Valentine (You can call me Valerie) | she/her | INFJ | writer | NSFW + SFW | fluff + angst | fics, headcanons, drabbles, and hints to whatever im working on | I DONT ALWAYS SUPPORT THE PEOPLE/DRIVERS I WRITE ABOUT (EX: a driver’s political affiliation, past actions, etc.) | minors please don’t interact with NSFW content on my account !!!
MASTERLIST |
RULES:
I WONT write anything like incest, scat, bestiality, rape, age-play, pedophilia, cheating (both on reader and character) ౨ৎ
𓇢𓆸
Please be respectful when requesting ౨ৎ i wont fill out requests by order ౨ৎ i don’t want to feel pressured to write a request, so again just please be respectful and understanding ౨ৎ
WHO I WRITE FOR:
HTTYD
Hiccup Haddock III, Astrid Hofferson, Ruffnut Thorston, Tuffnut Thorston, Heather, Dagur, Snotlout Jorgenson, Fishlegs Ingermen, Eret, Queen Mala
I will update this list as I get into more shows/movies/media, if I missed characters/people you are still allowed to request them.
REQUESTING:
Please don’t be vague, I need a plot line— a detailed one so I can make sure you are satisfied with your request. Also for NSFW, be specific!!! If you are vague with your request I won’t fulfill it. DON’T COPY AND PASTE THE SAME REQUEST TO DIFFERENT WRITERS!!! I say this to avoid any accidental plagiarism, and any conflict.
I plan to post 2-3 times a week if possible!
I DO NOT GIVE CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE STOLEN, REPOSTED, CLAIMED AS SOMEONE ELSE’S, TRANSLATED (UNLESS I GIVE PERMISSION), OR CHANGED AND POSTED.
He loved when the two of you would sit on your floor, pretending he was helping with your assignments your professor would assign, only for it to end with your laptop and papers shoved aside and you tangled up with him on the bed… which led to other stuff…
But he also hated the nights when he had to sneak in through your window after patrol, muscles aching from rooftop to rooftop. Even then—you were always on his mind. Your face. God, that face he could stare at for hours and still not understand how he’d ever obtain someone as gorgeous as you. Your body—the one he always pulled close when you napped together. And your scent—that fucking scent he could never get enough of, the one that made him bury his face against your skin and mumble, “Gonna eat you up” before covering your face in sloppy kisses
And here he was now, trying to slip inside your room as quietly as possible. One leg hooked over the sill, then the other, until he landed with practiced ease in the soft dark of your space
Mmmm. That smell again. You. Home. His safe place.
God, he loved it.
His eyes darted to your bed, straining to make out your face. You were turned away from him, which made him frown a little. Still, he didn’t dare wake his sleeping beauty. That’d be a crime.
He shut the window with a soft click—one he always told you to lock. And every time, you’d whine back, “But I need to know when you come in, Dickie!”
He smiled at the memory. At you. At every silly little nickname he’d earned from you
He tried to squint, his blue eyes adjusting to the near-darkness of your room. The only light was the faint glow of the moon through your curtains, silver spilling across your floor in soft patches
Carefully, he placed one foot in front of the other, moving slow—too slow, really—toward the door. He didn’t like the thought of climbing straight into bed with you after patrol. Not when he’d spent the night fighting Gotham’s filth, running through alleys and blood, touching nothing but evil. You were too pure, too untouched. Laying down next to you like that? Nope. It would feel wrong
He made it to the door, his gloved hand curling around the knob, twisting carefully. The door groaned on its hinges, a sharp creak that made him freeze. His whole body tensed as he winced, whipping his head around to check if he’d disturbed you
You didn’t stir. Not even a twitch. He squinted, focusing hard, and then—there. The soft rhythm of your chest rising and falling, steady and slow
Your breathing.
Yeah… maybe he noticed the way it lulled him sometimes. Maybe on the nights you fell asleep before him, he’d lay there admiring it—every gentle rise, every quiet sigh. But he’d never say that aloud.
Shaking himself, he shut the door with extra care and padded out into your living room. The second the door clicked closed, he tugged his mask off and tossed it onto your couch, shoulders loosening immediately. He always felt safe here. Always.
In your bathroom, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his things—sweatpants, t-shirts, a hoodie or two folded on the counter where you’d left them for him. He grinned faintly, because he knew the truth: half the time, you stole them. He’d go weeks thinking he’d lost a hoodie on a mission, only to come home and see you curled up on your couch in it, drowning in the fabric, looking so unfairly beautiful
He’d never ask for them back. Why would he? That would feel like a crime.
On the rare occasions he did get them back, though… he’d catch himself pressing the collar to his face, just to breathe you in. Just to imagine you still wearing it, your perfume clinging to the fabric
God. It did something to him every single time.
He closed the bathroom door behind him, peeling off his suit piece by piece and stepping under the hot spray. The warmth hit his skin instantly, easing the aches from patrol, but he didn’t linger. He never did. These showers were always quick—just enough to wash away the night so he could crawl into bed with you and bury his face in your hair.
Speaking of hair… his eyes flicked to your shampoo bottle perched on the shelf, half-empty. He reached for it without thinking, thumb brushing over the label before popping it open. The scent hit him instantly—your scent—and it pulled a smile from him. He thought about your gorgeous hair, the way his fingers always seemed to find their way into it. Always soft, always perfect, like you’d just walked straight out of one of those shampoo commercials where everything was in slow motion and glimmering. He laughed quietly at himself, before putting the bottle back and pouring his own shampoo into his hand instead.
Sometimes he thought about you two officially moving in together. Not the half-way thing you had going now with hoodies and spare clothes scattered around, but really moving in. A place that was yours and his. A bed big enough to pull you against him all night, close enough to press your hips flush to his. And—well—enough room for the other things he loved doing with you in bed.
By the time his thoughts wandered back from that fantasy, he was already shutting off the water, towel slung low around his hips. Droplets traced paths down his back as he rubbed the towel through his hair, half-drying it so he wouldn’t soak your pillows
He slipped into the clothes you’d left out for him—sweats and an old t-shirt he swore you’d stolen from him once—and ran the towel over his head one more time before tugging the door open. Steam curled out into the living room, spilling warmth behind him as he padded toward your room, the quiet of your apartment wrapping around him like safety itself
He eased your bedroom door open, hand gripping the handle tight like that would somehow stop the hinges from their usual whining protest. The creak still came—low and long—but you didn’t stir. He let out a slow breath, slipping inside and pressing the door shut with the same kind of care he used on the job
Relief washed over him in a smile, one of those rare, quiet ones he only ever wore around you. Excitement followed right after, bubbling under his skin. Nights like this were his favorite—the ones that ended here, in your space, with you.
Missions always reminded him of what he was missing. Those nights away from you were restless, full of tossing and turning, like his body couldn’t settle without the weight of yours pressed into his chest, without the rhythm of your breathing to fall asleep to
But tonight? Tonight he had you. Tonight, he got to slide under your blankets and let himself sink into the comfort he’d been craving
He crawled across the mattress carefully, the springs barely groaning under his weight as he moved to the side closest to the door. Always the door. It wasn’t even a question anymore—it was instinct. The first night he’d ever slept next to you, he’d planted himself there, body positioned between you and the world. That never changed. He might be off duty here, but his need to protect you wasn’t something he could ever switch off
Still, when he finally slipped in beside you, that instinct softened into something else. Something warm. Something that whispered, you’re safe, you’re mine.
“Dick?” you mumbled, sleepy and half-lost in the dark—the voice that always made his chest melt.
“Didn’t mean to wake you, pretty” he whispered, finally getting a proper look at your face. Even in the dim light he could see every familiar line and curve he’d memorized. He kissed the side of your cheek, trailed down your jaw, and landed a soft kiss on your lips. You smiled, still blurry-eyed.
“How was tonight?” you murmured, stretching as you squinted at his handsome face.
“Eh—nothing special” he said, voice casual until his strong hands found your hips and gave a little squeeze, anchoring you to him. His fingers drifted under your baggy pajama shirt to rest on the warm skin at your waist.
“Missed you” he breathed, kissing the exposed curve of your shoulder. He nipped it gently, playful and a little needy, and you giggled in the dark. God—everything about you made his eyes go soft. You were his girl. Future wife. His everything.
“Go back to sleep, baby” he murmured, peppering light kisses along your cheek. His hands continued to roam, warm and gentle beneath the shirt, sliding up until they paused under your boob and you laughed again, breathless and happy.
“Tried to wait up for you” you yawned, stretching as your arms wrapped around him. You pressed a soft kiss against his sharp jawline, lingering there like you didn’t want to let go.
“Mmm, you know you need your beauty sleep” he smirked, voice low and smug as ever. But when he opened his eyes, yours were already staring into his, lashes fluttering like they were trying to hypnotize him. His smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something softer, something hungry.
“You keep looking at me like that” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours but not quite kissing you, “and I’m not gonna let you sleep at all”
You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten before he finally closed the distance, kissing you slow and deep. His hand slid from your down to your waist, pulling you closer until you were flush against him.
Every time you tried to pull back to breathe, Dick chased your lips with another kiss, teasing, nipping gently at your bottom lip. “What, already tired?” he whispered against your mouth, grinning when you pulled him right back in
“You’re the worst” you mumbled into the kiss, but the way your fingers tugged at his damp hair betrayed you
“And yet…” he trailed off, kissing you again, “you still can’t resist me”
You rolled your eyes, though it was hard to keep up the act when he kept stealing your breath away with every press of his mouth. The playful edge slowly gave way to something softer—kisses lingering, slower now, more about savoring than teasing
Eventually, you both eased back, lips still brushing in the dark as your breathing evened out. Dick tucked you against his chest, one arm draped securely around your waist like he was anchoring himself to you
“Perfect” he whispered sleepily against your hair, pressing one last kiss to the crown of your head
You hummed, already drifting, and within minutes the only sound left in the room was the steady rhythm of two heartbeats falling asleep in sync.
────── SUGAR DADDY BRUCE WAYNE .ᐟ minors do not interact, fem!reader, age gap, masturbation, pussy eating & fingering on a yacht, penetration, you call bruce sir once. 1800 words.
bruce wayne’s gifts are lavish: diamond earrings, cartier bracelets, special order hèrmes bags, luxury cars. expensive, fully paid trips all year round. whatever suits your needs, he will provide in the blink of an eye. he likes to make sure you never miss a thing and you adore the lifestyle bruce provides. you indulge, swipping the black card he gifted you left and right; high end shoes, designer clothes, makeup, it’s a girl’s dream come true.
he went as far as gifting you a brand new home. an entire penthouse, just for yourself, a massive, stunning place of your own, with marble floors and tall windows with the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen.
if anything, bruce wayne is your sugar daddy. or at least, that’s what your friends like to call him. sometimes, he acts way too much as a mentor, a teacher and less as a sugar daddy. bruce loves to spoil you, but he makes sure to keep you on your toes; he teaches you how to always improve yourself and adjust to the riches of your newfound life, without allowing it to completely change you into worse.
you don’t put a label on your relationship. he spoils you rotten and you keep him company. you sleep together, nested inside his arms— some nights, you fuck like rabbits. but, unfortunately for you, sometimes it happens so rarely it drives you nuts. god, the sex with bruce wayne is different for anything you’ve had before. billionaires are busy people. those college guys you used to mess around with— they could never get on his level.
often, bruce wayne even takes you on trips to europe, flying in his private jet, just the two of you.
ski trips to st. moritz and the alps during the cold winter months. weekends in paris or venice, shopping sprees in london and milan.
the french riviera trips in the summer, monaco or cannes— you tan pretty in one of bruce wayne’s mega yacht, laid in a sunbed, barely covered by a skimpy little bikini— the smallest you could find inside your wardrobe. you discard your bra and abandon it next to your sunbed, on the yacht’s upper deck.
your excuse? you’re trying to get a nice, uniform bronze. it’s a necessity in order to avoid those, oh, so incredibly annoying tan lines. truthfully, you like to put on a show, to tease bruce, with golden thick liquid dripping heavy through your fingers while you massage your tits, letting the oil soak in.
you go slow, letting more oil drip on your lower abdomen, perfectly manicured fingers dragging slowly past the band of you bikini thongs, which are already hanging dangerously low around you waist.
in his armchair, with a towel hanging loose on his shoulders and salty water still dripping from his damp hair from his earlier swim, his blue eyes watch you through his shades. he’s so handsome. in his early forties, bruce is tall and muscles make you feel rather small. he looks so much sexier than any man you’ve laid your eyes on, effortlessly so. but, after all, he’s bruce wayne.
bruce tries to pretend the gotham gazette he just picked up is far more interesting than your show. and that he’s not peeking over the top of the newspaper. you both know that’s a lie. he’s been relaxing under the upper deck canopy, an espresso rests unfinished on his table.
bruce adjusts himself in his seat, him, from all people, should have some self control. but, really, you’re giving him a hard time. how can he resist his spoiled little sugar baby, who touches herself so shamelessly, basking under the burning mediterranean sun?
you slip your thongs down your legs, but you don’t look at him. not even once. you’re stuck in your own world, all by yourself on the upper deck of this yacht, on full display, sitting naked and pretty, arching your back so slightly and groping your tits, with no shame whatsoever.
you keep going, eyes closed, heart racing in your chest, wetness pools between your heated thighs. you spread your legs wider and your fingers can finally reach that sweet, warm spot you’ve been wanting to touch so eagerly. this little show of yours has got you all wet and needy— all this teasing made you crave bruce’s touch, you want him to take care of this mess more than ever.
you can’t help but feel the thrill of being watched in this erotic position. you love it. even with your eyes closed, you can feel his burning gaze wander all over you body, watching the way you massage the oil into your skin. it makes you so incredibly aroused.
the softest sigh escapes your lips when you press two fingers against your needy clit. when you drag them slowly towards your entrance, another moan, this time, much louder and unrestrained, escapes your mouth. you can hear the paper crinkling under bruce’s fingers; you know he’s slowly losing his composure. his cock aches, it bulges under the fabric of his swim shorts.
then, you stuff the same two two fingers inside your mouth, wrapping your tongue around them, painfully slow.
bruce folds his newspaper shut and throws it in his seat, together with his towel and sunglasses.
that’s enough.
“you should wear some sunscreen, princess.” his shadow towers over your big sunbed, blocking the hot summer light. you open you eyes and quickly push your sunglasses on top of you head, a few hair strands looking slightly messy.
“god, bruce, stop being such a grandpa.” you give him the biggest, brattiest smile.
“don’t hurt me like that. i thought you liked that i’m older. i just… care for you.” bruce arches his eyebrow, but a soft smirk peeks in the corners of his mouth.
he leans closer to you, lips clashing against yours in fervent, burning kiss. you moan against his mouth, finding a way to kiss him longer when his fingers suddenly tease and stretch your wet entrance. your fingers run through his damp hair and your other arm pulls him closer to your body, tits pressed against his big chest. it’s so sweaty and addictive, it shuts your brain completely. all you crave is him inside you, despite the extreme heat making you lose your mind.
his tongue wanders slowly, he sucks on the skin of your neck and you dig your nails in his shoulder. your sugar daddy takes care of your pretty tits gently. one nipple between his lips, the other flicked and twisted between his fingers, while he fondles one of your boobs inside the big palm of his hand. the other is busy stuffing you up, making you drool, all needy and turned on, with your chin resting on on his head.
“i- i love it when you care for me… bruce.”
“do you love it when i care for you like this too?”
before you can utter the answer, bruce sinks on his knees, pulling your body closer to the edge of the sunbed. he places you legs on his broad shoulders, his large hands wrapped around your ankles. you wear one gold anklet he gifted you the other day, it’s soft and delicate, one of the prettiest you’ve ever seen and it costed a fortune. bruce presses his lips against your skin in a soft kiss, right above the anklet.
his blue eyes stare into yours deeply and his tongue works its way down to your clit, drawing painfully slow circles, just enough for your back to arch against the plush sunbed mattress.
“do you like it when i touch myself for you, sir?”
with his mouth between your legs, bruce leaves out a muffled, deep grunt into your pussy and you take that as a yes. he keeps going, stuffing two thick fingers inside your cunt, pushing them as deep as possible. he curves them enough to reach your sweet spot and the strech feels exhilarating, he matches the rythm of his tongue with the movement of his fingers.
“bruce… mmm, kiss me.”
he gets on top of you, caging your body between his muscular arms and he gives you another kiss, making you taste the sweetness of your pussy on his lips. you gulp and move your hand towards the band of his swim shorts, where his cock twitches hard— he’s so turned on by you, it hurts to hold in it. you drag the elastic band lower and he slips his hand inside, pulling his length out, thick and delicious, oozing with precum.
“please… fuck me.”
he uses his raw strength to manhandle you and flip your around, bending you over the sunbed backrest, strong, big muscles sweaty and tensed. your thigh is being groped by his big hand, slightly raised up, legs parted enough for his cock to sink inside your wet cunt. you arch your back and rest your face on the backrest, plump ass up.
when his tip slowly works its way inside your pussy, bruce leaves a gutural grunt out and you moan so unexpectedly loud, feeling so incredibly brain melting, you can barely hold it in anymore. you’re so loud. you thank god bruce told the workers to leave you alone on the upper deck, but you bet they can still hear you. how embarrassing.
you’ve been dying to feel his thick cock strech you wide open, filling you up in ways not a single man before him did. bruce wayne is so good to you, so attentive, he studied you, learned everything about you, including how you love to be fucked. raw, with hard strokes, hitting deep inside your cunt, making you beg for more until there’s nothing left of you.
he knows exactly how to bring you to your sweet orgasm, how to make your toes curl and back arch with his cock drilling inside you and fingers rubbing your needy clit.
──────
“so, i take you really liked my show.”
“you’re being a brat, princess.”
“and you love it, bruce!”
as he traces the features of your face with his thumb, bruce rolls his eyes and scoffs at you you’re sitting naked on top of him, biting down your lower lip, hands wandering all over his chest. it’s been a few hours of rough, raw sex. truly exhausting. the sun doesn’t burn as hot any longer, the warm summer breeze washes over your bare skin. you place a kiss on his forehead and he smiles softly.
“can we go shopping, pretty please?”
────ivy’s note <3 imagine posting something about summer on the second day of autumn… couldn’t be me! anyway! this wasn’t supposed to be this long but i really enjoyed writing it a LOT !!
i got more ideas for sugar daddy bruce and i’m gonna post more soon 🤍 i’ll write about the penthouse next hihihi
thank you for reading! <3 reblogs and follows are super appreciated !! <3 mwuah mwuah
I hate when that happens. My bf gets me sick every time and I take care of him. But when I’m sick he does the opposite and still manages to catch what I have (karma)
you were on the way from some ❝gang meeting❞ that ended up being a testosterone battle between richard and bruce.
after you pulled rick away, the rest of the car ride home was tense. he was pissed with bruce and you, why’d you have to stop him? a beat passed before you spoke up—“im sorry, baby. i just didn’t want you to have to fight bruce.” no response.
he had a vice grip around the steering wheel, you were surprised it didn’t break.
you sighed then spoke in a whine, “can you look at me at least?” he didn’t even flinch, eyes forward not even blinking.
you hated this.
dick hardly ever got mad enough with you to ice you out like such. he’d always forgive you. no matter what. “if there’s anything i can do, let me know” you sounded pathetic. like you were hoping he’d need something. he did.
you continued staring out the window as the scenery flew by you guys. the car came to a halt real quick, and you just knew y’all were going to talk it out. “baby i’m s-“ “open your mouth” he cut you off.
you froze for a second a bit dumbfounded “what?” he growled “‘if there’s anything i need, let you know?’ suck my dick.” with an unwavering expression.
the logical part of your brain— no! you’re out in the open, someone might see, he’s driving (technically, he’s parked), and he’s being disrespectful so no!
but then again, it was your mess to clean up.
the ride back home was bumpy.
“gluck gluck gluck” was the sound of your boyfriend’s cock down your throat. “keep fuckin’ goin’” dick demanded before you pulled back with a wet pop—“i’m sorry” you looked up at him whilst stroking his dick. your eyes were glossy yet this was a different kind of high.
the man gazed down at you, clearly still frustrated and shoved your head all the way down onto his cock. “show me how fucking sorry you are, make me cum in your mouth”.
you gagged and squeezed your eyes shut as they watered, such a beautiful sight to him. he could hardly focus on driving anymore with you looking as pretty as you do.
one of his hands stayed on the steering wheel as the other came down to his lap pushing your head down further—“take it all down your throat” as his hips bucked up, he was this close.
you could hardly breathe at the moment but who cares? richard certainly doesn’t.
“that’s it, take daddy’s dick down your throat” the man moaned at the feeling of you deep throating his cock. you could feel the way the pre-cum sprout out just now which caused you to twirl your tongue around the tip of his dick.
“right there..good girl” he praised before striking your ass as he cums in your mouth.
BRO I HEARD A MAN TALKING ABOUT F1 SO OBVIOUSLY I ASKED ABOUT IT AND HE SAID “YOU wouldn’t know what F1 is.” AND I SAID “I actually do” AND HE SAID “What does DRS stand for.” AND I TOLD HIM IT MEANT DRAG REDUCTION SYSTEM AND HE SAID “You guessed it.” DAWG HOW WOULD I GUESS THAT😭😭😭
summary: a new strategist who happens to be a single mom of a five-year-old girl joins the mercedes team for the 2025 season, and george fits in their world like puzzle pieces. wc: 13.3k + social media posts
folkie radio: MY FIRST GEORGE LONG FIC !!! im not that confident about it but i really hope you like it ! let me know all of you thoughts
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
📍Melbourne, Australia
You're huddled in the darkest corner of the Mercedes garage in Melbourne, your silver shirt dampened with tears as you try to muffle your sobs. The Australian Grand Prix weekend has barely begun, but your heart is 16,000 kilometers away in London, where your five-year-old daughter Amelia is fighting a nasty fever. Your mother had called an hour ago - Amelia's temperature wasn't going down, and she kept asking for you between fitful naps.
The garage is a flurry of activity, with mechanics and engineers rushing around to prepare for the first practice session of the 2025 season. You know you should be at your station, going through the setup parameters with Kimi, who you'd worked with during his F2 championship run at Prema last year. The transition from F2 to Mercedes F1 had been smooth, largely because Kimi had practically begged the team to bring you along when they signed him. But right now, you feel like the worst mother in the world for being so far away from your baby girl.
"Hey, are you alright?"
The soft, distinctly British voice makes you jump. You quickly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, mortified to find George Russell, your other driver, standing there with concern etched across his features. At 27, he's the same age as you, but while you're a mess of tears and worry, he looks immaculate in his race suit, the top half tied around his waist.
"I'm so sorry," you stammer, trying to compose yourself. "I'm being completely unprofessional. I should be with Kimi, going through his-"
"No, no, don't apologize," George interrupts, crouching down beside you. His eyes are kind, and there's genuine worry in his voice. "Kimi mentioned you seemed upset. He's worried about you too, kept asking if anyone had seen where his 'Team Mom' disappeared to."
You manage a weak laugh at that. Kimi had started calling you that in F2, and the nickname had stuck. "I should go find him, he'll be nervous about his first F1 weekend-"
"He's fine," George assures you. "What's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?"
The kindness in his voice makes fresh tears well up in your eyes. "My daughter," you manage to say. "She's sick back home in London. She's only five, and I've never been away from her for so long, and now she has this fever that won't break, and I just-" Your voice cracks.
"I didn't know you had a little girl," George says softly. "What's her name?"
"Amelia," you reply, a small smile breaking through your tears at the thought of your daughter's bright brown eyes and untameable curls. "She was so excited when I got this job. She made me promise to bring home one of those tiny Mercedes model cars they give out during race weekends."
George smiles warmly. "I'm sure you have an amazing support system back home helping you out with her?"
You bite your lip, looking down at your hands. "It's just me and her, really. And well, my parents help when they can. I'm a single mum."
His expression shifts to one of deeper understanding. "Oh, I didn't know that. That must be really challenging, especially with a job like this."
"It is," you admit, wiping away another stray tear. "Most days I can handle it, you know? We have our routine, and Amelia's such a good girl. The team at Prema was amazing with her too, always making sure we could manage. But being so far away when she needs me..." You trail off, the lump in your throat growing bigger.
"Listen," George says, his voice gentle but firm. "Being a single parent in F1 is incredibly tough. I can't even imagine how you manage it all. But you're here, following your dreams, showing your daughter that anything is possible. That makes you an amazing mum."
You look at him, touched by his understanding. "It's just... I feel like I'm failing at both jobs right now. I should be focused on the race weekend, but all I can think about is Amelia."
"You're not failing at anything," he insists, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "And you know what? I bet Amelia is going to be so proud when she tells all her friends that her mum works for Mercedes F1. Speaking of which, we definitely need to get her one of those model cars. And maybe a signed cap too?"
You can't help but laugh through your remaining tears. "She'd love that. She's already telling everyone at school that she knows George Russell."
He grins, his eyes twinkling. "Well, now she actually does. Come on, let's get you some water, and you can tell me more about this little fan of mine. I've got some time before practice, and I'd love to hear about the girl who's apparently been spreading my fame in London playgrounds."
As you follow him toward the team's hospitality area, you feel a little lighter. Your worry about Amelia hasn't disappeared, but somehow, sharing it with someone who seems to genuinely care has made it a bit more bearable. Sometimes comfort comes from the most unexpected places, even from a Formula 1 driver in the corner of a garage in Melbourne.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 987,487 others
f1 NEW ADDITION TO THE SILVER ARROWS!
Mercedes F1 Team welcomes YN as their newest Race Strategy Engineer for the 2025 season! The 27-year-old British engineer joins from Prema Racing, where she spent three years working on race strategy and simulation.
Fun facts about YN:
First class honors in Mechanical Engineering from Imperial College London
Started her motorsport journey as an intern at Sauber in 2020
She was key to Kimi Antonelli's championship last year (he even calls her "Team Mom")
She's a mum to 5-year-old Amelia 👶
Youngest strategy engineer on the current Mercedes team
Welcome to the Silver Arrows family, YN! 💫
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username1 love seeing more women in F1! and a mum too, that's incredible!
username2 i already stan her so bad
mercedesmagf1 Welcome to the best team on the grid! 🏁
kimi.antonelli THATS MY TEAM MOM!
username3 impressive cv
username4 One of the minds behind Prema's brilliant season last year! Mercedes making smart moves for 2025
username5 Imperial College London grad 🤓 She's definitely got the brains for this!
username6 THIS DIVA
georgerussell63 Welcome to the team! 🌟
liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 54,098 others
yourinstagram First race weekend with @/mercedesamgf1 in the books! ✨
Still pinching myself that this is real. What an incredible start to the season: P3 for @/georgerussell63 and P4 for @/kimi.antonelli! Proud to be part of the team that made this result possible.
Special shoutout to everyone in the garage who made this rookie engineer feel so welcome (especially when I was having a bit of a mum meltdown missing my little one 🥺). The Silver Arrows family is real!
And to my little Amelia back home: Mummy's bringing back some very special presents from George and Kimi (aka Baby Driver) Thank you for being such a brave girl this weekend. You're the reason I push myself to achieve these dreams ❤️
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username1 AWE THIS IS SO CUTE
username2 her little girl must be adorable
georgerussell63 Couldn't have done it without you! See you in China (with presents for a certain little fan )
↳ username1 THE WAY HE SAID LITTLE FAN I'M CRYING
↳ username2 George is so sweet omg
mercedesamgf1 Silver Arrows family forever! 🌟
friend1 So proud of you! Amelia was screaming watching the podium 😂
username3 living the dream! you're such an inspiration!
username4 From one racing mum to another - you're crushing it! 💪🏼
username5 the way the entire F1 community is rooting for you
username6 I BET AMELIA CALLS KIMI BABY DRIVER AHH
kimi.antonelli love you team mom
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📍Shanghai, China
The Shanghai paddock is relatively quiet this early in the morning, and you've found a peaceful corner in the Mercedes hospitality area to have your breakfast while FaceTiming Amelia. She's excitedly showing you her school art project, a rather creative interpretation of a Mercedes F1 car, complete with glitter.
"And look, Mummy! I made George extra tall in the drawing!" she giggles, holding up her artwork where she's drawn a stick figure at least twice the size of the car.
You're in the middle of laughing when a familiar voice comes from behind you. "Did I hear someone say my name?"
Amelia's eyes go wide as George Russell himself appears in the frame, leaning over your shoulder with a warm smile, a coffee in hand.
"George!" Amelia squeals, pressing her face closer to the camera. "I drew you! You're really tall in my picture!"
George laughs, pulling up a chair beside you. "Well, I am quite tall in real life too! How are you feeling now, Amelia? All better?"
"Much better! I got a golden star at school yesterday for my maths!" She beams proudly. "And Sophie believes me now that my mummy knows you because I showed her my signed cap!"
"That's brilliant!" George responds enthusiastically. "You'll have to show me your maths skills sometime."
"Okay, sweetheart," you cut in, noticing the time. "You need to get ready for school now. Be good for Grandma, alright?"
"Okay, Mummy! Bye George! Good luck in the race!"
After you hang up, you can't help but smile at how Amelia has somehow managed to wrap one of Formula 1's top drivers around her little finger without even meeting him in person.
"You know," George says thoughtfully, taking a sip of his coffee, "why don't you bring her to one of the European races?"
You look up from your tea, surprised. "Oh, I... I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, I'd love to, but managing a five-year-old in the paddock while working..."
"Bring her to Silverstone," he suggests. "It's home race, your parents could come too. The team would love to meet her - she's practically our mascot now, the way Toto smiles whenever someone mentions 'George Russell's biggest fan.'"
You laugh, remembering how the team principal had been thoroughly amused by the story of Amelia's reaction to George's message. "She would absolutely lose her mind. She's been begging to see a real race."
"Then it's settled," George says with that characteristic Russell determination. "I'll talk to Toto about getting extra passes for your family. We can set her up in the garage with some headphones, show her the cars up close." He grins. "Plus, I need to see if she's as good at maths as she claims."
"George, you don't have to-"
"I want to," he interrupts gently. "You're part of the team now, and so is Amelia, in her own way. Besides," he adds with a playful smile, "I need to make sure my biggest fan gets the full Mercedes experience, don't I?"
You feel a warm glow in your chest, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, George. Really."
"Don't mention it," he says, standing up. "Now, how about you tell me more about this artwork where I'm apparently a giant? Should I be concerned about how I'm being portrayed to the next generation?"
As you describe Amelia's creative interpretation of the Mercedes team, complete with glitter and impossibly tall drivers, you find yourself looking forward to Silverstone more than ever. The thought of sharing your new world with your daughter, of seeing her eyes light up at the sight of the cars and meeting the team she's heard so much about... maybe George is right. Maybe it's time to bring your two worlds together.
"Oh, and YN?" George adds as he's about to head to the engineering briefing. "Tell Amelia to practice her maths. I'll be testing her when I see her."
You shake your head, laughing. Who would have thought that your daughter would end up with a Formula 1 driver as her personal maths tutor?
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📍Suzuka, Japan
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liked by username1, username2 and 10,985 others
f1updates Spotted: Mercedes driver George Russell grabbing coffee with the team's new strategy engineer YN outside the Suzuka paddock this morning. Could there be a new F1 couple on the horizon?
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username1 omg they look so cute together!! did you see how he's looking at her? 🥺
username2 okayy let's not be weird about this
username3 please chill out they're coworkers grabbing coffee
username4 she's the one who came from prema with kimi right? love seeing her settling in at mercedes!
username5 wait isn't she the single mom everyone was talking about during the melbourne weekend? when george was so sweet about her daughter being sick?
username6 kimi's team mom and george
username7 george russell 🤝 having excellent taste in both coffee and women
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The Bahrain paddock is eerily quiet at 1 AM, most of the team having retreated to their hotels hours ago. The gentle hum of your laptop and the occasional click of your mouse are the only sounds in the engineering room as you pore over tomorrow's race simulations for the hundredth time.
"You do know quali ended six hours ago, right?"
You jump slightly at George's voice. He's leaning against the doorframe, changed out of his race suit into casual wear, looking at you with concern.
"Just want to make sure we've covered all the scenarios for tomorrow," you mumble, stifling a yawn. "Your start position gives us a real chance at a win, I just need to-"
"YN," he interrupts softly, walking over to your desk. "It's 1 AM. The simulations will still be here in the morning."
You shake your head, forcing your tired eyes to focus on the screen. "I'm fine. I just need to run through these few more scenarios. Can't afford to miss anything."
George pulls up a chair, sitting beside you. "Can't afford to, or won't allow yourself to?"
Something in his gentle tone makes your carefully constructed walls crack a little. You sit back in your chair, running a hand over your face.
"I just... I need to prove I deserve this position," you say quietly. "I need this job, George. It's not just about the racing anymore. I have to put food on Amelia's table, pay for her school, her clothes, her future." Your voice catches slightly. "I'm all she has."
"What about her father?" George asks carefully, then immediately adds, "Sorry, that's none of my business-"
"No, it's okay," you say, surprising yourself. Maybe it's the late hour, or maybe it's just George's caring presence, but you find yourself wanting to talk. "He left when I told him I was pregnant. Said he wasn't ready to be a father, that it would ruin his career plans." You let out a bitter laugh.
George's expression darkens. "What a-" he catches himself, but you can guess the word he's thinking of.
"Yeah," you agree. "Anyway, he signed away his rights before she was born. Hasn't seen her once in five years. Doesn't pay any support." You fidget with your pen. "So it's just me. Every promotion, every extra hour, every bit of overtime, it all goes to giving her the life she deserves."
"YN," George says softly, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "You're already giving her an amazing life. You're showing her what strength looks like, what dedication looks like. But you can't pour from an empty cup."
Tears prick at your eyes. "I'm just so scared of failing her," you whisper. "Every time I see a bill, or she needs new shoes, or I think about university fees in the future... I can't mess this up, George. I can't let her down."
"Hey, look at me," he says firmly. "You're one of the best engineers I've worked with. Toto wouldn't have hired you if he didn't see that. The team trusts you, I trust you. But working yourself to exhaustion isn't going to help anyone - especially not Amelia."
You wipe away a stray tear. "I just want her to be proud of me."
"She already is," George says with certainty. "I've seen how she talks about you, her mummy who makes the silver cars go fast. But I bet she'd be even prouder knowing her mum takes care of herself too."
You manage a weak laugh. "When did you get so wise?"
"Must be all those post-race press conferences," he grins, then stands up, offering his hand. "Come on. I'm calling you a car, and you're going to get some sleep. That's an order from your driver."
"Oh, pulling rank now, are we?" you tease, but you're already saving your files and shutting down your laptop.
"If that's what it takes to get you to rest, absolutely," he says. As you gather your things, he adds softly, "You know, you're not alone anymore, YN. The team... we look after our own. You and Amelia, you're family now."
Something warm unfurls in your chest at his words. As you walk with him through the quiet paddock, you feel a little lighter, like you've shared some of the weight you've been carrying for so long.
"George?" you say as you reach the paddock exit. "Thank you. For listening, for caring... for everything."
He smiles, that genuine Russell smile that makes his eyes crinkle. "Anytime. Now go get some sleep - we've got a race to win tomorrow. Can't have my strategy engineer falling asleep on the pit wall, can we?"
For the first time in weeks, you fall asleep without worrying about simulations or spreadsheets, George's words echoing in your mind: you're not alone anymore.
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liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 67,890 others
yourinstagram Great triple header with a bunch of points for the team ! Super proud of George and Kimi and all the team who makes everything possible. Now it's home time where a certain little girl is waiting for me with hugs and drawings for her favorite drivers 🤍
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username1 WE LOVE YOU YNNN
username2 sometimes i forget that team members have families waiting for them at home and they spend so much time away at races
mercedesamgf1 Proud of our favorite engineer ✨
lando the famous amelia! eager to finally meet her
↳ yourinstagram She says her favorites are the silver arrow boys, but the papaya ones are also cool
username3 amazing job now time to resttt
username4 amelia must love kimi and george i'm crying
username5 you're a super mom! your little girl should be really proud
username6 rest queen you deserve it
kimi.antonelli love you team mom, say hi to my little bestie for me
↳ yourinstagram She says she can't wait to see you, baby driver
georgerussell63 Can't wait for more of Amelia's glittery good luck drawings
↳ yourinstagram She made you extra tall in those again
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You're curled up on your couch in your London flat, finally home after three grueling weeks of racing across different countries. The morning sun filters through your curtains, casting glow over Amelia's curls as she snuggles against you. She hasn't left your side since you got back yesterday, following you around the flat like a tiny shadow, even waiting outside the bathroom door. Now she's nestled into your side, her small hand playing with the sleeve of your jumper, a self-soothing habit she's had since she was a baby when she wants to make sure you're really there.
The TV is playing her favorite morning cartoons, but you can tell she's not really watching. She keeps glancing up at you, as if making sure you haven't disappeared in the last thirty seconds.
"Mummy?" she asks during a commercial break, twisting to look at you. "Does George miss us when we're not at the races?"
You smile at her use of 'us', even though she's never been to a race. "I don't know, sweetheart. Why do you ask?"
"Because you said he asked about me in Japan," she says matter-of-factly. "And he always says hi when you call me from the track." She pauses, then adds, "Sophie says her dad doesn't even remember to call when he goes on business trips."
You pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her head. Sometimes it startles you how perceptive five-year-olds can be. "That's because George is special. And you know what? You'll get to meet him at Silverstone."
"That's so far away," she pouts, crossing her arms. "It's ages and ages away. Does he know I got full marks in maths last week? Mrs. Thompson said my adding up was ex-cell-ent."
Before you can answer, your phone buzzes with a text. Speaking of the devil...
Your heart does a little flip as you read the message.
"Melia?" you say, running a hand through her curls. "How would you like to meet George today?"
The speed at which she sits up is almost concerning. "Really? Really really? Not just on FaceTime?"
"Really really," you confirm. "He wants to get coffee near the park."
Amelia launches herself off the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. "Can I wear my special cap? The one he signed? And my Mercedes shirt? And can I bring my drawings to show him? And-"
"Slow down, love!" you laugh. "Yes to the cap and shirt, and yes, you can bring one drawing. Now go get dressed while I text him back."
Two hours later, you're walking through Hyde Park, Amelia's small hand clutching yours tightly. She's wearing her prized Mercedes cap and has been chattering non-stop since you left home.
"Do you think he's as tall in real life as on TV?" she asks for the third time. "Will he remember that I said his car looked like a rocket ship? Can I show him my times tables? Do you think-"
"Breathe, sweetheart," you remind her gently, amused by her enthusiasm.
You spot him before she does, sitting at an outdoor table of the café. He's dressed casually in jeans and a white t-shirt, sunglasses perched on his head, looking nothing like the fierce competitor you see at races. He's doodling something on a napkin, and the sight makes you smile - he's nervous too.
"George!" Amelia calls out before you can stop her, and his face breaks into a bright smile as he stands up. He really is impossibly tall, you think, especially from a five-year-old's perspective.
"Hello there! You must be the famous Amelia," he says, crouching down to her level. "I've heard so much about you."
Amelia, usually so outgoing, suddenly turns shy, pressing against your leg. "Hi," she says softly, then adds with determination, "I got all my sums right at school. Even the hard ones with carrying over."
George's laugh is warm and genuine. "Did you now? Well, I brought something to test that." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small notebook and some colored pens. "Thought we could do some racing maths while your mum and I have coffee. What do you say?"
Amelia's eyes light up, and just like that, her shyness vanishes. "Can we do sums about how fast you go? Mummy says you drive at three hundred kilometers per hour sometimes!"
"That's right," George grins. "Should we calculate how long it would take me to drive to the moon at that speed?"
"Don't get her started on space," you warn with a laugh. "We'll be here all day."
Soon, the three of you are settled at the table, Amelia perched on a chair between you and George as he draws race cars and creates simple math problems involving lap times and pit stops. You've ordered coffee for yourself and George, and true to his word, he's gotten Amelia a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
"Right then," George says, drawing a simple track layout. "If I'm two seconds ahead of Max, and each lap takes one minute and thirty seconds..."
"That's ninety seconds!" Amelia interrupts proudly. "Because sixty plus thirty is ninety!"
"Brilliant!" George exclaims, and Amelia beams. "Now, if we do ten laps..."
You watch them interact, your heart swelling. George is surprisingly good with children, patient and engaging as he turns mathematics into a game about racing. He listens intently to Amelia's stories about school, asks her opinions about different racing tracks ("Abu Dhabi looks like a spaceship!" she declares), and seems genuinely delighted by her quick mind.
"Your daughter is brilliant," George tells you during a moment when Amelia is focused on coloring a particularly detailed Mercedes car. "She's got quite the mind for numbers. Wonder where she gets that from?"
"Like mother, like daughter," you reply, then catch him giving you a soft look that makes your cheeks warm.
"Mummy's really good at numbers," Amelia pipes up, not looking up from her coloring. "She helps me count my pocket money and everything. And she knows exactly how many sleeps until every race."
The afternoon passes quickly, filled with laughter and racing stories. George tells Amelia about his karting days, and she hangs on every word, occasionally interjecting with facts she's learned from watching races with you.
"I started racing when I was about your age," George tells her. "Maybe a bit older."
"Really?" Amelia's eyes go wide. "Mummy, can I do racing?"
You see George trying to hide his smile at your slightly panicked expression. "Maybe we can start with something a bit less dangerous," you suggest. "Like your school sports day?"
"Oh!" Amelia bounces in her seat. "George, I'm going to run in races at school! We have a special day and everything!"
"Is that so?" George leans forward, genuinely interested. "When is this big race?"
"Next Thursday!" she says excitedly. "We get to wear our own clothes instead of school uniform and everything! And Mummy's taking the morning off work to watch." She pauses, then adds hopefully, "Will you come see me race? I'm going to run really fast, like you drive."
"Amelia," you start to say, not wanting her to put George on the spot, but he interrupts.
"Well, I'll have to check my schedule, but I'd love to come see you race," George says seriously. "What events are you doing?"
"The hundred meter dash," Amelia pronounces carefully, clearly proud of remembering the proper term. "And the egg and spoon race. And maybe the three-legged race if Sarah wants to be my partner."
"Those are very important races," George nods solemnly. "Almost as important as the British Grand Prix."
"More important," Amelia declares. "Because Mummy says taking part is what matters, not winning."
You catch George's eye over her head, and he gives you a warm smile that makes your stomach flutter.
As the afternoon light starts to fade, you reluctantly check your watch. "We should probably head home, love. It's nearly dinner time."
"Five more minutes?" Amelia pleads, in the middle of showing George her detailed drawing of what she thinks the Mercedes factory looks like (complete with a rocket launch pad, because according to her, race cars are basically rockets).
"Tell you what," George says, "why don't I walk back through the park with you both? It's such a nice evening."
The walk back is filled with Amelia's chatter as she skips between you and George, occasionally holding both your hands to swing herself forward. She's completely at ease now, telling George about her friend Sophie's hamster and how she wants a pet too.
"Maybe a racing dog?" George suggests with a wink at you.
"George!" Amelia says suddenly, stopping in her tracks. "Will you come to my birthday party? It's not for ages and ages, but Mummy says we can have it in the garden and there might be a bouncy castle!"
"Amelia," you say gently, "George is very busy with racing-"
"When's your birthday?" George asks, ignoring your attempt to give him an out.
"In the summer!" she says proudly. "I'm going to be six!"
"I think I might be able to make it," George muses thoughtfully. "If your mum says it's okay, of course."
You're about to remind them both that summer is months away when you reach your street. As you're saying goodbye, Amelia surprises both you and George by hugging his legs. "Thank you for helping me with maths," she says. "And for making the silver cars go fast with Mummy."
George's expression softens as he hugs her back. "Thank you for being such a great student. Keep practicing those sums, okay? I'll need to test you again at sports day."
Later that night, as you're tucking Amelia into bed, she asks sleepily, "Mummy? I like George. He's nice."
You smile. "Yeah, baby. He is nice."
"He listens when I talk," she continues, fighting to keep her eyes open. "And he makes you smile the pretty smile."
You brush her curls back from her forehead, your heart full. "Get some sleep, love."
"Can we see him again soon?"
"We'll see," you say, kissing her forehead. "Sweet dreams, love."
As you close her door, your phone buzzes with a text.
You lean against the wall, smiling at your phone like a teenager. Something warm and hopeful blooms in your chest, a feeling you haven't allowed yourself to experience in a very long time. The way George was with Amelia today, so patient and kind, so genuinely interested in her thoughts and ideas...
You fall asleep that night thinking about George's smile, Amelia's laughter, and the way your little family of two suddenly feels like it might have room to grow.
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liked by georgerussell63, lando and 72,037 others
yourinstagram Someone special showed up to support our champion🥇 Thank you @/georgerussell63 for being such a good sport (literally) and making a little girl's day!
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username1 THIS IS SO CUTE OMFG
username2 IT WAS REALLY GEORGE
kimi.antonelli my team mom and dad being cute again 😎 tell my bestie i'm proud of her medal!!
mercedesamgf1 Our driver taking his coaching duties very seriously!
charles_leclerc this is adorable! congratulations amelia! 🎉
georgerussell63 Best co-pilot ever! Thanks for letting me join sports day, champ!
username3 GEORGE RUSSELL SHOWING UP TO SPORTS DAY AND DOING THE PARENT RACE?? this man is unreal 😭
username4 the way he's just casually becoming dad of the year?? help??
username5 THIS IS NOT REAL
username6 kimi calling them team mom and dad i can't- this family dynamic is everything
username7 the way the entire paddock is just watching these two co-parent at this point
username8 george showing up to support his engineer's daughter at sports day?? this is literally a romance novel
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You're in the Mercedes garage at Monaco, triple-checking the timing screens when Kimi bounces in, still buzzing with energy despite just finishing FP2. At seventeen, he's the youngest driver on the grid, but his talent is undeniable, having him move up to Mercedes feels like watching your second child succeed.
"There's my favorite strategy engineer!" he announces, dropping into the chair next to you. "Where's my bestie? I thought Amelia was coming to Monaco?"
You laugh, ruffling his hair despite his protests. "Silverstone, kid. That's the plan for her first race."
"But that's so far away," he whines, sounding remarkably like Amelia when she's disappointed. "I need her to draw me a good luck picture too. George keeps showing off the ones she makes him."
At the mention of George's name, you feel your cheeks warm slightly. Kimi notices immediately, his face splitting into a mischievous grin.
"Speaking of George..." he starts, wiggling his eyebrows. "I saw you two in the engineering room yesterday. Looking pretty cozy over those strategy plans."
"We were working," you say firmly, though your blush deepens.
"Sure, sure," Kimi nods sagely. "That's why George gets this dopey smile every time someone mentions your name. Because of work."
"Shouldn't you be in your post-practice debrief?" you deflect, trying to hide your smile.
"Oh, I'm gathering important team information right now," he says cheekily. "Like when George is finally going to ask you out properly instead of pretending he needs to discuss strategy at midnight."
You swat at him with your notebook. "Focus on your driving, kid."
"I am!" he protests. "Now let me focus on my other job, getting my two favorite people together." He pauses thoughtfully. "Well, three favorite people. Amelia's my number one, obviously."
"Of course she is," you roll your eyes fondly. "She asked about you this morning, by the way. Wanted to know if her 'baby driver' was being good."
Kimi beams at the nickname. "Tell her I'm being excellent. Unlike some people who keep pining away instead of-"
"Who's pining away?" George's voice cuts in as he enters the garage, and Kimi's grin turns positively wicked.
"Oh, just talking about-"
"Your tire management," you interrupt quickly, shooting Kimi a warning look. "Which needs work, by the way."
Kimi gives you an exaggerated wink before turning to George. "Hey teammate, YN was just telling me about Amelia's new drawing. The one where she drew you holding the trophy in Monaco?"
George's face lights up. "She drew that? Can I see?"
"It's not finished yet," you say, making a mental note to kill Kimi later. "She wants to add glitter."
"Of course she does," George laughs. "Speaking of Amelia, I found this great book about space and racing. Thought she might like it for her school project. I can bring it by later when we go over the quali strategy?"
"Quali strategy," Kimi mouths behind George's back, making kissy faces. You resist the urge to throw your pen at him.
"That would be nice," you say, trying to maintain professionalism despite Kimi's antics. "Thanks, George."
After George leaves, Kimi leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be good with numbers, you're really bad at calculating how totally in love with you he is."
"Don't you have some sim work to do?" you ask, but there's no bite to it.
"Fine, fine," he sighs dramatically, standing up. "But tell Amelia her baby driver misses her and needs more good luck drawings. And tell her that her future dad is doing great in practice-"
"OUT!" you laugh, pushing him toward the door.
"Love you too, Team Mom!" he calls over his shoulder.
As you turn back to your work, you can't help but smile. Between Amelia's enthusiasm, Kimi's teasing, and George's... everything, your life has become wonderfully complicated.
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liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 82,478 others
yourinstagram Couldn't be prouder of these two! P1 for George and first ever podium for our baby driver. Special thank you to a certain 5-year-old whose lucky drawings (and very specific corner-by-corner instructions) clearly did the trick! 💫
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username1 COME ONNNN
kimi.antonelli BESTIE YOUR DAUGHTER IS MAGIC!! her rocket drawings made me faster, i have proof 🚀
georgerussell63 The fairy wings definitely gave us extra downforce today! Thanks chief engineer in training!
mercedesamgf1 Proof that rocket drawings = extra speed
alex_albon Need to know more about these magic drawings tbh 👀
username2 okay but can we talk about how george keeps amelia's drawings in his driver room?? proud dad energy??
username3 MY SON'S FIRST PODIUM 😭 and him immediately showing yn's daughter the trophy i'm deceased
username4 not me crying over kimi calling yn "team mom" and showing off his trophy like a kid who got an A+ 🥺
username5 the cutest f1 family doesn't exi-
username6 LIVING for george and yn trying to pretend they're not basically dating and co-parenting at this point
username7 george russell handsome successful f1 driver who keeps a 5 year old's drawings for good luck?? my heart can't take this
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The Silverstone paddock is buzzing with its usual race day energy, but today feels different. Your parents arrived with Amelia an hour ago, and watching your daughter take in the F1 world for the first time is making you see everything through new eyes.
"And this is where all the computers are," you explain, showing her around the garage. She's wearing her special Mercedes outfit, a miniature team kit that appeared mysteriously in your flat last week (you suspect George), complete with her own headset and passes.
"It's like a spaceship!" she whispers in awe, clutching your hand. "Is this where you make George and Kimi go fast?"
Before you can answer, a familiar voice calls out, "BESTIE!"
Amelia whirls around to see Kimi bounding toward her, already in his race suit. "Baby driver!" she squeals, running to hug him.
Kimi scoops her up, spinning her around. "Finally! I've been waiting forever to see you! Your drawings give me good luck, you know."
"Really?" Amelia beams. "I made you a new one for today! Mummy, can I show him?"
You pull the carefully protected drawing from your bag. Kimi and George's cars racing with what appears to be rockets attached to them. Kimi examines it with exaggerated seriousness.
"This is perfect! The rockets are exactly what we need," he declares. "Should we go put it up in my driver room?"
Amelia looks at you questioningly. "Can I go with Kimi, Mummy?"
"Of course, sweetheart. Grandma and Grandpa can go too." You turn to your parents, who are watching the scene with amused smiles. "I need to check some things before the race."
"Come on, bestie," Kimi says, still holding Amelia. "I'll show you where I keep all your other drawings. They're my lucky charms!"
As they head off, Amelia chattering excitedly about her rocket design theories, you hear your mother say to your father, "Did you ever think our granddaughter would have a Formula 1 driver as her best friend?"
You're reviewing last-minute strategy changes when George arrives, looking sharp in his race suit but slightly nervous.
"Is she here?" he asks, peering around the garage.
"Kimi kidnapped her," you laugh. "Something about lucky charm drawings."
George's face falls slightly. "Oh. I, uh, I got her something. For her first race." He pulls out a small package wrapped in silver paper.
"George..." you start, touched by his thoughtfulness.
"GEORGE!" Amelia's voice echoes through the garage as she runs back in, Kimi following with a grin. She launches herself at George, who catches her easily.
"Hello, trouble," he says warmly. "Ready for your first race?"
"Kimi showed me his room! And all my drawings are on the wall! And he has a special chair that spins around and around and-"
"Breathe, love," you remind her, sharing an amused look with George.
"I have something for you," George tells her, setting her down and handing her the package. "Every proper race engineer needs one of these."
Amelia carefully unwraps it to reveal a personalized notebook with "AMELIA - Race Engineer in Training" embossed on the cover, along with the Mercedes logo.
"It's just like Mummy's!" she gasps, running her fingers over the lettering.
"Look inside," George encourages.
She opens it to find the first page filled with messages - one from George, one from Kimi, and to your surprise, messages from Lewis Hamilton, Toto, and the entire engineering team.
"Now you can take notes during the race," George explains. "Study all our moves so you can tell us what we did wrong later."
Amelia hugs the notebook to her chest, then throws her arms around George's neck. "Thank you! I'm going to write down everything! Even when you make mistakes!"
"Especially when he makes mistakes," Kimi adds with a wink.
The pre-race preparations fly by, and before you know it, it's almost time for the drivers to head to the grid. Your parents have taken Amelia to their seats in the garage, where she's already making serious notes in her new notebook.
"Right," Kimi says, giving Amelia a high five. "I've got my lucky drawing, so P1 is basically guaranteed."
"No way," George argues playfully. "My drawing has more glitter. That's worth at least half a second per lap."
As they head out, you hear Amelia ask your mother, "Grandma, why does George look at Mummy the same way Prince Charming looks at Cinderella?"
You feel your face heat up as Kimi bursts out laughing and George nearly trips over his own feet.
The race itself is intense. Through it all, you can hear Amelia's running commentary behind you:
"Mummy told George to go faster and he did!"
"The red car is being silly, Mummy make them move!"
"Baby driver is catching up!"
And even though the race itself didn't bring good results for the team, the smile on George's face when he hugged you and Amelia after the race could probably light up London after dark.
Hours later, you're packing up your things in the engineering room after a long day of post-Silverstone analysis when George appears in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He's changed out of his team gear into casual clothes, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Hey," he says, lingering in the doorway. "Good day?"
"Yeah, just finishing up the race report," you nod, trying not to notice how good he looks in that light blue jumper. "You?"
"Same, all done with media." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Listen, I was wondering... would you like to get dinner?"
"Oh," you say, checking your watch. "I should probably get home soon. It's Amelia's bedtime and-"
"I meant just you and me," he interrupts softly. "Like... a date."
You freeze in the middle of putting your laptop away, your heart suddenly racing. "Oh," you say again, eloquently.
"I know this great place in Mayfair," he continues quickly, as if afraid you'll say no if he doesn't get all the words out. "And I already talked to your mum, she said she'd love to watch Amelia for the evening. If you want to, that is. No pressure at all, I just thought... well, after everything, and Silverstone was amazing, and you're amazing, and-"
"George," you cut off his rambling with a smile. "Are you asking me on a proper date?"
He runs a hand through his hair, that endearing nervous gesture you've come to love. "Yes. Very badly, apparently."
"You talked to my mum?" you ask, amused and touched.
"Well, yeah," he admits, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "She cornered me after the race actually. Said something about being tired of watching us dance around each other and that she'd happily babysit any time."
You laugh, remembering your mother's knowing looks throughout the race weekend. "Did my five-year-old and my mother conspire to set us up?"
"Don't forget Kimi," George grins. "He's been sending me links to romantic restaurants for weeks. And threatening to tell Amelia all my embarrassing stories if I didn't, and I quote, 'get my act together.'"
"Sounds like we've been thoroughly outmaneuvered," you say, your heart feeling impossibly full.
"So..." George takes a step closer, hope written all over his face. "Is that a yes?"
You pretend to think about it. "Well, since you've already gotten approval from my entire family, including my self-appointed eighteen-year-old son..."
"YN," he groans, but he's smiling.
"Yes," you say softly. "I'd love to have dinner with just you."
His face breaks into that brilliant smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He takes another step closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I've been wanting to ask you for ages," he admits. "Since Barcelona, really. Well, since before that if I'm honest."
"What took you so long?" you ask, even though your heart is hammering so hard you can barely hear your own words.
"I wanted to do it right," he says. "Make sure Amelia was okay with it, that you were ready. That I wasn't misreading things." He pauses. "Also, Kimi told me I had to wait until after Silverstone because he had money on me asking you out this week."
You laugh, shaking your head. "Of course he did."
"So," George says, taking your hand. "Tonight? I can pick you up at eight?"
"Seven sounds perfect."
As if on cue, your phone buzzes with a text from your mother:
Mum: Amelia and I are having a girls' night! Don't worry about bedtime, we've got it covered. Have fun on your date! 😘
George peers at your phone and laughs. "I think we've been set up by the most elaborate matchmaking scheme in F1 history."
"Seems like it," you agree, squeezing his hand. "Better make it worth their effort then."
His eyes soften as he looks at you. "I plan to."
As you walk out of the engineering room hand in hand, you can't help but smile at how perfectly everything has fallen into place. Your daughter adores him, your family approves, and even your teenage driver-turned-matchmaker is thrilled.
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liked by yourintagram, lando and 601,287 others
georgerussell63 Not the Silverstone weekend we wanted on track, but having this little engineer-in-training in our garage made everything better. Thanks for the lucky drawings Amelia - we'll get them right next time! P.S. Your detailed notes about my "silly mistake in turn 3" were very professional 😅
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username1 AHH THIS IS THE CUTEST THING EVER I CANT
username2 GEORGE SOFT ERA
kimi.antonelli she told me your mistakes too 😎 bestie keeps it real
lando mate she really wrote "george needs to drive more zoomy" in her notebook i'm crying
mercedesamgf1 Our newest team member giving very thorough feedback! 📝
yourinstagram She's already planning your strategy for Spa. Apparently it involves fairy dust and "extra zoom buttons"
username4 the way george claimed both yn and amelia is just to cute
username5 WE STAN AMELIA
username6 not to sound weird but you can tell that george ADORES both of them
username7 THIS IS MY FAMILY
liked by username1, username2 and 12,095 other
f1gossip BREAKING: Mercedes driver George Russell and chief race engineer YN spotted having dinner together at exclusive Mayfair restaurant. First time the two have been seen together outside of work events. 👀
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username1 HELLO??? THIS IS NOT A DRILL?? look at the way he's looking at her omg
username2 someone write this romance novel immediately
username3 not me zooming in on every detail 👀 THE HAND ON THE TABLE NEARLY TOUCHING HERS I'M SCREAMING
username4 not to be That Person but the way he's always so sweet with her daughter?? and now this?? im crying in the club rn
username5 don't be weird about this
username6 someone check on kimi, bet he's having a proud son moment watching his team parents finally get together
username7 manifesting the cutest f1 family rn 🕯️🕯️🕯️
username8 GEORGE RUSSELL BOYFRIEND ERA STARTS NOW
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It's well past Amelia's bedtime when you unlock your front door, cheeks still flushed from the perfect evening, and the goodnight kiss that made you feel like a teenager again. You expect to find your mother reading on the couch, but instead, you hear small feet padding down the hallway.
"Mummy!" Amelia appears in her pink princess pajamas, clearly having fought off sleep to wait for you. "You're home!"
"Sweetheart, why aren't you in bed?" you ask, though you can't bring yourself to be stern when she looks so excited.
Your mother appears behind her, looking apologetic. "Someone insisted on staying up until you got back. Said she needed to make sure the date went well."
"Did you have nice dinner?" Amelia asks, taking your hand and pulling you to the couch. "Did George tell you funny stories? Did he make you laugh? Sophie says her mummy went on a date and didn't laugh at all and never saw the man again."
You catch your mother trying to hide her smile as she disappears into the kitchen, clearly giving you space for this conversation.
"Yes, we had a lovely dinner," you say, settling onto the couch. Amelia immediately climbs into your lap, her favorite spot for important conversations. "And yes, George made me laugh a lot."
"Good," she says seriously. "Because you have a pretty laugh, Mummy."
Your heart catches at her observation. Sometimes you forget how perceptive she is.
"Did you wear your sparkly dress?" she continues, playing with your necklace - the delicate silver one George had noticed and complimented over dinner.
"I did."
"George likes sparkly things," she nods sagely. "He always says my glitter drawings are his favorite."
You smile, remembering how George had shown you a whole folder on his phone of photos of Amelia's artwork. "He does love your drawings."
"Mummy?" Amelia looks up at you, her expression suddenly serious. "Are you happy?"
"What do you mean, love?"
"When George is around, you smile different," she explains. "Like when we have ice cream on Sunday or when I learn a new word. It's your happy smile." She pauses, thinking hard.
You pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her curls. "You're right. George does make me very happy."
"Good," she declares. "Because he makes me happy too. And he helps me with maths. And he remembers what I like. And he makes baby driver behave." She counts off these qualities on her small fingers.
"Does he now?" you laugh.
"Mhm. Today when you were getting ready, he called to tell me a bedtime story about racing cars while Grandma did my hair. But then I had to promise not to tell you because it was supposed to be a surprise that he called."
Your heart melts at this revelation. You hadn't known about the bedtime story.
"And Mummy?" she continues, fighting back a yawn. "I think George has a happy smile when he sees you too. Like when you wear your sparkly dress or when you tell him he did good racing."
"Did well racing," you correct automatically, making her giggle.
"Did well racing," she repeats. "So can we see him again soon? Maybe for pancakes? He promised to show me how to make them in funny shapes."
"Did he now?"
She nods enthusiastically. "He said he can make race car pancakes! And he said maybe next time we can both come to dinner with him, and he knows a place that has the best chocolate cake ever."
"We'll see," you say, but you're already smiling at the thought. "But right now, little miss, it's way past your bedtime."
"One more question?" she pleads, giving you her best puppy dog eyes.
"One more."
"If George makes us both happy, and we make him happy, and he makes good pancakes..." she thinks carefully about her words, "does that mean he can stay? Properly stay?"
Your throat tightens with emotion. "Oh, sweetheart..."
"Because I think we should keep him," she says matter-of-factly. "He fits good with us. Like my puzzle pieces when they click together right."
"Fits well," you correct softly, blinking back tears.
"Fits well," she agrees, snuggling closer. "So can we keep him? He remembers everything. That's important, Mummy. Mrs. Thompson says remembering things about people you love is very important."
"When did you get so wise?" you ask, hugging her close.
"I learned it from you," she says simply. "And George says I'm smart like my mummy. I think we should definitely keep him."
Looking at your daughter's hopeful face, thinking about the perfect evening and how naturally he fits into your lives, you find yourself agreeing.
"Yeah," you say softly. "I think we should."
"Good," Amelia yawns, finally letting sleep catch up with her. "Because he makes everything better. Like sprinkles on ice cream."
As you carry your sleepy daughter to bed, she mumbles, "Mummy? I'm happy you're happy."
You tuck her in, your heart so full it might burst. "I'm happy you're happy too, love."
"Tell George I said goodnight," she murmurs, already drifting off. "And that he better not forget about the pancakes..."
Looking at your sleeping daughter, thinking about George's words, you realize that sometimes the best families are the ones you build yourself, piece by perfectly fitting piece.
You fall asleep that night with a smile on your face, dreaming of race car pancakes, perfect puzzle pieces, and the way happiness feels when it finally clicks into place.
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The summer heat has turned your London flat into a lazy afternoon paradise. You're in the kitchen preparing cold lemonade while Amelia sits at the counter, tongue stuck out in concentration as she works on her latest masterpiece - a drawing of what she claims is Kimi's car with rocket boosters.
"Mummy, do you think baby driver will like the purple rockets?" she asks, reaching for another crayon.
"I think he'll love them," you assure her, just as there's a knock at the door.
"I'll get it!" Amelia scrambles off her stool before you can stop her.
"Amelia, wait-" but she's already running to the door.
"Who is it?" she calls out, following your safety rules.
"It's George!" comes the familiar voice, and Amelia beams at you.
"Can I open it, Mummy? Please?"
You nod, and she throws the door open to reveal George standing there in casual clothes, looking unfairly handsome in a simple white t-shirt and jeans.
"George!" Amelia launches herself at him, and he catches her with practiced ease. "Are you here to see my new drawings? I made one for baby driver with rockets!"
"Of course I am," he grins, carrying her inside. His eyes meet yours over her head, soft and warm. "Hi."
"Hi," you reply, trying to control your smile. "This is a surprise."
"Good surprise?" he asks, setting Amelia down.
"Look!" Amelia interrupts, grabbing his hand and pulling him to her artwork. "See? Purple rockets!"
"Very aerodynamic," George nods seriously, examining the drawing. "Though I think the Mercedes might need some rockets too, don't you?"
While Amelia launches into an elaborate explanation of her rocket distribution strategy, George catches your eye again, mouthing 'kitchen?' with a raised eyebrow.
"I'll get you some lemonade," you say, heading to the kitchen. Moments later, you hear him tell Amelia he'll be right back to help her with the Mercedes rockets.
As soon as he enters the kitchen, he's in your space, hands settling on your waist. "Hi," he says again, softer this time.
"You said that already," you tease, even as your heart races.
"Didn't get to say it properly though," he murmurs, leaning down. "Been thinking about doing this all week..."
His lips meet yours in a gentle kiss that makes your knees weak. You wind your arms around his neck, melting into it as he pulls you closer-
"Mummy? George? What are you doing?"
You jump apart like teenagers caught by their parents. Amelia stands in the doorway, head tilted in confusion, her purple crayon forgotten in her hand.
"We were just..." you start, face burning.
"Were you kissing?" she asks directly, making you both flush deeper.
"Um," George runs a hand through his hair nervously. "Yes?"
Amelia considers this for a moment. "Oh. Like in the princess movies?"
"Something like that," you manage, wondering how to handle this situation.
"Okay," she says simply. Then, "Can I have more lemonade?"
You blink at the sudden change of subject. "Of course, love."
As you pour her drink, she looks between you and George thoughtfully. "Does this mean George is your boyfriend now?"
George makes a choking sound beside you, and you nearly spill the lemonade.
"Well..." you look at George, who seems equally unsure how to answer.
"Because Sophie from school says when people kiss they're boyfriend and girlfriend," Amelia continues matter-of-factly. "And you smile a lot when George is here. And he brings me drawings from baby driver. And he remembers I like the blue cup not the red one."
She says all this while George hands her the correct blue cup, proving her point.
"Would that be okay?" George asks carefully. "If I was your mummy's boyfriend?"
Amelia takes a long sip of lemonade, clearly thinking it over. "Will you still help me with my drawings?"
"Of course."
"And tell me racing stories?"
"Absolutely."
"And you won't make Mummy sad?"
Your heart clenches at that, and you see George swallow hard.
"I promise," he says softly, "I will try my very best to only make your mummy smile."
Amelia nods, apparently satisfied. "Okay then. Can we do the rockets for your car now?"
"Lead the way, boss," George says, shooting you a relieved smile.
As Amelia skips back to her drawings, George quickly squeezes your hand. "That went better than expected?"
"Yeah," you breathe out. "Though we might want to be more careful with the kitchen kisses."
He grins, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. "Noted. Though I can't promise I won't want to kiss you every time I see you."
"George!" Amelia calls. "The rockets won't draw themselves!"
"Coming!" he calls back, then quickly steals one more kiss. "For the road."
You watch him join Amelia at the counter, the way he listens intently to her explanation of rocket physics (mostly gathered from cartoons), and feel your heart swell. It's early days still, but watching them together, you can't help but hope this is just the beginning of something wonderful.
"Mummy!" Amelia waves you over. "George says we need strategy for the rockets. That's your job!"
"Can't argue with that," you laugh, joining them at the counter.
As evening settles in, you find George and Amelia sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by LEGO pieces. The instructions for her new F1 car set lie forgotten as George helps her create what appears to be a highly modified version.
"See, if we put this piece here," George explains, "it makes the perfect spot for your rocket boosters."
"Can we make the wheels rainbow colored?" Amelia asks through a yawn.
"Of course we- did you just yawn?" George teases, poking her side gently.
"No," she protests, even as another yawn escapes. "M'not tired."
"Really?" you ask from your spot on the couch. "Because it looks like someone's about to fall asleep in her LEGOs."
"But George hasn't finished helping me," she whines softly, rubbing her eyes.
George catches your eye, silently asking permission. At your nod, he says, "How about I help you get ready for bed, and tomorrow you can finish the car?"
Amelia perks up slightly. "Promise you'll come back tomorrow?"
"Actually, sweetheart," he says carefully, "I have to go to Monaco for a few days. But I'll be back for your birthday next week."
Her lower lip trembles slightly. "You won't miss my party?"
"Miss your sixth birthday party? No way," he assures her. "I've already got your present picked out and everything."
"Really?" she asks sleepily.
"Really. Now, bedtime?"
She holds up her arms. "Will you carry me like when I fell asleep at the factory?"
George scoops her up easily, and your heart melts as she immediately snuggles into his shoulder. "Story?" she mumbles.
"One story," you say, following them to her room.
You watch from the doorway as George helps her into her pajamas and tucks her in, making sure her favorite stuffed car is properly positioned.
"Can you tell me about Monaco?" she asks as he sits on the edge of her bed. "Since that's where you're going?"
"Well," he starts, smoothing her hair back, "Monaco is like a magical kingdom by the sea. The buildings are all white and shiny, and the race track goes right through the city..."
You listen as he weaves a story about princesses who race cars and dolphins who watch from the harbor. By the time he's describing the tunnel section, Amelia's eyes are fluttering closed.
"G'night George," she mumbles. "Love you."
George's hand stills in her hair for a moment, and you see the emotion cross his face. "Goodnight, princess," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Sweet dreams."
He joins you in the doorway, both of you watching as she snuggles deeper into her blankets.
"You okay?" you ask softly, noting his expression.
He nods, leading you back to the living room. Once you're out of earshot, he pulls you close, burying his face in your hair.
"She said she loves me," he murmurs.
"She does," you confirm, wrapping your arms around him. "You've become very important to her."
He pulls back enough to look at you, his eyes intense. "You know you both are important to me too, right? I know we haven't been dating long, but..."
"I know," you assure him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "We know."
He leans into your touch. "I hate that I have to go to Monaco."
"It's only for a few days," you remind him. "And it's part of the job."
"Yeah," he sighs, pulling you toward the couch. You curl into his side automatically. "I just... I'll miss this. Miss you both."
"We'll miss you too," you admit. "But you'll be back for the party. Speaking of which, what exactly have you got planned? Amelia's been trying to guess all week."
His face lights up. "Ah, that's classified information. But I think she'll love it."
"George..."
"Don't worry," he laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Nothing too extravagant. Well, maybe a little extravagant. But she's only turning six once!"
You shake your head fondly. "You're going to spoil her rotten."
"That's my job, isn't it?" he asks, then seems to catch himself. "I mean, not my job, but... you know what I mean."
"I do," you say softly, understanding the weight of what he's not saying. It's early days still, but you both know this is heading somewhere serious.
He pulls you closer, and you sit in comfortable silence for a while, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.
"When do you leave?" you ask eventually.
"Early tomorrow," he sighs. "Need to be there for some sponsorship events."
"Then we should probably clean up these LEGOs before someone steps on one in the morning."
He groans dramatically but helps you up. As you both kneel to collect the scattered pieces, he keeps stealing glances at you.
"What?" you ask after the third time you catch him looking.
"Nothing," he smiles. "Just... thank you."
"For what?"
"For letting me be part of this," he gestures around the flat, at Amelia's drawings on the fridge, the LEGOs, the life you've built. "For trusting me with her. With both of you."
Your heart swells. "Thank you for wanting to be part of it."
He reaches for you then, LEGOs forgotten as he pulls you into a soft kiss. It's different from the heated kitchen kiss earlier - slower, deeper, full of everything neither of you are quite ready to say out loud.
When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "I should go," he whispers. "Early flight."
"Okay," you murmur, stealing one more kiss.
At the door, he turns back. "Tell Amelia I'll FaceTime her from Monaco? And maybe..." he hesitates, "maybe we could FaceTime too? After she's in bed?"
"I'd like that," you smile.
"And you'll text me if you need anything? Or if she does?"
"George," you laugh softly, "it's three days."
"I know, I know," he runs a hand through his hair. "I just... I got used to seeing you both every day. This is different."
"We'll be fine," you assure him. "Just come back in time for the party. Can't disappoint your biggest fan."
His expression softens. "Never." He kisses you one last time, gentle and sweet. "Sweet dreams, beautiful."
Later, checking on Amelia before bed, you find she's kicked off her blankets as usual. As you tuck her back in, she stirs slightly.
"Mummy?" she mumbles. "Is George gone?"
"Yes, love. But he'll be back soon."
"Good," she sighs, already drifting back to sleep. "He gives good hugs. And he makes you smile the proper way."
Looking at your sleeping daughter, thinking of George's gentle ways with her, his careful consideration of her feelings, the way he's slotted so perfectly into your lives, you can't help but smile "the proper way."
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liked by username1, username2 and 17,984 others
f1gossip George Russell pulled up to a Mercedes event in Monaco… and brought a model with him 👀
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username1 OHHHHH
username2 what about yn...
username3 THEY LOOK SO GOOD
username4 george single era is coming
username5 this is why i told y'all not to be weair about him and he merc strategist
username6 NOOO HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WITH YN
username7 yn and amelia are literally right there
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The flat feels quiet without Amelia's laughter echoing through it. Your mother had taken her for a girls afternoon, and you stayed back home doing some chores. A certain British driver's smile coming to your mind as you move through the house.
You're curled up on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when they appear, photos that make your heart stop. George at some glamorous Monaco event, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit. But it's not his appearance that makes your stomach churn, it's the stunning model on his arm.
They look perfect together - like something out of a magazine spread. The kind of couple that belongs at these events.
Your phone rings, making you snap out of it. Kimi's name appearing on screen. For a moment, you consider letting it go to voicemail, but he'd only keep calling.
"Hey," you answer, trying to keep your voice steady.
"Finally," he grumbles. "Been trying to figure out what to get the little monster for her birthday. Does she still like those unicorn games?"
"Yeah, she does."
"That's enthusiastic," he says sarcastically. "What about- hang on. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Don't bullshit me, YN. I've known you too long. You're my team mum."
You sink deeper into the couch, pulling a throw pillow to your chest. "I'm fine."
"You sound like when George beat you at Mario Kart and you pretended it didn't bother you for two weeks."
"That was different," you protest weakly. "He cheated."
"Stop deflecting. What happened?"
You're quiet for a long moment, then, "Have you checked social media today?"
There's rustling, then typing. A long pause. "Ah, fuck."
"Yeah."
"YN..."
"Don't," you cut him off, voice thick. "Don't try to explain it away. I get it. She's gorgeous and sophisticated and probably knows all about sponsorship events and doesn't have a complicated life with a six-year-old and-"
"Stop," Kimi interrupts firmly. "First, you're spiraling. Second, you know these events are bullshit. Remember when they tried to set me up with that Instagram model?"
"This is different."
"How?"
"They look..." you swallow hard, "right together. Like they fit. Like they make sense."
"And you and George don't make sense?" Kimi asks skeptically. "Because from where I'm standing, you fit better than most things in this ridiculous sport. Like Amelia says, puzzle pieces."
"I thought..." your voice cracks. "I really thought maybe this time would be different. That maybe..."
"Have you talked to him?"
"No."
"YN..."
"I can't," you whisper, tears finally falling. "I can't hear him say that this was fun but he's found someone more suitable or-"
"Now you're being stupid," Kimi cuts in. "George isn't like that. You know he's not."
"Do I? Because I thought Amelia's father wasn't like that either, and look how that turned out."
There's a long pause. When Kimi speaks again, his voice is gentler. "George isn't him. You know that."
"I can't risk it," you say softly. "I can't risk Amelia getting hurt. I can't have her wait by the window, hoping he'd come back."
"And that's exactly why you should talk to George," Kimi insists. "Because he's not the kind of man who makes little girls wait by windows."
"But what if he is?" Your voice is barely audible. "What if I let her love him and then..."
"Then you'll deal with it. But you can't protect her from everything, YN. And maybe you're protecting her from something beautiful."
You wipe your eyes. "When did you get so wise? Why am I taking advice from my 18-year-old work son."
"I've always been wise. You just never listen." His tone turns serious again. "Have you checked your phone? Has he tried to contact you?"
You glance at your notifications - nothing from George. The realization makes your chest ache. "No."
"Give it time. There's probably an explanation."
"Yeah," you say hollowly. "The explanation is probably five-foot-ten with perfect hair and no emotional baggage."
"YN..."
"I should go," you cut in. "Amelia will be home soon and I can't... I can't let her see me like this."
"You don't have to handle everything alone, you know."
"Yes, I do," you say quietly. "That's what being a single mother means."
Before he can respond, you hear keys in the door. "They're back. I have to go."
"YN, wait-"
You hang up just as Amelia bursts in, already talking excitedly about her day with grandma.
"And then we saw the biggest dog ever and- Mummy?" she stops suddenly, looking at you with those too-perceptive eyes. "Are you sad?"
"No, love," you force a smile, quickly wiping your face. "Just tired."
She climbs onto the couch next to you, her small hand reaching up to touch your cheek where a tear had fallen. "You look sad though."
Your heart clenches. This is exactly what you were afraid of - her picking up on your pain, carrying it. You won't do that to her.
"I'm fine, sweetheart," you say, pulling her close. "Tell me more about your day with grandma."
"Well..." she starts, but then pauses. "When is George coming back? He promised to help me finish my LEGO car."
The innocent question feels like a knife to your heart. "He's very busy with work right now, love."
"But he'll be back for my party, right? He promised."
You hold her tighter, breathing in her familiar sweet scent, trying to find the right words that won't hurt her. "Sometimes... sometimes grown-ups have to change their plans."
"Oh," she says quietly, and you can hear the beginning of disappointment in her voice. It makes you want to cry all over again.
Looking down at Amelia, at her tiny fingers playing with the bracelet George gave her, you think maybe some risks aren't worth taking. You won't let her build hopes around someone only to watch them crumble.
Better to step back now, before she gets even more attached. Before those goodnight calls and LEGO sessions and racing stories become something she can't live without. Before George becomes a person she waits by windows for.
Even if it means breaking your own heart in the process.
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The soft knock at your door comes just after ten. You knew he'd come, George Russell isn't the type to let something go, especially not this. Still, your hands shake as you open the door.
He looks exhausted, still in his travel clothes, hair messy like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. The moment he sees you, his face crumples with relief.
"YN," he breathes, stepping forward, but you move back.
"You shouldn't be here," your voice is barely a whisper, conscious of Amelia sleeping down the hall.
"Where else would I be?" He stays in the doorway, respecting your space even as his eyes plead with you. "Please, just talk to me. What happened? What changed?"
You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold it together. "I saw the photos."
"The- oh god, the event photos?" His eyes widen. "YN, that wasn't- it was just PR. Mercedes arranged it, I should have told you but I didn't think-"
"It's not about the photos," you cut in, though your heart clenches remembering them. "It's about what they made me realize."
"Which is?"
"That this isn't fair. To any of us. But especially not to Amelia."
His face falls. "What are you talking about?"
You glance down the hallway, making sure her door is still closed, then move further into the living room. George follows, closing the front door softly.
"She never met her father," you say quietly. "He left when I told him I was pregnant. Said he wasn't ready for a family, for responsibility. Last I heard he was in Australia somewhere."
"YN..."
"She used to ask about him," you continue, voice thick. "When she was younger. Why didn't she have a daddy like other kids? Was it because she wasn't good enough? Did she do something wrong?"
"She was just a baby," George says softly. "It wasn't her fault."
"No, it wasn't. It was mine. For letting someone into her life who could hurt her." You look at him directly. "I won't make that mistake again."
"I'm not him," George steps closer. "I would never-"
"You can't promise that," you cut in. "You can't promise you won't wake up one day and realize this is all too much. The responsibility, the complications, the fact that you're barely twenty-seven and suddenly playing father figure to a five-year-old."
"I'm not playing at anything," he says fiercely. "I love her. I love you both."
"Now you do. But what about in six months? A year? When the novelty wears off and you realize you could have someone without all this baggage?"
"Is that what you think this is?" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "That you're some kind of novelty? That Amelia is baggage?"
"I think you're young and successful and have your whole life ahead of you. And I think one day you'll realize that life could be a lot simpler without us in it."
"You don't get to decide that," he says, voice rising slightly before he catches himself, lowering it again. "You don't get to decide what I want or how I feel."
"I get to decide what's best for my daughter."
"And you think pushing away someone who loves her is what's best?"
"I think..." your voice cracks. "I think protecting her from another heartbreak is what's best. You should have seen her face yesterday, when she thought you might miss her party. The way her whole world dimmed, just at the possibility. I can't... I can't watch her go through that for real."
"Then it's a good thing she won't have to," he steps closer again. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
"You can't promise that."
"Yes, I can." He reaches for your hand but you pull back. "YN, please. Look at me."
You shake your head, tears falling now. "I can't risk it. The way she looks at you... she trusts you completely. She loves you so much already."
"And I love her," he insists. "More than I ever thought possible. Do you know what I keep in my wallet? That drawing she did of us, where she put all three of us together and wrote 'my family' at the top. I look at it every day. It's not some game to me."
"George..."
"No, listen to me. I know you're scared. I know you're trying to protect her. But pushing me away isn't the answer. Let me prove to you that I'm not going anywhere."
From down the hall comes a small voice: "Mummy?"
You both freeze as Amelia appears, rubbing her eyes sleepily. The moment she sees George, her whole face lights up.
"George!" she runs to him and he catches her automatically, lifting her up. "You came back!"
The way she clings to him, the natural way he holds her, the absolute trust in her eyes - it makes your heart ache.
"Of course I came back, princess," he says softly, but his eyes are on you. "I'll always come back."
"Promise?" she asks, already drifting back to sleep against his shoulder.
"Promise," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her hair.
You watch them, your chest tight with love and fear and possibility. "I should put her back to bed."
"Let me?" he asks quietly. When you hesitate, he adds, "Please?"
You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.
You follow them to her room, watching as he tucks her in with practiced ease, making sure her favorite stuffed car is properly positioned.
"G'night George," she mumbles. "Love you."
"Love you too, princess," he whispers, smoothing her hair back.
Back in the living room, he turns to you. "That's what you're trying to protect her from? Love?"
"I'm trying to protect her from losing it."
"Then stop trying to make her lose it," he says gently. "Stop trying to make us both lose it."
"I'm scared," you admit, voice breaking.
"I know," he steps closer, and this time you don't move away. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you make me."
"She needs stability."
"I know. Let me be that for her. For both of you."
"George..."
"Look at me," he pleads. "Really look at me. Do I look like someone who's going to walk away from this? From her? From you?"
You do look at him - at the sincerity in his eyes, the way he's still oriented toward Amelia's room like he can't help it, the drawing you know is worn at the edges from being taken out of his wallet so often.
"I can't lose you," you whisper. "Either of us."
"Then don't push me away," he reaches for you again, and this time you let him pull you close. "Let me love you both. Let me prove to you that some promises are worth believing in."
And there in the quiet of your flat, with your daughter sleeping peacefully down the hall and George's heart beating steady under your ear, you think maybe he already has.
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liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 90,122 others
yourinstagram Six years ago, you made me a mother. Six years of endless love, racing car stories, messy art projects, and the kind of joy I never knew existed before you. You amaze me every single day with your kindness, your intelligence, and your incredible spirit. The way you see the world, the way you love so fearlessly, the way you make everyone around you smile. You're magic, my darling girl. Happy birthday to my little racer, my best friend, my greatest adventure. Here's to many more years of race car pancakes, LEGO building sessions, and hearing you explain aerodynamics to anyone who'll listen (sorry about that, fellow airplane passengers). I love you more than all the checkered flags in the world. ❤️
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username1 THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL
username2 happy birthday to little amelia !
georgerussell63 Happy birthday to the most amazing co-pilot anyone could ask for ❤️ Can't wait to finish that LEGO car with you today, princess. Love you lots x
kimi.antoneli happy birthday little monster. your present will make your mother cry. you're welcome.
carlossainz55 Feliz cumpleaños pequeña! 🎉 Still waiting for that rematch on the simulator!
lando HAPPY BIRTHDAY MELIA!
username3 the entire paddock loves her i'm crying
mercedesamgf1 Happy birthday to our youngest team member!
username4 yn is the best mama ever, doing it on her own too
username5 GEORGE THIS IS YOUR FAMILY
alex_albon Happy birthday Ames! 🎈 Still using those overtaking tips you gave me
username6 george bonus dad ever
username7 I LOVE THIS FAMILY SM
username8 Happy birthday to F1's favorite little princess
username9 george's comment 🥺 he loves them so much
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The house is finally quiet, scattered remnants of the party everywhere - wrapping paper, balloons, the racing track cake that took you hours to perfect. You're gathering paper plates when you hear George's soft footsteps coming from Amelia's room.
"She's finally asleep," he whispers, leaning against the doorframe. "Had to read the racing manual three times, but she's out."
You can't help but smile. "The manual? Really?"
"Her choice," he grins. "Said she needed to dream about proper racing lines."
"Of course she did." You shake your head fondly, continuing to clean up.
"Hey," he catches your hand gently as you pass. "Leave it. Just... sit with me for a bit?"
You hesitate, but nod, letting him lead you to the couch. You both sit, a careful distance between you that feels wrong after how close you've been these past months.
"She had a good day," you say softly, filling the silence.
"The best," he agrees. "Though I think Kimi might have gone overboard with the simulator."
"Might have? She's going to be impossible to get to school now."
George laughs quietly, then sobers. "YN... can we talk? Really talk?"
Your heart speeds up. "About?"
"Everything. Us. What happened this week. What you're afraid of."
You pull your knees up to your chest, making yourself smaller. "George..."
"Please," he says softly. "I need to understand. I need to know how to fix this."
"It's not about fixing," you say, staring at the birthday banner hanging crooked on the wall. "It's about... reality."
"What reality?"
"The reality that you're 27, successful, with your whole life ahead of you. And I'm..." you gesture vaguely, "complicated."
"You think that's how I see you? As complicated?"
"Isn't it true though? I come with so much... stuff. A child, responsibilities, limitations-"
"Stop," he cuts in, turning to face you fully. "Just... stop. You want to know what I see when I look at you both? I see family. I see home. I see the way Amelia's face lights up when she masters a new racing game. I see the way you scrunch your nose when you're concentrating on work. I see movie nights and pancake mornings and silly dance parties in the kitchen."
"George..."
"No, let me finish. You think you're some burden I'm carrying? You're not. You're the best part of every day. Both of you. Even when Amelia's giving me detailed critiques of my qualifying laps or when you're stress-cleaning at midnight before a deadline."
You feel tears forming. "But your life would be so much simpler without us."
"Simpler?" he laughs incredulously. "My life before you was empty. Sure, I had racing, but I came home to quiet rooms and takeaway for one. Now? Now I come home to crayon drawings on my fridge and LEGO cars in my shoes and two people who make everything better just by existing."
"But what about your career? The traveling, the events..."
"What about them?"
"I saw those photos, George. That world... it's so different from this one."
"You think I care about that world?" he moves closer. "You think I'd choose fancy parties over helping Amelia build racing tracks in the living room? Over watching you fall asleep during movies? Over this?"
"I don't want to hold you back."
"You don't," he says firmly. "You push me forward. Both of you do. Do you know what Amelia said to me tonight? She said we fit together like puzzle pieces. And she's right."
You wipe your eyes. "She's too smart for her own good."
"She gets that from her mum." He reaches for your hand, and this time you let him take it. "I know you're scared. I know you're trying to protect her. But I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you make me."
"I don't want to make you," you whisper. "That's what terrifies me."
"Why?"
"Because..." your voice breaks. "Because I love you. We both do. And if you leave..."
"I won't."
"You can't promise that."
"Yes, I can," he says fiercely. "I can promise that every single day for the rest of our lives if you'll let me. I can promise that I'll always come home to you both. That I'll always be there for school plays and birthdays and random Tuesday mornings. That I'll love you both more each day than the last."
"George..."
"You know what scared me most this week?" he continues. "Not just the thought of losing my girlfriend. The thought of losing my family. Of not hearing Amelia's bedtime stories or your laugh first thing in the morning. Of not being the person she runs to when she masters a new racing game or you turn to when you've had a hard day."
You're fully crying now. "When did you become so important to us?"
"Probably around the same time you became everything to me." He wipes your tears gently. "I love you, YN. Both of you. The busy mornings and quiet nights and everything in between. The complicated parts and the simple ones. All of it."
"Even when Amelia corrects your driving technique?"
He laughs softly. "Especially then. She's usually right anyway."
You lean into him finally, letting yourself feel the familiar comfort of his arms around you. "I'm sorry I pushed you away."
"I know why you did it," he kisses your hair. "But please don't do it again. Talk to me instead. Let me prove to you that some people stay."
"I'm still scared," you admit.
"That's okay," he says. "We can be scared together. Just don't shut me out."
From down the hall comes a small voice: "Mummy? George?"
You both look up to see Amelia standing there, clutching her stuffed race car.
"What's wrong, princess?" George asks.
"I forgot to say thank you," she says seriously. "For the best birthday ever. And..." she looks between you both. "Are you staying? For real this time?"
George looks at you, letting you take the lead.
Looking at them, at the man who loves your daughter like his own and the little girl who's already given him her whole heart - you make your decision.
"Yes, love," you say softly. "He's staying."
And sitting there, with your daughter asleep between you and George holding you both like he'll never let go, you think maybe it's okay to be scared sometimes. Maybe it's okay to let someone in, to trust that they'll stay, to believe in the kind of love that builds homes in hearts.
Because some puzzles are meant to stay together, even if it takes a six-year-old to show you how the pieces fit.
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liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 601,299 others
georgerussell63 The best kind of Sunday 🚲❤️ From "I can't do it!" to "Watch how fast I can go!" in under an hour. Couldn't be prouder of my favorite co-pilot. Even if we had a few crashes into the bushes (sorry about that, YN). Worth every scrape and tear for that victory smile at the end. Now she wants to know when we can upgrade to a motorized version... Think that's a conversation for another day
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username1 THIS IS SUCH A PROUD DAD MOMENT
username2 he's protecting her from falling while letting her be brave
username3 george russell: world class driver, even better bonus dad
username4 "My favorite co-pilot" I'M NOT OKAY
username5 the way he naturally stepped into being her dad though 🥺
lewishamilton Next generation driver in training! 🙌🏾
lando should we be worried about our jobs?
yourinstagram Love you both, you troublemakers
username6 GEORGE REALLY IS THE FATHER WHO STEPPED UP
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The garage is a flurry of activity, screens displaying data streams and weather patterns while mechanics rush around with last-minute adjustments. You're deep in conversation with Bono about tire strategies when your phone buzzes with Amelia's FaceTime call.
"Hi baby," you answer, trying to keep one eye on the radar. "Ready for the race?"
"I've got ALL my lucky charms!" She holds up an assortment of trinkets, including the Mercedes keychain George gave her. "And Grandpa's watching with me! He says hi but he's pretending to be grumpy."
You hear your father's distinct grunt in the background and laugh. "Tell him I said-"
"Is that my favorite co-pilot?" George appears behind you, still in his race suit, hair messy from the helmet.
"GEORGE!" Amelia practically screams. "I miss you! Are you going to win today? I told everyone at school you would!"
His face softens in that way it only does for her. "Well, now I have to, don't I? Can't disappoint my biggest fan."
"I drew you a new good luck picture! Mummy has it!"
You pull the slightly crumpled paper from your pocket - a detailed drawing of a Mercedes car with "GO GEORGE!" written in wobbly letters.
"It's perfect," he beams. "Just what I needed."
"Mummy says it's going to rain," Amelia says seriously. "Remember what we practiced about wet weather racing?"
"Smooth inputs, gentle throttle, stay off the kerbs," George recites dutifully. "Did I pass the test?"
"Mmhmm. You can race now."
You both laugh at her solemn approval.
"Thanks, princess. Better go get ready now, okay? Watch out for me on the podium."
"Love you George! Love you Mummy!"
"Love you too, baby. Be good for Grandpa."
After you hang up, you notice George hasn't moved, still staring at the spot where Amelia's face had been.
"George? You okay?"
He seems to make a decision, turning to face you fully. "Move in with me."
Your heart stops. "What?"
"Both of you. Move in with me." His eyes are intense, certain. "The summer break is coming up. I've already been looking at furniture for Amelia's room, there's this racing car bed I found that she'd love, and the spare room would be perfect for your home office, and-" he stops, running a hand through his hair. "I know it's fast, but it doesn't feel fast, does it? It feels like we should have done this ages ago."
"George..."
"I hate coming home to an empty house," he continues. "I hate not hearing Amelia's morning chatter or your late-night typing. I hate that my fridge doesn't have her drawings on it, that my shelves don't have your books mixed with my racing magazines. I hate that when I buy groceries, I automatically get things for three people but there's only me there to eat them."
You glance around the garage, but everyone is deliberately focusing elsewhere, giving you privacy in the midst of chaos.
"The house is too big," he says softly. "Too quiet. Too... not you. Not us."
"Are you sure?" your voice barely a whisper. "This is a big step."
"I've never been more sure of anything." He takes your hands. "I want to wake up to Amelia jumping on our bed demanding pancakes. I want to fall asleep watching you work on race strategies. I want to build that LEGO city she's been planning in the spare room she already thinks of as hers. I want... I want everything. With both of you."
A mechanic calls out the five-minute warning.
"You need to go," you say, but don't let go of his hands.
"I need an answer more."
You look at him, this man who loves your daughter like his own, who makes you both feel safe, who wants to build a home with you.
"The racing car bed better be amazing," you whisper.
His face breaks into that brilliant smile. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You squeeze his hands. "Now go win this race so we can celebrate properly."
He starts to walk away, then turns back. "YN?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you. Both of you. So much."
You smile, feeling something settle in your chest. "We love you too. Now focus on the race, or Amelia will never let you hear the end of it."
"Yes ma'am," he grins, pulling his helmet on.
You watch him walk to the car, your heart full. Outside, the Belgian sky opens up with rain, but for once, you're not worried about the weather.
And as George's car roars to life, as Amelia undoubtedly bounces with excitement on your couch at home (soon to be your old couch in your new home) you think about puzzle pieces and racing car beds and the way love builds itself into something permanent when you're not looking.
The race is about to start, but really, you think, the best part is just beginning.
