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.
how about an smau ablut a driver winning the wdc & proposing to his 'childhood friend' after like getting out of the car and jumping to his team? 👀 everyone thought they were just friends so they get shocked when he proposes
He Said it was Always you - GR63
served with: george russell x fem!childhoodfriend!reader
chef´s note: for years, everyone thought George and you were just childhood bff. So when he wins the WDC, jumps out of the car, ignores his entire team, and runs straight to you—no one thinks anything of it at first. Until he drops to one knee.
f1
liked by georgerussell63, lando, alex_albon and others
f1 BREAKING: GEORGE RUSSELL IS YOUR 202X WORLD DRIVERS’ CHAMPION 🏆
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mercedesamgf1
liked by ynuser, f1, user1 and others
mercedesamgf1 WE ARE WORLD CHAMPIONS 😭💙 GEORGE RUSSELL. YOU DID THAT.
lando yeah yeah congrats but WHY DID HE PROPOSE LIKE THAT??? 😭
alex_albon i’m still processing the fact we were all lied to
charles_leclerc since WHEN were they not just friends????
carlossainz55 bro really said “let me multitask”
lewishamilton proud of you both ❤️ (but we need to talk george)
user1 HE WON THE TITLE AND A FIANCÉ IN 10 MINUTES???
user2 “best friend” btw 💀
user3 toto in the background like 🧍♂️
maxverstappen1 efficient
ynuser sorry guys 🫶
georgerussell63 worth it
lando i’m never telling you anything ever again
alex_albon we need a group meeting immediately
charles_leclerc i feel personally attacked
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The checkered flag drops, and the world turns into a scream.
The radio is a distorted mess of engineers shouting, the grandstands are a sea of waving flags, and the flashes from the photographers are blinding. But for George, the victory—the thing he has chased since he was seven years old—starts to fade the moment he crosses the line. Because he already knows where he’s going.
He doesn't wait for the cooling-down lap to settle. The car is still ticking with heat, the smell of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel heavy in the air, when he wrenches the steering wheel off. His hands are clumsy, shaking with a cocktail of adrenaline and terror as he fumbles with the six-point harness. He needs to get out. He needs to shed the carbon-fiber shell.
When he leaps from the cockpit, the paddock expects the standard routine: the jump into the arms of the mechanics, the weigh-in, the television cameras.
But George runs.
He flies past the outstretched hands of his team, ignoring the shouts of his name and the frantic lenses of the press. He’s running as if the race hasn't ended yet, pushing through the humidity and the noise until he sees the only thing that has ever been real.
You.
You’re pressed against the barrier, eyes blurred with tears, hands trembling against the cold metal. You don’t understand why he’s sprinting toward you—not with the trophy waiting, not with the world watching. He’s always come back to you, but never with this kind of desperation.
"George," you try to choke out, a frantic mix of a laugh and a sob.
He’s gasping for air when he reaches you. He fumbles with his helmet, the strap catching on his fireproof balaclava, his movements frantic until the helmet finally comes off. His hair is a damp, disheveled mess, his cheeks are flushed a deep scarlet, and his eyes are shining with a light that makes your heart stop.
He looks at you as if he’s just won the world—but you realize in that look that the title isn't the prize.
"I did it," he whispers, the words barely audible over the roar of the fans. It sounds like a secret, a private confession in the middle of a riot.
You nod, unable to find your voice, because you know he isn't just talking about the points or the trophy.
His hands find yours over the barrier. His gloves are stained with grease and sweat, his fingers trembling violently against your skin. Then, he smiles—that lopsided, boyish smile you’ve known since you were children sitting on the grass by the karting tracks.
"I told you... if I ever won, I’d do it right."
Your breath hitches. "George, what—"
But the sentence dies in your throat. Because the fastest man in the world suddenly slows down.
Right there, amidst the chaos of the paddock, amidst the blinding camera flashes and the stunned silence of the Mercedes garage, George Russell—World Champion—drops to one knee. He descends slowly, his heavy racing suit crinkling, until his knee hits the grit of the pit lane.
The world seems to shrink until it’s just the two of you and the metal fence between you.
"I've waited my whole life for this," he says, his voice finally breaking. "But not for the title. Not for the car."
He swallows hard, looking up at you with a vulnerability that makes the championship seem small.
"I waited for you."
The world crashes back in: the roar of the crowd, the frantic clicking of shutters, the disbelief of the commentators. But you don't hear a single bit of it. You only see the boy who once promised you impossible things, now standing—kneeling—in the wreckage of his greatest triumph, fulfilling the only promise that mattered.
"Will you marry me?"
You don’t even let him finish the question.
You’re nodding before he can even get the last word out, laughing through the tears as you lean over the barrier to reach him.
"Yes," you sob. "Yes, obviously yes!"
And when he pulls you toward him, lifting you off the ground as if the weight of the world has finally been lifted off his shoulders, the championship becomes secondary.
Because it was always you. It was always going to be you.
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ynuser
liked by georgerussell63, lilyzheimer, alexandraleclerc and others
ynuser i said yes before he even finished the question.
lando nah i’m actually offended 😭 YOU BOTH LIED
alex_albon i introduced you to people as his BEST FRIEND???
lilymhe excuse me??? I DEFENDED YOU TWO 😭
friend1 the biggest plot twist in f1 history
carlossainz55 this is insane but also… respect
rebeccadonaldson i feel like i just watched a movie in real time
friend2 not you two being soulmates this whole time and saying NOTHING
lewishamilton love always wins ❤️ proud of you both
friend3 girl you owe us DETAILS
lilymhe literally when did this start???
ynuser define “start” 🫣
alex_albon NO??? ANSWER PROPERLY???
lando this is not funny anymore
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georgerussell63
liked by ynuser, alex_albon, lando and others
georgerussell63 world champion & marrying my best friend. life’s alright.
lando YOU COULD’VE WARNED US???
georgerussell63 couldn’t risk her saying no
ynuser as if i ever would
charles_leclerc I AM SICK
carlossainz55 we’ve been clowned
alex_albon i feel betrayed
charles_leclerc since WHEN 😭
lewishamilton congrats ❤️
carlossainz55 bro really said double win liked by ynuser
user1 THE FRIENDZONE WAS A LIE????
maxverstappen1 explains a lot actually
user2 oh so this was premeditated on BOTH sides
mercedesamgf1 we are still processing but we are very happy 💙
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lilymhe
liked by ynuser, lilyzneimer, alexandraleclerc and others
lilymhe BRIDE WEEKEND 💍🤍
kikagomes she’s getting MARRIED??? like actually??? 😭
alexandraleclerc we waited YEARS for this btw
ynuser i’m scared of what you all have planned
lilymhe you SHOULD be
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lando
liked by georgerussell63, alex_albon, charles_leclerc and others
lando he’s getting married btw 💀
alex_albon never seen a man so nervous
georgerussell63 i’m not nervous
lando he checked his phone 47 times in 5 minutes
carlossainz55 he misses his wife already
charles_leclerc they’re not even married yet 😭
georgerussell63 she sent me a video and now i’m concerned
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f1
liked by ynuser, mercedesamgf1, georgerussell63 and others
Pairing: Platonic! Max Verstappen x little sister!reader, F1 grid x platonic!driver!Reader
Genre: Chaos, sibling energy, crack, fluff, found family
Warnings: Competitive unboxing, Max pretending not to care, drivers confused by blind boxes
A/N: I know absolutely nothing about Skull Panda except that they are cute and addictive and I know for a FACT Y/N would absolutely get the entire grid involved.
@yukihimetenshi16 reqs: Could you make a Max Verstappen x Reader story where the reader is a Skull Panda fan? I love watching blind box unboxing videos ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾
The paddock learns very quickly that Y/N Verstappen has two main personality traits.
She is terrifyingly competitive on track.
She is completely obsessed with Skull Panda figures.
It starts small.
One tiny figure sitting on the counter in your driver room.
Then another.
Then another.
Then suddenly your entire engineering table has little Skull Panda figures lined up in perfect order like they are part of race strategy.
By Monaco, you have them clipped to your bag.
By Silverstone, you have a special display shelf in the garage.
By Spa, even your mechanics know which ones are your favorites.
And Max?
Max pretends he does not know a single thing about them.
“Why does this one have a tiny umbrella?” Max asks, staring suspiciously at a figure.
You snatch it away immediately.
“Don’t touch her.”
“…You named it?”
“Her name is not important. Her vibes are.”
Max stares at you.
“You are so weird.”
You grin.
“You drove a GT car under a fake name for fun.”
“…Fair.”
Eventually your team decides this obsession is too funny not to use for content.
So someone in media comes up with an idea.
A challenge.
Every driver on the grid—including the rookies—has to go out and buy one random Skull Panda blind box.
Then they all bring them back for one giant unboxing video with you.
The second you hear the idea, you nearly fall out of your chair.
“You’re serious?”
Your media manager nods.
“We already sent the drivers.”
“Oh my God.”
The Shopping Trip Disaster
Not a single driver knows what they’re looking for.
Which makes the footage ten times funnier.
Lando walks into a toy store and immediately looks overwhelmed.
“There are too many tiny people in boxes.”
The employee asks if he needs help.
“I need emotional support.”
Oscar picks the first box he sees.
“Statistically they’re all the same.”
The employee tries to explain the rare figures.
Oscar nods politely.
Still picks the nearest one.
Charles is weirdly invested.
“This one has stars. She would like stars.”
He spends fifteen minutes choosing the “perfect vibe.”
George researches the whole thing beforehand.
He has notes.
He knows the names of the collections.
He arrives with three boxes because he “wanted to maximize the odds.”
You stare at him in awe.
Kimi asks someone in the store:
“Which one would a Verstappen like?”
The employee laughs.
Kimi is completely serious.
Ollie buys one because the box was purple.
“That seems like something she’d enjoy.”
And honestly?
You do.
Then there’s Max.
Max absolutely refuses to participate at first.
“I’m not buying little dolls.”
“Yes you are,” you tell him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Then somehow, two days later, there is footage of Max standing in a shop in Monaco holding two Skull Panda boxes and looking deeply annoyed.
“I still don’t understand what these are.”
The employee asks if he wants gift wrapping.
“They are not gifts.”
The Unboxing Video
Your team sets everything up in the paddock during race week.
There’s a table.
A giant pile of boxes.
And you sitting in the middle already vibrating with excitement.
“This is the best day of my life.”
Max is sitting beside you looking like he regrets every decision that led him here.
First box: Lando.
You open it dramatically.
It’s a cute sleepy figure with stars.
You gasp.
“Oh my God. She’s adorable.”
Lando beams.
“I knew you’d like her.”
“You picked this?”
“No, actually I panicked.”
Oscar’s box is next.
You open it.
Blink.
Then burst out laughing.
It’s one with the most blank expression imaginable.
You hold it up beside Oscar’s face.
The resemblance is terrifying.
Even Oscar laughs.
“That’s fair.”
Charles gets a super pretty rare one.
You nearly scream.
“CHARLES!”
“What? Is it good?”
“IT’S SO GOOD.”
He smiles proudly like he personally handcrafted it.
George’s turn is somehow even worse.
He got the exact one you had been hunting for for weeks.
You stare at it.
Then at him.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”
George looks terrified.
“Is that good or bad?”
“I’m stealing it.”
Kimi’s box has one with little racing goggles.
You immediately point at him.
“You did that on purpose.”
Kimi shrugs.
“I guessed.”
Then finally—
Max’s turn.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously.
“You better not have picked a boring one.”
“I literally just grabbed one.”
You open it.
Pause.
Then slowly look up.
It’s one of the rarest figures in the collection.
The prettiest one.
The one you’ve wanted forever.
The entire room erupts.
“No way.”
“You’re kidding.”
“THAT’S THE ONE?”
You are actually speechless.
Max looks at the figure.
Then at you.
“…Is that good?”
You launch yourself at him so hard he nearly falls out of his chair.
“YOU GOT ME THE SECRET ONE!”
Max is laughing now.
Actually laughing.
“Okay, okay!”
The video goes viral instantly.
Fans love it.
The comments are full of:
“Max pretending not to care but getting the rare one is sibling magic.”
“George did RESEARCH.”
“Oscar picking the one that looked exactly like him is so on brand.”
“Charles choosing based on vibes is killing me.”
And most importantly:
“Y/N Verstappen forcing the grid into her hyperfixation is the best thing to happen to Formula 1.”
By the end of the season, half the grid has accidentally gotten into Skull Pandas too.
Lando has three.
Oscar has one sitting on his desk.
Charles buys one whenever he sees them.
And Max?
Max still claims he doesn’t care.
But when you show up to the paddock one day missing a figure from your collection, he quietly hands you a small box.
synopsis: she’s the voice behind the most unhinged, viral F1 tweets on the internet—equal parts analysis and public menace. What she doesn’t know is that George has been following her account for months, from a private account.
masterlist
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ★ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
tweets liked by gorgeousgeorge63
user - username
WHO IS RUNNING THIS ACCOUNT 😭
user - username
they’re not wrong but they’re also not seeing heaven
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tweet liked by gorgeousgeorge63
user - username
why does every tweet have ONE mysterious like 😭
user - username
bro is LOYAL
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yourusername
liked by f1 and 182,542 users
yourusername great conversations today 🏁
user WAIT YOU’RE HER????
user THE TWEET GIRL???
user 👀⁉
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interview clip - youtube
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tweet liked by gorgeousgeorge63
gorgeousgeorge63 - username
define “exactly”
grid gossip - username
depends. should I be honest or employed
user - username
THEY’RE FLIRTING????
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user - username
I thought you valued honesty
user - username
HE WENT PUBLIC?????
grid gossip - username
maybe george russell isn’t that bad. unfortunately.
george russell - username
I’ll take it
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user - username
TIMING??????
user - username
WHAT DOES THAT MEAN 😭
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george russell - username
please don't
grid gossip - username
make me
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yourusername
liked by georgerussell63 and 1.9M users
yourusername no thoughts. just this & turns out the private account was worse than the tweets, he read EVERYTHING.
georgerussell63 you’re still mean to me online and and liked most of it
Summary: After an exhausting race in Singapore, George is struggling to keep moving. Thankfully, his girlfriend is here to support him, no matter what.
The humidity in Singapore clung to everyone like a second skin. Even though the race was over, the weight of it still pressed down on the paddock. Mechanics moved slowly, voices were tired, applause from the fans outside had softened into scattered murmurs. The sun had set, but the heat hadn’t.
George walked down the narrow path toward the Mercedes garage, helmet under his arm, fire-suit unzipped to his waist. His undershirt was soaked through, sticking to him. Every step felt heavier than the last. His eyes were unfocused, skin pale beneath the harsh paddock lights. Sweat dripped from his jaw in fast, uneven drops.
His trainer, Liam, who had followed him closely since the chequered flag, hovered at his side.
“Mate, how are you feeling? Talk to me,” he said quietly.
George didn’t answer. His breath came in quick, shallow pulls. Too fast. Too uneven. He pressed one hand to his ribs as if trying to steady himself.
Then a voice cut through the steps, the noise, the fatigue.
“George? George!”
Yn ran the moment she saw him. She’d been waiting outside the garage with bottled water and a towel, expecting him to be tired—but not like this.
When she reached him, her hand instantly curved around his arm.
“Sweetheart, look at me,” she said, guiding his chin up gently.
He blinked, dazed. “Hey,” he breathed, barely audible.
“That’s not a ‘hey’ voice. What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“I… I don’t know. Just—just need a minute,” he muttered, though his voice trembled.
His trainer stepped in. “He’s overheating. And he’s been lightheaded since lap twenty. Let’s get him straight to the ice baths.”
Yn nodded once. “George, come with me, okay? We’re gonna cool you down.”
George didn’t resist. He let her guide him, his fingers curling unconsciously around hers as they moved inside the garage. Team members stepped aside without a word, faces lined with worry.
The private area was dimmer, cooler, with two tall white tubs filled with melting ice. Yn and Liam led him between them.
“Alright, big guy,” Liam said softly. “Let’s get you out of this, yeah?”
George tried to lift his arms, but they trembled too violently. Yn stepped in front of him, touching his cheek gently.
“Hey. I’ve got you,” she said.
He nodded, swallowing.
She and Liam unzipped the rest of his fire suit, pushing the thick, heavy fabric down his legs. It was soaked through. His breathing was still too fast—shallow and sharp. His chest rose and fell like he’d been sprinting.
“Sit down,” Yn whispered as she steadied him.
He lowered himself into the icy water with a shaky inhale.
“Oh—God—” he gasped as the cold hit him.
“I know, I know,” Yn murmured. “Just breathe. It’s okay.”
At first it seemed to help—his skin cooled, the flush on his face faded. But then something shifted. His shoulders tightened. His breaths became even quicker, bordering on frantic.
His gaze darted around the room without landing on anything.
“Yn?” he whispered, voice cracking. “I… I can’t—”
His trainer instantly stiffened. “He’s hyperventilating.”
Yn leaned in. “George, sweetheart, focus on me. Look right at me.”
He tried. But his eyes flickered, unfocused, watery.
“Okay, okay,” Liam said quickly. “I’m getting a medic.”
He took off running out of the room.
Yn stayed. She moved closer, kneeling at the side of the ice bath.
“George. Baby, listen to me.” Her voice softened to a feather. “You’re safe. You’re right here with me. Nothing’s wrong.”
But he was trembling, hands submerged in the icy water and turning stiff.
“Yn— I can’t breathe,” he choked out. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. You can. You’re just panicking,” she whispered, leaning over the edge. “You’ve had a day from hell. You pushed too hard. It’s okay.”
He shook his head violently, water splashing over the edge. “I’m trying—I’m trying—but I can’t—”
“Hey.” She reached in, grabbed his hands, and pulled them out of the water. “Give me your hands. Come on.”
His fingers were freezing, shaking uncontrollably. She placed his palms flat against her chest, right over her heartbeat.
“Feel me. Feel my breathing,” she said, inhaling deeply. “In… slow. And out.”
He tried to copy her, but all that came out were quick, sharp gasps.
“I can’t. I can’t do it,” he said, voice cracking into something small and vulnerable.
“Yes, you can.” She leaned in even closer, her forehead almost touching his. “George, listen to me. I’m right here. I promise you’re okay.”
But he was spiraling—chest tight, breaths no longer controlled at all.
His eyes closed like he was fighting tears.
“Sweetheart,” she whispered, brushing a thumb along his cheek. “Look at me. Just look at me.”
His eyes fluttered open, desperate, panicked.
“George,” she breathed.
Then she leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first, as if asking permission. His frozen hands tightened against her chest. A soft exhale left him against her lips. Then he kissed her back—slow at first, then with more certainty, as if he needed her more than air.
His hands slid up to her face, thumbs brushing her jaw, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, long and grounding, melting some of the panic he’d been drowning in.
The world outside the ice bath disappeared—the voices, the garage noise, the heat, the pressure. It was just them.
Just their mouths moving together.
Just the feeling of her lips anchoring him back to himself.
When they finally broke apart, their faces stayed pressed close, breaths mingling, foreheads almost touching.
George blinked slowly, dazed. His breath… had slowed.
He let out a new breath—this one steady. Controlled. Almost normal.
“What… what just happened?” he whispered.
Yn smiled softly, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead with gentle fingers.
“You were holding your breath while kissing me,” she said. “You forced your breathing to reset.”
He stared at her for a long moment, the realization sinking in. His shoulders relaxed. The panic that had wrapped around him loosened completely.
“You saved me,” he whispered.
“I stayed with you,” she corrected. “You did the rest.”
He shook his head. “No. It was you. It’s always you.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Well… I’m glad it worked.”
George swallowed, eyes softening. “I love you.”
She inhaled sharply, her hand moving to cup his cheek. “I love you too. So much.”
Without waiting another second, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. Water sloshed out of the tub, soaking her shirt instantly, but neither of them cared.
She hugged him back just as tightly, her fingers threading into his wet hair. He pressed his face into her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her despite the cold water dripping off him.
“You’re freezing,” she whispered.
“I don’t care. Don’t let go yet,” he murmured, voice muffled against her neck.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, pulling him closer.
A moment later, the curtain to the medical area rustled, and his trainer returned with the medic. They froze in the doorway at the sight—George half-submerged in the ice bath, arms around Yn, face buried against her neck, breathing finally normal.
The medic spoke gently. “Is he okay?”
Yn nodded but kept holding George. “He had a panic attack. But he’s coming down now.”
George lifted his head slightly, still leaning into Yn.
“I’m okay,” he said quietly. “She helped.”
The medic smiled kindly. “Sounds like she did more than help.”
