i always love a good soft love story but omg im kinda craving some tension ..... teammate rivalry gone toxic....... accidents on the track between each other.......
set in 2018/2019, unedited and idk what this is even, nothing is described about reader besides the fact that reader and max have some kind of relationship, angst
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Max knew he wasn't good.
Most of his time was spent racing and the other part of it was spent training to race or thinking about how he'd improve his next race. He didn't have much of a choice to do anything else. There was no other option but to be the best at the only thing he knew; if he wasn't the best, he was nothing.
So he lashed out when he felt he was losing or when situations felt out of his control. He said and did things with concern for himself and his results only, which was fine for racing. That was good. That was what would make him the best. He wasn't here to please everyone and not step on toes; he was here prove that he was the best and he would fight because that was what it took.
Yet, he knew he wasn't good.
For you? He wasn't good.
Sometimes he found himself wishing he could be.
To be around you without anything holding him back. Without his history, without expectation, without his achievements this far and his achievements to come... it was ironic, for a man who was so goal-oriented, his future was the one thing holding him back.
He wanted so badly to be free with you, to know you, to show you that he could be good— good at something else other than racing and good to you.
And then he had to force himself back to reality; it was never that simple. Racing was all he had ever known and all he ever wanted to know. Letting you in meant he would have to learn something new, something other than racing, and that meant losing.
Maybe as anyone else, he could do both.
But he was not someone else. He was Max, and Max does not lose.
aughhhhh someone save me i suck so bad at writing between two scenes im imagining so clearly ...... how do i get from a to b.. and also how do i write a satisfying conclusion.. help
hey so why are social media aus haunting my fav tags 😊 i like them when my attention span is low and I'm just looking for crumbs or a good laugh, but I genuinely miss twenty thousand word longfics on my front page can we please normalize writing on the x reader tag
also sorry for the tag bait i wanted to see what you everybody else thought about this
yeah it's to the point where i've actually just blocked the tag 😭😭 i'm not going to give my personal opinions on them smaus themselves because in the end there are people who read and enjoy them (and i read smaus from writers i follow sometimes) but.. it is kinda crazy to go on a tag and that's the majority of the posts there.. i have to scroll for a while to get anything i want to read......
rovinare l'amicizia
george russell is your best friend, and you would never risk that friendship for the silly feelings you have for him. a few drinks in monaco might change that.
[3.5k]
note: finally!! the george fic is here!! thank u to my babies bri and eden and alaïa and el for helping me as i write and thank u also to everyone who made “things i find insanely attractive" tiktok slideshows. this is the cutest, fluffiest, most tooth-rotting sweetness i think i’ve ever written and i loved writing every little bit of it. i hope u enjoy<33
the amber lounge has been booked out for the night and is absolutely crammed with people, all here for one reason.
“oi!” someone yells over everyone else, nicking the microphone from the dj booth, “oi, everyone! give it up for george russell! p1 in monaco, baby!”
the room erupts in cheers, and someone else— tall, lanky, and very obviously drunk— gets pushed up onto the platform they’re on.
george waves clumsily at the hundreds of faces, and they holler back in response. there’s a camera somewhere and it clicks rapidly as he smiles. you reach for your phone to film your best friend, a strange feeling in your heart telling you that you’re going to want to remember this night. george is given the microphone and you can hear the plea “speech, speech, speech,” being thrown at him. swaying slightly, george indulges them.
“thank you everyone for coming out and being here with us this evening,” he’s interrupted by another round of cheers erupting out, “i’m so immensely thankful to the team back home for getting the car to where it is. yeah— really, really happy, just amazing.”
he takes a beat to really look around the club, a small smile appearing on his face as he registers everyone who’s here for him. “thanks so much guys, hoping for many more wins in the coming races.”
he flashes the camera one more grin and places the microphone back down, hopping down from the platform to be met with a swarm of fans again.
“george! george, have some champagne, won’t you?” a bottle gets thrust into his hands.
“absolutely not, mate.” he passes it off to someone else, disgust written plainly on his face. you know he hates champagne.
squinting at him from where you’re sat, you can see his white dress shirt has already been soaked in sweat and alcohol, the sheer amount of people in the room not helping any. he disapppears from view as the crowd engulfs him, only to reappear a couple of meters to the right, riding atop the shoulders of a friend.
probably under the influence of some alcohol he does like, george starts leaning backwards, trusting someone will catch him. they do.
facing up towards the ceiling, he gets passed from person to person over the waves of people in the club, arms spread out as he closes his eyes to relish the moment. he gets set down on his feet as the crowd realises they’re about to hit a wall, and then he’s gone again.
after a few seconds go by and you still don’t see him, you stop the recording and tuck your phone back in your bag, deciding you’ll show him the video tomorrow to poke fun at his uncharacteristic carefreeness tonight.
you hear your name get called and spot a group of girls waving at you. you’re not sure you recognise them, but gesture for security to let them to come over into the deluxe section anyway.
“oh my god, hi, i love you so much! could we get a photo please?”
taken aback by the request that you don’t get very often, you recover with a smile and a, “yeah, of course!”
they group up around you and the girl with the phone takes a few selfies, then a 0.5. they thank you excitedly, and tell you all about how coming to this grand prix was their graduation gift to themselves.
“we’ve got two more days here,” one tells you.
“hey, do you have any recommendations for us?” another chimes in, “like, places to go or eat?”
a phone gets handed to you. you think for a second, then pull up the maps app and zoom in on some spots you reckon they’d like. they thank you again, talking over each other as they inch back towards the dancefloor.
“oh! i almost forgot—“ the brunette stops in her tracks, rifling around in her bag for something. the others pause as well, waiting for their friend.
“we made these for all the wags we see this weekend,” she passes you a bracelet, cyan blue and black beads alternating. four white beads in the middle spell out ‘GR63’, “um, we just gave one to lily muni he, and we met kika and alex on saturday!”
you don’t notice her slip-up, busy admiring their handiwork under the dim club lighting before slipping it on your wrist, “it’s beautiful, guys. thank you so much.”
“do you know where george is? do you think we could get a photo with him too?” they chatter amongst themselves as they leave, already looking out for their next target.
speaking of, you haven’t seen george since he was crowd surfing. you scan the room, hoping to spot him.
you finally see him stood by the bar, taking a break from the excitement of the night. someone’s talking to him, but he’s been staring at you for the last five minutes. his face lights up as your gaze finally lands on him, and he excuses himself politely from the conversation he hadn’t been paying any attention to. he pushes past the guests and slowly makes his way to you.
“hello darling,” he plonks himself down next to you, “enjoying yourself?”
he brings his arm up behind you, resting on the back of the booth, while his knee knocks against yours. you don’t flinch away like you had done when you were strangers, once upon a time; you stay where you are, comfortable in his presence.
“mm, what’re you having?”
he gestures down to the glass in your hand, a pink straw lolling about the rim.
“i don’t know. it’s a mix of everything, i think.”
you’d trusted alex to get you a drink, but from the taste of it, it seemed like he’d asked the bartender to pour every alcohol available into the little glass. you offer it to him and he takes a sip through the straw, grimacing when the flavour hits his tongue.
“eugh, that’s horrid. i hate that.”
you laugh and take it back from him, watching the liquid form a vortex as you swirl the glass around. you find the straw with your tongue and take another sip. it’s not as bad as george is making it out to be; he’s just picky when it comes to alcohol.
two of your friends catch your eye then, dancing with each other atop one of the little tables, lots of people around cheering them on.
“i think they’re gonna get engaged soon,” you say, pointing at them. she’s swaying quite a bit; he catches her when she stumbles over herself. the two of them laugh drunknely, then kiss. you hear a unanimous, ‘aww’ from their spectators.
“what’s that, darling?”
george leans down to hear you better, tilting his ear towards you. you repeat what you’d said, and he nods in agreement.
“don’t tell anyone, but i know for a fact she’s got a ring for him already.”
your mouth drops open in shock and your eyes twinkle with excitement.
“you’re joking.”
george shakes his head, enjoying the way you lean in towards him, seeking more information that you know he’ll give you. as your body shifts, your dress strap falls off your shoulder.
george leans in, reflexes clearly not dulled by drink, and murmurs a soft, “i’ve got it.”
his skin brushes against yours as he fixes it for you, and you almost shiver at the intimacy of it all. he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, just above where the strap now sits.
yeah, he’s definitely drunk. he only ever gets this touchy when he’s had a little bit more than he can handle, when his inhibitions are loosened and reservations mitigated by alcohol. you do wish he did it more when he was sober, but those wants are kept secret; for your knowledge only.
you glance down at him, watching his chest move as he breathes, wet shirt sticking to his abs. there’s a feral, alcohol-fuelled part of your brain that’s gnawing at the bars of her enclosure to lick him; to taste the sweat that’s soaked his clothing, to run your tongue over the muscles that he flaunts on social media so often. you tell her off and push her even further to the back of your mind, unwilling to indulge in any thoughts that would certainly ruin your friendship with george. you’ve held them back for years now; one more night holds no significance.
“is that new?”
you follow his gaze from your shoulder down to the cyan beads on your wrist, and nod happily, holding your hand out for george to inspect it. his lips finally leave your skin as he takes it in his.
“there were some girls earlier. they wanted a photo and gave me this. they said they were trying to give them to all the girls— lily, francisca, alexandra— y’know. ooh, also-”
george smiles to himself as he takes a closer look, realising you’re wearing his colours and his number, but chooses not to comment on it for now, nodding for you to go on instead, inferring from your tone of voice that there’s more you’re excited to tell him about.
he’s correct.
you only notice he’s stopped nodding along and humming in agreement after you’ve been going on for five minutes or so. he’s just kind of staring at you. it’s nothing malicious; he’s just... watching, an absentminded smile on his face. you cut yourself off mid-sentence, jaw snapping shut, suddenly self-conscious. you become afraid that he’s lost interest, that he’s smiling cause he finds you amusing, like one would a little pet or some silly plaything.
“hmm?”
to his credit, george doesn’t miss a beat when your words stop, prompting you to carry on right away.
“sorry, i didn’t realise i was rambling. i’ve probably had too much to drink,” you laugh nervously, trying to save yourself.
“keep going, darling. i was listening.”
“are you sure?”
he frowns at you.
“why would i stop?” he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, calloused thumb rubbing over your knuckles as he reassures you, “you were about to tell me which spots you recommended them. might be best to steer clear of those places while they’re in town though, hm? in case they want to tell all their friends where to find us. you said two more days, right?”
your eyes soften as you realise he really was listening to everything you said. even the little details. you feel your shoulders relax for having avoided what would have been a total humiliation, and you reach out for your drink, taking a sip to collect yourself.
“don’t worry, i’m not that stupid. none of our spots, just the nice ones everyone goes to anyway.”
he smiles, happy to have eased your palpable discomfort and also proud of your foresight.
“that’s my girl.”
you almost choke. your hand is still in his, and now he has a funny look in his eye. no, it must be the alcohol playing tricks on you. there’s no way. you shake it off and chalk it up to the spirit of victory in the air instead.
george must pick up on the new turmoil arising in your head and squeezes your hand twice, gently— i’m here.
“hey, do you wanna get some air?”
your handbag gets picked up before you can even finish your question, shrugged onto his shoulder as he gestures for you to go ahead.
you down the last dregs of your drink before placing it back down on the table. he guides you down the few stairs there are, one hand supporting yours, the other on the small of your back, and thanks the bouncer as he unclips the rope barrier for you to walk through.
george notices him before you do; his height allows him to see the crowd parting for a drunk guy pushing through, headed right your way. george's arm sneaks behind your waist and pulls you into his side just as the guy pushes past you, the stench of soured alcohol wafting along in his wake. you stumble a bit at the force, but you’re saved from face-planting by george, holding you steady.
“you alright, love?” he checks you over, making sure you’re okay, before shooting a dirty look at the guy’s retreating form.
you nod, turning your head back to see if you can spot who it was. they’re long gone now, probably already on the other side of the club. brushing it off, you link your arm in george’s and make the slow journey to the exit.
george gets stopped twice for photos, and you wait off to the side both times, patiently. one of the fans says something to him, and they both look down at the handbag, still in his hand, then over at you. george laughs. you notice a thin blush across his cheeks afterwards, but it’s probably just the club lights or the alcohol. the fan wishes you both a good night and another congratulations to george, and then you’re back in the party.
the two of you push your way to the coat check, and you shrug on your overcoat, wanting to dress warm for the cool night air.
you fiddle with the buttons, but the alcohol has made your hands clumsy and very uncompliant. seeing this, george gets down on one knee in front of you and starts buttoning you up, one at a time, working his way up. his slender fingers reach your collar quickly, and he stands back up when he’s done.
“there we go,” he murmurs.
you’re finding it harder and harder to block out your fancies with every move he makes tonight.
he opts not to also get his suit jacket wet like his shirt is already, slinging it over his shoulder instead. george holds the door open for you, like he always does, and somehow manages to get back in front of you to summon the elevator. it’s especially in moments like these that you wish he were yours, that he would have a reason to be so gentlemanly to you other than just being a gentleman.
it feels like it takes longer to reach the ground floor than it had to go up. there’s no music, just the whirring of gears as they work to deliver you safely. george seems to be deep in thought, studying the patterns on the floor, tongue in between his teeth. you fiddle with your new bracelet, running your fingers over each bead, tracing the grooves of his initials.
the streets are empty when you leave the building; everyone’s either asleep or celebrating in a club or superyacht. you’re happy to be outside, away from the noise and lights of the amber lounge. you consider running down to the water; taking off your shoes and wading in, but the rational part of your brain reminds you that it’s the middle of the night and the sea wouldn’t spare your feet from freezing just because you’re more than a little bit drunk.
leaning against the balustrade instead, you breathe in the night air, staring out at the reflection of the stars on the sea.
“it’s so beautiful tonight,” you say.
george hums in agreement from behind you.
“it is.”
you turn back to him, and he’s already looking at you. you can tell he’s had something on his mind all night, so you give him the time to speak it aloud. he shifts on his feet, then exhales sharply. you can see his breath in the cold air.
“…you haven’t congratulated me yet,” he finally points out.
you laugh lightly at him, puzzled. he’s never been one to ask for your praises before, but you suppose this win was pretty monumental.
“congratulations, george.”
he shakes his head, staring up at the stars above you.
“that’s not what i meant.”
you tilt your head at him, waiting for him to elaborate. when he doesn’t respond, your foot reaches out to nudge at his calf.
“what did you mean then?”
his attention falls back on you and he stares, kind of unnervingly. he only moves when a gust of wind blows by, shivering as his drenched shirt gets even colder.
he sets his jacket down on the balustrade first, then your bag on top, taking care not to let the leather touch the cobblestone. he’s been yelled at more than once for scuffing up the bottom of your bags before. your eyes drift to his hands as he does so, watching his fingers flex.
you let a beat pass, only the lapping of the waves below filling the silence.
“george?”
“kiss me.”
you blink at him, not entirely sure you’ve heard him right. he doesn’t mean it, surely. there’s no way he wants you in the same way you do him. he sways a little on his feet.
“george, you’re drunk.”
he scoffs, “come on, darling; it’s just a kiss.”
he pulls you in by the waist, like he had before in the club, and his head dips down, closer and closer to you.
he pauses when his lips are barely about to touch yours. you stare doe-eyed up at him, afraid to move even an inch for fear of breaking the delicate moment. his eyes flit up, searching yours. whatever complaints were floating around in your head die on your tongue as his presence surrounds you.
he’s so close to you; you could study every pore, each mole dotting his skin. a breathy little sigh leaves your chest involuntarily as you realise your years-long béguin may be contented much sooner than you’d ever thought. his tongue darts out to his lips instinctively, like he would taste your air if he could only catch it.
you nod at him, the slightest, most imperceptible movement of your head, and he takes it as the permission it is. his lips press against yours, soft and plush, and you think you could die in this moment and be happy with how you went out.
you start to pull away, so completely satisfied to have finally kissed him, but george has just gotten a taste of you, and now he never wants to stop. the hand on the base of your neck keeps you close as his tongue slips into your mouth, licking at your lips, your tongue, your teeth. you can’t help a small moan as he pulls you flush against his chest, the kiss getting messier as his usual composure unravels, just for you. your breaths mix together, hot on each other’s skin.
he’s desperate for you; hands moving against your body, grasping at your dress, your hair, your face— everywhere all at once. you’re breathless. you feel like all the air’s been sucked out of your body by just his kisses, and that he’s your only lifeline. your hands push against his chest lightly, and he lets you move your head to the side to catch your breath.
he doesn’t stop when you do. instead, his lips drag along your jaw, and he inhales, deep and ragged, when his nose meets your pulse point. his exhale is shaky, like he can’t get enough of your scent.
“george…”
he glances up to you and he looks so unlike himself; hair messy, eyes dark, and lips swollen, glistening with spit. your heart skips a beat as you realise you’ve caused this in him. you can feel his hands trembling on either side of your face from the cold or the adrenaline, or both.
his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, already leaning back in for more of you. you get squeezed even closer into him and you can’t help but giggle, a flood of happy emotions taking over you.
george’s teeth clack against yours as he tries to keep the kiss going, but when he realises your elation won’t let up, he’s pulling away laughing too. you fold over in his arms as your body shakes, immensely pleased at the turn this night’s taken. you would look insane to any onlookers who might look down from the lounge’s balcony; the two of you, dressed up for the afterparty, cackling to each other at nothing on an empty beach.
george recovers first, wiping a stray tear away as he sucks in fresh air. he kisses your forehead as you follow suit, gasping like a fish while holding your stomach, which is starting to hurt. he peppers kisses all over your face, only stopping when you tap at his arm hurriedly; the cold wet of his shirt pushed against you is making the front of your coat also cold and wet. he holds you like that for a while, and you know he’s committing this moment to memory, just like you are.
he picks up your bag and slips his jacket over his shoulders without letting go of you, tucked into his side and makes his way back up the beach with you. his fingers find the bracelet on your wrist and it’s his turn to fidget with the beads. he can’t help but admire how lovely the colour is against your skin. he’d like to see you wear it more, he thinks.
“come on, darling. let’s go home.”
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when people say they only use ai for inspiration i let out a very huge sigh in real life because YES, i totally understand being stumped and unable to think of ideas to write. it’s not always easy! but we have the entire internet at our fingertips, which has literally everything you can imagine on it. music, videos, books, movies, articles, other people— all of which are great inspiration. instead of getting chatgpt to scrape those things for you and feed you an answer, just go look it up yourself. tumblr itself is a great tool because of how many writers are on here making lists with writing prompts, how to write scenes, words to use instead of (blank)— i use these posts all the time and i appreciate every person who makes them.
another thing: you don’t have to feel inspired/pump out content all the time. when i’m particularly uninspired, i go read other people’s works and enjoy them. sometimes they give me ideas and sometimes they don’t. i just keep reading until i do! that’s just me though. i know not everyone will want to do that. but whatever you decide to do, make it anything but ai.
which is better: harming the earth with every prompt you do —or— doing a little bit of extra searching, going a little slower and getting your inspiration without needing an ai generated answer? you have an extremely complex and beautiful brain, now use it.
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