#go george and aleix go

[ohblimeygeorge]

Aleix picking what clips to use for that post:

39 seconds of George’s wonderful, pillowy butt flexing… Aleix u a real one.

He saw the people who used to say George had a flat ass n said not on my watch… ally

[chilling-seavey]

For the first TWIG argument, George jokingly said that the reader can go part time because he would not mind supporting her and she actually takes offense to that. It results in a huge argument between the two of you and you keep him out of your apartment. You guys go a few days without speaking to each other.

Oooh anon I knew I wanted to write a little something about their first fight but you iced the cake with this one. Ended up inspiring me to sit down and write this out for 3-hours straight. I also pulled some inspo from this anon too <3

Warnings: Angst, phone-call arguments, mentions of ex-girlfriends and social class differences etc.

For the first little while after you and George had started dating, your life didn’t feel much different. With him often traveling for races or having to be at his place in Monaco or at the factory in England, there wasn’t too much time where you and he could spend time face-to-face. But you had your apartment and your job at the luxury hotel at which you had met him a few months prior, the familiarity and stability of it offering comfort with your very private relationship being quite out of the ordinary. And, if nothing else, you and he shared phone calls and FaceTimes and a million texts to make up for the time apart. 

One night in particular, you had just returned to your apartment after a long shift at the hotel, barely managing to answer George’s incoming call as you stumbled through your front door with your jacket and bag in hand. You tucked your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you locked the door behind you with an exasperated, “Hey.”

“Hey, love,” George’s voice spoke warmly through the phone, “How was your day?”

You kicked off your heels, your feet donning fresh blisters, and you walked farther into your apartment to set your bag and jacket on the kitchen counter, “Exhausting. Yours?”

“The same. Aleix worked me to the bone today in the gym and then I have to get up early for my flight in the morning.”

You hummed in acknowledgement as you hung up your jacket in the front closet, phone still tucked between your ear and shoulder as you listened to him, still trying to switch your brain out of work mode. There was a bit of a pause as you arranged yourself in your apartment, George hearing the dull clunks of you putting your empty lunch containers away and loading the dishwasher.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked. 

“No, sorry,” you sighed, his tentative words having you realize that you had barely said a thing to him since you picked up the phone, “Sorry, I’m here. I literally just stepped in the door when you called so I’m still…”

“A little frazzled?” he finished your sentence for you with a playful understanding. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled and leaned back against the kitchen counter, “That’s a word for it.”

“That hotel would crumble without you.”

“After the insanity of today, I might stop modestly arguing with you on that point.”

There was a soft pause and then he spoke again, his voice warm and sweet, “I miss you.”

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back as if to let his words roll over you and ease your stresses from the day. You took a breath, “I miss you too.”

“I can’t wait until you can travel more with me.”

It was an innocent enough statement from him, something meant to be gentle and genuine, showing how much he loved spending time with you, but perhaps it was the implication behind it and the fact that you had an exhausting day that had you frowning slightly. You replied, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know we haven’t talked about it yet but I was thinking that maybe by next season you could go down to part time so you can come to some more races with me.”

The offense that welled in your chest took you by surprise. 

“You want that?” you asked testingly. 

“Yeah, you know,” you heard him shifting through the line, “I think it would be nice. You don’t have to exhaust yourself so much at work and we can be with each other more…”

“I have bills, George,” you reminded him. You weren’t quite able to keep the curtness out of your voice. 

There was a pause as if he had been completely taken aback by your slight edge before he finally replied, cautious, slow, “Yes, well, I wouldn’t mind supporting you. I know it’s early but eventually I was thinking you’d move in with me in Monaco and—”

“Jesus,” you huffed in disbelief. 

“What?” 

“George, I’m not going to quit my job that I worked my ass off for and let you pay my bills just to parade around the world after you like a trophy wife…like…like some gold digger like your ex’s.”

“Hey,” George’s voice was firm now, “That’s not fair. Nor is it true.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“They weren’t gold diggers, alright? That’s harsh of you to even say that.”

“That’s what you’re getting out of this? Seriously?” 

“Yes, because I know you’re just exhausted from work and we can talk about the money situation later and—”

“No, we won’t!” you cut him off, “Seriously, no, we won’t. I’m not quitting my job. End of discussion.” 

“But—”

“Why don’t you quit your job for me, huh?”

There was a pause and then the faintest disbelieving chuckle came through the line.

“Sounds insane to you, right? So why do you get to ask that of me?”

“Because my job can actually support us! You seriously think we could get by on a hotelier's salary? No, sorry, not even a hotelier: a front desk clerk.”

The belittling in his words was obvious to you, dripping like venom through the phone. Whether he intended to be cruel or not was irrelevant as you stood in the middle of your small apartment kitchen, phone tight in your hand, your heart already taking every syllable of his words as they came. 

“Wow, you really are an entitled asshole, huh?”

George’s disbelief was apparent in his slow, enunciated reply, “Pardon me?”

“I know very well that I am not part of your world—I don’t understand the protocols or the requirements or anything else that makes your job so damn important—but you don’t have the right to undermine all my hard work just because you make more money than me.”

“I’m not undermining your hard work.” George’s voice was flat, tired. 

“But you are,” you insisted. 

“Jesus Christ, love,” George groaned out a breath, rubbing his fingers over his forehead, “Okay, I’m not meaning to. You’re just always complaining about being so tired and unappreciated at work so I thought that you deserve to—”

“To be your lap dog?” you pushed back. 

“To have a fucking break!” George corrected firmly, his voice having raised a little in volume. 

There was a pause as his frustrated tone lingered through the line. 

You scoffed, “Sorry that I’m not the type of girlfriend you’re used to; who will roll over when you slide her a blank cheque. Sorry that I like to work hard and be self-sufficient, even if my job is grueling. Sorry that offends you.”

“You gotta stop with the ex-girlfriend slander, seriously, it’s so unattractive.”

It was your turn for your volume to raise, “Are you serious?!” 

“Yeah! You’re sounding petty and immature and jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not like—”

“Not like what? Not like other girls? ” he jumped in, taunting, angry, “Ooh, blimey, love, give it a rest. You work at a five-star luxury hotel and suddenly you think you’re entitled to the woe-is-me card. Having a job doesn’t make you special.”

“I’m not like the kind of girls that you are surrounded by all the time,” you corrected loudly, already pacing your apartment with the anger that squeezed at your heart, “And I am fine with that and I like who I am and I don’t mind that we have to keep our relationship this big fucking secret to the world but you don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to have a normal life.”

“I do! My dad is a—”

“Farmer. I know. But you’re telling me that as you’re sitting in your million-dollar apartment in the billionaire capital of the world with five custom luxury Mercedes in your parking garage and a bank account that has more digits than my phone number. You are so far out from reality now, you wouldn’t recognize it if it hit you in the face!”

“I’m sorry my career is such a fucking burden for you. I was just trying to do something nice.”

“No, you weren’t. You were being selfish.”

“Is that what you want to call generosity now? Selfish? Most women would love to be financially set for life. You want to struggle in the working class until you retire? Fine by me!”

“Yeah, thanks for taking part in my charity case. Good to know where your priorities were laying these last few months…deep in some fucking saviour complex.”

There was another momentary silence—one of those awful, sharp-edged ones that cut deeper than shouting. You could hear his breathing, heavy and uneven through the phone, like he was biting back a retort, and your chest burned tight with bitterness.

“You’re unbelievable,” he finally muttered, voice low and tight, “I’m trying, and nothing I do is ever fucking good enough for you.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over your flushed face. “Because you don’t get it! You don’t get what it’s like to work your ass off for something all by yourself only to have someone look at you like you should just be grateful they’ve thrown you a bone that you didn't ask for.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You know, I never asked you for anything,” you went on, quieter now but no less angry. “Never asked for money, never asked for handouts, never wanted you or anyone around you to think I was using you. I never even asked for this relationship to be public, standing by and understanding the importance of privacy to you and your job. And all I wanted was for you to understand that our worlds are different. That I am different. But instead, you make me feel like that’s a bad thing.”

“Because you make it a bad thing,” he shot back. “You keep acting like I’ve done something wrong by wanting to take care of you or do something nice for you. You always decline anything I want to do for you if it involves money. You haven’t even let me take you to one of my races! It’s like this wall is constantly up around you, like you’re scared of money. It’s exhausting.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you, “Right. It’s so exhausting for you. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to be upset by the million fan edits of you and your ex that I constantly see everywhere…not to mention you still have photos together on your Instagram…Mercedes has pictures of her on their Instagram for some fucking reason.”

It slipped out before you could stop it, your voice cracking slightly on the last part, not because you cared about his ex. It was what she represented—what all of them represented. The polished, effortless, women who floated through his world and hung on his arm and accepted his money and his privilege like it was their right. The kind of women who never had to argue about whether accepting a blank cheque made them weak or practical. Maybe that was the real problem. Maybe it wasn’t just about money or privilege or the weight of keeping everything a secret. Maybe it was the fact that you had spent all this time trying to fit into his world while pieces of his past still lingered everywhere you looked.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” George muttered as if to himself, before letting out a humourless laugh, “I don’t even know what to say to that. Honestly, I have nothing to fucking say to that. I just can’t do anything right, can I? I can be as nice as I want to you and you’d still throw a tantrum about something or another. If you hate having to see my entire life plastered all over the internet, if you hate how out of touch I am, then maybe you should’ve thought about that before getting involved with me.”

Your stomach twisted, unable to hold back the stark words that slipped from your lips without thought, “Believe me, I think about that all the time.”

More silence. This time, it felt worse.

Finally, George spoke, his voice tight, “Right, well, I’m going to hang up now.”

“Fine,” you muttered sharply, “This was a waste of my night anyway.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The dial tone droned in your ear. 

You didn’t hear from George for the rest of the night. Or the next day. Or the day after. That Friday, you sat on your couch and watched the F1 Free Practice sessions like you often would when you could but just the sight of George’s car and his stupid little “RUS” on the timing tower almost had you throwing your bowl of blueberries at the television. You turned it off. 

Work felt twice as hellish that week as George’s words stirred in your mind and your anxieties over the silence that followed your fight lingered. Had you broken up? There was no formal agreement about that but it sure fucking felt like a breakup. After your shift on Saturday, you trudged your way back to your apartment with a rain cloud over your head. 

Once you stepped out of the elevator into your hallway, you were surprised by the humongous bouquet of roses wrapped and waiting for you at your doorstep. You sighed and unlocked your door and awkwardly lugged the package inside and across the floor of your foyer, the fifty-someodd stems weighing a ridiculous amount. Lifting it up onto your kitchen counter, you didn’t have to even check the card to know who it was from but, you did anyway,

‘I’m sorry for being an entitled prick. I am always so proud of you and everything you do. Your biggest fan, GR x’

You sucked your teeth for a moment and set the small card down to look back at the cellophane wrapped roses. You took your time unwrapping them until the scent of the fresh cut stems filled your apartment and you leaned in to smell one, inhaling its refreshing perfume as if hoping it would calm you down. The anger still lingered in your chest but you knew this was a peace offering of sorts, an olive branch, so you took out your phone and called him. As the line rang, you stared flatly at the bouquet. 

George’s voice came through the line, tentative, “Hey.”

You took a small breath before answering, your voice flat but tinged with just a hint of lightheartedness, “Don’t know if you remember but our whole fight was about how I don’t want your money and then you go and order me the biggest bouquet of flowers known to man.”

George chuckled faintly through the phone, “Yeah, now that you say that, it might have been in bad taste.”

There was a pause, both of you not quite knowing what to say to make it all better, neither wanting to speak first. 

“They’re beautiful though,” you said softly after a beat. 

“I’m really am sorry. I felt like right shit after we hung up.” George said, “I shouldn’t have assumed what you would want for your own life. I know how much you love your job…even when it gets on your nerves.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, reaching out with your free hand to touch one of the silky rose petals, “And I’m sorry for getting so upset about it. I know you didn’t mean it maliciously.” 

His voice was as soft as the rose petal beneath your fingertips, “Of course not, my love.”

“Just like you worked so hard to get to F1, I worked so hard to get this job too. A prestigious hotel in another country? Like, that’s what my dreams were made of.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I know how important your job is to you. I shouldn’t have brushed it aside like that without talking to you first.” George acknowledged, “And, if it’s any consolation, I think it’s incredibly sexy that you’re so passionate about your job.”

An amused smile pricked at your lips, “Oh really?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. 

You let out a calm breath as the tension eased from your shoulders, finding comfort in the conversation with him. 

“And I deleted the pictures from my Instagram feed.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, not having expected him to say that, “Oh, you didn’t have to. You were right, I was just being petty and dramatic—”

George cut you off gently, “No, it’s okay. I know how it would feel to me if it were the other way around…and that wouldn’t have even had them spread all over the internet. I know we can’t avoid a lot of the reminders, but I want to do my part in lessening them where I can. You’re my girl, okay? My one and only.”

“Thank you,” your voice was hardly recognizable with how soft it was, how full of emotion. Your heart did a funny little flip in your chest.

“But, listen to me, darling, at least take some of your vacation days.” George spoke, softly yet sternly, “You never use any of them and you’re going to burn yourself out. Book off the weekend for whatever race you want to go to and I’ll get you a pass. Any of them. Please?”

He was right, unfortunately. You never liked to use your vacation days, always thinking it made you look like a lackluster employee, always wanting to give 110% at any and all times. The genuine care in his request didn’t go unnoticed, and after such a hellish week, having a little vacation and time to reconnect with him sounded quite appealing.

You exhaled deeply, “Okay, fine. But I’m buying you dinner next time I see you. A really nice place too.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to sway you and your desperate attempts to even the playing field, he chucked and gave in, “Whatever you want, my love. I just want you to be happy.”

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[moonshynecybin]

rider moves and contract rumors, your ranking from most to least likely to happen (alternately, is simon patterson ever right)

thank you !!! truly contract season haunts my every waking thought there’s so many torrid little possibilities and it was supposed to be boring this year and instead it’s soap opera level bananas

jorge>honda

9/10. i think this one is gonna probably happen? like if it doesn’t then i think he skulks back to aprilia and is just kinda miserable with them for a year because they are a team with an abnormally high tolerance for diva behavior after tag teaming aleix and maverick for multiple seasons lol. and then jorge can pick a japanese team for 2027 so eventually it most likely happens anyways. but then with luca out i really do think the absence stars have aligned and it’s looking more and more likely as an option that is clean for both of them and makes sense. which wouldn’t make me mad really, except i don’t know where luca is going and that stresses me OUT !!!!! like if aprilia doesn’t want him i guess he’d be a brilliant test rider but :( lucaaaa… also i think it would be funny if they lost luca and suddenly realize that the bike is bad again

toprak>yamaha

8/10. guys i think lucy might actually let him kick the football lol… truly after all the recent reporting the only part where i was kinda on the fence about its validity was miguel oliveira having a two year contract on the books/jack miller being too good to be a sacrificial lamb generally (booo), but the race has some reporting from pramac that that second year for oliveira could be solidly in doubt, PLUS the pramac team boss confirmed they’ve talked to toprak… and all the previous rumors kinda came just from his own manager… which to me is much more indicative that the ball is in fact rolling down the hill. which is fun i wanna see him cope with our fuck ass tire situation let’s see if he can really play some ball. lots of ball metaphors in this section sorry but i love a juicy little unknown and i think having his loud mouthed manager in the paddock would be SO funny

pecco> yamaha

0/10 SO not happening any time soon it’s kinda funny that this has been circulated as a viable rumor in multiple journalism publications. like girl what. i mean not only is pecco on the record as saying that leaving contracts early divorce is something he deeply personally disapproves of, he’s ALSO invested a lot in this team specifically and has been a ducati fan since he was a baby little boy. and i think in generally he just doesn’t like the idea of “quitting” like if you gave pecco the option he’ll take noble suffering any day of the week… nail himself to that cross if he has to… like i firmly believe that if pecco leaves ducati, it’s going to be a decision FROM ducati, and he’s TOO valuable for bike dev in this current market what with bamboozling front end saves georg marquez over on the other side of the garage even WITH with the problems he’s having. and he’s not even THAT bad he’s just flopping by his own extremely exacting standards. anyways pecco will stay would be my read

enea>aprilia vs luca>aprilia vs ogura >aprilia

unquantifiable. see now here’s where i stare at the screen and steeple my fingers and wonder and hem and haw and then make some decaf and smoke a cigarette… if i had my druthers i think a luca/jorge clean swap would be ideal and luca would fit right tf in at aprilia and we would have a bez/luca teammates era that would be super fun for me AND marco bezzecchi, as luca’s methodical ass nature develops that bike into something more consistently competitive and honda is off spackling over the walls that jmartin punched through when he realizes the honda has mad chatter problems. that would rule. pbut then enea also wants to leave ktm apparently and it’s complicated bc he has a two year deal but the current situation is REALLY not working and enea probably has a higher results ceiling than luca BUT also isn’t that great at bike dev so. genuinely no idea lmao. i would hope they give luca a shot for at least another year bc it’s the cleanest option and let ai ogura develop some more on a more low-stakes environment at trackhouse, who seem to LOVE him and also just really need some good results in their pocket lol. but GOD who knows what’ll happen for real like i certainly don’t

[racingliners]

Long distance love confession for gewis? If you vibe with them 🫶🏻 - Jay

Hello!!! Sorry for taking so long with this, I had to let it marinate in my brain for a while until I landed on something that felt right. It's very rough an unedited but I hope you still enjoy it! 💚

love confessions writing prompts

George/Lewis, 1.8k, no warning apply

London in December was actually quite beautiful to George, packed streets of people doing their Christmas shopping aside. The strings of lights and sparkling Christmas trees made being out in the cold air worthwhile as George also went from shop to shop getting the last gifts he needed before making the trip down to Norfolk to spend the festive season with his family.

George let out a long sigh when he finally returned to his flat in Finchley. As convenient as it was to be able to take the tube home, the Northern line train was still on the unpleasant side of warm thanks to it being busier than a usual Tuesday. The one small privilege was that he’d been able to make the journey home without being recognised – the visual identity of F1’s newest race winner hadn’t made it into the consciousness of the general British public just yet.

He'd managed to set his various bags down next to the sofa and had turned to take the seven steps over to the kitchen to make himself a much needed cuppa when his phone rang from his pocket. George pulled it out quickly, assuming it was Aleix calling for his weekly Winter Break catch up or Cara once again asking George if he’d remembered to buy aftershave for their Dad.

But the caller ID just read ‘Lewis’ and George almost froze into place, his only movement blinking slowly at the rectangular screen in front of him.

2022 had been a strange year for George for a plethora of reasons. The new regulation cycle being one, and the W13 and all its various problem’s another. But the development of George and Lewis’ professional relationship had been the strangest of all, in that they both worked rather well together.

Truth be told George wouldn’t have blamed Lewis for not wanting to give George much past the basic professional curtesy with the past twelve months he’d gone through. And yet he was more than just welcome and respectful, he was kind to the point where George could tell from Lewis’ eyes that he meant it whenever he asked how George was, and they’d started to bounce off each other in the debriefs with the engineers over the last handful of races of the season.

And then there was the dinners. How before the first race of the year Lewis had suggested they get a table at a restaurant in Bahrain and take the time to get to know each other away from the buzz of the paddock or the factory. It then turned to a late lunch in Melbourne, an evening supper in Montreal, and it was at the 3am dinner in Singapore that George had finally realised that he’d been enjoying the time spent with Lewis far more than what a teammate should do.

Never meet your heroes, they say. George wished there was guidance for what to do when you’d fallen in love with them and they were now calling you at half past four in the afternoon on a random Tuesday in December.

Somehow George managed to move his thumb over to the green answer button before he so rudely sent Lewis to his voicemail.

“Lewis, hi!” George’s voice came out two octaves higher then normal, he almost didn’t recognise himself. “H-how’s Colorado?”

“Ack it’s fricking freezing! It’s like minus nine right now or something. I was gonna go out snowboarding but all the slopes are closed because it’s so foggy.” Lewis sounded less frustrated and more perplexed at the scene he was likely staring at out of the windows of his lodge near Aspen. He’d showed George a couple of pictures back in Abu Dhabi and it looked like one of the most perfect places on the planet.

“Ah, I don’t think it’s gotten above two degrees today.” The fact that British people were so good at talking about the weather no matter what a person’s personal circumstance was the sole reason why George was able to even hold a conversation. “Wait, what time is it for you over there?” His brain was sadly still too scrambled from the sheer disbelief of Lewis calling him for George to both remember what the time difference between London and Colorado was and do the maths.

“It’s just gone 9.30, I’m about to have breakfast.” His beloved Winter break pancakes no doubt. “I just wanted to call because… well I felt like I’d just brushed you off when you said goodbye at the factory yesterday and I just wanted to clear the air.”

“Oh,” George scrambled back through his memories from the past 24 hours and managed to pull that moment to the surface – when Lewis had almost ran out the factory doors at Brackley just before lunchtime and George had to shout for Lewis to hear his wishes for Lewis to have a good Christmas. “I just assumed you were in a rush to catch your flight, I wasn’t offended.”

Lewis let out a long sigh from the other end of the line that George almost felt it drift across the Atlantic ocean.

“Thank god, I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the flight over and I just… well. Given everything we’ve gone through this year I didn’t want to carry any hard feelings over to next year.”

“It’s the last thing I would get offended over, believe me.” George finally felt his shoulders relax and he even rolled his eyes. Yes, there were ways in which he and Lewis were very different, but there were just as many ways in which they were the same. “If you’d said fuck off to my face then that would have been a different story.”

Lewis immediately burst out laughing, George could perfectly picture his eyes crinkling shut and his shoulders shaking up and down while he pressed his free hand against his chest. George had to quickly bite down on his lip to get the image out of his head as he forced himself to lean against the counter.

“How’s your day been anyway mate?” Lewis asked, the final few notes of laughter drifting out of his voice as he spoke. George recounted his afternoon braving London’s shopping district as briefly as possible since Lewis definitely had more important things to be tending to, despite the fact that over the past few days George was starting to want nothing else than endless Tuesdays where he and Lewis talked about nothing over steaming cups of tea while Roscoe sat snoring at Lewis’ feet.

George quickly shook his head, he couldn’t allow himself to have that kind of image in his head. World champion megastars like Lewis didn’t fall in love with maiden Grand Prix winners like George.

“Well, congrats on surviving the tube during December, that’s a badge of honour in itself.” Lewis said not quite non-chalantly with a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Thank you! I’ll put it next to my Brazil trophy.” George grinned.

“Has it arrived yet?” Lewis was quick to ask.

“Yeah last week, it’s still in its box I haven’t figured out where to put it yet.” George huffed. Specifically the box was nestled next to his bedside table because putting it in the wardrobe out of the way felt like sacrilege despite the fact his flat didn’t have an office to safely store it in. “But that’s for future me to worry about I suppose.”

Lewis just hummed, not sounding like he was planning on hanging up any time soon. It was nice, but odd. Their phone calls had never really lasted this long before.

“I um…” George started, his eyes fixed on his shoes, but he couldn’t think of anything. “It’s good to hear from you, I’m glad you and Roscoe made it to the lodge safely.”

“You should have seen it last night when I got here, it’s so beautiful. I wish I’d had that huge navy scarf of yours for when I got off the plane though. It was so cold.”

George’s heart briefly lurched at the thought of Lewis remembering about George’s Winter scarf that he’d gotten for his last birthday. As Lewis had correctly remembered it was navy blue and made from thick cashmere – George’s parents had splurged on it as a ‘Happy first season at Mercedes gift’. He’d even worn it when he’d been out shopping since today was fairly cold by London standards.

“Well now I know what to get you for Secret Santa next year.” George somehow managed to quip. All half of his brain could think about was how good Lewis would look in navy cashmere.

“Yeah but now I know and you’ll also have to rig it so you get me, Shov will be so pissed off with you.”

“Even though you’d be getting a new scarf out of it?”

For the first time Lewis paused, and George wondered if he’d put his foot in it so badly that Lewis had hung up without a word.

“Lewis?” He asked quietly, only loud enough for the mug rack on his left to hear.

“George I-” Lewis started, then just as quickly stopped. George hadn’t completely ruined a perfectly normal conversation then. “I actually called because I needed to talk to you about something and… I did have time to talk about it with you at the factory but it wouldn’t have been the right place.”

“Oh.” George couldn’t help himself from saying as he felt half the air get knocked out his lungs.

“Excluding Brazil, this season’s been shit for so many reasons. But, despite that, I’ve still really enjoyed all the dinners we had this year. It’s been great getting to know you properly.”

“Yeah mate, me too.” George’s cheeks suddenly felt so warm that they must have been as red as a strawberry. “I’m glad that we were both able to make the time for them.”

“You’re a…” Lewis paused to take a breath. “Really great guy George. I just woke up this morning and realised why I was so worried about offending you because I think I like you a lot more than I should like a teammate and you’re in London and I’m in Colorado and-”

“I think I love you too Lewis.” George blurted out, lifting about five F1 cars worth of weight off his shoulders in the process. “You have no idea how much I want to be looking at snow and fog right now.”

A small moment of silence followed, which was eventually broken by George and Lewis slowly breaking out into relieved laughter.

“We’re going to have to have another dinner to talk about this you know.” George sighed, already beaming at the prospect.

“Well…” Lewis’ voice briefly trailed off, George could picture the small crease in his brow. “Your place or mine?”

[russellsppttemplates]

You pushing George down the waterfall when you go out with him and his trainer

The warmer temperatures called for some swimming, and when Aleix mentioned the waterfall someone had told him about, you and George were the first to tag along with him for the small adventure.

"George, it's not that cold!", you yelled as your boyfriend seemed to have doubts now about going into the water.

"It isn't, you can get in", Aleix supported you, sitting on the course of water and taking in the cooling feeling.

"C'mon, I'll help you, love", you got up, and walked carefully to meet him, making sure your plan wouldn't be dangerous, "I'll sit with you", you smiled.

You stayed like that for a couple of minutes before you caught George distracted, pushing his back soflty so the natural slump of the rocks would act like a slide.

"Darling!", George said as all his body was almost covered in water, "I expected him to do it, but you?", he chuckled.

"I have many tricks up my sleeve, handsome", you smirked.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[formula1fanfiction]

George Russell & Kimi Antonelli

Title: Don't blame me for falling part 1/2

Pairing: George Russell & Kimi Antonelli, Lewis Hamilton / George Russell

Characters: George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman, Toto Wolff

A/N: This chapter is just purely fluff, chapter two will be Lewis helping George through his heat.

Prompt: feral omega!george (like in his heat during a race weekend) and he finds out that omega!Kimi (Antonelli) is dating Olli and getting really over-protective of omega!Kimi and him not being able to speak to Alpha!Olli (who he is dating) and George does not like it, bcs Komi is still a pup in his eyes and then George keeps him in his nest and is growling to everyone who comes to close (including Toto). Olli getting Lewis from Ferrari and only then George is able to calm down and let’s Kimi go to Olli.

Relief floods George's system as he finally parks up his car in park Ferme, not his best weekend, p5 in his home race, but his heat has been slowly building all race weekend and now it looks like it's finally arrived in full force. Sweat is pouring off of him in buckets, and he's producing an ungodly amount of slick, the back of his race suit feels so wet, it almost feels like he's pissed himself.  

He can't let the heat overtake his mind, he needs to make sure Kimi is okay, his younger teammate crashing out on lap fifteen and despite Kimi insisting that he's not a pup anymore, he's a fully grown adult of eighteen, George can't help but feel furiously protective over him.

"Careful, I got you." George stumbles as he gets out of the car, but Aleix is there in an instant steadying him. "You're burning up, and I can smell it. Fuck this isn't good." It must be a strong one if the Spanish Beta can smell it, and he's attracting alpha's in the close vicinity. "Is George ok?" He hears someone ask, he thinks it's Max, but then someone else growls which makes George whine, his mind is slipping quickly. "He's in heat, I need to get him out of here quick." Before George really knows what's happening Aleix drags him by the arm into the Mercedes hospitality. A sense of safety washes over him, all the sights and smells are familiar here, his nest is tucked away in the corner and no one here will harm him.

"Kimi?" George loses his balance and practically crawls his way to Bono. "Is Kimi ok?" The older omega whines at the state he's in and gently pulls him to his feet. "Hey, he's fine. The car isn't good but he's ok, look he's over there with his mate." Bono pushes the sweaty hair off his forehead. "Come on love, let's get you into your nest."

George shrugs Bono off, mate? Kimi can't have a mate, he's just a pup. The smell of an unfamiliar alpha reaches his nose, a whine of fear escapes him until he sees who it is, Ollie and he's got his hands all over the pup. George snarls, making Bono jump. "George?" Before he can react George storms over there.

"Pup, are you ok?" George nuzzles Kimi's cheek, his instincts settling down a little bit, the pup is safe with him. "George, i'm not a pup-" He giggles, but the smell of George reaches him. "You're in heat, you need to get out of here." Ollie takes a step towards them, George hisses at him. "Stay away." His instincts are going wild with Ollie here, more and more slick leaks out of him but more importantly he needs to keep the pup safe from this unfamiliar alpha.

"George it's ok, it's me Ollie. You know i'm not going to hurt him." Ollie tries coming close again but George hisses at him again. "My pup." He wraps his arms around the young Italian and quickly pulls him into his nest. "It's Ollie, you're okay." Kimi, brushes his fingers through George's sweaty hair. "Deep down you know this, come on George."

"Tell him Aleix, he's got my mate." Ollie is close to tears, furiously clinging onto the Spaniards shirt. "Get him away from George, he's acting crazy." Bono closes in on them and stands himself in between the nest and the young alpha. "He's not crazy, he's gone feral. You shouldn't be here, you're an unfamiliar alpha in his safe space while he's in heat and he's already feeling overprotective because of Kimi's crash. I will help, but you need to stay as far away from him as possible. Tears roll down Ollie's cheeks. "But he's my omega." Ollie lets Aleix guide him to the other side of the garage, while Bono closes in on the nest.

"Kimi, are you okay?" Bono approaches the nest as, George wraps the younger omega in and blanket and protectively cuddles him close to his chest. "I'm okay." George pulls Kimi impossibly closer, Bono is safe but he can smell another alpha nearby. "George can Kimi come out? He's safe don't worry, we won't let anyone hurt him."

"My pup." George whines, an extra strong wave of heat runs through him, making his stomach cramp. He needs a knot badly, but that will have to wait, he needs to keep the pup safe. Kimi whines in response. "Look, it's ok. I don't want to leave him, this heat is obviously a bad one, i'm happy to stay here if it helps him." George purrs and nuzzles Kimi's cheek. "Poor Georgie, does it hurt badly?" Kimi rests his hand on George's stomach and gently massages the area of pain.

His instincts settle down again, he's got Kimi tucked up against him in a pile of messy blankets, it feels good keeping the younger omega safe. The only problem is the heat, it's getting worse by the second. Another wave of pain hits him, he digs his finger nails into the skin of his arms, it hurts but he needs to think of anything but the heat, he can't keep the pup safe while begging for a knot. He closes his eyes and waits for the wave of pain to pass.  

"Come on love, you need your alpha to take care of you, Kimi is okay, you don't have to worry about him." The smell of the alpha hits him, his eyes fly open. it's Toto, George hisses at him. "No."

"Come on George, don't make me use my alpha voice." George hisses again, he can't use his Alpha voice, George is weak to the alpha voice, they'll take his pup away and then he won't be safe. George hisses again, louder more defensive this time. Toto holds his hands up, and takes a step back but he's still too close for comfort.

"Don't use your alpha voice, please. He's not hurting me, it's his instincts and it's all my fault because I brought Ollie into the garage." Kimi is crying, his pup will not be upset on his watch. George hisses at Toto again for good measure then snuggles Kimi even further into the comfortable blankets, hoping to give the pup, more warmth and safety. "Shh pup, you're safe now."

Toto steps away from the nest, not wanting to distress the omega's anymore. "What the fuck do we do, George has heats three times a year and he's never acted like this before."

"Just to start, you should have not threatened him with your alpha voice, why would you do that? He's always been the pup before, this is new territory for him, his mate is over at Ferrari and Kimi crashing has obviously sent his instincts haywire and on top of all that, then he gets back to the pup being with an unfamiliar alpha." Bono spills it all out in one mad rush. Toto sighs. "You're right, I shouldn't be threatening him and after today we won't let in alpha's from other garages for the safety of our own personnel but what do we do now?"

"Are we all forgetting that a feral omega has my mate trapped?" A frantic Ollie closes in on the nest, George hisses at him. "My pup." Aleix quickly pulls him back, before he can do anything stupid. "Are you crazy? Do you want him to bite you?" Ollie looks like he's about to cry again. "That's it, i'm getting Lewis." No one stops Ollie as he storms out of the garage. "That's actually not a bad idea, if anyone can talk George around, it's going to be Lewis."  

"I'm right here George, it's ok, i'm safe" George is slipping, he doesn't know how much longer he can take this, sweat is pouring off him, he's wet through with slick, he needs a knot badly. He still doesn't let go of Kimi, but the pup seems to have taken on a care role now, he keeps combing George's hair with his fingers and keeps telling him it's going to be ok. He's a rubbish person, can't even keep the pup safe, too busy thinking about his own selfish needs. A horrible sad whine escapes him.  

"Poor Georgie, it hurts doesn't it." George grips tightly onto Kimi's t-shirt, not wanting to let him go. "Your mate will be here soon, he will take care of you." George whines no, he needs to keep the pup safe. "No, pup-" Another whine escapes him, he can't even talk now, he just needs a knot. "Here take this." Kimi pulls off his t-shirt and hands into to George, who purrs and rubs it against his cheek.  

"Hey my beautiful omega, do you need some help?" A beautiful smell hits him, it's his mate, his body is screaming at him, his instincts are purring in delight, his alpha is here! But that small rationally thinking part of his brain knows, he needs to keep his pup safe. George hisses at him, a horrible wave of pain overtakes him, he screams in pain.

"I know sweetheart, you want to keep the pup safe after his crash, that makes sense. It's very scary isn't it?" Lewis climbs into the nest, George doesn't have the energy to hiss at him, it feels nice having his mate here. "I know it's not nice." Lewis pulls George into his arms, his inner omega starts doing kart wheels, the pain subsides and just like that, it feels like his mind has been returned to him.

"Blimey, i'm really sorry Kimi." George lets go of the younger omega, who giggles. "It's ok, I understand but you need to remember i'm an adult, i'm not a pup." George whines. "You will always be a pup to me." Kimi rolls his eyes and jumps out of the nest, making his way over to his own mate, who wraps him up in huge hug, pressing kisses all over his cheeks. "I'm sorry Ollie, I don't know what happened." The young alpha shrugs. "I get it, just don't do it again please." Kimi giggles. "He couldn't help it."

"Lew? Alpha?" George clings onto his mate. "Will you put a pup in me?" Lewis chuckles and takes George into arms, carrying him bridal style out of the nest.

"Come on, let's go home and get this heat sorted out."  

[crescendof1]

would love to hear about your girl George fic!

omg girl!george au is soo special to me thank you guys so much for caring about her!!! i posted the first little bit of the fic here.

basic premise is george cannot be normal about being one of the only girls on the grid and it gets in the way of everything. her and max hook up after baku 2023 and then enter a terrible situationship where they hook up all the time, and they almost go on dates but neither of them knows where they stand with the other. george is terrified of being seen as having 'slept her way to the top' and is worried that she'll just be seen as max's wag if they're together for real, sooo dating is hard for her to like wrap her head around. max is just waiting for her to stop being so squirmy so he can ask her out for real. and then!! george does a swimsuit photo shoot/interview for some magazine. she catches max talking about it to some of the other drivers and to her that's confirmation of all the things she's afraid of! so she ghosts him for a bit and they have to go through The Horrors (trying not to spoil the whoooole plot) until they get their happy ending :)

snippet from post-baku under the cut!!

George lays there for a long moment, coming down from cloud nine gently. Max is still between her legs, but he’s moved his torso to the side, head resting on the mattress right beside her ribcage so he’s not totally smothering her. They catch their breath together for a while, the air conditioner humming. Eventually, Max gets out of bed and walks towards the ensuite.  Sated and happy, George can’t help herself but imagine the rest of the evening playing out like a romance novel. Max will go to the bathroom, and get her a washcloth, and gently wipe her down. Then she’ll pull him back down for a long sweet kiss, and he’ll wrap her in his arms and they’ll fall asleep pressed together like that. 

The thought bubble bursts when Max whistles at himself. He’s standing in the middle of the room, still stark naked, and he’s craning his neck over his shoulder to look at himself in the mirror on the far wall. Or rather to look at his back, which is covered in long, deep scratches from George’s nails. 

“Oh my God,” Max laughs, “you are such a hypocrite, talking about ‘no marks,’ and then doing this,” he says lightly as he steps into the bathroom.  

George feels sick, suddenly. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” she says over the sound of the running tap. The vision of Max in her head twists, from laying in bed with her to him pulling the collar of his shirt down, bragging about her to his friends. She imagines walking by the Red Bull garage and hearing the mechanics whisper about her. People already think she’s slept her way up to the top, she couldn’t take adding this fuel to the fire. 

“Wasn’t going to,” Max gripes as he comes back out of the bathroom. George is sitting up already, trying to arrange her facial expression into something demanding instead of begging. Max tosses her the washcloth none too gently, chewing at his lip like he’s annoyed with something. 

Probably the fact that I’m still in his room, she thinks to herself and stands up. Her legs are shaky underneath her, but the cloth is warm between her legs and she wipes herself off. Max just watches her.

“I mean it, though,” she continues, pulling her underwear back on, “not even your friends.” 

She puts her polo back on next, her face is covered by the fabric as Max grumbles, “Message received. Do you need me to call you a car?” 

George can dish it out, but she can’t take it. The confirmation that he wants her out stings. She wonders if he regrets it already. “No,” she says, “Aleix said he’d come get me. Shared rental and all that.” 

“Ok,” Max says simply, boxers and t-shirt already back on. He sits down on the couch, picks his controller back up. The game of FIFA is still paused. Her phone is still propped up on the water bottle, her onboard playing on repeat. All the mess was on themselves, wiped away now. The duvet is barely crinkled. The only proof she didn’t imagine the whole thing are the red lines down either side of Max’s spine. But those are under his tee, now, completely hidden. It’s like the whole thing never happened.

[yesterdayiwrote]

hii never heard of the sharing aleix as a trainer story

when tf did that happen?!

Back when George was in F3 and Alex was in F2 (so 2017 ish) Aleix was trainer for both George AND Alex simultaneously - which led to the bike incident which happened on a joint training session in Milton Keynes. (George did a livestream a few years back with Aleix where they both said they could still visualise Alex going over the handlebars)

One of them had a photo where all three of them turned up for dinner in a white t-shirt and black jeans and I think George said he ended up going and getting changed so they weren't matching so they were a proper little trio!

But yes! For a period, Aleix was "their" trainer. He had to stop when George progressed into F2 with Alex and he stayed with George while Alex got Patrick.

[russilton]

Huh crocheter George... I can see him doing it and he seems like a person that would make stuff for his friends?

Someone gave Carlos a crochet chili? So something like that

Obviously first to like Alex and Lando etc and now I want Lewis to be a bit jealous and offended that everyone seems to be getting something self made from George from him (except of course, it's fine to give something with potential mistakes to your best friend and other friends but to someone like Lewis? It would have to be perfect which means improving a lot before you dare present something....)

(Anon I have been working on this for months now- since you sent it, but you can’t complain it’s late or that I made it knitting instead of crochet since you got what is in essence, fic) (un-edited because my wife is sick, there was no planning, just vibes)

word count: 4679

It started as a stupid way to prove to Alex he did in fact have artistic skills. Somewhere between grainy YouTube videos and detangling knots it became a way to decompress between sessions, it made for good practice with repetitive actions and not making mistakes, something in following stitch patterns that isn't that different from memorising turns and breaking points.

Incorporating new colours and designs teaches him to build patterns in his head that help with race planning. It's surprising how much the skills intersect. The only problem that arose was just how many scarves he ended up with.

So, George makes everyone scarves. Everyone gets a scarf. It’s a straight line and easy to follow. He has to get rid of the results of his labour somehow.

Aleix? Scarf. Bono? Scarf. Marcus’ scarf has extra fancy tassels. Riki’s has his first ever pole time embedded in it in little pixelated number shaped stitches. Mike’s scarf is almost as long as he is tall, George finally conceding it was long enough when he ran out of yarn at that weekends race. Shov’s scarf is connected in a loop, when asked, George teases ‘it’s because you’ve been here forever, Andrew.’ and has to duck out of the room and set off running before it gets pelted at his head. Shov does keep it though, along with one George manages to slyly pay Anthony to slip into his bag for Jenson. Toto gets sent home with scarves for Susie and each of his children. His is hidden at the bottom, so George doesn’t have to look him in the eyes when he finds it.

George only has to squint at Fred with red ears and nose, on a chilly Silverstone test day huddled up beside Mick in their boyband style white puffers, before he’s handed a black and silver scarf a week later. It doesn’t matter how much he protests being from a northern circle country, if Valtteri got a scarf so does Fred.

The fact Valtteri’s attempt was one of his earlier ones and has a finger sized hole in it is of no consequence. After all, Alex’s scarf has more holes than it has clean runs, but George just tells him it’s to get him used to the Williams style of living. If James Vowles' scarf is a lot neater, George challenges Alex to go and fight him for it.

Charles gets one in a red so vibrant it almost glows, though it’s not until after a summer break, George wouldn’t be caught dead working with Ferrari red in his garage, even now. Mick’s is a similar red, if paler, patterned with a grid of white stitches, and he looks surprised when George drops it in his lap, but it morphs into his wide bright smile when George just nods at him. Even Nicky receives a scarf in Williams blue with little wonky maple leaves patterned in white down the length of it mailed to him after a particularly stressful season opening. Nicky's girlfriend sends him a photo of him wearing it while they stand in snow up to their ankles. It feels good to know he's doing alright.

Eventually George’s scarves get more and more complicated, new patterns and shapes appearing as he pushes the boundary of his easy little plans, and finds new ways to occupy his mind during the hardest parts of the season. Eventually even drivers George knows a little less well find themselves with an unlabelled gift George gets snuck to them— Yuki and Guanyu both have the good sense to not question it too hard. Esteban texts him a middle finger, but he doesn’t get it back.

Even Roscoe gets a scarf, perfectly shrunk in size for his boxy head, rows interwoven with yellow and purple that he wears proudly as a bulldog can for a modelling photo in his home in LA alongside Angela who’d been more than excited to partake in George’s unspoken mission. The Bulldog looks stylish and comfortable despite it not being even close to the right season for it. He’s a professional after all.

—

Lewis gets nothing, which, y’know, he’s fine with. Roscoe got one so that kind of counts, and he’s been told he’s hard to buy for with his eccentric fashion sense, doubled by the fact he has enough money that even he doesn’t know what to do with it all sometimes. He’s worn more scarves than most people have ever owned, the majority of them handed to him by his stylists and then neatly returned that same week, their loan period from the brands vying for his attention ending without much fanfare.

He’s only kept one or two that particularly held his interest, and while Lewis doesn’t know their exact price, he knows that they probably cost more than one of the team's laptops. While Lewis has long been comfortable with his wealth, every now and then it still catches him, like a missed tag in a shirt, itchy and distracting.

This was one of those times.

When he’d first seen the scarves popping up around the garage, in the early part of that season when they’re still racing in deserts and countries close to the equator, he assumed its a new fashion trend he just isn’t aware of yet. It doesn’t make sense to him the way trends usually do; the heat of the climate combined with the way all of them are so varied and different. The only connecting factor is the handmade air to them, holes and sloppy loops peppered across the lengths. He even starts to wonder if one of the mechanics partners was sending them to races with gifts.

Lewis is used to purposefully distressed fabrics, so it takes him longer than he’d care to admit to realise what’s going on. He really should have noticed when Bono got one, as notoriously intolerant to modern trends as he usually is, but it isn’t until Valtteri of all people texts him a photo of himself with one tucked around his neck and newly trimmed mullet on a cycling trip between races that he finally cracks.

———

[VB sent an image]

LH: Where the hell did you get that thing, I keep seeing them everywhere

VB: This is a moustache Lewis, you should be familiar with the concept

LH: Har har

LH: wise ass.

LH: I meant the scarf

VB: Ask your boytoy

VB: it was him who threw it at my head in Spa last week

LH: George???

VB: who else

LH: don’t call him that- since when is he buying everyone scarves?

VB: but you knew who I meant didn’t you

LH: answer the question

VB: I’m pretty sure he made it, there’s a lot of holes

LH: Since when does George knit?????

VB: these sound like questions for YOUR teammate, I have pedalling to do

VB: 👋➡️🚴‍♂️

LH: what the hell man

LH: did you seriously just ghost me rather than answer

LH: fuck you

LH: and your secrets

LH: I hope tiff beats you

LH: 🖕🏾

[Valtteri BottASS liked a message]

——

The conversation with Valtteri leaves him even more confused than he was before. Despite the fact he now has even more questions swirling around his head, he does not ask George what’s going on. The last thing he wants to do is find out why he’s been excluded from the man himself. Lewis chooses not to question exactly why that is.

He’s also glad he hadn’t asked his stylist to find it for him like he’d planned to, containing his mild embarrassment down to just Valtteri, who he’s reasonably sure won’t tell George he asked about it. Valtteri may deeply enjoy fucking with Lewis, but not enough to have a conversation with George about it. If there’s one thing Valtteri objects to on all levels it’s being involved in… whatever is going on between Lewis and George.

Lewis isn’t quite sure what it is either. They’ve been dancing around each other for years now, Lewis isn’t quite sure when George turned from colleage to friend, and he really doesn’t know where they stand now they’re teammates who spend almost every week together in some form. The formality of clear labels was lost somewhere in the late night strategy sessions and food shared at different tables across the world at every hour of the day, from late breakfasts in Qatar to eyes-barely-open meals at 3am in Singapore. He wouldn’t call George his best friend… but he’s not sure he would call George just his teammate anymore either. He’s George. Whatever that means.

That lack of definition bites him in the ass sometimes, such as cases like this one where he has no idea what he is to George in return.

In his final year with Mercedes it had only gotten harder to figure out where they stood. In the years prior it had been a little easier at least, they'd had their ups and downs as they fought the car and worked hard not to fight with each other, but they'd always settled somewhere level. George's warmth toward him had felt unshakable.

Now it feels like they're both in some kind of pendulum motion, sliding from a desire to keep some distance, to make it hurt less, to an almost clingy need to soak up the time they have remaining together. It feels silly really, it's not like Lewis is retiring, he'll still be there, a couple doors down from George...but he can't escape the reality of knowing it'll be different.

Coupling that with his already complicated and grief heavy emotions about the entire team, and the fact their needs don't exactly line up most weekends, it's been a hard year. Lewis is pretty sure he's pulled George into more hugs this season than he has any other teammate before, but that didn't stop the sting of weeks where George seemed to catch a glance at him and turn tail and run for his drivers room. He doesn't feel particularly emotionally intelligent, but the slip of pain and something pinched in George's too clear eyes had been plain as day.

He knows there's nothing he can really do about it other than let George feel what he feels, but it still felt like a balm when George would grab his hand after a good race with that crazed joy in his eyes he always got, sweat practically flicking off every strand of his hair, and smile so bright it shone reserved just for Lewis, rubbing away any awkward moments from that weekend, like when George had winced when Lewis as squeezed his hand in greeting in Silverstone, mumbling something about sore fingers that Lewis hadn't understood.

Coming into their final races together as they do now, every movement feels amplified, every gesture and discussion hangs with the weight of being potentially his last with his team the team. Thoughts about George and scarves get lost in the heat of desert tracks and a cloying grief he finally has to face head on without the facade of getting through the year. He's not sure he's ever felt this emotional in his life. Leaving Mclaren had been a breath of fresh air and a weight lifted even if he'd loved what they had achieved together. Leaving Mercedes feels like moving away from England for the first time, unsure of what will be on the other side, or if he'll be able to make somewhere foreign and so different feel like his home again. Unsure if he wants to.

George seems to almost disappear behind that. Lewis figures he's giving him time to say goodbye to his team uninterrupted. Despite the fact George had been part of the Mercedes family in a way almost as long as Lewis has driven for them, they both know there's something different about it, and he's thankful for the space. He can press down the guilty, aching and confusing emotions he has about George into a box in the back of his mind to be handled late. He doesn't have time to unpack Georges furtive, almost nervous peeking at him between monitors when he's listening to Shov present their debrief for what might be the last time.

That's does however leave him ultimately unprepared for when George does finally demand his attention, by appearing on the doorstep of his drivers room after they're wrapped up for the evening, qualifying finished and preparations for the race day concluded, with what appears to be a colourfully wrapped lump in his arms.

Lewis is still blinking at the shiny obstacle between them, overhead lights glinting off the chrome coloured paper, when George speaks.

'Sorry mate, I hope I didn't interrupt anything did I?' His voice is oddly high pitched, sounding a little like when Lewis knows he's trying to lie to Toto about how much sleep he's had.

'No man I was just packing up for the night'

'Mind if I come in before you leave? It won't take long I promise,'

Lewis murmurs a quiet uh sure as he steps back, gesturing George inside and then shutting the door behind them as he see's curious eyes in the engineering bay start glancing over toward them. Even Bono, Mike, and Marcus, still clustered in the corner as normal poking away at their laptops seem to be looking over, trying and failing to seem subtle as if Lewis hasn't had over a decade to pick up on what Bono looks like when he's trying to listen to gossip.

In the privacy of Lewis' drivers room George spins around to face him and before he can even ask what's going on, George is pushing the thing he brought with him into Lewis' grasp

The parcel isn't too dense, but there's a weight to it that feels like it has to be good deal heavier than the wrapped scarves Lewis had watched George pass out in the past, and it looks at least three times the size them. Lewis barely has a second to try and figure out what it is before George’s fingers twitch toward him, like he’s itching to pull it from Lewis’ hands and unwrap it himself because Lewis is being too slow. Wordlessly, Lewis holds the package back out, gesturing for George to go ahead, and rather than steal it back out of his hands, George crowds up into his space to start unpicking the paper.

George’s wrapping handiwork has never been strong, but Lewis can’t really pay attention to that when George is this close, towering above him but seeming almost small in his nervousness. The moment feels strangely intimate as George slips those long fingers between his own crumpled tape job, tugging the attached parts free until he pulls back the final fold to reveal his signature woven handiwork.

George steps back then, leaving Lewis holding his presented gift in a cradle of paper. Out of the corner of his eye Lewis sees him twist and wring his fingers together as he watches, but Lewis can barely focus on how George might be feeling as a wave of... something hot and warm rushes over him.

The lump turns out to be a jumper. It's a bright mustard yellow, rich and bold. Or at least, part of it is, the arms and chest in one continuous colour that ends abruptly partway down the torso when one line stops and continues in a slightly paler shade. The difference is almost imperceptible, and likely would hidden entirely if the colours weren’t butted up against each other like this, juxtaposed the way they are. Towards the hem of the thing, the colour shifts again, one step lighter for the last handful of rows falling at the waistline, the changes creating a gradient down the body. When Lewis traces it with his eyes, he can spot small areas in the neck and wrists where the pattern falters, warped patches that correct quickly but don’t quite line up with those around them. Rather than make the whole item look bad, there’s an odd personality to it, a touch of handmade individuality compared to a lot of the pristine items Lewis gets handed by his stylist, not a spec of lint in sight despite the fact they aren’t headed to a closed catwalk, but a dusty paddock.

As his fingers lift the folded bulk of it he spots a little detail along the neckline, a tiny, almost unnoticeable LH in a dark gold colour that would settle in line with his ear. Surely enough on the right side, there's a tiny 44 in the same font, the pair crowning his shoulders. Twisting the woollen form again, he sees there are tiny stars stitched into the cuffed sleeves in the same colour. There's seven by his count, and an eighth peeking out from the inner band where it would press against his wrist.

He's not sure how long they've been stood together now, silent but for the rustling of paper and the jumper as Lewis studies George's work. As he finishes his inspection he becomes aware of the anxious energy practically radiating off George in the silence that the same man finally snaps and breaks.

'I know its uh, pretty hot where we are but I figured, when you get back home- I mean when you get back to England you can- I tried to finish it earlier but-' George stumbles, words sounding unsure and faux light before Lewis interrupts him

'Did you make this?' He breaths, fingers pressing into the stitches as if it might tell him instead.

'Yeah, I wanted to make something... bigger. I know it's not quite what you're used to with the fashion stuff but I thought...well I don't know what I thought' George explains, words trailing into a lilting mumble. When Lewis' eyes dart up to meet his face, George's cheeks are glowing even in the low light of the one lamp he'd left on, face twisted as if braced for a blow. Like he thinks Lewis is going to be mad at him for this, somehow.

'George...man...'

'Sorry- It's stupid I know, if you don't like it I'll take it back, I won't be mad, I swear-' George isn't looking at him anymore, eyes darting around at his feet and his hands that he shoves into his pockets only to yank them out and wring them together again, fidgeting so he doesn't have to meet Lewis' gaze. His uncertainty makes Lewis' stomach hurt.

'It's perfect'

'I can even save the yarn, it's not actually that hard to unravel- what?'

'It's perfect, George, I really like it' He repeats, grabbing Georges arm with the hand he isn't cradling the jumper with, forcing George to stop trying to climb the walls with his eyes and look at him properly.

'You do?'

'Of course? Did you think I wouldn't like it?'

'I dunno I just- I wanted to make something special.' George rasps, surprisingly wet looking eyes boring into his. That stumps Lewis, and he has to drop his eyes back down to the gorgeous golden knit work, so undeniably a labour of care. It must have taken months, When Lewis was so deep in his own head trying to figure out if George felt anything or was just waiting for him to leave, the man himself was working in secret on something just for Lewis.

'How long did this take you?' He whispers into the space between them, not sure he even wants to know the answer, fingers still wrapped almost too firmly around Georges arm, a little worried George might run for the gates of the paddock if he lets go.

'You don't want to know- since before Imola at least. I normally just do scarves cause uh, they're just straight lines y'know.' George starts tentatively, before the dam seems to burst and he begins rambling 'I had to unpick half of it in October cause I'd counted wrong and it was shaped like a pear- there's still some wrong bits I couldn't fix, sorry about that- and I hope its the right size I had to ask Angela for them and she said they're a couple years old and-'

He continues but now it's Lewis' turn to freeze up, puzzle pieces clicking together in his head as he realises George has been working on something just for him since at least May. For over 7 months while Lewis was absorbed in fighting the car and his own emotions George was working away at something specifically for him, without even being sure if he would like it.

George has started to go off into a tangent about getting knitting needles through airport security when Lewis finally stops him, squeezing his arm.

'Why... why'd you do all that just for me?' He grits out, voice scratching against his raw throat, trying to make eye contact with George so he might read it in his face why the hell George put more effort in for him than anyone else.

'Just for you- Blimey, Lewis, cause I had to say thank you somehow, didn't I?'

'Cause I'm leaving?'

'No! No- 'cause you stayed. 'Cause you made me feel like this is my home too. 'Cause you listened to me and never made me feel too young or not good enough when I made mistakes and you never treated me like the enemy or just some guy across the garage. I know I keep saying it but you probably saved my career-'

'George- you would have been fine without me, you've always been good-' Lewis tries to interject, but George just steamrolls past him.

'Yeah but- you didn't make me figure that out on my own. I learned more in a month with you than three years at Williams. You made me a better person'

'George-'

'Please, I know it's a bit much, maybe, but I just had to do something before you left, so you knew.' George's voice cracks a little over the last words, and Lewis doesn't feel much better, eyebrows furrowed and throat clogging as he tries to choke down the indescribable feeling climbing up his throat and threatening to suffocate him in response to George's frank honesty. He's always been better at being vulnerable than Lewis.

He doesn't know what to say anymore, how to tell George that it was never a hardship to be his teammate, that Lewis was the one who struggled to articulate what George meant to him. That he's going to miss this like breathing and he wasn't prepared for that.

Words have never been his strong suit though, so instead he turns slightly and gently throws the jumper onto the nearest couch, ensuring its landed safely and ignoring Georges noise of confusion before he turns and drags George into his arms.

It's become natural, to hug George, another thing that's evolved over the last couple seasons when Lewis would have sworn himself touch averse for the most part. His arms wrap tight around George, one clutching at the middle of his back as the other skates up to cup around the back of his head, fingers slipping on shower damp hair and George's shirt collar.

George's nose tucks into his neck like routine, cheek pressed hard into Lewis' as he winds a long arm around the shorter man's neck to clutch at his shoulder, the other tugging at Lewis' shirt, gripping like Lewis is going to pull away, as if he hadn't initiated it.

Lewis squeezes harder than he imagines is probably comfortable, but George just makes a wet noise into his neck and digs his head down harder, fingers clutching tighter as Lewis runs a thumb over his hairline. There's a damp feeling growing on Lewis' shoulder but he doesn't care, he's not sure how he isn't tearing up himself, maybe he would be if he wasn't trying to memorise the feeling of how George fits against him.

It crashes over him then, blunt as a hammer, that this is what he's afraid of losing. He's afraid of losing this closeness with George when he leaves, when he's no longer going to be the experienced, advising teammate but just another obstacle on the grid George needs to climb over. He might lose the George who crowds into his space looking for Lewis to celebrate with him this way. He might lose the joy and adrenaline of George flinging himself at Lewis with the confidence that he will be caught, when it might be strange if they aren't teammates.

'I'm sorry' he blurts out, words crawling from somewhere in his lungs, only for George to make a confused noise, trying to pull back and stopping when Lewis only grips harder.

'What're you sorry about' George gets out, words wet and quiet where they are muffled against Lewis' shoulder.

'About this, the hugging, I just-' Lewis starts, but George just laughs at him, damp and a little hysterical, face tilting till their noses are practically brushing so he can look at Lewis from within his embrace.

'The last thing you ever have to be sorry for, is hugging me. You can do it more if you want'

Lewis stares at him for a second, gaze darting over George's lax but wet eyes, and the way his cheek smushes into Lewis' shoulder at an angle that must be uncomfortable but yet he makes no attempt to move away from, and yet another thing clicks into place, very much the theme of the evening. He was clearly teasing, but even Lewis can hear the truth under his words.

He brushes a seeking thumb over the nape of George's neck, dragging across the hot skin there. George shivers, fingers flexing against Lewis back, and that's all the permission he needs to tip his mouth onto Georges, lips slotting together in a kiss he hadn't even realised he'd wanted.

It's hardly picture perfect. George's face is sticky from his own tears and Lewis can taste it on his lips, his own cheeks are hot and itchy, and the angle they're at makes the seal of their mouths messy at best, and yet its the best thing Lewis has ever tasted. The hand George had at his shoulder slips along to thumb Lewis' jaw, pressing over his beard, and Lewis wants to drown in it. All his experience flies out the window in the face of following his gut and holding George as close as he can manage.

The slide of their mouths should really be indecent, wet as it is, and he's starting to think a little about being too loud, when he shifts slightly and George makes a breathy whimpering noise that sends any worries about being overheard right out of his head.

Time melts a little, as they curl together, until Lewis' neck really can't tolerate the angle anymore, and he has to pull back, panting harshly just in time for something to go clattering the the floor outside in the engineering bay, making them both jump and reminding them abruptly that they are in fact still at work, in thrown up rooms with paper thin walls that the cleaning staff are going to want to vacuum soon, as thorough as they are.

'We probably shouldn't be- well- we probably should have figured this out before now' George muses, still sounding awful breathless for an athlete Lewis seen run several miles for fun. They'd pulled apart a little in shock at the noise outside, but he's still gripping Lewis' arm, and there's that bright, beautiful smile creeping across his face again.

Lewis glances just over his shoulder, where the jumper is still lying haphazardly on the sofa.

'I dunno, Man. Better late than never?'

[chilling-seavey]

I was thinking about this for when the reader is pregnant but craving sex, they go for like five rounds but George wakes up in the morning with a cramp in his shin and blames it on that

It definitely woke him up before his alarm, that tight cramping in his calf and radiating around up the entire length of his shin. The weirdest place to have a cramp. Yet, it was painful enough that he nearly shot out of bed, having to put some weight on it to try and ease. There he was, at the crack of dawn, fully naked, hobbling around the pitch black bedroom to try and walk it off.

You were fast asleep still, tucked up all sweet and innocent on your side of the bed [like he hadn't fucked you to heaven and back earlier that night]. George ended up staring at you for a moment too long amidst his pacing because then he's stubbing his toe on the corner of the bed frame and trying so desperately to be quiet as now his other leg is virtually out of commission too.

He's leaning on the corner of the bed, face screwed up in pain, trying to get his wits about him with a muttered and strained, "Fucking...shit—"

Amongst the commotion, you woke up, groggily calling out a sleepy, "George? You okay?"

"Yeah." was all he could croak out. "Think so."

You reached over to turn on the bedside lamp only to find him hunched over the corner of the bed, completely nude, and his face painted in pain. Surprised, you consoled him with a soft, "Oh, love, what happened?"

"Was walking off a cramp and stubbed my toe." he answered through his teeth as his pinky toe still throbbed. He reached down to wrap a hand around it with a hiss.

"Cramp? From what?" you frowned.

"Probably..." George, still bent over, rubbed his shin, his voice strained, "the million rounds of sex we had. I must have pulled something."

Your eyes flitted down to where he was rubbing and you couldn't help the amused snort you let out, "How did you get a sex cramp in your shin?"

"I don't know," said George, exasperated, standing up straight and waving his hand around absentmindedly, "You had me all...out of my mind. I don't even remember what I was doing."

"It's more likely from the intense training session you had with Aleix yesterday morning," you challenged.

"We didn't do legs."

"Well we didn't 'do legs' either." you snorted as you rested back against the pillows and headboard and set a hand on your tiny belly with a playful, "Maybe you're just getting old."

He shot you a pointed glare.

[percervall]

🔒 just another roll of the dice pt9 🎲 written as part of @powerful-owl's F1RPF race roll 🎲 4&8 3&4 — George and Max

“Are you alright?” Aleix asks him. George nods, sucking in air through his nose while his stomach lurches. “I’m gonna put your fucking head in the wall,” it echoes in ears. At least the ringing has stopped which is a good sign, but George is pretty sure he can no longer feel his fingers. “You don’t look okay,” his trainer says. George takes another deep breath, his lunch managing to stay where it should be, as he straightens back up. “I’m fine, let’s just go inside. Probably the heat,” he mumbles, and keeps putting one foot in front of the other.

still had the sprint race for Miami left over and inspiration struck. (apologies up front for the Max fans seeing this, maybe skip this one)

[dellovestorant]

I was just watching Kym Illmans entourage YouTube video and did we know that Aleix isn't doing every race this year and that Logan Sargeants old trainer is also working with George and will do Aleix's role for the races he's not there?

Ps how was the Grand Prix experience?🫶

Interesting 🤔 Logan and George sharing everything atp trainers and managers alike lol 😭

But omg the GP was amazing I hate Melbourne weather though. Was sweating my ass off on Saturday and then my hands were frozen on Sunday 😭. Still an amazing experience and already planning for next year lol. Going to an F1 GP has me wishing I could go to MotoGP in Philip island this year but alas exams take priority.

[formula-1-otp]

Of Migraines And Pushing Through

Summary : George struggles with chronic migraines and forgot to take his meds and gets one on a race weekend how will he cope?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N : this was a request on AO3 I hope everyone enjoys!

George had struggled with migraines for most of his life. He had been diagnosed with chronic migraines quite young, they could never figure out exactly what caused them just a few things that triggered them. The doctor prescribed some medication to help prevent them for race weekends after getting two back-to-back before he even started his f1 career and was still in F2.

Unfortunately, George didn't realize he had taken his last pill in Vegas, he knew he couldn’t call his doctor in the middle of the weekend to get a prescription so he just had to hope that he could manage it by just doing his routine prevention work.

Practice and qualifying were great George had qualified in pole position and was so excited to get the race started.

He really should’ve noticed Saturday night during the media dinner. George should’ve noticed the small floaters floating around his vision but as soon as they’d come they’d leave so he just chalked it up to being tired and dehydrated he grabbed his water and took a few big sips. George went and stood next to Lewis to make some conversation and get back to the party.

George could feel it when he was going to bed Saturday night, he and Lewis had got back to the hotel late bidding each other farewell before going their separate ways. As George lay in the hotel bed he could feel the fuzzy feeling in his head he quickly got up and popped a few Tylenol before laying down to hopefully sleep off the migraine.

Unfortunately, when George woke up he had not slept off the migraine and it was one of the worst he’s ever had. It was only seconds of him being awake before he was bolting to the bathroom to empty his stomach.

“Oh god,” George whispered to himself as he continued to empty his stomach for a few more minutes before he managed to drag himself back to bed. He managed to catch a glimpse of the clock and realized if he didn’t get up and get ready he was going to be late.

He pulled on his track pants one leg at a time as he sat on the edge of the bed. His head was beyond throbbing he could barely think but he knew he had to drive, he hadn’t told Toto about his migraines and didn’t want to let the team down. As George finished getting ready the knock at the door almost sent him flying back to the bathroom to empty his stomach.

“George, are you ready? We’re gonna be late!” It was Aleix, George grabbed his stuff put his sunglasses on and opened the door to meet his trainer giving him a slightly angered look.

“What’s with the sunglasses? You hungover?” Aleix raised his eyebrow at the British man standing in front of him. George contemplated his decisions for a second before slightly nodding. At least that would stop the other man from asking questions.

The two headed to the paddock, George closed his eyes and tried to sleep on the way he was exhausted, but unfortunately, he spent the whole car ride trying not to throw up in the front seat.

George managed to make it to the privacy of his driver's room closing the door before once again going to empty his stomach. When he thought he had a few minutes he put his fireproofs on. He was working on autopilot. George never thought he’d be so thankful they did their strategy yesterday so he just had to wait to get in the car. He shivered slightly as he sat on the massage table to rub at his temples he didn’t have long but he just felt like death, all he wanted was to go to sleep in the darkest and quietest room.

He sat at trying to watch the lights he just wanted the race to start so it could be over. His stomach was still doing summersaults and he wasn’t sure if he would make the whole race without puking. He was so busy focusing on not throwing up that he almost missed the lights going out. They all headed to turn one.

The adrenaline took over for the first 15 laps George had forgotten his head was even hurting unfortunately a crash had brought out the safety car and the reduced speed seemed to bring George’s ailments back with a vengeance. He only made another couple of laps before he couldn’t hold his stomach anymore. He ended up puking in his helmet. He refused to give up he knew this was his fault and as long as he could kind of see he could continue right?

The more the race went on the worse George got, he was puking every other lap and he was sure it was going on and down his fireproofs. He was having a hard time seeing the track his vision was dipping in and out he knew he wasn’t passing out it was just the floaters so he just tried to continue using the bumpers to keep him on the track.

“We have a penalty for track limits George, try to keep it on the track,” Toto's voice came through and George couldn’t help but curse under his breath, they may not make the podium if he keeps getting penalties.

“Sorry I’ll do better,” George replied talking was hard and he realized he shouldn’t have opened his mouth and he dry heaved once again in his helmet.

During the last lap of the race George was crying at this point he refused to let the team down but he was struggling. He was glad no one could hear him over the car he’s sure someone would’ve thought someone was being murdered.

“Last lap George bring it home and we’ll get p3,” George didn’t even know where he was so to find out he was in p3 was surprising since he could barely see between the floaters and tears in his eyes. He crossed the finish line and had never been so grateful for the race to be over.

As George stood to exit the car his head started spinning and he dropped to the ground slightly catching himself as Toto came running over.

“George you okay? What’s wrong?” Toto was supporting George and got him back to his feet. Toto could see the vomit coming from the helmet and running down his driving suit. They managed to go to a more hidden spot in the winner's circle he helped George get his helmet off and Toto couldn’t help but give George a sad look.

The Brit’s eyes were red-rimmed with tears still coming his whole lower face was covered in bile and he was dripping with sweat.

Lewis was a little disappointed in his performance. They had some issues with the car so he just didn’t have the power he normally had finishing his p8. He was proud of George though it was a hard race and p3 was spectacular for the young Brit. He went to congratulate him but he didn’t see him in the winner's circle. Lewis looked around before just around the corner he saw Toto talking to someone so he decided to head over there.

“Let me go talk to the FIA and see if you can just go back to the hotel,” Toto said before quickly rubbing George’s back as the young Brit once again emptied his already very empty stomach. Toto said Lewis walking towards the two and was glad to see his other driver.

“Hey Lewis can you wait with George I gotta talk to the FIA,” Toto smiled at Lewis as the other Brit nodded before going to find someone who could excuse George.

“Georgie, what’s going on?” Lewis took in George’s appearance before giving the Brit a sad look.

“Migraine,” the younger rasped out his throat raw.

“Oh Georgie did it start during the race?” Lewis lowered his voice and shielded George from the media and as much light as he could. Lewis had never had a migraine but as a kid, his mom had the odd one.

“Started last night,” George whispered back he put his head in his hands trying to get any sense of relief from the pressure and pounding.

“George you drove with a migraine!?” Lewis couldn’t help but be a little annoyed. George was still young he needed to take care of himself.

“I-I didn’t want to let down the team,” George felt the tears start coming again, which wasn’t making him feel any better.

Before Lewis could say anything else Toto returned. Smiling at the boys as he saw Lewis shielding the younger boy.

“Mercedes is excused from media duties, Aleix will take you guys back to the hotel,” Toto was more talking to Lewis he didn’t think George was listening.

They made it back only having to pull over a few times for George to dry heaves on the side of the road. He was slumped against Lewis in the back seat. Lewis and Aleix dragged him upstairs to his room. Getting him all tucked in. Aleix had left the two saying he would return in a few hours to check on George.

“Lew?” George whispered, he was glad to be back in his hotel and was glad Lewis was with him.

“What do you need Georgie?” Lewis rubbed the young Brit’s back.

“Can you close the blinds?” George was facing away from the window but Lewis imagined the light on the wall was enough to send George’s head almost flying.

Lewis quickly got up to shut out the bright sunlight that was sure to keep George awake if he left them open.

George just made a happy noise. Feeling the slightest bit of relief from the room now being very dark. Lewis went back to sit by his younger teammate, he was worried, he had never seen George like this. He just gently started caressing George’s hair, he could feel the younger one leaning into the touch.

“Do you have anything to take for them?” Lewis whispered he could see the pain on George’s face and he didn’t like the sight he just wanted to be able to take the pain of his younger teammate.

“Took the last one in Vegas, forgot to get a refill,” Lewis sighed at his response. He had no idea that George took prescription meds for his migraines heck the older man was starting to feel guilty by not even realizing the younger man had migraines.

“Is there anything I can get you to help?” Lewis said softly not moving from his spot beside George his hand not leaving George’s hair.

“Just stay please,” George whispered before whimpering slightly. Lewis just smiled slightly at the other boy trying to give him as much comfort as he could.

“Of course,” Lewis made sure to stay with him, keeping the room quiet and dark and turning away anyone who wanted to celebrate with George as he explained the situation most of the drivers would give a sympathetic smile before wishing him well and leaving to go have their celebrations.

The next day, George woke up to Lewis asleep beside him, the memories from the day before coming back to him. George realized that his head still slightly hurt but nothing compared to the day before.

Lewis made a deal with George, Lewis would help him through his migraines when he got them but he had to tell Toto of his condition. Just like Lewis gathered when they told Toto the next week the older man instantly took George in his arms,

“Please don’t ever be afraid to tell me about your medical condition, it makes you no less of a driver to us,” Lewis smiled at Toto’s response. He was happy that there were no more secrets. He still thought George was crazy for not saying anything and still somehow racing. Everything worked out in the end though, and Lewis and George had never been so close.

[crimsonicarus]

May I pount you to Aleix posted George ass content in these trying times

Anon, that picture is the best thing that has happened to me this whole week, thank you for reminding me to go look at it a bit longer, Aleix has a sixth sense specially for when the girlies are struggling, my man said A S S

I'm lurking in the shadows of the princess George server and I've never been more grateful for a server

[formula1fanfiction]

Toto Wolff / George Russell

Title: Begging for you take my hand

Pairing: Toto Wolff / George Russell

Characters: Toto Wolff, George Russell

Prompt: Your George/Toto fic is so good!!! Have you thought about writing a part 2 of what happens in the hotel room (or, during a different heat some other time) George goes into a stress heat after the crash in Austrlia

"Red flag, red flag, red flag i'm in the middle of the track. Red flag, red flag, red, red, red, red, red, red. I'm in the middle, red. fuck, why so long?" George is only half aware that his race engineer is rambling about the cars going past, but he can't hear anything over the beating of his own heart. He can smell his own fear.

"There's a VSC, so they should have slowed down." That settles him a little bit, but they could still hit him while he's sat here like a sitting duck. The pure fear has sweat pouring off him, it's too hot he just needs to get out of the car.

Pure relief floods his body, when he martial arrives. He's an alpha and for some reason, smells extra strong. "Are you okay, mate?"  George nods, taking the hand offered to him, it sends sparks down his spine as their arms connect.

"Are you sure, you're alright?" The martial puts his hand on George's forehead. "You're burning." The alpha opens the car door for him. "Yeah, he's the omega all the regulations had to be changed for." George hears, just as the door slams closed, bit rude to talk about him when he's right there.

The cramps start as soon as he steps out of the medical car, he almost doubles over in pain. What the fuck is going on? Aleix runs over to him. "George, are you okay?" George can't concentrate, his head feels fuzzy, then he feels the slick running down his legs.

"You're going into heat." Aleix feels George's forehead and nods to confirm it. "No, I had my heat during winter break." The slick keeps coming though, his cock does a little twitch in his race suit, fuck. "It must be the stress."

"I just want my nest." tears well up in his eyes, why does the keep happening? He hates being the only omega, there is just no one to talk to about this. Aleix, pulls him into a hug, the smell of the Beta calms him a little bit.

"I'll get you some blockers just for media, hopefully you're not too far gone, then we'll get you to your nest, ok?" George nods eagerly, taking the small white pills and swallows them dry.

He manages to get through media, somehow. He didn't get on his knees and beg for cocks, despite the overwhelming Alpha scents in the room. He just needs to get back to his nest, so his heat can happen in a safe place.

"George, wait." It's Pierre and he's literally running over. "Are you okay?" The French Beta looks really concerned. "Yes, I just need my nest." Pierre wrinkles his nose. "Just be careful, okay? You're smell is so strong and i'm just a Beta." Pierre pats him on the shoulder. "Just look after yourself, yeah?"

The FIA had warned him and Mercedes, about this. An unmated Omega amongst multiple Alpha's is bound to become a problem at some point and because he's the only omega on the grid, his scent is only going to be stronger, which is probably the reason his blockers are not working.

The other teams had a lot to say about that, why should they take precaution's with their Alpha's just because of one omega on the grid. In the end, a proper agreement couldn't be reached and Mercedes would be fined if George can't control himself. Seems like a flaw in the system, not like George is going to jump anyone.

George manages to get back to his hotel room, without further incident, he rips off his clothing and settles down in his nest, purring happily as all the soothing scents, help him keep calm for the inventible heat.

His nest doesn't keep him calm for long, his instincts take over. His cock is rock hard and an ungodly amount of slick is running down his thighs. He moves himself to the bed, not wanting to spoil his nest.

George settles himself in the middle of the bed, pushing two fingers into his arse and finger fucks himself while wrapping a hand around his cock and furiously jerks himself off, using his own slick as lube, until he's coming hard with a little gasp.

His body feels like it's on fire, he's soaked the bed with his own sweat and his cock is already hard again. He need a knot, at the very least a knotted dildo. He tries it again, pushing three fingers into himself this time, his fingers just aren't thick enough, not that it stops him slamming them in and out of himself until he comes for a second time.

George is only half aware at the knocking on his door, he hopes it's an alpha with a big thick knot. "Jesus, George control yourself for a moment." Aleix's face appears in front of George's. "I can smell you half way down the hotel, I brought you some things."

"Fuck me Aleix, give it to me hard, i'll be a good omega, I promise." George grabs at his personal trainers shirt. The beta gives a little chuckle, but it's a nervous one. "Sorry mate, I can't help you. I'm just a Beta." The words filter into George's heat riddled brain, who whines sadly. "Need a knot."

"I know George, i'm so sorry." George watches as Aleix starts emptying a shopping bag, placing bottled water, energy bars and some fruit onto his night stand. "Need your knot." George tries again, Aleix sighs and takes out one last item from his bag. "I managed to get you this."

It's a knotted dildo and never in George's life has he been so happy to see a sex toy. He snatches it from Aleix's hands and spreads his legs wide. Aleix shakes his head in horror. "Please wait until I have gone, and stay hydrated." Aleix runs from the room and if George wasn't so desperate for something in his arse, the whole situation would have been pretty funny.

It feels like heaven when George finally slides the dildo into himself, it fits exactly where he needs it, filling him up properly. Once again George wraps his fingers around his cock and jerks himself off to the same pace as his dildo, his orgasm is much more fulfilling this time as he spills onto himself for the third time.

The relief doesn't last long, his cock is already hard again. George rolls onto his stomach, leaving the dildo still inside himself. The angle is awkward but he manages to rut against the bed sheets while still thrusting the dildo in and out of his arse.

"Oh, you are a mess, aren't you?" George thinks he's delirious when he sees Toto standing at the side of his bed, hands on hips with a small smile on his face. George is aware of the mess, he's got dried cum all over himself, his slick plastered to the skin around his arse.

"Alpha." George moans rolling onto his back and letting his legs fall open, he can smell his own arousal. "I need your knot, alpha." Toto doesn't do anything, just stands there, like he's deep in thought. It's torture having an alpha there, not doing anything. "Alpha, please."

That seems to spring Toto into action. "Do you need my knot, sweet little omega?" George nods, planting his feet onto the mattress and bucks up his hips. "When Aleix told me you were in heat, I just had to come over." Toto slowly takes off his shirt and tosses it on the floor. "I just didn't expect you to be this far gone."  

"I love that, I get to have you like this." Toto, finally takes pity on him and climbs onto the bed. George bares his neck in submission, instantly.  "Such a good little omega, aren't you?" George purrs approvingly at the praise. Toto laughs. "Even deep in heat, you still have a praise kink."

Toto slowly gets rid of the rest of his own clothing, taking his smart pants and boxers off in one swift move and kicking them onto the floor. The smell of a horny alpha fills the room and it makes the omega inside of George scream with delight. Toto runs his hand down George's abs until they stop at his hard cock, wrapping his fist around it and jerks him off. "I love hearing the sounds you make, George."

"Please alpha." George pushes Toto's hands away from his cock. "Knot, I need your knot." Toto slides his hands towards George's slick soaked entrance and slides two fingers inside. It feels good, better than his own fingers, even better than the dildo but it's not enough. "Knot, knot, knot." George bucks up his hips in frustration.   

"Does my omega, need this knot so badly?" George moans in response, the only words he can manage is knot. Toto rubs the two fingers over his prostate and George screams in pleasure. "Knot."

Toto finally takes pity on him, and lets his fingers slid out. "Let's get you onto your hands and knees, baby." Toto gently rolls George onto his stomach, who instantly gets onto his hands and his knees, pushing his arse high in the air. "Are you ready, baby?"

"Knot." Toto laughs. "I'll take that as a yes." Pure sweet relief floods George's body as Toto presses his dick against George's hole and sinks inside. George screams in pure pleasure, he should be worried about Lewis next door hearing him, but he just doesn't care right now.  

Toto holds George's hips in a vice like grip as he slides into the hilt. He doesn't waste any time stopping, George doesn't need it. "You feel so good baby, so wet for me." Toto thrusts into him extra hard, his hands leaving bruises on George's hips as he fills him with hard, deep thrusts drawing strangled moans from George with every move.

"You were just waiting for my knot, weren't you baby? Toto slams inside of him again, smashing into his prostate in the process, George groans because fuck yes that's exactly what he was doing. George loves every second of heats with Toto, the hardness of the fucks, the dirty talk, fuck.  

"Do you want me to fuck you full of pups?" Toto sneaks his arm around George's waist and pulls him closer, until his hip bones and pressed against George's arse cheeks. "You would let me, wouldn't you?" George nods happily. "You're knot, give me your knot."

"Come for me little omega, come on." Toto slams into his prostate with every thrust, George is seeing stars, he feels amazing wrapped around his alpha. "Come." The alpha orders and George does, his body jerky with the pure need to obey. He comes hard, spurting his load over the bed below him.

"Such a good little omega, coming for me when ordered to." Toto slams into him one last time, before he cums. George purrs approvingly feeling the warmth of the seed filling him to the brim, finally putting out the fire inside of him.

Toto presses a hard kiss on the back of George's sweaty head as his knot swells to full hardness. George's senses slowly return to him, as Toto lays him on his side, spooning him as they wait for the knot to go down. Toto hums against George’s neck, the vibrations send waves contentedness through the omega’s body.

"I fucked up, i'm sorry." The after thoughts of the crash finally come back to him, Alonso suddenly being close, then George crashing into the wall. "Shh, no one is mad at you, we have all the data."

"Are you on birth control, George?" George shakes his head. "No, but I can't get pregnant from a stress heat." Toto slides his hand onto George's flat stomach, his knot finally pops filling George with a gush of his come. "You would look so good, pregnant with my pups."

George giggles. "Maybe Toto, but I think i'd rather stick to driving for now."

[landoom]

Fanfic - Oscar/George - Five persons who noticed George was tired and one who let him sleep on his shoulder

Five persons who noticed George was tired and one who let him sleep on his shoulder (1617 words) by Aeris444 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Oscar Piastri/George Russell Characters: Oscar Piastri, George Russell (Formula 1 RPF), Aleix Casanovas, Alexander Albon, Daniel Ricciardo, Fernando Alonso (Formula 1 RPF), Lewis Hamilton (Formula 1 RPF) Additional Tags: Insomnia, Nightmares, 5+1 Things, Napping, Cuddling & Snuggling Summary: George is tired, really tired. And some people around him notice. George doesn't want their help. He's going to find a solution by himself!