Synopsis: She surprises him in Monaco after a long-haul flight. He's exhausted, clingy, and absolutely not impressed when Toto steals her attention for five minutes.
She doesn’t even make it through the front door before she hears him.
“Babe?”
His voice is rough with sleep, the kind of hoarse that only comes from a nap he absolutely didn’t mean to take. She barely has time to drop her suitcase before George appears in the hallway, hair flattened on one side, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, eyes wide like he’s seeing a ghost.
“You’re here,” he breathes, and then he’s on her — arms around her waist, face buried in her neck, holding her like she might vanish if he loosens his grip.
“I told you I was coming today,” she laughs, smoothing a hand over the back of his head.
“You said evening,” he mumbles into her skin. “It’s barely four. I wasn’t ready.”
“You look very ready,” she teases, because he’s practically wrapped around her like a koala.
“I’m jet‑lagged,” he says, as if that explains everything. “And I missed you.”
He says it so simply, so honestly, that her chest squeezes. She kisses his cheek, and he makes a soft, sleepy sound that absolutely should not be as attractive as it is.
“Come on,” he says, tugging her toward the living room with surprising strength for someone who looks half-conscious. “I made the sofa all nice.”
He did. There’s a blanket nest, two mugs of tea (one definitely cold), and his laptop open to some documentary he clearly didn’t watch.
She curls into the corner of the sofa, expecting him to sit beside her — but no. George climbs directly into her lap. All six‑foot‑something of him. Knees bracketing her hips. Head on her shoulder. Arms around her waist again.
“George,” she laughs, “you’re heavy.”
“Don’t care,” he mutters. “You left for ten days. I’m reclaiming my time.”
She strokes his back, feeling him melt under her touch. He’s warm, clingy, and so obviously exhausted that she softens instantly.
But then the door opens.
“Toto?” she says, surprised.
George stiffens like a cat hearing a vacuum cleaner.
Toto pokes his head in. “Ah, you’re back early. Good. George, when you wake up properly, we need to discuss—”
“I’m awake,” George snaps, sitting up straighter but refusing to move off her lap. “Very awake. Extremely awake.”
Toto raises an eyebrow. “You look half-dead.”
“I’m thriving,” George insists, tightening his arms around her like a child guarding a toy.
She bites her lip to keep from laughing.
Toto gives her a knowing look — the kind that says good luck with this one — and steps back toward the door.
“Come by the garage tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll go over the simulator data.”
“Fine,” George says, but he doesn’t sound fine. He sounds offended. Personally offended.
When the door closes, she finally lets the laugh escape.
“George,” she says gently, “were you… jealous?”
“No,” he says immediately.
She raises an eyebrow.
He sighs. “Maybe.”
“Of Toto?”
“He gets your attention for five minutes and suddenly I’m irrelevant.”
She cups his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “You’re never irrelevant.”
He leans into her touch like he’s starved for it. “I know. I just… missed you. And I’m tired. And you smell nice.”
She kisses him — slow, soft, grounding. His whole body relaxes, tension melting out of him like he’s been waiting days for this exact moment.
When she pulls back, he’s blinking at her with that dazed, lovesick expression he only ever shows when he’s too tired to hide it.
“Come here,” she whispers.
He settles against her again, head on her chest, fingers curling into her shirt like he’s anchoring himself.
Within minutes, his breathing evens out.
He’s asleep.
Completely, utterly asleep on top of her.
She brushes a hand through his hair, smiling to herself.
Jet‑lagged, clingy, jealous George Russell might just be her favourite version.
And when he wakes up — still draped over her, still refusing to move — he’ll insist he wasn’t jealous at all.
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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.
okay so he never written for George which shocks me hehe anyways here is a very late Valentine’s Day fic!!
Valentine’s Day had never really been George’s thing.
He liked it sure but he had always thought love should be quite steady shown in the everyday things and not just over a holiday.
Still this year was different.
Because this year George Russell had two Valentines.
And he was absolutely determined to outdo himself.
You woke up to silence.
Which was suspicious.
Normally by 7am there would be soft baby babbling over the monitor or George shuffling around trying to make a bottle quietly and failing. But today the house was still then your bedroom door creaked open and you pretended to stay asleep.
Until you heard tiny uneven footsteps first then a whisper.
“Shhh. Mummy sleeping.”
Your heart melted instantly.
George’s voice followed softer. “Okay princess. Ready?”
You opened your eyes just as your 1 and 1/2 year old daughter toddled into view in mismatched pyjamas clutching a slightly crumpled red paper heart. George crouched behind her guiding her gently forward.
“ Ba… Baa…” she tried.
George smiled. “Valentine’s.”
“Baa!” she declared proudly.
You sat up laughing as she nearly tripped over her own feet to reach you. George scooped her before she face planted onto the bed placing her carefully beside you.
“What’s this?” you asked dramatically accepting the paper heart.
George shrugged casually. “Just a small thing.”
Inside in uneven handwriting it read
To Mummy. From Daddy and your favourite girl. We love you more than pole positions.
You looked up at him eyes soft. “Pole positions?”
He smirked. “It felt romantic.”
You leaned over and kissed your daughter’s cheek first. “Thank you my Valentine.”
Then you reached for George’s hand and pulled him down for a kiss too.
He tasted like coffee and smug satisfaction.
Breakfast was already made.
Well attempted.
There were heart shaped pancakes some of them looked more like continents one looked mildly tragic.
George stood in the kitchen holding your daughter on his hip like he had not been up since 5am planning this.
“MasterChef Russell” you teased.
“Precision is usually my thing. The pan had other ideas.”
Your daughter smacked a pancake with her hand and giggled.
He had set the table with tiny pink napkins there was a little sippy cup with diluted juice and a single rose in a vase.
Soft. Thoughtful. Yours
Exactly him.
The first surprise was for your daughter.
Mid morning George disappeared into his office and came back holding a small box crouching down in front of your daughter who was chewing on a teething ring.
“For my littlest Valentine.”
Inside the box was a tiny silver bracelet simple delicate. Engraved on the inside was Daddy’s Girl.
You blinked.
“George”
“It’s not for now. For when she’s older. But I wanted her first Valentine’s gift from me to be something she keeps.”
He slipped it back carefully pressing a kiss to her curls.
You watched them your tall composed Formula 1 driver husband sitting cross legged on the rug completely wrapped around a toddler.
Your heart felt too full.
The second surprise was yours.
He waited until she went down for her afternoon nap.
You were cleaning up toys when he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.
“Now it’s my wife’s turn.”
He led you outside to the garden patio.
Nothing over the top. No photographers. No extravagance.
Just fairy lights strung across the fence a small mall table set for two candles protected in little glass jars. Your favourite pasta the one he learned to cook properly after three failed attempts last year.
“And before you say anything I did not burn it this time.”
You laughed resting your forehead against his chest.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I did.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Your breath caught.
It was not another engagement ring. It was not dramatic.
It was a thin gold band with a tiny heart set into it.
“For your right hand. Because you gave me her. And you make our house feel like home. And I wanted you to have something just from me.”
You stared at it blinking fast.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.”
“You’re also perfect.”
“Correct.”
He slid the ring on and it fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
Dinner was quiet soft and intimate the way you loved it you could hear the baby monitor softly in the background. The night air was cool.
Halfway through your daughter woke up.
George stood immediately.
“I’ve got her.”
You watched from the doorway as he lifted her from the cot swaying gently.
“Couldn’t miss Valentine’s with us could you?”
He brought her outside wrapping her in a soft blanket settling her between you at the table.
And suddenly your romantic dinner turned into feeding a toddler bits of pasta and wiping sauce off her cheeks.
George did not look disappointed for a second.
He looked content.
Completely.
As the candles flickered and your daughter yawned dramatically against his shoulder he glanced at you.
“Best Valentine’s I’ve had.”
“Even better than before me?” you teased.
He scoffed. “Please. I have two girls who think I’m the centre of the universe.”
You raised an eyebrow. “She thinks you’re a climbing frame.”
He considered that. “Still counts.”
You leaned over and kissed him softly.
Full of the kind of love that does not need grand gestures.
He brushed his thumb across your knuckles looking between you and your sleepy little girl.
“My two Valentines.”
And if there was anywhere else in the world George Russell could have been that night any podium any celebration any spotlight
A/N This one shot is part of the "Marry Me" Series! Thank you @gabriele5k for suggesting this one! And yes, I did make an actual power point for this.
Masterlist
WORDS: 1940
_____
“Darling? You have a few minutes for me?” George comes into the living room, dressed in some soft sweatpants, a casual shirt and walking barefoot, holding something small in his hand.
“Sure, what’s up?” I ask him, saving the thing I am working on right now to give him my attention. There is something about the way he looks at that should have given away that he is up to something, but I don’t notice.
“Can I have your laptop?” He asks and I furrow my brows. “For longer? Because I wanted to finish that report.” Usually, I don’t hesitate to share my things, but finishing that report would mean I am finished with the work for the day. “I just want to show you something.” He says so casually, I believe him and hand over my laptop. Then I realise what he has been holding in his hand, a USB stick. A little ping indicates that the thing is connected to my laptop and then George clicks on some things.
“Please hold your questions until the end.” George says far too seriously, shoulders straightening and I already have so many questions, but let him do his thing. He opens the PowerPoint Presentation, and I feel a laugh tug at my lips. Is he really going to present something to me? Then the first slide pops up and I choke on my own laugh.
“Reasons you should marry me.” George says and I whisper an “Oh my god.” Just to be hushed by George “Shh.” He cuts me off, “Highly serious presentation.”
Right, of course. I try to calm myself down, but can’t stop imagining him wearing a tie over his t-shirt to underline the seriousness of this situation. But my chest already feels warm, because this thing is so him. Because that man who is usually living at high speed still finds time to create such thoughtful things.
“Exhibit A.” George starts telling me about the first slide and I wonder how many there will be. “I already love you.” He glances at me as he waits for a reaction, and I nod at his words. “Good to know.”
Then he clears his throat before he continues. “Like, I love you a lot, possibly more than racing.” He says and I lift one of my eyebrows, because loving me more than the thing he adores the most in the world is a bold statement. “Possibly?” I ask him, trying to get a clearer answer, just wanting to tease him and it works, because there is a soft blush on his cheeks, before he continues. “Definitely more than snacks.” He adds quickly, “And my phone.” That definitely checks out, because no matter how much George loves to be on his phone, when I am around, he tries not to use it too often.
“Conclusion, this is off to a strong start.” He grins at me, before muttering “Facts” like he can't help himself. And I just laugh, even though my heart is clenching softly at this sweet idea.
“Exhibit B: Elite boyfriend skills.” George announces proudly and I sit up straighter. “Lets hear those.” I mutter, but I know he does have some great skills as my boyfriend.
“Professional cuddler.” George gives me the first skill, and I nod thoughtfully, “That’s true.” Then he continues. “You own more of my hoodies than I do.” I pull the sleeves of his hoodie a bit over my hands before grinning. “Also, true.” And my thoughts wander to all those times the hoodies stood in for him when he was halfway across the world. The way they smelled like him just long enough to make the distance bearable.
“Occasional chef…” George tries to continue and I break into laughter, “You order food.” I giggle and George smiles, before correcting me, “I order it perfectly, that’s a skill.” A snort is my only answer, and George just continues with the next bullet point.
“I am always your biggest fan.” His voice is softer now and this skill lands differently. Because I remember him always being there when I achieve the smallest things, always hyping me up, celebrating me like I just won something massive. The way he just shows up to be there, not for attention for himself, but for me to feel loved.
“Bonus.” George adds, “I laugh at your jokes.” He says and I huff. “You do not.” “Especially the bad ones.” He insists and I can’t help but throw a pillow at him. George catches it with one hand without trouble while still balancing the laptop like he expected nothing else from me.
“Exhibit C.” George starts pacing a little, like he is actually presenting this to a bigger audience. And I'm watching, the way he moves, the way he talks with his free hand, how he tries to keep the tone playful, but can’t quite hide how much this thing matters to him. “We are a great team.” And I just nod, because it is true.
“We survived lockdown together.” George starts to give examples, and I huff “Barely” when I remember the time when the days blurred together and I was close to murdering him sometimes. But still, movie nights, stupid arguments about nothing, laughter echoing through our home, which felt too small sometimes. We managed it and it kind of made our relationship stronger.
“We laugh at the same weird things.” He adds and I agree, “Maybe too much.” I remember some meetings where Toto was ready to throw us both out and never let us back in again.
“We turn boring things into fun ones.” And that is something we really do. Grocery runs with challenges, late-night drives with no destinations, and having conversations about random topics over long flights.
“Basically, an undefeatable duo.” George concludes and I nod, there is nothing I can say against that.
“Now we have exhibit D, that life with me is never boring.”
“That should be mildly concerning.”
George ignored my muttered word before he continues. “Adventures along the racing calendar.” He says and I think about all those times at the airports, the crowded paddocks and how we always try to find something to do away from the track.
“Random late-night calls because I miss you.” His voice is soft now and I can’t remember how many times I have fallen asleep with my phone in my hand, his voice soft and tired on the other end, just so we can feel close for a few minutes.
“Silly podium celebrations.” He grins and I can’t stop the laughter. “You love those.” We always try to do something fun when he is on the podium and sometimes it ends in chaos.
“Side quests like the one in Brazil.” Is his next bullet point and I scoff, “That was your fault.” I insist and George shakes his head. “It was our fault.” He corrects me and I think back to that day.
Brazil was humid that day and the chaos of the race weekend was palpable in the city. We were supposed to have a quiet night in, but instead we ended up completely lost. Where laughing way too hard at not finding the way back, kept following the music and tried food we couldn’t even pronounce during an hour we definitely shouldn’t have been awake anymore. At one point, we had to call Toto for rescue, and I am still not sure if he was angry or delighted to find us looking at each other like the other was the best thing happening.
“Life is never going to be boring with me.” George says and he is right.
“Exhibit E” George's voice is quieter, softer when he presents this one. “I will always choose you.” And something in me stills. “In every lifetime.” There is no joke in his voice, nothing to hide behind and I can feel my heart clench softly. “Over every contract.” He says and I almost gasp, because in F1, contracts are more important. The sport demands everything and sometimes sacrifices have to be made. And he is standing here, choosing me over his dream in F1.
“On every good and every bad day.” My mind wanders to the mixture of good and bad moments we had in the last few years, and I know we could have parted already, but we worked through it. “Over and over again.” George looks straight at me and I believe him.
“No hesitation.” He finished the slide and the room somehow feels smaller, like it is just us and nothing else in here.
“Exhibit F, you make everything better.” George states and I blink quickly. “My days brighter.” He is not looking at the screen anymore, just at me to see my reaction. “My worries lighter.” He adds and I know what he is talking about, because he doesn’t show his worries to everyone. Worries make him weak, at least this is what he thinks sometimes when the pressure gets too much.
“My life happier.” George says and somehow, even though it feels impossible, his voice is getting even softer. “Because you are my favourite person.” And that’s it, the first tears rise to my eyes even before he skips to the next slide.
“Sooo.” He says, straightening himself, trying to get back into that playful tone, but it is softer now. “After reviewing all the evidence…” I am already smiling through my teary eyes, while watching him. “There is only one correct conclusion.” He steps closer, setting the laptop aside, just being him without the slides, no jokes and nothing left to hide behind. Just the boy I fell in love with years ago and the man standing in front of me now, brave in just a different way, he is on track.
“Will you marry me?” George asks, his voice so soft that I want to hug him. My heart is racing so fast and even though I knew what would come at the end of this presentation, it is still so surprising. He wants to marry me! And as absurd as this might sound to me, for my heart it feels absolutely certain.
“You made a whole presentation.” I whisper, voice shaky but still with a soft laugh in it. “It was highly serious.” George replies and I shake my head, standing up from the sofa to get to him and take his hands. Mind wandering to all the airport goodbyes, the late-night calls, every hoodie, every laugh we shared and every moment that built us. About Brazil, about the lockdown, about the ordinary days that somehow became special because of him.
“Yes.” I whisper softly and then, because I know he needs to hear it, “Yes, I want to marry you.”
A relieved breath leaves his lips and then he pulls me into a tight hug, like he is afraid I might disappear. “Good,” George murmurs into my hair “I had no backup plan if you didn’t.” And I just laugh softly against his chest.
After a few quiet seconds, he adds “Questions about the presentation will now be answered and feedback is accepted happily.” I pull back slightly to look up at him, my heart somehow still racing.
“Yeah, just one thing.” I hum and George nods, face trying to look serious, but his lips are twitching like he has to hold back a smile. “That was your best presentation yet.” And then I kiss him while it is just him and me in our living room, freshly engaged because of a well delivered power point presentation.
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tell all your friends i'm crazy (i'll drive you mad)
george russell x reader , university!au
feat. university!au, academic rivals to lovers, both of them are genuinely kind of unhinged about each other but reader is even more so, losers who can't communicate properly, EPISTOLARY!!! (a.k.a. a lot of emails), uni student government hijinks, george is student government president
author's note. no other explanation to this other than the fact that kae and i have a crazy f1 university au inside of our lil brain spaces and i ended up with this behemoth of a piece. i say that after every smau but seriously. this one took me weeks to finish because of how … much it is. anyways. f1 university au you have my entire heart !! this is dedicated to kae @tsunodaradio , first and foremost, who will be one of the only people to understand the niche references i've got going on here. also dedicated to george russell nation… all ten of us !!!!! seriously . we need more george fics . ALSO ONE LAST NOTE i know this has the most random cameo but trust me it makes sense in the birdykae f1 university verse
mixtape. maniac & checkmate by conan gray were on repeat the entire time i was writing this. that's all you need to know about their dynamic.
🧸 | yourusername • 15mins
congratulations to georgerussell63 for winning the presidency. wishing the incoming student council a productive and transparent school year 🌟
⤷ username1 you’re being soooo brave right now girl 🫶🏽
⤷ username2 no bc i’m p sure the election was rigged anyway i voted for u diva
YU FREEDOM WALL | yufw • 14mins
#YUFW1938 → random but why was george russell wearing a full on astronaut jacket to the announcement . are we sending him to the space katy perry style
miss rabbit has fainted ꗃ | thisisnotY/N • 13mins
GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL YOU WILL NEVER KNOW PEACE. I AM CURSING YIUR ENTIRE FAMIYL LINE
⤷ oomf1 THE FULL GOVERNMENT NAME???
⤷ oom2 u couldn’t even fake nice for more than 2 mins?? 😭
YU FREEDOM WALL | yufw • 6mins
#YUFW1939 → does anyone else think y/n is kinda mother for crashing out after losing?? like go off queen i would’ve kicked a tree too
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [10:12PM] : Heard you tried taking down a tree outside the library. Not very environmentally conscious of you
you [10:12PM] : u know spreading false information is VERY unbcoming of a president
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [10:14PM] : It was a good race, though. I’d say better luck next time, but unless you’re looking at a fifth year…
you [10:14PM] : oh FUCK OFFFFF
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [10:17PM] : You are SO gracious in defeat. Truly inspiring.
you [10:18PM]: im literallt goingto print out your headhsot from the cmapaign postr and put it ona dartboard
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [10:18PM] : I would be so honored :)
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [10:18PM] : Wait. Are you drunk?
you [10:20PM] : takeanwild fuckign guess!!!!!!
This is a formal acknowledgment of your, for once, decent behavior last night.
While I maintain that your company remains largely insufferable, I appreciate you ensuring I arrived safely back at my dorm after the election results. Please do not misinterpret this as any kind of endorsement of your personality, your presidency, or your general existence.
Consider this a one-time display of civility. Do not get used to it.
Yours (begrudgingly and only because the Student Code of Conduct demands it),
Y/N L/N
she/her
[email protected]
No need for such dramatics — your gratitude (however painfully extracted) has been graciously accepted, documented, and added to my phone’s Favorites folder for posterity. :)
Rest assured, I’ll treasure the memory. And should you ever find yourself in need of rescue again — emotional, logistical, or otherwise — you know who to call.
Yours (always ready to catch you when you fall — literally and otherwise),
George Russell
he/him
President-Elect, YU Student Government
[email protected]
you [11:49AM]: ‘president elect’ it’s barely been a day can u be any more insufferable
you [11:51AM]: also delete that screenshot of my email omg??? are u obsessed w me or smth
Not to interrupt your (undoubtedly busy) schedule of plotting my assassination, but as the Chairperson of the Finance Committee (your new title, congrats again), you’ll need to attend the preliminary budget meeting in August.
Sent you a Google Calendar invite. Just making sure you’re aware, so you can’t blame me later when you “forget” and accuse me of sabotaging you. :)
Yours truly,
George Russell
he/him
President-Elect, YU Student Government
[email protected]
from: Y/N L/N [email protected]
to: George William Russell [email protected]
cc: none
subject: Re: Upcoming Fall Semester Budget Committee Meeting
Hi George,
Thank you for the reminder — rest assured, my schedule is plenty full without the added burden of thinking about you.
In the future, though, you may want to reconsider CC’ing the entire Finance Committee when sending thinly veiled jabs. Would hate for your professionalism to be called into question before the semester even starts. 👍
I’ll be there. Try not to miss me too much until then.
from: George William Russell [email protected]
to: Y/N L/N [email protected]
cc: none
subject: Re: Re: Upcoming Fall Semester Budget Committee Meeting
Hi Y/N,
Duly noted. I’ll be sure to save my charming commentary for private correspondences moving forward — wouldn’t want to tarnish my sterling reputation.
(Though between us, I’m not convinced you mind the attention as much as you claim.)
Glad you’ll be at the meeting. It wouldn't be nearly as fun without you trying to kill me with your eyes across the table.
Behave yourself until then :)
Yours (whether you like it or not),
George Russell
he/him
President-Elect, YU Student Government
[email protected]
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [3:34PM] : You really couldn’t help yourself, huh?
you [3:34PM] : idk what you’re talking about dude 🤷♀️
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [3:36PM] : The “highest standard of leadership” tweet 😐
you [3:36PM] : i was simply speaking in general terms???
you [3:37PM] : sooooo weird that you felt targeted tho 😬
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [3:37PM] : Weird that you think you’re subtle
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [3:38PM] : Also weird that youre obsessed with me. And yet here we are
you [3:38PM] : you’re so lucky i’ve committed to nonviolence this semester
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [3:39PM] : Good to know you’re still thinking about me when making your resolutions for the new school year :)
Seen 3:39PM
YU FREEDOM WALL | yufw • 20mins
#YUFW2364 → saw a freshman get lost trying to find the new library and end up in the forest behind the science building. welcome to YU babyyyy
miss rabbit has fainted ꗃ | thisisnotY/N • 19mins
it’s sooooo funny how men can be wrong and smug at the same time. what a talent. what a gift. someone put him back in the box he came in
⤷ oomf1 and the box in question is your arms babe. be serious.
⤷ oomf2 can you pleaaaase just kiss already … girl we are SENIORS now 😭😭😭
⤷ thisisnotY/N why would i wanna do that???????????
YU FREEDOM WALL | yufw • 13mins
#YUFW2365 → why did the bookstore line look like the waiting room to hell this morning. i just wanted a pen. ONE. SINGLE. PEN.
George Russell | georgerussell63 • 10mins
New bike lanes are finally painted in front of the Humanities Building! Thanks for your patience — and to the two students who almost ran me over last semester: this one’s for you! 🚲 #YUForward
⤷ username1 for journalistic purposes was one of the students who tried to run you over yourusername ??
⤷ georgerussell63 Yes it was.
⤷ yourusername i plead the fifth 🤷♀️
Just wanted to clarify if the Finance Committee table was intentionally placed next to the improv club at the Fall Festival or if this is some elaborate psychological warfare on your part.
Let me know if there’s flexibility. Or if you want me to file a noise complaint through official channels.
Yours (why do we keep using this sign-off?),
Y/N L/N
she/her
Chairperson, Finance Committee, YU Student Council
[email protected]
You’ll be pleased to know the placement was random, but I’ll admit the image of you slowly losing your mind next to the improv club is pretty entertaining.
That said, I’ll check if there’s room to move the booth — assuming you ask nicely.
Yours (but only if you beg),
George Russell
he/him
President, YU Student Council
[email protected]
This year’s Student Government Winter Formal planning is officially underway. Please let me know if you’d prefer to emcee the event yourself, or if you’d rather have someone less prone to causing spontaneous headaches (i.e., me).
Also: I’ll admit, you do look marginally less terrible in a suit. Maybe even almost presidential. Do NOT let it get to your head.
Yours (very, very reluctantly),
Y/N L/N
she/her
Chairperson, Finance Committee, YU Student Council
[email protected]
...Are you feeling alright? Should I alert the university health services that you’re handing out compliments now?
And yes, I’ll emcee the formal. Wouldn’t want you stealing my thunder. I’ll even bring a powerpoint and everything for when we have downtime.
Yours (wait… what?),
George Russell
he/him
President, YU Student Council
[email protected]
you [1:11PM] : yu chorale singagram just dropped the setlist and i fear for our campus
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:12PM] : I’’m preemptively sorry for whatever poor souls are going to hear "all i want for christmas is you" sung a cappella
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:12PM] : Might even bring earplugs
you [1:13PM] : justice for the altos honestly
you [1:13PM] : kind of tragic they’re not doing my favorite this year though
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:13PM] : Dare I ask what it is?
you [1:14PM] : river by joni mitchell, duh
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:14PM] : That’s a holiday song?
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:14PM] : Also just surprising
you [1:15PM] : what’s that supposed to mean, russell?
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:15PM] : Nothing.
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:15PM] : Just that I’m surprised you even celebrate the holidays… considering how you’re the Grink and all.
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:15PM] : **The GRINCH. Damn it.
you [1:16PM] : LMAOOOOOOOOO HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA
DO NOT REPLY (gorge russell 🤢) [1:16PM] : Can we go back to my great joke there before the untimely typo?
you [1:16PM] : HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [1:18PM] : ANYWAY let’s move on to more pressing matters. Am I still “DO NOT REPLY” on your phone? After the blue rabbit event in sophomore year?
you [1:18PM] : not anymoooooore 😊😊😊😊
I don’t care what excuse you’re about to give me — the Student Council does not approve a major venue change 24 hours before the event without informing the Finance Committee. Not only is it irresponsible, it’s flat-out disrespectful.
We had a system. You ignored it. If you’re going to act like protocol doesn’t apply to you, maybe stop pretending this is still a collaborative council.
You know what’s actually disrespectful? Spending more energy writing this email than just showing up and making it work like the rest of us.
I made the call because the original venue double-booked and no one from your committee caught it. So if you’re looking for someone to blame, try the mirror.
You’re not the only one doing work. But you might be the only one convinced the entire university revolves around you.
Grow up
Sincerely,
George Russell
he/him
President, YU Student Council
[email protected]
Don’t you dare put this on me. Your office was the one who confirmed the original reservation. If you had looped in literally anyone, this could’ve been solved in under an hour.
But instead, you went ahead with a last-minute change that impacts logistics, catering, AV, and accessibility — and somehow I’M supposed to smile and thank you for that?
I’m not here to clean up your damage control. I’m here to do my actual job, and I’d appreciate it if you could try doing yours.
Fuck off, man.
Sent from my iPhone.
you [3:32AM] : this is the yu chorale right? how much for a singagram?
+44 20 **** **** [8:07AM] : Hello! Apologies for the late reply. You can find our setlist and our price list here! [IMAGE ATTACHED]
you [10:12AM] : ok great. how much to have you sing ‘all i want for christmas’ to GEORGE RUSSELL for every single class listed here? [IMAGE ATTACHED]
YU CHORALE [10:16AM] : Um. We’d just like to double check your order. You want “All I Want For Christmas” for George Russell for… all 5 of his classes on Friday?
you [10:17AM] : yes. my email is [email protected] send the invoice there
I know you have a predetermined setlist, but may I ask if I can order ‘River’ by Joni Mitchell? Order details below.
Recipient: Y/N L/N
Schedule: 9:00 AM, Rm. 302 @ Social Sciences Building
Song: River by Joni Mitchell (I can pay extra for the special request!)
Thank you!
Best regards,
George Russell
he/him
President, YU Student Council
[email protected]
GROUP CHAT → [YU Chorale] - SINGAGRAM SZNNNN 🔥🔥🔥🎄🔥🔥🔥🔥
estie bestie (intake duty) [12:02PM] : [2 IMAGES ATTACHED]
estie bestie (intake duty) [12:02PM] : Should we tell them
yukes [12:05PM] : no
Pierre Gasly [12:05PM] : No
albono [12:06PM] : NO
🐻-man [12:08PM] : Wait what’s going on?
YU FREEDOM WALL | @yufw • 13mins
#YUFW2782 → someone in my class just got serenaded to river by ben platt by the yu chorale ?? why didn’t anyone tell me special requests were an option i had to have my boyfriend serenaded to LAST CHRISTMAS ???
⤷ username1 no one told you to do rhat?? it’s famously not a love song?
⤷ username2 yu chorale had santa baby in their setlist….. i feel like this is kinda on u man
⤷ username3 i feel like we’re all brushing over the fact that op thinks river is by ben platt … BABY HE SANG THAT ON A TV SHOW WE R LOSING RECIPES 😭😭😭
YU CHORALE [9:15AM] : 🎶SINGAGRAM COMPLETE!🎶 “All I Want For Christmas” by Mariah Carey successfully delivered to George Russell from Y/N L/N 💌
you [9:16AM] : NO
you [9:16AM] : CANCEL the rest PLEASE
you [9:16AM] : i am on my knees begging
you [9:19AM] : ocon i KNOW this is you i know they have you on intake duty i can hear your stupid little voice in the confirmation text
YU CHORALE [9:20AM] : uhhh no this is gasly actually 😐
you [9:20AM] : okay fine sure PIERRE
you [9:21AM] : tell your friend to CANCEL THE REMAINING SINGING TELEGRAMS PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU
YU CHORALE [9:23AM] : we can cancel the afternoon requests
YU CHORALE [9:24AM] : no refunds though. proceeds go to the Duck Pond Preservation Fund
you [9:27AM] : i hope the duck pond floods and swallows the entire performing arts building
you [11:18PM] : okay. okay i am the first to say that i am sorry
you [11:19PM] : i really thought you’d take it in good stride and it wld be like a haha so funny!!! moment but then alex told me u looked super down after the third one which . in my defense was not my fault because i didn’t know WHY they couldn’t just cancel the rest of the singagrams
you [11:19PM] : i didn’t know you’d send me something and i didn’t know it would be RIVER of all things and now i feel awful
you [11:20PM] : and now i hate that you were so nice because now i feel like a bad person which i probably am but idunno thoguht this was smthn we alwyas did w each other and i didn;t think it would get to you badly
you [11:25PM] : what i’m trying to (terribly) say is that i’m sorry. i really am, george. you did a nice gesture for me after we argued and i responded terribly.
you [11:43PM] : george?
you [12:03AM] : if it makes you feel any better i’ll be eating ramen the rest of the week because i blew all my money on those stupid singing telegrams
The Grink™️ (gorge russell) [12:04AM] : you know for the finance chairperson you’re really bad at handling your own money
you [12:05AM] : okay haha fair
you [12:05AM] : i genuinely don’t know what’s wrong with me
you [12:06AM] : you surprise me with the most perfect thing ever and i panic
you [12:06AM] : so i;m sorry
you [12:06AM] : truce? please?
Seen 2:49 AM
OK listen. Im only sending this because Alex took my phone away and also because this is the only email I still have starred on my laptop (??? weird ??? anyway). I;m still kind of mad about the singagram thing. Like I KNOW we argue. And I know u hate me sometimes or whatever. But I was actually trying to do something NICE?? Genuinely. I paid EXTRA. For them to learn the arrangement. F gave them sheet music. Real sheet music. I dunno I thought it would make u smile
You are so fucking mean sometimes and I dont even know why it bothers me but it does. It actually does. because I try really fucking hard to give you some big grand gesture so you know how I feel and u never let me be. Anyway. I think we should have a meeting. Io discuss. Important Business. Like why you look so good when you’re mad at me. HAPPY NEWW YEARRR. fuck u (affectionate)
George WIllliamm Russell
president (notin any official capacity)
YU student government!
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [8:51AM] : Hi.
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [8:51AM] : I am. So sorry about the email.
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [8:52AM] : Truly, I did not know why I thought it would be a good idea.
you [8:52AM] : george, it’s all good
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [8:53AM] : Can we both just forget what I said? I was really just drunk and stupid
you [8:59AM] : oh
you [8:59AM] : oh yeah sure definitely
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [9:00AM] : Great! Yeah
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [9:00AM] : Okay
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [9:00AM] : Truce?
you [9:02AM] : truce :)
you [9:02AM] : it would fill me with great delight if you told me you’re hungover rn tho
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [9:03AM] : Trust me, I am DYING
you [9:05AM] : yay❤️
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [9:05AM] : Never going to a party with Lando and Alex ever again
you [9:08AM] : really? was the grink there?
The Grink™️(gorge russell) [9:08AM] : I thought we had a truce!
you [9:13AM] : HAHA okay yeah we do
you [9:13AM] : happy new year, russell:)
george r 🤡 [9:13AM] : Happy new year!
Thanks for the draft — already made some minor adjustments to the booth flow (a few orgs have insisted on having shade after last year’s sunburn incident). Spreadsheet attached.
Budget looks good. I’ll Approve the release on Monday. Don’t spend it all on last-minute balloons again.
Yours (embarrassingly excited about planning week),
Y/N L/N
she/her
Chairperson, Finance Committee, YU Student Council
[email protected]
With full respect and love: Please stop CC’ing us in this thread. We got the booth map, like, 3 emails ago.
All setup details confirmed on our end. See you Monday.
Alex
Events Committee
you [2:30PM] : were the sunflowers from you?
george r 🤡 [2:31PM] : 🤷♂️Anonymous is anonymous
you [2:31PM] : wowi guess ‘anonymous’ just has very george russell-esque handwriting
george r 🤡 [2:31PM] : Weird… he sounds handsome, though
george r 🤡 [2:32PM] : You’re welcome
you [2:32PM] : haha okay thanks
you [2:32PM] : really. it’s stupidly sweet
george r 🤡 [2:33PM] : Wasn’t really expecting to get a whole florist truck in return
george r 🤡 [2:33PM] : Did you mean to send me half of GreenGround’s stock?
you [2:33PM] : okay that’s just one (1) apology bouquet
george r 🤡 [2:34PM] : A 14-stem apology bouquet
george r 🤡 [2:34PM] : You always have to one-up me, huh?
you [2:34PM] : NOOOO wait i’m being soooo honest rn i’m not trying to one-up you
you [2:35PM] : i just. idk. i still feel like i should be apologising for how messy things were last semester
you [2:35PM] : so this felt like. yk. a friendly gesture :)
george r 🤡 [2:41PM] : Oh, yeah. Of course.
george r 🤡 [2:43PM] : Thank you for the flowers, friend:) They’re nice.
miss rabbit has fainted ꗃ | thisisnotY/N • 11mins
fool me ONCE fuckyou fuck you fuck you fuck youfcuky you fcuk you fuck you fuck yo ufuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck youfcuky you fcuk you fuck you fuck yo ufuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you
⤷ oomf1 this is soooo very baller cash money normal person of you diva 😍😍 keep up the good work 😍
you [10:56AM] : hope you had fun at the mixer last night:)
JAIL george r 🤡 [10:5APM] : Depends on your definition of “fun” I guess
you [11:01AM] : ah
you [11:01AM] : okay
JAIL george r 🤡 [11:01AM] : You good?
you [11:03AM] : yeah totally
JAIL george r 🤡 [11:03AM] : Right
JAIL george r 🤡 [11:03AM] : Cool
Seen 11:46AM
from: Y/N L/N [email protected]
to: YU Student Government Executive Board [email protected]
cc: George William Russell [email protected] + 3 others
subject: Motion to Initiate Impeachment Proceedings Against Student Government President George Russell
To the Executive Board and Judicial Oversight Committee,
I am formally submitting a motion to initiate impeachment proceedings against George Russell, Student Council President, on the grounds of conduct unbecoming of an elected student representative.
This is not a motion I bring lightly. However, in light of recent public behavior— documented and attached to this email in .PDF format, as per standard operating procedure— I believe the matter warrants formal review.
The Student Government Code of Ethics outlines expectations of leadership that include accountability, professionalism, and the maintenance of public trust. When the face of student leadership engages in behavior that actively undermines the credibility of the council, we are forced to ask ourselves what standards we are upholding.
I am requesting that this motion be added to the agenda for our upcoming Executive Board meeting, and that the Judicial Oversight Committee begin a preliminary review.
I am, of course, available for further clarification.
from: George William Russell [email protected]
to: Y/N L/N [email protected]
cc: YU Student Government Executive Board [email protected] + 3 others
subject: Re: Motion to Initiate Impeachment Proceedings Against Student Government President George Russell
Y/N,
Thank you for your submission. Though I’m not sure whether I’m more impressed by your speed or your level of spite.
Since we’re all pretending this is a matter of “public ethics” and not an impulsive overreach rooted in whatever tension you and I have been pretending doesn’t exist since September, I’ll keep this professional.
I stand by my record of leadership. One evening off-campus does not invalidate the work I’ve done, the hours I’ve put in, or the impact I’ve had. If the committee chooses to pursue a formal inquiry, I will cooperate fully.
In the meantime, I suggest you take a step back and ask yourself if this is really about the council. Or if it’s about the fact I wasn’t orbiting around you for once.
I am writing in my capacity as the Student Affairs moderator and faculty advisor assigned to the overseeing of student government disciplinary proceedings.
Having reviewed the submitted motion, supporting materials, and the... spirited email exchanges that followed, I have come to the following conclusion:
This is not an impeachable offense.
While I admire the enthusiasm for constitutional engagement and deeply appreciate how invested you both are in the workings of this university, I will be formally recommending that the impeachment charge be dismissed in its entirety.
Whatever “tension”— and I quote, because I have genuinely lost track of which part of this is political and which part is personal— exists between the two of you is not something this Student Government is equipped to legislate.
You are both bright. You are both capable. And you are both (to be perfectly honest) exhausting. Please conduct yourselves accordingly.
Moreover, and I cannot emphasize this enough: I am currently overseeing seventeen student-led events, three sustainability grants, and an interdepartmental soil restoration conference.
I do not have time for this.
As a final note: according to the spring semester programming spreadsheet, both of you are listed as co-chairpersons for the upcoming annual Senior Bonfire Committee.
So. Good luck with that.
Sincerely,
Sebastian Vettel, PhD
Moderator, Office of Student Affairs
Dean, School of Environmental & Sustainability Studies
[INCOMING VOICE MAIL FROM: JAIL george r 🤡]
hi. it’s me. obviously. i don’t know why i said that, i’m just— i’m not calling to fight, okay? i don’t want to fight. god, i’m tired of fighting. you exhaust me. you actually exhaust me. i mean that in the nicest way possible. or maybe i don’t. honestly i should stop being nice to you.
but i’m sitting here, and i was trying to sleep, and instead i’m just lying in bed replaying every single thing i said to you this semester and every single thing you didn’t say back and i just keep thinking—what the fuck are we even doing? what the fuck are we doing?
and yeah. yeah, i went out. and i got drunk. and i kissed some girl who i don’t even remember the name of. and she tasted like strawberry vodka and too much lip gloss and i knew, like knew even in the moment, that it wasn’t gonna fix anything. but i did it anyway. because you said the flower was a friendly gesture. friendly. friendly?
and fine. fine. i probably overreacted. i probably shouldn’t have gone to bunker and gotten plastered and made out with some stranger while the whole campus watched. that’s on me. but you— you filed an impeachment motion. an actual, documented motion. cc’d judicial affairs, cc’ed fucking professor vettel.
do you know how insane that is? what the fuck is wrong with you?
no, seriously. what the actual fuck is wrong with you?
and– and maybe this is stupid. god, maybe this whole thing has always been stupid and it probably would have been easier when we were arguing about committee agendas and pretending like that was the only thing making us miserable. because now it’s just— i don’t even know what it is anymore. you say one thing like it means nothing and i end up doing something reckless and public and so goddamn pathetic just to see if you’ll react. and you do. just— just not in the way that i wanted. and maybe that’s on me, too, for not saying the quiet things out loud, but you— you do that, too. never– never give any indication. so maybe it is my fault, and maybe it’s yours, too.
but i meant the song. and the flowers. and i meant every email i wrote where i went back and forth over the wording four times before pressing send because i knew you’d read it like it was code and—
i don't know. i think— i think i'm just talking now. you don’t have to call back. you probably won’t. and that’s— fine.
i just. i guess i wanted you to know i noticed. that you didn’t say anything back. and that i’m still here. god help me, i’m still here.
okay, uh— goodnight.
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:03AM] : Hey
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:03AM] : About the voicemail
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:03AM] : I was drunk
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:03AM] : Iou don’t have to listen to it, I didn’t mean half the shit I said
you [8:14AM] : are you fucking serious right now
you [8:14AM] : you always do this
you [8:14AM] : you say shit and then backtrack the second it scares you
you [8:15AM] : LIKE OH MY GOD??? you think I’M the difficult one? you think i’m making this hard for you? you keep doubling down on everything you say and you say I’M confusing??
you [8:15AM] : jesus christ russell
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:19AM] : Okay I guess I deserved that too
you [8:19AM] : no you don’t get to do that either
you [8:20AM] : you don’t get to play the martyr just because you left a voicemail you regret
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:21AM] : Fine
JAIL george r 🤡 [18:21AM] : Then let’s talk about your part in this
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:22AM] : Because, honestly? I’m still trying to figure out what I did exactly that made you want to humiliate me in front of the entire student government.
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:22AM] : Are you just pissed that i have a life outside of you?
OUTGOING VOICE MESSAGE TO → JAIL george r 🤡 0:47
oh my god, you are so fucking presumptuous— you think i care that you have a life? you think that’s what this is about? you have no idea, george. none. you just assume everything. you walk around with your smug little student council smile and your goddamn perfect emails and your stupid—stupid sunflower and think you know everything.
you think you’re the only one who gets confused? you think it’s not hard for me too? you think it’s not fucking exhausting trying to act normal when every time we’re in a room together i want to shake you or scream at you or, i don’t know, do anything just to get you to look at me properly?
why am i jealous you have a life? oh my god, george, fuck! i’m jealous it wasn’t me!
fuck! fuckfuckfuck don’t send that don’t—
you [8:36AM] : fuck
you [8:36AM] : don’t listen to that
you [8:36AM] : george please don’t listen to that
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:38AM] : Too late
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:38AM] : Even stevens now?
you [8:39AM] : fuck off
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:40AM] : I feel like this is something we need to discuss in person
you [8:41AM] : great
you [8:42AM] : perfect
you [8:42AM] : AMAZING, really
you [8:43AM] : maybe while we’re planning the seniors bonfire you can pencil me into the agenda between logistics and the end of my dignity
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:43AM] : Great, I’ll bring the marshmallows
you [8:45AM] : fuck. fine. one last fucking truce because i feel like they’d crucify us if we fuck up the seniors bonfire
you [8:45AM] : do NOT make this weird
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:46AM] : I mean
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:46AM] : It’s already weird
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:46AM] : But okay
JAIL george r 🤡 [8:46AM] : Truce
you [8:47AM] : 🖕
you [4:12PM] : hey quick question
you [4:12PM] : did you request an extra rose delivery?
you [4:13PM] : because i’m triple checking everything and there’s a box that wasn’t in my spreadsheet and i’m lowkey spiraling thinking i messed up the whole count
JAIL george r 🤡 [4:17PM] : Nope, you didn’t mess anything up
you [4:17PM] : what
JAIL george r 🤡 [4:17PM] : They’re for you
you [4:18PM] : like… the whole box?
JAIL george r 🤡 [4:20PM] : Yeah.
JAIL george r 🤡 [4:20PM] : Different colors. Thought you might want options.
JAIL george r 🤡 [4:21PM] : You’ve been the one keeping this whole bonfire thing from falling apart so
JAIL george r 🤡 [4:21PM] : Call it a thank you
you [4:22PM] : oh
you [4:22PM] : okay. cool
you [4:22PM] : thank you
lando and 79 others liked
live from the hill! the seniors' bonfire has begun — and the last bloom ceremony starts in just a few minutes. 🎓🌹
username1 i’m a freshman but i already know i’m gonna sob when it’s my turn four years from now !!!
username2 me and my situationship both holding white roses rn. we’re in danger
username3 i still have my rose dried in a journal. most romantic thing i’ve ever experienced. good luck, class of 2026 ❤️
username4 if i don’t get at LEAST a yu turquoise rose tonight i’m throwing myself in the fire
[INCOMING VOICEMAIL FROM ALEXANDER ALBON → GEORGE RUSSELL : 9:47PM]
mate. george. where are you? okay listen— don’t get mad, but i couldn’t find you and i had to give my turquoise rose to someone, and lando was right there and i panicked, okay? i panicked. it was supposed to be yours. you know it was yours. do not make this a thing. where the hell are you anyway?
[INCOMING VOICEMAIL FROM LANDO NORRIS → GEORGE RUSSELL : 9:53PM]
MY MAAANNNN WHERE ARE YOU ALEX JUST GAVE ME HIS TURQUOISE ROSEEEE SUCK ON ITTTTT
epilogue ...
from: George William Russell [email protected]
to: Y/N L/N [email protected]
date: June 18th, 2026
subject: One Last One (For the Archives)
Hi.
Sending you one last email before they shut this whole system down and erase four years of bickering and budget drafts and accidentally too-long threads about table placements. I think part of me will always look for your name at the top of my inbox. But, hey, I figured it would be weird if my last message wasn’t to you.
You made this place something else entirely for me. Annoying, yes. Infuriating, often. But also bright, and sharp, and alive in a way I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully explain. There’s no one else I would’ve rather fought with every day. And no one else I would’ve rather... walked out of the woods with, after. Haha.
I know we joked about the bonfire being the end of the world, but if it was… I didn’t mind the way it ended.
hi love, idk if your requests are open but i’m in need of some fluffy george at the minute. i’ve been feeling really awful recently and need cheering up ❤️
Hiiii, Rosie! 🥹
For you, my dear, your wish is my command. I used one of my drafts that felt perfect for this. I hope you like it, to feel better 🫶 wish you the best, love!
Save your dance for me
George Russell x fem!reader
-> George’s masterlist
Summary: You get a ticket to a famous event “Waltz of Vienna” to get out of your hectic work schedule. George is there too, trying to get his mind off his recent breakup. You two meet and it feels like you know each other from a different lifetime.
Warnings: none, love, longing, love at the first sight, right place right time, mentions of the past life
Word count: 2.3k
I recommend to listen to It’s You by Peter Peter while reading this ❤️
—
George stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like some kind of a gentleman heading to the ball a century ago. Brushing his fingers over the fabric of his white shirt, the buttons being hidden by the fluffiness around them, he sighed.
Toto gifted him with a ticket to a famous Waltz of Vienna, he went there with Susie regularly and he wanted for George to have some opportunity to blow off some steam and gather his thoughts after his break up earlier.
George didn’t really want to go, but he had that strange feeling in his gut saying “what if?”.
A black sleek Mercedes car picked him up, the evening veil falling on the city. His chest felt tight, he wasn’t the best dancer, but he still thought that he could manage.
Meeting Toto and Susie at the venue of the great hall in the opera house, everything felt like a dream, some kind of a fairytale. Women were dressed in the historical accurate gowns, it was mesmerising. Politeness and kindness filled the space and George could finally relax a little.
“You okay, Georgie?” Susie asked, placing her hand on his shoulder in a reassuring way. Truth was that he spent a lot of time with the Wolff couple since his ex broke his heart, they were like his family that was present now and then.
With a soft nod, he smiled at her. “Yes. It’s just very unusual thing, this–”
“You’re gonna get used to it. Trust me.” Toto hummed, his stoic demeanour on, scanning the crowd with interest.
“Our table is there, if you want to sit for a bit. We’re gonna get some drinks.” Susie winked, pointing to the table near the dance floor.
George walked off, taking in the colours at the table, the cloth shimmering with gold and small flower embroiderments, cards with their names being neatly placed at each other's spots. Lifting his gaze, he looked around, only for his eyes to stop at the second entrance where a female figure stood.
And the time stopped.
“You need to put yourself out more! You’re gonna overwork yourself one day! It’s for you to enjoy yourself for once!”
You hated how stupid it sounded, but you loved how you looked in the dress you borrowed from the historic salon. The corset wrapped around your torso, lifting your chest in all the right places, but nothing obscene, just nice and feminine.
You danced only one time in your life, it was at your prom and with your best friend who stepped on your feet constantly. So, you could only imagine how you’d look all clumsy and weird.
Arriving at the opera house, you felt a lump forming in your throat, you couldn’t breathe for a moment, because an anxiety bubbled in your belly. After a while of breathing through it, you gathered the courage and walked up the stairs, high heels wrapped tight around your feet, giving you the assurance that you won’t fall down.
Letting the atmosphere seep under your skin, you let out a quiet gasp in awe. It was so beautiful. All those people looked like they just traveled through time, and that you were there with them. Everything felt so light, your worries lifted off your shoulders, your eyes wandering across each of the couples.
And then you locked your gaze with a handsome stranger. Those blue eyes could pierce through your soul, the beautiful blue you have never seen in your whole life. Breath hitched in your throat as the time stopped. It was just you two through the distance that was between you across the hall.
George felt the strange tug in his heart, the one he never truly believed he’d feel again.
His feet wanted to take him to you, to talk to you, to carve your beautiful appearance into his brain.
“George? You with us? Here’s your drink?” a female voice interrupting the moment, bringing him back to reality, he averted his gaze at Susie.
Toto noticed it was you he looked at and he also noticed how you rushed to meddle with the crowd. Taking a sip of his drink, he thought about something.
Getting the glass to his grip, George looked at your spot again only to be disappointed you’re not there anymore.
Whatever, it was just silly anyway.
The event started with a welcoming speech and the music was fully on.
You felt goosebumps spreading through your body, it was amazing. Taking a sip of a champagne, you were searching through the crowd, to find the blue colour you strangely longed to see again.
But a tall figure of the older man appeared in front of you. You frowned and took a step back.
“Evening, Miss. I’m sorry, but it didn’t escape my eye how you stared at my friend.” Toto smiled politely, he was just giving you reassurance that he’s not some kind of a predator.
Your cheeks blushed and your heart pounded in your chest wildly. “I– uh– really? I–”
“Do you want me to introduce you? I think he’d be delighted.” Toto gestured for you to follow him to their table where George was toying with the handkerchief while Susie was telling him some of her stories.
You inhaled sharply, knowing that this moment will impact your life for sure. You knew it, you felt it in your bones and it slightly scared you. But life is meant for living, right?
“Sure. That would be lovely.”
Walking to the table, you almost lost your breath. The moment you approached with Toto, George caught you, eyes locking immediately and his mouth went open for a bit, as if he was experiencing some kind of a trance.
Susie let out an amused chuckle, enjoying the fact that her husband was playing the matchmaker. She nudged George a little, and he shook his head to gather his thoughts, getting up from his seat and taking a few steps towards you.
Everything felt like in slow motion, how his body moved, so smoothly. His smile charming, the pool of blue in his eyes being even more beautiful this close. A few strands of his hair falling down his forehead, you swore you fell in love at this very moment.
“Hi, I’m George.” and his voice.
Oh. My. God.
You wanted to pinch yourself because how could this ever be real? How could he be real? The ethereal beauty standing in front of you, almost making you faint.
Subconsciously you raised your hand only for him to take it and place a small kiss on your knuckles. Shiver went down your spine as you blurted out your name.
The sound of your voice went straight into his guts, Cupid’s arrow pierced through his heart, he smiled.
“I think you should go to dance. Get to know yourselves more, you know.” Toto cleared his throat and you both nodded, hiding your embarrassment and mutual attraction.
As you left for a dance, Toto sat beside his wife, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her cheek.
“I don’t know what’s with these events, but it feels magical. Did you see that?”
Susie smiled widely. “I did.”
With your hand placed on his shoulder, while the other was clasped by his tightly, George led you through the dancefloor, his moves smooth along with yours. As if you were born for this.
While you twirled around with the pace of the crowd, you took a moment to remember his features. Small wrinkles around his eyes, probably from smiling, the contour of his lips that looked so kissable. And those long eyelashes that were protecting his mesmerising eyes.
You almost forgot about the world happening around you.
George glanced down, to catch you, but you didn’t flinch. You smiled.
It felt so familiar. He felt like home and it was just a few minutes you knew each other.
He was the same, noticing how your face was soft, the glow of the curve of your lips, the mystery behind your eyes. The way you felt so close and yet so distant. The bond he felt through your touch. As if the body remembered but the mind didn’t.
“You’re beautiful.” he mumbled and you chuckled with a soft pink tinting your cheek.
“Don’t lie.”
“I would never.” his lips curled into an amused smile.
“You’re a great dancer.” you hummed knowingly, making him laugh a little.
“You think? I’m usually bad at this, but with you… It feels natural.”
“It’s strange, but I feel the same.”
The whole evening belonged to you two. You spent it dancing, chatting, laughing.
Refreshing but also painful because the existence of your reality was gnawing at you from the corner of your mind.
Around midnight, the event came to its end, and sadness filled your soul. You felt like some kind of a peasant having only one night with the pretty prince of the castle. The forbidden love.
Once the crowd started to part, your hand slipped out of his and he lost you.
There was no evidence of you, George tried so hard to call your name.
You were pushed forward by the crowd, calling his name, trying to get back to him.
After a while you gave up. It was life. It was just for fun.
–
The next couple of days George spent a lot of time on his hunt for you. It was impossible, as if you didn’t exist.
You were a mess. Work was bad, you couldn’t focus. Your mind was clouded by the memory of his gaze, of his firm touch, of his scent.
Getting through some documents for your boss, you came across the old book that you ordered from the historical bookshop. The cover was worn, pages being brown and old. Opening it carefully you noticed the neat hand writing on the first page.
“To my one and only love. I’m sure we will meet again. Save your dance for me.”
Frowning a little, it hit you too close to your heart, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. But what was more shocking was the small photo that fell out of the book as you held it. Taking it into your hands, your eyes widened just as your mouth gaped open.
Hands shaky, it was a black and white picture of you in some old but beautiful dress and the man beside you… It was George.
Flipping the photo gently, another handwriting was there.
“Our first dance as a married couple. Mr. & Mrs. Russell”
This felt unbelievable, almost unreal. But something told you that you need to find him. The soul in you longed for him in the most unbearable way.
Taking your coat, you headed to that bookshop you bought the book from. Literally rushing through the door, your breath stopped the second you saw a man standing at the bookshelf at the side.
George Russell
Your long lost love.
You husband.
Your everything.
A missing piece you looked for your whole life.
George glanced at you, taken aback by your sudden presence, his heart filling with excitement and flutter.
“You…”
Coming closer to him, your arms took him into your tight embrace and you let out a relieved sigh, heaviness falling down your chest.
“George.” your voice was like a lullaby for him and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you so close as if you’d disappear any moment.
After a while, you pulled back, only to cup his cheeks, to look straight into his eyes. The warmth of his body enveloped your body, it felt like everything fell into place. As if it was meant to be.
“I found you.” you whispered, your voice shaky, tears welling in your eyes.
George nodded, his lower lip quivering as he reached to put a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“You did.”
“Please don’t ever leave me. Not this time. Not ever. Stay.” it was your old soul speaking, you were reliving what you missed in your past life.
Placing a soft kiss on your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin for longer, you inhaled sharply.
“I won’t. I promise. I spent a long time in a void of darkness. And you’re here. I can’t believe it. The first time I saw you at that dance…” he was emotional all of sudden.
Your lips pressed onto his gently, still holding him impossible close, and he let you.
“This is our chance to get it right.”
“This timeline is ours. We won’t waste it.” he held you, your head rested at his shoulder and you closed your eyes, letting the peace fill your soul.
Two souls were aligned together again.
Forever
—
A fireplace cracked with the sound of a fire, you stirred from your sleep. Glancing up with your sleepy stare, George held you to his side, cuddled on the sofa.
You smiled, leaning up to place a soft kiss on his jaw and to nuzzle into his neck.
He never left your side.
Ever.
You lived your life to the fullest, promising to love each other in the good and bad, raising three children together and making your home full of joy and happiness.
Even in death you left together.
The warmth of the fire climbed up your limbs, you cuddled more into his side, enjoying the smell of his scent, you found peace. This was your epitome of heaven. Together.
“I love you. Endlessly.” He whispered into your hair, shiver running down your spine and he placed his hand over yours on his chest.
“I’d love you in every lifetime, George.” You whispered into his neck, your breath fanning over his skin.
George smiled, peppering your hair with small and gentle kisses, watching the fire.
“It’s great to know that I have forever with you.”
“Haven’t you had it our whole life?” You chuckled.
“You know what I mean, darling.”
“I know. And I’m so grateful, you can’t even imagine.” You shifted a little, to glance into his eyes.
“I think I can.” He gave you his perfect smile and he kissed you like always.
With love and undying affection that lasted every lifetime.
🏁 pairing: george russell x reader.
🏁 word count: 4.8k.
🏁 genres/warnings: established relationship (friends to lovers). soft and healing romance, reader was in a toxic relationship before. descriptions of feeling broken after relationship. flips between present and past. loosely inspired by daylight by taylor swift. reader insert but no use of y/n. reader referred to as feminine.
🏁summary: you spent years believing love had to hurt. then george showed you what it means to step into the light.
🏁 author notes: happy new year everyone!!!!!!!!! i hope you enjoy this one, its slightly angsty but soft because lover is george coded in my eyes <3
The first thing you notice when you finally come to is the warm sun on your face. It filters through a narrow gap in the curtains, one left carelessly open during some half-remembered routine.
The warmth settles against your skin, slow and deliberate, spreading across your face, illuminating your features for no one in particular. It’s gentle, almost fragile, and yet it carries an undeniable power. You crinkle your nose, letting your eyes flutter open at last, lashes casting soft shadows against your cheeks.
A quiet groan slips from you as consciousness settles in fully. You stretch instinctively, limbs extending across the bed like a cat, unknotting muscle after muscle, lengthening until your body feels loose and unguarded. Your fingers splay against the sheets, brushing over the lingering warmth beside you. No one is there — but the heat tells you he hasn’t been gone long, and that small realisation is what finally pulls you into wakefulness.
You push yourself upright, the sheets slipping down to gather at your waist as you bend your knees and sit up. There’s a dull ache in your neck, the kind that only comes from sleeping deeply, and you roll your head slowly, trying to ease it away.
You’re wearing one of his old t-shirts, a faded grey thing that’s clearly seen better days. It fits you like it was made to, skimming your frame just right, and it smells unmistakably like him — even if it’s been months since he last wore it himself. From somewhere beyond the bedroom, you can hear him humming softly, the door ajar as he moves about the kitchen, busying himself like he always does.
Another morning that brings you nothing but peace.
It still feels strange, waking up to nothing but love — nothing but warmth, patience, and someone who wants to keep you around without question. The feeling sits oddly in your chest, unfamiliar enough to leave you unsettled, like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does. He tells you it won’t, reassures you with quiet certainty, but there’s still a part of you — small, tender edge — that hasn’t quite healed yet.
It’s been just over a year since you reconnected, since he showed you, gently and persistently, that you deserve every bit of love the world has to offer. He made it his mission to give it to you, without hesitation. You moved into his apartment a few months ago, and little by little, it’s begun to feel like home.
Mornings like this — weekends, slow ones, the kind that feel like a held breath — are your favourite. You can always hear him humming under his breath as he goes about his routine, the sound grounding and familiar. Through the cracked window comes the rush of wind and sea air, and suddenly Monaco feels less like a stopover and more like somewhere you belong.
It’s been a journey to get here. Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real — like he isn’t real. Everything before him exists only as a blur of tears and anguish, memories sharp-edged and indistinct, hatred spilling out of you like blood, loud and relentless. You try not to dwell on the before for too long. Mostly because you don’t like to imagine a life where he isn’t part of it.
Blinking slowly, you rub the last traces of sleep from your eyes with gentle hands before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Bare feet meet the cool floor as you start to make your way down the hallway, steps quiet, careful, until you reach the kitchen.
Where your love waits.
Fourteen months ago.
You stood in the bathroom of the crowded pub, the air thick and musky, reeking of smoke and spilled alcohol. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, though you hardly recognised the person looking back at you.
Dark circles sat heavy beneath your eyes, distracting from the bright colour they used to hold. Your lips were chewed raw, split and bleeding, hastily glossed over with lip balm in the futile hope it might fix something. You were wrapped in a leather jacket that didn’t suit you, jeans that were more your ex’s taste than your own, and a t-shirt that hung from your frame, making you look almost skin and bone.
You were hollow. You felt it. Looked it.
With a tired sigh, you dragged your gaze away from the mirror and turned to the sink, washing your hands before sticking them beneath the hand dryer for a moment. Then you pushed your way back into the pub.
The noise hit you instantly — the roar of laughter, the hum of joy and conversation. It should have made you smile. It was Christmas time, after all. Instead, it only made you feel like a stranger, an alien trapped inside your own body. You couldn’t enjoy yourself. You hadn’t been able to for a while now.
You pressed through the crowd, murmuring apologies to drunk strangers as you bumped into them, craning your neck as you searched for your friends.
It had been their idea to bring you here. To support you. To cheer you up. You’d not long moved back into your parents’ house after finally leaving your ex-partner — though even the thought of him sent a shiver down your spine. Your relationship had started fast, burned bright, and erupted into flames that still licked painfully at your skin months later.
You were damaged. Broken. He had chewed you up and spat you right back out, leaving nothing but a carcass behind. It had happened slowly, of course. Red flags only waved once, then twice, until it was already too late. You weren’t the same person you’d been before him, and you didn’t know if you ever would be again.
Plastering a smile onto your lips, you slid back into your seat beside your friends. They were deep in conversation, engrossed in some piece of local gossip. One of them wrapped an arm around yours, tugging you back into the fold as though anchoring you there. You smiled again, lifting your glass and taking a sip of the bitter drink, silently hoping you could keep yourself together.
It had been kind of them — to gather like this in your honour, to try and breathe life back into a body that felt broken and battered beyond repair.
“Shit,” your friend sitting opposite you almost spat, narrowly avoiding spraying her drink across the table as shock flashed across her face. “Isn’t that George?”
Your other three friends twisted in their seats to follow her gaze. You kept your eyes fixed on the dark liquid in your glass, willing it to make you feel something — anything at all.
“Oh my god, it is. I haven’t seen him in years,” another friend said.
You wanted to turn, to join in, but you didn’t have the energy. You hadn’t for a long time. Instead, you let their voices blur together, overlapping until you could no longer tell who was speaking.
It went on like that for another twenty minutes, the pub steadily growing louder as more people filtered inside. It was Mad Friday — the last Friday before Christmas — and practically a rite of passage for anyone living in England to get absolutely wasted to celebrate the festivities.
Then someone shoved into your back. The sudden contact made you wince, your body igniting as memories surged unbidden to the surface. A mumbled apology followed, but it was the sharp gasp that made you snap your head up.
“Sarah?”
The voice belonged to the man who had bumped into you — a tall figure with a familiar face, one you could almost place but not quite.
Sarah, your friend to your right, jumped out of her seat with a squeal. “Oh my god, James!” She leaned across you to throw her arms around him.
Suddenly, all your friends were talking at once, recognition lighting them up. “We thought we saw George earlier, but we weren’t sure. It’s so good to see you all.”
The names rang faintly in your head, hovering just out of reach. Familiar, but slippery. It wasn’t until the friend who had kept her arm linked through yours all evening noticed the crease forming between your brows and took pity on you.
“School, remember?” she said. “They were in our year. James was a prefect — he used to catch us skipping French.”
Your mouth fell open slightly as recognition finally clicked into place.
You were soon swept into a flurry of greetings as three more men joined James, their faces bright with familiarity. You smiled, exchanged hellos and hugs, moving through it all on autopilot, like a cog in a well-worn machine. Then the last man stepped forward, offering a greeting you barely heard — slightly taller than the rest, with striking eyes and soft hair that framed his face — and something inside you finally stilled.
“Mind if we join you?” one of them asked, and Sarah nodded enthusiastically. Chairs scraped against the floor, bodies pressed closer together. You shifted your seat nearer to your friends as the taller man slid into the space between you and Sarah.
Soon, stories were flowing freely, laughter rising as memories of school days were shared. Despite yourself, a small spark flickered in your chest — recollections of better times, before you doubted who you were, before he made you feel like less than nothing. The thought left a sour taste in your mouth, one you tried to drown with another sip of cider. Your eyes dropped to a beer mat on the table, tracing the logo absentmindedly as voices washed over you.
Then you felt a soft nudge against your side.
You flinched, the gentle contact unlocking something deep in your chest as you turned sharply. The taller man was watching you, quiet curiosity written across his features.
“Do you remember me?” he asked softly. Your eyes flickered over his face — curls falling neatly around it, catching the pub’s light until they looked like spun gold. His blue eyes met yours, holding a calm, open gaze you wished you could cling to.
You shook your head, hesitant to speak.
“I thought you might not,” he continued easily. “I dropped out in year eight, but we used to sit next to each other in English.” His lips curved into a gentle smile as yours parted in surprise, chapped skin cracking with the movement.
Suddenly, familiarity crashed over you in a warm wave, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled. Not the practiced, pretending-I’m-okay smile — but a real one. An oh wow, it’s been a while smile.
“George,” was all you said.
Your footsteps were light as you padded down the bright hallway. The walls were white — clean, shining, alive with light. They held memories, kept moments frozen in time. The brightness always seemed to breathe life back into your soul. You often found yourself moving slowly across the wooden floor, fingers dancing across picture frames as you revisited the memories trapped behind the glass. Some were from your life together over the past fourteen months, but most belonged to his — snapshots of a world that existed long before you. Those were the ones you liked the most.
There were pictures of a younger him, clad in a racing suit and standing proudly on a podium, missing teeth visible behind a wide, unguarded grin. Photos of his family followed, arms wrapped tightly around one another, something about them prying open parts of your heart you never thought capable of feeling again. There were memories of his F2 Championship, of race wins and milestones etched into glossy paper. They always brought you peace, gentle distractions from whatever might still be burning quietly inside your mind.
Tearing yourself away from the display, you finally stepped through into the kitchen.
Standing by the stove, something cooking and filling the space with a wonderful, comforting smell, was your love.
You paused in the doorway, studying him quietly while he remained unaware of your presence. He was wearing a navy t-shirt — you’d told him once, late at night, that it was the colour that suited him best — and you watched the way his muscles flexed as he moved. His skin looked golden against the fabric, unmarked and perfect as he busied himself. A soft hum slipped from him, a tune you recognised but didn’t bother to name, too focused on taking him in to think straight. He wore shorts, his hair a mess. Messy from sleep, from running his own hands through it as he tried to make himself look presentable after waking. And messy from you — from your fingers tangling in it, tugging gently as he cared for you, pressed close with all that love the night before.
The memory brought a soft blush creeping up your cheeks, your body lighting up at the thought of his touch.
You never thought you’d feel like this again.
Not after everything you’d been through. And yet here you were — over a year into this relationship and still feeling giddy, like it was your very first date.
You had given up on healing. On finding love again after being left bruised and broken by your ex. But then he had reappeared in your life — gentle and steady, calm and present. He never pushed, never pursued, never asked you to be anything other than what you were ready to give. Sometimes you wondered if he knew — if he truly understood just how much of you had been healed simply because he stayed.
Slipping quietly from the doorway, you padded across the kitchen toward him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you pressed your chest to his back, resting your head lightly between his shoulder blades. Even with the smallest touch, you felt it — the way he softened, the way he melted into you without hesitation.
“Good morning, my love.”
Fourteen months ago.
The noise of the pub had grown significantly louder as you still nursed the same bitter drink you’d arrived with. Your friends were half-cut by now, laughter spilling out between every word, every sip of wine, as they reminisced and caught up with the school friends who had joined your table.
And yet, though you were there, it felt as though you were watching it all from the outside — like a scene playing out on a screen. You didn’t feel the warmth they did when old memories surfaced. The laughter didn’t reach you as stories were exchanged. You were present, but you weren’t living in the moment.
It was getting too much. Blinking back tears, you shakily reached for your glass, taking a sip with your eyes squeezed shut, silently begging yourself to stay composed. You hoped no one noticed. They rarely did. You were good at becoming a background character — something he had made sure of from the very first date. You didn’t want to ruin the night, didn’t want to be the reason the mood shifted, but anxiety clawed its way up your skin, burning white fear spreading across your body as your chest tightened. Breathing became harder.
It was almost as if everything around you blurred in and out of focus, the world tilting slightly, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought you might lose control completely.
And then — almost as if sent from above — you felt a soft tap against your arm.
Heart pounding, you dared to turn your head, tears gathering thick in your eyes, and found George looking at you. He leaned in just enough — not enough to crowd you, not enough to make you shrink into yourself — but close enough that his voice carried over the shouts and exhilarated screams from the table.
“I fancy a cigarette,” he said gently. “Do you want to come?”
You didn’t know why, but you nodded. You needed air. You needed out. And this — this felt like a lifeline offered on a silver platter.
You both stood quietly, careful not to draw attention. As you moved through the crowd toward the exit, you felt George’s hand hover at the small of your back — not touching, not possessive, just there. As if he were guiding you. Protecting you.
The moment you pushed through the double doors, you inhaled deeply, the rush of cold, fresh air breaking through the tight grip around your chest. Winter seeped into every sharp breath of wind, but you welcomed it. The cold made you feel real again.
You stood there in silence for a few minutes, your back pressed against the brick wall, eyes closed as you focused on filling your lungs, bringing them back to life. George stood beside you, looking at nothing at all — simply present. Quiet.
After a while, you finally found the courage to look at him, to speak.
“Are you not lighting up?”
The voice that came out barely sounded like your own — raw, strained, scraping painfully at your throat.
George let out a soft laugh, his hands tucked into the pockets of his puffer jacket.
“I don’t smoke.”
You frowned slightly, eyes searching his face for something — anything. But all you found was softness. Gentleness.
“But—”
You didn’t get any further before he smiled, the curve of his lips so tender and precise it nearly stole the air from your lungs.
“You looked like you needed a minute,” he said. “And I didn’t want to draw attention.”
“Oh.”
“We can stay out here until you’re ready to go back in,” he added easily. “No rush.”
And silence settled between you again. Comfortable. Warm. A kind of quiet you hadn’t felt in a long time — one you hadn’t believed could exist at all.
But there it was, wrapping around you like a blanket.
You were perched on a wooden stool at the counter of his — no, your—- kitchen. Your bare legs dangled freely, one foot pressing lightly against the leg of the stool he occupied beside you. Empty plates sat in front of you both, evidence of the breakfast he’d lovingly cooked now warm in your stomach, spreading comfort through you from the inside out.
Your elbow rested against the countertop, head propped in your palm as you watched him talk.
He was animated, vibrant, his voice filled with passion as he recounted a story from his most recent visit to the factory. His eyes lit up as he spoke, hands moving as though the words alone weren’t enough to contain his excitement.
And you just watched.
Your expression was soft — lips plump and smooth, no trace left of the splits and breaks you once worried at endlessly. Even your hands were different now. Your fingers were gentle, nails neatly manicured for the first time in a long while. No torn cuticles. No hangnails bitten raw.
Everything about you was different. Not in a bad way — just different from the person who had first sat beside him in that pub. You stood a little taller now. Sat a little braver. And beneath it all, there were glimpses of the old you — the one George had known back in high school — slowly breathing life back into your body.
You could hardly remember the last time you’d cried. If you tried hard enough, you could recall it being over a film. Not because of him. And certainly not because of George. The man who had once changed you, reduced you to a shadow of yourself, barely crossed your mind these days. And when he did, a memory of George always followed — bright and vivid enough to erase the rest. You no longer flinched when voices were raised. You no longer twisted yourself into perfection, terrified of giving someone a flaw to exploit.
You remembered the first time you and George argued. It had been petty. Small. Almost laughable.
And yet, you’d curled in on yourself, instinctively pressing back against the wall, bracing for him to tear you apart — ready to expose every nerve, every weakness, to tell you exactly what was wrong with you.
But he never did.
Instead, he sighed — frustrated, yes, but still kind. He wanted to talk. To understand. To fix it together. When you started crying, apologising, shouldering the blame like you always had, he took your hand and hushed you gently. He looked at you with nothing but care and told you it wasn’t your fault at all. That if anyone needed to apologise, it was him.
And that was how it had always been between you. Soft. Loving. Careful. Everything you had once feared never appeared in your relationship. Not even once. He’d even helped you find a new job after you’d left the old one — after your ex had demanded you give it up. You’d discovered you were good at it, better than you ever imagined.
A warm hand came up to cup the side of your face, smooth and familiar, heat blooming against your skin as a spark danced through you.
“You’re thinking too hard,” George said softly.
You smiled, teeth showing as you leaned into his touch, fitting perfectly against the shape of his palm.
“I was just thinking about how much I love you.”
And he smiled back — wide, full of teeth, and overflowing with love.
Fourteen months ago.
Your hands were almost numb from the biting cold. You’d lost track of how long you’d both been standing outside, but it was peaceful — the first real sign of peace you’d felt in a long while — and you wanted to cling to it. There was something about the quiet comfort radiating from the man beside you, something that seemed to slowly fill you back up.
Words were bursting inside you, clawing up your throat, desperate to be spoken. But you could barely find the energy, so instead you stared ahead. You watched frost-bitten ground crunch beneath passers-by’s feet, mist curling from their mouths as they spoke. The wind was sharp and painful, but somehow it breathed life back into you.
You felt like you could breathe. Something you hadn’t done for a very long time.
“You know, you haven’t changed a bit.” George spoke after a few moments of silence, as though he could sense your need to break it but didn’t want to pressure you.
“I doubt that,” you breathed, afraid of your own voice.
“No, honestly. You look exactly the same. Just… a little older.”
You turned your head to look at him. He was still leaning against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, but his attention was on you. Not waiting for an answer — more like he was trying to tell you something without words. That you could trust him.
You let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t think I am the same person.”
And it was true. You remembered how carefree you’d been in school, how those days felt golden because they weren’t shrouded in hate and pain, because they hadn’t broken you down until you were nothing but a shell of yourself.
“I think you are,” George said softly. “Just older. Maybe wiser — who knows?” He smiled faintly. “I still remember when we had to do that book report on Of Mice and Men and you had a go at the teacher for being misogynistic about Curly’s wife.”
And you laughed.
God — you laughed.
The sound broke free before you even realised it was yours, warm and unrestrained, unfamiliar in the best way. And soon George laughed too, until you were both cackling like idiots over nothing at all, passers-by casting strange looks as your chest loosened — not completely, but enough.
Another silence settled in as you bit down on your lip, eyes dropping to the ground.
“You still have the same laugh,” George said quietly, and heat flooded your cheeks.
After that, you talked.
He told you what he’d been doing since leaving high school — you’d nearly dropped your jaw when he told you he was a Formula One driver, not that you really knew what that meant yet — and every time he asked about you, you shrank into yourself. And as if he could read your mind, he’d redirect the conversation, give you space without making you feel small.
He asked for your number before you went back inside.
“No pressure or anything,” he mumbled as you looked down shyly. “It was just nice to catch up. It’d be great to keep in touch.”
You wanted to say thank you, but you weren’t ready to date. You wanted to heal first — really heal.
And again, as if he knew, he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not expecting anything, I just — you’re very beautiful — I mean… it would be great if we could be friends.”
So you smiled and nodded.
You gave him your number.
When you rejoined your friends, they were extremely merry, no one noticing how long you’d been gone. No one except Sarah, who met your eye with a soft, knowing look that said this is good — this is for you.
George sat next to you. Slightly closer this time.
You barely felt his touch, but the warmth wrapped around you like a glove.
You glanced at him once. Twice. Maybe three times — or a lot more, if you were being honest. Each time, he looked back at you, eyes bright, smile soft. A warmth bloomed in your chest, slowly cracking open the cold cage that had once enclosed your broken heart.
Friends, you thought later that night, curled into your childhood bed, feeling closer to yourself than you had in years.
But as sleep claimed you — the easiest you’d fallen into it in a long time — the truth settled gently in your chest.
Friends was a good idea. But something told you there was more to your story.
The day had passed with gentle ease, as it often did.
You’d gone for a walk along the Monaco pier mid-afternoon, sunglasses perched on your nose, ice cream melting down your hands. You stopped at a bookshop you’d been dying to visit since moving — your fingers brushing reverently over spines, eyes lingering on pressed lettering.
You’d once loved reading. That love had been stolen from you.
But you wanted to start again, you’d told George one night between whispered kisses and soft touches. He’d asked what kind of books you wanted to read.
“Romance,” you’d replied with a blush, burying your face into his chest, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. “Because I finally believe in it again.”
You bought a few, even though George insisted on paying. You beat him to it, and he only laughed, wrapping his arms around you.
Dinner followed — laughter filling the kitchen as he tried to make you taste his pasta sauce and you whined that it wasn’t seasoned enough. A usual routine.
Now you were curled into his side on the couch, the television casting a soft glow across his face. The sun dipped low beyond the balcony doors, bathing everything it touched in gold. George had fallen asleep near the end of the film, his soft snore threading through the quiet.
He lay sprawled across the couch, and you were tucked against him, one hand pressed to his chest, watching it rise and fall. Feeling his heart beat steadily beneath your palm.
You thought back to that night fourteen months ago — how you’d entered the pub a broken shell and found light where you least expected it. How he’d texted you the next day to make sure you got home safe. How he’d said it was nice to see you.
He asked you on a date a month later. You’d said yes, unsure but seen. You told him you needed time — that you needed to heal.
He’d smiled.
He said he had time.
And he did.
He waited through every tear. Held steady when you flinched away. Never made you feel afraid — and that terrified you at first, because you’d mistaken fear for love once before.
But now you knew better.
You wondered sometimes if he knew how much of you he’d healed. If he understood that his kindness had given you the courage to reclaim the parts of yourself you thought were gone forever.
Six months in, he invited you to a race. You learned his world. You did long distance. And eventually, he asked you to move in — tears in his eyes because he couldn’t pretend anymore that he didn’t want you in every corner of his life.
There was still road ahead. Healing wasn’t linear.
But you weren’t the person he met on that cold Christmas night anymore. There were still cracks, still echoes — but now they let the light through.
You once believed love was pain. That darkness made it real.
But now, beneath the setting sun of your new life in Monaco, his warmth anchoring you, his presence steady and sure, you knew the truth.
