Hello! My name is Emily, I'm 20-something (but who's counting), and I have been on Tumblr for way longer than I should admit. I am a writer, a passionate history lover, a dedicated full time [and only kind of delusional] George Russell enthusiast, and an avid defender of both Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri.
♡ GR63, LN4, OP81, AA23, CL16, PG10, MV33, NR6 ♡
♡ GR63 Masterlist | Main F1 Masterlist | Misc. Masterlist ♡
I DO NOT DO PART TWOS UNLESS SPECIFIED IN MY A/N.
Please do not ask for part twos unless it is actually paired with a thoughtful, polite, and genuine comment on my original. Please appreciate the original fic properly before demanding more. I am not a machine.
MY BLOG IS A 'WAG FREE ZONE'. PLEASE RESPECT THIS.
I will not be posting, reblogging, or talking about any current or past partners of the drivers, including answering asks that mention their names.
The only exception are the Lilies. Don't ask questions.
Current WIPs:
The Braking Point [GR63, Single Parent Karting Fic]
Members Only [GR63, Adult Film Star AU (m/m & m/f)]
The Way It Goes 🩵 [GR63, Slice of Life Blurbs]
↳ Series Summary: As a single mother, Josefine is used to doing everything on her own. Leaving everything behind to chase her son's karting dreams in England, she dedicated herself wholeheartedly to pushing him through the ranks, no matter the cost...even if it takes everything from her in the process. She knows that nothing is guaranteed and trust isn't easily won, and yet she comes to learn that the biggest lessons may not be found on the track but, rather, in the form of a retired Formula 1 driver and his daughter.
↳ Pairings: SingleDad!KartingCoach!George Russell x Single Mom!OC
↳ Chapter Word Count: 2666
Josefine stared after where George and Ivy had disappeared like this wasn’t real. Like Henrik hadn’t just spilled George’s biggest secret to his unsuspecting daughter in a fit of anger. Like George hadn’t looked at her like she had committed the ultimate betrayal. Like they weren’t now standing in the echoing silence of realization that pressed down agonizingly onto her shoulders until it felt as though her knees were about to buckle underneath her.
In the distance, the karts still on track roared through the summer breeze through the final lap of the race. Josefine barely heard them. Instead, it was Henrik’s shuddering inhale that caught her attention. She turned her attention onto her son instead, torn back to reality by the sound of his breath.
He, too, was staring after where George and Ivy had gone, eyes shimmering with unshed tears and his youthful face stricken in horror. It had been incredibly unlike him to have an outburst like that, to say such things. Even he, too, was stunned by what he had said and the capabilities of his own words. He had been in a pressure cooker for weeks, Josefine knew there was going to eventually be a moment where he would explode. She just never anticipated it would be like this.
“Henrik…” she started, cautious and tentative.
“Mamma.” Henrik exhaled, his words quivering, eyes still fixed on the direction of the parking lot. When he blinked, a tear dripped down his cheek. His inhale was ragged, “Mamma, I didn’t mean to—”
“Come on,” she set a firm hand on his shoulder and turned him away from the direction of the parking lot to steer him into the tent.
There was nothing more to say. Not here. Not like this. They had to go home before they made everything worse.
Josefine barely remembered packing up that day. All she could recall was that she was shaking so badly that it was hard to zip up their bag. Henrik was no help; he had sat himself on a chair in the corner and held his face in his hands as if he were trying to will himself from existence.
Josefine couldn’t deny that she was incredibly upset with him; but, even more than that, she was upset with herself for having trusted her ten-year-old with such a secret. How could she have been so foolish? What had she done? Oh, she felt sick to her stomach.
The mechanics were none the wiser—although they could tell something happened, just not exactly what—and they politely helped her pack up like it was any other Sunday. She couldn’t meet their eyes, couldn’t properly formulate a response. Her fight or flight was in full swing and all she wanted to do was flee. It was not the right time for any more of a fight. They had done enough damage. She knew the last person George was going to want to see when they inevitably returned to the tent was her.
Once they were in the car and back on the M1 towards home, once it was just the two of them, Henrik crumbled into his guilt. It started with a choked back sob that he smothered against his hand as he stared out the passenger side window, as if it were all bubbling up out of him all at once. And it just overtook him. He was in tears the whole drive home and if Josefine wasn’t so in shock over everything, she would have been too.
“I-I’m sorry!” Henrik stumbled out, his words gasping and jagged through his tears.
“Shh…just breathe…” she soothed the best she could, reaching out a hand to set upon his leg in some feeble attempt to calm him. How could she calm her son when she, too, was on the brink of breaking down?
It broke her heart to hear her son so distressed and yet all she could think about was how George was likely thinking the same about his daughter at that moment. Josefine swallowed back the bile in her throat and kept her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. As much as she wanted to jump headfirst into fixing this, she knew she had to tread carefully. There were so many variables now, so many people—the children most importantly.
And Henrik. Who didn’t deserve to have that secret laid upon him at only ten-years-old. Josefine bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
When they finally arrived back at their apartment, Josefine helped to usher Henrik upstairs. His shuddering sobs echoed in the stairwell. In any other situation, she might have worried what the neighbours thought. Instead, her focus was on getting him inside.
The door was unlocked with trembling hands and Henrik toes off his shoes and left them strewn haphazardly across the foyer. Josefine—this one time—didn’t correct him on it. Instead, she slipped his backpack off his shoulders and quietly instructed him to go wash his hands. She just needed a few seconds to figure out what the hell she was going to do next.
With Henrik’s crying coming from the bathroom behind the rush of the faucet, Josefine took out her phone with trembling hands. It had been long enough that a text wouldn’t appear too pushy; but not too long where it would come across like she didn’t care. She had to make it known she was sorry. Whether George accepted it or not would be another story.
The blinking line taunted her as she stared at their text thread. Any words she tried to formulate didn’t feel at all sufficient. Nothing felt right. She typed and deleted and re-typed, trying to put together a string of words that made even a fraction of sense. Coaching her clients on how to own up and apologize seemed easy from behind the desk. Here, now, with her being the one in need of taking ownership, it felt incredibly daunting.
When she heard the sound of the bathroom faucet turn off, she forced herself to send whatever she had last typed; something was better than nothing. Staring at it any longer wouldn’t miraculously change things.
J: I am so sorry, George. I should have handled things differently. I understand if you need space…just know I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.
“Mamma?”
Josefine immediately tucked her phone away and looked up at the sound of her son’s broken voice. Henrik was standing in the entryway to the living room, still in his racesuit tied around his waist and his hands wrung together in front of him, cheeks flushed and eyes red-rimmed. The only thing she had to do was hold out her arms and he scurried over to curl himself against her chest. She cradled the back of his head with a comforting hand, holding him close, letting him burrow himself in her shirt.
“Shh,” she consoled him softly, her other hand rubbing soothingly across his back, “take a deep breath, my boy.”
Henrik hiccuped through his tears, his hands clutching the back of her shirt as he struggled to get his words out. Oh, it broke her heart to see him like that. It broke her heart to think that all of these dominoes fell because of her decision.
Josefine leaned away from his embrace just enough to wipe the tears from his cheeks with the pad of her thumb, breathing deeply to try and get him to follow along with her. Despite how hard it was for the little boy to try and calm himself down, Henrik soon tried to mirror her, pulling in air before letting it all out in trembling exhales.
Finally, he managed to speak, “I-I didn’t mean to say it. It just came out.”
“I know,” Josefine mumbled, wiping his cheek once more.
Looking to the living room carpet with a frown, Henrik muttered sharply, “I wish I didn’t say anything. I wish I kept my stupid big mouth shut.”
“Hey, now,” she tutted, “Do not speak so harshly about yourself. You made a mistake but you are not stupid.”
Henrik curled into her chest again, wrapping his arms around her middle, and Josefine dropped a kiss to the top of his head.
“You are a boy—you are going to make many mistakes, and say many things you wish you could take back in your life, hm?” she spoke softly to him.
“I don’t want him to hate me.”
His words were so quiet, muffled into the fabric of her shirt over her chest where his face was buried, that she almost didn’t catch it. But she did. And, God, she wished she could have reassured him that it wasn’t the case and that George could never hate him; but how was she to know? Emotions were still raw, the situation was dire, and she could still see the way he looked at her like she had committed the ultimate betrayal every time she blinked.
Finally, she found her words carefully, “George could not hate you, Henrik. He may be upset but I cannot imagine that he would hate you.”
Henrik didn’t answer, simply keeping himself nuzzled into her chest. She hesitated, her fingers brushing gently through his hair, somehow a way to soothe not only him but herself as well.
All she could think about was that night when she told Henrik about George’s secret; how he had been so upset and forlorn, how she was only trying to comfort him. She hadn’t meant to tell him the secret maliciously, but rather to express that not all families are born. To explain that George is more than capable of loving a child who was not from his DNA. To explain that Henrik wasn’t less than because he didn’t have a biological dad in his life.
Looking back, she could see now how misguided she was…how wrong. She always prided herself on how carefully she treaded, how particularly she chose her words—something so important in her line of work. Yet, here she was, facing the consequences of her mistakes she couldn’t imagine making, facing the consequences of breaking George’s trust in such a blatant and snide way.
With her son in her arms, Josefine confessed to him softly, “And I made a mistake too. I should not have told you something like that. You were not meant to carry it. I am sorry for putting the weight of it onto you.”
“But I still said it. Me.”
“You do not need me to tell you that it was not nice of you to say what you said. That it was not your right to tell Ivy what you did. It is clear you know very well that what you did was not kind.”
Henrik sniffled and pulled back again to look up at her, his words tumbling out desperately, “She’s not kind to me all the time! I just…I just thought that…I couldn’t hear one more second of it…it was the first thing that I thought of…I didn’t mean to!”
“I know, I know…shh…” Josefine murmured, wiping his cheeks again as more heavy tears dripped from the corners of his eyes and he curled back into her, “I could see how it was all simmering under the surface in you. You are such a kind boy that you never pushed back until it all bubbled up inside you and just exploded, ja?”
Henrik nodded into her chest and gripped tighter onto her shirt.
“You have to learn how to speak up when someone is upsetting you so it does not bubble up like that. You tell them right away.”
Henrik sniffled, “Do you…think she’s really upset?”
Josefine sighed, “Yes…I think she is.”
Henrik’s arms tightened around her and she pressed another kiss to the top of his head.
“We will figure it out,” she murmured, “One step at a time, ja?”
He didn’t answer, but she felt him nod.
Neither of them particularly wanted to stomach eating dinner but they knew they had to; they shared a can of soup and a sleeve of crackers and Henrik finished it with a glass of milk. Neither of them looked at George’s poster on his bedroom wall as Josefine tucked him into bed. In the pitch black room, Josefine stayed with her son as he fell asleep, finding peace in the sound of his breathing.
If it wasn’t for the way her mind was reeling or the sickening guilt that was still eating her from the inside out, she might have fallen asleep right there beside him. Instead, she eventually tiptoed out of his bedroom, closed the door behind her with a soft creak, and collapsed onto the couch with an exasperated sigh. The sun had just set and it had felt like the longest evening of her entire life.
When she picked up her phone, she found that her text to George had been read three hours earlier and left unanswered. Something unsettling churned in her stomach.
The last thing she wanted was to hound him while he was dealing with something so big, so she distracted herself with the television—some boring talk show she barely registered. She hadn’t even bothered to turn the lights on, leaving her in only the illumination of the moon through the open curtains and the flickering light of the television.
By almost ten o’clock, her phone rang.
The sight of George’s name flashing across her screen had her heart in her throat. Without giving herself a second to overthink, she grabbed her phone and answered it.
“George—” she barely managed to croak out. She cleared her throat.
“Hello, Josefine.”
The coldness in his tone made her shiver and she slowly eased back into the comfort of the sofa, cowering under the weight of her mistake.
“How, uh…is everything…are you holding up…” her words felt too big for her mouth, trying and failing to sound normal; just the right amount of compassionate and remorseful without coming on too strong.
George didn’t seem to want to bother with the small talk. In all honesty, it was clear he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk to her at all. Instead, the reason for his call made itself clear to her with ease as his next words came bluntly, “I wanted to call as I have made the tough decision to forfeit the sponsorship agreement, effective immediately.”
Josefine pressed a trembling hand to her lips and forced herself to swallow back the bile that was working its way up her throat. She had known she had made a grave mistake—that she would be owning up for it for the foreseeable future—but this?
“Oh, God, George, please. We are so sorry. I am so sorry. I take full accountability for betraying your trust the way I did. Please, do not take it out on Henrik. Please.”
Her pleas fell on deaf ears. It was clear he had made up his mind.
“My daughter is my priority, Josefine. She is my priority over everything else, and right now, I have to protect her and deal with the damage you and your son have caused.”
“George—”
“You nearly destroyed my family. The trust my child has in me. That is irreversible. Henrik will not be racing with us for the remainder of the season.”
“There are only two races left…”
His reply came in expert calm, dripping in that well-practiced PR training prose, “I wish Henrik the best of luck for the remainder of the season.”
Josefine couldn’t find her voice. She couldn’t find her breath. She knew that anything she said would be a mute point. It was very clear by the tone of George’s voice that his mind had been made up and there was no way to change it. The damage was done.
He had the last word with a simple, “Good night.”
And then the dial tone groaned in her ear in the darkness of the living room. On the television talk show, the studio audience laughed.
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i am genuinely losing my mind because it makes absolutely no sense for him to look this breathtakingly gorgeous????
the way it’s physically painful how attractive he is??? truly what is the purpose of my life if it doesn't involve him and a marriage certificate lol i’m completely done for
*cracks knuckles & neck, puts glasses on & hair up in a bun* alright, so let‘s figure out this cloning business so we can have one george russell to drive the car & one to be the race engineer
hello! ive started reading your writing lately and it’s to die for!! would you consider doing another george x kimi? maybe kimi is a virgin and george is more than happy to give him a good time? thank you so much!!
Hi lovely!! Thank you so much! <3
Although I'm not opposed to considering more requests, that's very very similar to the one I have already posted for george x kimi. If there's an idea that's more standalone for my Members Only AU, then feel free to send! Otherwise, I do offer commissions and that info can be found in my pinned post :)
Standing in the cold winds on the Prince of Wales, Oscar remembered the heat of Lando’s skin more than anything else.
or; in the 1820s, Oscar is sentenced to transportation from London to the British colony of New South Wales. He doesn't believe he'll ever see Lando again.
Click here for the link to the fic on Ao3. (5/5 Chapters.)
Written for @nobrakesdown and @nxlx96. Thank you for the prompts on Discord, where we were doing the prompt challenge a while ago. Cove's and Nini's prompts are how I came up with what is now Chapter 1 and 2, before the fic developed a mind of its own. <3
lando norris/oscar piastri/george russell/alex albon // rated e // 10k words
“It was Lando’s idea,” Oscar admits with a sheepish grin. His cheeks are already dashed through with red, an ever present indicator of his self-consciousness. He appears to consider something for a moment before hurrying to add: “but I’m, uh — fully on board, obviously..”
“Obviously,” Alex can’t quite keep the laughter at bay as he gently mimics Oscar. His eyes catch on Lando lounging on the bed, the picture of practiced unaffectedness. “Should’ve guessed you’d be behind this.”
Or after the Canadian GP, Oscar wants to apologise to Alex. Lando has just the idea.
Dedicated to @raspberry-ribcage and @wedriftlikelonelyplanets for spawning the potential of this in the chaos of the gp chat
"it's ok to show (x) in fiction as long as the bad guy gets punished!" the bad guy doesn't have to get punished. in fact the bad guy can win altogether. the bad guy can entirely get away with it. hope this helps
and this part might make some people's head explode but: characters can be written to forgive things you personally wouldn't ever forgive. not everything is written as what you'd perceive to be the right choice. not everything is a self-insert & protagonists don't have to be relatable.
