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]
God I LOVEEE leaving comments on fics and having the writer ramble back at me about stuff and things!! Like YES please tell me about all your niche research you did and why you chose xyz!! I will be here like:
The Braking Point (gr63) | FIFTEEN (George's Version)
Series Masterlist
↳ A/N A lot happened after chapter fourteen that it wouldn't be fair to only show you Josefine and Henrik's aftermath. Arguably, George and Ivy's is just as important, if not more. This is not a necessary read for the plot as this is just an added blurb, but definitely is an emotional addition.
↳ 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: 7709
“It’s not like he’s even your real dad!”
The second those words left Henrik’s mouth, George felt the air being yanked from his lungs. Had he heard correctly? Had Henrik just said the words that he had been keeping under lock and key for a decade? If he hadn’t been so shocked, maybe he would have managed to deflect or to wrongfully deny it or in any way diffuse the situation. Instead, he was stricken into silence.
Ivy turned upon him with a face of pure confusion. Somehow, as much as he wanted to say something, anything, the words had abandoned him. His silence spoke wonders and he watched as his daughter’s face scrunched into a flicker of disbelief, of hurt and betrayal, and she let out the tiniest huff as if choking back tears before she ran off towards the parking lot.
George could feel the way everything was crumbling right before his eyes, shattering into pieces and bursting into flame and falling through his fingers faster than he could stop it. His breath shuddered as he watched his daughter run off down the paddock alley as if his feet had been nailed in place.
And then realization settled over him, a sudden understanding of where Henrik had pulled his words from. George’s head turned slowly towards Josefine. She was already looking at him.
Eyes wide and lips slightly parted, eyebrows creased just the slightest amount in the middle as if in silent plea; she looked guilty in every sense of the word. A brief glance was enough. George had seen enough. She had taken his biggest secret, the thing he had entrusted with her wholeheartedly, and told it to her son…a boy who was barely old enough to understand the meaning of a secret yet alone the weight of the one he held.
George couldn’t stomach another second there. Without a word, he turned away and headed after Ivy.
His pace was brisk as he headed through the narrow alleys between the tents that made up the karting pits, glancing every which way to try and spot her. It certainly helped that the race was still on going, leaving most of the area vacant with everyone busy watching the last few laps. Reaching the parking lot, George skimmed between the tightly parked cars and headed towards his own, assuming she would have gone right there. When he found his G63 perfectly alone, he halted.
“Ivy?!” he called out worriedly with a 360 glance around the parking lot. Even he could hear the slight tremble in his voice. He wanted to find her, to make sure she was safe, but what state was he going to find her in when he finally did? This was a conversation he wasn’t ready to have…one that he anticipated never having.
Continuing on to the end of the grassy parking lot, he finally found her at the very edge of the property where the shrubbery divided the circuit from the farmland beyond. She was still in her race suit, half unzipped, sitting right at the base of the shrubbery as if willing it to swallow her into its branches. Her knees were pulled to her chest and her arms were wrapped around her legs, hiding her face in her arms, the wind taking the frazzled post-race flyaways from her light brown hair around her head like a clumsy halo.
Upon spotting her, George slowed to a stop and, for a second, just stared at her. His sweet, brave girl, curled in on herself like she felt so incredibly small.
“Poppet…” he said gently.
At the sound of his voice, Ivy lifted her head from her arms. Her eyes were red-rimmed and shimmering with tears that streaked down her flushed cheeks and when she looked at him, she didn’t soften. For the first time, genuinely, she looked at him and her expression hardened. In an instant, she sprung to her feet.
“Go away!” she shouted and went to dart past him.
“Ivy,” George reached for her, quickly managing to grab her arm before she could escape, “Ivy, please.”
“No! I don’t want to talk to you!” she sobbed as she thrashed under his grip, “Let me go!”
His grip faltered for just a second, not wanting to restrain her but also not wanting to let her run from him again. When he let go of her arm, she dramatically yanked it back with a stubborn grunt and turned away from him. For a moment, he was sure she was going to run.
“Alright, okay,” he said, voice unsteady and half-panicked, “Alright…we don’t have to talk. You don’t have to talk. Just…stay with me.”
She stilled, but only barely—her chest heaving, eyes wild and searching for an escape that wasn’t there anymore. George dropped to his knees in front of her to be at her level but he didn’t risk touching her, not even when another heavy tear dripped down her cheek and he so desperately wanted to wipe it away and pull her into his arms. His girl.
Ivy wasn’t looking at him. Her arms were folded tight across her chest and her gaze was down-turned, staring at the grass and how it seeped into the knees of George’s light wash jeans. He was patient, kneeling there, not caring how long it took. If his presence was grounding for her, reassuring, he would stay there for days.
Finally, worn thin, Ivy spoke, a broken sound catching in her throat, “He said—he said you’re not my—”
George didn’t hesitate, “I am. I am your dad.”
“No, are you actually for real?” she pressed.
And her eyes met his and George could see the desperation in her gaze, the hurt and confusion and need for the truth.
“I, uh…” George swallowed and looked out across the packed parking lot they were hidden behind, like admitting this to her while looking into her eyes was too much to bear. But he owed it to her…and, God, he’d do anything for her, no matter how much it hurt. So he looked at her again and told her softly, “I am not your biological dad…no.”
The sound she made was somewhere between a gasp and a sob and she shouted at him almost loud enough to echo across the countryside, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re not my real dad?!”
The anger in her words bit him deep. A myriad of memories flashed through his mind of the last ten years, all the ways that she was his and he was hers, right from that very first day. She was upset and trying to come to terms with this news, he understood that, but it was so hard to watch her process this. To watch her look at him like he was a horrible person.
With all the stability George could muster in that moment, he kept her stone gaze and replied seriously, “I am your real dad, Ivy. From that first day I held you, I was yours.”
“You just pretended this whole time!” she protested loudly.
“I know, Poppet! I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t think there was any reason to tell you. To me, you have always been mine. One hundred percent my girl.”
“No, I’m not!”
“You’re allowed to be angry with me,” George said, “I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you from the very beginning.”
“Why didn’t you?” Ivy asked, her anger melting around the edges with a small sorrowful hiccup.
“Because I didn’t want you to feel like you didn’t belong…with me or our family. Because I was selfish and I thought that it was the right thing to do, to spare you the hurt of knowing. Because my heart just always felt like you were a part of me from the very beginning anyways. You are my daughter, Ivy Jane. In every possible way that matters.”
Ivy shook her head, tears spilling over again as she desperately tried to blink them away.
“Then why him?”
George frowned in slight confusion, “What? Why who?”
“Henrik,” she said, her voice cracking, and she wiped at her face angrily, “You’re always with him. You’re always helping him and looking at him and I just—”
She dragged in a breath, like she hated what she was about to say.
“I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to share you.”
Realization settled over George like a weighted blanket. The past months and especially the past few short weeks where she never seemed to leave his side, how she interjected at any given moment with a thought of her own, how she took everything to heart more than usual. How everything increased tenfold since she found him and Josefine in the kitchen during her birthday party, like she was on her best behaviour as if needing to prove something to him. George wanted to curse. Josefine was right. Ivy wasn’t okay. How could he have been so dense about his own daughter? Not being able to see what was right in front of him.
“Ivy,” George said, a little firmer now, with a small shake of his head, almost in disbelief, “You think I was ever choosing between you and him?”
“I thought you were replacing me,” she blurted out behind a trembling bottom lip.
“Replacing you?” he repeated, quieter now. His eyes were all over her face as if he were trying to read every minute flicker of her expression, desperate to know what had been plaguing her for months on end. Everything that he had been too ignorant to see.
“Yeah. You don’t need me if you have him,” she insisted. Her words were laced with a twinge of self-deprication that was unlike anything he had heard from his self-assured daughter, “You can just…give me back.”
The words hit him harder than anything else she’d said. It was as if she had taken a knife and driven it into his chest right there on the outskirts of the grassy parking lot. His breath halted in his lungs as the ache stretched itself across his chest and squeezed his heart.
“Ivy Jane Russell,” George said softly but oh-so-seriously, finally reaching forward to gently grasp her arms to insist upon the earnest truth of his next words, “I chose you once. And I choose you every single day after that. There is no one on this Earth that could ever come close to you.”
Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears and her words came out in a rush before her emotions took her over, “I only want you to be my daddy.”
And then she was throwing herself at him and George caught her so easily, pure unbridled instinct. He wrapped her up in his arms and cradled the back of her head with a comforting hand so she could feel the squeeze of his sincerity all around her, the solidarity of his presence.
He scrunched his eyes closed as he held her, swearing through the tremble of his own words, “I am! Oh, I am, my love. I always will be and nothing will ever change that. You hear me? Nothing and no one will ever take me from you.”
“Promise?” she whimpered into his shoulder.
“I promise,” George croaked out. He couldn’t hold back his own tears that dripped down his cheeks and all he could do was hold her a fraction tighter.
Even when he slipped off his knees to sit entirely on the grass, Ivy just moved with him, letting him cradle her on his lap like she was a toddler again, crying in her father’s arms. And George cried right along with her.
He wasn’t sure how long they sat there together but long enough that the track went quiet as the race ended and the sun rested low enough in the sky to streak golden light across the grass. The cars in the parking lot started to vacate slowly and George took that as their cue. His grip loosened around his daughter and he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before wiping his eyes and looking down at her.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke, “Reckon we should…go pack up? Head home?”
Ivy nodded but didn’t make a move to escape his embrace right away. He didn’t rush her. Rather, seeing how she still found comfort in him meant more than he knew how to express.
Eventually, she untangled herself from him and he helped her to stand before rising himself. Neither of them spoke on their walk back to their pit tent, taking the moment of silence to process all that had happened. It wasn’t all solved now, George knew, but it was a start. The first step of many. Ivy walked close at his side, matching his pace, a reassuring presence that maybe this would be okay.
When they entered the tent, Henrik’s side of the garage was already packed up and his belongings were gone. George wasn’t quite sure if he appreciated that they left quietly or if it angered him further; as if they had upended his family and then disappeared without so much as an apology. But he didn’t speak to it as he focused on getting Ivy’s things together.
The mechanics helped them wordlessly, and George could tell they were sharing silent glances in confusion. Something had happened between the four of them—they just didn’t know what. It wasn’t their place to ask, they knew, and George wasn’t about to tell them.
While the mechanics took care of the final kart packdown, George helped Ivy out of her race suit and boots and into her street clothes. She was so shaken and upset, still trembling with emotion, that she could hardly get herself changed on her own. She didn’t put up a fight when George stepped in to help. A week ago, she would have.
She sat there in her favourite purple hoodie, shivering as he tied her sneakers. It was the middle of summer and certainly not cold in the slightest but the adrenaline that had coursed through her and its subsequent drop-off was leaving her unsteady. When George stood up, he pressed a kiss to her head.
“Come on,” he said softly, “Let’s go home.”
Ivy tensed at the word home and raised her eyes up to his in silent challenge.
He sighed at her look and added quietly, “It is your home, Poppet. According to me and to the government of the United Kingdom.”
She sniffled and stood from her chair, lifting her bag from the ground at her feet to sling over her shoulder.
George said his goodbyes to the mechanics and wrapped up the weekend with them for a few final moments before they were good to go. They would take care of the disassembling of the tent and karting equipment as always. Then, George placed a gentle hand at her back, guiding her forward towards the car. She dragged her feet with every step like home didn’t feel as certain as it had that morning.
When she climbed in the front seat, her bag was tossed into the back without so much as a look. George closed the door behind her and, for just a moment, stood in the momentary solitude and took a breath. It felt like this was all some awful dream that he wasn’t going to wake up from and it wasn’t even over yet. There was still a two hour drive home to face.
Out of habit, as he walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side, he pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans to check his notifications. The text waiting for him from Josefine momentarily stopped him in his tracks.
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.
Something close to fury burned in his chest, fueled by the unmissable sting of betrayal. He was, yet again, reminded of how he had confided in her with his deepest secret and she turned around and shared it with a child. And now look where he was. With a scoff and a shake of his head, he locked his phone and then yanked open his car door.
Ivy didn’t even look up as he climbed in, curled up in her seat with her body facing away from him. For a moment, the two of them just sat in silence, side by side in the car. They had a long drive ahead of them and George knew it wasn’t going to be an easy one. With a tight breath, he tried to push Josefine’s untimely text out of his mind and, instead, turned the key in the ignition and let the engine rumble to life.
“Ready to go home then?” he asked.
Ivy didn’t answer, just staring out the passenger side window with her arms crossed over her chest.
George didn’t want to push her and so he simply put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. The drive was quiet for the first few minutes with nothing but the odd tick of his indicator or the anxious tapping of his thumbs against the steering wheel.
After a while, Ivy broke their silence, “Why did you sponsor Henrik?”
The sudden question and the subject of it took George by surprise. He didn’t particularly want to be talking about the mother and son who just threw them for a loop that afternoon, that turned his structured family into something unbelievably fragile. He stole a brief glance at her as he drove, “Why did I sponsor Henrik?”
“Yeah, like…” Ivy sniffled and shifted in her seat, still focused out the window at the passing countryside, “It was always you and me and then suddenly I wasn’t good enough and you needed another driver or another kid or something.”
“Firstly, I don’t need another kid.”
Ivy scoffed.
George chose to ignore it and continued, “And I had been thinking about opening up a sponsorship spot for a few months and when I saw Henrik race, and that he was in need of extra funding, it felt right.”
“Who cares?”
“Because I like to think I can use my money for good in this world, Poppet. Wealth feels more satisfying to your heart when it's shared with those who don’t have it.”
“So he was a charity?”
“No, Ivy. That’s rude. You don’t call someone—”
She cut him off sharply, “Was I a charity too? Is that why you adopted me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I don’t get it!” she finally turned to face him from the passenger seat, arms still firmly crossed over her chest, “If I’m your favourite and your only, then why did you need to sponsor another driver? Other than doing good with money.”
George sighed, “You know Granddad had to work extremely hard for me to be able to get through karting when I was a boy. It really hurt our relationship, put pressure on him and our family…it wasn’t easy. I saw a lot of that in Henrik’s situation and I wanted to help. I didn’t want to suddenly take him in as a second child or anything. This was all professional.”
“Until you kissed his mom.”
If George could have smacked his head off of the steering wheel he would have. Thankfully—somewhat—Ivy didn’t bother waiting for a response and she continued on with yet another question:
“Does Nanny and Granddad know? About me?”
“Yes. And your aunts and uncles.”
She gaped at him, “Everyone?! Everyone was lying to me?!”
“No one was lying to you, Ivy Jane.”
“Yes, they were!”
“Can we…can we pause this conversation until we get home?” George sighed heavily.
With a frown, Ivy slumped back in her chair and turned out the window once more. As silence settled over the car again, George—foolishly, for a moment—thought that he would get his wish for a quiet drive.
Instead, only a few moments later, Ivy spoke dully, “It’s your home, not mine.”
George’s shoulders slumped.
He sighed, “Ivy…”
“It’s your house and you just…took me there one day.”
“I understand that it feels like that right now,” George started patiently, “but I promise, it is just as much your house as it is mine. It’s your house and always has been.”
“Without my permission.”
George exhaled slowly.
“Everyone is first brought to a home without their permission after they’re born. You were a baby.”
“You know what I mean.”
George lifted one hand from the steering wheel to rub his fingertips over his forehead with an exasperated, “I don’t know what you want me to say here, Poppet.”
“It’s not fair!” she finally turned to look at him, her flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes staring at his profile as he drove. He could feel her glaring at him. “I didn’t even get a choice! What if my real parents were nicer or better or…or not liars!”
Her voice broke over the last few words. George’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and he desperately tried not to show how much her words hurt. She was trying to hurt him; it was her youthful ignorance that was bubbling through now, coming through in the naive way she knew how at that age.
So he chose his words carefully, “Whoever left you with the Agency that night was kind enough to know that you deserved a better life than they could have given you. I like to think you have a pretty nice life because of their decision, Ivy.”
“With a daddy who’s a dirty rotten liar!” she snapped sharply.
“You have wanted for nothing. Not once.” George’s response was firm, “I have provided you with everything you could have asked for because I wanted my daughter to have the best. You do not know what it is like to be from a harsh home. You do not know what it is like to struggle. And, God, I hope you never do. Raising you as I did, raising you to believe that you are my daughter, was not lying.”
“Yes, it was!” Ivy cut in loudly.
“No,” George said right back, “It was the truth. And if that was my only shortcoming as a parent then, fuck, I don’t know what else I was supposed to do.”
Ivy flinched slightly at his curse, eyes wide in surprise at the rare occurrence and the sincerity in his stern tone that came along with it. He didn’t even spare a glance at her as he focused on the road but the tight set of his jaw and firm grip of his hands gave indication that he wasn’t messing around. Even still, Ivy was hurt and confused and pushing all she could.
It was as if this was a challenge and he was her biggest enemy. Like he had something to prove and she was desperate to catch him out.
She pointed a finger at him across the centre console, “What was my name then?”
George didn’t answer right away. His throat felt like razors. He hated having this conversation and he especially hated having it in the car of all places. He exhaled.
“See? You don’t even want to say it!” Ivy shouted.
“You didn’t have a name,” George replied quickly, firmly. He hated that he could feel his patience wearing thin but he was at the end of his rope. His voice was a little louder now, a little desperate for her to hear him, to understand, “You were six days old and you hadn’t been given a name. The only name you’ve ever had—the only one that’s ever been yours—is the one I gave you. You have only ever been Ivy Jane Russell.”
For a moment, it went quiet, almost as if Ivy hadn’t expected that answer.
George couldn’t hold back the ragged inhale that he pulled to try and keep the tears from falling. He thudded the heel of his palm against the steering wheel, trying to keep himself together. Ivy just stared at him from the passenger seat.
“You’ve always been a Russell. Always been my daughter.” George muttered. He sniffled back his forming tears and swallowed the tightness in his throat.
“So I was nothing before you then, huh?” her words were venom, hurt and confusion making for a toxic mix and settling potently in the air around them. “You just picked me and made me into who you wanted me to be like I’m just some little dolly.”
George swore his heart was going to give in. How much more of this could he take?
“Ivy…” he croaked out, voice quivering, not daring even a glance in her direction because he knew it would break him. He blinked away the dampness that weighed down his lashes, trying to keep the road ahead in focus and not wanting to crumble completely in front of her. Not here. “I can’t—just…please.”
Ivy was next to shouting at him now, her voice shrill and echoing through his car and rattling between his ears—challenging, challenging, challenging, over and over, wanting to see how far she could push him until he said something incriminating, “Would you have still picked me if you knew what I’d be like?”
George was at his breaking point and he slammed the heel of his palm against the steering wheel and shouted back, his voice quivering, “Yes! No matter how much you scream at me or misbehave or push me away or…or anything! I will always choose you and I will always love you!”
Ivy—for once—didn’t reply. Instead, she just sat there in the passenger seat, staring at him as the seconds ticked by. George braved a breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the way her face crumpled. She dragged her sleeve across her face, like she could scrub the emotions away, but the tears kept coming anyway. And then she turned sharply toward the window and pressed her forehead against the glass, her shoulders hitching as she tried—and failed—to keep quiet.
Neither of them spoke the rest of the way home. George didn’t even ask if she wanted to pick up a treat for dinner; he just took it upon himself to stop at their local McDonald’s drive through on the way in. God knew he needed a cheat day more than anything. He didn’t even have to ask her what she wanted; it was always a chicken nugget happy meal with a Fanta.
Even as Ivy cradled the bag of fast food on her lap, she kept her head slumped against the window, teary eyes blinking through the flicker of street lamps as they drove towards home. The anger seemed to come in waves as she processed the life-altering information she had been told that afternoon. The yelling in the car turned into uncontrollable crying once they reached home.
They sat on the living room couch with the intention to eat, until Ivy ended up crying herself dry in his arms while her chicken nuggets went cold. It was whiplash worthy, really. How she was desperate to find comfort in her father whom, only moments earlier, she was ready to curse the existence of. George would never, ever turn her away. He held her close and rubbed her back and didn’t speak, letting his presence soothe her as she poured her emotions out until they dampened the fabric of his shirt.
He was just so, so tired.
It felt like it was her first week home with him all over again, when she was a newborn and he was a clueless first time dad. He couldn’t recall how many nights they would spend in that same corner of the couch, Ivy wailing in his arms as he cradled her and comforted her and desperately tried to soothe her and wondered if he was failing as a dad. Ten years later and what had changed?
God, only a few months ago he was sitting on that same couch with Josefine and telling her his closest kept secret. Little did he know then that telling her would be one of the biggest regrets of his life. He turned his face into Ivy’s frazzled hair and took a breath.
George hardly recognized his voice when he whispered into her hair, “You have to eat something, Poppet.”
His fingers were drawing curling shapes over her back in that way that always soothed her. Ivy sniffled and rested her cheek on his shoulder so she could peek over at the coffee table where their plates of fast food were now cold. She was always very disciplined about what she ate—always wanting to eat well to perform well—but she was still a ten-year-old at the end of the day and she was always a sucker for a chicken nugget treat. It was serious when she didn’t excitedly jump at the opportunity for a Happy Meal.
“A few bites…and then we can go upstairs and have a proper snuggle if you want?” George bartered carefully as if he were poking the bear with such an offer.
Thankfully, emotionally exhausted Ivy only nodded.
Once untangled, they both picked at their meals unenthusiastically. He, too, didn’t have the appetite to eat much. He ate what he could of his hamburger to set a good example, feeling Ivy’s eyes on him, watching and observing as she mirrored him with her own timid bites. The half finished plates were left in the living room.
It had been at least a few years since Ivy demanded to be carried but, that evening, when she held up her arms to her father, he couldn’t even dream of denying her. She was much heavier now than she used to be but he carried her all the way upstairs regardless, taking it step by slow step and savouring the feeling of her arms around his neck and her weight against him.
Somehow, in only a blink, the anger came back around like the tides. In her room, George had barely pulled out a fresh pair of pyjamas from her wardrobe when she started up again with the screaming and the accusations. He desperately tried to keep himself calm even as she threw things at him and had a proper fit until, finally, she stormed into her ensuite bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, George cursed under his breath and then slumped back against her desk. Would this day ever end? It felt like weeks ago they had been at the karting track, preparing for the race, when it had only been a few hours at most. Time felt obsolete when you were fighting for your family, your child.
George left Ivy to her privacy in her bathroom, understanding that some time alone to process might do her some good. It also would do him some good too, he was sure. In the eerie quiet of his bedroom, as he got himself changed into his pyjamas and washed up, it felt like his ears were ringing. After spending so many years in motorsports, in garages, trackside at races, he wasn’t a stranger to loud noises, but maybe the emotional weight that came with this hours long screaming match felt all the more striking.
When he emerged from his ensuite, he found Ivy already sitting in his bed, tucked up under the covers right to her chin and blinking up at him with red-rimmed teary eyes. He could have melted on the spot.
“There’s my girl…” he cooed softly as he pulled back the covers to join her.
Right away, she was scooting closer and snuggling up with him, resting her head on his chest, right over his heart. George kissed the top of her head and threaded his fingers through her hair at the nape of her neck, trying to massage away her stresses. He didn’t push her to talk, just allowing her to gather her thoughts and be comforted by him for as long as she needed.
After a moment, Ivy spoke timidly, “I…wanna ask questions.”
“Of course,” George acknowledged, “I will give you as many answers as I can.”
Ivy sniffled and shifted under the blankets before settling again and steeling herself enough to ask her first, “Who are my, uh…the, uh…the people who gave me away?”
“We don’t know,” George answered gently, “They didn’t leave anything with you when they dropped you off at the Agency that told us.”
“So we won’t ever know?”
“It is very unlikely. At least for the time being."
Selfishly, George wanted to tell her that it was impossible and that there was no way. The concept of her finding her biological parents and leaving him in the dust was a reality he never wanted to face, one he never wanted to risk. Ultimately, he knew, it was her decision. Maybe one to make when she was a little older, but her decision nonetheless.
Ivy processed his answer for a moment before asking a followup, “So we don’t know if I look like them? Like…whoever they are?”
“No, we don’t. But everyone tells me you look like me.”
George leaned away from their embrace a little to look down at her and she turned her face towards his. They just stared at each other’s tear-streak, sullen faces for a moment. It was true, really. A little frightening just how much Ivy could pass as biologically his. If you didn’t know, you never would have suspected. It truly was a match made in heaven.
As she stared at him, her bottom lip trembled a little and her voice came out shakily, “It really hurts, Daddy. I want to be a part of you for real.”
George gently swiped some stray hairs out of her face, “You are always a part of me, my darling. You are the biggest and most important part of me.”
She sniffled and blinked at him.
“There is an Ivy sized tattoo on my heart,” George said lightly and gently tapped her nose.
“Not for real,” she protested in a mumble.
“Feels ‘for real’ to me,” George promised.
Ivy settled her head back down against his chest and tucked her arm around his middle, snuggling up, safe and warm, in his embrace. His fingers kept playing with the ends of her hair and through the roots, letting her accept the quiet, to think through it.
After a moment, she asked in a whisper, “When did you first see me?”
“Do you want me to tell you the story?”
She nodded against his chest.
“Alright,” he tightened his arm around her as if to draw her closer, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to her head before he began, “Well, you know I was fostering for a few years so the Agency knew me really well. When they had this baby come in, they thought I might be the perfect choice for an adoption and so they called me up to ask. I was really scared because I had only fostered kids around your age…never any babies. I always knew I wanted a baby of my own, but I never thought I would have the opportunity.
“But something inside me kept pulling me towards saying yes. It was like my heart was already giving me an answer before my brain. I hadn’t even properly agreed yet and I already went out that same night and bought a cot and a change table and everything…built it all in the middle of the night, just in case my brain caught up on the ‘yes’.”
Ivy actually giggled. It was very faint but there and George gave her a little squeeze.
“Sounds like you,” she stated.
He smiled and continued, “So first thing in the morning, I knew I had to meet this baby who had already been keeping me up all night with just the thought of her. So I went down to the Agency and they brought out this tiny little bundle and placed it in my arms.”
George caught the break in his voice and he took a second to compose himself, pressing his nose to the top of her head.
And then he continued, “And there you were. And I just knew from the second I looked at you that you were mine. That I was meant to be your daddy.”
“Was I tiny?”
George smiled, “So tiny. And so perfect. I think you were only four or five days old…and you fit right in the crook of my arm.”
“And then your brain said ‘yes’ with your heart?”
“Yeah…didn’t need much convincing,” George chuckled, “We had our first cuddle and I got to feed you a bottle and talk to you…and within an hour I had all the papers signed and you were coming home with me. To our home.”
Ivy’s nervous fingers played with the neckline of his t-shirt, fiddling, processing.
“And it was just you and me for almost a whole week until I finally brought you up to Nanny and Granddad’s for a visit. Just you and me. I didn’t want to share you with anyone at first, even while you were keeping me up all night crying and pooping and guzzling formula.”
Ivy smiled softly, “You didn’t want to share me? Just like I don’t like to share you now.”
“That’s right,” George chuckled softly, “Guess we’re more alike than we think, hm?”
Ivy hummed faintly against his chest, her fingers still absentmindedly playing with the fabric of his shirt.
“But you know,” George added after a moment, his voice quieter now, “it’s not really about sharing.”
She stilled slightly, eyes flicking up to his, “It’s not?”
He shook his head gently, pressing another soft kiss to her hair, “No. No one’s taking me away from you, Ivy. Not now, not ever. You don’t have to fight for me like that. I’m already yours.”
That seemed to settle something in her. Her hand relaxed against his chest, the tension slowly leaving her small frame.
George spoke softly into her hair as his fingers dancing along her back helped to soothe her even more, “I wasn’t assigned by nature and the universe to be your dad, but the stars crossed in all the right ways so that I could choose you. Out of everyone in the world—all the other baby girls in need of a home and a family—I only wanted you. I will only ever want you.”
Ivy’s voice was growing heavy with exhaustion, “I love you, Daddy.”
And George could have melted right then and there. With a shaky voice, he replied so easily in a whisper laced with promise, “I love you forever, my Ivy.”
He felt her fading in his arms, her hand going still against the collar of his shirt as sleep took her, her body giving up its long winded fight. It had been an incredibly emotionally draining day for the both of them and a good sleep was something she desperately needed. George stayed just like that, holding her close, watching over her, long after she’d drifted off—like if he let go too soon, the world might come and try to take her from him again.
In the quiet stillness of the night, backed by nothing but the soft sounds of Ivy’s breathing, George’s mind drifted back through the tumultuous day. Outside of his concern for Ivy—replaying all of their arguments and tears and pleading words—his mind settled back on the image of Henrik and Josefine outside of the pit tent, standing there in stunned silence after Henrik let slip the secret that changed everything.
George wasn’t mad at the boy, that was easy enough to deduct. Henrik was only that—a boy—and likely had not enough of experience and forethought to have understood to keep such a thing to himself. Especially under the pressure Ivy was pushing onto him. Looking back at the moment now, George sighed out loud. She was really grating on him. She had been for a while. It only made sense that Henrik would snap like that after keeping his mouth shut for months, desperate to dish it back to her in any way he could.
The problem was, he shouldn’t have had that secret as ammunition in the first place.
For the first time since they met, when George thought about Josefine, he was filled with anger. He lay there in his bed, snuggling his sleeping daughter, and dreaded the next time he would have to see her.
It wasn’t easy for George to trust someone new and it hadn’t been for decades. Having had such a public fronted and illustrious career meant he never knew when women were approaching him for the right reasons…so he always had his guard up. With Josefine, she was so genuine and kind and real. He never felt like there were any ulterior motives with her, always feeling like she understood him more than most given that they were both single parents. Their lives were incredibly different, that was true, but their likeliness came in the form of their respective ten-year-olds and their dedication to them.
But, fuck, the concept that the one person he thought he could finally trust went behind his back and told an unreliable child of all people his biggest secret made him feel sick. That exact reason was why he never married, never let anyone in, why he gave his whole life to fostering and then, eventually, to Ivy. He couldn’t stomach the risk.
Staring at his darkened bedroom ceiling, George blinked away angry tears. He toyed with his options before him; how to cut ties with Josefine without sacrificing Henrik. But it was a mute point. There was no way he could have one without the other. As much as he hated to admit it, there was only one way he could preserve his and Ivy’s fragile wellbeing, and that was to cut off the sponsorship.
He debated this for a while, laying there in his bed with the comfort of his slumbering daughter under his arm, mentally reviewing how he would go about this. He would have to call Josefine and break the news. It would be hard and he really didn’t want to hear her voice or her apologies that would, frankly, mean nothing to him in that moment, but it was necessary.
So, George carefully untangled himself from Ivy and the bedsheets and slipped out of bed. He took his phone with him into the hallway, stealing one last glance at his sleeping princess before closing the door behind him.
By the light of the moon, he stood at the railing at the top of the stairs and dialled Josefine’s number. It rang only twice before she answered it, as if she had been waiting for his call.
Her voice was hoarse and almost a whimper when she greeted him with a meek, “George—”
He steeled himself, “Hello, Josefine.”
She didn’t sound like herself, not totally. She almost sounded like a frightened little girl, trying to piece together words that wouldn’t get her in trouble, “How, uh…is everything…are you holding up…”
George’s jaw clenched at the feeble attempt at small talk and his free hand gripped tight to the railing in front of him. He had to push on, not drag this on longer than it had to, “I wanted to call as I have made the tough decision to forfeit the sponsorship agreement, effective immediately.”
The sound she made was soft but unmistakably there; a whimper, almost. And then came her pleading, “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.”
It was reassuring that she felt remorse, that she was clearly drowning in her guilt. Evilly, George told himself that she deserved to suffer with it. If he felt even an ounce of pity for her, all he had to do was think back to the way his daughter looked at him when she found out his secret and his anger was restored.
And so his reply was simple, “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…”
That was felt right in his heart, the reminder that in doing this, he was breaking a young boy’s chance at his biggest dream. He hated himself for it in the same breath that he knew that it was what he had to do. In his career, he had dealt with many hard questions, tough media interviews, and so he took a steeling breath and put himself back in the media pen, in front of a camera, swallowing back his emotions for the sake of what was right and just, “I wish Henrik the best of luck for the remainder of the season.”
There was no response through the line but he could hear her breathing. She knew it was coming.
He had the last word with a simple, “Good night.”
And then he hung up.
George let out a shaky breath and leaned forward onto the railing, hanging his head for a moment as he composed himself. Self-preservation wasn’t always the easy road but he would do anything for the sake of his daughter.
He returned to his bedroom to find Ivy exactly where he left her, curled up under his bedsheets. He carefully slipped back into bed beside her and she shifted in her sleep to snuggle up close again, as if naturally seeking him out for comfort. With gentle hands, he tucked the blankets up around her and kissed her forehead, whispering in a breath against her flushed skin, “I love you.”
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He's like Sansa Stark who dreamed about King's Landing and who was so loved by her family that she genuinely had no idea how bad it could get once she persuaded her dream
I keep thinking how pissed twig fmc would be at the disrespect her man has to deal with. From his own team no less!
Oooh, I've been thinking about this too!! After Spain, especially, when all of this really picked up in the media/on social media for her to see. I mean, being home with a baby most of the time, she only really gets her news from George himself (plus, she was there for Monaco, so there's that too)
But when he gets home from Spain, he's playing it off really well...like it doesn't bother him. But she is just going off. I have this vision of him standing there in the apartment with her storming around, tidying, whisper-shouting her frustrations at the team [since Laurie is napping down the hall]. George tries to interject with some 'it's okay' 'it doesn't matter' 'it is what it is' but she is not having it.
"It is what it is? No, don't say that shit to me right now. The team not showing up for your 100th race, your podium finish after an incredible weekend and after a tough few weeks, is shitty. That's not 'it is what it is', that's blatant disrespect." as she angrily folds a throw blanket.
George has no real response because, yeah, she's right. And if he thinks about it too much, it does hurt. But he was trying not to think about it so much because he doesn't need an excuse to get distracted, he doesn't want to admit that the team he poured so much into is just tossing him aside. So he says nothing. And he lets her rant. And he listens and he tries to ignore the tightness in his chest.
And finally, "I swear to God, I'm coming with you to Austria next weekend and I'm going to give Toto a piece of my fucking mind. You wanna throw my husband out to the wolves and not hold ownership to your team's fuck ups? Watch me fucking do something about it."
George sighs, "You're not going to fight Toto, love."
"No, because I will."
Sure, she's a trad dramatic and heated with her protective emotions, but it's all coming from a good place and he can't help but smile a little.
"Fully 'Michael Schumacher storming across the pitlane' up in this bitch."
Her saying that finally cracks her firm exterior with a little smirk at her own ridiculousness and George lets out a laugh. And he pulls her into a hug and peppers her cheek in kisses as much as she tries to squirm away to keep her angry edge at the forefront. But she can't stay angry for long in the face of his affections.
George kisses the shell of her ear before whispering right there, "As long as I have you...your support...your unbelievably protective fiery streak...I'll be just fine."
"No, but-"
"I'll be fine."
"I'll talk to them, I'm serious. Just say the word."
"That's not necessary, my love."
"Okay, but I'll be giving them serious angry looks next weekend."
"Okay." George chuckles and buries his face in her neck.
Hi sorry I'm early (because I jump on your notifications) but Mr Saturday lore drop gave me an idea
What if he went live (like webcam live, idk if he does that but let's pretend) and showed his face for the first time !!
Immediately shocked by the wave of donations triggered by the reveal of his beautiful face !!
I LOVEE that omg. I wasn't quite sure how to tackle how he went from anonymous to outwardly showing his face in content and being hosted as a speaker places but this is perfect. This would be the first time he felt truly nervous, I think! So much on the line...suddenly overlapping his real life and identity with such a taboo career.
But the comments on his live when he finally turns on his camera 🤭 got the prettiest smile on his face, the prettiest lil blush. Maybe he's encouraged enough in that live to do a lil live solo show for the audience...and wow now that people can see his expressions when he cums? There's no going back now hehe
I am so curious about “MrSaturday” and his lore and how he came to be in his career 👀🤭
Thank you for sending in a question!! I love love love having a lil chat about my universes and it's nice to know that you guys care just as much too <3
George went to uni for business and through his studies, he realized (like most uni students do) that he needed some sort of job, some sort of income. There was waiting at the campus restaurant or helping out in the library but nothing really appealed to him (or suited his need for flexible hours between studying). In his third year, he met another student in the dorms who was studying photography and she needed a model for one of her projects. She offered to provide him a free lunch if he was willing to be his model. So he accepted.
It was some simple photoshoot in black and white with moody lighting and she even had one of her friends put him in a flowy linen shirt with bell sleeves and topped it off with a bit of eyeliner. George had never debated modeling before, but he was surprised at how much he enjoyed being in front of the camera; of taking on a bit of a creative 'persona' even for just an afternoon. Plus, he was gorgeous and so he found himself on the receiving end of lots of compliments by those who admired the photographs.
So he picked it up some more; offering to be a model for photography students to help them out and only asked for a lunch in exchange. Thanks to his business and marketing degree, he even had put up little ads around campus for his modeling services like a right little professional.
By the end of third year, it felt like the entire photography student body was using him for their projects. There was even a rumour that the photography professors were begging their pupils to pick different models from one another.
It wasn't long until the fine art students caught wind of this guy and by the beginning of George's fourth year, he was paid by the faculty (only pennies, but it was something) to sit as the live model for a few drawing classes. Even as a nude model. Which he surprisingly didn't feel overly embarrassed about, standing in front of a couple dozen art students wearing nothing but his birthday suit. He got some eyes from guys and girls alike but it only seemed to fuel his enjoyment of the job.
Around that time, George saw an ad on the bulletin board in the campus cafe from a real, professional photographer in search for a model. He called the guy up, they had a quick chat, a casual interview, and then by only a snap of his fingers, George found himself hired. He would be paid £400 for an afternoon. A lot for a uni student.
The shoot was...risqué to say the least. George was nude for most of it with only the shiest of props (sheets or books or limbs) covering him, bathed in natural light from the large paned windows of the photographer's home studio. The man was very professional and George was having the time of his life. The camera just ate him up.
The photos were featured in a small art gallery in Norfolk and George went for the opening night in his best suit. Honestly, he was in awe by the shots, how he looked, the emotions captured. He was seeing himself in a whole new light...and feeling nothing but pride when strangers stared at his body and complimented him so genuinely.
A few weeks into fourth year, one of his friends mentioned about selling photos of himself online. He meant it as a joke but George considered it far more seriously. After four years of uni, student debt was wracking up and the do-me-a-favour modeling for students was not paying the bills.
So, George made an account on some well-known website and started with a simple shirtless selfie with his face well hidden. Using his business and marketing studies, prepared his profile the best he could to suit the needs of some hypothetical target audience.
He didn't expect the traction it got. A couple hundred subscribers in a week. And he hadn't even taken his pants off.
For the remainder of uni, he posted a new picture to his subscribers every Saturday; shirtless in bed, after the gym, and sometimes he risked a bit of v-line, a bit of pubic hair, just to gauge the response. And it was always positive. Very positive.
From what he had learned from those photography students over the last two years, he knew how to stage lighting and a composition. There were no grainy, cringey, cheap mirror shots. He was rearranging his lamps and tossing sheets over his laptop screen to diffuse the light and posing properly, always making sure to keep his face out of shot.
He posted his first full nude photo to his couple-thousand subscribers the Saturday after his university graduation. And it just kept coming.
It was staggering, really, how well it was going. He had a consistent income, a reliable audience, and a platform.
George wasn’t ignorant to the ‘bad side’ of the industry but he was determined to do right by it, if this was the path he wished to take. He met with other entrepreneurs and models to gain insight and advice and a better understanding to help boost his own platform.
His solo photos soon progressed into audios which progressed into videos. All written and produced and filmed and edited and posted on his own.
The numbers were climbing, the demand was there. He couldn’t do it all on his own anymore. Eventually, he signed on a manager. Together, they got him onboard with an ethical porn-for-women website; with whom he made his breakthrough as an adult film star.
George learned a lot from the company both on and off camera, incredible insights into the industry and how to create and produce and host guests. Within a year, he parted ways to branch out on his own, to stick to creating his own content for his own audience as he loved the creative freedom that came with the independence.
And he loves the business aspect of it too! Being able to change the narrative over adult film from something taboo into something ethical, if done right. He's worked himself up to being quite a well-known name because of his work in dong just that. Well, also because of his gorgeous body too but... lol
down where it's wetter
Galex, complete, 8k, rated E.
George pinches his nose and sighs. “Alright, so you want what? Him to be a merman?” He leaves as long a pause as he can before the second offering. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. But it’s one of his specialities and Alex knows that. “You to be a human?”
“That one! I want the legs, and the feet and the whole- um. The whole package. With the long bit and the two-”
George wants to die. Alex is cupping a hand in front of his tail like he’s juggling a couple of sea urchins and George wants to die.
(But to be real: there are tentacles. you already know whether or not you're going to read this.)
Many, many thanks to @sorbitoldaddy @onadarklingplain and my beloved @latecomersprivilege for reading this despite me peppering in far too much octopus anatomy. Also spiritually this is in honour of the @f1-pussy-curse-fest, I just couldn't wait until October.
