enough to press a lingering kiss to his mouth. Their eyes shut and they shared a few lingering kisses, tangled under his bed sheets, bonded by confessions of adoration. It was a small reassurance but one that had Rosaline’s heart soaring. No one else could compare to him. Oh, she was falling for him…harder than she ever anticipated.

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[futurewdclandonorris]

Friends Don't | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: you go out to celebrate George's home race win, not even imagining what the night will bring

Warnings: smut, drunk driving, unprotected sex

A/N: you will maybe have to necessarily read part 1 and part 2 hehe. For the sake of the plot, we'll pretend some things already happened. I've spent the whole week writing this and only got it to all click together from the third attempt. Third time's a charm, right? But at least had a blast while editing, which is a rarity. I actually enjoy writing these 'chapters' and building this world sm <3

Sundays were a day for rest and relaxation. A day for sitting down with a good book and a cup of coffee. A day for cuddling up with a loved one and watching a movie. A day for taking some time for yourself; a day to reflect and recharge.

That was, of course, unless your best friend was George Russell. And that your Sundays didn't consist of spending most weekends a year at different race tracks around the world. Not all of them, but you tried to be there for him at least once or twice a month, as much as the opportunity allowed.

That afternoon, George took the checkered flag in Silverstone in P1 and now you were in your room, preparing for tonight's celebration. The victory party was going to be wild, and you knew it. You had seen how George celebrated previous wins, and tonight was going to be no different. Especially because it was his home race.

You took a deep breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. You had dressed to impress, wearing a sparkly blue dress that fit you perfectly. Finishing your look with a pair of strappy heels and a silver necklace, you couldn't help but think about how previous events with George brought you even closer together.

Your friendship kind of became more... intimate. No pun intended. Guess you were both afraid not to lose each other over the past experiences, and that deepened your bond whether either of you wanted to admit or not. Now your only fear was that your closeness wouldn't tear you apart.

A soft knock pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned around to see George standing at the door with a sheepish grin on his face. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, his hair tousled in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he said, his voice low and husky. "Ready to party?"

Never before have you paid any mind to the nicknames he called you, but now a thrill ran down your spine. The way he looked at you made you feel like the only person in the world.

"I am," you said, smiling at him.

As you stepped out of the door, George took your hand in his and led you to the car waiting outside. The drive to the club was short, but the anticipation was high. The party was in full swing when you arrived; loud music, flashing lights, and the smell of alcohol filled the air.

George led you to the VIP section where his friends and family were already celebrating. You saw his siblings and a few of his close racing buddies. You could hear their loud cheering as they saw George walk in with you and feel the envious glares of the other women in the room.

George handed you a glass of champagne and raised his own in a toast. "To the best damn team in the world," he said, looking at you and his friends.

Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses together. You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, feeling it go down smoothly. The night was young, and the energy in the room was electric.

The party kept going on as the night deepened, and the noise of the songs blasted through the room. Glasses were filled up with drinks constantly, making it more of an effort to ignore the effects of the booze. You found yourself on the dance floor, surrounded by George and his friends. The bass of the music throbbed in your chest, and you let yourself get lost in the rhythm.

Throughout the night, each person had a chance to take their turn with you on the dance floor, and eventually you were spinning around in George's arms. The heat of the club mixed with the buzz of the alcohol made your skin flush against his. You could feel his muscles flexing as he twirled you around, his hand firmly holding onto yours. The closer you danced, the more the tension between you grew.

For a moment, you forgot where you were and who was watching. You moved on him like it was just the two of you in the world, your hands moving over his body like never before, and hips swaying in perfect synchronicity. You were so close to him that you could feel his breath on your neck, and the scent of his cologne filled your senses. You felt yourself getting lost in him, and something stirred inside you.

And it seemed like George caught up on your odd behavior as the song faded away. He grabbed your arm and started leading you away from the dance floor until you reached a quiet corner. But your drunken mind wasn't understanding his intentions.

You threw yourself onto him and he had to secure your hips with his hands to stop you from slipping. You let out a hazy chuckle as you started grinding against him once more before he pushed you back against the wall.

"Stop it, that's not why I brought you here."

But you didn't listen. You pulled yourself even closer, letting your lips brush against his neck. "Then why did you bring me here?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, your breath tickling his skin. "The drinks have gone to your head. I brought you here to take a break and cool off a little." he avoided telling you that you were drunk and not acting like yourself, afraid to provoke any unnecessary argument between you two.

Still, you weren't paying any attention. You were too inebriated to realize that your behavior was a little out of character, and you certainly weren't considering the consequences of your actions. You clasped your hands around his shoulders and pressed yourself against him again.

George tried to keep a respectable distance between you, pushing his hip backwards as you pushed yours forward, fighting the urge to get too close. That got you into an interesting position; you were leaning against the wall in between his arms with your shoulders as he leaned into you with his upper body. Your hand naughtily ran down his side, poking him. You knew you probably shouldn't touch him, but you couldn't stop yourself. His muscles strained as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're getting awfully close to me," he murmured, unable to bring himself to look you in the eye. His fingers slowly slid from their grip on the wall.

"Then don't push me away," you said back.

His face was just inches away now, and your lips unconsciously moved closer. The atmosphere between you two was thick with anticipation, a feeling that you currently relished in. Your lips were only a breath away from his when he spoke.

"We can't." his eyes locked with yours.

"Why?" you asked breathily.

"Because we're best friends." his voice was barely a whisper.

He hoped the reason he gave you would remind you of everything you asked from him that first time. But he didn't tell you that he feared you'd regret it when you sobered up, and that it would be his fault for not stopping it.

"And?" in the state that you were, did he really think that would stop you? He couldn't have been more wrong. You wanted to push him to feel something. Anything. "Best friends can do a lot of things." you smirked.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes still on yours. "No, they can't." he gritted, shaking his head.

"You're right." you said, the alcohol clouding your judgment. "They can't do this." and your hips finally met his.

He swallowed hard, trying to stay level headed. "What am I going to do with you?" he said in desperation, his hands pressed flat on the wall behind you, trying their best not to touch you as they dangerously started slipping down.

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your palms as you glided them down his torso. "Remember how you said you can read my body language?"

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding his head.

"What is it telling you now?" you whispered against his lips.

"It's telling me we're going to be in big trouble if you don't stop this," he replied. "You have no idea what you're doing to me right now."

"Then don't fight it. Show me." you murmured.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. Your arms snaked around his neck and fingers twined through the hair at its nape, pulling him closer. You couldn't believe that you had done all those other things, but never kissed. And when ultimately his mouth closed on yours, it was like finally locating the elusive jigsaw piece on a seemingly ordinary Tuesday while tidying up your home that you thought had been lost forever. It made you almost not want to kiss anyone else ever again — almost, because deep down you knew you shouldn't have been doing this in the first place.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as his head tilted to get a better angle. The kiss was soft, tentative, like both of you were very aware of what might happen. You pressed your mouth against his more firmly, tasting him. Parting your lips slightly, you felt the silky wetness of his tongue on yours. You bit his lower lip, letting out a deep moan when he groaned in response, hands that were in his hair tugging on the strands slightly. He groaned into your mouth again, pulling you even closer against him. You had no idea how long you were kissing, but it was definitely not enough.

The kiss broke, and you leaned your face against his neck, panting heavily. He glanced down at you, his lips so close to yours that if you had merely lifted your head, they'd be touching again. The warmth emanating from your body made him want to do things he knew he shouldn’t. He placed his forehead against yours, trying desperately to get control of himself.

"We should get back." he said between breaths. Your head was spinning from the alcohol and his scent and the magical kiss, it took you a moment to realize you were no longer kissing him. You opened your eyes and met with him.

"We should, before they realize we're missing." you nodded. He frowned, but his eyes were smiling. He was relieved, but he was also worried for you and what tomorrow might bring when you sobered up.

"Lets go," he said, turning around, but kept an arm around your waist so as to not let you get lost. You looped one arm around his neck, holding onto his shoulder, and gently hit his other shoulder with your head.

The night was still young and the party was still going. Music was playing, people were dancing, and laughter filled the room. Your friends cheered when they saw you two come in together, but neither of you paid any attention to them; all that mattered was that you were here, with him. Guys grabbed drinks for the both of you from different parts of the room and put it in your hands.

You found a spot on the couch and George sat next to you, his arm around your waist protectively. The conversations flowed easily between you two, and soon enough you both forgot what had happened earlier as you joined the rest of the group in drinking, singing along with music and laughing.

He later found you on the dance floor swaying around completely out of rhythm with a drink in your hand. Your face lit up when you saw him.

"There you are, my champion." you leaned into him, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

"I won the race, not the championship.” he chuckled.

“Mm, don’t care. To me you are the champion.” you slurred, pouting.

“Hey, is everything alright?" he asked, supporting you.

"Mmhmm." you mumbled. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." you could hear the frown on his face. "You're drunk." he spat as he attempted to take away the half empty glass from your grasp.

"I'm not." you said, feeling yourself lose your balance a little as you swayed back and forth. He put his arm around you to help you balance.

"Yes, you are. I should've taken you home the first time around." he sighed, somehow not surprised you managed to get even drunker. You were both intoxicated for that matter, it's just that George knew how to hold his liquor. And he looked to never go over his limit in case something like this happened.

"No." you tried to pull away from him.

"I'm taking you home." he tightened his grip around you, leading you out of the party. You mumbled something in response, not quite sure what you were saying.

He helped you into his car and buckled your seat belt for you, before getting in himself. He drove slowly, carefully navigating the roads while you were almost passed out in his passenger seat. Every now and then he'd take a hand off the wheel to reach over and brush your hair away from your face or wipe away a stray tear from your cheek if one escaped your eye. As he turned into your street and parked the car, your eyes fluttered open.

"Um, could you walk me to the door?" you asked.

"I was planning on it," he said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Both of your arms wrapped around his left one, holding on for support, as he walked you to your apartment. Your little nap helped clear the haze from your head, but you were still tipsy. When you reached the entrance of your flat, you propped yourself against the door and blinked up at him.

"Do you want to come inside?" inviting your best friend into your home have never before seemed more dangerous and George should've known better than to say yes.

"Do you want anything to drink?" you asked to break an awkward silence that fell among you the moment he shut the door.

Before even waiting for his answer, you made your way towards the kitchen, but he extended his arm and grabbed your waist, preventing you from moving further.

"I think we both had enough to drink tonight," he said.

"Then what do you want to do?" you whispered.

"I want to claim my prize." he must have had a few more drinks than usual at the club to summon up the courage for that sentiment.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the alcohol still fogging your mind but not enough to miss the implication of his words. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. His hand still rested on your waist, his fingers tracing small circles over the fabric of your dress.

"Is that what I am, a prize?"

"No, no." he said quickly, his eyes softening. "You're so much more than that, you know that." his hand cupped the side of your face. "When I saw you looking up at me on the podium today, I realized I couldn't have done it without you. You were the one who had been cheering me on from the sidelines all this time. You've been there for me when no one else was." he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You've been my lucky charm all these years and I want to show you how much you mean to me."

The way he was looking at you made your chest heave with a mixture of emotions. You were both under the influence, and you knew this was not the best time to make decisions, but you couldn't resist him. You leaned in and attached your lips together again, only this time with more passion, more desire. You could feel his hands running through your hair as he kissed you back, his tongue playing with yours, his body pressing against yours.

He pulled away, looking at you with a hunger you had never seen before. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to say anything. His lips crashed onto yours, hungrily claiming your mouth as his own. Your body responded to his touch, your hands roaming over his chest and tangling in his hair. He lifted you up, your legs locking around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.

He laid you down gently on the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours. Climbing on top of you, his lips trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone. You moaned softly, your hands gripping tightly onto his muscular back. He pulled his lips away from you, looking into your eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

You nodded, reaching up and pulling him back down. He gently kissed you again and you responded in kind, but he pulled away again.

"I'll stop if you tell me to." he whispered. "I don't want to do this unless you want to." 

"I want to." you murmured. The alcohol may have distorted your judgment, but it surely helped your courage.

"Are you sure?" he asked a third time. You laughed softly, trying to push him off. He had you pinned to the mattress, still pressing you down.

"Yes, I'm sure." you said, no longer laughing.

That was all he needed to hear. He kissed you hard, his fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of your dress. He ran his hands underneath, gently resting them on your ribs, and pulled your dress upwards. You lifted your hands above your head, freeing him of the task of removing your dress as you squiggled out of it and freed yourself from the restriction that was your dress.

He kissed you again, letting his hands run over your bare skin. His lips kissed down your throat and chest, his hands undoing your bra. He pulled it away and tossed it aside, taking in the sight of you.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said. You blushed, and he smiled. His lips traveled down your leg, gently caressing the outside of your thigh. "But I'm a little jealous, you know?" his lips traveled back up, his tongue tracing over the slope of your breast and hands kneading them softly. "You got to taste me, and I..."

He kissed his way down your body, his hands going over every inch of exposed skin, reminding you how skillfully he handled you that very first time. He reached your inner thigh and slid his hand underneath your underwear. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his fingers brush against you before a long finger slid inside you. You moaned loudly, spreading your legs apart for him. He smiled against your neck, his teeth taking in your skin, his tongue leaving a trail of fire behind.

His finger slowly moved inside you, circling you before sliding in and out. His hand pulled your underwear down, you kicking them off to the side. His mouth moved down your figure, hovering over your breasts. He teased you for a moment, blowing against your nipples before drawing the tip of his tongue over one. He did the same with the other, his fingers never ceasing to move. His kisses continued further down, over your stomach until they reached your mound.

"Can I?" he asked, peeking at you.

"Please..." you tried to hide the shake in your voice.

His tongue slid between your lips, gently licking you. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy against your sensitive skin. He teased you, his tongue circling your clit before sliding inside you. His tongue flicked over your clit, his hands holding your thighs apart. You spread your legs even wider, your body arching up to him. He leaned in, gently sucking on your clit and you moaned loudly, his tongue moving faster. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against his face.

You were nearing your end, your moans growing louder with every movement of his tongue. You could feel his lips smile against your skin, enjoying the sounds you were making. You cried out, your body tensing as you came, shaking against him. He pulled away, slowly kissing his way up to the top again. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, not hurrying you up as you sucked in his bottom lip, squeezing out your own juices.

"Taking that trophy is the second best thing that has ever happened to me." he whispered. He kissed you again, this time with more passion, your hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "The first, of course, being you. You're my greatest reward." he continued as you trailed kisses down his neck, removing the shirt off his shoulders.

"Stop talking, George."

"Sorry," he whispered as he closed his eyes, surrendering above you.

You kissed his chest, your nails raking up and down his sides, feeling his muscles tense. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and could sense the urgency in his touch. His hardness pressed against you, begging to be liberated. You pulled away from him, reaching for his belt buckle and his eyes shot open, hands reaching for yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again. He knew if you go any further there would be no going back and some irreversible things would be done.

"Are you sure?" you asked back, smiling mischievously. "I thought this is what you wanted." your nail dangerously circled around his lower abdomen, causing his breath to hitch with every word he spoke.

"I-I do. I'm just making sure you're not doing it just because I want it." you could tell he was really struggling to hold himself back.

"I think we've already established that..." you whispered against his lips and prompted your body more to his.

"Okay," his hand moved away from yours, and you undid his belt.

His pants fell around his feet and he kicked them off. His boxers were the last thing left, and you reached for them, slowly pulling them down. His hand held the back of your head as he kissed you, his tongue twirling around yours. You moved to pull away but he held on tighter.

His boxers hit the floor and you looked up at him, his hands resting on your frame. Gently taking your hand, he placed it on his dick. You gasped, feeling it grow even more underneath your touch. He pulled away, his lips planting kisses down your neck as his hand guided yours up and down his length. You felt him shiver as you grazed the tip with your nails, his breath hitching. He removed his hand, and your eyes shot open when you felt his tip brush against your entrance.

He teased you, running it up and down your slit. You threw your head back in pleasure, your back arching against him. The more he prolonged what you needed the most, the more your neediness grew. You tried to guide him inside you but he resisted, placing a finger on your lips instead. He dragged it over them before he made you suck on it, his eyes never leaving your face as he blew a stream of air out. Your eyes widened when you felt his head brush against you again, making you gasp audibly, his name falling from your lips.

"Please," you remembered what he told you the first time he had you in his arms like this. "Please, please, please, please, please, please, please..." you chanted over and over again.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath. Hearing you beg for him made his head spin again. It was like you'd put him under a spell every time you'd utter that word and he'd not be able to deny you anything. Not that he ever wanted.

He slowly pushed inside of you, stopping at every inch to wait for you to adjust. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he began to move again. He kissed you, your nails digging into his back as he stretched you more. He was so gentle, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. This was not the normal rough, lustful sex. This was the man who loved the sight of you, the sounds of your pleasure. This was the man who wanted to make love to you, to show you what true pleasure was.

Your fingers sank into his back again, and he responded by thrusting into you harder, your moans getting louder. His lips traveled down your chest, his tongue flicking a nipple as he pushed into you again.

"Oh, god." you moaned, George's name falling from your mouth repeatedly. Your hands dug into the sheets as his thrusts grew harder, deeper.

"You feel so good... so damn good," he kissed your skin. "Making me feel like I don't ever want to take anybody else again."

"Don't stop, please, whatever it is that you're doing, please, just don't stop." you cried, twining your legs around him to press him deeper.

He moaned in pleasure when you did, his hands tightening their grip around you. His breathing grew heavier and faster, your bodies reacting to each other. He was so close, and he could feel you held right on the edge.

You cried out his name, your form shuddering under him. He had no intention of stopping, and he continued his movements as you kept shaking, your voice loud enough to wake up the whole apartment complex.

"You, George, only you…" you whispered into his ear as you were coming down.

You felt his whole build shake, his cock pulsing inside of you, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to hear him as he climaxed. You wanted to hear the sounds he made, the sweetest song in the world.

"George… George…" you panted, your breathing coming out in jagged breaths.

He cursed, as his body trembled with pleasure. His hands tightened around you, pulling you closer as he came. You buried your face in his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. He kissed you, holding you close to him. He wanted to stay inside you forever, to feel the sight of your face as he pleased you. You did that to him. You were the one making him see another reality where only he and you existed.

But he pulled away, your eyes searching for his as you slowly came back to reality. He kissed you again, his lips landing on yours.

"That was amazing… you were amazing…" he whispered, stroking your face gently.

"So were you." you said back, playing with the bangs that fell over his forehead.

He rested his head on your chest, finding a comfortable spot, your hands moving into his hair.

"Are you going to stay?" you whispered, uncertain.

"Only if you want me to."

"Always."

He hugged you tightly and rolled over so that you were now on top of him. His fingers softly ran along your back as your body let go and fully relaxed. The peaceful sound of your heartbeats and his breath seemed to take over the room. You drew near to him, feeling the up and down movements of his chest gently rock you to sleep, matters of your friendship left for tomorrow's morning news.

Next part

[the-offside-rule]

George Russell (Mercedes AMG) - Gentleman

Requested: yes

F1 Baby Promptlist

Warnings: none

The sun was setting over Monaco, painting the picturesque streets in hues of gold and pink. George expertly navigated the narrow roads, his signature smile lighting up his face as he glanced in the rearview mirror. In the backseat, their toddler, Oliver, was busy humming a tune and swinging his little legs. Y/n turned her head to check on their son, her hand resting gently on George’s arm as he brought the car to a stop outside their apartment building. The sleek vehicle purred as George cut the engine.

"Well, we’re home." George announced, unbuckling his seatbelt and glancing over at Y/n, who was already reaching for her door handle. "Wait, Mummy!" Oliver’s tiny voice piped up, his face scrunched in determination. Before Y/n could open her door, Oliver was wriggling out of his car seat. "Oliver, what are you-" She began, but the little boy was already scrambling out of his side, his hands moving faster than his legs could follow. George chuckled, stepping out of the car and watching as his son hurried around the front.

"Mummy, wait!" Oliver shouted again, his small hand reaching for the passenger door handle. His chubby fingers gripped it tightly as he pulled with all his might. The door creaked open, and there stood Oliver, his face glowing with pride. "I got it for you, Mummy!" Y/n couldn’t help but laugh, her heart melting at the sight. She stepped out carefully, crouching down to Oliver’s level. "Well, aren’t you a proper little gentleman?" She teased, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

Oliver beamed, puffing out his chest. "Daddy says we both need to help you since you have a baby in your belly now." He declared, looking up at George for approval. Y/n’s heart melted instantly. She glanced over at George, who was leaning against the car with a sheepish grin. "Did you now?" She teased. George shrugged, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just teaching him to be a gentleman."

Y/n smiled down at Oliver, placing her hand gently on his head. "Well, thank you, Ollie. That’s very thoughtful of you." Taking his tiny hand in hers, she stepped out of the car carefully, making sure her balance was steady. Oliver held onto her hand tightly, as if determined to protect her and the baby. George walked over, placing a hand on Y/n’s back as they started toward the elevator. "You’ve got quite the helper now." He said softly. "I do." Y/n agreed, squeezing Oliver’s hand gently. "And I couldn’t be prouder of him."

Oliver looked up at her with wide, happy eyes. "I’ll help you every day, Mummy. Promise!" Y/n laughed, her heart swelling with love. "I know you will, my little gentleman."

[henryrussell63]

That’s the last time Toto lets me use the radio!

[thatsdemko]

junipers dad- g.russell

pairings: George Russell x albon!fem!reader

fc: lyssieloooloo (from ig and TikTok)

requested: y - “What about something to do with all the pets the Albion’s have?? I think it would be super cute if George was trying to soft launch the relationship but because he’s such good friends with Alex people just assume that he’s hanging with the Albon family. And then it just culminates into either Albon!reader (or maybe Alex😂) just getting tried of George’s moping that his long planned out soft launch isn’t going to plan so they just decide to hard launch.”

a/n: a little something to lighten to mood xx— ps happy non-red bull podium!!

f1updates

liked by albon_pets, gr63updates, lilyandalexlover, & 6,794 others.

f1updates: it seems like George is hanging out with the Albon’s this weekend after Silverstone! he posted this cute picture of an albon cat ☺️

400 comments

f1lover22: I love that George and Alex hang out!

charleslechair: Alex and George two besties that can’t be separated

alblondo: is that y/n?! that’s so cute that George is friends with all of his sisters

princessgeorge: I’m also p sure that’s y/n’s cat juniper!

—

he sits cross legged in the chair, juniper sound asleep in his lap while he scrolls through Instagram for inspiration of his next launch. the last one was an ultimate fail considering half of formula one fans believed he was just hanging out with Alex. didn’t they know juniper was your cat?

“what’s got you so consumed online?” you peer over his shoulder, he’s searched high and low on the instagram tag ‘#softlaunch’ and it makes you giggle that he’s warped into introducing you properly to his instagram.

“why don’t you just post a picture of me and juniper? that way it looks more like you’re hanging out with me than with Alex.” you take the sleeping cat out of his lap, an alarmed grunt comes from her lips as you hold her in your arms for a picture.

“that outta do it right? Alex is nowhere to be seen.”

—

georgerussell63

liked by alexalbon, lilymhe, y/nalbon, & 77,931 others.

georgerussell63: spent some well needed time off

509 comments

albon_pets: 🐱❤️

maxverclerc: omg did George spend the weekend with the Albons?!

lewrussell: obsessed over that he and the albon siblings are friends

mercedesgeorge: everyday George proves more and more that he and Alex are still besties

—

“I don’t get it, why does everyone think we are friends?”

“well to be fair you did post a picture from junipers birthday party and everyone remembers that day.” you say it in a matter of fact tone that makes him groan as he scrolls through the comments.

albonlover: george was adopted by the albon family and I think that’s so cute

britcedes63: does he regularly hang out with them? I wouldn’t be surprised! he and Alex are really close

he shuts off his phone and watches you play with juniper. the fish on the stick being her worst enemy as she attempts to tackle it down in the air when a brilliant idea comes to his mind.

“why don’t you post me? that way everyone will be suspicious on who you’re dating!”

you roll your eyes playfully at his comment, but when you look over at him he’s handing you your phone to take a picture of him and juniper.

“if this will make you happy, then why not?”

—

f1gossiplover

liked by russbuss63, checorbr, yukisuzuka, & 7,250 others.

f1gossiplover: photo submitted by anonymous! y/n albon seems to have a new man who looks awfully similar to George?? what’s everyone’s thoughts!

300 comments

hamilton44: that’s not George that’s some imposter

gaslycharles: too short to be George

gr63babes: I know George and that’s not him

—

“what do they mean that’s not me?! that’s so clearly me in the picture.” he huffs in annoyance, phone balanced against his water bottle as he eats breakfast. the recent topic of your posts for each other is all he seems to be able to talk about, and you’d had enough. you’d really thought that semi hard launch would’ve been enough to make fans suspicious, but nobody budged.

you curse Alex for being such close friends to George, that way it was ten times harder for you to actually post the relationship like normal couples.

“why does it matter so much to you again?” you sit beside him, reaching over you take his phone and toss it into the empty chair beside you. he’d spent enough time on the device than paying attention to you.

“I just want to do it right. I don’t want to hard launch you and you realize it was too soon.”

you smile at his concerns and reach to grab his hand, “you’re too cute, Georgie, but truthfully I don’t care how you post me, but it seems to be upsetting you very much, so I have an idea.”

—

y/nalbon

liked by albon_pets, georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1, & 6,530 others.

y/nalbon: juniper enjoyed some sun with her dad @ Georgerussell63

300 comments

albon_pets: uncle George has been promoted!

georgerussell63: daddy loves you juni!

roscoelovescoco: playdate soon?

mercedesamgf1: petition for juniper to join us in the paddock?

williamsracing: not on our watch!

lewishamilton: where do I sign up to get me and Roscoe matching sweaters?

alexalbon: don’t hold your breath she’s still making George and me our matching jumpers

tags: (sorry to lazy to tag everyone just gonna tag a few) @monzabee @lovelytsunoda @oconso @motorsp0rt

[lecsainz]

paddock encounters

pairings: toto wolff x daughter!reader / ollie bearman x wolff!reader / lewis hamilton x wolff!reader / george russell x wolff!reader / paul aron x wolff!reader

warnings: bumps in the paddock, lewis and george being like older brothers to Y/N and paul being the friend everyone has.

authors note: i just wanted to write something about ollie so that's it.

word count: 986

Y/N Wolff was sitting in the back seat of the car, on her way to the British Grand Prix at Silverstone with her dad, Toto Wolff, her stepmom, Susie, and her little brother Jack. As they drove through the English countryside, they chatted excitedly about the race ahead.

"So, Y/N, who are you rooting for today?" asked Toto, glancing back at his daughter in the rearview mirror.

"I don't know," replied Y/N with a shrug. "I guess I'll be happy as long as a Mercedes driver wins."

Susie chuckled. "You're biased, Y/N. But I can't blame you for that. It's in the family DNA."

Jack piped up from his car seat. "I want Lewis to win! He's my favorite!"

Y/N smiled indulgently at her little brother. "Lewis is pretty awesome, isn't he?"

Just then, the car pulled into the parking lot at Silverstone. As they got out of the car and made their way towards the paddock, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. This was her world, the world of formula 1.

As they walked through the paddock, Y/N spotted George Russell and Lewis Hamilton, the two Mercedes drivers, chatting with some fans. She grinned and waved at them, and they waved back.

"Hey, guys!" called Y/N, running over to them. "How's it going?"

"Good, good," replied Lewis with a smile. "Excited for the race?"

"You know it," said Y/N, grinning. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

George Russell chuckled. "You're a true petrolhead, Y/N. You're going to end up working in this sport someday."

Y/N blushed slightly at the compliment. "Maybe I will. It's always been my dream."

As they chatted, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. These were her people, the drivers, the fans, the mechanics, the journalists. She had grown up in this world, and it felt like home.

She wandered around the paddock, taking in the sights and sounds of the British Grand Prix. As Y/N turned a corner, she bumped into someone and stumbled back.

"Oh, sorry about that." said Y/N, looking up to see a tall, lanky guy with curly hair.

"No problem," said the guy, smiling. "I'm Ollie."

"I'm Y/N," said Y/N, returning the smile. "Nice to meet you."

They stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"So, are you a fan of the sport?" asked Ollie, gesturing towards the track.

Y/N nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I grew up in the world of f1. My dad's the boss of the Mercedes team."

"Wow, that's cool." said Ollie, looking impressed. "I'm actually a driver myself. I race in formula 2 for Prema and the Ferrari Academy."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. "No way! That's amazing. I haven't really followed f2 that closely, but maybe I should start."

Ollie chuckled. "Yeah, maybe you should. We're the future of the sport, you know."

Y/N grinned. "I wouldn't doubt it. So, are you excited for your race later?"

Ollie nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. It's my home race, so I'm hoping for a good result."

Y/N smiled. "Well, I'll be sure to keep an eye out for you. Good luck!"

"Thanks." said Ollie, waving as he walked away.

As Y/N watched him go, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. When she walked away, Lewis and George spotted her from a distance and exchanged knowing looks.

"Looks like our little Y/N has made a new friend." said Lewis with a smirk.

George chuckled. "Yeah, I bet Toto will be thrilled to hear that she's talking to one of the Ferrari Academy drivers."

Toto, who had been standing nearby, overheard their conversation and raised an eyebrow. "What are you two going on about?"

Lewis and George turned to face him, still wearing amused expressions. "Oh, just that Y/N's been chatting up Ollie Bearman." said Lewis.

Toto looked surprised. "Really? I didn't even know she knew who he was."

George shrugged. "Well, I don't think she did. But she seems to have taken a liking to him."

Lewis grinned. "Maybe we should start calling her 'Ferrari Girl' instead of 'Mercedes Girl'."

Toto shook his head, chuckling. "You two are ridiculous. Let's just hope that this new friendship doesn't distract her too much from her schoolwork."

As they walked away, Toto couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at how well Y/N had integrated into the world of f1. He knew that she had a bright future ahead of her, and he couldn't wait to see where her passion for the sport would take her.

A few days had passed since Y/N had met Ollie in the paddock, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. She had even asked Lewis and George if they knew anything about him, but they had just teased her about her crush.

One day, she was talking with Paul Aron, another driver in the Prema and Mercedes Academy programs. They were discussing the latest f1 race when Y/N brought up Ollie.

"You know Ollie Bearman, right?" she asked Paul.

Paul nodded. "Yeah, we've crossed paths a few times. He's a pretty cool guy."

"He seemed really nice when I talked to him." said Y/N. "Do you happen to have his phone number or something?"

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want his number?"

Y/N blushed. "I don't know, I just thought it would be cool to talk to him again. He seemed really interesting."

Paul chuckled. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. No promises, though."

A few days later, Ollie received a message from an unknown number. It was Y/N.

Y/N: “Hey, it's Y/N. Paul gave me your number. How's it going?”

Y/N's heart raced as he replied.

Ollie: “Hey, it's going well! How about you?”

And so began a new chapter in Y/N's life - a friendship (or maybe something more?) with Ollie Bearman. She didn't know where it would lead, but she was excited to find out.

[f1daydreamer]

Quiet With You

---

The hum of the city below was muffled by the thick hotel windows, but you could still make out the occasional honk, the distant purr of supercars speeding through the streets, and the never-ending buzz of Singapore nightlife. Lights danced across the skyline, golden reflections flickering across the walls of the penthouse suite.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, dressed in one of George’s black Mercedes tees, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. You were scrolling aimlessly through your phone, but your thoughts kept drifting to him—George.

He had disappeared into the bathroom twenty minutes ago, muttering something about needing a shower to shake off the day.

You could tell the day had been hard on him, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

The missed pole position. The car tweaks that hadn’t worked out. The pressure. The media questions. The constant expectation to smile, be polite, and carry the weight of a team on his back.

It was his job. His dream.

But sometimes… it was heavy.

And sometimes, he just needed to be held in a quiet room by someone who saw George—not the driver, not the face on screens or posters—but him.

The sound of the bathroom door opening drew your attention, and your gaze snapped upward.

There he was—hair damp, curls clinging to his forehead, towel slung low on his hips. His tall frame moved slowly, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” you asked softly, voice cutting through the silence like a whisper in the dark.

He nodded, but it was too quick. Too automatic.

You closed your phone and set it aside.

George crossed the room, dropped the towel on a nearby chair, and pulled on a pair of black joggers before walking toward you. The overhead lights made his skin glow, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything—just stood there, gazing at you like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“C’mere,” you said gently, scooting over on the bed and holding your arms open.

Without a word, he slipped beneath the covers, pressing his chest against your back and wrapping both arms around you tightly. You felt the weight of him then—physically, emotionally. He buried his face in your neck and let out a long, quiet exhale.

You stroked his arm, your fingers drawing soft patterns across his skin. “Tough day?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just held you tighter.

Then: “Yeah.”

The word was strained, broken.

You turned in his arms to face him, your nose brushing his. He looked tired—more than just physically. His eyes were distant, jaw tight.

“I couldn’t get the setup right today,” he finally said, voice hoarse. “The rear felt floaty, and no matter how much we adjusted, it still didn’t give me confidence. Then I over-drove into Turn 7 during the final run. Locked up. Ruined my lap.”

“You’re allowed to have bad days,” you said gently, reaching up to push a damp curl off his forehead. “Even superheroes get tired.”

“I can’t afford to have bad days. Not at this level.”

“You’re not a machine, George.”

“No, but sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be.” His jaw flexed. “It’s just—every time I’m close, something slips. And I’m left wondering if I’m ever going to get it right.”

You could hear the frustration in his voice, the self-doubt eating at the edges. He was always so composed in front of everyone else. Calm. Polite. The gentleman racer.

But with you, he let the cracks show.

And God, your heart ached for him.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you whispered. “Or to anyone, really. You’ve already shown the world who you are. Let them talk. Let them compare. At the end of the day, you’re still the one out there risking everything.”

He looked down, eyes on the space between your bodies. His hand found your waist, warm and familiar. “It’s like I’m chasing something I can’t quite touch.”

You leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Then let yourself stop chasing—just for tonight. Be here with me.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, something softening in them.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “You deserve more than I can ever give.”

His hand slid up your back, tracing your spine. “You give me peace. That’s more than anyone ever has.”

The room went quiet again, wrapped in that rare stillness that only came with being truly seen. You shifted to straddle his lap, your legs bracketing his hips, and George’s hands instinctively rested on your thighs.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his.

“Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and fight again,” you whispered. “But tonight, let me take care of you.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded.

You kissed him then—slow and deep. Not rushed, not demanding. Just two souls needing one another in a world that never stopped spinning.

George’s hands slid up beneath the hem of his shirt you wore, palms skimming along your back, grounding himself with the feel of you. You felt him melt into it, like your touch was the only thing keeping him anchored.

“I wish we had more nights like this,” he said against your lips. “Just us. No schedule. No expectations.”

“One day,” you promised, brushing your nose against his. “Until then, I’ll steal every quiet moment I can.”

He smiled, finally—a soft, genuine smile that made your chest tighten with love.

“I don’t say it enough,” he murmured. “But I love you. More than I ever thought possible.”

Your breath caught, though you'd heard him say those words before, it always felt like the first time.

You kissed him again, your hand cradling the back of his neck. “I love you too. Every version of you. Even the frustrated, tired one with messy hair.”

He chuckled, pulling you even closer.

You stayed like that for a long while—wrapped around each other, tangled limbs and shared breath. The outside world faded, replaced by the sound of your hearts beating in tandem.

Eventually, George shifted beneath you, laying back against the pillows and pulling you with him, your cheek resting against his chest.

“Stay here,” he said quietly. “Even when the world gets loud again.”

“I will,” you whispered. “Always.”

And as the city lights flickered against the windows, casting golden halos across the room, you both fell asleep—not as a driver and his escape, not as two people defined by the demands of the world—but simply as George and the one he loved.

---

[vroomvroommuppett]

four

andrew garfield x ex!wolff oc & george russell x wolff!oc

taglist

masterlist

kofi

pateron

send an ask or reblog to tell me what you think, and/or what you think could happen

likes, reblogs and comments are encouraged!

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

ellawolffprivate

liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintlmeux, and others

ellawolffprivate bean you are so loved

maxverstappen1 Awwwww soft Ella

ellawolffprivate you want to try again, maximillian? maxverstappen1 no ma'am continue as you were georgerussell63 She hasn't had her one cup of caffeine yet. ellawolffpriavate and where is it? georgerussell63 Line is taking forever.

alexandrasaintlmeux next race we need to go shopping for baby clothes

ellawolffprivate and maternity clothes. i can't go to races in sweats flavy.barla yes!! francisca.cgomez count me in! lilymhe yes please! lilyznemier i wasn't going to be at that one but now i will oscarpiastri Wow. Ditched by my own girlfriend. ellawolffprivate don't take it personal, pastry. she loves me more charles_leclerc I've just learned to accept it estebanocon Same pierregasly Me three alex_albon Same ellawolffprivate at least you know your places

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

ellawolff

liked by alexwarren, mercedesamgf1, and others

ellawolff so excited to announce one of my projects! thank you alex for letting me choreograph and be in it! (she's the girl in the thumbnail)

tagged: alexwarren

alexwarren Thank you for being in it and choreographing!

user1 this is amazing!

user2 what can't she do?

mercedesamgf1 THATS OUR MINI BOSS

alex_albon Amazing!

flavy.barla YES ELLA!

estebanocon This is so good!

susiewolff Proud of you honey!

ellawolff thank you mom

lilymhe ooh you need to teach us a dance!

ellawolff let me get through the pregnancy and yes i will

alexandrasaintlmeux wifey

ellawolff only one for me charles_leclerc She's my girlfriend ellawolff but my wife

georgerussell63 So proud!

ellawolff thanks georgie poo georgerussell63 Not my name.

load more comments

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

tag list @raizelchrysanderoctavius @swiftholic-13 @sya-skies @barcelonaloverf1life @formulaal @ilivbullyingjeongin @daemyratwst @stupid---person @obsessed-fan-alert @boiohboii @novelswithariana @nichmeddar @magical-spit @lady-laura-speaks @2pagenumb @motorsp0rt @dark-night-sky-99 @daemyratwst @callsignwidow @d3kstar @exotic-iris13 @xoscar03 @eternalharry @that-aesthetic-chic

[chilling-seavey]

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —THIRTEEN

↳ A/N A little lunch and learning some more George lore ;)

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 5.5k

↳ Chapter Warnings: None

The weather was warmer than it had been all year that particular Saturday. Rosaline was comfortable in her skirt and blouse, her jacket folded over her arm, as she lingered in the well-kept grounds of Blenheim Palace, awaiting the arrival of her company. Despite her love for history, she had never had the chance to visit Britain’s historic treasure; an impressive 18th-century castle nestled in the countryside just a quarter-hour drive north-west of Oxford. She hadn’t even stepped foot in the Palace yet and she already had her breath taken by the impressive architecture, rendering it in her mind as the Versailles of England. 

Birdsong accompanied her waiting as she meandered down winding pathways lined with shrubbery and pristine gardens of blossoming flowers, gravel crunching under her feet with every step. Other visitors walked past her, sharing polite head-nods or ‘good morning’s, each dressed just as nicely for a morning stroll at such a location. Slacks, collared shirts, spring dresses—Rosaline felt right at home.

The buzz of her phone in her hand pulled her from her wandering mind and she peeked at the screen to reveal a text from George. 

G: You look beautiful today

Rosaline smiled at the message and then looked up from her phone and scanned the gardens to see if she could see him. Her free hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun as she turned towards the palace. There, George’s familiar figure stood atop the slight embankment along the side of the Water Terraces Garden where she had been exploring. When she spotted him, he grinned and raised his hand up for a modest wave. She waved right back.

George waited for her as she headed to join him and she tried not to rush as she climbed the few steps up to the main walkway. She couldn’t help but notice his striped collared shirt tucked into slacks—not an unlikely outfit to see him wear—but the addition of the white cashmere sweater draped over his shoulders and tied pristinely over his chest added an air of casual outside of his usual lecturing suits. For a moment, Rosaline thought he looked younger like that; but perhaps it was the combination of the light coloured fabric and the bright spring sun.

“Good morning,” he greeted her with a handsome smile. He set his hand on her arm and leaned in to press a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Good morning,” Rosaline echoed, trying not to let her words falter from the pleasant surprise of his kiss. 

His hand lingered on her arm even as he stepped back, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her bicep just under the sleeve of her blouse. In a gentle voice, he apologized, “Hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, I forgot how far the parking lot is.”

Rosaline waved her hand as if to brush aside his concern, “No, you’re fine. It was nice to wander the gardens anyway.”

“I would have picked you up at your dorm but…you know how it is.”

The reminder of their risky relationship didn’t go unnoticed by Rosaline, but she shrugged with a casual smile, “It’s okay. I don’t mind the bus anyway.”

George’s eyebrows raised, “Oh, I don’t think anyone has ever said that before.”

They shared faint laughter for a fleeting moment. 

Then, he gestured towards the palace, “Shall we, then?”

She smiled at him, nudging her glasses up her nose with the back of her index finger, and agreed with a sweet, “We shall.”

The entirety of Blenheim Palace was a historic relic and most of the rooms could be explored either with a tour guide or individually and, since George was arguably a walking encyclopedia, they chose to explore on their own. With tickets purchased in the main hall, George then led the way into the first collection of ornately decorated rooms lined with expensive portraits and custom furniture pieces from centuries ago. 

It was quiet in the palace; other tour groups speaking in hushed tones and walking in slow, gentle steps to respect the delicateness of the space. Floorboards creaked here or there and the lofty ceilings carried even the slightest of whispers across the elaborately decorated rooms and the heaviness of a space weighed down by years of history lingered all around them. 

Meandering side by side through one of the rooms, George and Rosaline took in the grandeur of the gold trimmed furnishings in peaceful silence. She peered up at the intricate carvings on the crown moulding around the perimeter of the room, admiring every detail.

“For the grandeur of this place, it was built for relatively cheap,” George explained quietly. When Rosaline looked over at him, as if wanting to know more, he continued, “It only cost a total of roughly £300,000 back in the 18th century.”

Rosaline’s eyes widened in surprise and she gestured her hand around, “For all this?”

“It’s been renovated on and off since but, yes, the integrity of the palace and a majority of its design and architecture is the same.” George answered without hesitation, “It’s a World Historic Site too.”

“I didn’t know you knew history just as well as you knew literature.” Rosaline teased lightheartedly as they walked through to the next room. 

George shrugged modestly, his hands held behind his back as they took in the sights of the space around them, “Somewhat. History and classic literature often go hand in hand anyway.”

“Can’t know one without the other, really.” Rosaline added.

He glanced at her with a genuine smile, as if in awe of her, “Exactly.”

There was a momentary pause as they took in the new room they found themselves in. 

Then, George added, “I also just really love Blenheim. It’s not far from Oxford so it’s worth the drive up to sit in the gardens and read or grade papers.”

“You’re like a love interest in one of those lovely literary classics, you know?” Rosaline complemented as they wandered aimlessly through the rooms of the palace, “Well dressed, well read, likes to sit in palace gardens…”

George’s lips turned up into a bashful smile and he glanced at her, “That’s some high praise, Miss Kent.”

“Just the truth,” Rosaline shrugged and followed it up with a playful, “You know I’m the best literary analyst in the class.”

George chuckled, the sound low and warm and it made her heart skip a beat. She smiled at him shamelessly as if making him laugh was the pride of her existence, admiring the sight of his well crafted profile amongst the backdrop of golds and velvets. 

He nodded, humouring her with a light, “Yes, that is true.”

Rosaline stopped in the middle of the grand hall they had stepped foot in, surrounded by intricately carved stone columns that stretched up to the impressively high ceiling, supporting thick crown moulding around the trim of the arched ceiling. The emptiness of the vast space had their steps sounding like popping firecrackers over the marble floors, echoing upwards and to every corner of the hall. 

Directly above them, the domed ceiling donned a Renaissance style painting depicting flushing figures in well-preserved colours against a romantic backdrop. It was trimmed and circled in intricate gold, the ceiling arching upwards towards its frame to draw the eye to the composition. Rosaline found herself getting a slight ache in her neck from how long she stood there, staring at the ceiling and all the minute details of the grand hall. 

After a moment of appreciation, she followed George over to one section of the space where, along the wall, hung a collection of gold framed portraits, each depicting generations of the family that once resided in the palace walls. The two of them lingered in front of the small gallery, admiring the artistry of each brushstroke, side by side, silent. Rosaline’s attention was drawn to the nameplates, the name ‘Churchill’ standing out to her. 

“Is this the Churchill family?” she inquired in a whisper so as to not disrupt other visitors.

George, without taking his eyes away from the paintings, replied, “Yes, Sir Winston Churchill was born here in 1874; and back in the 18th century, it was gifted to his ancestors as a celebration of the Victory won over France in the Spanish Succession.”

Rosaline looked at him again, once again privy to the way his expression was relaxed in the presence of subjects he was passionate about, of things that brought his heart and mind satisfaction. His ease of recall in remembering all these facts had a smile pricking at her lips and she looked back at the paintings. She calmly replied, “I wish you could teach me every class. You make everything feel so interesting.”

“I think you’re a tad biased,” George glanced at her with a playful smirk. 

Rosaline scoffed and met his gaze, “Certainly not.”

“Well, I doubt I could make maths interesting.” he argued lightheartedly, “I reckon I’d put even myself to sleep with that one.”

“Oh, no,” Rosaline shook her head matter-of-factly as she looked back at the paintings like she was declaring nothing more than the evening news, “No one can make maths interesting. That would take a miracle worker.”

“I wouldn’t risk trying,” George replied.

When they naturally moved on from the Churchill family portraits, he set his hand on the small of her back to let her lead the way. Rosaline bit back her fond smile and kept her hands tucked under her light jacket she carried as if physically trying to stop herself from reaching out and touching him. Sure, they were safely away from Oxford but she still felt quite exposed exploring a museum with her professor on a Saturday. Forget that just earlier that week he had eaten her out to completion and then came all over her stomach. 

Rosaline’s instinctive clear of her throat to rid those thoughts from her head echoed through the grand hall. 

It was a given that George and Rosaline would inevitably find themselves in the library. Taking up almost a full length of the palace, the library stood just as grand as the rest of the interior, painted a nice calming yellow and accented with elaborate marble columns and trim. The ornate bookshelves were built out from the wall and stocked full of historic texts with gorgeous spines nestled behind dainty metallic mesh. At the far end of the library, all three walls were covered in bookshelves and a narrow ladder led to the mezzanine where another level of bookshelves lined the high walls. 

Rosaline and George stood in awe, peering up at the millions of words that surrounded them, bathed in the noonday sunshine streaking in through the arched windows at the top of the lofty space. The ornately painted and carved ceiling details towered above them, cocooning the centuries of books within those well preserved walls. 

They wandered closer to one of the shelves, knowing better than to touch the artifacts but desperately wanting to get a glimpse at any of the titles the library housed. As they peered through the thin metal mesh that protected the books, they both nearly held their breaths, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. 

Rosaline was so entranced that she didn’t notice the way George was staring at her more than the books. It wasn’t until his fingers brushed her hand that she was pulled back to reality with a hitch of her breath at his unexpected touch. She kept her focus on the books as if to play it off coolly that she wasn’t fazed by his sudden display of affection, even if she truly couldn’t focus on anything but. 

She relaxed her hand to welcome his into hers and she could feel the slight hesitation in his movements as he timidly intertwined his fingers with hers. Neither of them moved for a few long seconds as if what they were doing was horribly immoral and they would be stricken down at any moment. They kept their eyes forward, staring stupidly at the stocked bookshelves, hand in hand. Rosaline nibbled at her bottom lip. 

Then, George spoke, casually, “You know, this library holds more than ten-thousand books.”

Rosaline glanced at him when he spoke, his words cutting through their momentary uncertain tension. The familiarity of his fun facts had a relaxed smile pricking at the corner of her lips. Her hand eased into the comfort of his.

“I wonder how many we’ve read.”

Rosaline didn’t realize how clammy your palms could get after holding hands for so long. By the time they reached the Orangery Restaurant and the host showed them to their table, they had already finished an entire tour of the palace without separating their hands once. When they sat down across from each other, they separated, and Rosaline discreetly wiped her palm on her skirt under the table. 

George was peering out of the white trimmed windows overlooking the gardens as they settled at their table. The mid-day sun streaked in prettily through the glass and across the marble floors of the renovated orangery, the rays of light making George’s hair look almost blonde. Rosaline felt like she was dreaming. 

He had said this wasn’t necessarily a date but she figured it wouldn’t hurt anyone for her to silently pretend it was. Besides, he was a damn good option for her first ever date. 

A brief silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Rosaline took the opportunity to actually look at him, at the way the sunlight softened the usual sharpness of his features. He looked relaxed, like he was entirely at home. And so, so pretty. She captured her bottom lip between her teeth as she shamelessly admired him and his profile in the midday sunshine. 

After a moment, he turned his attention away from the gardens and back to her, “I still can’t believe you’ve never been here before. You’re the writer. I’d have thought a place like this would’ve called to you, especially with it being so close to Oxford.”

Rosaline picked up the menu in front of her but barely glanced at it, “I didn’t even know it existed. Clearly I need to get out of those dorms more.”

George smiled over at her, his own menu in hand, amusement flickering in his eyes, “I think we can work on that.”

“Mm,” Rosaline scrunched up her nose in playful doubt, replying with a sarcastic teasing, “I dunno, my Classic Literature professor is a real stickler with the assignments.”

George let out a breathy chuckle, “Oh, wow, he sounds like a right arse.”

“He’s okay,” she smiled back at him.

Their gazes lingered for a moment before they both looked down at their menus. Rosaline found herself rereading every item, unable to process what anything was saying; it was as if she was running so strongly on adrenaline and infatuation that her logical part of her brain was lagging behind. She reached for her water glass and took a sip to try and calm down for a moment. 

“See anything you fancy?” George asked her after a moment.

“Mm, it all looks great,” she answered as if any of the words actually processed in her brain. She nudged her glasses up her nose with the back of her index finger and turned it back on him, “What are you having?”

“Always the same thing,” said George with a smile, “Their fish and chips are the best I’ve had. And that’s saying something since I’ve sworn by the chip shop in my hometown for decades.”

Rosaline set her menu down, “I’ll have the same then.”

“A beautiful woman who has good taste; what a catch,” George praised.

She folded her arms on top of her menu, leaning towards him with playfully narrowed eyes, “Was that a fish pun?” 

George genuinely tossed his head back with a laugh, hand over his chest and everything, “Oh my gosh, not an intentional one.”

Laughter lingered between them, soft and easy, just as the waiter arrived to take their orders. When they were alone again and the menus were gone from in front of them and their drink orders had been quickly delivered, a momentary silence fell once again. George’s eyes drifted back out to the gardens, his arms folded calmly on the edge of the table. Rosaline lifted her glass of soda from the table and took a sip.

“So this chip shop in your hometown,” Rosaline started, swirling her straw around her glass absentmindedly, “Is it one of those mom-and-pop shops?”

As if thrilled by the chance to talk about his hometown, George turned back to her with a grin, “Yeah! Yeah, it is. My family got quite close with the owners over the years—this older couple with no kids of their own—and I frequented it often during secondary school. They always gave me a good discount. Saw me like a son, really.”

Rosaline smiled and set her glass back down to give him her undivided attention, “That’s sweet.”

George’s expression faltered for just a moment, his tone falling quieter, “I attended the husband’s funeral in the winter.”

“Oh,” Rosaline’s shoulders sank, “that’s heartbreaking.”

“Yeah, the wife sold the shop because she couldn’t keep it going on her own and she’s getting up there in age too. The new owners changed so much, it’s really not the same. But it will always exist in my memory; the crispy breading, thick-cut chips, the smell of grease on every surface.”

“The melancholy of growing older and being forced to accept that things are no longer what they used to be.”

George cocked his brow at her playfully to lighten the mood, “What do you know about getting older?” 

“Plenty,” she laughed lightly. 

“At the ripe age of, what, twenty-two?”

Rosaline folded her hands together under her chin, elbows on the table as she stared back at him, “Yes. I have my own life experiences.”

George just stared at her for a moment with a melancholy upturn to his lips and he spoke to her with a kindness that came with his twelve added years of experience, “You’ll have hundreds more and, someday, you’ll look back at yourself in this very moment and think about the million things you should have done differently.”

“No,” she insisted, “not this.”

He let out a soft breath as his face melted into a bit more of a smile. He unfolded his arms and reached across the table for two to take her hand from under her chin before guiding it by her fingers towards his mouth. Rosaline’s heart flipped in her chest as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her knuckles, his eyelashes closed gently atop his cheeks. 

When he looked at her again, he held her hand in both of his, thumbs gently rubbing over her skin. He didn’t offer a verbal reply, but she could see the honesty in his steadfast gaze. 

In that moment, Rosaline didn’t want to think of the possibility of a future without George in it. In all honesty, she had been so caught up in the ‘here and now’ of their agreement that she had forgotten to think ahead and what it would look like in the future…after graduation. She swallowed back those thoughts and kept staring back into his eyes, earning her another few gentle kisses to her knuckles by his soft lips. 

They separated by the time the waiter returned with their plates of crispy golden fish atop a heap of french fries and they passed the salt between them and took their time beginning to eat. Rosaline had to agree that it was arguably the best fish and chips she had in a while. 

She balanced eating with admiring her company, taking in every little detail down to the way he held his fork and knife and how he didn’t eat his chips with his fingers like almost everyone did. As he raised his fork with a spiered french fry on the end to his mouth, the sun caught the wristwatch peeking out from under his sleeve. He was always so put together, the perfect idealized man in her eyes. It made her wonder why he was still a bachelor in his mid-thirties. 

They ate in silence for a little while, Rosaline toying with whether or not it would be appropriate to ask such a question before, finally, she spoke, “Can I ask you something?”

George looked over at her as he lifted his glass from the table, “Of course.”

He kept his eyes on her as he took a sip.

“You don’t have to answer,” she assured.

“Try me,” he pressed. 

Rosaline dropped her hands to the side of her plate, willing herself to speak, “Do you…you’re single, right?”

She internally cringed at how awkward it came out. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip to hide her grimace. 

George’s face bent into an amused smile and he set his glass back down on the table with a dull clunk, “Yes, I’m very much single. I would not be taking you out to my favourite sights or partaking in our agreement if I wasn’t.”

“Okay,” Rosaline nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Did you think I wasn’t single?” George questioned, cutting another piece of fish casually. 

Rosaline shrugged, “Just…hard to believe that you are.”

He glanced over at her again, “Why’s that?”

Rosaline huffed a nervous laugh at his obvious pressing for her confession and she shifted in her chair, “You’re just so…wonderful so it’s strange to think that no one has laid claim on you yet.”

George visibly melted at her soft words and he set his fork down to give the conversation his full attention, “You’re sweet, Rose.”

“It’s true,” she insisted, “I keep waiting for something to happen…some twist to reveal to me that all is not as I’ve been led to believe.”

“Well, I can promise I am single. I have been for about a year now.” he told her, genuinely, “And anything you want to know, I will tell you. I’m an open book to you.”

Rosaline shifted in place for a moment, weighing the options of things she could ask now that he had given her the okay. She nudged her glasses up her nose and crossed her legs under the table and started with the first question that lingered at the forefront of her mind, “Why did the last relationship end?”

George settled back into his chair as his gaze dropped to the tabletop, “Starting with the deep questions now, are you?”

Rosaline flushed, “Sorry, I—”

He politely waved his hand between them as if to brush aside her apology before he answered her question, “We were engaged, actually, for about a year, but I was so focused on my career, my research, my publications, giving everything in me to Oxford, that it got between us. I couldn’t give her the kind of work-life balance she expected of me.

“My career is something I’ve poured everything into, something I’ve worked tirelessly for. I just can’t imagine giving any of it up—not now, not ever. And if a partner can’t understand that, then that’s not the person for me.” George explained so eloquently, so calmly, the truth heavy in his words.

“I’m sorry,” Rosaline exhaled softly. “It must hurt when someone you love doesn’t understand your priorities.”

“It’s fine—it was a mutual agreement,” George shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

A brief silence lingered.

Then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, George added, “But she never read poetry.”

Rosaline smiled in dramatic shock, “Never? Maybe you dodged a bullet then.”

George laughed, “Perhaps so.”

He shared some more with her about his past, from his first little girlfriend in primary school to his awkward first kiss behind the aforementioned chip shop in his hometown. Although Rosaline enjoyed hearing his stories and learning about him, the evil glint of jealousy in knowing he had been with plenty of women in his past tugged at her heart.

So, once their plates were empty and cleared and they each dug their forks into the piece of pie to share, Rosaline turned the conversation to something lighter with a simple, “When’s your birthday?”

“My birthday?” George’s eyebrows raised in amused surprise at her question, his forkful of pie held in midair, “February 15th.”

“Oh, so it’s already passed.”

George smiled and took his bite of pie, “There will be another.”

After lunch, George insisted on paying, despite Rosaline’s protests to split the bill. She felt a twinge of discomfort, her desire to contribute stemming from her forced independence that she had grown accustomed to through her life, but his quiet insistence left no room for argument. The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering through the gardens of Blenheim Palace, hand in hand, discussing literature, their lives, and everything in between. It felt effortless, like something they’d been doing forever. Rosaline tried not to let herself get ahead of the moment.

They climbed into the front seat of George’s Mercedes together in anticipation to head back to Oxford. Rosaline glanced around the interior of the car with her hands folded on her lap, taking note of how pristine it all was, not even a speck of dust on the dashboard. It was something she hadn’t noticed before the last time he had driven her home, but perhaps, after the day they had just shared, she was starting to see more of who he was underneath his handsome exterior. 

As he turned the key in the ignition, George asked, “Should I drop you off at the dorms then?”

“Um,” Rosaline tucked her hair behind her ear as she tore her gaze away from admiring the car to look over at him. In reality, the concept of saying goodbye felt absolutely dreadful to her. She decided to try her luck, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

George’s eyes widened as if that was the last thing he had expected her to say. He blinked at her, processing, and she could almost see his brain hurriedly debating the pros and cons of such a situation. She opened her mouth to take it back, but he spoke first.

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” she exhaled with a smile she tried to bite back to avoid looking absolutely psycho, “if that’s okay with you.”

“Should be,” George nodded as he buckled his seatbelt, “Just…no getting any ideas, okay? That’s not what I wanted out of today.”

“Fine with me,” Rosaline agreed. She’d give anything just to spend as much time with him as possible. 

They drove through the countryside back to Oxford to the soft sounds of radio. They didn’t talk—having done enough of that during their time at the Palace—but the calmness of the drive was relaxing. Rosaline kept stealing glances over at George as he drove, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the centre console. He looked so effortlessly handsome and suddenly the idea that she was going to be staying the night at his house had butterflies filling her stomach.

It helped that she had been to his house before, almost a sense of familiarity easing the slight nervousness inside her as he pulled into the narrow driveway and parked. She peered through the windshield up at the modest white paneled townhouse as they unbuckled and she followed him up the front steps to the jingling of his keys in hand. 

He apologized for the mess, not having expected to have company, but in reality, there didn’t look to be much mess at all. It simply looked homely, lived in, with items on the coffee table and mail stacked on the foyer console. 

She followed him into the kitchen and he offered her something to drink like a good host and, with her glass of water in hand, she stood with him as he made something simple for dinner. Their conversation flowed naturally, laughter filling the room with warmth and their voices carrying through the main floor when the topic got more exciting. 

Once the pan was in the oven, Rosaline found her way in front of him, trapping him against the counter as her hands helped themselves around his waist. He didn’t push her away—he never did—and, instead, his fingers stroked through the ends of her soft hair as he stared into her eyes. They shared a few slow, lingering kisses in the privacy of his kitchen after a long day of going without. 

His hands felt so good on her body, even in all the innocent places he touched over her hips and her back, and Rosaline’s arms draped around his shoulders until they were chest to chest. It was sweet and languid and yet it still had her heart absolutely racing with every small sound of their lips meeting and parting. She swore she could have kissed him forever. The timer on the oven broke them out of their reverie with a startle. 

They sat at the kitchen table and each had a serving of the shepherd’s pie he made; a family recipe that his mum used to always make when he was a kid. It was a little dry but Rosaline didn’t offer a single complaint, it was still overall quite tasty. Besides, she was his guest and it wasn’t like it was realistic for him to be good at everything. 

After eating, they shared the responsibility of washing the dishes (even if George insisted that she didn’t have to help) and then cuddled up together on the couch in the living room to watch a movie. Rosaline was impressed with herself at her ability to act normal and not let her hands go wandering. In fact, she was enjoying herself so much just being with him that there wasn’t even much of a need for anything more. 

When the film was over and the night was coming to a close, Rosaline followed him up to the second floor and he showed her where the bathroom was, right at the top of the stairs, and then the small guest room and, finally, his bedroom. Situated at the front of the house, his bedroom was painted a deep royal blue with matching trim to that of the main floor, housing gold framed paintings here and there along the walls. Dark furniture and an antique paisley rug filled the modest space with a matching masculine bedspread tucked neatly over the sizable queen size bed and topped with two throw pillows. Warm, elegant, homey, him. 

“It’s up to you if you want to stay in the guest room or in here with me,” George told her from the doorway, “No pressure.”

Rosaline turned to face him from the centre of his room, her cheeks dusted pink with the unfamiliar concept of sharing a bed with a man despite how much her heart yearned for it, “Can I stay in here?”

George smiled softly, “If you wish. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

He let her borrow some of his clothes for bed: sweats and a t-shirt that were only slightly too big on her. She changed in the bathroom and he, of course, didn’t bat an eye. Once they were both washed up, George took the responsibility of taking off the two decorative pillows from the bed and then moved to close the curtains. 

As he did so, Rosaline helped herself under the sheets and took off her glasses, folding them and setting them on the bedside table, and then snuggled down, pulling the covers up to her chin. After months of sleeping on a lumpy dorm mattress apart from the odd weekend at home, the feeling of a real bed was heavenly. She sighed dreamily, “Your bed is so cozy.”

George chuckled and pulled back the covers to join her on the other side of the bed, teasing lightly, “I’ve heard it’s even better with two people in it.”

She giggled, “Not that I’d know.”

George settled and turned his head to look at her with a smile, “Now you do.”

She met his gaze, illuminated only by the warm light of the bedside sconces and shadowed in some places. After a moment, she whispered, “Thank you for today. I loved it.”

George smiled genuinely, his eyes crinkling slightly in the corners, “My pleasure.”

Then, as if driven by instinct, Rosaline moved her body closer, the sheets rustling around them, and he lifted them up to welcome her against him. His arm settled around her waist and he let out a peaceful exhale against her head. 

“Are you a cuddler?” she asked with a small giggle. 

“Very much so,” he replied lightly. 

“Mm,” she shifted under his arm again, “show me how.”

George’s breathy chuckle fell against her temple, “Alright, face away from me. Hope you like being the little spoon.”

As Rosaline rolled over as per his instruction, she couldn’t help the leap of her heart at his words and the way he pulled her body back against his chest to mould to the shape of him. Once they settled, she replied with a simple yet cheeky,

“Guess we’ll see.”

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[futurewdclandonorris]

A Helping Hand | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: feeling frustrated, you go to George for some aid where he offers to help you blow off some steam

Warnings: smut

A/N: goodness, this is the most I've spent on proofreading, rewriting and editing than on any of my other fics, probably because I babied this idea for a long time 💀 and probably because I was sick for the past few days that I couldn't do anything else except thinking about George taking care of me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it 🥰

You were frustrated. The irritation was welling up inside you, and there was no telling why. And nothing going your way wasn’t helping either. But what it is that you always do whenever you feel like this?

You go to George.

George and you were best friends for as long as you could remember. He played enormous role in your life, in a way that you would often refer to him as an older brother. No one else even came close to being as important to you as he was. He was always there to listen when you needed to rant about something, and the two of you were just as comfortable sitting in silence as you were engaging in deep conversations. Today was no different.

You walked over to George's apartment, knowing that he wouldn't mind your unannounced visit. You knocked on the door and waited a few moments before he answered, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to vent about. The door opened, revealing George’s smiling face.

“Hey there, buddy,” he said, pulling you into a hug. “What’s got you so worked up?” he questioned upon seeing your slumped shoulders and frowning face.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I just know I’m feeling a lot and it’s not good.” you walked further into his apartment, running a hand through your hair.

George followed behind you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, "I don't even know what's bothering me. I'm just feeling so damn… restless." and leaned against his kitchen bar.

George nodded his head, eyes fixed on your face. He knew that look and the manner in which you spoke. George had experienced this before with you. You would continue to speak until the words dried up, and he knew it was in his best interest to listen attentively. And he wanted to do just that. To be a friend and not interrupt for once your thoughts were drifting by. He loved the feeling of neediness you gave him.

So you started to spill your troubles. From everything that happened to you since you woke up to this very moment in the afternoon. He listened patiently, nodding and frowning in all the right places. You continued to talk, your words flowing out in a jumbled mess as you tried to make sense of your emotions. George listened intently, offering words of encouragement when needed. As you spoke, he moved closer to you.

It wasn’t a subtle move, you very much noticed him getting up and walking up to you, caging you in between his arms he rested on the counter behind you. He bowed his head so that his eyes were in level with yours and leaned forward, the words dying on your lips as he did so. Your faces were now only inches away, the air around you charged.

“When was the last time you got laid?” he asked.

You were taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. “W-What?”

He took a step back, giving you space to breathe. “You, my friend, are sexually frustrated.”

You hadn't been with anyone in a while, he was right, like he always was, but “And how do you know that?” there was annoyance in your voice as you crossed your arms.

He sat down in one of his kitchen chairs, leaning on the table behind and legs spread lightly.  “How long have we been friends for?”

“Almost twenty years. Why?” you frowned, not really seeing the point of this conversation.

He gave a slight nod in agreement. “And in that long period of time you think I wouldn’t have learned your,” his gaze traveled up your body until it finally settled on your eyes, “body language?” his tongue clicked.

You swallowed hard, feeling the atmosphere between you two shift. There was definitely an undercurrent of something more, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to go there just yet.

“This-That has nothing to do with this.” you choked out.

“So you’re saying,” he moved his head from side to side. “If I offered you a solution you would say no?” his eyes found yours again and his gaze was piercing.

You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as George's eyes locked with yours. You had expected a hug or some words of comfort, not a proposition. You knew what he was insinuating, and part of you was tempted to take him up on his offer. But the other part of you was hesitant, unsure if you were ready to cross that line with him.

You had to admit, the idea was tempting. George was an attractive man, and you had always felt a certain level of chemistry between the two of you. But did you want to risk your friendship for a moment of physical release?

“I…”

Upon noticing your hesitation, George decided for you. “Come here.” he patted his thigh.

Bolts of electricity ran through your body  at his words. There was no denying that the idea of him taking care of you in that way was incredibly arousing. And before you made up your mind, your legs carried you over to him.

He took your arm, leading you in front of him. “Turn aroud. Sit down.” he instructed softly.

“On y-”

“Yes, y/n, on my lap.”

If he wanted to, he could pull you by the arms and just place you there, but he waited for you to slowly sit down yourself, resting your hands on his knees, your back to him.

“Good girl. Now,” he leaned forward, hugging your waist. “If in any moment you feel uncomfortable or just want to stop for whatever reason, I want you to tell me. Alright?”

“Okay.” you nodded, his intense stare more than you could handle.

You were familiar with being this close to George; you'd even slept in the same bed side-by-side without any issue. You had held each other before, but his touch was always comforting and platonic. This time however, something more hung in the air - an energy that made your heart race with anticipation.

“Good.” he kissed your tense shoulder.

George's hands caressed your body with practiced ease, gently running down your sides, across your abdomen, up and down your jean clothed thighs in order to help you relax. Gradually, you leaned into him, your breaths deeper. His lips smoothed over your neck and you let out an unwilling moan.

“You’re doing good.” he reassured and you nodded, affirming that you heard him.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, diving under to caress your stomach. They were warm, but your back arched on a sudden skin on skin contact. He stopped for a moment until you relaxed again. Moving upwards, his fingers grazed the lace of your bra before he glided his palms to cup them.

You gasped and bit your lip, surprised by the new sensation of his hands so close to your growing chest, and leaned back on him even more, your nipples hardening. You loved the way George touched you, the way he made you feel. His hands ran up and down between you and your bra, squeezing your globes. His lips found your ear, nibbling on its lobe before he spoke.

“You have a beautiful body.” he whispered huskily.

A shudder ran up your spine at the pure lust in his voice. His right hand slipped under the cup of your bra, freeing your breast. You didn’t protest, you felt good. Instead, you arched your back more, pressing your chest more against his hand. His thumb and forefinger found your nipple and pinched and pulled on it, making you moan.

George lowered his head and licked your neck, kissing it softly and nipping it occasionally. His left hand joined in the fun and massaged your other breast, pinching its nipple just as his right hand was doing. You clamped your eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of his touch.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

You leaned back once again, despite your best efforts. Now his right hand made its descend down your stomach, making you wriggle in his lap, and reached the button of your jeans. Popping it open, that’s when you opened your eyes as well.

“George,” you gulped and put your hand over his. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely,” he pulled you closer, pressing his lips reassuringly to your neck. “Are you not?”

“I’m just worried what it means to us, our friendship. I don’t want to ruin it.” you finally voiced your concerns.

“You won’t ruin it, babygirl.” he smoothed over your hair. “Friends help each other out, don’t they? You can look at it like that.”

“Yes, but…” We shouldn’t be doing this… you thought to yourself.

“We can stop if you-”

“No!” you were maybe a bit too quick to cut him off. “Let’s continue. I… I like it.” you could feel the heat rush into your cheeks.

He kissed your neck, working his way up to your ear. “I’m glad. Cause so do I.” his hand went back to what it was doing.

He pulled down your zipper, but didn’t push your pants down, exposing just your panties. His hand went back to your breasts, kneading them, feeling their weight. Every now and again his hand would brush past your nipple, sending tingles down your body.

You’re breathing was growing heavier, his hands were good at what they were doing and you didn’t want it to stop. He could feel you squirming in his lap, his smirk evident even though your head was turned.

“Someone’s excited.” he teased.

“S-Shut up.” you bit your lip, embarrassed.

His fingers dipped under the elastic line of your panties, and you were glad that you decided to shave that morning. His fingers ran over your mound slowly, feeling every curve, every spot. He circled around your clit, teasing you, before he moved further down, dipping one finger in a bit before pulling it back out.

You moaned and he chuckled. “You like that?” you nodded, trying to contain your moans. “You want me to continue?” you nodded again, too aroused to speak.

His fingers dipped deeper inside your folds, feeling the warm, wet sensation. When his fingers reached the bottom, he started to rub your entrance, pressing just a bit, sending pleasurable sparks through your body.

“Mhm,” he moaned into your ear, “my babygirl likes that.”

“Yes.” you shook your head, agreeing.

“Tell me.” he demanded.

“Yes, I like it. I want it.”

His finger pushed a bit further inside, and you bit your lower lip, unable to keep quiet. “You want what?” he asked in a low voice.

“I want it.” you said in a higher pitched voice, trying to sound like a grown woman. “I want your fingers inside of me.” you blushed.

“You want more?”

“Yes. Please.” you ground onto his finger, your hips following his thumb’s rhythm.

He pulled his hand out of your pants and you audibly expressed your dismay at the lack of contact. He responded by placing his hands on your hips and forcing you up off the chair. Tugging your jeans down, you stepped out of them and he was quick to pull you onto his lap once again. With a nudge from his knee, your thighs opened into a desirable position. His arm was securely locked around your waist, making sure that you wouldn't move away or slip off his lap.

“Now,” he played with your panties, pushing them aside. “You said you wanted more?”

“Yes, George. Please, George.” you whined.

“Only cause you said please.” he smirked and you could feel his teeth graze your skin.

His finger entered you again, slowly, stretching you, moving only an inch or so before pulling out again. When he felt that you were ready for more, he rhythmically started to finger you, gauging your reaction. His finger pushed a bit further in, making you squirm. He pulled it back out, a bit of your juices clinging to it before he thrust it back in. You gasped, feeling the full sensation of his finger inside of you. He added another finger, and you moaned, squirming on his lap, feeling so full. Your breathing had turned into moaning, echoing through the empty apartment in which you were in.

"Shh, babygirl, it's alright. You're doing good.” George’s free hand tangled in your hair, pulling it back, your exposed neck bared to him. He nibbled on it, biting and sucking, loving your reactions.

“Just, please, more.” you begged him.

“I don't think you're ready for that yet.”

His fingers became more insistent inside you, pushing deeper and deeper. He rubbed your g-spot, making your moans turn into pants.

“No, no, no, no.” you panted. “Please, just a bit more.”

“Would my babygirl like to come already?”

“Yes, please, I’m so close.” you said, almost crying, needing to come.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“George, please. I want it. I need it. Please.” you begged.

“God, I didn’t think hearing you beg would be such a turn on.” he confessed, his voice a deep rumble.

“Please, I need it. I need to come. I love it when you touch me like that. Please!” you were almost screaming by the end.

He went back on rubbing you, his fingers moving faster and faster. Slipping his thumb a few times inside you while his fingers were busy doing you, the other hand clamped on your hip for support. His thumb pushed in deeper, your juices coated it and he rubbed your g-spot with it, making you squeal.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” you said over and over again, panting.

“Come for me.” he hissed and his other hand wrapped around your throat, holding you gently.

You didn’t even need his encouragement, your whole body was aching for release. His fingers moved faster, rubbing your g-spot, his thumb pressing hard against it. You were soaked, his fingers gliding inside you. You moaned, louder than before, mumbling incoherently.

Your hips bucked on his lap and he held you in place, his fingers continuing their assault on your body. You were his toy, his play thing, and you enjoyed it more than you should have. You didn’t care anymore, you were drowning in pleasure, letting it consume you.

Lights burst behind your eyelids when you came, biting hard into your lip, muffling your screams. Your whole body relaxed from the pleasure, your arms giving out and you would have fallen if he had not held you. You leaned against him, recovering from your orgasm. Your head was laid on his chest and all you could hear was his breathing, slowing down.

When the orgasmic waves subsided, you became aware of your surroundings again and blushed.

“Th-thank you.” you stammered, chest still rising and falling visibly.

“You’re welcome.” he kissed your temple. “Feeling better now?”

“Yes.” you nodded.

“Glad I could help.” he said, his fingers playing with your hair, combing them through.

“You did, but George… This can’t happen again.” you finished, standing up to find your jeans. It was just an excuse to put some physical distance between you for you don’t think you could get the last part over your lips if you were still sitting on his lap.

“Oh,” was all he said. You couldn’t determine was he disappointed or the realization hit him.

“We are friends and I want it to stay that way. You are too important for me to lose over... such thing.” you zipped up your pants.

“I understand.” he said, his voice not betraying his true feelings.

You had expected it to be hard to say it, but it didn’t feel like a lie at all, it felt like the truth. It felt like the right thing to do.

“Thank you.”

He meekly nodded. “Do you want to stay over? We can watch tv or something…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay.” he smiled and you smiled back.

You spent the rest of the evening wrapped in blankets on his couch, laughing as you watched bad television shows and poking fun at the characters and plots. Between you two was no uneasiness; you were laughing together like earlier events hadn't happened. And that moment looked like a promise that, no matter what, nothing will ever change between you two.

Or so you thought...

Next part

[thewritingofspencerrose]

New Years Eve

George Russell x Alonso!Reader

camilaalonso_ bringing in the new year with those i love most 🤍

tagged georgerussell, fernandoalo_oficial, and amelierose

merc1fan love that we get a mercedes x aston crossover purely because alonso's daughter called george hot in one interview and he ran with it

lando norizz so, how is spending new years with your in-law georgie?

alex albono yeah, this is what? year two that you've spent with alonso right?

russell george we don't even know how this keeps happening cami and i just looked up and he was there he didn't even know we'd be at this party

sharl lechair i thought you were going to propose tonight?

russell george ...

alex albono she didn't say no did she??

lando norizz she wouldn't say no, she's been in love with him since we joined the grid

"Something on your mind Georgie?" I can't help but ask, noticing how he's been fiddling all night, now with his phone, even before we realized Papa was here.

"No, no, everything is okay, why do you ask?" is his question, eyes wide as they meet my own. "The boys were just asking how I always end up spending new years with your father," He jokes before I can even offer and answer.

And I can't help but laugh. How do we always end up with my father on this holiday?

"My father is a teenager in a 42 year old's body," is the explanation I can offer, him laughing and wrapping me in his arms, kissing the top of my head while the party continues around us.

"Can we step outside? Away from the chaos?" His whispers reach my ears, his breath hot against the side of my head.

"Yeah, of course, are you sure you're okay, mi coraźon? You look a little red?"

I reach up to feel his forehead, but he catches my hand, kissing my palm before linking our hands, his body creating the path for us as I follow.

It's cold outside, the snow on the ground emphasizing the time of year that we find ourselves in as the clock ticks closer to midnight.

15 minutes, that's all that stands between us and the new year.

I can't help but shiver, it's my favorite time of year yet my body will never adjust to the temperatures after living in Monaco for a couple years.

"Here," Georgie prompts, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over my shoulders. "Can't have you starting the new year with a cold, now can we Love?"

"Thank you," Is my whispered response, pulling him to lean over the railing, eyes set on the snowy expanse of the country club, what is golf greens in the summer now just a blanket.

I can feel George moving away and I miss the heat he offered by just being beside me, my personal furnace for the last three years.

"Cami?"

Turning around at my name, every thought is leaves my mind at the sight in front of me.

"Camila Jade Alonso," George begins again, down on one knee with a box in one hand, his other reaching out for my own. "You have allowed me to be by your side for three years, four if you count the year I spent trying to convince your father to let me be with you," He reminisces, the both of us chuckling at the memory of a 2021 George trying everything in his power to get 'the great Fernando Alonso' to even acknowledge him outside the track, let alone date his daughter.

"From the moment I met you, I knew you would be the most important person in my life, and I can say one thing with certainty. Amor, eres el amor de mi vida y quiero seguir amándote hasta el día de mi muerte. ¿Quieres casarte conmigo? (Love, you are the love of my life and I want to continue loving you until the day I die. Will you marry me?)"

I've been nodding for the last minute, tears rolling down my cheeks as I hold a hand over my mouth to stop my cries from interrupting his sweet words.

Georgie stands, thumb coming up to brush the tears from my face with a smile brighter than the nights fireworks.

"So would that be a yes?"

"En cada vida diría sí a ser tu esposa (in every lifetime i would say yes to being your wife)."

"Cami, my knowledge of Spanish extends enough to only cover the words in my proposal and the curse words your father calls me from time to time," He reminds with a laugh, although you can tell my lack of a verbal answer is making him anxious.

"George William Russell," I begin again, running my hand through his hair. "In every lifetime I would say yes to being your wife."

"I was hoping that was your answer," He whispers, taking my hand to place the ring on, both of us smiling brightly as he looks back up to my face, bringing me into a kiss.

"I love you George Russell."

"Te quiero mas Camila pronto a ser Russell (I love you more Camila soon-to-be Russell)."

russell george she didn't say no, i hadn't asked her yet you're talking to a newly engaged man, boys

[henryrussell63]

Happy pride month everyone!

[veevettel]

MY FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

before you read: check ABOUT MY WORKS to make sure you don't miss anything. let me remind you that everything you see in here is real person fiction (rpf) and any similarity or coincidence with real life is just that, a mere coincidence, but everything is fictional.

WHERE WE ARE SAGA 01. COME WHAT MAY | Sebastian Vettel 02. OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN | Lewis Hamilton 03. NOT A TROPE | Max Verstappen 04. WAY BACK HOME | George Russell 05. ONE CALL AWAY | Oscar Piastri

SECOND CHANCES SAGA 01. LET IT BE | Sebastian Vettel 02. SHARED BED KISSES | Charles Leclerc 03. START FROM SCRATCH | Mick Schumacher 04. ONCE UPON A DREAM | Max Verstappen 05. FAR FROM FICTION | Lewis Hamilton

[lecsainz]

Back to December

pairings: lando norris x fem!¡reader / mentions fem!¡reader x george russell

warnings: mentions of cheated and english is not my first language

authors note: I was inspired by Taylor's song 'Back to December'. I'm not used to writing this style, but I decided to give it a try. Well, I hope you like it.

word count: 950

Lando Norris saw her from across the paddock, standing there with George Russell. It had been months since they last spoke, but seeing her again brought back a flood of memories.

He made his way over to her, his heart racing as he tried to think of something to say.

"Hey, Y/N," he said softly.

She turned to look at him, her expression guarded. "Lando," she said coolly.

He hesitated, unsure of what to say next. "How have you been?" he asked finally.

"I've been good," she said, her eyes flickering over to George.

"George," Lando greets him and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as George placed a hand on Y/N's waist, pulling her closer.

Lando felt a pang of jealousy, mixed with regret. He remembered the way he had hurt her when they were together, and now he was seeing her with someone else.

"I'm happy for you," he said, forcing a smile.

Y/N looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his face. "Are you?" she asked quietly.

Lando shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I'm not. I messed things up with you, and now I see you with someone else..."

He trailed off, feeling a lump form in his throat. Y/N looked at him with a mixture of sadness and understanding.

"I forgave you a long time ago, Lando," she said gently. "But that doesn't mean I forgot. It just means I chose to move on."

Lando nodded, feeling the weight of his mistakes heavy on his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said again. "For everything."

Y/N smiled slightly, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I know you are," she said. "But sometimes sorry isn't enough."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, the air thick with unresolved emotions. George looked between them, unsure of what to do.

"I should probably get going," Y/N said finally, breaking the tension. "It was good seeing you, Lando."

"Goodbye, Y/N," Lando said, his heart heavy as he watched her walk away with Russell.

He knew that he had lost her for good, and it was a painful reminder of the mistakes he had made.

Lando tried to focus on his race, he tried to leave behind the pain of seeing his ex-girlfriend with another driver. He knew he needed to concentrate on the race, but he couldn't help the images in his head. He remembered the moments they spent together and how everything seemed perfect. But he ruined it all when he cheated on her.

As he prepared for the race, Lando tried to focus on his team's instructions. He felt a lump in his throat as he looked out at the crowd and imagined Y/N cheering for George, who she was with now. He felt like he was losing everything.

The race began and Lando tried to focus on the task at hand. He fought hard to climb the ranks, but something was off. He made some mistakes, losing time and falling even further behind in the rankings. He knew his team expected more from him.

In the end, Lando finished the race in a humiliating tenth place. He got out of the car and walked back to the pits with his head down. His team tried to cheer him up, but he wasn't interested. All he could think about was Y/N and what could have been if he hadn't cheated on her.

He knew he needed to move on, but he didn't know how. He wondered if he would ever be able to forgive himself for what he did.

Lando was sitting on the couch in his room in the McLaren paddock, staring at his phone with a heavy heart. He took a deep breath and dialed his ex-girlfriend's number, hoping that she would answer.

"Hello?" a hesitant voice answered.

"Hey, it's me," Lando said, trying to keep his voice steady.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again. "What do you want, Lando?"

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," Lando said, his voice breaking slightly. "I'm sorry for what happened between us. I wish I could go back in time and change things, but I can't."

There was another long pause before she spoke again. "It's too late for apologies, Lando."

Lando swallowed hard, feeling the sting of her words. "I know, I know. I just wanted to let you know that I still care about you and I'm sorry for everything."

There was silence on the other end of the line before she finally spoke again. "I appreciate the apology, Lando. But I think it's time for us to move on. Goodbye."

Lando sighed and hung up the phone, feeling a sense of sadness wash over him. He couldn't help but think back to the happier times they shared, the times when they were in love and everything was perfect.

He remembered the way she smiled at him, the way her skin felt against his, and the sound of her laughter. He missed her so much, but he knew that he had messed up and it was too late to fix things.

Lando knew that he couldn't go back in time and change things, but he couldn't help but wish that he could. He missed her so much, and he knew that he would always regret losing her.

As he sat there, lost in thought, he couldn't help but wonder if she still cared about him too. But he knew that it was too late, and he would have to live with the consequences of his mistakes.

[f1daydreamer]

Even When You Lose

---

The race was over.

The cameras were off, the crowd gone home, and the paddock—once humming with adrenaline and noise—had gone quiet under the soft purple hues of the fading sunset.

You stood outside the Mercedes motorhome, arms crossed over your chest, watching the last few crew members pack up equipment. Your fingers itched to reach for your phone, to do something—anything—to pass the time, but your eyes stayed fixed on the door George had disappeared through an hour ago.

He hadn’t come out since.

He hadn’t looked at you when he walked past.

You knew better than to follow him in right away. After a day like today, he needed space. To breathe. To process. To break down privately before letting the world see him again.

But he wasn’t alone.

You were here. And if he wouldn’t come to you, you’d go to him.

You took a breath and slipped inside, the door clicking softly behind you. The motorhome was dimly lit, empty except for the quiet hum of the fridge and the scent of leather and coffee lingering in the air.

You found him in the back lounge—still in his race suit, half-zipped down, his arms resting on his knees as he sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the floor.

His helmet sat on the table in front of him. Scuffed. Dirt-streaked. Like him.

He didn’t look up when you entered.

“George,” you said softly.

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t respond.

You stepped closer, slow and careful like approaching a wild animal mid-storm. You knew that look in his eyes—that stormy, haunted gaze he wore after a race that went wrong.

You sat down beside him, close but not touching. He was buzzing with unspent frustration, shoulders rigid, knuckles white where he clenched them.

“I had it,” he said finally, voice quiet and rough. “I fucking had it.”

Your heart twisted.

“I know.”

“They told me to box when I could’ve gone one more lap. The tires had one more in them, and I knew it—I felt it. And then the safety car came out, and it was over. Just like that.”

You stayed silent. Letting him talk.

“It’s like—every time I get close to something good, it slips through my fingers. Like I’m cursed.”

“You’re not cursed,” you said gently.

“I’m tired, Y/N.” His voice cracked, and your chest tightened. “I’m tired of smiling through it. Tired of pretending I’m okay. Tired of chasing something I might never reach.”

You reached out and gently took his hand. At first, he didn’t move. But then his fingers curled around yours, like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered. “You’re allowed to break. You don’t always have to be the strong one.”

He turned his head then, finally meeting your eyes—and the pain there hit you like a punch to the gut.

“You still proud of me?” he asked quietly.

The question shattered you.

“Always.”

“Even when I lose?”

You leaned in and pressed your forehead to his. “Especially then.”

George’s eyes closed. His breathing was shaky, uneven.

“I just wanted to prove something today,” he said. “To them. To myself.”

“You did,” you whispered. “You showed the world that you don’t give up. That even when it’s hard, you fight like hell. And that matters more than a podium.”

He shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

You slipped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a slow, grounding embrace. He didn’t resist. He melted into you like he was made for it, his head resting on your shoulder, lips brushing your neck.

The silence between you was full of everything he couldn’t say. Everything he didn’t need to say. Because you were here. And he wasn’t alone.

Minutes passed.

Maybe more.

Then he whispered, “I think I forgot why I started doing this.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, fingers sliding through his damp curls.

“Then let me remind you.”

He blinked.

“You started because you love it. Because when you’re in that car, everything else fades. It’s just you, the track, and the roar of something bigger than yourself. You started because you believed in the impossible. And you still do.”

He was quiet, watching you with those soul-deep eyes that always made your heart ache a little.

“I don’t want to lose myself to this sport,” he said. “I don’t want to wake up one day and not recognize the guy in the mirror.”

“You won’t,” you promised. “Because I’ll be here to remind you who he is.”

George let out a soft, shaky laugh. “How did I get so lucky?”

“You bribed the universe with your jawline,” you teased.

He chuckled—really chuckled—and leaned in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For loving me when I can’t even look at myself.”

You tilted his chin so he had to meet your gaze. “There is never a version of you I won’t love.”

His eyes glistened, but no tears fell. He nodded, quietly overwhelmed.

You pulled him into another hug, this time resting your head on his chest. His heartbeat was fast, but calming, like thunder slowly fading into rain.

“I don’t care if you win or lose, George,” you said softly. “I care that you come back to me. That you let me hold you when the world makes you forget how loved you are.”

His hands ran along your back, soothing, reverent.

“I never forget,” he said. “Not when I have you.”

Outside, the paddock grew darker, the lights dimming as the night deepened. But inside the motorhome, there was warmth. Safety. Love.

And for George, that was everything.

---

[colie-nne]

it was him

pairings: formula 1 grid x fem driver!oc

warnings: none

a/n: back at it with the Valiente series. this is set in 2021 so Alex is still with red bull and George is still with Williams.

After the race, drivers from every team are expected to go and take a rest and talk about their current standings. But no, when it comes to Alex and George, it’s payback time for what Valentina had done to them two grand prix prior.

Seeing the Red Bull and Williams (George) driver together on the paddock wasn't new. Seeing that the two have known each other for quite a while, it hasn’t raised any questions from anyone. 

It was, however, confusing and quite a sight to see the two tall gents seemingly drenched from head to toe in the middle of the paddock. What was not confusing was the young female laughing at the two as they look at her in disbelief. “Are you kidding me, Val?” George asked her, perplexed and quite startled that his clothes, which he was bragging about to Alex some minutes ago, were now wet. Not only that but his bag too. “Hmm, no, I don’t think so. Should’ve been more aware. Right, Alex?” Valentina laughs as she quotes Alex's words from the last time they did her dirty. The man just stood there wringing as much water out of his shirt before running after Val, in an attempt to get her wet.

Setting up their revenge prank on her, the duo sat on the couch, right in front of the door to capture her final dry moments.

“You hear anything, mate?” Alex asks George as he watches the Williams driver slowly walk back to the couch, nodding his head.

“Yeah, I hear footsteps alright.” Confirming, the two take out their phones to record this moment.

And like in the movies, they watch as footsteps stop by the door, seeing the knob slowly turn. Waiting for the final push of the door, they suck in their breath, counting in their heads.

Seconds pass by, and they release their breaths with a cheer as the bucket of water splashes down on Valentina. Jumping around as if they’ve won the WDC and hugging each other as if it’s their last.

Turning to the door, it may also be called their last. Not only do they see Valentina drenched in the blue-dyed water, but the one and only Charles Leclerc are also drenched, much more, if Val may add.

Valentina began chuckling at their half-failed prank on her, pushing away some hair from her face she looks up at Charles who was now scanning the condition of his then-white shirt. 

“Ok, whoever thought of this should go and buy me a new shirt.” Stating, Charles shakes off the excess liquid on his hair and warningly looks at the two sitting on the couch, who have now gone silent.

“Look, before you get mad at me. This…” gesturing to the whole set-up,”…was for Val and Val alone and it was George who’ve come up with the whole blue dye-thing.” Alex excuses himself as he points a finger at George who was looking at him in shock.

“Albon!! You did not just pin the blame on me, mate. You said this was a team effort...” George explains in an attempt to lessen his crimes, however, Charles unconsciously drowns out any noise as she looks at the youngster beside him laughing her ass off.

Seeing her laughing even after getting splashed made him laugh as well. Now joining Val in her laughing fit, Charles slings an arm around her shoulders and turns around with the intent of accompanying her back to her team’s motor home for a change of clothes.

George, who’s now up and about, still trying to defend himself, earns a hard smack on his stomach as Alex points out that they were the only ones left in the room. Gobsmacked, the British driver looks at his friend for an explanation, making Alex shrug and tell him what had transpired just moments ago.