𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞! 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧! — gr63
george russell x !estranged verstappen doctor reader (smau/written)
you never meant to fall in love with someone famous. you were busy enough — night shifts, residency, constant studying, the quiet exhaustion that came with being a doctor. george was supposed to be a brief breath of air in the middle of your chaos, a soft little distraction with a sharp smile and far too much charm.
and then he stayed. and then he loved you. and then he asked you to marry him. you said yes privately, quietly, the way you lived most of your life.
but the internet is fast, and f1 fans are faster. one blurry picture of you in the paddock — hair tossed by the wind, george reaching for your hand, sunlight hitting you just right — and suddenly the whole world thinks they’ve uncovered a secret: george russell is marrying a verstappen.
you laugh it off at first. until max verstappen himself stops in front of you, eyes wide with something between confusion and recognition, and says softly, “i… think we need to talk.”
and your whole life tilts.
fc : yaelshelbia on ig a/n : this is terribly long so grab a snack or somethin. also i combined two recent george requests and realized i've never done a george x reader 😭 (y'all are welcome to slander me for that) but i hope you enjoy and ily all
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doctoryn
liked by kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, alex_albon and 456,000 others.
doctoryn : since georgie had a minor slip up and the whole world knows im a fiancée now...why not open up the ig! enjoy my life in pictures ☺☺☺
tagged : georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli
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view 81,000 other comments.
username008 : THE RING??? HELLO???? DID GEORGE HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE LOURVE HEIST????
↳ doctoryn : happy to report that he was at a race at the time of the robbery :)
liked by georgerussell63 and kimi.antonelli
↳ username55 : oh she has a sense of humor and she is a doctor. new fave wag omg
username007 : george calling you his fiancée like it was nothing and YOU LAUGHING ABOUT IT??? power couple behavior
liked by doctoryn
username010 : im still stuck on the ring. i need a dollar amount someone pls
↳ username075 : someone on twitter said it is rumored to cost around 1.2 million
↳ username010 : mans got that contract extension and bought a yacht AND a 1.2 million dollar ring. i wanna be george russell
georgerussell63 : i could not contain my excitement my love! you are too perfect to not share with the world xx
liked by doctoryn, kimi.antonelli, alex_albon and lando
↳ lando : nice save georgie
liked by doctoryn and alex_albon
↳ doctoryn : you are so lucky i love you
liked by georgerussell63
↳ georgerussell63 : only the luckiest
olliebearman : ring is bigger than my future...congrats again guys!
liked by georgerussell63 and doctoryn
kimi.antonelli : mamma e papà
liked by georgerussell63 and doctoryn
↳ doctoryn : mio figlio :)
liked by kimi.antonelli and georgerussell63
lewishamilton : Congratulations to the beautiful couple! ❤️
liked by doctoryn and georgerussell63
alex_albon : since everyone is talking about the ring...i want everyone to know that i helped pick it out and I KNEW BEFORE ANYONE!!!!!!!
liked by doctoryn and georgerussell63
↳ doctoryn : maybe next you need to go pick out a ring for my best friend...👀
liked by alex_albon, lilymhe and georgerussell63
lilymhe : my beautiful girlllllllll<3 so happy for you 🥹
liked by doctoryn
↳ doctoryn : my maid of honor 😍
liked by lilymhe
↳ alex_albon : george when am i being asked to be best man??
like by georgerussell63 and doctoryn
↳ doctoryn : you failed the test to be best man the minute you let him open his mouth about the engagement
liked by georgerussell63 and alex_albon
↳ alex_albon : blame his press secretary not me!!!!!
liked by georgerussell63 and doctoryn
babickovaeli : you are going to be the most beautiful bride omg 🥹
liked by doctoryn and georgerussell63
↳ doctoryn : love you my girl 💕
mercedesamgf1 : congrats to our favorite couple! we love you both!!
liked by doctoryn and georgerussell63
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You’re not even supposed to be looking at your phone. Not when you’re standing in a cramped room, hair tied back messily, scrubs wrinkled from twelve hours of nonstop patient turnover. But one of your coworkers bursts in, eyes wide, and shoves her phone toward you.
“Your boyfriend is trending,” she whispers like it’s national security.
Your eyebrows shoot up. “What did he do now?”
She plays the clip, and there he is — George, still flushed from the race, grinning like the sun is stuck inside him. He’s answering some post-race question, blissed out and tired, and then—
“Yeah, I can’t wait to get back home and see my fiancée—”
He stops. You watch the exact second his brain catches up with his mouth.
Your coworker gasps. You choke on air.
He stutters, laughs nervously, moves on like nothing happened, but the reporters definitely notice. Twitter definitely notices. The entire world definitely notices.
You press a hand over your mouth to smother a laugh, your coworker staring at you like you’re hiding state secrets.
“I need to get back to my patients,” you say, cheeks burning but grinning.
You spend the next hour between cases biting back laughter every time your phone buzzes with another notification. By the time you finish assisting in your last consult and finally get a quiet minute, your phone rings. George.
You answer immediately. “Hi, darling—”
“I am so sorry.”
You burst out laughing so hard you have to lean against the wall for support. “George, oh my God.”
“I didn’t mean to say it,” he rambles, mortified, “it just slipped out, I was tired, and I didn’t even notice until I saw Kimi smirking like a menace across the room, and then Toto looked like he’d aged ten years, and—”
You’re wheezing now, trying to breathe. “George, breathe.”
“I proposed to you privately for a reason—”
“And I loved that,” you interrupt gently. “But this? This is hilarious.”
He groans loudly. “I don’t want this to be how you feel pressured into doing anything. And if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll fix it—”
“George,” you say, soft but amused, “I am literally scrubbing in between laughing fits. I’m not mad. I think it’s cute.”
“You do?”
“I do. You were excited. You love me. It slipped. That’s sweet.”
He exhales like you’ve just saved his soul. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Now stop worrying and get home safe. I have like seven hours left.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you more. Go sleep.”
“I’ll try,” he says, sounding a bit lighter now. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
You hang up, heart warm, and finish your shift with a dumb smile on your face.
By the time you get home, the sun is rising over the apartment building, and you’re expecting to find George passed out somewhere — couch, bed, kitchen floor, wherever the jetlag takes him.
Instead, the entire apartment smells like fresh coffee and something warm and buttery. You push the door open slowly.
George is in the kitchen, still in sweats and a faded Mercedes tee, hair messy from travel and eyes sleepy but sparkling when he sees you.
“Hi, angel,” he says, stepping toward you and gathering you into a hug before you can even drop your bag.
“You’re awake?” you laugh into his chest.
“I made breakfast.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Sit. Shoes off. Scrubs off if you want, but not in a weird way—”
You start laughing again.
He’s flustered. “I meant— okay, yes, in a weird way, but also not. I just want you comfortable.”
You kiss him once, slow and grateful, before changing into one of his hoodies and joining him at the kitchen island. He’s prepared pancakes, eggs, fruit, and coffee. It’s almost absurd.
“You should be sleeping,” you tell him, but you’re already taking a bite.
He shrugs, sitting across from you. “Couldn’t. Not until I saw you.”
You blush, ducking your head. “Stop.”
“Never.”
You both fall into easy conversation. You tell him about the nightmare of your shift: the toddler who refused to open their mouth, the elderly patient who flirted with you aggressively, the nurse who played your engagement clip on loop for the entire ward.
George tells you about the race, how he almost spun, how Kimi nearly fell out of the car at the driver's parade and how Alex has already threatened to tell the entire grid you’re his fiancée just to make him suffer.
Breakfast turns into lingering touches, soft smiles, legs brushing under the table. Once you’re both done eating, George reaches for your hand.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
You curl onto the couch together, your head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles on your shoulder. His heartbeat slows under your cheek. His breathing evens out. Jetlag starts to win.
But before he drifts off completely, he speaks.
“YN?”
“Mm?”
“Will you… come to the next race?”
You blink up at him. “The next one?”
He nods, cheeks faintly pink. “It’s my home race. And… I’d really like you there. I know you’re busy, and I don’t ever want to pull you away from work, but—”
“George.”
He meets your gaze.
“You don’t have to convince me,” you say softly. “Of course I’ll come.”
His relief is immediate, like you’ve lifted a weight off his chest. He pulls you closer, burying his face in your hair.
“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmurs.
“You’re dramatic.”
“And hopelessly in love with you.”
You laugh, settling back against him.
“Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m in love with you too.”
He falls asleep like that — holding you tightly, morning sunlight warming your legs, the apartment quiet and safe around you. And somewhere out there, the world is screaming about George Russell’s fiancée. But here, in your living room, it’s just you and him. Soft. Warm. Happy. Right where you belong.
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Silverstone feels different the moment you step through the gates. You’ve been to races before — a handful, always quietly, always slipping in and out with little attention. But this time? This time you’re walking into the paddock as George Russell’s fiancée, and people definitely notice.
George hasn’t taken his hand off your waist for even one second. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, smiling so wide it almost looks painful. Every few steps he glances down at you like he needs to make sure you’re still here. A couple journalists approach, microphones out, hoping for a quote.
George steps in front of you immediately, shoulders squaring, voice firm.
“We’re not doing personal questions today,” he says, polite but absolutely done.
“George,” you whisper, tugging his sleeve, “I’m okay.”
“I know,” he murmurs, leaning slightly toward you, “but I’m not taking chances.”
A camera clicks nearby and he subtly shifts again, blocking you from the shot until his PR secretary reminds him he actually does have work to get to.
“I’ll take her to hospitality,” She offers.
George hesitates. Actually hesitates.
“George,” you laugh, cupping his cheek for a moment, “go. I’ll be fine.”
He kisses your forehead like he’s leaving for war, then reluctantly jogs off toward the Mercedes garage, glancing back every ten seconds.
She snorts. “He’s going to check the cameras every two minutes to see if you’ve moved.”
You absolutely believe him.
You don’t even make it ten steps inside hospitality before you hear a familiar voice behind you.
“YN!!!”
You barely turn before a blur — and a mop of curly hair — slams into you.
“Kimi!” you laugh, stumbling slightly as he hugs you tight. “I saw you like a week ago.”
“But you’re here now,” he says, squeezing you again. “And officially! Do I have to call you Mrs. George now?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Good,” he nods seriously. “It sounds weird.”
You swat his arm. “That’s what you took from that?”
He beams. “I’m happy you’re here.”
“You doing okay for quali?”
He shrugs, grinning. “I’m faster when you’re around to keep George calm.”
So that’s what this is — he missed you both. Kimi follows you around like a golden retriever until Bono calls him in for engineering briefings. He waves wildly as he goes.
“Don’t disappear!” “I won’t!” “If you leave I’m telling George!”
You’re scrolling through your phone, waiting for George to finish prep, when you hear:
“There she is!”
Lily is the first to reach you, pulling you into a hug.
“Show me the ring,” she demands immediately.
You lift your hand and she whistles. “Jesus Christ. Did he propose or try to blind you?”
“It’s big,” you admit, blushing.
“It’s massive,” Alexandra says as she joins the group, her eyes widening. “Charles could never.”
“Charles absolutely could,” Lily argues. “He’s dramatic enough.”
“I heard that,” Alexandra mutters under her breath but she’s smiling as she hugs you.
Then Kika and Eli come over — and suddenly you’re surrounded by the sweetest chaos.
Kika takes your hand delicately, staring at the ring like it’s the crown jewels. “This is… oh my god, this is stunning. George did so well.”
“Ridiculously well,” Eli adds. “Do you need sunglasses to look at it?”
Everyone laughs, and you feel your nerves melt away. Being here is easier with them — warm voices, big smiles, gentle teasing.
Lily links her arm with yours. “How does it feel?”
“You look like you belong here,” Alexandra says softly.
You smile, feeling your cheeks warm. “I just feel really… happy.”
“Good,” Kika beams. “Then we’re happy too.”
They pull you into a group hug. Someone takes a picture. It’s chaos and soft and girly and perfect.
You make your way back into the garage after driver prep, and George lights up the second he sees you.
“Hi, darling,” he says, kissing your cheek. “How’s my girl?”
You roll your eyes affectionately. “The girls love the ring.”
He blushes. “Good. I had… help picking it.”
“Who helped?”
Alex raises a hand from across the room. “Me. I have taste.” (when is alex not in george's garage or george is not in his?)
“You bought it because Albon told you to?” you tease.
“I bought it because you deserve the best,” George corrects softly.
Your heart melts. He’s half in his race suit, the sleeves tied around his waist. You step closer, brushing a small smudge off his cheek.
“Hold still,” you murmur.
He closes his eyes as you adjust the collar and smooth out the fabric over his shoulders. Your fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck as you gently pull his balaclava in place.
He leans into your hands like it’s instinct.
“Are you ready?” you ask quietly.
He opens his eyes — clear, bright, focused.
“I am now.”
Your thumb brushes his cheek. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”
He takes your hands in his, squeezing them.
“Look at me,” he says gently.
You do.
“You being here means more than any win ever could.”
You swallow. “George…”
“I mean it.” His forehead touches yours. “You’re… everything.”
Your breath catches.
“Go win something,” you whisper.
He grins. “For you? Always.”
He gives you a final kiss — soft, sure, lingering — before pulling his helmet on and stepping toward his car.
Before he climbs in, he looks back over his shoulder, finds you instantly, and gives you a small wave. And you wave back, heart full. Silverstone has never felt more like home to him.
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f1gossipgirls
4,350,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : george russell’s fiancée makes her first official paddock appearance at silverstone — and she’s already everyone’s favorite. the couple were seen looking disgustingly in love all morning.
but here’s where it gets interesting… fans noticed that yn bears a striking resemblance to a certain dutch world champion 👀 and after some old family photos leaked on twitter this morning… let’s just say the rumor mill is working overtime. is george russell marrying a verstappen?! stay tuned.
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user has disabled comments on this post.
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You wake up to sunlight streaming across your face and the familiar weight of George’s arm wrapped around your waist. It’s quiet, peaceful… the exact opposite of what’s happening online.
You have no idea. You stretch a little, shifting under the blankets, and George mumbles something into your shoulder — still half asleep, curls a complete mess.
“Morning,” he says, voice deep and soft.
“Morning,” you whisper back.
Neither of you check your phones. Neither of you look at the outside world. You get dressed slowly, eat breakfast together, tease George for taking forever to do his hair, and laugh when he tries to convince you his shoes match the pants even when they clearly don't.
You leave the hotel hand in hand. Life feels normal. Perfectly normal.
The moment you step inside the gates, something feels off.
The reporters aren’t shouting the typical questions — they’re staring. Whispering. Looking at you with expressions you can’t quite place. Some of them raise their microphones but ask things like:
“YN, can you comment on the rumors?” “Any thoughts on the family resemblance?” “George, how does it feel to marry into—” “Are the Verstappen allegations true?”
George freezes.
“The what?” he asks sharply.
But PR swoops in before either of you get answers, guiding you down the main paddock walkway with a little more urgency than usual.
“That was… weird,” you whisper.
“I don’t like that,” George mutters, protective instincts flaring. “We’ll sort it out inside.”
You nod, though you’re still confused — and increasingly curious.
The moment you walk into the Mercedes garage, Kimi Antonelli stops dead in his tracks.
He is mid-conversation with an engineer, holding a tablet, when he spots you. His jaw drops. His eyes go huge. The tablet slowly lowers like he’s forgotten what hands are.
“Kimi?” you laugh. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Kimi looks between you and George. Then back at you. Then at George again.
“You guys haven’t seen anything?” he asks.
George frowns. “About what?”
Kimi hesitates for half a second — then blurts:
“The internet thinks YN is a Verstappen.”
You blink. George blinks. The garage goes silent for half a beat. Then you snort so loudly one of the mechanics jumps.
“Kimi,” you say through laughter, “that’s insane.”
“I know!” Kimi says, flailing slightly. “But they’re serious! They’re comparing your faces, and someone leaked photos of Max’s family when he was younger, and it’s everywhere.”
George looks simultaneously horrified and deeply confused. “We don’t even— You’ve never even met— What?!”
You’re still laughing. “Okay, that’s ridiculous. It’s just the internet being the internet. We look like a thousand different people.”
Kimi nods slowly. “Probably. But, uh… it’s definitely the rumor of the day.”
You wave it off. “It’ll pass by tomorrow. They’ve said worse things.”
George relaxes at your nonchalance, sliding his hand into yours. “If you’re okay, then I’m okay.”
You squeeze his fingers. “It’s fine. Honestly, it’s funny.”
Kimi exhales dramatically, like you’ve lifted a boulder off his shoulders. “Good. Because I didn’t know if I should congratulate you or hide from you.”
You burst out laughing again. “Definitely hide from me.”
You spend the afternoon in hospitality, chatting with Lily and Kika, sipping iced coffee, and scrolling through your phone only to see memes — some flattering, some ridiculous, all of them hilarious.
You send one particularly unhinged TikTok to George.
He replies in all caps: STOP MAKING ME LAUGH. I’M IN DRIVER BRIEFING.
You laugh even harder.
The race itself is fun. Loud. Warm. Familiar. You watch George wave at you before climbing into the car. You cheer during pit stops, clutch the railing when things get tense, and beam when he finishes strong.
George jogs over after parc fermé, still flushed and wired from adrenaline, and pulls you into a hug.
“Good race?” he asks against your hair.
“Great race,” you say, grinning. “And great boyfriend. Well, fiancé.”
He kisses your forehead, clearly relieved that whatever storm is brewing outside… hasn’t touched you. Not yet. You leave Silverstone that evening hand in hand, blissfully unaware of the fact that the rumor won’t disappear.
Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until Max Verstappen sees it — and starts demanding answers.
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a few weeks later...
It had been weeks of chaos. What started as one silly Silverstone gossip caption had spiraled into something massive — “YN LN looks suspiciously like a Verstappen,” “the timelines match,” “the photos leaked of YN as a baby look eerily similar,” and on and on and on.
By Belgium, the rumors should’ve died. They didn’t.
If anything, they grew teeth.
The press wouldn’t stop. Fans were split between joking, theorizing, and genuinely investigating. And George… George had gone full mother hen, always at your side, always one arm around your waist, always stepping between you and any camera that looked like it might ask something stupid.
You had laughed it off at first. Now? It felt like standing in the eye of a storm.
You and George had just arrived at Spa when another cluster of reporters surged forward.
“YN, do you have any comment on the Verstappen rumors?” “Is Jos Verstappen your father, YN?”
George stiffened like steel beside you.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he said sharply, guiding you through. “Absolutely not. Move, please.”
You squeezed his hand. “Georgie, it’s fine—”
“It’s not fine,” he muttered, jaw tight. “They’re crossing lines.”
You had tried your best to forget about it — cheering with Lily, Alexandra, Eli, and Kika during quali, watching George’s lap times, being your usual supportive and bubbly self.
But in the back of your mind, there was a quiet buzzing.
You didn’t like it. You didn’t believe it. You didn’t entertain it. Until someone else did. Someone you least expected.
Max Verstappen did not get nervous. Max Verstappen did not hesitate.
But right now, he was standing ten feet away from you in the paddock, hands stuffed in pockets, shifting his weight like a teenage boy trying to confess he liked someone.
You blinked. “…Max?”
He cleared his throat once, twice.
“Uh. YN. Hi. Can—can we talk? Privately.”
George stepped forward instantly, taller, broader, protective all over again.
“Why?” he asked, voice flat.
“George, it’s fine,” you murmured.
“No, actually,” Max said quietly. “It isn’t.”
That… was not something you expected to hear from him.
You exchanged a look with George, gently touching his arm. “I’ll be okay. Just… let me hear him out.”
George looked like he wanted to protest, but he swallowed it down, nodding stiffly before letting you walk off with Max to a quieter hallway behind hospitality.
Max took a slow breath.
“Look… I didn’t want to get involved in any of this bullshit. It’s invasive and disrespectful. But… the longer it went on, the more things didn’t add up. Or… did.”
You folded your arms gently across your chest, bracing yourself. “Max… what are you saying?”
He pulled out his phone. Not for social media. For photos. Private photos.
Your stomach dipped.
“These are from when I was a baby. Jos kept everything. And when the rumors started, I checked. Not because I believed it — because I wanted to shut it down. But…”
He swiped.
A picture of baby Max — chubby cheeks, soft eyes, blonde hair. He swiped again. Another. Younger still. Swaddled in a blanket.
Then he pulled up one grainy screenshot — the leaked photo of you as a baby. The resemblance was…painfully, unnervingly strong. Max’s voice was quiet.
“You look more like me in these than some of my actual cousins.”
Your throat tightened.
He paused before continuing, carefully.
“When did your mother pass?”
Your breath hitched, just slightly.
“W-When I was fifteen,” you whispered. “I don’t… I don’t have answers. She never talked about my biological father. Ever.”
Max nodded slowly.
“I asked Jos,” he said, jaw clenching. “I figured he’d laugh and tell me to ignore it. But instead he—he got angry. Defensive. Told me to mind my own business. And that’s when I… I realized he wasn’t denying anything.”
Your world tilted.
You gripped your own arms a little tighter.
“Max,” you whispered, “I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”
You had spent weeks laughing this off. Weeks pretending it didn’t bother you. Weeks brushing it aside.
But now? Your chest felt hollow.
Max met your eyes — not as a world champion, but as a boy who grew up with too many secrets and not enough love.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly. “I’m not trying to cause… anything. But if the rumors are true… if Jos…” He swallowed. “You deserve to know.”
You blinked rapidly, eyes burning.
And then footsteps echoed down the hall.
“Okay, we’re done,” George said firmly, stepping between you and Max. “Whatever this is, you don’t get to upset her—”
“George,” you said, voice trembling but steady. “I need to hear this.”
His expression shattered for a moment. Protective. Worried. Aching. Max took a step back, hands raised.
“I’m not trying to take anything from you,” he said quietly to George. “Or from her. I just… think she deserves the truth, if she wants it.”
You exhaled shakily, staring at the floor because it was easier than staring at either of them.
Your life — your identity — felt like it was splitting open.
You whispered: “I don’t know if I want to know the truth.”
Silence hung heavy. George gently wrapped an arm around you. Max nodded once — respectful, distant, uncertain.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Max murmured. “Or if you never are — that’s okay too.”
And then he walked away, leaving you and George alone in the hallway.
Despite the chaos. Despite the revelation. Despite your heart pounding like it was trying to escape your chest— You went on with the race.
You stood beside George on the grid. You calmed your breathing. You placed your hand over his where it rested on your hip.
You tried to pretend the world hadn’t just shifted beneath your feet. But the truth — or the possibility of it — now lived quietly inside your chest. And it wasn’t going away.
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You had tried — really tried — to move on. To bury yourself in normalcy. To kiss George good morning. To go to work. To fold laundry. To pretend Max’s photos and Jos’s reaction and the uncanny resemblance meant nothing.
But every night, when everything else got quiet, your mind circled back to it. And then a Dutch article leaked.
Not speculation. Not jokes. Not blurry fan edits. Real photos.
Your mother — smiling in a sunlit café. Jos Verstappen — sitting across from her, leaning in. The timestamp: months before you were born.
And then the supposed copy of your original birth certificate. The father’s name: redacted but clearly overwritten at some point.
You stared at your phone until your vision blurred.
By midnight, your hand shook as you dialed the one person you never expected to call voluntarily.
“Hello?” Max answered, voice soft, cautious.
You swallowed hard.
“I want the test,” you whispered.
A pause — but not surprise.
“Okay,” Max said quietly. “I’ll arrange everything.”
George insisted on coming. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
“If you’re doing this, I’m with you,” he said as he laced his fingers with yours.
And so the two of you walked into the private clinic together — nerves bundled in your chest like live wires. Max was already there. Shockingly not alone.
Victoria Verstappen stood beside him, arms wrapped around herself, smiling softly when she saw you.
“Hi,” she said gently.
You blinked. “Hi.”
George nodded politely, shaking Max’s hand. The four of you stood in the lobby like a group project no one had emotionally prepared for. The small talk was painfully awkward.
Max cleared his throat. “So… how was traffic?”
“Fine,” George answered briskly. “Rainy.”
Victoria offered a tiny smile. “At least they opened the new road. It used to be awful.”
You nodded, trying not to implode. “Yeah. Convenient.”
Everyone nodded. No one made eye contact.
Finally, a nurse called:
“Verstappen party?”
You and Max looked at each other.
“Guess that’s… us?” Max said.
You exhaled shakily.
George squeezed your hand once more, letting go only when the nurse guided you both inside.
It was quick. Swabs. Names. Confirmations.
You and Max sat side by side, knees bouncing in alternating rhythms.
Victoria sat across from you, offering occasional reassuring smiles. George stood behind you, one hand resting on your shoulder, thumb rubbing slow circles.
When it was over, the nurse told you:
“Results will be ready in about a week.”
A week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. A lifetime.
You didn’t expect Max to follow up. You expected him to retreat into his usual bubble of racing and privacy. Instead… he did the opposite.
On Monday, your hospital administration informed you:
“Mr. Verstappen contracted additional private security for the building. Strictly for safety during your shifts.”
You nearly choked on your coffee.
You texted Max immediately:
Max what is this??
Just making sure the press doesn’t harass you. You don’t deserve that. Accept it please.
You did. Because the attention had gotten worse. And his gesture — quiet, sincere — meant more than you could express.
Then Tuesday came.
You received a message from Victoria:
I’m nearby. Tea?
You said yes.
Tea became two teas. A walk. Then tea again two days later. Victoria was warm. Gentle. Curious in the softest possible way. She talked about her kids. About the insanity of Dutch tabloids. About her own messy relationship with her father.
And she listened — truly listened — when you told her about your mom. About the good parts. About the painful parts.
Every time she hugged you goodbye, you felt something heal and ache at the same time.
You, George, Max, and Victoria met again at the clinic.
No one spoke during the elevator ride. Your palms were damp. Max’s knee bounced nonstop. Victoria kept wringing the sleeve of her sweater. George kept rubbing your back, steady and grounding.
The doctor entered with an envelope.
“I have the results of the DNA test.”
Your heart hammered so loudly it drowned out the world. Max’s breath hitched. George grabbed your hand. Victoria whispered a tiny prayer under her breath. The doctor opened the envelope. Read silently. Looked up.
And then said the words that split your life in two:
“Based on the analysis, the probability that you Doctor,"—he nodded to you—“and Mr. Verstappen share a biological father is 99.98%.”
The room didn’t spin. It detonated. Your lungs forgot how to work. Your vision blurred instantly. Max froze — utterly still — his expression collapsing into something raw and shattered and overwhelmed. Victoria covered her mouth, tears spilling immediately.
George pulled you into his chest, whispering:
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
But you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Your entire life — your identity — had been rewritten in a single sentence. And then you heard it.
A tiny, broken whisper from Max:
“I’m… I have another sister.”
That was what cracked you open.
Not the biology. Not the paperwork. Not the decades of secrets.
That.
The disbelief. The hope. The quiet, aching wonder in his voice.
You lifted your head, eyes blurry with tears. He looked terrified to approach you — like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.
So you took the step toward him first.
Max exhaled sharply — a sob disguised as breath — and wrapped his arms around you.
Not cautiously. Not politely. But like someone holding something precious they never knew they’d lost. You cried into his shoulder. He cried into yours. Victoria joined, arms wrapping around both of you, silent tears falling onto your sleeve.
George stood behind you — heartbroken, relieved, protective, proud — stroking your back as you held your newly found family.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. It was messy and painful and overwhelming. But it was real. You pulled back, wiping your face, still breathing unevenly. Max looked at you with red, glassy eyes.
“Hi,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m… your brother.”
You let out a laugh-sob that broke halfway through.
“Hi,” you whispered. “I’m your sister.”
♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
doctoryn
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It had been a few weeks since the DNA results. A few weeks of: Max texting you about various nonsense when he was in the sim at 2 am, Victoria checking in every few days with voice notes. You three slowly building something that felt like a real sibling bond — hesitant at first, then warm, then unexpectedly natural.
But when Max sent a message saying:
“Family dinner at my place? Everyone’s coming. I want you to meet them.”
your heart immediately dropped into your stomach.
You read the message five times. By the time George walked into the living room with a mug of tea, he found you staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.
“Baby? What’s wrong?”
You inhaled shakily.
“Max wants us to come tonight. For dinner. With… everyone. Kelly, Penelope, Lily… Victoria’s kids… their mum. His mum.”
George sat down beside you slowly, placing the mug into your hands before curling an arm around your shoulders.
“That’s a good thing,” he said softly.
“I know.” Your voice wobbled. “But what if they don’t like me?”
George blinked at you like you’d just said gravity stopped working.
“YN.” He turned you to face him. “You are smart, kind, hilarious, strong, warm, thoughtful—Baby, you’re you. Anyone would be lucky to meet you.”
You exhaled, pressing your forehead to his chest. George kissed the top of your head.
“It’s family. And they want you there. Not because of the DNA, but because you’re… you.”
You nodded slowly.
“Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s go.”
Max’s house was warm and noisy before you even stepped inside — children laughing, muffled voices, the sound of dishes and music. George squeezed your hand once before you knocked. The door flew open almost immediately.
Max stood there looking… frazzled. Hair messy. Baby spit-up on his shirt. A dish towel thrown over his shoulder like he’d given up pretending to be put together.
“There you are!” he said, sounding both relieved and wired. “Come in! Please! Quickly! Before someone escapes.”
You laughed in spite of your nerves.
Inside, the chaos was instant and comforting: Victoria was chasing her toddler daughter, who was running around wearing a blanket as a cape. Two older boys were arguing over a toy car. Tom was trying to negotiate with all three at once. Kelly was in the kitchen holding baby Lily while stirring something on the stove. Penelope sat at the counter coloring, humming to herself. And standing beside her, smiling warmly, was Sophie.
Your breath caught — she looked so much like Max and Victoria it almost hurt.
Max followed your gaze.
“Oh—Mum!” he called. “She’s here!”
Sophie spun around, eyes lighting up instantly.
Before you could even brace yourself, she walked straight toward you and wrapped you in the softest, warmest, most immediate hug.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said gently. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
You froze for half a second — and then melted. You didn’t even realize you were hugging back until your arms tightened around her. She smelled like lavender and rosemary. Like someone who had spent years being a mother. You pulled back with a trembling exhale.
“Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you for—everything.”
Sophie cupped your cheek affectionately.
“Family is family,” she said. “We’re just glad we finally found you.”
Victoria rushed over next, pulling you into an excited hug.
“You look beautiful!” Victoria gushed. “And oh my god, is that a new necklace? It’s so cute—come meet the kids!”
You were immediately swept into: a three year old who proudly showed you his dinosaur drawing, an five year old who declared George his favorite driver and ignored Max’s offended gasp and a toddler girl who handed you a plastic teacup and demanded you drink.
George played along perfectly — sipping imaginary tea, bowing dramatically, letting the boys climb him like a jungle gym. Victoria grinned at him.
“He’s going to be a great dad,” she whispered teasingly.
You blushed so hard you pretended to adjust your hair.
Kelly approached you with baby Lily on her hip, smiling warmly.
“Hi, YN,” she said softly. “I’m really glad to meet you. Max has talked about you nonstop.”
Lily, somehow already matching her father’s serious expression, stared you down for a moment… then reached for your hair with grabby baby hands. You laughed and let her. Penelope came next.
She walked up shyly and held out a drawing.
“It’s you,” she said, “and Maxie. And Uncle George. And Victoria. And me. And Lily. And Mum. And Grandma. And Nino. And Jimmy and Sassy.”
It was absolute chaos on paper. You adored it immediately.
“It’s perfect,” you whispered.
Penelope beamed.
“You’re part of the family now. Maxie says so.”
You blinked. Hard. Then hugged her tightly.
Dinner was loud. Warm. Full of laughter. Max kept scooping extra potatoes onto your plate. Victoria kept telling embarrassing Max stories. Tom kept refilling George’s wine glass. George kept giving you that soft, smitten look across the table.
At one point, Sophie said:
“It’s like she’s been here forever.”
And your chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to healing.
But the moment that broke you completely was when Victoria leaned back, grinning wickedly.
“Hey, Mum,” she said. “Tell YN about the time Max cried because he thought a pigeon was following him home.”
Max slammed his fork down. “VICTORIA—”
The entire table erupted. Max went bright red. Lily laughed like she understood the drama. And you? You laughed until your stomach hurt.
After dinner, you stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.
Max joined you a moment later, hands in his pockets, expression softer than usual.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, eyes slightly glossy.
“I… haven’t felt this in a long time,” you admitted. “Family. Belonging. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”
Max swallowed, looking down at the ground.
“Good,” he said softly. “Because you deserve it. And you deserve us. And we’re really lucky we found you.”
Your breath caught. Then Max did something unexpected — something that must’ve taken everything in him: He hugged you. Slow. Secure. Brotherly.
You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into it. For the first time, the ache in your chest felt a little less sharp. A little less lonely. A little more… whole. George eventually stepped outside, slipping an arm around your waist.
“You ready to head home?” he asked softly.
You looked at Max. At the house full of loud, chaotic, overwhelming warmth. At the new family you never knew you needed.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “But we’ll come back soon. I… want to.”
Max’s answering smile was small but impossibly full.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Because you’re stuck with us now.”
♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
You had finally started to feel comfortable in the paddock again. People were adjusting to the news. The media frenzy had died down. You had your new family. Max checked on you constantly. Victoria texted almost daily. Sophie sent you recipes.
And George — sweet, grounding George — held your hand through it all. So when you and George walked into the paddock together, laughing softly about something Kimi had posted, you felt… okay.
Safe. But then you heard your name. Sharp. Too unfamiliar. Too cold.
“YN.”
Your entire body went rigid. George turned instantly, hand tightening around yours. And there he was. Jos Verstappen. Older in person than you expected. Harsher. Eyes calculating in a way that made the air thicken.
You hadn’t seen him since the truth came out. You never intended to. You didn’t owe him anything. But now he was walking toward you with a look that made your stomach lurch.
“YN,” Jos repeated, stopping in front of you. “We need to talk.”
You didn’t speak. Your throat closed. Your palms went cold. George shifted slightly, stepping half in front of you.
“She doesn’t want to talk,” George said calmly but firmly.
Jos scoffed. “This isn’t about you.”
Before George could answer, a blur of navy appeared between you. Max. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pause. Didn’t breathe.
He stepped directly into Jos’s path — physically blocking you from view. The shift in his expression was instant and terrifying. Gone was the soft, tentative brother you’d grown close to.
This was Max Verstappen, the one the entire grid feared when pushed too far.
“What are you doing?” Jos demanded. “I’m speaking to my—”
“No.” Max’s voice was ice. “Don’t say it. You lost the right.”
Jos glared. “She is my daughter—”
“She is none of your concern.”
Jos took a step forward. Max took a step forward too — faster, sharper — chest brushing Jos’s in a way that made even passing mechanics stop and stare.
“Whatever you want from her,” Max said, voice low and lethal, “the answer is no.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Jos snapped.
“I don’t care,” Max shot back. “And she doesn’t owe you anything.”
Your breath caught. Jos tried again.
“I just want to—”
“Stop.” Max’s voice cracked with something raw and dangerous. “You had twenty something years. You didn’t want her then. You don’t get to want anything from her now.”
George placed a steadying hand on your back, but you couldn’t look away. Jos’s jaw tightened.
“You’re making a mistake, Max.”
Max laughed once. Sharp. Bitter.
“No. You made all of them.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Jos looked between you and Max one last time — anger, regret, bruised ego, whatever it was — and then turned and walked away, muttering under his breath. Only when he disappeared around a corner did Max exhale. Slow. Shaky. Like he’d been holding his breath through the entire confrontation.
He turned to you immediately. The fury melted off him the second he saw your face. His features softened — completely, heartbreakingly.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
You tried to speak, but your voice caught, so you nodded instead.
Max stepped closer. Gently. Carefully. He rested a hand on your shoulder — hesitant at first, then firmer when you didn’t pull away.
“He doesn’t get to hurt you,” Max said softly. “Not now. Not ever again.”
Your chest tightened.
“Thank you,” you whispered, the words trembling. “For stepping in.”
Max looked down, almost shy now.
“You’re my sister,” he murmured.
Like it was still something he was learning to say. Something he cherished. Something he meant.
“And I protect my family.”
George nodded beside you, adding softly:
“Always.”
You blinked back tears — overwhelmed, but safe. Between the two people who loved you fiercely in completely different ways. And for the first time in your life— Someone stood between you and the man who had abandoned you.
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months later...
The weeks blur together in ribbons of color and planning boards and half finished to do lists. Between work, fittings, and the rapidly approaching wedding date, you barely have a second to breathe — but today is the one day you’ve protected on your calendar with your entire soul. Dress shopping. And not just with anyone — with your people.
When you step into the private bridal suite, you swear it feels like walking into sunlight. The room is warm and bright, mirrors everywhere, soft music playing under the hum of excited chatter.
Victoria is the first to sweep you into a hug, already misty-eyed. Kelly follows with flowers she insists are “just because.” Sophie arrives last, pausing in the doorway like she’s worried she’s intruding — until you hug her so tightly she whispers, teary, “I’m so honored to be here, sweetheart.”
Then the chaos parade arrives. Lily, balancing a coffee in each hand and grinning like she’s about to cause trouble. Eli, already filming on her phone. And then Kimi, who practically skips into the room like a child at Disney World.
“I brought snacks,” he announces, dramatically setting down three bags of chips and a container of strawberries. “Lily and Eli said I needed to be useful.”
“You begged to come,” Lily laughs, nudging him.
“Semantics,” he whispers.
You’re already laughing. Your chest feels full in a way that’s new — a way that still surprises you sometimes. Family. Not the one you were born into, but the one that keeps gathering around you anyway.
It is magical. Dress after dress, each one bringing a different reaction:
Kimi gasping loudly every time like it’s the first dress he’s ever seen. Eli fanning her face dramatically. Kelly giving the most supportive, mom-coded compliments humanly possible. Victoria crying. Every time. Lily just looks like she has seen an angel.
And Sophie — sweet, gentle, steady Sophie — sits on the little sofa by the mirror with tissues in her lap, giving comments that sound so achingly maternal they nearly undo you.
“My goodness… your mother would be so proud,” she whispers once, so softly you almost don’t hear it.
You swallow around the ache in your throat.
Hours pass in warmth and laughter and teasing until finally — finally — you step out in the dress. The dress.
Everything goes silent. Kimi’s hand flies to his mouth. Lily is openly crying. Victoria is sobbing into Kelly’s shoulder. Eli pushes Kimi halfway off the couch for a better view. Sophie stands. Just stands. And stares. Her eyes glossy but soft. She walks toward you slowly, like approaching something delicate.
“Beautiful,” she murmurs, smoothing the fabric near your waist. Her voice wavers. “You look… absolutely beautiful.”
Your chin trembles. And you nod.
“This is the one.”
Everyone cheers, and you end up wrapped in a pile of hugs that smell like perfume and coffee and people you adore.
That evening is quiet. Peaceful. You’re on the balcony of your apartment later that night, the city lights shimmering below you. Lily is curled against your chest, half asleep, her tiny breaths against your collarbone grounding you.
You don’t hear the sliding door until someone steps out. Max.
He’s holding two mugs of tea — one for you, one for himself — and sets them down on the ledge before joining you.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just leans on the railing beside you, looking out at the skyline. The soft glow of the city reflects in his eyes.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“I think so,” you whisper.
And for a moment, that’s enough. Just the two of you, breathing the same cool night air, listening to the soft noises of the apartment behind you.
But something inside you has been building all day — a knot of emotion, fear, longing, grief, love — and it pushes its way up your throat.
You look at him. Truly look at him. Your brother. Your miracle. Your safe place.
“Max,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “Can I… ask you something?”
He straightens immediately, eyes sharpening with concern. “Of course.”
You swallow hard.
“I…” Your voice catches. “I don’t have a parent to walk me down the aisle. And I’ve been trying not to think about it but today—”
You break. The tears come quietly, sudden and unstoppable.
Max’s face falls. “Oh, sweetheart…”
He reaches for you, his big brother instincts taking over effortlessly. He slips Lily into his arms with all the gentleness in the world — as if she’s made of spun sugar — so you can wipe your face.
You breathe shakily.
“I want it to be you,” you force out, voice cracking. “If you want to. If you’d be okay with that. I just… you’ve become… everything I wished a brother would be. And it would mean so much to me if—”
You don’t finish.
You can’t.
Max steps forward and pulls you into a hug — tight, grounding, protective — careful not to jostle the baby in his arm. His voice is thick when he speaks.
“Of course I will,” he whispers into your hair. “Of course I will. I’d be honored. Truly honored.”
You sob harder, hands fisting in the back of his shirt.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“You’re my sister,” he murmurs, steady and sure. “And I’m going to be there for every moment you want me for. Always.”
When he pulls back, his eyes are shining too — and he laughs softly at himself, wiping at them with the back of his hand.
“Look at us,” he jokes weakly. “Two emotional disasters.”
“Shut up,” you sniff.
He nudges your shoulder gently. “I love you, you know.”
“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling through tears. “I know.”
As you stand together — Max holding Lily, you leaning into his side — the city humming quietly beneath you, you feel something inside you finally settle. Not fixed. But healing. Healing and getting the peace you both should've had as children.
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doctorynrussell & georgerussell63
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doctorynrussell : officially mr and mrs russell and happier than ever<3
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The day you’ve been imagining — planning, dreaming, and sometimes panicking over — has finally arrived.
The room is alive with laughter, chatter, and the quiet chaos of all your favorite people helping you get ready.
Victoria fusses with your hair, brushing soft strands away from your face and adding final curls, while Sophie checks your makeup with meticulous care, her hands gentle and steady.
Lily is crouched near the floor, carefully tucking your shoes away and reminding everyone not to trip. Eli is hovering with the veil, draping it perfectly, and Kimi… well, Kimi is in his own world, holding up a mirror and offering a running commentary on every angle of the dress.
“You look… like a princess,” he says finally, grinning. “Like… a royal princess.”
You laugh lightly through your nerves, feeling a little dizzy from the love in the room. This is your family now — messy, loud, warm, real.
When the bustle calms, Max steps aside, waiting for a moment alone with you.
You take a deep breath, smoothing the skirt of your gown. “I’m… nervous,” you admit, voice soft.
Max smiles, his expression gentle but protective. “Of course you are. But look at you — calm, beautiful, strong. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”
“I… thank you,” you whisper. “For everything. For walking me down the aisle.”
He nods, emotion catching in his throat. “It’s an honor, YN. You’re my sister. Today, tomorrow, always — I’ll be there for you.”
You rest your forehead against his chest for a moment, taking in the steady beat of his heart. For the first time since discovering your family, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosens.
Outside, guests are seated in a sun-dappled garden, flowers spilling from every corner. Cameras are tucked discreetly in pockets, but most of the focus is on the ceremony itself — intimate, meaningful, and brimming with love.
Kimi and Ollie are tasked with being the ring bearers. Chaos ensues almost immediately: Ollie trips over the hem of the aisle runner, nearly sending the pillow flying. Kimi tries to guide him, tugging his sleeve, whispering frantic instructions, but Ollie is determined to march forward in his own time.
The guests laugh quietly, and you can’t help but giggle behind your bouquet.
Then there is Max, standing tall, looking impossibly proud and emotional, waiting for you. His hand reaches for yours, and it feels like coming home.
Victoria and Sophie are seated nearby, hands clutched together, tears spilling freely. They’ve watched Max grow into the fiercely protective brother who helped you through so much, and now — seeing him in this moment — their hearts can’t contain it.
The music begins, but it’s the quiet squeeze of Max’s hand that keeps you centered.
When you reach the end of the aisle, you take a deep breath, meeting George’s eyes. His smile is soft, awed, and completely his own. You slide your hand into his, fingers interlacing naturally, and for the first time, the nerves melt away completely.
The ceremony ends, vows whispered, rings exchanged. You and George steal a quiet moment at the edge of the reception space, hidden just behind a flowering arch.
George lifts your hand, brushing a stray curl from your face. “You’re incredible,” he whispers. “You’ve made me so lucky.”
You laugh softly, resting your head against his chest. “I feel the same. Today, all of this… feels right.”
He kisses the top of your head gently. “Let’s make sure it always does.”
You smile against him, heart full, soul at ease, ready to start this next chapter together.
"Let us go celebrate, Dr. Russell."
The reception is lively and perfect chaos — a celebration of love, family, and your new life.
Max and Victoria can’t stop bragging about you. “Our sister is a vision,” Max says to anyone who will listen, proudly pointing to you and George as you dance together. “Look at her — just… incredible.”
Sophie is there, radiant, welcoming everyone with warmth and laughter, treating you like the daughter she’s longed to embrace.
Lily and Eli are dancing on the sidelines, giggling and cheering. Kimi is nervously attempting a slow dance with Victoria's youngest, while Ollie is reenacting the ring-bearer chaos of earlier for anyone who will watch.
The food is abundant, the music lively, the toasts heartfelt and hilarious. George and you share private smiles between conversations, sneaking small moments to steal each other’s hands or laugh over inside jokes.
Your new family surrounds you — Max beside you, Sophie hugging you every five minutes, Victoria constantly checking that everyone has a drink and feels included. The children are running around, sticky fingers and laughter filling the air.
Even half the grid is in attendance — smiling, teasing, and celebrating. They marvel at how natural you are in this world, how the love between you and George radiates, and, increasingly, how seamlessly you fit into this extended, found family.
The night stretches on in laughter, dancing, and countless shared smiles — a beautiful, chaotic, emotional celebration of the life you’ve built together.
And as you sway in George’s arms under the fairy lights, surrounded by your siblings and friends, you realize that this — all of this — is exactly where you were meant to be.
♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚
