summary the whole paddock is aware george has been dating someone for the last years but no one knows who she is
literature student x george russell. inspired by bewitched - laufey
series masterlist ★ masterlist
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername lost in a book, please do not disturb
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friend great collection
yourusername well thank u, i worked hard for it
friend girl we were supposed to meet in the library thirty minutes ago !!
yourusername oops lost track of time! omw
user love your page! you motivate me to study
yourusername 🫶🫶
friend you are everything i aspire to be
yourusername 🥺🥺
privgeorge gorgeous<3
yourusername 🤍
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername last stretch
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friend how are you this beautiful while this stressed omg marry me?
yourusername a thousand times yes! say when and where and i'll be there🫶
friend so u ditched me to hang out with the secret boyfriend!!! i see how it is
yourusername i'm sorryy😩😩 i don't see him often and i missed him
friend can't believe it's been years and we haven't met him! he better come to the graduation
friend ^^ this! why so much mystery?? is he famous or something??
yourusername or something...🤭 he will be there don't worry
privgeorge you've got this my love❤️ love you
yourusername love you more❤️
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
georgerussell63 you have bewitched me, body and soul❤️
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user I CANT BELIEVE WE ARE FINALLY GETTING A SOFT LAUNCH it's been years 😭😭
user historic events are happening as we speak
user i thought this day would never come🥺
user she is so unbelievably beautiful!!
user you can't see her face clearly at all?
user idc i feel it in my heart ♥︎liked by author
user george liked🥺🥺
user the caption !! welcome back mr darcy
user don't be shy tag her
user she clearly wants to remain private
user i know🙄 i was joking
user what's the lore? why is everyone freaking out?
user bc we don't know who she is, not even her name, and he has never posted her before today
user girl the lore is crazy george has been dating her for YEARS but we only know she exists because he mentions her from time to time
user what they said! i want to add it's been two years and ten months since george said he wasn't single anymore...
user that's insane how did they manage to keep it private for ALMOST THREE YEARS???
user and nothing ever leaked either!! i love that for them, clearly they have great trustworthy people around them
user the way you can tell they are really in love
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername i'm not a religious person, but sometimes i do think god made you for me
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friend oh my heart...brb going to re-read normal people
friend no girll come on we have to study, it's our last test
yourusername can't believe we have one more test and then we are free
friend i can already taste it...
friend my bag will be so light when i don't have to carry a million books with me everywhere i go anymore
yourusername lets be for real, we are still gonna carry a million books with us
friend you are probably right😂
user your nails>>
privgeorge one last test my love! you will do amazing, you are the smartest person i know❤️
yourusername and you know a lot of smart people so this means more coming from u<3
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
📍london
russellistaforever uhm i think i just saw george walking hand in hand with a woman!!!!! do we think it's her??
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user she has to be !!
user why are you posting this?? they probably didn't want to be photographed, considering they've always been private
russellistaforever i would have agreed before and i would have never shared it otherwise, but they didn't seem to mind. george saw me taking a picture and winked at me
user can't believe we are the closest we've ever been to discovering who she is🤭
user yes!! i think it's sweet they finally feel comfortable going public with their relationship
user sorry i'm new here. i understand they've been dating for almost three years now, why didn't they go public before?
user george said in an interview once that she wanted to finish university before dealing with that kind of chaos
user oh thank you! that's so valid tbh
user that must mean she is graduating finally! hopefully we'll get pictures 🤞
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
♥︎liked by alex_albon and others
yourusername 3 years since our first date so here's a poem i wrote about it. i love you🌹
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friend this is great ?? i am in love with your brain
friend SO ROMANTIC🥺 maybe he's not so bad after all and i can forgive him for remaining anonymous....
yourusername lol he's amazing!! i promise it was all me. if it were up to him, we would have been public since day 1
user call me crazy but isn't that—
user keep going i think you might be onto something
user i mean, her hair looks just like in that fan's picture,,,
user alex liked too....
user why is this comment section filled with formula one fans??😂 she's just a random student sharing her poetry
user don't mind them, they are clowning
user you are gonna feel so dumb about this comment when we are right
friend YN ARE U INSANE??? this is so good, you are so talented!!
user i loved this please share more of your writing!
georgerussell63 forever my favorite memory too❤️
user Oh My God ... we were RIGHT????
user i don't know how to feel or act🫠 we have never been right before,,,
user this is so devastatingly cute i can't
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
georgerussell63 so unbelievably proud of you and all that you've achieved❤️
tagged yourusername
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user HE TAGGED HER THIS IS NOT A DRILL
alex_albon congratulations yn 👏👏
yourusername thank you alex! and thank lily for the flowers too
user my galex heart<3
user we got a hard launch three years later never give up on your dreams😩✊
user beauty and brains?? no wonder george is so in love ♥︎liked by author
user i stalked her page and she's been posting him discreetly for years🥺 i love them your honor
user power couple<3
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
georgerussell63 posted a story
💿still into you - paramore
caption my graduate🫶
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
💿marry you - bruno mars
georgerussell63 keep me in your heart🤍
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user oh my goddddd they are engaged??????
lando congrats👏 love u two!!
user the song choice🥺🥺 he's the og loverboy
friend nooo she was supposed to be my wife i proposed first💔 guess i can't compete with a f1 driver
yourusername noo babe i swear he doesn't mean anything, it's u and me<3
georgerussell63 😐
georgerussell63 under my own post too
yourusername 😂😂
lewishamilton congratulations guys!
yourusername forever and ever🤍
georgerussell63 🤍
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆☕︎⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
yourusername it was always going to be a yes💍
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lilymhe this makes me so happy!! love you both🫶
user the picture of george reading with her🥺 goals
friend congratulations my friend, u deserve all the happiness in the world<3
friend so happy for you babe💖
georgerussell63 love you, can't wait to be your husband and brag about my smart poet & literary researcher girlfriend❤️
yourusername love you too, i will be bragging that my husband has the best win celebration in motorsports❤️
summary: max verstappen's little sister has been a staple in the f1 paddock for years and for all of those years he has kept her from dating a driver..... until now that is and it just so happens to be one of his biggest opps
pairing: george russell x verstappen!reader
fc & warnings: poorly translated dutch, sibling fighting, kelly p makes 1 insta comment and some bad language
requested: yesss thank you for requesting!!
masterlist
ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ
ynverstappen has made a post
liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, liamlawson30, isackhadjar, olliebearman, georgerussell63, lando, iamrebeccad, dior, and 1,963,340 others
ynverstappen: oh how i love summer 🌞🌊🍷
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user1: oh how i love you
maxverstappen1: could've been enjoying summer with me in st barts but ok
ynverstappen: you just won't let that go huh
maxverstappen1: no! can't believe u chose friends over family
ynverstappen: diva alert
kellypiquet: just ignore him sweetheart
user2: shes got that summer glow fr
yourbff: i'm so jealous of you. mail me that bathing suit NOW!
maxverstappen1: wait are you not with her?
user12: hold on a second... why this seem so fishy and idek whats going on
schecoperez: ☀️🏝️❤️
ynverstappen: 🤍🥰
user63: no y'all don't understand....i'm like 97% sure that is george russells boat in the second slide
user1: ok grandma pack it up
user63: no im serious!! go look at his instagram story and TELL ME those boats don't look identical
f1gossip: you have made a very interesting observance here user63
user5: please just reject me so i can move on
f1gossip has made a post
liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, user8, user9, user10, and 43,234 others
f1gossip: it's been brought to our attention that it appears like y/n verstappen, sister to our world champion, has been spending some time on george russell's boat after telling her brother max that she'd be spending time with her best friend y/bff/n. i think the only explanation for the deception would be that george and y/n have a secret fling that they very much don't want max to find out about... what do you all think?
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user1: as a resident grussell sprout, i can say with certainty that the first photo from y/n is without a doubt george's boat
user3: my favorite little horse has got to keep himself safe from the verstappen's pls
user2: max is gonna lose it after this. the rb is already causing him pain and now we've got y/n with his enemy
user4: i'd give my left leg to be a fly on the wall of whatever conversation y/n and max have
user5: DEF the same boat in these pictures aint no way
user6: wait y/ngeorge is kinda cute
user7: she should be with meeeeee whyyyyy george of all people
user8: georgie porgie for the WIN
georgerussell63 has posted to his story
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user3: ……. ok well way to rub it in that you’re no longer single. i’ll see myself out
yourbff: george ……. this…….. i can’t keep defending you both
georgerussell63: blimey neither of us are good at this soft launch thing
user4: nah that’s y/n i recognize that sweater and ring
ynverstappen: GOERGE DELTE!! DELETE DELETE DELETE MAX BOUGHT MY THAT RING HE IS GONNA RECOGNIZE IT PLEASE DELETE THUSBGEORGE
georgerussell63: too late….. he saw it
ynverstappen: great!!! i literally just talked him off a ledge 2 days ago and now this
georgerussell63: what kind of brother even buys their sibling custom made jewelery im 😭😭😭😭😭
ynverstappen: THE SWEET AND THOUGHTFUL KIND 😔
georgerussell63: is the sweet and thoughtful one in the room w us rn bc i think we’ve got the crazy and angry version instead
ynverstappen: the sweet and harmless version of him is in there somewhere 😭
georgerussell63: well…….. it’s been nice knowing you my love. i think im not surviving this race weekend
user21: porge why would you do this to me
mercedesamgf1: oh so you wanna soft launch but not tell me with who?
georgerussell63: you’ll find out soon enough admin
user12: don’t be shy tell us who this is
kimi.antonelli: hello???????
georgerussell63: i’ve really enjoyed being your teammate man. you're such a great kid and a very talented driver
kimi.antonelli: ??? are you sick or something
maxverstappen1: that’s my sister. i had that ring custom made for her in italy. i swear to god if one of you doesn’t start explaining im going to run directly into you in turn one and even then i think i still might. it’s about time i go bowling
georgerussell63: hey so…… yes… that’s your sister. there is no denying that. i’m sorry it’s taken us so long to tell you but we were worried about exactly this. max mate i love your sister. more than i’ve ever loved anyone or anything before. i know it’s not exactly ideal and we don’t have to be best mates but can’t we at least try to make it work and not kill each other… at least for y/n/n?
maxverstappen1: i’m sorry… this has been going on for so long that you LOVE her?????
georgerussell63: we’ve been together for almost a year
maxverstappen1: george tell me you’re kidding
georgerussell63: i’m not
✿
after the 15th missed call in the span of ten minutes, you knew there was no more pretending. no more brushing it off, no more acting like the fan pages and your brother hadn’t figured it out. no more hiding.
you groaned and finally hit accept, pressing the phone to your ear. “max emilian, please—”
“do not even start with me,” he snapped, voice already raised. “care to explain yourself?!”
you flinched, pulling the phone away slightly before bringing it back to your ear with a heavy sigh. “george and i are dating,” you said calmly though your stomach was in shambles. “we have been for about a year now and he makes me really happy max.”
there was a beat of silence but it wasn’t relief. it was the kind that comes right before a storm. “are you kidding me?!” max exploded. “how many times have I told you not to get involved with my coworkers?!”
“yeah, you've made that very clear,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “you’ve warned off every single driver who’s ever even looked in my direction.”
“and for good reason!” max yelled. “this world and this paddock are a mess. It’s politics and pressure and cameras everywhere. you don’t need to get dragged into it.”
“i’m already in it max!” you shot back, standing now, unable to sit still. “i was born into it just like you, remember? I’m your sister and jos is my dad too. i know what this world is like just as well as you do! just because i didn't make it to f1 and failed at karting and am not the favorite child prodigy like you, doesn't mean i don't understand.”
“but george?” max interrupted completely glossing over what you had said. “you had to go for my least favorite person in the entire damn paddock? could have at least been like lando or even yuki… hell even liam?!”
“he’s not who you think he is!” you defended without hesitation. “you see him through this stupid grudge you refuse to let go of. but he’s kind, max. he listens. he’s patient. and he’s never made me feel like I had to hide who I was like i have to do with you.”
that last part slipped out before you could stop it.
max went quiet.
“you’ve been so busy controlling everything around me that you didn’t even notice that i’ve been happy. genuinely and truly happy. for the past year. and I kept it from you because I knew you’d react like this like I’d betrayed you somehow.”
“it feels like you did,” he said quietly, all anger in his voice seemingly disappeared. “you’re my sister, my closest friend. and you didn’t trust me with this.”
“i wanted to,” your voice shook as you felt the tears coming on. “but you made it impossible.”
silence again, this time a heavy one.
finally, max sighed on the other end. “so what now?”
“now you have a choice,” you said softly. “you can keep holding on to whatever it is you have against him or you can try to see what I see. i’m not asking for a blessing. just... maybe don’t start a fist fight the next time you see him or cut his break lines or run into him on purpose.”
max let out a dry laugh, and you could practically hear him running a hand down his face. “no promises.”
✿
f1gossip has made a post
liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, user8, user9, user10, and 87,245 others
f1gossip: good news grusselistas! george appears to have survived his first interaction with max after boatgate (where y/n verstappen and george were spotted on the same yacht and have bee subtly soft launching each other). reports say the conversation started out heated and several folks heard max raising his voice animatedly but in the end the pair hugged it out and even shared a few laughs.
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user1: i'm sorry this set of pictures is sending me. ofc george is diva'ing his way into max's good graces
user2: DIVA ALERT 🚨
user3: no i was genuinely kinda scared for george's safety. max does NOT play about his y/n/n 🤯
user4: thank GOD. russtappen agenda is ALIVE 🤩
user5: WAR IS OVER (i think)
user6: y/n is uniting enemies and squashing beefs. her power is unmatched 😍
user7: god george looks so stupid i love him so much
ynverstappen has made a post
liked by yourbff, kellypiquet, sophiekumpen, maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli, lando and 1,345,333 others
ynverstappen: the rumors and boatgate are true! i am in love with george william russell!! but i mean look at him... how could i not be??? congrats to george on an incredible drive today. i am so proud of you 🩵🩵
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user1: whoa you in mercedes gear is jarring
sophiekumpen: happy that you're happy my pretty girl
ynverstappen: bedankt mama 🤍[thanks mom]
user4: not the russtappen i was hoping for but seems it is the russtappen that i needed
georgerussell63: i love you to the moon and back y/n/n 🥰
ynverstappen: i love you too my handsome man 🤍
kimi.antonelli: so this is why george was acting like he was going to die and telling me how much he appreciated me
ynverstappen: yes 😔 george was convinced the end was near
georgerussell63: because there was not a 0% chance that it was
mercedesamgf1: we're glad both of our drivers are safe
maxverstappen1: i finally made myself stomach the idea of you with him and now you're wearing mercedes merch? zus, je stelt mijn geduld op de proef. [sister, you are testing my patience]
ynverstappen: kom er al overheen. i wear your merch every other day of the week. [get over it already]
maxverstappen1: fine... but lets keep it to a minimum
user12: i was truthfully unfamiliar with gr's game
lando: it's about time fr (max i didnt know they were official pls don't yell at me)
ynverstappen: hehehehe yes 🤯
maxverstappen1: lando .... what did you know tho? 🤨
lando: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i cant tell you
georgerussell63: lando mate be careful
user21: y/n being with a mercedes man is killing me but if max can let it go... so can i
georgerussell63 has made a post
liked by ynverstappen, charlesleclerc, lando, kimi.antonelli, lewishamilton, verstappencom, mercedesamgf1, and 999,898 others
georgerussell63: some things are worth the risk. thanks for a great weekend and all of the support at the track! see you all again next sunday
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user9: this is so sweet i love this 🥹
lewishamilton: brave man!
georgerussell63: yes sir!
user55: something about this feels so right 😭
charlesleclerc: let me catch an invite to the next family dinner merci
ynverstappen: only if you bring leo
charlesleclerc: done
user7: y/n is literally glowing. you can like feel her happiness through the screen
ynverstappen: your tenacity, talent and commitment continue to amaze me george. i'm so beyond grateful to share this life with you 🤍
georgerussell63: crikey this is going to make me cry. i am so lucky to have someone like you in my corner 🩵
user44: y/n and george's mom both hugging him... i am certainly not tearing up rn
maxverstappen1: be good to her (this is a threat)
georgerussell63: i will be mate dont worry
user99: i have no one to talk to about this! this is everything!
ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ
a/n: thanks for reading!! likes, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated
ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ
disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction
Summary: George’s girlfriend Yn tries the "boyfriend melting into the kiss" tren with George. The result is no surprise
The hallway was quiet in that very specific way it only ever was when the world outside was loud.
It wasn’t silent—there was the low hum of the air conditioning, the faint sound of voices drifting in from somewhere far away, maybe a TV in another room—but it felt private. Safe. Like a little pocket of calm carved out just for the two of them.
Yn stood there barefoot, her phone propped up on a shelf between a framed photo and a forgotten hoodie. The camera was angled just right. Casual. Unassuming. If anyone looked at it later, it would seem accidental.
She checked the screen one last time.
Recording.
Her heart was already beating faster, and she laughed softly to herself, shaking her head.
“This is so stupid,” she murmured.
But her smile betrayed her. She loved stupid things when they involved him.
The trend had been all over her feed for days. Girlfriends lifting their boyfriends’ arms, pulling them into kisses, testing whether they “melted” or stayed stiff and awkward. Most of the videos were cute. Some were funny. A few were painfully uncomfortable.
But all Yn could think was George wouldn’t even hesitate.
She leaned back against the wall, folded her arms for a moment, then straightened and took a breath.
“George?” she called out.
Her voice echoed softly down the hallway.
There was no delay.
“What’s up, love?” came the immediate reply, followed by the sound of footsteps.
She grinned before he even appeared.
He rounded the corner seconds later, dressed comfortably—team shorts, a soft hoodie, hair still a little messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He looked relaxed, unguarded, completely himself.
And the moment his eyes landed on her, his face changed.
It always did.
“Hey,” he said, smiling in that warm, easy way that made her stomach flip even after all this time. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, biting back a laugh. “Come here for a sec.”
He stepped closer without question, his brow furrowing slightly as he noticed her stance.
“Why do you look suspicious?” he asked.
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
She ignored that and reached for his wrists, lifting both his arms up gently until they were raised above his head.
George froze.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
“…What are we doing?” he asked, voice light but confused, eyes flicking between her hands and her face.
“Just trust me,” Yn said, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face.
His lips twitched.
“You always say that right before you do something weird.”
She laughed. “It’s not weird.”
“Yn.”
She stepped closer, standing right in front of him now, her hands still holding his arms up. He was taller, obviously, and even like this she had to tilt her head back to look at him properly.
He looked down at her, eyes soft, curious, amused.
“I feel like I’m being arrested,” he said.
“Shh,” she whispered.
Before he could say anything else, she released his wrists and brought both her hands up to his face, palms warm against his cheeks. Her fingers curved around his jaw, thumbs brushing lightly along his cheekbones.
George’s breath caught.
“Yn—”
She pulled him down and kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic.
It was just them.
The second their lips met, everything shifted.
George didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second.
His arms dropped immediately, wrapping around her like it was instinct—one hand settling firmly at her waist, the other sliding up into her hair, fingers threading through it gently. He sighed into the kiss, deep and content, like he’d been holding his breath all day and had finally been allowed to let it out.
Yn melted first.
She smiled into the kiss, her body relaxing completely against his.
There it is, she thought. Exactly like I knew.
George tilted his head slightly, making the kiss easier, softer, more comfortable. His hand in her hair moved slowly, unhurried, stroking like he was grounding himself in her presence.
She kissed him back with equal warmth, her fingers tightening just a little at his hoodie.
When she shifted her weight, barely even noticing she’d done it, George reacted instantly.
Without breaking the kiss, he bent slightly and scooped her up with one arm under her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing.
“George,” she laughed softly against his lips, surprised but not shocked.
He hummed in response, smiling into the kiss, and took two steps forward, guiding her back until her shoulders met the wall. He adjusted his hold easily, settling her there so they were finally on the same height.
“There,” he murmured. “Better.”
His forehead rested against hers for a brief second, noses brushing.
He didn’t stop kissing her.
The kiss deepened—not in a hungry way, but in a way that felt safe, familiar, full. His arm stayed firm around her legs, protective, steady, while his other hand cradled the back of her head like she was something precious.
Yn wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair, and kissed him back just as gently.
This was why everyone said they were obsessed.
Because even moments like this—quiet, private, unplanned—felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Eventually, she pulled back just enough to breathe.
George followed her instinctively, lips chasing hers for a second before he stopped, eyes opening slowly.
He smiled at her, soft and affectionate.
“What was that about?” he asked quietly.
She grinned, breathless, cheeks warm.
“You passed.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Passed… what?”
“The test.”
He laughed softly. “What test?”
She leaned in and kissed him once more, quick and sweet, before pulling back again.
“There’s this trend,” she explained. “Where girlfriends see if their boyfriends melt into kisses or not.”
He blinked. “Melt?”
“Mhm,” she nodded seriously. “Like, whether you stay stiff and awkward or whether you just—” she gestured vaguely between them, “—become all soft and clingy.”
George laughed again, this time louder, shaking his head.
“And I melted.”
“You melted,” she confirmed happily.
He smiled at her like she’d just told him he’d won a championship.
“Well,” he said, adjusting his grip on her slightly, “good. I’d be worried if I didn’t.”
She laughed, resting her forehead against his.
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“Why would I?” he asked simply. “It’s you.”
Her chest tightened at that, the familiar warmth spreading through her.
“I love you,” she said quietly.
His expression softened instantly.
“I love you,” he replied without hesitation.
He kissed her again—slow, lingering—and then pulled back just enough to look at her properly.
“You were recording that, weren’t you?”
She froze.
“…Maybe.”
He squinted. “Yn.”
She burst out laughing. “I hid my phone!”
“Of course you did.”
He shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But adorable,” she added hopefully.
He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Very,” he said. “Still mine.”
“Always.”
He shifted his stance, tightening his arm beneath her thighs, and she instinctively held onto him more securely.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He glanced down the hallway toward the bedroom.
“Thought I’d steal you,” he said lightly. “Unless you had other plans.”
She smiled, brushing her thumb along his jaw.
“Nope. I’m all yours.”
“Good,” he murmured.
He carried her down the hallway like it was the most natural thing in the world, kissing her every few steps—her lips, her cheek, her temple—never rushing, never distracted.
summary : george russell is by far the most idiotic, arrogant prick you’ve ever met, and you’ve always been firm on hating him; but has he?
pairing : george russell x rival driver!reader
lina’s radio : reader is a 2021 rookie and replaces lando’s positions in the gps…he’s not really mentioned so sorry lando stans 🙃🙃 also i’ve been DYINGGG to make this fic so enjoy please!
hate is a strong word, you’ve always said. even dating back to being interviewed in your professional karting years, where your childlike voice protested in disagreement when a journalist asked if you hated your rival at the time, “i don’t hate anyone! i would never!” the memory is planted in your head, forever stuck and clear as day. it’s almost ironic how confident you were in saying you’d never hate anyone, because you do now. if you had asked four years ago what you despised most, you’re nearly 100% sure the words, arrogance and idiots, would have spilled from your mouth, and it seems they’ve manifested into reality and morphed into a person: george russell.
f1radios
liked by user81, user63, user12 and 69,904 others
f1radios the australian grand prix has concluded and here’s what you missed: the continued rivalry of yn ln and george russell!
known for their hatred towards one another since 2021—or more so ln’s hate for russell’s smugness—the redbull and mercedes pair went wheel to wheel during the first grand prix of the 2025 season! the female f1 driver was able to hold p1 for most of the race, after achieving pole position in qualifying saturday; she briefly lost position to her co-driver, max verstappen, at which during that time, she had almost made contact with mercedes’ lead driver, george russell! luckily, she was quickly able to regain the lead in the last 15 laps. the standings for today’s race were:
p1: yn ln, 21
p2: max verstappen, 1
p3: george russell, 63
overall, the race was a great start for redbull’s chances for scoring the constructor’s championship this season, and ln starts the lead for the driver’s championship of 2025! #AustralianGP #F1
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user72 everyone shut up my show is on….
⤷ user97 no literally their rivalry is so entertaining i love it
user66 WOMEN IN MOTORSPORTS RAHHHH 🙌🙌
user29 did anyone see her and max’s hug after ugh they’re literally such bffs
user18 redbull second seat curse WHERE??!!!
⤷ user45 don’t jinx it now…
user87 the way they’ve been at this ever since she debuted 😭😭 they’re so unreal
user62 ernesto is so done LOL
“P1 BABYYYY!” you shout into your mic, pumping your fist into the air and waving as you drive by the myriad of fans. “congratulations yn, you are the 2025 australian grand prix winner!” you hear the excited laugh of your engineer, and the happy cheers and shouts in the background. “thank you, great job today, ernie!” you’re smiling hard under the helmet as you pull into parc fermé, slotting yourself in your designated p1 position.
as you step out of the cockpit of your car, you pull your helmet off, listening to the cheers and shouts of both fans and team members alike. tossing the headwear aside, you move to the front of the car, giving it a kiss, a long-standing tradition you’ve had since your karting days. after that, you’re immediately mauled by the one and only, max verstappen. he brings you into a tight hug, “awesome out there, absolutely great,” he says as he pulls away, hands on your shoulders as he looks at you with pride. you cock your head to the side as you stare back, “simply lovely, wouldn’t you say?” a cheeky grin comes over your face as you use his phrase, and he only laughs, slapping your back playfully as he moves to congratulate the p3 driver: george russell.
your arms are crossed over your chest as you watch max interact with your sworn enemy, “congratulations, mate!” you hear the british accent of russell speak to max before his eyes turn to you and his lips curve into a smug grin. you scoff as he makes his way towards you, rolling your eyes as his arm outstretches towards you. “congrats, ln.” you step back and almost laugh at the way his eyes widen in surprise, “thanks, russell.” your reply is short, concise as you look down, wiping your hands against the pant of your race suit, your face contorted and eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to disguise your hatred. you smile is sickeningly sweet as you look back up at him, and when you walk by him, you whisper a small, i don’t shake hands with losers, your hips swaying as you strut your way towards the FIA scales to be weighed.
george watches as you walk away to your car, slipping back on your helmet before you step onto the scales. he scoffs, god you were so irritating, he just wanted to be a good sport, why can’t you see that?! he straightens up, rolling his eyes from under his helmet, and following where you are. his arms are crossed as he watches you step off, waiting for max before the two of you walk in sync to the cooldown room. he stares as your fading figure as you animatedly speak, hands flailing around as max throws his head back with laughter, you following suit before disappearing around a corner. he doesn’t realize he’s dissociated—mind too occupied with the fact that you’re nice to everyone but him—until an official waves in front of his face, motioning for him to get on. his voice cracks, british accent thickening as he mutters an apology, and once he’s approved to hop off, he speedily walks towards the cooldown room.
from outside the door, george can hear an exchange of deep chuckles from max and giggles from you as you blabber about god knows what. however, as soon he opens the door, the room quiets. he steps in, slipping into the open seat, right next to you. he watches as you let out a breath, crossing your arms and clenching your jaw. he’s zoned out, still staring at you when an object hits his chest. he finally moves his head away, glancing down to see a towel splayed over his thigh. “wipe the sweat off, mate. looks like you ran a marathon or something,” he hears the thick, dutch accent of max speaking before he chuckles, “hah, thanks mate.” he gulps down a swig of water, eyes flickering to you as he wipes the sweat off his forehead. he watches as you lean towards max, eyes forming crescents as you laugh about something you said. he huffs quietly, why wasn’t he able to see you like that?
cheers drown out your nervous thoughts as you step out, waving to fans as you make your way towards the top step of the podium. your eyes are glassy as you blow a kiss towards the crowd. and when your national anthem begins playing you can’t help but close your eyes, losing yourself in your own thoughts: eighteen podiums and four wins now, an insane amount for any driver, and especially for a female. you breathe out, opening your eyes just as the melody ends, a tear streaming down your cheek in happiness. you watch as an official walks up, handing you your well-awaited trophy. you grip onto it, kissing the mirrored surface—another tradition that’s stuck with you ever since your karting days—before thrusting it up into the air. god the feeling, the rush, is unreal. you cheekily grin as you watch your co-driver receives his next, and his face is filled with pride for you as he makes eye contact with you. your grin morphs into a polite smile as george receives his own, but you keep your eyes looking forward, avoiding the brit as much as possible. you’re out of it when a team representative moves to the podium, attempting to split you and max and you only shake your head, distancing yourself from russell and effectively making space for the team member as the four of you pose for the photographer. the next minute comes as any other celebration: champagne sprays everywhere. your trophy is set on the podium step as you slam the bottle against the ground, watching the liquid erupt in the air. you squeal as you’re sprayed, ears ringing as you attempt to spray the three others. giggles bubble from your throat as the champagne finally dies out and you hug the red bull members, you’re a winner, but not only that, a female winner breaking records for all young aspiring girls.
ynln added to their story
user82 replied to your story WOMEN IN MOTORSPORTS >>>
user93 replied to your story wow. that trophy is beautiful
kimi.antonelli replied to your story congrats 🙌
⤷ ynln grazie kimi! my favorite rookie 🤍
user34 replied to your story REDBULL DOMINATIONNNN
alex_albon replied to your story well done! 👍
⤷ ynln thank you alex!
user55 replied to your story FIRST WDC THIS YEAR 🙏🙏
ynln
liked by f1, maxverstappen1, susie_wolff, and 1,582,028 others
ynln phenomenal weekend, starting the year off right 💪
extremely proud of the team, @/redbullracing, we really never back down! thank you everyone for your support and love, let’s carry it onto the next weekend!
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maxverstappen1 simply lovely weekend 👏
⤷ ynln indeed 🥳
user71 one of the best podiums 🙌🙌🙌
user99 im crying did anyone see how she moved from george on the podium BYE
redbullracing just the podium we wished for 🍾
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user57 THE COOLDOWN ROOM CLIP??? WHY WAS GEORGE STARING THAT HARD
⤷ user31 OMG YES I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE
user48 the KISS on the trophy!!!! i’ll never get sick of it, such an iconic celebration
kellypiquet wonderful performance! 🤍
⤷ ynln love you 😘
you’re sat on the white couch of the infamous fia post-race press conference, max on your right as you sink into the seat. “looks like we’re just waiting on russell…” the interviewer trails off, and you almost let out a snort, of course. you elbow max, and he only looks at you, lips pressed into a thin line to prevent laughing at such an event. finally, you hear another pair of footsteps approach, clad in black and teal as he sits down. “george, lovely of you to join us! let’s get started!” the same voice echoes out, a teasing lilt to his voice before he turns his attention towards you. “so ln, this was a great weekend for you. pole position on saturday and on sunday, p1 and the fastest lap! how was it for you?” you finish sipping your drink, setting it down on the ground as you pick up your microphone. “yeah, really was great for me, honestly. extremely happy with the results and the team was seriously great.” your voice is flat as you respond, but a smile creeps onto your lips as you speak on your victory. you watch as the interviewer nods, “bit unfortunate you weren’t able to lead every lap, yeah? looks like you nearly had a bit of contact with russell there, no? was it difficult? him being such a strong driver?” you lowly scoff, the mic picking up the sound as you adjust your cap, jaw clenching ever so slightly. it’s in the way its said, the slight demeaning and misogynistic tone the official has when he says ‘him,’ and suddenly you can feel the way the anger threatens to spill from your mouth and your teeth clench. “yeah.” your tone is clipped, short, spoken through a hiss of your teeth; and you’re sure it’s the way you’re staring so intensely at the interviewer that causes him to move to max. you drop your mic, rolling your shoulders as you adjust your posture, unbelievable.
you step out first with your pr manager as you jog towards the barricades that holds off tens of journalists. as you slow to a stop in front of the microphones, you feel as max comes next to you, and his foot nudges yours. its a silent signal between the two of you, one that expresses: gosh i don’t want to be here. you swallow down the laugh that threatens to bubble out of your throat, smiling sheepishly as you turn your attention to the mass of reporters. its always the same routine when the media interacts with either of the redbull drivers: ask a question, get a short answer, ask another, another short answer, and its the same cycle until either of you have to leave. your brain is on autopilot, answering questions while your mind wanders before your manager tugs at the sleeve of your race suit that’s tied around your waist, “thank you, thank you for the questions and the support!” you say, vision unblurring as you break out of your dissociation, waving towards the crowd as you walk away. you hear steps behind you as you continue walking off, and your head turns, meeting the eyes of your co-driver. the two of you hold eye contact for a moment—still walking—and break out into laughter. you feel his hand pat your back as the two of you continue to chuckle childishly. “glad that’s over, right?” he states and you snort in response, “yeah, couldn’t handle another second of them asking me how it feels to be a ‘girl that wins’”.
you step into your driver’s room, letting out an exhale of relief as you slump onto the plush couch. you grab the remote that lays on the armrest, turning on the tv anchored across from you, and you almost immediately wince. “good start to the season, i’m looking forward to improving this year,” its russell and his stupid, grating voice. he’s in the media pen, and you roll your eyes, making yourself comfortable as you sink further into the couch. you’re looking down, kicking off your shoes when you hear the question, “what was your reaction to yn’s reaction to the question regarding the almost-contact between the two of you in the race in the press conference?”. it’s frankly dumb, a question only mentioned simply to spark the long-lasting rivalry between the two of you. your neck snaps up to look at the screen, where you watch as his brows furrow, a hand running through his hair before he answers. “don’t think there was a reaction at all. she handled it well.” his accent thickens as he references you, a look of genuine confusion coming over his face. you hear as the reporter sputters something, and george continues, but you can’t hear it over the deafening thoughts echoing in your head. what game is he playing at? defending you?
“don’t think there was a reaction at all. she handled it well.” george says, his brows furrowed as he answers, confusion washing over his expression. he thinks its stupid, absolutely idiotic to ask such a question, but nonetheless he must answer. however, it doesn’t stop the inner anger working its way up his throat like bile threatening to be puked out. “w-well i thought with your rivalry-” he hears the reporter stammer out, but his next words come out faster than he can process them. “well, you thought wrong. however dares agree with that official at the press conference clearly isn’t the brightest. yn is incredibly talented and her gender has nothing to do with her skill on track.” he cuts them short, chest heaving slightly as he gets his last breath of words out. his jaw clenches and he has to bite his tongue in fear of saying anything more that would end in a lecture. again, he hears the reporter sputter out words he has half the mind to listen to just as his pr manager nudges him in his side; its a silent gesture to get him to leave. he swiftly turns, giving a thin smile and a brief wave as he saunters past the barricade of cameras and microphones. as he continues walking, he isn’t able to listen to the muttering of his pr official next to him or block himself from the flash of paparazzi cameras, instead his thoughts are plagued. why had he defended you? and more importantly, what were you going to say?
he slips into his driving room, letting out an exhale as he opens the door and closes it gently. he’s ruffling his hair as he looks down, kicking off his black racing shoes dramatically. “you should treat this like your home, do you go huffing and throwing your shoes around?” his neck snaps up with an inhuman reaction time. he steps back, pinning himself to his driver’s room’s door as you stand. “how- how did you get in here?” he watches as you grin, “my favorite rookie, of course. and turns out mercedes’ layout is quite similar to redbull’s,” you say, playing with an accessory placed on a shelf in the room. he curses kimi in his head, and looks back at you, watching as you take two strides, with only a small space separating the two of you. george swears he can feel his heart beating out of his chest as you poke his chest through his fireproofs, your smile disappearing as you clench your jaw, “now what sick game are you playing at, russell? defending me?” your finger presses deeper into his muscle, and he winces, eyes dropping to the furrow between your brows. “i don’t know what you’re talking about, ln.” he says, a grin teasing the corners of his lips, why were you so riled up over this, and why did you look so- “you lying piece of shit! you have never, not once in my career, defended me. not when i debuted, not when the media shamed me, never! so why is it when an official makes a borderline comment that you suddenly get to play hero? you are my rival! and you’re truly are daft if you think i’m dumb enough to believe you-” your face contorts into anger, words spewing like lava as they leave your mouth. he finally moves, peeling his back from the door as he takes a step closer to you, leaning in, “did it ever occur to you that i hadn’t been there during those interviews?” he watches as your face flushes and you sputter an incoherent string of words. “this rivalry,” he cuts you off, gesturing between the two of you, his face moving back away from you, “was one-sided.” he turns, opening the door back to the mercedes motorhome as he speaks with a tone of finality, “have a good night, ln.”
georgerussell63
liked by kimi.antonelli, adidas, alex_albon, and 273,082 others
georgerussell63 P3 🏆 kicking off '25 with a podium finish feels good. tricky conditions today, well done team and congratulations to kimi on an amazing recovery 👏
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user82 GEORGE WDCCCCC PLEASE 🙏
officialgr63 😍😍
user71 okay so are we gonna ignore the elephant of the room…him defending YN????
⤷ user60 no seriously like i thought i was hearing things
user29 him congratulating kimiiii 🥹🥹🥹
iwcwatches great start 🔥💙
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user74 the rivals to lovers pipeline is happening guys…TRUST
user45 his face defending yn 🤨🤨
his voice and smug tone rings in your head much past the time you’re supposed to be asleep, ‘have a good night, ln’?! you’re tossing and turning in the plush hotel room bed, you just can’t believe he’s just so…arrogant! what a prick! it comes to the point where it’s plaguing your mind so much that you sit up, moving from the bed and padding softly to the bathroom. you stare at yourself in the mirror, hands gripping the cold marble of the sink, and with a million thoughts still swirling in your mind, you can only focus on one: you’ve got a championship to win, and you’re not about to let some stuck-up, prissy british driver show you up.
what you don’t realize, is that george lays wide awake, reliving the conversation as much as you are—but for very different reasons. he’s sat on the edge of his bed, feet pressed against the carpet of the floor and hands fisting the sheets as he attempts to ground himself. he’s essentially staring into the darkness, the only light source being the pale moonlight that trickles into the hotel room through translucent curtains. his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, but they all surround one person: you, and it sickens him. not in the way he feels as though he should be throwing up, but in the way where he feels ashamed; ashamed that, of course he of all people, has fallen for the one person who is unspokenly said to be off-limits.
his head falls flat back onto the bouncy mattress as he realizes what he’s admitted: he likes you, and it terrifies him. he readjusts himself underneath the blankets and glances at the time, 12:08am, much too late to be worrying about his stupid love life, but he can’t help himself. he feels his cheeks bloom with heat—even with the cold air of the ac blasting in the room—as he recalls everything he can remember about you. the way you poke your cheek with your tongue when you’re silently annoyed, the wrinkles on your forehead and furrow between your brows when you seem confused, the puffy and rawness of your lips that only happens when you’re anxious and end up biting your lip skin- god what was he thinking? why did he care? he lets out a huff of frustration, turning to his side and closing his eyes, hopefully the thoughts would fade away by tomorrow; after all, he’s got a championship to worry about.
f1radios
liked by user61, user37, user23, and 11,082 others
f1radios what a race! the chinese grand prix has finished and here are the iconic ending radios of our podium winners! #ChineseGP #F1
p1: oscar piastri, 81
p2: yn ln, 21
p3: george russell, 63
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user72 anyone wanna talk about how yn overtook george and there wasn’t ONE single peep about it on either side…
⤷ user54 no literally LIKE YN DIDN’T EVEN BRAG???
user69 BACK TO BACK MCLAREN WINS WE’RE SO UP
user91 the way they avoided each other…WHAT IS GOING ON
user37 yn wdc 2025 idcidc
⤷ user55 not if george locks in 🙏
user18 REDBULL WORLD DOMINATION
parc fermé greets you with the feeling of adrenaline, the smell of burnt rubber, and the excited cheers from fans. standing from the cockpit, you lift your fist in the air, pumping it and beaming underneath your helmet as you hear the combined shouts of your name and your number. you peel the headgear off—resting it between your forearm and hip—revealing your ear to ear grin as you step down from the car, moving towards the front wing. you get on your knees, kissing the embedded ‘21’ before standing up, and as you turn, you’re met with the eyes of a familiar australian. “congratulations, mate! great drive, got nervous for a second,” oscar says, a genuine smile coming across his face as he pulls you in for a hug, patting your back. as you separate, you playfully roll your eyes, “got stuck behind your dirty air, mate, promise you won’t be as lucky next time!” you grin, eyes crinkling as you bid your goodbyes and head off to the scales. “forgetting to congratulate someone?”
you’re a few steps away from the scales when you hear the piercing british accent of george russell, how great, you think. you turn your head slightly, enough to give him attention but without having to make eye contact. you fiddle with the buckle of the helmet on your head, fastening it as you fully turn to face the mercedes driver. “thought i told you i only shook hands with winners?” your tone is flat as you look at him, your bored eyes highlighted by the small gap in the helmet. you watch as his eyes widen for a moment, and you can only roll your own. your head snaps in the direction of officials telling oscar to step onto the scale, and you swiftly turn your heel, beginning to walk away. but it’s then when a strong hand grasps your wrist, pulling you back from stepping further.
you let out an uncharacteristically high-pitched yelp when you feel the grip of an unfamiliar hand, your neck turning to meet blue eyes boring into your own. “you said you don’t shake hands with losers…and by your logic we’re both losers,” george manages to huff out, his grasp loosening ever so slightly around your wrist as he references your whisper from the previous race. you quirk a brow, “getting desperate for a handshake, russell?” you say, peeling your hand away from his. you watch as he sputters for a second, a slight flush rising to his cheeks as he straightens up. you roll your eyes, taking your hand into his, gripping the calloused palm and shaking it. you feel your heart in your throat for a brief moment before the sensation dulls, settling back into your chest cavity as you pull your hand away. you clear your voice, “hopefully that was enough for you, brit,” you say, thankful he isn’t able to see you nervously biting your lips, before you saunter off, making your way to the scales.
george’s breath catches in his throat as he watches your figure walk away, blush covering his cheeks and heat rising to the back of his neck as his eyes remained fixed on you. brit, for once it isn’t his surname that you’re muttering with disdain, and his stomach flips. he walks in your direction, a wide smile hidden under his helmet as he lines up behind you to be weighed. his mind whirls with too many thoughts at once as he steps on the scale, soon interrupted by your laughter you share with the mclaren driver as you head towards the cooldown room. once he’s dismissed, he quickly moves, jogging to join the two of you. george’s arm wraps around the australian as he congratulates him on his win, pulling him into a friendly hug. and once they separate, george moves to walk beside you, and his heart jumps to his throat when you don’t push him away. maybe his chances weren’t as fucked as he thought.
the cooldown room is humming with a whirr of the ac when you step in, the cool air kissing your flushed face when you enter. you let out a sigh of contentment as you sit on the seats of the cooldown room, snatching a towel to wipe the sweat off your brows as you study the race highlights presented. your concentration is broken as a voice cuts through the silence—other than the sound of racecar engines projected on the screen in front of you—“a polaroid camera? sick!” your head snaps towards the familiar voice, and your eyes focus on george who holds the nostalgic item. suddenly, a smear of papaya pops into the room; one of oscar’s team members. the next minute is one of chaos: yelps as the three of you position yourselves for the camera, a shout coming from you when the flash goes off too early, and groans from oscar as he stands between the you and the mercedes driver bickering. “russell, move!” you say, swatting his hands away from your own as you settle yours on the back of oscar. “geez, ln give me some space,” the british driver mumbles back, eventually finding space on the mclaren driver’s shoulder to rest his arm. your neck swiftly turns to george, whose eyes are already on you as you glare at him. you feel the flush rising to the tips of your ears as you maintain eye contact with his cheekily grinning face, when did he start looking so- and suddenly, snap! the flash goes off and almost in unison, the three of you groan. the mclaren team member spins his finger in a gesture of saying, one more!, and you can’t help but shake your head in faux annoyance as you readjust your pose, resting your hand on the small of oscar’s back. “hands off, brit,” you whisper lowly, an attempt to not have microphones pick up the audio. you feel his stare in your peripheral vision, but you continue looking forward at the papaya-colored shirt of oscar’s team member. you grin as you speak, “get my good side, would you?”
your voice rings in george’s ears for longer than he’d like to admit, and the passive glare stays imprinted in his mind for far too long. it’s only until his pr manager pokes his side that he finally comes back to reality, right, he should be focusing on media. “george! what did you think about yn’s overtake, looks like she blasted some dirty air your way, no?” he watches in his peripheral as you try to answer a question asked by another reporter, but he’s much too aware of the way your body freezes up for a second when you hear what he’s being asked. he blinks, turning his attention to the journalist, “she did what she needed to, she’s incredibly determined. i would have done the same thing if i were her, but i likely wouldn’t have executed it as well.” he’s almost shocked by the genuine words that fall from his lips, and it seems so is the person asking him the question. george watches as they fumble with their words for a moment before he turns, moving to the next question, face flushed with the realization of what he’s admitted.
george’s comment embeds itself into your brain, rendering you speechless as you stutter out a response to the reporter in front of you. a compliment. the most idiotic, arrogant, self-absorbed prick gave you a compliment? is this really happening right now? you’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts as your pr representative pulls you aside, thanking the crowd of journalists as she tugs you away from the barricades and out of sight. “what was that, yn? you never stutter.” you’re sure you’re looking at her with that gobsmacked stare, mouth slightly ajar when she pinches the bridge of her nose, an exasperated sigh releasing itself from her lips. “seriously? is it russell? i’ll tell his team to get him to back off, i don’t know what’s gotten into him-” “no!” you shout, albeit a bit too loudly before you lower your voice, “no, it’s…fine, i’m just tired…” you say unconvincingly, judging by the quirked eyebrow and the unbelieving face of your representative. her face contorts into one of realization, a cheeky smile splaying across her face as she speaks, “oh i see what this is!” she giggles, wiggling her brows as you flush at her response. “what are you saying- stop looking at me like that!” you manage to sputter out, moving your cold hands to your cheeks in an attempt to ground yourself. “you’re warming up to russell, yn. and you know i’m right,” she says quietly, leaning in so only you can hear her voice. your voice raises an octave as you respond back, “no- no i don’t! i will never like him, we’ve been rivals since my debut! are you crazy-?!” your hands are making wild gestures and you’re secretly praying no camera is capturing this moment. your pr manager turns, “i never said anything about ‘liking’ ms. redbull! but whatever helps you sleep at night!” she calls from over her shoulder, beginning to walk away, and you follow suit, jogging to catch up to her. “you’re annoying.” you deadpan, your steps syncing up as you make your way back to the redbull garage. but yet, you can’t help but think, is she right?
ynln
liked by f1, oscarpiastri, georgerussell63, and 1,238,164 others
ynln thank you shanghai, so far so good! 🇨🇳
great back to back weekends here at redbull, absolutely blessed to still be holding the championship crown 🙂↕️ thank you to the team for being absolutely amazing this weekend, i hope we’re able to keep the pace up!
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user75 RAHHHH THAT’S MY WDC !!!!!!!
redbullracing never back down, never give up 🎊
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user84 i’m sorry her and george’s chemistry is absolutely DIABOLICAL this season like im sick
⤷ user62 THE YEARNING STARES ARE KILLING MEEE
user34 her and max are theeee king and queen of f1 rn
oscarpiastri 👏👏
⤷ ynln well done mate!
user11 GEORGE RUSSELL IN THE LIKES THIS IS NOT A DRILLLL!!!!
user57 her stuttering in the media pen,,, GIRL WHAT HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU
maxverstappen1 phenomenal 💪
⤷ ynln simply lovely 🦁🦁
⤷ user69 THEY’RE LITERALLY SIBLINGS I LOVE THEM 😭
your grin is wide as you listen to the cheers of fans as you walk through the barricades leading up to the swipe gates of the paddock. you wave to the crowd before you approach the mass of people lined up against the barriers. you snatch a pen from a girl who screams in delight as you sign her cap that is embroidered with your number on it. you take your time approaching each fan: smiling genuinely, interacting with every person you're able to, complimenting their outfits—really anything you're able to do in this time with fans before the weekend revs up, you do. your interactions stretch up until the very last moment before max tugs you along with him—although its difficult considering you're more worried about blowing kisses to your fans as a goodbye.
"geez max, you're so lame!" you huff as the two of you step into the paddock, walking in tandem towards the redbull garage. "if i didn't grab you, you would've been there for hours and we would have missed quali, idiot," he deadpans, and you're only able to roll your eyes in response. "i would have missed the team meeting before quali, actually..." you retort quietly, stepping in front of the dutchman as the two of you enter the beloved motorhome, and your face lights up as you greet the various team members. you're familiar with the groan that comes out of max's mouth as someone mentions the foreshadowed meeting you had spoken about just minutes before, and it only makes your grin wider. you watch as the team files out, heading towards a conference room and you tug on max's redbull shirt, "come on emilian! let's get a move on!" you smile cheekily, his complaints music to your ears as you pull him around the garage to where everyone else had gone.
you’re clipping your helmet on, laser focused as a few team members pat your back before you pull yourself into the cockpit. butterflies flutter in your stomach in both anxiety and excitement as you glance towards the other side of the garage, where you find max staring back at you. he gives you a thumbs up, a signal for you to head off first into the quali session, and you look away, breathing out a long sigh to quell the turmoil going on in your head—you’ve got to maintain this lead. it’s ten minutes into qualifying, and you push, your car jutting out of parc fermè and speeding towards suzuka’s track.
“P2! P2! that’s P2 yn!” your radio crackles to life as you hear the distinct voice of ernie, your race engineer. “holy shit! what did max get?” you ask, heart thumping out of your chest as you await a response. “P1-” “LET’S GOO!” you cut off your engineer, shouting loudly into the mic as you celebrate the first 1-2 redbull qualifying session of the season. “that’s fucking incredible mate, wow…” you trail off, listening to ernie’s voice as he lists the remainder of the standings, “piastri p3, leclerc p4, russell p5…” his voice tunes out in your head after he mentions the name of your rival, not bad, not bad at all. “sorry, yn what was that?” you can practically hear the shit-eating grin your engineer has on his face as you blush, realizing that you’ve spoken out loud and been heard on the radio. “shut it, ernie!”
a crisp sound comes from the clap you and max share as the two of you join each other in a hug in parc fermé. a wide smile graces your face as you embrace the dutchman tightly, “we’re good, huh?” you say, pulling away from the hug, watching as the corners of his eyes crinkle, “the best, liefje.” he states—almost as if its the obvious—before leading you towards the scales.
george huffs as he steps into his driver’s room, adjusting the neckline of his fireproofs as he quickly gulps down a water. p fucking 5. he realizes that by no means is that a bad qualifying position, but when he’s now fourth in the championship standings, it’s infuriating. he swiftly turns on the tv stationed across from his seat, kicking his shoes off across the room and sitting down as he watches the static dissipate before- oh of course its your face on the screen. you’re in the media pen, hair tousled and a light sheen of sweat visible on your face as you answer questions tossed out by reporters. “yn! what was that radio about russell about? are the two of you on good terms? what about your rivalry?” its a female voice speaking that george can faintly remember, recalling her as a journalist that his pr manager told him once to avoid. you talked about him? he leans forward, analyzing every micro expression of your blown-up face on his screen, watching as you shake your head in amusement. “nothing, just saying what everyone else is thinking.” you respond dismissively, yet it only fires up the crowd more as they react to your vague answer. his gaze is stuck on how you cheekily smile after, walking by the clump of interviewers as you move to another section to answer more relevant questions regarding actual racing. he rips his eyes off the screen, suddenly feeling how his phone is vibrating incessantly in his race suit as an abundance of messages flood his phone. he finds himself clicking onto a tweet, listening to your voice crackle over the radio after his name is mentioned. it’s in that moment that he feels the heat rise to his cheeks, gaze unfocused as the audio loops over and over.
george lays awake in his hotel room, eyes darting to the analog clock hung over the tv displayed across from him, 8:21 pm. its not too late, and maybe that’s why he’s still stuck on twitter scrolling through the trending hashtag #LNRUSSELL. its almost as if he’s in a trance—a loop if you will—of tweets analyzing how he’s been ‘nicer’ to you and how you haven’t been publicly calling him an absolute buffoon. he sighs, dropping the phone onto his chest, should he be embarrassed? it feels like the entire world knows of his feelings except you. he sits up, shaking his head, water droplets landing on his bare legs from his post-shower hair before he runs a hand through it. his mind feels like scrambled as he sits on the edge of the bed, feet pressing into the carpeted floor of the hotel room and hands gripping the sheets as he grounds himself. he should make a move, right? he nods his head at the thought, approving it internally as he dresses himself in a hoodie overtop of his existing t-shirt and shorts. he slips on a pair of slides, stuffing his keycard into his pocket before he grabs the door handle of the room. yeah, making a move sounds right.
you’re far too awake, heart thumping in your chest and breathing uneven as you think about suzuka’s race tomorrow. tossing and turning every few minutes seems to be a common thing this season when you stay in hotel rooms, your body clearly missing your beloved bed in monaco. you sit up, back pressed against the headboard as your eyes adjust to the darkness; it’s pitch black except for the slightly parted curtain that allows the smallest stream of moonlight into the room. you groan, that’ll definitely bother you, you should go fix it, you think, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. you move your feet into a pair of slippers, teeth chattering as you pad across the room towards the floor-to-ceiling windows. as you close the curtain properly, you quickly layer up, draping an oversized redbull crewneck over yourself. you’re midway through shuffling under the covers before a quick couple of knocks sound through the door of the hotel room. what the fuck, you think, instantly annoyed. who the hell is coming to bother you at, you glance at the time, 8:36 pm knowing you have a race tomorrow?
your phone is discarded, laid somewhere charging on the ground, untouched ever since you’ve left the paddock and entered your room. your mind is swirling for strategies the next day as you step into your pair of fluffy slippers, heading towards the door. you flick on the lights as you grasp the handle, turning it and pulling it towards yourself as you open the door. the sight your met with is nothing short of unexpected: george russell, leaning against the doorframe of your hotel room, his blue eyes boring into your own.
george stands in front of your room—how he got it? kimi, of course—his hand hesitating as he lifts it towards the surface of your door. he’s leaning against the doorframe when he hears the lock click and the door open, and his heart jumps to his throat, maybe he should just run away and forget about all of this. when you open the door, he feels immediately lost, thoughts gone as he takes in the sight. you’re leaning against the large door, a confused expression on your face as he notices your cheeks flushed from the cold—he can feel the breeze and coolness of the ac blasting from inside your room. his eyes trail down lower, noting how you’re seemingly swallowed up by a redbull racing crewneck, the fabric hitting middle of your thighs, and the fluffy slippers adorning your feet. a beat later, he hears as you clear your throat, your confused face becoming questioning as you raise a brow. he watches as the corner of your lips pull into a small frown, clearly annoyed with having your night interrupted. he quickly readjusts himself, now standing upright in front of you as heat blossoms across his cheeks and ears. “hey…i just, uhm, wanted to say thank you. for- uh the, uhm, tone downed rivalry…” his voice gets quieter as he finishes his sentence, this is stupid! so fucking stupid, he totally shouldn’t have listened to alex.
he’s playing with his fingers behind his back, looking down at the floor, the ceiling, your hotel room number, really anything but you. “is that all, russell?” he hears you say, and his neck snaps, looking at you as your voice registers in his brain. “uhm yeah i-” “goodnight then, george,” he hears your tone of finality, and watches as you move to close the door. his stomach is a flurry of butterflies and his words seem to fail him as your figure shrinks from behind the door, so he relies on the only thing that never fails him: his reflexes.
a loud groan is heard from the other side of the door as you attempt to shut it. you swiftly turn around—already beginning to walk away before you heard the noise—and speedwalk back to the entrance of the hotel room, where you can see george’s foot wedged between the feame and the door. “what the fuck?” you quickly open the door fully, making angry eye contact with the brit, “i thought you said you were done talking? why did you wedge your foot in the door, you idiot!” you watch as he lets out a disbelieving laugh before he winces, holding his, presumably, bruised foot. “yeah- i thought so too, then i remembered- fuck,” his voice wavers as he attempts to stand back up onto his foot. “idiot! you are so stupid!” you shuffle yourself under his arm, stabilizing him slightly as you begin to step into the room, but he remains still. “george! move! i can’t leave you out here with a bruised foot, stupid!” your neck snaps to make eye contact with him, and you’re met with his eyes already fixed on you. “hellooo! george!” you snap your fingers in front of his face, and it seems to do the trick as he finally begins to move, mumbling a small sorry.
your face is flushed with both frustration and annoyance as you sit george on a chair in the corner of your room, elevating his foot higher, “hold on- i’m gonna grab ice, take off your sock, so we can fix this,” your voice cracks slightly with panic as you walk away towards the other side of the hotel room, crouching in front of your fridge filled with redbull energy drinks. you rummage inside of the cool container, reaching towards the back to grab an icepack your team supplied you with each race, finally they’d be put to use. you close the fridge door, shuffling back to where george sits, his face laced with discomfort and pain—obvious in the way his brows are knitted together and how he winces every so often. “here, it should help,” your voice is much softer now as you drape the cool ice pack onto his raised foot, “don’t do anything stupid like that again, you won’t perform as well tomorrow,” you give him a pointed look, and he only nods. you glance at the clock and let out a sigh, 8:47 pm. “best get going soon, you need to sleep-” you begin to say, arms crossed against your chest, but a voice breaks your lecture. “since when did you start caring, yn?”
the words slip out of his mouth unconsciously, a true thought that had been swimming in his mind ever since you helped him into the room. he watches as your face blushes, and you stare at him with a dumbfounded look. “i- i don’t! but i caused the pain in your foot, i’m just helping! anyone would do that-” “the yn before this year wouldn’t.” he starts, watching as your lips part. “i voluntarily put my foot between that door, yn. i knew what would’ve happened,” he finishes, tone unwavering and calm in contrast to your bewilderment. he moves, now standing in front of you as he watches your mouth begin to move, “but why? i don’t get it george!-” he listens as your voice cracks, arms moving dramatically as you express your exasperation and finally he cuts you off in frustration, “i’m in love with you!”
your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets and your mouth hangs open as his raised voice registers in your mind, in love with you? “i’ve been in love with you ever since you decided you’ve hated me! ever since i ‘tripped’ you and you gave me that glare! ever since-” you cut him off, stepping on your tippy toes and planting a kiss on his cheek. a grin forms on your face as you realize its his turn to look dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing robotically as he attempts to find the words to respond to the affectionate gesture. “i think i’ve been warming up to you, mr. mercedes,” you slyly grin, grasping his chin with your hand and pulling his face down so you can kiss his other cheek. “but i think we’ve got larger matters on our hand for tomorrow, no?”
ynln added to their story
isackhadjar replied to your story redbull’s got this 💪
⤷ ynln 🫡
user79 manifesting a double redbull podium today 🙏🙏
user61 PLEASE RESPOND TO THE LNRUSSELL DISCOURSE ONLINE
georgerussell63 may the best win today 🤍
⤷ ynln i’ll be sweeping the floor with you today, watch out 👀🤍
⤷ georgerussell63 we’ll see, missy
user57 body tea and an f1 driver…life is truly unfair
suzuka roars with cheers as you take a lap around the circuit, waving to fans in the stands before making your way to parc fermè, p2 feels unreal, especially on such a difficult track. immediately upon parking your car, you jump out, running alongside max as the two of you jump into the swarm of team members lined up against the barricades. its a barrage of voices surrounding the helmet adorned on your head and the heavy pats on your back that bring you to reality, tears pricking your eyes. as you jump back off the redbull team, you make eye contact with max, whose joy is evident in his eyes peeking through of the helmet. he instantly pulls you into a bear hug, “1-2 here and on the standings, watch out,” he teasingly whispers into your ear, a laugh erupting from his throat as you remove yourself from his embrace, playfully pushing him towards the scales. “shut it, emilian! i’ll beat you!”
sprays of champagne kiss your face violently, streams of the fizzed liquid running down your race suit, hair, and face, but your smile remains wide, stretching from ear to ear. you lift the bottle to your lips, gulping as you finish the remainder of the drink. you smile as you set it down, face flushed as you grab your trophy, giving it a kiss and listening as the crowd cheers loudly again. you give a final wave to the fans and team members gathered below before you’re whisked away by both max and a security guard. you groan alongside your co-driver as you realize what’s next: the dreaded media pen.
your elbow bumps against max’s as you stand in front of the tens of reporters, your stomach swirling with anxiousness as every second passes. your mind is preoccupied as you bluntly answer questions, your responses short as you think about a certain mercedes driver. “yn! what did you think of the car?” “how did it feel to hunt down max?” “what’s going on between you and russell?” reporters’ words tumble out of their mouths like alphabet soup, but it’s the last question that breaks you out of dissociation. your head snaps upwards, glaring at the crowd with a furrow in your brow, “if you’re here to talk about my love life, go on social media. i’m here to race and that’s all.” annoyance laces your tone as you speak, your words slicing through the chaos in the media pen. you feel a flash from a camera snap your side profile—where you’re sure your clenched jaw and tongue-in-cheek expression is visible—just as your pr manager and max pull you aside, pushing you to begin walking towards where the post-race press conference will be held.
angry forehead wrinkles line your face when you listen to your pr representative muttering something about how you ‘need to control yourself’. you turn to her, anger bubbling in your chest as you speak, “you don’t understand, i feel like i’m never being taken seriously! so what if i’m a girl in a predominantly male sport? it shouldn’t matter!” she looks at you in bewilderment before her expression softens, “you’re just like max, gosh,” she’s smiling as she shakes her head and you open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off. “say that then. i guarantee you the press will eat up your true thoughts,” she pushes your back gently towards the open cameras, urging you to step into the conference, but your eyes stay on her’s. hearing her words, your lips finally break into a small smile. you embrace her, whispering a small thank you into her ear before you swiftly turn, heading towards the couch of the press conference.
it starts as any meeting other does, max in the middle, you on his right, and oscar on his left. the official drones on and on about strategy, tires, the team, and much more that you only have half the mind to listen to. your head perks up at the mention of your name, taking your attention away from the ground that you’ve been staring at for ten minutes. “yn, you’ve been in some controversy with your long-time rival george russell, but it seems you’ve eased up recently this season. any comments on that?” you pick up your mic, eyes squinted in annoyance as you adjust your cap, “i don’t understand why only i am asked these sort of questions revolving around anything but racing, do you care to elaborate?” your voice is calm, even as you respond, a rephrasing of the words you spoke to your press manager just before. a smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as the official sputters out a flurry of excuses, “well, uh- the, uhm- the topic of conversation surrounding you recently has been about this change in attitude. it’s uhm- something we haven’t seen in your previous four years at redbull.” the interviewer ends his stuttering sentence with a sheepish smile, but your face remains unmoved. you lean forward, maintaining eye contact with the official, “well the topic of conversation surrounding me should be on the championship lead i currently hold. it’s certainly impressive for a woman, that should be what i’m asked about if we aren’t talking about racing, not my relationship status.” you lay the mic down on the side of you, grabbing your water that sits on the ground before taking a sip. you listen as the official redirects his questions for the rest of the conference, steering clear of any questions that talk about anything other than racing, and you smile proudly.
ynln and georgerussell63 added to their stories
user18 replied to your story THAT HAS TO BE GEORGE OH MY GOD IT HAS TO BE
user62 replied to your story hello is that the same dress from george’s post?????
georgerussell63 replied to your story who’s that sharp looking guy?
⤷ ynln you 🙄🙄
user60 replied to your story LINK TO THE DRESS PLEASEEE
kellypiquet replied to your story tell me how it goes ♥️
⤷ ynln you know it 🤗
user77 replied to georgerussell63’s story subtlety is DEAD we all know that is yn…
alex_albon replied to georgerussell63’s story YOU DID NOT TELL ME ABOUT THIS
⤷ alex_albon I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS???? 🥲🥲🥲
⤷ georgerussell63 i was going to tell you eventually 🤷♂️
⤷ alex_albon you need to tell me EVERYTHING
user54 replied to georgerussell63’s story there goes my parasocial relationship 💔
user97 replied to georgerussell63’s story we know this is yn 🙃🙃
cara.wickham replied to georgerussell63’s story answer your phone georgie.
⤷ georgerussell63 yes dearest sister 🙂
the two of you are sat in a small resturaunt right on the outskirts of suzuka, tucked and sitting across from one another in a booth in the far corner of the establishment. you watch as george finishes up his series of texts to his sister, the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly as he sets down the phone. “you tell her?” you say, cocking your head to the side and grabbing the stem of your martini glass, taking a sip. he shakes his head, laughing softly, “told her i would later, i want to spend my time with you right now,” he smiles softly at you, blue eyes gazing into yours as he gently holds your hand from across the table. you feel the blush rising to your neck and seeping onto your cheeks as his warm hand grasps yours. you hide behind the martini glass, an involuntary, wide smile tugging at your lips. “you’re so cheesy, it’s gross,” you say, moving the drink away from your face as you slowly slip your hand away from his. “you like it!” he exclaims, a grin coming across his face as you simultaneously roll your eyes. “come on, stupid, let’s eat, what are you waiting for?” you complain, gesturing to the plated flights of sushi in front of the two of you. you watch as he nods picking up chopsticks and beginning to stuff his face.
your shared laughs echo throughout the streets of suzuka, the cold air kissing each of your faces as you finally make your way to the hotel entrance. you grab his hand, hushed giggles escaping your lips and your heels clicking against the hotel lobby’s tiles as you pull him towards the stairs. “we’ve got to walk the calories off, come on george!” you whisper shout from the third step, hand outstretched to george standing at the base of the staircase. he stares at you for a moment, and it feels as though your heart stops for a beat. he looks so sickly in love with you, and you wonder how you hadn’t seen it before. you finally come back to reality as you hear him sigh in disbelief. you hear as a chuckle escapes his lips and he takes your hand, grasping tightly as you lead him up the steps.
your hands are still clasped with one another as you reach the infamous doorframe of your hotel room. you let out a breath, chest rising erratically from running up the stairs in your heels. “are you okay?” you feel george’s warm hands cup your face as his eyes run over your face in concern. you place your hands over his, nails running over the back of his as you look up at him. your heart feels so, so full as you look at him, your eyes trailing over his long lashes and pursed lips. it’s almost sickening how overwhelmed you are with pure, unadultered affection for your old rival. you watch as his lips move, obviously asking you again in that same, adorable and concerned tone of his, but you’re only able to focus on the bright red blush staining his cheeks—from the cold? or from you? who knows! his voice only registers in your mind when he waves a hand in front of your face, the warmth dissipating from your frozen cheeks. “yn? hello?” his gentle voice settles in your ears, and you finally break your gaze from his pink cheeks, eyes darting to make eye conact with him. “i love you.”
george thinks he’s dreaming, you love him? his brain nearly resets at the words, “you- you?- really?” his voice fails him, cracking after every syllable as he attempts to form sentences. he watches as you nod shyly, a rare, soft smile creeping onto your face as you look up at him. he leans down, body towering over you as he holds your face in his hands, “can i?” he cocks his head to the side before watching you nod, a smile creeping onto his face as well. the next seconds feel like heaven on earth to george: your lips moving in sync with his as you pull his body closer, your scented lipgloss invading his nose, and the feeling of your tongues hesitantly grazing against each other; it’s perfect. he feels you stepping on your tippy toes, chasing the feeling of his lips as he pulls away, and he smiles smugly. “kissing a loser is a new low for you, yn,” he teases, watching as your face erupts in a blush as you swat his hands off of your cheeks. “shut up, george!”
the two of you end up in your hotel room by the end of the night, george too clingy to separate from you and you too stubborn to stay in his room. the digital clock blinks a bright 12:09 am, much too late for either of you to be awake, but it doesn’t matter when you’re enjoying the other’s presence. your head rests on george’s chest, your legs intertwined with his under the covers, ear pressed against his heart, listening as it thumps a melodic rhythm. he hums a thne as his hands brush your hair gently, soothing you into a pliant, sleepy state. your eyes blink slowly as you crane your neck to look at the mercedes driver, your lids weighing like tons as your vision becomes blurry. you can faintly see his blue eyes staring into yours in the dark room, and it feels so domestic. “tired?” his accent is thick, clearly sleep-deprived but he doesn’t seem willing to sink into a slumber until he knows you are asleep first. you hum a noise of agreement, “a little, i think it’s just ‘cause you’re a good pillow…” your voice gets quieter and slurs slightly as you attempt to finish your sentence, but sleep seems to welcome you with open arms. you feel george’s hold on you tighten right before you fall asleep, and his lips kiss the crown of your head as you slip into dreamland.
george watches as your breathing evens out, a telltale sign that you’re finally asleep. he grips your waist tighter, kissing the crown of your head where your hair parts as he whispers a small, i love you. his body relaxes as he feels your cold hands grab at his waist, a murmur of satisfaction slipping unconsciously from your lips. he looks down at you—careful not to move too much in fear of disturbing your sleeping body—and smiles softly, he truly feels as though he’s won. the late nights practicing on his sim trying to become better, the constant yearning looks he’s given you, the rivalry, and the many, many ways he’s tried to grab your attention finally feels worth it. his chest flutters with pure affection as he closes his eyes, his body molding with yours as he drifts off into a sleep. yeah, it was worth it.
ynln and georgerussell63 added to their stories
user17 replied to your story KEEP UP THIS CHAMPIONSHIP LEAD QUEEN PLEASE 🙌🙌🙌
user93 replied to your story THE MATCHING STORY WITH GEORGE PLEASEEE YALL R NOT SUBTLE
maxverstappen1 replied to your story meet me in the garage, we have much discussing to do about your story last week.
⤷ ynln uh oh…. 😟
user21 replied to your story FORZA YN SEMPRE
kimi.antonelli replied to your story please help!! george is looking for you and he won’t stop talking 😕
⤷ ynln on my way andrea 🏃♀️
user26 replied to georgerussell63’s story george wdc 2025!!!
user61 replied to georgerussell63’s story please reveal who the mystery girl is we’re all dying to know
alex_albon replied to georgerussell63’s story mate this is getting painfully obvious now
⤷ georgerussell63 i have no idea what you’re talking about 🤷♂️
user58 replied to georgerussell63’s story MERCEDES DOUBLE PODIUM THIS WEEKEND
ynln replied to georgerussell63’s story copy cat!!!! 😮
⤷ ynln also where are you??? kimi is saying you’re looking for me but i’ve got to go get ready for media soon
⤷ georgerussell63 stay in the redbull garage, i’ll sneak in
bahrain greets you with sticky, humid air, sweat, and joyous cheers of fans as you walk past the barricades. you quickly sign a few pieces of merch before swiftly walking into the paddock gates, you hope you’re not already late. you take your time inside the paddock, snapping pictures and posting them, letting your phone vibrate incessantly in your pocket as the replies flood in. you’re entering the redbull garage, eyes glued to your phone and fingers tapping furiously against the tempered glass as you send a reply to george please before stuffing the device into your back pocket. you give a sheepish smile to the team members who’ve seen how you’ve only now just entered before you slip into your driver’s room across from max’s.
you grin as you pull out your device, looking at your screen and seeing how george’s text lights up your phone. suddenly, a quick series of knocks break you out of your trance of staring at your phone, and you move quickly to open the door. a large body embraces you as you open it, and you can’t help but giggle uncontrollably at the feeling of the familiar, warm body pressing into your own. you breathe in, smelling the mix clean laundry and cedarwood, the scent trapping itself in your nose. a flurry of kisses interrupt your concentration of his scent; his lips fly from your temple to your forehead to your nose to your cheeks and finally to your lips. it feels almost too easy, how the two of you are able to mold against one another, lips moving in synch as his hands grasp your cheeks and your arms rest on his shoulders. as the two of you pull away, his hands rest on your hips, and he smiles that stupid, soft smile that makes your heart ache and melt at once. “someone miss me?” you tease, adjusting the collar of his team kit shirt. he opens his mouth to speak, but isn’t able to get his words out properly before a thick, dutch accent interrupts the moment between the two of you, “what the fuck?”
the two of you instantly move apart, awkwardly standing on two opposite sides of the room as max points between the two of you. “you two…since when?” his voice is questioning, teasing, and amused all at once, and it nearly makes you roll your eyes. “since last race. he,” you grab the mercedes driver’s forearm, tugging him so he’s flush to the side of your body, “is who i posted that night.” you watch as max nods—somewhat approvingly you hope—before grabbing the door handle of your driver’s room. “close the door next time if you don’t want to get caught,” he says, a smug smile creeping onto his lips as his eyes convey a look that says, we’ll be talking later. the dutchman shuts the door behind him, and you listen for his fading footsteps before you turn back to george. “you should probably go back before toto kills you,” you say, grinning as george throws his head back, letting out a groan in annoyance. when he’s back looking at you, you watch as his eyes soften and he leans in, giving you a small kiss on the cheek. “for good luck today, i love you, i’ll see you after, okay?” he walks towards the door, tugging at the handle and cracking it open. “sounds good, i love you too,” you say smiling, cheeks hurting from how wide you’re grinning, and you wave goodbye as he leaves your beloved driver’s room. focusing would be hard this weekend.
georgerussell63
liked by ynln, mercedesamgf1, oscarpiastri, and 992,630 others
georgerussell63 🏆 P2 in bahrain!! 🙌
great work team, really great weekend!! congrats to oscar and yn on the podium 👍
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user98 WE FINALLY GOT OUR ENEMIES TO LOVERS OH MY GODDDD 😭😭
⤷ user11 THEIR KISS ON THE PODIUM OH EM GEE I LOVE THEM
oscarpiastri didn’t spot the secret snapper
user67 this has to be one of the most unexpected and iconic podium celebrations EVER
iwcwatches well done george! 🏁
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user78 FINALLY YN LIKES ONE OF HIS POSTSSSS UGH
ynln congrats 😉🎉
⤷ georgerussell63 💙♥️
user73 GEORGE LIKING HER COMMENT AND REPLYING WITH THE REDBULL TEAM COLORS OHHHH IM SICKKKK
ynln
liked by georgerussell63, f1, redbullracing, and 802,190 others
ynln P3 isn’t bad, but not the result we’re looking for to keep the momentum up! 🦁
but the team was absolutely phenomenal and i’m so proud to say we got a podium this weekend, let’s stay strong for the next 💪
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georgerussell63 congratulations 🍾
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user82 yn being so nonchalant and not replying to george’s comment kills me loool
user60 YN WORLD CHAMPION IM TELLING YOU GUYS!!!
redbullusa the world champion in our hearts 🤍👀
⤷ user43 AND IN GEORGE’S!!!
user95 her performances on the track are always jaw dropping 👏
kellypiquet well done ❤️
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you feel a slight twinge of disappointment manifesting in your stomach as you step out onto the podium and placing yourself on the third place step, it isn’t terrible but it could’ve been better. however, your deprecating thoughts are soon shut down as you watch george step out, making himself visible for the fans and cameras as he positions himself on the p2 step. you’re smiling hard, grin stretching from ear to ear as you clap for the mercedes driver, your eyes remaining fixed on his figure as he waves to the crowd below him. you barely register the cheer that responds to oscar’s appearance when george turns his head to you, his blue eyes boring into your own as he claps, a smile tugging at his lips as he beams with pride. he’s finally outperformed you.
the champagne sprays are a shower you didn’t consent to, the fizzy liquid being sprayed onto you by both george and oscar. you step back, giggling uncontrollably as you shoot your bottle back at the brit and australian. you watch as oscar backs off but george only steps closer, dumping his champagne over your head, effectively dousing you in your race suit. “george!” you yelp, the cold liquid running down your face and seeping through your fireproofs. he looks concerned for a moment, his brows knitted together and his hand hovering over your cheek to check if you’re alright; you use it as a moment to strike. immediately, you shake your bottle—causing it to fizz under the pressure—and aim it straight towards the brit. his eyes widen before he too breaks out in a series of laughs, clearly not expecting you to pull off such a cheeky move. suddenly, he grabs your forearm, causing you to drop your bottle as he places his on the ground. your faces are impossibly close, too close for live tv especially, but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in looking into the other’s eyes. he raises an eyebrow, “can i?” his voice is soft, and for a moment it feels as though the two of you are the only ones in the world. your chest heaves with a sharp breath you take in, and you nod, scared that you don’t have the courage to speak. he cups your jaw before pulling you in, and the rest of the world tunes out.
ynln
liked by georgerussell63, redbullusa, kikagomes, and 1,111,011 others
ynln to every little girl out there: don’t follow in my footsteps and date a loser
just kidding, i love you so much george! 🤍
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georgerussell63 i wasn’t a loser this week, ms. p3! (i love you too) 💙
⤷ ynln wait till saudi, mr. mercedes 🩵
⤷ user32 the matching team color hearts ughhh
user76 enemies to lovers is ALWAYS endgame and this is my proof
user60 sobbing crying screaming i love them
redbullracing the end of an era 💔😔
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kimi.antonelli does this mean i can steal redbulls now
⤷ ynln just ask 🙄
user77 our definitions of a loser are VERY different…
maxverstappen1 okay good i didn’t have to keep my mouth shut for long 😆
⤷ ynln 🙄🙄
georgerussell63
liked by ynln, alex_albon, mercedesamgf1, and 1,402,871 others
georgerussell63 four years i’ve waited to call you mine, only for you to call me a loser 🤨 i love you yn 💙
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ynln worth it though, right? 🤍 (i’m never wearing that mercedes race suit again btw)
⤷ georgerussell63 absolutely ♥️ (okay i guess 🙄)
user87 i just jumped for joy like deadass
user45 FOUR 😭 FUCKING 😭 YEARS 😭 !!!! HE STUCK BY HER FOR FOUR YEARS EVEN WHEN SHE HATED HIM!!!
⤷ user65 he’s actually the number one yearner bye.
mercedesamgf1 power couple 🔥🙌
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user57 finally they’re calling each other by their actual names!!! progress lads, progress!!!
user73 this is literally diva x diva
alex_albon FINALLY 👏
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user64 let’s hope we get juicy radios of them cussing each other out still 😍
Hiiiii! I have new ideas!! Eheheh so now here's my first idea, well second but anyway, sooooo: now I am a clingy person, Sue me for this lol, but when I drink a little I become clingy even more, so here's now the actual idea like a night out with the grid partners included, the boyfriend here could be like George, so here's like the reader is drunk not a lot but tipsy a lot, so like she is dancing with other WAGs so when George comes up to her she doesn't recognise him at first, so George had to fake like go away and them a few seconds later return, and the reader talking about this asshole, that was him, not understanding what no mean like whining and him trying not to chuckle at her and then going home so like after care since she passed out while I'm the cub, we know George is a responsible one so he wouldn't drive if he drink lol.
𓂃۶ৎI have a boyfriend. x GR63
#pairing: George Russel x Fem!Reader
#summary; George has to win over his girlfriend back when she gets drunk and very confused.
#word-count;
#MASTERLIST!
Usually, he was the one who got drunk out of his mind.
After wins, podiums, to forget a bad race, anything was a reason to drown in a bottle with friends and wake up well taken care of by his beautiful girlfriend. People had this wrong view that he was the calm posh british driver who couldn't imagine taking a sip, oh boy how wrong were they.
Tonight though, it wasn't him dancing on the floor like a maniac and laughing way too loudly, it was Y/N.
He couldn't help but chuckle from his spot in a booth with Fernando and Toto, just watching her have fun, swing around with Alexandra, Rebecca and Lily M. All of them a bit tipsy, but his girl had for sure become the giggliest of them all. The 4 WAGS were giving a show by dancing to "No Hands" by Waka Flocka, earning various giggles and their fellow boyfriends making videos to show them later.
Whenever he was in her position, she made sure to look after him. He always woke up hydrated, in pajamas, nearly no hangover. So under the party light he felt the basic need to care for her the way she had done for him so much.
"Excuse me, gentleman." He announced, standing up lazily with a cup of his own liquid in hands. "I must go be a good partner now and offer my girlfriend a cup of something she hasn't had all night: Water."
His fellow men giggle lightly at his joke, Fernando quipped "She's having fun! I like her style. She's more of a party life than you."
Russel rolled his eyes jokingly "I'm such a party fella! And besides, you won't be the one taking care of her moody hangovers so, see ya!"
With a few more shared teasings, he found his way tot he group of women clicking their heels and having the most out of tune chant anyone had ever heard. Even elegant Alexandra was glued to Y/Ns side like a best friend with her mouth wide open singing.
His smirk grew and he touched her arm lightly. "Having fun, luv?" He asked, and instead of the warm reception he waited for, she actually yanked away her arm free and leaned closer to St Mleux.
"Get away from me!" She hissed, and then with a frown that more looked like a babyish denial she mumbled "I have a boyfriend."
George looked utterly lost, he was the perfect face of a meme. The WAGS around chuckled silently at his reaction, but didn't help either-- this was too good to be true.
"Yes, me, I am your boyfriend." He laughed as he said it, this was nonsense in the best way possible.
"My boyfriend is a Formula 1 driver and just look like a truck driver!" She slapped him-- verbally, of coure. "Alexxx get this creep away from me."
He exchanged looks with the fellow girlfriends who couldn't answer for a second from how hard they felt like bursting out laughing. St Mleux held his Y/N close to her chest as if comforting her, whispering a soft "He's nobody, honey, I'm sure George will come soon." She winked at him then, some sort of plan in her mind.
At first he didn't really get it, what was he supposed to even do? His girlfriend thought he was somebody else entierly, what would she do when he tried to get her home? Scream? Ask for help? Would someone call the police or would everyone remember that girl is his?
Then, Alex's idea seemed to click into his head. George will come soon. He nodded firmly, stepping away. He could only hear the gaggle of girls comforting his about the "creep", and reassuring her that he'd arrive shortly. George took a walk around the dance floor, pretending to be busy for a minute or two, fixed his hair, found the cup of water he meant to give her, and strode right back to the group.
To his relief, Rebecca actually pointed at him and announced "Look, Y/N, isn't that George coming up?"
When their eyes locked for the second time, her face actually seemed to light up with recognition. Her arms let go of Alex and found their way around his neck, her head pressed against his firm chest and a little whine as she began explaining him:
"Georgieeee" She dragged out his name "You won't believe it! There was a weirdo who came here and tried to call me luv!"
He rolled his eyes once again, his hand caressing her soft hair and warmth spreading trough the both of them. "Really" He began, trying not to sound ironic. Sure the situation was comical, but she was drunk and most likely believing her theory, he had to be gentle. "Well, he's away now dear. And you're coming with me, miss."
At the news that she'd have to leave the party, she groaned "Why? It's been so fun!"
He began leading her out, arms always around her shoulder even if she wasn't stumbling at all. Protective instincts neat and loud. "We'll attend so many of these parties next year you'll get tired of those." The promise of a better Mercedes had been hanging for quite a while now. "Now drink up," He offered her the cup of water he had found earlier "Or you'll be the prettiest moodiest girl ever tomorrow morning."
The ride back home was comfy and filled with her talk. "Alex said she'll announce her bridesmaid soon." She was slurring her words a bit, nothing too worrying. He had been in way worse situations before. "I hope I'm one. Oh! And did you heard about--" Chit chat went on and on.
She looked mighty adorable like that, all exited and sweet because of the alcohol. One of his hands gripped the wheel whilst the other stayed atop her thigh, just pressing on it to reaffirm her he was hanging on to every word.
When they got to their hotel, his work began.
"D'you wanna eat or shower first?" He asked her as she sat on a nearby chair, almost in a gentle parenting way-- the technique he had learned with her worked best on drunk people.
He can't say how many times he woke up and realized how much she had to baby him the night before to do basic stuff. Albeit she couldn't seem to follow her own sober advice drunk, seeing she just moaned annoyed.
"Just let me strip down and lay in bed, I'm gone."
In any other situation, the chance to see her nude would entice him. But he'd never even dare do anything with her altered, even just tipsy.
"Cmon love, it'll be quick. Shower or food?"
She was silent for a moment, maybe debating on refusing again or just giving in. Alas, she sighed "Showering, I guess."
He stayed outside and made sure trough the sounds that she took a nice cold shower to clean her head. She did came out clearer in the mind, which made the whole process easier right after. He microwaved her some lasagna and fed her some extra medicine to help sleep easy. He helped her to bed and turned the lights low, climbing into bed besides her and cupping her body with his. Her arms came to find him in a hug, his lips found her forehead.
In a quiet whisper, she said "I love you, George, thanks for taking care of me."
He just snorted, "You make a funny drunk."
"Stoppppp."
***
He couldn't wait for her to be sober again.
All his post-party care came super in handy when she woke up clear, a minor headache and a bit of an exhaustion. She obviously seemed very relieved to not be in pain, and felt grateful for whatever he had done fer last night. At the breakfast table in the hotel lobby, George smirked.
"Do you remember a lot from last night?"
Usually when you ask that to someone who can't even remember last night means they were very, very stupid.
She immediately went red "Oh no.. what did I do?"
He couldn't help but try not to giggle, "The creep who called you luv?"
She seemed rather confident then, as if the memory was quite lucid in her mind. "Yeah, some guy came over-- grabbed my shoulder, said something to me, the girls made him walk away."
He just stared at her with those big amusing blue eyes, that half a second where you need to hold hard to not burst out laughing because you know something the other person doesn't.
"Love," He began "It was me, I was the guy. You didn't recgonize me for some reason."
From red, her face went full on crimson. "Are you serious?" She tested him, maybe it was a joke! He remained firm about it though, which led her to hide her face in her hands "Why-- why would I do that? Oh my god..in front of the girls as well? What came over me! Honestly."
"It was hilarious, don't worry!" He comforted her, both rather having a go at the situation.
"Hilarious for you guys! For me it was just embarrassing..."
His hands reached out to cup her face, just admiring her face like a painting. "The best part was what you hissed at me when you snapped."
"This can't get any worse, what was it I said?" She relaxed into his touch, just waiting for the akward revelation.
He himself blushed, the memory now so fond and marvelous, she could hear it in the proud way he parroted her: "I have a boyfriend!"
═════════════════════════════════════════════
#note; LMAO I had fun writting this one. Srry if it's a bit short and rushed, lwk had a long day at school and cramps, but I've been thinking about this one since you sent it! Hope you like it :p and send any more whenever you want!
Cause again REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! More info in the masterlist! Also The Fan pt 3 is next ;))))
(might as well be) drunk in love - George Russell x fem!reader
Word count: 3.3k
Tags: fluff, slight humour, some yearning, drunk confessions, mentions of drinking & alcohol, friends to lovers
Summary: You celebrate George's win together, however when he has one drink too much, he says something that changes everything.
Author's note: Hi all! 🤍 This is inspired by the message snippet in the header that I saw on Pinterest, lol! I'm a sucker for friends to lovers, so here you have some. Ngl I don't feel that this is my best work, but I hope some of you'll like this nevertheless. 🤍 Don't forget to check out the Christmas prompt list and request something if you feel like it!⛄
The crowd’s cheers still echoed through your head from earlier as you entered the club. The smell of burnt tires and the feeling of champagne sticking to your skin slowly faded, loud bass and the mixed scent of perfume and sweat took their place instead.
You looked around the crowded place – colourful lights painted the walls, casting strange shadows on people’s faces as you passed them, heading towards the VIP section. Bodies pressed against each other – and you – as you moved with intent, cutting through the crowd.
Then you finally saw him – your best friend, Formula 1 race winner – his curly hair soft from his shower earlier, his pale blue button-up shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up on his forearms. When his gaze caught yours, his face lit up with a smile people reserve for the ones they cherish most.
He shot up from his seat on a sofa and made his way towards you, one hand nursing a condensation covered glass. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close into a hug – he already had a sharp scent of alcohol engulf him as he squeezed you into him a second too long before letting go.
“Took you long enough,” he teased, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, emphasising his dimples that you tried so hard not to look at.
“Hey! I had to make myself presentable after the very generous champagne shower,” you retorted, patting his arm playfully, and you felt his muscles tense ever-so-lightly under your touch, causing your stomach to churn.
“Well, you succeeded. You look gorgeous,” he stated nonchalantly, like it was the most natural thing to say, but your heart skipped a beat. Not like he hasn’t complimented you before. It was the intensity of it that caught you off guard. “Come on then, let’s get you a drink!”
He grabbed one of your hands and pulled you towards the bar, crossing through a group of people, you recognised a few of them – drivers, your friends, his teammates. The way his fingers tangled together with yours caused your skin to tingle, a soft shiver running down your spine. It was innocent, it was friendly, he held you in a way people who knew each other all their lives do.
“To my five times race winner!” You exclaimed and raised your glass towards him, giggling. His eyes lit up, a spark of an emotion danced across his features, that was too hard to read in his current state. His body was angled towards you at the bar, and he pushed a little closer to you before clinking his glass against yours.
“To my lucky charm,” he mused, and you tried to hide the way your breath hitched.
The first sip of alcohol burned your tongue and your insides – and the second, third, eleventh sip as well. You were buzzing with the faint tipsiness and the overflowing joy and pride for your best friend. He was sitting next to you, somehow during the night another button on his shirt got undone, one of his hands lazily propped up on the back of the sofa, one nursing his drink. How many did he have already?
His skin was a bit flushed, it was not that prevalent under the moody lights of the club, but you saw the faint pink creeping up his chest into his cheeks as he was in conversation with Alex next to him. You listened in on their conversation, laughed at their jokes, chimed in from time to time, but then George moved a bit closer to you, sliding his free hand to your exposed knee, and you gasped – luckily for you the music drowned it out.
He just continued talking like nothing happened, but your shocked gaze locked with Alex’s similar questioning expression. George just went on with his story, like it was just another Sunday.
You weren’t sure what to do – so you just pretended to ignore it and silently enjoy his hot touch caressing your skin, fingers absent-mindedly drawing small circles into your thigh, as if marking you in his imagination.
George was never shy to show his affection towards you – he often hugged you, touched you, grabbed your hand. And even though it almost hurt to hold yourself back from grabbing him and kissing him stupid, you were grateful, because at least you had this, without actually ruining everything.
But that night he was even more affectionate than usual – you chalked it up to the alcohol, the euphoria of being on the top of the world.
He sometimes tried to play it off as accidental, but more often than not, he didn’t even try to hide the way he always wanted his hands on you. Your elbow, your forearm, the small of your back, the way he leaned in much closer than necessary to whisper something to you, his hot breath tickling the soft skin under your ear.
You felt like you were going to do something stupid, if you couldn’t get out of there. And just like that, your prayer got answered when George’s words became less and less coherent, sweet, drunken babbling took the place of his usually well-spoken words. He slouched down on the couch, eyes getting heavier with each passing second, and you swore he could fell asleep right there, like the loud beat of the music was nothing in his ears but a lullaby.
“Alright, Mr. Race Winner. It’s time to go home,” you said, amusement colouring your voice from the sight of him, so innocent and sweet, with heavy eyelids, messy curls and that goddamn unbuttoned shirt of his, pouting slightly at you like a child whose ice cream got taken away.
“But ‘don’t wanna,” he murmured, words slurred.
“Well, you have to.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him up from the sofa, letting him lean against you for balance while you ordered a cab on your phone. He rested his head on the top of yours, face buried into your soft hair.
“You smell amazing,” he said, letting out a soft giggle.
“You are proper wasted, aren’t you?” You asked, but your voice wasn’t scolding.
He pressed a quick kiss on the top of your head and laughed, and you just shook your head. What a goofball.
You wrapped your arm around him to help him walk out of the club; he tried his best to follow you with slow, clumsy steps. The weight of his body pressed against you, his skin hot against your own.
Once in the cab, you sat in the back next to him, to take care of him, or any possible incidents you assured the cab driver won’t happen. Once the engine of the car came to life and you set off, George nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arm around your waist. Your heartbeat hammered against your ribcage, and you were wondering whether he felt it struggle in your chest, or your hammering pulse in your neck.
“I love you so much,” he murmured, so low that you could easily miss it mixed in together with the sound of the engine and the city around you. But you didn’t. The world tilted on its axis, and you felt lightheaded.
Surely you heard that wrong. Surely, he didn’t mean it like love love. He called you love, said “love you, with love” countless times. Never “I love you”. Never that.
But he didn’t react in any way to the confession, so you didn’t either. It was probably a misunderstanding anyway.
The city lights blurred in your vision into golden and red streaks as the universe narrowed down to just that cab, just the way his head rested on your shoulder, the way his slender fingers toyed with the fabric of your dress.
When you arrived, you helped him up, his sleepy eyes shimmering with pure, unfiltered emotion as he looked down at you. You fumbled with the hotel keycards, guiding him to his suite and the bedroom.
“You’re like a child, George, you can’t sleep in these clothes,” you pressed, but he was incredibly uncooperative, lying on his bed, still in his shoes, fully clothed. He didn’t respond, just hummed or murmured or groaned something under his breath, and you rolled your eyes. “Twat.”
So, quite undignified and kinda weirded out, you started to take off his shoes, then tried to help him out of his jacket.
“Would you mind helping out?” You asked, frustration lacing your voice. He just let out a disagreeing sound and went back to being half-asleep. “You’re insufferable. Sit up.”
To your surprise, he did sit up, but that was the end of his cooperation. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes, his bright eyes now a bit hazy, gaze unfiltered. Your hand trembled when it moved to unbutton the few remaining buttons of his shirt, and he never averted his gaze from your face as you did. You felt flustered, heat rushed to your face as you worked as quickly as you could, trying not to assign any further meaning to the motions before you threw the piece of clothing to the floor.
Your face wasn’t the only place where heat was rushing to.
You couldn’t help but allowed your gaze to linger on his toned chest and abs, before he laid down, leaning on his elbows in front of you, a lopsided grin on his face.
“Bloody hell, you owe me big time for this, you hear me?” You forced some edge into your voice, trying to hide the fact that you were becoming quite hot and bothered by the scene in front of you, as you reached out to try to get George out of his pants.
He didn’t really help you to make it as quick and as painless as possible, but the bastard laughed. He chuckled and giggled under his breath, falling back onto the mattress with his whole body.
You huffed and finally yanked the piece of clothing off his legs, leaving him in his underwear, and you felt heat pool in your belly. However, you were too pissed to think about that.
“You’re insufferable”, you said and left the room, looking for a glass and bringing him some water. By the time you got back, he was curled up under the covers, a surprisingly small, soft ball on the mattress.
Your heart melted, the earlier frustration nowhere to be seen anymore. His breathing was peaceful and even, so you figured he’d fell asleep already, so you made your way towards the nightstand with quiet steps and put the glass down. You stood there for a few quiet seconds, looking at his face – peaceful and relaxed, missing any tension from his features.
You turned to leave the room, when the ruffling sound of the covers caught your ear, before he spoke.
“Please stay,” he mused, voice a little scratchy from the drinking and being half-asleep. Your heart dropped in your chest, warmth spreading through your entire body.
“I’ll be right here,” you replied, and you couldn’t hide the love in your voice.
“Thank you.” That was all he said and you stepped out of the room and closed the door. A few quiet seconds has passed before you moved towards the closet, to get the spare set of blankets and pillows and made a comfortable little nest for yourself on the sofa.
You got out of your dress and grabbed one of George’s spare team t-shirts that was lying around on the back of one of the chairs and put it on, climbing into your makeshift bed for the night. The shirt smelled like him, and you buried your face into it as you pulled the cover up to your neck, curling up under it, when you felt your phone buzz under the pillow.
You furrowed your brows when you looked at the screen and saw that the messages were from George.
Your heart stopped beating when you actually read them.
Georgie Porgie: Ik I’m drunk but listen
Im gonna wife you up one day
That’s all
Good Night
You just blinked at the screen for a few seconds. The cogs in your brain screeching against each other and coming to a halt, then kicking into overdrive. You felt heat rush over your whole body, confusion, panic and euphoria mixing in your blood.
You listened for a bit – trying to make sense of what was happening, then you heard soft snoring seeping from his room. Did he just fucking text you this and fell asleep?
Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, buzzing in your fingertips while you curled up under the cover, eyes wide open, staring into the darkness, replaying the message in your head over and over and over again until you fell asleep.
You dreamt of him.
The morning sunlight felt like an intruder in the hotel living room, causing you to pull the cover over your head accompanied by a loud groan. But then the sound of a door opening cut through the silence and your eyes shot open, but your body froze in place when the events of yesterday pushed to the front of your mind.
He lazily made his way towards the small kitchen, running his hand through his messy curls and letting out a displeased groan – from the quite prominent hangover, you assumed.
But when he spotted you on the couch, he froze in place, a bewildered look on his face.
“What are you doing here?”
“Good morning to you too,” you replied, sitting up on the sofa, moving the cover to your lap, revealing his t-shirt on you. George forgot how to breathe.
“G-good morning,” he stammered. “I thought you left?”
“You asked me to stay, you prick.” You rubbed your eyes, chuckling before getting up, and when George saw your bare legs peeking out from under his t-shirt, he almost fainted, a faint pink colouring his cheeks.
“Sorry, I didn’t remember. I feel awful, why did you sleep on the couch?”
“Where was I supposed to sleep?” You retorted, followed by a light-hearted scoff. He averted his gaze for a second, and he pressed his lips into a thin line before speaking again.
“Can I make it up for you with coffee?”
“Sure.” You nodded, crossing your arms in front of your chest, squeezing slightly as doubt crept up inside your body. “You don’t remember anything?”
He picked up two mugs from the counter, methodically preparing the coffee for you while thinking about your question.
“Can’t say I do,” he finally said, guilt tainting his words.
You didn’t reply, just hummed in acknowledgement as you settled on one of the chairs. So, he didn’t remember the fact that he said he’s going to marry you one day. Big deal. He probably didn’t mean it anyway; it was so stupid.
He joined you a few minutes later, putting the hot cup of coffee down in front of you, and settled across from you at the table. He watched you in silence for a few seconds, studying your face, searching your expression.
“Was I a colossal twat?”
“What?” You laughed, the question catching you off guard. “No, you weren’t.”
His features relaxed the slightest bit before he continued.
“Crikey, then what was it I did?” He pressed, swiping his palm across his face. He was wearing an oversized white t-shirt, and in the early morning light he seemed so soft, so pure. You wondered what a life might be like where you wake up next to him every morning.
“What makes you think you did something?” Your leg was bouncing under the table.
“I feel like you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you, George.” The way you said his name sent butterflies to his stomach every time.
“Then what is it?”
You decided to tell him all.
All the drinking, all the dancing, the talking, the touching.
“And then I called us a cab. And then you told me you loved me while I carried you home, then I had to strip you down and tuck you into bed.”
You saw the colour drain from his face at your words, mouth slightly agape as he looked at you in shock, like he just saw someone commit a crime. The someone was him, and the crime was confessing his feelings to the love of his life while being completely wasted.
You fiddled with the handle of the mug, turning it back and forth between your fingers before you decided to continue.
“Then you sent me a text. I guess you really forgot that I was just a few steps away from you. Then you fell asleep.”
“I sent you a text,” he parroted, more like a statement than a question. Every inch of life left his body by now, he felt like the main character of a horror movie.
“Mhmm,” you hummed in agreement, taking a sip from your coffee. Your hand was shaking, and your ears were ringing, your whole existence stretched thin, balanced on a tightrope and you knew the fall was inevitable.
Because you’ve already fell.
“Was it bad? Do I want to know?” He asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. You knew he could just check. You could just tell him that he’s free to look at it if he was interested. But you didn’t.
You jumped instead.
“You texted that you’ll “wife me up” one day,” you slowly said, making quotation marks with your fingers. George choked on his own spit, coughing in surprise.
His beautiful eyes searched your face, shock undeniable in his gaze. Then it softened into something – something you couldn’t quite read, but you assumed your gaze was similar when looking at him.
“Bloody Nora,” he murmured, swiping his palms against his face before looking at you again. “This isn't how I imagined this.”
It was time for your breath to catch – did he really mean that? All the longing touches, the sweet whispers, the confessions. Were they all real? Not some overly optimistic daydream your brain mustered up?
“Wait, you... you meant that?” A lump was forming in your throat, emotions swirling inside you, mixing so much that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Relief, happiness, anxiety, love.
“Of course,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were glued to your face, his gaze unfiltered, raw, like it was yesterday in the club.
“I am in love with you. Been for a long while.” His gaze bore into yours, and his large palm reached out to envelope yours, finger caressing your skin softly, coaxing, calming, but urging you to respond at the same time.
Tears were burning your eyes, and all the thoughts were thrown out of the window – words were of no use, they couldn’t possibly express how you felt in that second. Your heart was bursting with emotion, struggling against your ribcage, squeezing so tight you felt you could die.
Your legs moved on their own accords as you stood and closed the space between you in two strides, leaning down to finally kiss him. A small, surprised noise escaped him before he caught on, moving his hands to your hips and pulling you into his lap, enveloping you into his arms.
“I love you, George,” you whispered against his lips, then kissed him again, tracing his lower lip with your tongue, deepening the kiss as his hand moved under the t-shirt and settled on the small of your back.
“I love you, darling. I love you so much,” he muttered into the kiss before ghosting his lips against the soft skin of your neck, repeating these five little words like it was a mantra, a prayer. Like he never wanted to say anything else anymore.
kimi antonelli’s innocent pursuit of the paddock legend leads him to discover truths he isn’t quite ready for.
ᯓ★ george russell x fem!kpop idol!reader, platonic!seventeen x fem!14th member!reader
ᯓ★ collective anxiety, heavy dramatic irony*, confusion by design (kimi doesn’t know anything™ & so do we), kidnapping mention (courtesy of nana tour), etc.
ᯓ★ paragraph format — 4K words
masterlist | collateral damage masterlist
[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]
ᯓ★ all the korean in this are from google, as usual. there are no physical descriptions for yn, but since she’s a kpop idol, she’s implied to be at least half-east/southeast asian.
ᯓ★ *this is a supplemental for collateral damage. i highly recommend reading that before or after this for the dramatic irony, lmao. this is not part two.
Kimi must admit, he’s completely expecting another regular day with endless debriefs, simulator sessions, and bothering Bono. As a rookie, he has quickly learned the quiet, measured rhythm of normal at Mercedes—even on non-race days.
But the palpable, anxious energy hanging over the team isn't a part of that. It hums just beneath the surface, a low, ominous thrum of electricity that promises an explosion of some kind. He's been around enough to know this feeling isn't the usual tension of race-day preparations. This is something else entirely.
There’s no explosion when he enters, but the suffocating dread knocks the air out of his lungs. He almost stumbles back into the chaos he understands, but he stands firm. They’re his team, and he’s determined to understand the silence that holds them captive.
"Did I miss something?" Kimi asks his teammate George as soon as the latter sits next to him for the first debrief. His voice is barely above a whisper, unconsciously afraid of accidentally setting off the impending explosion with his volume alone.
George, for his part, matches his quiet tone with a thoughtful hum. He doesn’t look around, nor does he ask him what he means. "It’s just that day."
Unfortunately, his response doesn’t clear anything. It does pique his interest, though, more so than the unknown already has. "‘That day’?"
"You’ve seen Toto’s calendar, right?" His teammate asks, his voice suddenly a touch quieter. "The circled date?"
He nods, his memory having no problem recollecting the distinct red ink against the white paper. "I never asked why it was circled."
"Good." It’s George’s turn to nod. "Keep it that way."
There’s a hint of finality in the older driver’s voice, but he isn’t quite ready to let it go. Whatever this secret is, it’s holding his team captive, and he’s determined to find out why.
Just then, before Kimi can press further, Valtteri strolls in with a mug in hand. He, too, carries himself with an unspoken weight, but he balances it with easy nonchalance.
"I heard the ghost pass has been used," Valtteri announces, and the explosion Kimi has been anticipating finally happens. Only it isn’t grand or messy; it’s a quiet, anticlimactic release, like a champagne that hisses without popping. It’s jarring.
"You can’t kid like that," one of crew members—he isn’t quick enough to identify—loudly whispers. It’s a reprimand, a plea.
Valtteri just takes a sip from his mug, his posture unchanging. "It’s true. Everyone’s talking about it outside this room."
Kimi has heard of the ghost pass. Someone has kindly filled him in during his first few months with the team. He’s been told it’s a forever VIP access pass registered for a phantom who never visits. He’s also been warned against openly discussing it, especially if Toto’s in the room.
He once tried to question it, to hear the rationale behind it, but all he got was a years-standing team folklore only a few believe to be true: a teenager who used to come around, vanishing into the night, never to be seen again.
And now Valtteri’s saying that teenager—that phantom—is back.
"Has anyone told Lewis yet?" Another voice whispers, effectively breaking the heavy silence of unspoken nostalgia and renewed anticipation. "He’s been waiting for it to finally be used."
Kimi doesn’t know who the ghost is, but he’s beginning to believe their story circles back to the red ink on white.
Kimi finds himself tagging along with a cluster of crew members, their collective curiosity pulling them toward the exclusive guest press conference. The paddock hospitality, usually serving as a sterile, neutral ground, feels utterly transformed. The low hum of whispers is different from the ones he’s used to—a mix of disbelief and fascination he’s never heard on a non-race day.
This isn’t a logical public-relations move—and everyone knows it. Race days are for PR. This strange, early weekday is only for simulators and debriefs. Yet, there they are: a scattered rainbow of different teams, all drawn in by the bizarre anomaly.
Kimi observes the still empty stage, and the unease returns. The black backdrop isn't just littered with the usual pattern of Formula One logos; another symbol has joined it: three thick lines angled in three different directions, forming a semblance of an equilateral triangle. He can’t say he’s seen that before. Nor does the other name printed at the center of the backdrop—F1xSEVENTEEN—ring any bells.
"‘SEVENTEEN’?" He overhears someone read a few rows behind him, their confusion evident. "But there are only thirteen, fourteen seats?"
A voice from his right, a mechanic in a Red Bull polo, answers with a different focus. "Oh, no way! They’re actually F1 fans!"
"—Kpop? This is—" a pause— "unexpected. Definitely a choice, though."
The chattering is incessant. The murmurs of confusion and intrigue grow with every passing minute, turning the polite silence of the room into a low, restless hum. The paddock is an impatient place, built on the principle of efficiency, and the countdown to the scheduled start is a lifetime of waiting.
Kimi feels George slide onto the seat he saved for him as a man he should probably know the name of walks across the stage to get to the interviewer’s seat. "Did I miss anything?"
He shakes his head, "You’re just in time."
Coincidentally true to his word, the cameras start rolling right then and there. A static sound turns everyone’s attention to the stage, and is kept there by the interviewer’s voice. It’s time.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today for this special collaboration. We are honored to welcome the global artists whose synchronized choreography and self-produced music have earned them the title of 'Kpop Performance Powerhouse.' Please join me in giving a warm welcome to the one and only, SEVENTEEN!"
The long line of guests walking onto the stage is expected, given the number of chairs laid for them. What he doesn’t expect is for a woman to break the long chain of men near the end. Even more so for her to look vaguely familiar—when he’s certain they haven’t met before.
That’s when it starts. The whispers, barely audible at first, ripple through the crowd like a wave. They aren't about the group itself; they're about her.
"She kinda looks like . . ." Kimi hears one voice trail off, unable to finish in their astonishment.
"Is it just me or—"
Every murmur is fragmented. Not one thought reaches a punctuation. They're all lost in a sea of unspoken recognition. The paddock's collective thought is a singular, hushed question: "Who is she?"
Kimi, however, also notices something no one else seems to have. All fourteen guests on stage don a pass hanging from a lanyard around their necks, as typical VIP guests do, but only her lanyard is littered with the Mercedes star. It’s a black-on-black, making the design difficult to spot, but it’s undeniable.
He is never told what the ghost pass actually looks like, but he has little doubt he’s looking at it right now.
The whispered "hana, dul, set" halts the paddock's murmurs just in time for the authoritative start of a group introduction. "Say the name—"
"SEVENTEEN!" Fourteen voices echo in the paddock hospitality, synchronized in every beat—down to the humble bow. "Hello, we are— SEVENTEEN!"
That certainly leaves a lasting impression. Even more so when the members start introducing themselves, one by one.
Wonwoo. A cool stillness behind round glasses.
Vernon. A calm American demeanor, with a casual ease in his eyes.
S. Coups. The leader, with a quiet strength that commands the room.
YN. The only girl, an elegant force, with a polite smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
Mingyu. A tall, disarmingly charming presence.
Hoshi. A playful, giggly spirit with a sharp intensity in his eyes.
Jun. A quiet grace, with the posture of a dancer.
Dino. A humble confidence, with the easy posture of the group's youngest.
The8. An artist in both movement and demeanor.
Jeonghan. A soft, ethereal grace, with a playful glint of mischief in his unassuming eyes.
Seungkwan. A round face and an easy laugh that warms the rom.
Woozi. A pale, unassuming presence, with a glint of sharp wit in his eyes.
Joshua. A gentle smile, with a soft-spoken charm.
DK. A burst of sunshine, all teeth and eye-smiles.
Kimi is a little awestruck by how different each member is to the next, yet they seamlessly function as a collective. He's seen how disparate personalities work in every team he's belonged to, but he's never seen the final product be anything like this. This isn't a car or a strategy credited to one genius alone. They are not individuals simply functioning together to create a single entity. They are a unit—moving as one, in perfect, measured synchronization. They are SEVENTEEN.
Kimi can't stop his jaw from dropping at the realization. He turns to George, about to see if he caught how different the group dynamic is to the teamwork they’re used to, but his own observation is interrupted. George's gaze is locked, unmoving, on the fourth person to introduce themselves. He doesn’t even follow the microphone as it floats from hand to hand. His attention is fixed on YN.
After a moment, Kimi quickly shuts his mouth, a new understanding settling in. George isn't looking at the ghost pass around her neck. He's just looking at her.
Kimi receives his private entertainment from watching George from the corner of his eye. Unlike everyone in the room who follows the foamed microphone like a ball in a tennis match, his teammate is content with only watching one out of the fourteen guests on stage.
It doesn’t seem productive to him, given that YN appears to be avoiding the microphone as best as she can—and the rest are letting her. So far, she literally only answered one question, and it had been . . . professionally cold, to say the least. Yet, somehow, George is steely adamant.
He makes a note to tell Ollie later, especially when he catches the slight furrow of George’s eyebrows when YN’s professional mask melts into a genuine expression for a second after Mingyu leans in and whispers something into her ear.
When Joshua’s gentle voice comes through the speakers again, Kimi’s attention returns back to the press conference. "Oh, we’re all rooting for the same team."
He watches the rest corroborate with a solemn nod—before a cacophony of answers erupts.
"Ferrari."
"Williams!"
"McLaren!"
"Haas."
"Red Bull!"
"Sauber."
"Aston Martin."
"Mercedes!"
"Racing Bulls."
"Alpine!"
The thirteen men name all ten teams at once, effectively making him—and the rest of the crowd—laugh. Everyone, really, except George.
"She didn’t say a team," he hears his teammate murmur to himself. He knows it’s a simple observation, a mere statement of fact, but he could’ve sworn there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice. He doubts anyone else will be able to confirm it with him.
Perhaps he just imagined it.
The interviewer chuckles. "It sounds like you guys are a little divided! So which team is the true favorite here?" He asks, looking directly at YN.
The entire assembled crowd holds their breath. He finds himself swept up in the silence, as is George next to him.
It's rare to see a group like this talk about the sport with such genuine admiration. Their passion is a high compliment in itself, and it has already earned them respect. But to hear her—the most intriguing one of them all—name a team, would be a public-relations goldmine.
He finds himself hoping, just because.
She nonchalantly shrugs. "My heart has always belonged to Mercedes."
Kimi's smile is wide, blinding. Yet, the impact of her words settles in George’s eyes, a quiet blaze only Kimi seems to notice.
He really needs to talk to Ollie after this.
Kimi's quick debrief with his best friend wasn’t much help. Ollie, who drove for Ferrari and Haas as a reserve driver last season, is just as much of a rookie as he is. He's just as clueless about the paddock legend closely tied to Mercedes.
Still, it's a relief to have someone new to all this. It makes him feel less alone, less of an outsider.
But the debrief wasn't productive, and if anything, it left him with more questions.
There is a silver lining, though. While he and Ollie couldn't figure out if the pass around YN's neck is the ghost pass, or if she's anything more than a Mercedes fan, they did get one thing: George is definitely more interested in YN than the ghost itself.
Kimi and Ollie end their debrief with a new resolve. He'll ask Max, hoping the direct rivalry between their teams means he pays too much attention to Mercedes. Ollie will ask Carlos and his own teammate Esteban, hoping their seniority provides valuable insight.
And so, there he is—in enemy territory, all for the sake of a ghost and a legend he doesn’t quite understand.
On any other day, Max would’ve been the easiest to spot inside the Red Bull motorhome. The four-time World Champion just has an aura that makes people naturally gravitate toward him. He’s not sure if it’s the pedestal talking, but Max is really just quick to spot.
Until today, that is. If Kimi hadn’t recognized the semi-circle crowd of special guests, he wouldn’t’ve found where he is. Max’s height is just too similar to the SEVENTEEN members’, making him difficult to see from afar.
"Where are you guys headed next?" He hears Max ask as he approaches. He stops at the periphery, unconsciously copying the respectful distance the Korean men have given the current World Champion.
"The Mercedes garage," Joshua replies. "YN’s waiting for us there."
Kimi prays the jolt that just traveled through his spine wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. He didn’t come there to initiate a direct interaction with today’s special guests, but he supposes the universe has other plans. After all, he works for the team Joshua just mentioned.
He takes a deliberate step forward, breaking out of the distance the group had made for Max. It’s enough to capture all of their attention.
"Kimi," Max greets him with a slight surprise, but still with a welcoming warmth he reserves for the rookies of the grid. He turns back to the guests, "Guys, this is Kimi. He drives for Mercedes."
Kimi’s palpable relief breaks through. "Hello!" Being introduced by the World Champion is infinitely better than him stepping into their conversation out of nowhere. "I was at your press conference earlier. You guys did really great."
He bites back his explicit admiration for how entertaining their interview had been, with their collective group charm and their innate ability to surround YN with a protective wall the second they were off the stage.
His greeting receives differently timed responses, with varied degrees of obvious enthusiasm. Beyond that, Vernon appears to be the next collective voice. "Oh, wow. Thank you so much. We didn’t realize there were actually drivers in the audience."
"There were a few," he admits, opting to not mention his teammate is one of them. "We were intrigued by the collaboration."
"Yeah, that makes sense," Vernon thoughtfully agrees. "We also didn’t know F1 could do collaborations like this; we were only aware of people being invited as guests to do a quick meet-and-greet and watch you guys on track."
Max then jumps into the conversation, his voice bearing a hint of genuine amusement, "However your team negotiated the collaboration, you guys are getting a lot more from your one-day visit than most."
Kimi agrees with a slight nod, "A bit of a shame you guys won’t see us on track, though."
"It is, a bit," Joshua partially shares the sentiment, "but it’s alright. We’re more interested in seeing the behind-the-scenes that doesn’t get captured by cameras."
"We don’t care if it’s ‘boring,’" Mingyu corroborates, "we care that it’s necessary."
Vernon points at Mingyu, "Right," before he adds his own point to bring it home. "We want to see how race day happens the way it is beyond the broadcasted free practices."
That’s why they’re here on an early weekday.
It’s not just because their managing team didn’t care about maximizing the group’s public-relations exposure the usual way. It’s also because the group have other, highly unusual goals in making the most out of their time there.
Kimi and Max share a quick look then. Being a rookie, it’s obviously Kimi’s first time hearing such a thing. However, based on the look on Max’s face, it’s his first time hearing it, too, despite being in the sport for ten years already.
Kimi suddenly remembers one of the facts that SEVENTEEN’s press conference made clear.
They—all fourteen of them—have been fans of the sport long before the world knows their name. Formula One had been their glue before a shared language was.
He doesn’t know how long Max and the SEVENTEEN members have been conversing before he arrived, but it must’ve been long enough for the former to readily offer something so personal after their nonchalant revelation: "If you ever want to come back to watch a race in person, let me know. I’ll make it happen."
Max pauses for a beat, before adding as an afterthought, "YN, too. I would like to meet her."
Kimi’s blood suddenly runs cold. He doesn’t have enough context to make the right sense of it, but his interpretation doesn’t bode well for Mercedes or George.
As it stands, the reigning World Champion just expressed his desire to meet the most intriguing SEVENTEEN member with the Mercedes logo literally littered around her neck.
He’s not really sure what to do with that information.
Kimi eventually ends up guiding the thirteen men of SEVENTEEN to the Mercedes garage, where they said YN is waiting for them.
The trip from Red Bull to Mercedes is relatively short. Still, the SEVENTEEN members manage to engage him in two different conversations. (Thankfully sequential, rather than simultaneous.)
First, Seungkwan hesitantly asks him what year he was born. Much to his surprise, rather than the usual variants of "oh, you’re young" after he reveals his age, he receives a delighted, "Oh, 동생! You’re younger than our 막내!" ["Oh, younger (brother)! You’re younger than our youngest!"]
He has no idea what the Korean words mean but, based on how their eyes drift to Dino and how the latter feigns to dislike the sudden affectionate attention on him, he understands them without any translation.
He laughs when Dino does, as soon as their eyes meet.
Kimi doesn’t know how it happens but, for a moment there, the warmth the thirteen—fourteen, with YN—of them reserve for each other spreads to him, too.
It feels nice, like a thick weighted blanket in the middle of winter. There are no expectations, just love and support.
It must be a sliver of what YN feels around them.
Second, Wonwoo asks him if he has any recommendations for a vacation in Italy. Apparently, they were kidnapped from Japan and taken to Italy before for a reality show, and they’ve been meaning to go back since.
Kimi eventually rattles off a few spots he personally loves in his home country—after he prompts them to explain the whole "kidnapping" thing and to tell him the title of the reality show.
Safe to say, he now has a new show to watch to pass time in the foreseeable future. (He needs to know why the mere mention of his country triggers an enthusiastic chorus of "salute!")
The sheer volume of their chatter gives him whiplash. It may not be his first time being alone with more than ten other people, but it is his first time completely relaxing into the noise that isn’t made by his family. It’s not like they’re just any other people, either: no one from the people he has been working with for months, but people he literally just met.
It’s a confusing—and potentially dangerous—feeling, and Kimi finds himself not caring.
He knows it’s a borrowed warmth, something that just spilled over to him because they have so much to give, and he’s alright with that. He will gladly guard this feeling—this confusing, electric chaos—until YN reunites with them and takes back what is rightfully hers.
And, boy, does she.
"Here we are," Kimi gestures widely to the Mercedes logo between his and George’s names above the entrances, "the Mercedes garage."
"Thank you, Ki—"
"YN!" Mingyu’s polite gratitude is effectively interrupted by Hoshi’s unrestrained glee.
Kimi lets out a quiet, amused laugh before acknowledging the end of his role with a nod. He turns around just in time to see YN excusing herself to George with a slight bow.
He sincerely hopes no one saw his eyes widen a fraction upon seeing them—the Mercedes Prince and the SEVENTEEN Princess—standing next to each other. Yet, simultaneously, he wonders if his teammate will entertain his questions about the interaction he obviously missed, or if George will simply shut him down like he did earlier when he questioned the anxious energy that engulfed the entirety of Mercedes.
There’s something unintentionally poetic about how him and YN essentially trade places as she rejoins her members and he stands next to his teammate.
"멤버들!" ["Members!"]
Only she doesn’t take what is rightfully hers; the rest of SEVENTEEN gives it to her as soon as she’s in their line of sight. Perhaps even before then, based on how unconditional their affections seem to be.
"우리 Max Verstappen 만났어!" ["We met Max Verstappen!"]
Kimi feels incredibly lucky to see the professionally reserved member melt into a soft, well-loved sister.
"Max 만났어?" ["You met Max?"] They hear YN reply to Hoshi’s excited report, her own wonder oozing through her voice. "와아. 대박!" ["Woah. That’s awesome!"]
He’s not any closer in confirming if YN really is the ghost in the Mercedes team lore, but seeing her right now—surrounded by the thirteen men who orbit her like she’s their sun—he understands why she chose to leave Formula One in her rearview mirror for a long time.
Formula One is rigid and conditional. Whatever this is that she has with SEVENTEEN is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. She thrives in their chaos, and simultaneously completes their synchronized unit.
Kimi glances at George from the corner of his eye, ready with a comment about the group’s bond, only to see the latter still in the world where only YN exists. However, this time, unlike in the paddock hospitality earlier, there’s nothing analytical in his stare.
He’s no longer trying to figure her out. As if all his earlier curiosity has already transformed into utter mesmerization.
"You're in trouble, mate," Kimi can’t help but to murmur knowingly. He takes in how the older driver’s professional composure is practically nonexistent due to that soft, unguarded warmth in his eyes.
George’s voice comes out a little breathless, "What?" He keeps his eyes on YN’s figure, as she continues to converse with her members in rapid Korean neither of them understand.
"That look," he starts to elaborate. "I’ve never seen you look at anyone—or anything—like that before. Like she’s the only star in the sky."
He unconsciously assumed his words would’ve done the trick to tear his teammate’s attention away from YN. But, alas, George is nothing but undeterred. "I have no idea what you’re talking about," the latter says, but the faint blush rising on his neck tells him otherwise. "She is a star, Kimi. An idol. They all are."
Kimi decides not to push when he witnesses him stiffen under his gaze, although amusement is visibly swirling in his eyes and audibly coating his hum. "They’ll eat you alive."
It isn’t a threat; it’s an observation disguising a promise.
He shakes his head as YN’s genuine laughter rings for the second time in the last five minutes. He has gotten so swept up in the flow that ultimately led him back to George that he has completely forgotten about why he sought out Max in the first place.
He’ll have to come back to Red Bull later.
ᯓ★ tmi: i literally just wrote this because the irony between why george approached yn in her pov and his (through kimi) pov was too funny for me to not share. i hope you enjoyed, even a little <3
