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n0vazsq · 1 day ago

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Hidden | GR63 x Reader

pairing . . . greek!god!george russell x undercover!female!gladiator!reader

summary . . . You've been hidden your whole life, fighting as man when you weren't. But when you get caught by George, he can't help but reveal his secret to you

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.7k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . dare i say one of my fav fics ever!!!!! ignore the yap and yeah ig i hope yall like it

. . . The colosseum was a cauldron of noise, a battleground where men clashed for glory, where steel met flesh and the roar of the crowd echoed like thunder.

You, however, were used to the chaos. For years, you had fought in the arena, hidden beneath the mask of a male gladiator, your true identity veiled behind layers of disguise.

No one knew your name, Marcus Valerius was the name they called you, a name that had become your lifeline, your shield, your protection from the harsh world outside.

But you weren’t a man.

You had never been a man.

Your story had started long ago, when you had been forced into the arena not by choice, but by necessity. You had nothing left to lose, and the empire had seen an opportunity to make money off your skill.

Women weren’t allowed to fight, so you had become a man. You had taken your place among the gladiators, fighting not for honor or glory, but for survival. And so far, you had managed to keep your secret.

Today’s fight had been particularly brutal. The opponent had been one of the empire's best, a towering beast of a man who’d underestimated you.

With swift, smooth movements, you had dismantled him in front of the cheering crowd, your blade dancing like an extension of your own body.

Victory had come with ease, but now, as you stood in the aftermath of the battle, wiping the sweat and blood from your brow, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep up the act.

That was when you felt it.

An odd presence, something otherworldly, pressing in from the edge of the arena. You weren’t sure how to explain it; whether it was just the adrenaline from the fight or something deeper, but there was an energy that seemed to pull you.

Drawn to the stands, you caught sight of a figure among the spectators, a man who stood out even in the grand spectacle of the colosseum.

He wasn’t like the others. His posture was too proper, too commanding, and the way he carried himself radiated an aura of power that you couldn’t ignore.

He was watching you.

At first, you thought it was just a trick of the light, but as the minutes passed, the feeling only grew stronger. His eyes never left you, and the more you tried to focus on your surroundings, the more your mind kept drifting back to him.

Who was he? Why did he feel so different from the rest of the onlookers?

As you began to make your way to the exit, you felt his presence grow even more intense, like a pull at the center of your chest. You couldn’t help but glance back once more.

This time, his eyes were locked on you, and in the crowd, it was clear he wasn’t watching the spectacle of the arena. No, he was watching you.

By the time you reached your quarters, you had hoped that the strange sensation would fade. It didn’t.

The oppressive feeling lingered in the air like a heavy fog, and when you stepped inside your room to remove your mask and hair coverings, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

You pulled your hair free from the bindings and let the long strands cascade down your back.

The room was dim, lit only by the flickering flame of a small lamp, but as you removed your tunic, revealing the layers of padding you wore beneath it, you heard the door creak open.

The chill of the night air followed as someone stepped inside. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"You’re not Marcus."

The voice was smooth, deep, and it carried an unmistakable weight. Your heart skipped in your chest, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. You turned slowly, and there, standing in the doorway, was the man who had been watching you. George Russell. But he wasn’t just any man.

He was… something else.

There was an aura of power around him, a divine energy that radiated from him like sunlight. He wasn’t a mere mortal. No, there was something about him that screamed supernatural. His intense blue eyes were like the sky itself, and his features were so sharp, so flawless, they could have been carved by the gods themselves.

You froze, panic bubbling in your chest. You couldn’t let him find out the truth. If anyone knew who you were, everything would be over.

"W-who are you?" you asked, your voice slightly trembling, trying to maintain composure.

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering you with an almost otherworldly calm. "I know you’re not Marcus. I can tell."

Your pulse quickened. This wasn’t good. You had to think fast, protect yourself. "I’m�� I’m his wife," you said, your voice firm despite the lie.

George didn’t react the way you expected. He didn’t dismiss you with a laugh or an awkward glance. Instead, his eyes only seemed to deepen with intrigue, and there was a slight, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Nice try," he said softly, almost teasingly. "But I can tell you're lying."

Your heart raced as you instinctively took a step back, wary of the man who seemed to see right through you. You tightened your grip on your robe, the panic beginning to creep in. How could he know?

"Who are you?" you asked again, this time, your voice more firm, even defiant. You refused to be caught off guard. You’d been living this life in secret for so long, you weren’t about to be discovered now.

George stepped closer, his presence growing stronger in the room, and his eyes glinted as if he found the entire situation somewhat amusing. He tilted his head, and then, without warning, he raised his hand toward the dim lamp on the table.

Before you could even blink, the flame flickered, and then burst into an ethereal light, glowing brighter, swirling around like the shape of a tiny sun, casting an almost magical glow throughout the room. Your eyes widened in shock, your breath catching in your throat.

"Believe me now?" he asked, his voice low and laced with confidence.

Your mouth went dry. "What… what is this?" you breathed, staring at the glow as it floated just above his palm.

George smiled, the playful glint still in his eyes, before the light died down, leaving the room with a warm, golden hue. His gaze never left yours.

"I told you," he said simply. "I’m not just anyone."

You were speechless, your heart thundering in your chest. This was no ordinary man. What was he? A god? But how had he seen through your disguise?

"What are you?" you asked, your voice quiet now, curiosity creeping in. The fight or flight instinct had faded, replaced with an intense yearning to understand, to know who this man was and why he seemed so familiar, like an ancient myth come to life.

George took a deep breath, his face softening for a brief moment as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming but strangely comforting.

"I am a god from Olympus," he said, the words slipping from his lips so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "But more importantly, I’ve been watching you. I watched you fight today. You were extraordinary."

Your breath caught in your throat. A god.

You were still processing this information when George stepped closer, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the vulnerability you hadn’t shown to anyone in years. His eyes softened, and there was something different in the way he looked at you now; something raw, something real.

"You’re beautiful," he said quietly, his voice filled with awe. "I’ve never seen anyone like you. Your strength, your courage, but also… everything about you. I’ve never seen anything so captivating."

His words wrapped around you, and for the first time in years, you felt truly seen. Not as Marcus. Not as a gladiator. But as you. The real you.

You felt your cheeks flush, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. "I don’t know what you want from me," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I’ve been hiding my whole life. If anyone knew what I truly was, who I really am, they would kill me."

George’s expression darkened, and there was a sharp edge to his voice as he spoke. "I would never let that happen," he said firmly, stepping closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek.

His touch was warm, electrifying in its gentleness, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. "You don’t have to hide anymore."

The moment felt suspended in time. There was no more fear, no more panic. You were finally able to let go, just for a moment, and it felt like breathing in fresh air for the first time in years.

Before you could say anything, George leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours, and in a soft, breathless whisper, he added, "Let me show you a world where you don’t have to be afraid."

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first, as if he was giving you space to pull away if you needed to. But the moment his lips touched yours, you felt something deep inside you stir.

His kiss was everything; the weight of centuries of longing, the tenderness of someone who understood you in a way no one ever had.

As you deepened the kiss, the world outside faded away. It was just the two of you, and in that moment, you knew you had found something extraordinary.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your forehead resting against his, you smiled, the feeling of finally being free overwhelming you.

"You don’t have to hide anymore, don't have to be hidden," George whispered, his voice filled with reassurance. "You’ve fought long enough, and you’ve won the most important battle."

And with that, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fall into his arms, no longer needing to be anything but yourself.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

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formulawolff · 7 months ago

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iii. golden girl - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 3.3k

warnings: age gap, cursing, yearning, pining, some sexual content, power imbalances, toto wanting to absolutely rail you, some slight mentions of a size kink, yadayadayada, mature content!

prev. | next.

“holy fuck! holy fuck! holy fucking shit!”

“come here!”

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james squeezes you tightly, nearly sweeping you off your feet as the team swarms your car, fireworks bursting in the night. it thunders through the stands, yet you can barely hear a thing as the team surrounds the two of you, jeering. tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision through the visor.

yet, this was no time for tears.

raising your arms, you clamber on to your car, standing on top of it. you pump your fists in the air.

“we did it! we fucking did it!”

your voice is muffled slightly by the helmet, but your team understands your words, cheering in response. hopping off the car, you throw off your helmet, hairs plastered to your forehead, cheeks burning from the heat.

“how did we manage that?” james is as astonished as you are, nearly trembling with excitement. although it was substantially late in the evening, he was bright eyed-and bushy tailed.

the team principal was probably running on fumes by now, but you knew the adrenaline coursing through veins would keep him wide awake in the hours to come.

“i don’t know,” you shake your head, “but we did it.”

“max has some competition, eh?” he teases, a hand tousling your hair.

“i would not go that far,” your cheeks burned once again, but this time, it was not from the heat.

you couldn’t stop grinning. no matter how hard you tried, the smile would just come back.

it was more than likely from the fact that you just made history.

for the first time in seventy-four years of formula one, you were the first american woman in history to win a grand prix.

you made history today. and you would probably continue to make a name for yourself, break records, and obliterate barriers.

fuck, this was an amazing day.

probably one of the best days of your life.

“good fucking job!”

“amazing race out there!”

“we love you!”

praise floods your ears as you make your way to the podium, guided by james. the stands are still somewhat packed, and you blow a few kisses and wave to fans as you stroll along.

your heart was still thumping, blood roaring in your ears. euphoria courses through your veins, the feeling completely unmatched to anything you had ever felt before. it buzzes from your fingertips to your toes, your steps feeling light compared to the rush of the race.

you were on cloud nine.

making your way onto the podium, you step into the first place spot, beaming as max and checo follow suit, stepping on their designated places. your respective home flags roll down, the star spangled banner filling your ears.

tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t help but shed a few, wiping them away with your hand as the anthem rolls on, your team waiting patiently below.

is this how max felt every time he won?

was this the high he was always chasing after?

because now you understood. now you understood exactly why drivers were so determined to win. when you started your formula one career, you were more determined than ever to just place in a race. to prove the ones who had doubted you wrong. to rub it in their faces that you were a worthy competitor. most of all, to show the world what you were made of as a female driver.

now, here you were.

proving to the world that you were not only determined, but you were an exceptional driver.

you were capable of winning races.

and in your heart, you knew you were so capable of winning so many more.

as the trophy is placed in your hands, you pump it in the air, the williams racing crew applauding. there are some shouts, some cries of joys, and suddenly, you feel a shower of champagne cascading down your suit.

glancing up, you notice that both max and sergio are holding champagne bottles in their hands, spraying not only you, but each other. giggling, you reach down, picking up your own bottle. the three of you erupt with laughter, as you douse one another. at one point, you chase max with it, tugging on the collar of his fire suit and pouring it down his back.

the rest of the evening is a blur. everyone morphed together: reporters, crew members, even james. everything that was said to you went in one ear, and straight out the other.

winning a grand prix was exhilarating, but god did you hate the press that followed after.

what seemed like hours later, you were finally back at your motorhome, kicking open the door. you were sticky from the champagne, your hair caked to the nape of your neck and cap. your muscles ached, desperate for some sort of relief.

racing an 1,800 pound car was no easy feat.

and you were beyond exhausted.

physically, mentally, and emotionally.

of course, the first thing you did after the podium celebration consisted of facetiming your parents. even with the time difference, they stayed up and watched, nearly blowing out the speaker of your phone when you called.

after a quick shower, you were perched on your couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. part of you wanted to fill the empty space with a pet, but you knew that all of the travel would be hard on any animal. perhaps during the offseason you would consider a cat. a big fluffy maine coon or a sleek russian blue would be perfect.

all over social media, american fans flooded the feed with memes, edits, and comments. all of them were in support of you. and for the first time in a long time, you felt the urge to sit and read everything that was said.

not only were your parents, james, and team proud, but your country was as well.

as an edit plays on tik tok, you can’t help but laugh as you hear the sound, “what the fuck is a kilometer?” paired with photos and snippets of you from the grand prix. god, were these people so fast when it came to posting the edits. where the hell did they find these clips so quickly anyway?

a knock at your door startles you, head snapping up.

although the crew wanted to party, you had to inform them that it would have to be postponed. even though you were still running on all of the adrenaline, it was slowly trickling away, leaving your eyelids heavy and body sore.

carefully, you trudge to the door, wincing as a twinge of pain sears through your neck. opening the door, your eyes widen.

once again, it was toto wolff.

this time, he had a small package in his hand. it was a crisp white paper, wrapped neatly with a royal blue bow.

“i figured i would swing by and congratulate you on your accomplishment.”

“thank you,” apprehensively, you accept the gift in his hand, “it’s a bit late, you know.”

“i know, i know,” he exhales, “i figured i would do this privately instead of in front of the whole world.”

“the whole world as in my team?” you arch a brow.

“yes,” he answers, swaying slightly, “can i come in?”

peering past his broad shoulders, you survey the surroundings. since it was so late, most of the crew had retired to their respective hotel rooms or motorhomes. now, it was most of the cleanup and mechanical crew, tearing down signs and cleaning up litter.

biting your lip, you nod, inviting the austrian in, “come in.”

this time, you could sense that he was nervous. you usher him to the couch, urging him to sit. you find a spot on the opposite end, maintaining your distance. there’s a moment of silence between the two of you, toto eyeing your current attire.

of course he had to come by while you were in your pajamas.

well, pajamas that consisted of a black skims tee and grey sweatshorts. shorts that were a little revealing, at that.

breaking the silence, you cough, “why did you really come by?”

“you know why.”

“i’m not joining your team,” you roll your eyes, “you can’t buy my decision with gifts, either.”

“oh?” his brows raise, “can i buy it with something else, then?”

“no,” you shake your head, “you can’t.”

“well, i tried,” he puts his hand up in defeat, “it seems you have made your decision.”

the austrian begins to stand up, smoothing out a wrinkle in his pants. yet, your spring forward, your hand delicately grasping his wrist as he turns, “wait.”

“hmm?” he hums, “what is it? reconsidering?”

“can you–” warmth fills your cheeks as he peers down at you, prompting you to speak, “i can’t stop thinking about the last time you were here. and the time we were in monaco.”

“monaco?” he echoes, “i don’t recall monaco.”

“you were probably too drunk to remember.”

your heart swells as his fingertips reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ears. it’s a gentle act, his hand massaging your scalp for a moment, “no, i remember. when i called you a golden girl and you acted like you’d never been complimented in your life. i offered you a drink too, and you refused. probably didn’t want to ruin your image as a golden girl, hmm?”

“you’re a little shit,” you mutter, earning a hearty laugh in return, “but anyway i–”

“i can’t stop thinking about it either,” toto settles back down on the couch. this time, he is not a couple of feet away. he plops down right next to you, only inches of space separating you two.

“i probably think about you too much.”

“why?” you blurt out, “why, though? i’m just another driver. i’m not anything special.”

“not anything special? little dove, you are by far one of the most beautiful women i have ever seen. ever since i saw your image circulating around social media, i could not help but stare in awe. you’re practically a model, and you drive exceptionally well? like i said, you’re an inspiration. you’re confident. you’re level-headed. that is a package deal, schatz.”

“you literally said the other night that you were trying to manipulate me into accepting your offer,” the notes in your tone are solemn.

the team principal cocks his head, shocked at your attempt to throw him off guard. yet, your face falls as he bears a grin, his tone matter-of-fact.

“you’re not very good at this whole good cop, bad cop thing.”

“i’d be much better at it if you weren’t so handsome,” your lips form a pout, and toto inches closer, his hand cupping the nape of your neck.

fingertips massage the area, earning a sigh of relief, “am i really that handsome?”

“do you not remember the way i scurried away after you offered me to buy me drinks in monaco? i was a mess. i’m a mess every single time i talk to you.”

“is that why you’re so against joining mercedes?” the inquiry is innocent, with no underlying reason to prod or pry.

well, it was not necessarily the entire reason you were against accepting toto’s offer, but it definitely was one of them. you wouldn’t be able to last a second in the paddock without climbing all over him and attacking him.

if you weren’t careful enough, you’d probably get pregnant one night in the paddock.

“i just think about what would happen if i did,” you shrug, averting away from his gaze, “there’s no denying i am attracted to you. i can’t just sit here and lie.”

“i know you are,” his hand wanders to your shoulder blades, carefully kneading each one, “fuck, schatz. you’re so tight.”

you’re so tight.

the comment sends you spiraling, hands instinctively shielding your face so he wouldn’t see how flustered you were. between your thighs, your clit throbs, and you desperately wanted him to take care of it.

you prayed and hoped to whatever god that existed that he wouldn’t notice the wet spot that was pooling in your underwear. if he kept up the messaging and the comments, it was bound to be visible on your shorts.

“hiding, are we? don’t be afraid, little dove. i’ve done my research. you’ve made comments about me on your social media.”

“i was sixteen!” you groan, burying your face even deeper, “fuck, fuck, fuck. this is so embarrassing. i should have wiped everything before i started racing.”

“some new accounts wouldn’t have hurt,” despite your embarrassment, he’s gentle, carefully tending to your sore muscles, “after that race, i’m not shocked at how tense you are.”

“are you actually proud of me or are you just saying these things so i’ll join your little team.”

“i’m actually proud,” one hand continues massaging, while the other finds your temple, attempting to separate your hands from your face, “can you look at me?”

hesitantly, you lower your hands. as you do so, toto’s lips curl into a grin, “there she is.”

his eyes search yours momentarily, and you feel the urge to cover your face once more. but you don’t, allowing him to look. you can’t quite put your finger on what he was searching for, but you catch the glint in his eyes.

it was simply admiration. drinking in every little part of you. memorizing every little freckle, every lash, every little detail that defined your features.

reaching out, his thumb traces along your jawline, trailing upwards to your cheek. you nearly collapse under the gentle touch, every fiber in your being screaming to maintain your composure.

“such a beautiful girl,” toto whispers, his voice so low you could barely hear it, “why don’t you want to be with me at mercedes?”

“i made a commitment,” you affirm, your heart nearly stopping as toto leans in, “i don’t break my promises.”

“and i am a man of my word. i’ll make you a world champion, schatz.”

your lashes flutter as his thumb caresses your cheekbone, “aren’t you a married man, toto?”

“that’s what you’re worried about?” a light chuckle flows from his lips, “i’m trying to make you the deal of a lifetime and you’re fretting over whether or not i’m a married man?”

your breath hitches in your throat as he leans in even more, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, “this is wrong.”

“join me at mercedes,” toto murmurs, lips ghosting over yours, “please, be my world champion.”

“do you have a crush on me, mr. wolff?”

there’s a noise that rumbles in his throat. it’s guttural, almost animalistic, “crushes are for children. let’s just say i’ve had my eye on you for some time.”

“how long have you had your eye on me?”

“so many questions, schatz,” toto tuts, your heart races as his hand wanders, finding your thigh, “what is it going to take to make you mine? i am not one to beg, but i am starting to think i just may have to.”

you stutter as his thumb inches towards your inner thigh, tracing small circles, “i-i just need some time to think about it. there’s so much at stake here, and it’s just so overwhelming.”

“what can i do to help ease that stress?” toto shifts his body, making his way to the floor, “tell me what i need to do.”

the temperature of the room skyrockets as he gets on his knees, situating himself between your legs. his hands, oh so warm, grip your thighs.

the austrian presses soft kisses all over, earning a mewl from you. as you squirm, you can feel him grin against your heated skin as he stops momentarily, looking up at you.

fuck, was he as gorgeous as ever, sitting between your thighs. brunette strands fell perfectly in his face, framing it just right. in the dim light, you notice the pink hue dusting his cheeks. his lips are plush, and you fight the urge to kiss him right there, but you hold back.

licking his lower lip, his eyes are darkened, consumed by lust, “tell me baby, what do you want? how can i help put your mind at ease? you’re practically dripping right now. do you want me to take care of you?”

“oh fuck,” you’re nearly breathless, “i – yes. please.”

“i’ll pamper you baby,” toto’s breath fans against your thigh, “you just have to promise me something.”

“and that is?”

“you’ll seriously consider my offer. i’ll expect a decision by miami,” he snaps out of his lust-filled trance for just a second, “i mean that. you will need to find me in miami and tell me what you decide. in-person. nothing over text or social media. i can’t wait around for you forever, schatz. i am going to have to consider my other options if you don’t give me a clear answer.”

“that’s not enough time–” you protest, yet your swiftly interrupted by his lips colliding with yours.

the kiss is fiery, nearly sweeping you off the couch. his lips mold with yours, one hand remaining on your thigh while the other wraps around the base of your neck, bringing you even closer to him. a soft moan rises in your throat as his tongue finds yours, fingers delving into the waistband of your shorts.

“so beautiful,” he pants against your lips, “so, so, so beautiful. so wet for me. fuck. i do this to you?”

“yes,” you nod, “i’ve been wet since you walked in the door.”

the confession sends toto reeling, the austrian nearly losing control in that moment. his grasp on your neck tightens ever so slightly, his breathing ragged.

he had you exactly where he wanted you.

ever since it was announced that you were joining the world of formula one as a driver for williams racing, toto was determined to have you on his team. he was not lying when he said that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. while he tried to play it off, the team principal had a significant crush on the williams driver.

the moment he saw that photo of you shaking james hand, he knew he was a goner.

not only were you absolutely stunning, someone with a gift like yours needed to be put on a pedestal. and fuck, was he so frustrated when he couldn’t sign you. at the time, mercedes was full. he had lewis and george, who were oh so talented.

of course, the team principal needed to determine whether he was simply acting on his own attraction, or if this would be a good business venture. mercedes had maintained a decent reputation. there were a few fuck-ups through the years, but nothing so significant it ruined his career.

however, the decision to sign you to mercedes may ruin his career. he knew if he signed you, he would not be able to keep things professional. he would want you every day, every hour, every minute, every second you were around him. he would crave to just fuck you every chance he got. and if a single soul got wind of that? he would be done for. he knew he would be let go immediately.

yet, that was the least of his worries.

now, his priority was taking you in, bringing you home to mercedes. although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, he knew you would shine if you went to mercedes. you would shine like the sun.

you would be formula one’s golden girl.

finally, after all of those weeks of pining after you, after his attempt to flirt with you in monaco, all of those stolen glances, after all fighting all of those urges to just corner you in your paddock one day and lose all of his inhibitions, confessing every sin that ran rampant in his mind.

you were right here. and you were beneath him, so breathtaking and innocent.

you were an angel.

his angel.

“the things i would do to you right now–”

a series of knocks rings through the space, so crisp and sharp.

“hey, it’s daniel! can we talk?”

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thank you so much for reading! please let me know if you would like to be tagged for future chapters! <3

#toto wolff #formula one #formula 1 #f1 x reader #toto wolff x reader #f1 #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #formula one x reader #lewis hamilton #mercedes amg #williams racing #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #sergio perez #williams racing f1 #f1 x y/n #formula one x you

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