Just Such A Gentleman - Blog Posts
comfort
pairing: george russell x reader
summary: bad days are inevitable. luckily, you've got george to come home to, who always knows just what to do to make those days a little bit better. (2k)
warnings: george is the sweetest boyfriend to ever exist, an ungodly amount of fluff. literally just pure fluff. i think i got a cavity writing this actually!
a/n: this one's for the lovely @postracehair, who has successfully converted me into a george girl <3
You should’ve known the kind of day you’d have when you slept right through your alarm this morning.
From then on, the hits just kept on coming. No time for breakfast, morning rush hour traffic adding forty five minutes to your usual twenty minute commute, upcoming deadlines at work with projects nowhere near done and coworkers who can’t tell apples from oranges.
By the time you manage to clock out of work and head home, you’re dead on your feet.
You drive home in complete silence, knuckles tight on the wheel, teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep the tears threatening to fall at bay. All you need to do is make it home in one piece, and then you can break down, if that’s what it’ll take to put the horrors of today behind you.
The first thing you notice as you push open the front door when you finally get home is a pair of shoes tucked off to the side in the entryway, a set of keys in the bowl on the little table.
George is home early.
Relief washes over you at the realization. After the shit day you’ve had, seeing George sooner than you thought you’d get to is your saving grace.
You trudge further into the flat, towards the living room where you can hear something on TV.
Your boyfriend is sprawled out across the couch watching a rerun of some old football match, but pauses it to focus his attention on you as soon as he hears you moving around behind him. You toss your bag onto the floor, your phone on top of that, rounding the couch slowly.
“Hey, you’re home!” He exclaims, smiling warmly. “I was just thinking of starting dinner, what d’you think of—” You flop on top of him before he can finish his sentence, face planting directly into his chest without a word. “Oh! Hello there.”
Despite his surprise, George’s arms wrap around you without hesitation, cocooning you nicely in his warmth.
He smells like the fancy fabric softener you keep on the top shelf of the laundry room, and body wash you think might be yours rather than his, fresh and clean and so achingly familiar it brings you some much needed comfort right now. You inhale deeply, letting yourself melt against George’s sturdy frame.
“Bad day?” He asks, rubbing a hand up and down your back.
You huff out a humorless chuckle. “The worst.”
“Sorry to hear that, my love,” He murmurs. “What can I do to help?”
“Build a time machine?”
George’s chuckle vibrates through his chest. “I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t do. But what I can do is make dinner while you wash up and change into something comfier. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect,” You mutter with a sigh. “In five minutes.”
He laughs again and you scoot yourself a little higher up, finding that perfect cozy spot between the hard plane of his shoulder and the side of his neck for your chin to nestle in. George curls an ankle around yours, patting around for the remote to resume the match he has on.
He’ll do his thing while you soak in his presence, that’s usually how things go on nights when you’re both home.
Five minutes ends up turning into a lot longer, because by the time you manage to muster the energy to even think about getting up, the match is long over and the TV is off. George still lies perfectly content underneath you, long fingers stroking down your spine gently.
“I stink,” You say bluntly. George snorts.
“Do you? I didn’t even notice,” He muses, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“That’s such a lie.”
He has the audacity to look completely and overdramatically bewildered. “What? I would never lie to you. You smell wonderful.”
“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m going to go shower now.” On your way up off him, you dot a kiss to his lips that takes him by surprise and makes him follow after you, chasing to keep that contact until you push him back down onto the couch with a gentle hand. Even then, he wraps his fingers around your wrist loosely to stop you leaving. “Try not to miss me too much?”
“Darling, you’re asking the impossible of me,” He chides, letting his head tilt to the side. He looks up at you through his lashes, ocean eyes twinkling in a very enticing invitation for you to stay.
As appealing as having another cuddle with your boyfriend sounds, a hot shower calls your name even more. You kiss his cheek this time. “Do your best, darling.”
You don’t catch whatever George grumbles after you on your way to the bathroom, but knowing him, it isn’t anything outrageous.
George’s self care collection sits meticulously organized on one side of the sink in the bathroom, a total juxtaposition to the mess of yours over on the other. In a way, you suppose it does well to describe the way you both are in real life.
The stream of nearly scalding water does a wonderful job at starting to soothe the ache in your tense shoulders the moment you step under it, raining down on you like something heaven sent. You could stay in here forever if you wanted to.
The bathroom door swings open while you’re washing the conditioner out of your hair, then you hear George’s voice. “Not looking! Not peeping in on you, just wanted to drop off a fresh towel.”
“You’re allowed to look, you know,” You say from behind the wall of hot steam fogging up the glass doors. Through it, you can vaguely make out him with a hand over his eyes, blindly navigating where to put the towel with the other hand. It makes you laugh. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before!”
George lets out something between an approving hum and a click of his tongue. Finally, his searching hand finds the bar of the door, carefully draping the fluffy material over it. “I popped it in the dryer for a bit. Should still be warm when you finish.”
Something warm thrums in your chest at the thought of George taking enough care to go that one step further and make sure you have a warm, fresh towel waiting for you.
“Love you!” You say gratefully. You can almost picture the happy little smile on his face at your words.
“Love you. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else.” He’s gone soon after that, but still lingers in your mind as you finish up. George is always on your mind.
Once you’re out of the shower and wrapped in the toasty towel, you wander to find some clothes, beelining straight for George’s side of the closet to find your favorite jumper of his, the soft one he usually wears on long flights. It still smells like him when you put it on.
You pull the sleeves over your hands on your way out to join him in the kitchen. Soft music pours from the speaker next to his phone, filling the flat with his easy listening playlist. He likes to play that one on flights too, sometimes so often that you’ve come to associate the songs with him.
George hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the opportunity to just watch him do his thing.
He has that ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron you’d gotten him as a joke a few years ago tied around his waist, kitchen towel draped over his shoulder as he scoops whatever food he’s made into two bowls. His shoulders do a little shimmy along to the beat of the song like an absolute fool, and it makes you smile, because he’s your fool.
You get to love him and all the things he does—big and small. Doing the most to make you feel better after a terrible day, and dancing terribly in the kitchen when nobody is watching. Both describe loving George Russell perfectly.
It isn’t until he does a half turn for his big finish at the end of the song that he spots you leaned up against the wall and nearly jumps a foot into the air in surprise.
“Blimey!” He exclaims, pressing a hand over his heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“I wasn’t sneaking! You just didn’t see me.”
“I ought to put a bell on you one of these days.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Eh, food for thought.” George shrugs, shedding his apron. “Speaking of food, dinner’s ready.” He pushes one of the bowls towards you.
At first, you’re not sure what you’re looking at. Then, slowly, realization dawns on you.
He’s made your favorite meal from your childhood, the dish your mum used to make every time you needed that extra bit of comfort after a not so great day.
There’s that feeling in your chest again, that gooey warmth spreading from behind your ribcage up your neck and to your cheeks at the thought of just how much George cares. About you, about the little things he can do to make you feel better.
He always takes care of you, even if you don't ask. You don't need to ask. George knows what you need without you even having to say a word.
“Georgie, how…” You trail off, at a loss for words. “How’d you know?”
“I got the recipe from your mum the last time we had dinner with your parents,” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She said it was your favorite. That it always made you feel better when you were a kid. I thought it might come in handy for days like these.”
“You asked my mum how to make my favorite meal.” It isn’t a question so much as a statement that confirms what’s already been said. It takes a second time for it to really sink in.
“I did, yeah. It might not be exactly the way she makes it, but I gave it my best go. Give it a try, maybe? Tell me if I did good?”
He watches you carefully as you take a bite, smiling hopefully as you chew. It tastes exactly the same as you remember, and for some reason, it draws up a lump in your throat.
“It’s perfect,” You say softly.
George beams, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. “Thought maybe we could eat and watch the sunset. I know how much you love the pretty ones.” He juts his chin over towards where your dining room table overlooks the Monte Carlo cityscape, and you follow his line of sight to see it already set up with place settings and candles.
The sun is just starting to go down, blues and pinks and oranges all swirling together into a beautiful view over the water. George is right. You’re a total sucker for a good sunset, and this one is absolutely gorgeous.
You don’t even notice the tears welling in your eyes until George does.
“Oh goodness! Are you crying?” He asks, borderline frantic. He’s quick to fold you into another hug just in case he’s upset you, when in reality the opposite is true. These are happy tears, grateful tears, what did I ever do to deserve you tears. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”
“No. No, it’s perfect,” You say again, smoothing your palms over his shoulders. He lets out a visible sigh of relief. “George Russell, you are such a cheesy romantic.”
George laughs, something clear and bright, your favorite sound in the world. “What can I say? You just bring it out in me.”
“I love you,” You murmur, voice muffled into the fabric of his sweater. His lips press into your hairline to drop a kiss there. “Thank you for all this.”
“It’s the least I could do to put a smile back on that lovely face of yours.”
“What, this old thing?” You joke, beaming up at him. You’re not looking for a kiss, but he gives you one anyway, and hey—who are you to deny either of yourselves the pleasure?
“Prettiest face I’ve ever had the privilege of making smile again.”
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