hey, could you do one for kimi antonelli where everyone notices how well his family treats his girlfriend?
like, at that recent miami grand prix. she was following his parents around the paddock like a little duckling, and his little sister was glued to her the whole time (plus that super cute kiss they shared when he won the race.)
The Antonelli Effect
Kimi Antonelli x Girlfriend!reader
Synopsis: Kimi wins Miami, and the whole paddock watches his family treat you like one of their own — trailing after his mum, hand‑in‑hand with his little sister, and sealed by the soft, giddy kiss he gives you the moment he takes the win.
Moonlight Radio: I adored that brother-sister moment at the gp, it was so cute
The Miami heat was already doing its best to melt you into the asphalt, but honestly, that wasn’t the reason you were flushed.
It was because you were, once again, trailing behind Kimi Antonelli’s mum like a very devoted, very eager little duckling.
You hadn’t meant for it to become a thing.
But somehow, every time you were in the paddock, you ended up gravitating toward his family like it was gravitational law.
And today? Miami had you in full duckling mode.
“Come on, sweetheart,” his mum laughed, looping her arm through yours as if you’d been part of the family for years. “Shade’s better this way.”
You followed her without hesitation, smiling like an idiot because she always called you sweetheart, and it always made your chest go warm.
Kimi’s little sister, Maggie, was glued to your other side — literally. One hand wrapped around your wrist, the other swinging your joined hands dramatically as she chattered about school, the beach, and how she’d painted her nails McLaren papaya “because it’s lucky.”
You were pretty sure she’d adopted you.
You were also pretty sure you didn’t mind.
Every few minutes, someone would walk past and do a double take.
Because it wasn’t subtle.
You weren’t just tolerated by the Antonellis.
You were claimed.
At one point, Toto Wolff walked by, paused, looked at the three of you, and said, “Ah. The Antonelli women,” before continuing on like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You nearly choked.
Maggie tugged your hand. “Come on, I want to show you the garage! Papa said I can bring you.”
Her parents exchanged a look — the kind that said she’s not going anywhere without you anyway — and waved you off.
And so you went, hand-in-hand with a ten-year-old who had decided you were her emotional support adult.
---
Later, In The Garage
Kimi spotted you before you spotted him.
He was still in his fireproofs, hair damp with sweat, eyes bright with that pre-race adrenaline. But the second he saw you, his whole expression softened — that quiet, private smile he only ever gave you.
“Hey,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “You good?”
You nodded. “Your sister kidnapped me.”
“She does that,” he said, but he was smiling like he loved it.
His mum appeared behind you. “She’s been perfect. Honestly, Kimi, she’s easier when your girlfriend is around.”
You blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” she said, squeezing your shoulder. “You’re good for all of us.”
Kimi’s ears went pink.
Yours probably did too.
---
The Race
You watched from the garage, Maggie perched on a stool beside you, her small hand wrapped tightly around yours every time Kimi overtook someone.
And when he crossed the finish line — first, unbelievably, beautifully first — the entire garage exploded.
You screamed.
Maggie screamed louder.
His mum hugged you so tightly you lifted off the ground.
And when Kimi ran in, helmet off, grin blinding, he went straight to his family.
But then he saw you.
And everything else blurred.
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Didn’t care that cameras were everywhere.
He grabbed your face in both hands and kissed you — quick, breathless, joyful — the kind of kiss that tasted like victory and disbelief and you’re the person I want to share this with first.
The garage erupted again, louder this time.
Someone wolf-whistled.
Someone else yelled, “GET IT, ANTONELLI!”
Kimi pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“You saw that?” he whispered, breathless.
“I saw everything,” you said, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
His sister barreled into both of you, hugging your waist. “YOU WON! YOU WON! YOU WON!”
Kimi laughed, wrapping an arm around her and another around you, pulling you both in.
And that was the moment — the three of you tangled together, sweaty and emotional and glowing — when you realized everyone was staring.
Not in a bad way.
In a soft, knowing way.
Because it was obvious.
The Antonellis didn’t just like you.
They didn’t just approve of you.
They had folded you into their family like you’d always belonged there.
---
After The Podium
You were walking back through the paddock, Kimi’s hand in yours, when a group of mechanics passed by.
One of them nudged another. “Look at that. The whole Antonelli clan today.”
Kimi squeezed your hand. “You know they adore you, right?”
You shrugged, shy. “I adore them too.”
He stopped walking, turning to face you fully.
“They treat you like family,” he said softly, “because you are.”
Your heart did a very dramatic, very embarrassing flip.
“And,” he added, leaning in, “because you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”
You kissed him again — slower this time, softer, the kind of kiss that wasn’t for cameras or celebration, but for him.
When you pulled back, his sister was waiting impatiently with two ice creams.
“One for you,” she said, handing you the one with extra sprinkles, “because you’re my favourite.”
Kimi groaned. “She’s known you for five minutes.”
Maggie shrugged. “She’s still my favourite.”
Kimi looked at you like he couldn’t even argue with that.
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synopsis: kimi always likes to be near you, or even better, touching you, even when he's in the garage - much to the delight of the engineers and other drivers who love to tease him.
note: thought i would try out a new kind of extended headcanon thing for this since i have so many ideas for it, lmk if you like it <3 (im definitely willing to expand any of these into proper fics too!)
kimi masterlist — join my taglist — make a request
IN THE GARAGE —
You were always the first person Kimi looked for during training, much to the exasperation of his trainer.
"Kimi? Where are you going?" The trainer looked dumbfounded, "We're only taking a break for five minutes?" Kimi waved his hand, not even turning around to look at him, "Yeah, yeah, I'm going to find Y/n." Seconds later, the door slammed signalling Kimi really had gone, leaving some of his colleagues to exchange confused looks. "He's obsessed with that girl." The trainer sighs, explaining to everyone else in the room, shaking his head softly. "Ahh, young love. Leave them to it." One of the assistants smiled, reminiscing on her own teenage years. Kimi's trainer grumbled, "Whatever. He better be back in five."
Kimi weaved through the halls of the facility with ease, after all it was essentially his second home. He knew exactly where to find you - nestled on a couch in the breakroom between other colleagues (some engineers, some drivers and other folk necessary for the smooth running of Formula 1), probably looking at some dumb video. Kimi loved how well integrated you were into his busy lifestyle, and how practically all of his team loved you more than him. Just as he predicted, he spotted you upon entering the room, sitting between two of his good friends. "Hey baby," He grinned, coming over immediately to envelop you in a hug. "Hey," You smile into his shoulder, "Back so soon?"
"Just on a break, amore," He pulled away from the hug gently, "Could you guys make some space for me?" He looked at the others on the couch, who were sitting directly next to you. "Huh?" One of the engineers raised an eyebrow, "The couch is basically empty?" He looked puzzled and gestured to the countless empty seats surrounding you and your little group. "No," Kimi furrows his brow, "I meant next to Y/n." At this, you giggle and the engineer sighs, "Fine." He shuffles to the left slightly, leaving a Kimi sized space for him to slide into. "That's better," he rests his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Wow, did you really miss me for the two seconds you weren't near me?" You chuckle at his neediness. "Yes. I don't have time to waste," Kimi deadpanned, lifting his head to look you in the eye, pulling a very serious face. "You're silly," you plant a little kiss on his forehead and turn back to the nonsense you had open on your phone.
"Kimi. I said five minutes." Came the voice. Neither you nor him had even noticed the door had opened and someone else had entered. "Hmm?" Kimi looked up from your phone, realising who it was. "Oh. Yes, I'm sorry, I'll be right there." He smiles at the trainer, but doesn't make any moves to get up. "Go on," You whisper to him, "You're at work Kimi, we can hang out afterwards for as long as you like." Kimi sighs, unhooking his arms from around you and standing up begrudgingly. "Training's not over yet." The trainer holds the door open for Kimi, ushering him out first, before firmly shutting the door behind them. "You're lucky he's a driver, because if he was a surgeon, he would've already found a way to attach himself to you!" An engineer piped up the second they had left, causing laughter to erupt in the room.
Kimi was never afraid of showing some pda, he wanted everyone to know you were his girlfriend.
"Mate, you actually need to get off her." George groaned, "We don't want to see this." Kimi was in the middle of peppering your face with kisses - he had just finished a race in pole position and ran to where you were before commencing the proper celebrations. "Shut up, she's my lucky charm," He rolled his eyes, and finished by giving you a longer kiss on the lips. "We get it, she's your girlfriend." George teased, smiling, before turning to his family and friends who had just come down. "We get it, she's your girlfriend" Kimi put on a faux British accent, one of the worst you think you'd ever heard, you try to hold in your laugh but fail miserably. "If he had a girlfriend as beautiful and lucky as you, he would understand me." Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, "You didn't win because I'm lucky, you won because you trained hard." Kimi shushed you, "You're still lucky." He placed another kiss on your head, ignoring the distant "ew" from someone else in the garage.
The second something went wrong, or if he had a bad day, you would always be the first thing Kimi needed to feel better.
"Kimi, don't be so hard on yourself. It happens sometimes," George was sitting beside Kimi on a bench in the garage after a poor result on the track - arguably the poorest. "I DNF'd George," He had his head in his hands, occasionally rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. "You aren't the first to do it and you certainly won't be the last." George patted his shoulder, trying to provide the most comfort he could. "That's not the point. I disappointed the team. How can we come out on top if I keep messing up?" Kimi faced George, pure hurt visible in his eyes. "You won't."
"I need to find Y/n." His voice was muffled, having assumed his original position, hiding away from the world. As if knowing he needed you, you came into the garage, somewhat dishevelled from what George had assumed was a scramble to get here. "Kimi??" You rushed over to him, sitting on his other side, placing your hand on his back. Without saying a word, he pulled you into an almost suffocating hug, burying his face into your neck and sighing deeply. "The race was not good." He mustered up the courage to say after a few seconds of recharging in your arms. "I know, they can't all be." You rubbed your hand up and down his back soothingly, "You're still brilliant at what you do. This doesn't change what people think of you." Kimi only hummed in response - his eyes were shut, he was simply just basking in your presence. "Thank you," he eventually pulled away, smiling at you, "I think that hug fixed me."
"See, who needs doctors?" You jab him in the arm playfully.
AT HOME —
Kimi always made it impossible for you to get up in the morning.
"Five minutes pleaseeee," Kimi tightened his grip on your waist, willing you to lie back down. It was seven in the morning, usually a very early start but for you, it was just the time you got up before work to make sure you were ready on time. "Kimi, please," you sigh, squinting a little in the dim lighting to look at him. His eyes were still shut, as if he was conserving energy, and his hair was tousled, sticking up in all directions. You found him irresistible in this state, he looked so sleepy and warm and cute, it was very difficult to deny him. "It's only five minutes," he huffed, voice still gravelly from having woken up to your alarm, "This many," He sleepily held up his hand to show five. "I know how many five is silly," you laugh softly, lying back down on your side so he could spoon you. "I knew I could convince you," he pulled you closer so your back was flush with him. "Only five minutes though, okay?" You stretch a little to look at his face. "Sure." He cracked one eye open, a cheeky smile forming on his face. "I'm serious. I have a big girl job I need to get to." You try to say as flatly as possible, until a smile sneaks onto your lips. "Your favourite job is being my girlfriend." He deadpans.
"Yeah yeah, you don't even pay me," You roll your eyes playfully. "Whatever, can sort that in the morning." He was falling back asleep, mumbling into your hair. You decided to let him win this one, he wanted it so badly he was almost willing to argue that you stayed in his sleep.
Kimi always wanted you to wear his clothes, so at least some part of him could always be with you.
You were standing in front of your closet, eyes heavy from having just woken up, with a thousand outfit options to work through. "What do I even wear?" You sigh to yourself, moving a few hangers around. Kimi, who was in bed, stirred at your remark and opened his eyes, "Check my closet." You half smiled at this, "That doesn't really narrow down the options though, hmm."
"Take my blue jumper," He rubbed his eyes and yawned, "You know the one."
"I have plenty of my own clothes, Kimi." You giggle, "Go back to sleep."
"No. I have solutions-" He began sitting up in bed to look at you fully, "Either I listen to you complain you can't choose clothes for another half an hour, or you just take the jumper." He paused before adding, "Which will keep you warm and smells like me."
"Hmmm, this is a convincing argument indeed," you scratch your chin jokingly, knowing you were typically freezing, "But I think I have decided."
"I decided before you." Kimi slipped out of bed and opened his closet door, grabbing the jumper and pulling it over your head in one swift movement. "Wha-" you barely had any time to process what was happening. "See? Warm, cosy, smells like me. What more could you need?"
"It is pretty cute," you smooth down your hair, looking in the mirror.
"You're pretty cute." He sticks his tongue out at you, "Even more so in my jumper."
Summary: A little smau about all the times Kimi has been simping about you over the radio, featuring poor Bono just trying to do his job.
Tags: fluff, humor, established relationship
Warnings: swearing
Other drivers: Radio Check | Masterlist
antonellisradio
Liked by georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1, f1gossippofficial, and 2,847,663 others
antonellisradio Kimi’s radio just hours after the picture of him and Y/N kissing was posted by the official Mercedes instagram account! 🩶🥹
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username now i finally get what people mean when they say puppy love
username Oh to be young and in love for the first time again 😭
username 18yo old boys at my school should take notes fr
username Ikr, Kimi’s so fucking successful at 18 and yet he’s such a lil puppy in love AND PROUD OF IT
olliebearman When you simp so hard you gotta belt out some tswift
kimi.antonelli I swear I switched off the radio!!!
yourusername I’m glad you didn’t ❤️
kimi.antonelli ❤️❤️❤️
username i feel sick
antonellisradio
Liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, and 3,193,093 others
antonellisradio Kimi’s radio after his first ever podium in Canada! Congrats on P3, Kimi!🇨🇦🩶
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username Guy got everything he worked his whole life for just to say chilling with his girl AT SCHOOL is better
username it’s moments like these that remind you he’s basically still a kid in a race car
maxverstappen1 Rookie mistake
kimi.antonelli MATE!!!
yourusername Big words after telling me you’d sometimes rather spend time at home with the cats
username Clocked him real fast lmao
username not her exposing max 😭😭 ain’t no one tryna attack her man
antonellisradio
Liked by yourusername, f1gossippofficial, and 3,987,020 others
antonellisradio Kimi’s radio after his DNF in Japan today. 😢
Also, isn’t Bono just the sweetest sometimes? 🩶
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username the whole team is always so so soft with him i’m gonna cry 😭
username Lmao yeah, a rookie winning a race. Shouldn’t promise such bullshit to begin with.
username Do you ever get tired?
username Of?
username Living with your pathetic self.
username Find someone who loves you the way Kimi loves Y/N
username it actually looked like he had tears in his eyes, he didn’t want to disappoint her 😭
username everyone in this comment section is so fucking dramatic istg, this shit happens in F1 and if he can’t deal with it he doesn’t belong there
yourusername Wow, you must be very miserable ❤️ by author
username Y/N defending Kimi as always 🥹
antonellisradio
Liked by charles_leclerc, olliebearman, yourusername, and 5,929,003 others
antonellisradio Kimi’s first radio after the summer break is here! Seems like he’s still stuck in the summer with Y/N.
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username I think Bono needs another summer break after this conversation lmao
username imagine going to work just to get terrorised by a 18yo kid
bono 💔
kimi.antonelli I’m sorry mate
username not Bono lurking in the comments 😭
username omg he’s such a lovesick fool
username Hey God it’s me again 🙏🏻
antonellisradio
Liked by georgerussell63, yourusername, kimi.antonelli, and 3,997,182 others
antonellisradio Baku, Q3: Another DNF for Kimi after he crashed into the wall. However, where he was holding back tears last time, he’s still able to joke about it this time.
Bono was there too, I guess.
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username y’all gotta go actually listen to this istg bono was so fucking done
username ikr the way he mumbled that last one to himself, simply defeated
yourusername This whole convo just further proved my point, greenest flag there is @/kimi.antonelli ❤️
kimi.antonelli You’re just too sweet to me, amore mio ❤️
georgerussell63 You guys talk like an old married couple
kimi.antonelli Well we’re going to be one, one day
username that’s it. i’m deceased.
mercedesamgf1 @/bono, please don’t leave us. We promise it’s gonna get better. Just hang in there.
—
Other drivers: Radio Check | Masterlist
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (For a particular driver or every version is up to you!)
after five races in a row, kimi antonelli feels like he’s on top of the world. at the end of the day, though, he might just be on top of you.
genre: short-short-shooort fic. romance.
warnings: suggestive. kimi antonelli is so hot omg. waist grab and… yeah.
word count: 646.
a/n: I KNOW I KNOW, KIMI AGAIN. i'm not normal about him, sorry. guys, to be totally honest, this doesn’t even count as a fic. i did to write something for kimi’s fifth victory because, seriously… it’s just delicious.
Down below the podium, you watch Kimi Antonelli take his fifth consecutive victory.
You're clapping, but honestly, the motion is completely absent-minded, because your attention is fixed on the boy who, just hours earlier, had tilted your chin up in the middle of a heated make-out session in the drivers' room and murmured against your lips, "I'm getting that win for you today.” Then he'd left you stranded on the couch, breathless and flushed, desperately in need of the coldest shower of your life.
Kimi was never someone who broke promises to you. Never.
At that moment, he's covered in a mix of sweat and champagne. His hands, your favorite hands, are around the base of the trophy while he looks completely in disbelief that it belongs to him. Yeah, pretty boy, you did it again. And amid all the chaos, his gaze finds yours.
You stop clapping.
He shoots you a wink before dragging his tongue across his lower lip... that damned tongue he seems utterly incapable of keeping inside his mouth.
The crowd around you keeps roaring, and the noise only swells when he raises the trophy high above his head. Deafening — and every second of it is for him.
Your Kimi Antonelli.
From the huge grin stretching from ear to ear across his face, you can tell he loves it. Loves the attention. Loves the feeling. Loves the power that comes with a crowd of people screaming his name because, yeah, he is just that good.
Slowly, people begin to disperse as the podium ceremony comes to an end. The cameras are already turning elsewhere around the paddock, and you make your way toward the podium steps, where Kimi is the last one to climb down after everyone else has left. You don't even have to try to get him to see you. In less than a second, Kimi is right in front of you, so close it should be a crime.
"There you are." He greets you, one hand finding your waist before you can even respond.
“You smell like cheap cocktail” you complain, wrinkling your nose.
He just laughs and slides his free hand to the other side of your waist, pulling you even closer.
“Is that any way to talk to Kimi Antonelli, Grand Slam winner and victor of five consecutive Grands Prix?”
You roll your eyes and rest your arms on his shoulders, lifting a finger to brush a damp strand of hair away from his cheek.
“All this winning is making you arrogant.”
He lets out a soft laugh, his hands tightening slightly around you.
“Oh, you have no idea just how arrogant I can be.”
“Yeah?” you ask, your eyes fluttering shut.
Kimi brushes his lips against your cheek, leaving a soft kiss there before moving higher, his mouth grazing your skin until it reaches your ear.
“I bet I can make you come five times as easily as I can win five races in a row,” he whispers. Your breath catches instantly. A shiver races down your spine, and your knees nearly give out beneath you. “What do you think?”
“I... I...” you stammer, swallowing hard as your gaze drops to the ground.
His grin only grows.
Another kiss lands on your cheek, quick and affectionate, because someone from the team is already calling for him from the other side of the paddock. He lifts his head, arches an eyebrow, and just like that, he transforms back into the victorious driver everyone expects him to be, jogging toward the engineers waiting to celebrate with him. Not before stealing one last kiss, though.
A quick peck that leaves your head spinning — not because of the contact itself, but because of the promise he'd just made. And because you know by the way your thighs press together, it's going to completely ruin the rest of your day…
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summary: with the help of his little cupid, kimi finally works up the courage to ask you out.
warnings: kimi getting embarrassed by his family, maggie being a not so subtle source of information, lovestruck smiles, you'll want a boyfriend (yes, that's a warning), and a florist receiving flowers as a gift.
word count: 3.6k | pt.1
a/n: i honestly didn't expect the first part to do so well. it's literally the most-liked fic of my humble career lol. i really hope you all enjoy this one too.
ଓ english is not my first language, be kind.
The front door of the Antonelli family home swung open with a cheerful bang. Maggie came in first, practically skipping down the dark wooden hallway. She tossed her bag onto the console table with the boundless energy of someone who had just orchestrated the plan of the century and watched it succeed. Kimi walked in right behind her, closing the door much more slowly. The driver's face was flushed a deep shade of red. He was trying very hard to keep his composure, but the hopelessly lovestruck smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away completely.
"We're home!" Maggie sang at the top of her lungs as she slid across the floor in her socks toward the kitchen.
The Antonelli kitchen smelled of sautéed garlic and tomato sauce. Their mother stood by the stove, drying her hands on a dish towel, while their father, Marco, sat at the kitchen island, casually flipping through a motorsport magazine.
"So?" Their mother asked immediately, tossing the dish towel onto the counter and giving her children her full attention. Her eyes sparkled with motherly curiosity. "How was your outing? Did she enjoy the shopping? Andrea Kimi, tell me you behaved like a gentleman."
Kimi barely had time to open his mouth before Maggie threw herself onto one of the island stools, swinging her legs excitedly.
"It was perfect!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Mom, seriously, they're so cute together it makes me want to roll my eyes. He bought her a necklace. A beautiful necklace! And the whole time he kept looking at her with that lovesick expression. She got so shy! My plan is working one hundred percent."
Kimi let out a strangled groan of embarrassment, covering his face with both hands as he leaned against the hallway wall, wishing the floor would simply open up and swallow him whole.
"Maggie, for the love of God…" he mumbled, his voice muffled behind his hands.
"Oh, let your sister talk!" His mother scolded with a huge smile as she walked over and ruffled his dark hair even more. "I'm so proud of you, mio caro. Finally, a little romance in your life besides the smell of burnt tires."
Marco closed the magazine and tossed it onto the table, crossing his arms as he shot his son an amused, appraising look.
"The real question here isn't about the shopping," he interrupted, his voice dripping with playful mischief. "The real question is: when are you finally going to grow a spine and ask that girl out properly? A real date, Kimi. Just the two of you. No little sister acting as your bodyguard."
"Dad!" Kimi's eyes widened, his ears burning with embarrassment. He walked over to the refrigerator just to have something to do with his hands, grabbing a bottle of cold water he didn't even want. "I… we barely know each other… I don't want to rush things."
Marco let out a deep laugh and shook his head. He motioned for Kimi to come closer to the island.
"Listen to your old man." He rested his elbows on the countertop, settling into the role of relationship expert — or at least pretending to. "When you ask that florist out, you need to do it for the same day. Call her at five in the afternoon and say, 'Hi, I'll pick you up at seven for dinner.' That's it. No room for second thoughts."
Kimi frowned, puzzled by his father's tactical advice.
"Why the same day?"
"Because," Marco replied with a sly grin, "if you ask too far in advance, she'll have time to think it through, realize what a terrible mistake she's making by going out with you, and back out before the date even happens! You have to strike fast. Surprise is everything."
SMACK!
The crack of a dish towel hitting the back of Marco's neck echoed through the kitchen. Kimi's mother stood behind her husband with her hands on her hips and a murderous glare. Maggie burst into laughter, doubling over on the counter, while Marco rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look offended.
"Marco Antonelli, don't you dare teach your caveman dating tactics to my son!" she shot back indignantly, earning a relieved laugh from Kimi. Then she turned toward him, completely ignoring her husband's grumbling, and pointed a finger straight at him. "Kimi, don't listen to this idiot. You're going to ask her out at least three days in advance. You're going to open the car door for her. You're going to pull out her chair at the restaurant. And most importantly, you have to bring her a gift. The necklace today was an excellent start, but for your first official date, you need to bring her a little something. Flowers! Women love flowers. It's foolproof. Bring her a beautiful bouquet."
Kimi, who had been taking a sip of water, nearly choked. He lowered the bottle, coughed lightly, and stared at his mother as though she'd just spoken in an alien language.
"Mom…" he began slowly. "____ is a florist. Do you understand the concept? She literally owns a flower shop. She spends hours a day, every day, surrounded by orchids, roses, lilies, and who knows what else. You really want me to show up to a florist's date carrying flowers? That's like someone giving me a tire for my birthday!"
Marco burst into loud laughter from his chair, clearly siding with his son, which earned him another deadly glare from his wife.
"Flowers given with love are completely different from flowers at work!" She argued stubbornly, lifting her chin. "It's the gesture that matters. And if you don't want to bring flowers, then buy her some ridiculously expensive chocolate. But don't you dare show up empty-handed."
Kimi let out a long sigh, rubbing both hands over his face. Anxiety was already beginning to churn in his stomach. He wanted that date to be perfect. You were the sweetest, most lovable, most beautiful girl he'd ever met, and the thought of doing something that might ruin his chances with you made his palms sweat.
"I don't even know where to take her…" he muttered, resting his forehead against the cool refrigerator door in the unmistakable posture of an almost twenty year old hopelessly in love. "What if I pick a restaurant she doesn't like? What if she's allergic to something? What if she thinks I'm boring?"
That was the moment Maggie — the criminal mastermind behind the entire operation — slapped both hands dramatically onto the marble countertop. She straightened her posture, radiating the confidence of a tiny Italian mafia boss taking over the family business.
"Relax, Romeo. Don't panic," Maggie declared with absolute confidence. She pointed at her brother with a mischievous grin. "Leave it to me. I spend almost every afternoon at the flower shop with her, remember? I'll be your inside informant. I'll find out everything. Her favorite food, where she wants to go, what kind of dessert she likes, even her favorite color so you can match your shirt. I guarantee it."
Kimi looked at his little sister, feeling an overwhelming mixture of eternal gratitude and mild terror over what she might actually be capable of.
"You'd really do that? Without making it obvious?" He asked hopefully.
"Of course! But obviously, it's going to cost you. A lot. I'm talking plenty of chocolate and presents in the future." She winked as she hopped off the stool. "Don't worry. By the end of the week, you'll have a complete dossier on ____ in your hands. All you have to do is work up the courage to ask her out."
♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡
The next morning, the flower shop smelled of freshly cut stems and clean water. You were arranging a few glass vases when the little bell above the front door chimed, announcing the arrival of your most frequent visitor over the past few weeks.
Maggie walked in like a whirlwind of excitement, wearing a colorful dress, a grin stretched from ear to ear, and carrying a determination that immediately struck you as… suspicious.
"Good morning!" She sang, resting her elbows on the wooden counter. "I decided today that I absolutely need to learn how to make a bouquet on my own. Will you teach me?"
You smiled, finding her sudden enthusiasm adorable.
"Of course I will, Maggie. Come around to this side of the counter."
You gathered a handful of assorted flowers, pruning shears, and satin ribbons, setting everything down on the wooden worktable. It took less than three minutes for you to realize that Maggie's talent for arranging flowers was directly opposed to the amount of curiosity she seemed to have. While she struggled to cross three eucalyptus stems without crushing them, the "interrogation" quietly began.
"So…" Maggie said, pretending to be deeply focused on the bouquet in her hands. "Just so I can understand color harmony and personal taste better… what's your favorite color? Like, for clothes, decorations… everything?"
You let out a small laugh as you adjusted a pale tea rose. "Hmm… light blue, or earthy tones, I guess. Why?"
"No reason! Just… technical curiosity," she answered far too quickly, her eyes sparkling. "And food? If you could eat only one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be? Do you have a favorite restaurant around here? You know, somewhere you always want to go when you're celebrating something?"
You paused with the pruning shears still in the air, slowly narrowing your eyes at the girl beside you. Maggie didn't even blink, keeping the most innocent expression on the planet.
"Maggie… why all these questions?" You asked, suspicion written all over your face.
"Oh, I'm just trying to get to know you better! We're friends now, aren't we? Friends know these things!" She justified with a quick wave of her hand before returning to her disastrously assembled bouquet. "Come on, tell me! Favorite restaurant? Favorite place in town?"
Even though you were almost certain a certain racing driver had something to do with this sudden field research, you eventually gave in to her charm. You told her that pasta was your favorite food and that the quiet park by the river was your favorite place to read on sunny afternoons.
"And your favorite flower?" Maggie asked this time, looking at you with almost ceremonial seriousness. "Don't even try telling me you love them all equally. I know florists always have one secret favorite."
You smiled, your expression softening with nostalgia.
"Daisies," you answered without hesitation, your voice gentle. "Simple daisies are my favorite flowers."
"Really? But you have so many exotic and expensive flowers here… why daisies?"
"Because of my grandmother," you explained, warmth settling in your chest. "When I was little, she'd pick dozens of daisies from her garden and spend the afternoon making flower crowns for me. She always said I looked like a little princess of the countryside. And… they were also the first flowers I ever planted by myself when I was about seven years old. They mean a lot to me."
Maggie listened with wide eyes, absorbing every word as though she were committing a priceless treasure to memory.
"Daisies… flower crowns with Grandma. Perfect. I mean… that's so sweet!" She corrected herself quickly with a nervous cough before pulling her phone from her pocket. "Oh! Before I forget, can I have your phone number? You know… in case I ever want to ask you something, or need flower advice, I can call you directly!"
You raised an eyebrow, becoming even more skeptical about the young Antonelli's intentions, but you still took her phone and typed in your number, saving your contact.
"There you go. Your brother has my number now too, right?" You teased, watching for her reaction.
Maggie's eyes widened for a split second before she let out an awkward laugh and took two quick steps backward, adjusting her purse on her shoulder.
"Kimi? As if! He doesn't even know where I am! The bouquet turned out great, thanks for the lesson, I have to go, bye!"
She fired off the entire sentence in a single breath before practically sprinting toward the exit, making the little bell above the door ring frantically.
You stayed behind, laughing quietly to yourself as you absentmindedly touched the butterfly pendant resting against your neck.
That same evening, at the Antonelli family home, the scene was almost comical.
Kimi sat at the desk in his bedroom, wearing a comfortable shirt with a black pen between his fingers. Standing beside him like a strict military commander instructing a rookie was Maggie. She placed a small hardcover notebook on the desk.
"Open the notebook, Andy. Write down everything I'm about to dictate before I forget the details," she ordered, folding her arms.
"Maggie, I don't need to write it all down… I can just remember—" Kimi began protesting, his face turning bright red as he noticed the title she'd already written across the first page.
Secret Dossier on ____
"Don't argue with your PR manager!" She shot back, tapping the blank page with one finger. "Write!"
Kimi sighed but surrendered. He rested the tip of the pen against the paper, listening with absolute focus to every word that came out of his sister's mouth.
"Favorite colors: light blue and earthy tones," Maggie dictated as she paced around the room. "Favorite food: fresh pasta. Favorite place: the riverside park where she likes to read. Got it?"
"Slow down… talk slower," Kimi pleaded, carefully writing each word in neat handwriting, wanting to preserve every detail as though it were the most important telemetry he'd ever received.
"And now for the most important part." Maggie lowered her voice dramatically. Kimi looked up from the page, curious. "Her favorite flowers are daisies. Her grandmother used to make daisy crowns for her when she was little, and they were the very first flowers she ever planted. They have sentimental value."
Kimi stopped writing for a moment, the pen hovering over the page. A calm, genuine, hopelessly lovestruck smile appeared on his face as he imagined you as a little girl, wearing a daisy crown while proudly taking care of your very first flowers.
He carefully wrote beneath the previous notes:
Daisies (special meaning because of her grandma).
"And one more thing." Maggie smiled triumphantly as she pulled her phone from her pocket and waved it in front of her brother's face. "I got her phone number."
Kimi nearly dropped the pen. He jumped to his feet, eyes wide with shock.
"Her phone number?! Maggie, are you insane? What did you tell her?"
"Relax. I came up with some ridiculous excuse and she totally bought it," Maggie laughed, shamelessly exaggerating as she copied your number across the top of Kimi's notebook page. "There you go, Romeo. The dossier is complete. You've got her favorite things, the perfect location, and her phone number. The ball's in your court now."
Kimi stared at the page filled with information about you. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, a dizzying mixture of anxiety and excitement. His fingertips gently brushed over the handwritten digits of your phone number.
The plan was finally complete.
♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡
The Antonelli family's plan finally started falling into place by the end of that same week. Kimi had stopped by the flower shop to pick Maggie up, who claimed she needed to use the restroom in the back before they left. The moment his sister disappeared down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone among the scent of fresh greenery and the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, the air suddenly felt heavier.
Kimi took two hesitant steps toward the counter, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. A soft blush slowly spread across his cheeks.
"So…" he began, his voice cracking ever so slightly before he cleared his throat and tried again. "I was wondering… would you like to have dinner with me this weekend? Just the two of us?"
You stared at him for a second, surprised by his sudden courage, and the shy smile he offered you made your heart do a little flip.
"I'd love to, Kimi." You answered softly.
The relief that washed over his face was immediate, blooming into a bright, genuine smile just before Maggie returned from the restroom, pretending she hadn't overheard a single word.
On the day of the date, anxiety completely took over the tiny apartment you lived in above the flower shop. Your cousin had come over to help you get ready, took one look through your wardrobe, crossed her arms, and firmly rejected every outfit you owned.
"You're going on a date with Kimi Antonelli, not to the grocery store!" She declared before running out to her car and returning with an elegant dress and a gorgeous pair of heels for you to borrow.
When the bell above the flower shop door rang at the agreed time, you made your way downstairs, smoothing the fabric of the dress over your body.
Kimi was waiting by the entrance. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored button-up shirt, but the instant his eyes traveled up your legs and finally met your face, he seemed to freeze completely. He blinked slowly, his jaw falling ever so slightly as he simply stared.
"You look…" he whispered, his voice genuinely failing him. "My God… you look beautiful."
After finally remembering how to breathe, he handed you a delicate bouquet made entirely of cheerful white daisies, along with a box of fine chocolates. He had remembered absolutely everything his mother had told him. He opened the passenger door for you, waited patiently while you settled into your seat without wrinkling your dress, then gently closed the door behind you.
He had chosen an incredibly discreet restaurant tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street. Kimi had picked it carefully to make sure no photographers or fans would interrupt the evening, but the elegant atmosphere — with its dim lighting, candlelit tables, and formally dressed waiters made you feel a little out of place at first, unaccustomed to somewhere so sophisticated.
Sensing your nervousness almost immediately, Kimi quietly dissolved every bit of tension. He pulled out your chair, casually recommended a few dishes from the menu, and spent the entire dinner focused on you. The conversation flowed effortlessly; you laughed over stories from his childhood, he listened with genuine interest as you talked about your days surrounded by flowers, and before long the restaurant's luxurious atmosphere faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of the connection growing between the two of you.
After dinner, the evening was simply too pleasant to head home right away. Kimi suggested taking a walk along a quiet path beside the canal. The city lights shimmered across the water while your footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestones. As the conversation drifted from one lighthearted topic to another, his hand brushed against yours a few times… until he finally gathered enough courage to lace his fingers through yours.
Your hands fit together perfectly — warm, natural, effortless. You squeezed his hand gently in return, a pleasant shiver running up your arm, and Kimi couldn't help smiling down at the ground, his chest swelling with happiness.
When his car eventually pulled up in front of your flower shop, an expectant silence settled inside the cabin. He climbed out, walked around the car, and accompanied you to the front entrance.
Kimi didn't want to come across as pushy or rush anything. He respected you far too much to force a moment on your very first date. So he leaned in slowly, one hesitant hand resting lightly on your waist, and placed nothing more than a gentle kiss at the corner of your lips, lingering there for a couple of seconds as the soft scent of your perfume quietly surrounded him.
But when he started to pull away, he realized you hadn't moved back. Your eyes remained half-lidded, your breathing had turned shallow, and you were still there, close enough for him to feel your warmth.
Feeling your unspoken permission, Kimi's heart slammed against his ribs. He cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs gently caressing your warm skin, before finally leaning in for real.
The kiss began slowly, a sweet and careful exploration. Kimi's lips were unbelievably soft, and the way he drew you against his chest revealed just how long he'd been dreaming of that moment. The world around you seemed to disappear. You felt one of his hands drift back down to your waist, his warm breath mingling with yours, and the restrained urgency that made his body tremble ever so slightly against yours. There was no rush — only complete surrender, a perfect fit that made your stomach flutter as the butterfly pendant resting against your skin seemed to seal the moment itself.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless and your lips faintly flushed, Kimi rested his forehead against yours, keeping his eyes closed for a moment, as if trying to imprint the feeling into his memory forever.
"Goodnight…" he whispered against your lips, his voice husky and overflowing with affection.
"Goodnight, Kimi," you replied just above a whisper, smiling against his skin.
He waited until you'd climbed the stairs and turned on the apartment light before getting back into his car. And that night, both in your room above the flower shop and in the young driver's bed on the other side of the city, neither of you managed to fall asleep anytime soon, drifting off only with the most hopelessly lovestruck smiles love could ever paint.
Can I request a really cute and fluffy story about Kimi antonelli?
Something like the reader loves to get her nails done, buy books, buy clothes, etc but she always holds herself back because she doesn’t feel like she deserves to get spoiled? Then obviously kimi notices and spoils her to oblivion!
I hope that made sense. I’m really new to Tumblr and I absolutely adore your fics sooo I’m really looking forward to what masterpiece you come up with. Thank u :D
You Deserve the World So Let Me Buy it For You - KA12
pairing: kimi antonelli x fem!gf!reader
synopsis: Andrea Kimi Antonelli has finally had enough of it. So, he takes matters (and his limitless black card) into his own hands, determined to entirely dismantle the idea that his gf shouldn't be spoiled to oblivion.
wc: 2.6k
note: hello besties <3 hope this likes you!! thanks for your request i love it, maybe a Kimi will find me 🥺🤧
The spine of the special edition hardback was beautiful—embossed with gold foil and intricately designed. You ran your fingers over it, your eyes lighting up the way they always did when you found something you loved.
Standing a few feet away, Kimi watched you with a soft smile playing on his lips. He loved this version of you: completely captivated, entirely in your element. He waited for you to tuck the book under your arm and head toward the cash register.
Instead, he watched your shoulders drop. You turned the book over, glanced at the price tag, and let out a quiet, barely audible sigh. Carefully, almost reluctantly, you placed the book back onto the shelf and took a step away.
"Not getting it, amore?" Kimi asked, stepping up behind you and wrapping an arm loosely around your waist. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple.
You leaned into his touch, offering a tight smile. "No, it's fine. I have way too many unread books sitting on my nightstand at home. It’s too expensive anyway. I don't really need it."
Kimi frowned slightly, his brow furrowing as he looked from the book to your face. He knew for a fact you had been talking about this specific release for three months. "Y/N, if you want it, just get it. Or let me get it for you."
"No, Kimi, really," you insisted, already walking toward the exit of the bookstore. "It's a waste of money. I don't deserve to treat myself right now anyway, I haven't even finished the last one I bought."
He didn't push the issue right then, but as he followed you out into the warm afternoon sun, a realization clicked into place. It wasn't just the book.
It was the clothes, too. Last week in Milan, you had tried on a gorgeous silk dress that fit you like a glove. You looked absolutely breathtaking, and your reflection in the mirror had made you smile so brightly. But the moment the shop assistant asked if you were taking it, you practically ripped it off, claiming the color washed you out—a blatant lie just to avoid the guilt of the price tag.
It was your nails, as well. You loved having long, intricately designed acrylics. You used to spend hours scrolling through Pinterest looking at nail art. But for the last two months, your nails had been bare, chipped from your own nervous picking. When he’d asked about it, you’d shrugged and said, “I don’t want to be high-maintenance. Getting them done is too much of a luxury.”
Kimi gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he drove the two of you back to his apartment. He hated it. He hated that you constantly made yourself smaller, that you denied yourself the things that brought you joy because of some misplaced guilt. You supported him through the exhausting chaos of his racing career, dealt with his chaotic travel schedules, and loved him so selflessly.
You deserved the entire world, and it broke his heart that you didn't see it.
That night, while you were curled up on the couch in one of his oversized Mercedes hoodies, sound asleep with a movie playing quietly in the background, Kimi pulled out his phone.
He didn't just want to buy you a book or pay for a manicure. He wanted to entirely dismantle this idea you had that you didn't deserve to be spoiled. If you wouldn't treat yourself, Andrea Kimi Antonelli was going to do it for you.
First, he found the website for the most highly-rated, luxurious nail salon in the city and booked their longest, most premium VIP package for the next afternoon. Then, he texted a personal shopper at the boutique where you had left that silk dress, giving them your sizes and a very specific, unlimited budget. Finally, he logged onto the bookstore's website.
The next morning, you woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and pastries. You wandered into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, only to stop dead in your tracks.
Sitting perfectly on the kitchen island was a stack of five books—including the special edition you had put back yesterday, plus four others by the same author.
"Kimi?" you breathed out, your hands flying to your mouth as he walked in from the balcony, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.
"Good morning, principessa," he smiled, setting the mug down and pulling you into his chest.
"Kimi, you shouldn't have," you stammered, looking at the stack of expensive books. The familiar wave of guilt started to rise in your chest. "This is too much, I don't deserve—"
"Stop right there," Kimi interrupted gently, his hands coming up to cup your face. His dark eyes locked onto yours, completely serious but entirely soft. "Do not finish that sentence, Y/N. You deserve this, and so much more. In fact, this is just the beginning."
You blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Kimi grinned, pressing a kiss to your nose. "Finish your coffee and go get dressed in something comfortable, but nice. We have an appointment in two hours."
"An appointment? For what?"
"Your nails," he said simply, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "And after that, you're going to try on some clothes. And every single time you tell me something is 'too expensive' or that you 'don't need it,' I'm buying it in three different colors."
The drive to the salon was a blur of nervous energy for you and quiet, determined confidence from Kimi. When he pulled up to a sleek, frosted-glass storefront in one of the most upscale districts of the city, your stomach did a familiar little flip of anxiety.
"Kimi, this place is..." You trailed off, looking at the minimalist gold lettering on the window. "This is where celebrities go. A basic manicure here is probably the price of my weekly groceries."
Kimi simply unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned over, and kissed the corner of your mouth. "Good thing you aren't paying, amore."
He stepped out, rounded the car, and opened your door, offering his hand. Resigned but secretly thrilled, you took it.
Inside, the salon smelled of lavender and expensive vanilla. A receptionist greeted Kimi by name, immediately ushering the two of you into a private VIP suite in the back. There were plush velvet chairs, complimentary champagne, and a nail technician waiting with a massive array of color swatches.
You sat down, instantly overwhelmed. "I'll just get a solid color," you told the technician quickly, playing with the rings on your fingers. "Just a short gel manicure is fine. No extensions."
Kimi, who had made himself comfortable on a velvet sofa directly across from you, immediately sat forward. He caught the technician's eye.
"She’s lying," Kimi said smoothly, a teasing but firm smile on his face. He looked at you. "Show her your Pinterest board, Y/N."
"Kimi—"
"The board," he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I know you have a folder called 'Nail Inspo.' I saw you looking at it three days ago. Show her the ones with the tiny hand-painted stars and the long almond shape. That's what she's getting."
The technician beamed, clearly delighted to have a canvas to work on, while your cheeks flushed crimson. "It takes hours to do that art," you whispered, trying to protest one last time.
"I have nowhere else to be," Kimi replied easily, leaning back and pulling his phone out. "Take your time. Make them perfect."
For the next two hours, you sat in absolute luxury. Every time you glanced over, afraid Kimi was getting bored, he was either answering emails or simply watching you with a soft, affectionate gaze. When the technician finally finished and applied a rich cuticle oil, you held your hands up to the light. The long almond extensions were flawless, painted in a sheer nude with delicate, intricate gold stars scattered across them. You couldn't stop staring at them.
"Beautiful," Kimi murmured, coming up behind your chair and gently tracing your newly manicured fingers. "Matches you perfectly."
You turned to thank him, the guilt fighting a losing battle against the sheer joy bubbling in your chest, but before you could speak, he was pulling you toward the door.
"Thank you," Kimi told the staff, handing over his sleek black card before you could even catch a glimpse of the total. "Now, we have a personal shopper waiting."
If the nail salon was luxurious, the boutique was on an entirely different level. When you arrived, the doors were locked to the public. A well-dressed woman named Elena greeted Kimi with a kiss on both cheeks before leading you to a massive private dressing room.
Hanging on a gold rack were dozens of garments. Dresses, trousers, cashmere sweaters, tailored coats—and right in the center, the emerald green silk dress you had abandoned in Milan a week ago.
"How did you get that?" you gasped, walking over to brush your fingers against the soft silk.
"I have my ways," Kimi smirked, dropping onto the plush ottoman in the center of the room. "Try it on. Try all of it on."
You spent the next hour walking in and out of the dressing room. Every instinct you had honed over the years screamed at you to check the price tags, but Elena had completely removed them at Kimi's request.
You stepped out wearing a stunning, heavy-knit cream sweater and a perfectly tailored skirt. "It’s really beautiful," you admitted, looking in the three-way mirror. "But the wool is so thick, I probably wouldn't wear it enough to justify—"
"Elena, we'll take it," Kimi said without missing a beat.
"Wait, I didn't say I wanted it!" you argued, turning to him.
"You said it was beautiful. That's all the justification you need," he countered, pointing to the rack. "Next."
A few outfits later, you emerged in a breathtaking evening gown. It swept the floor, catching the light with every movement. You felt like an absolute princess, but the familiar heavy anchor of guilt dropped in your chest.
"Kimi, this is too much," you said, your voice cracking slightly. You wrapped your arms around yourself. "I don't have anywhere to wear this. I don't deserve to have thousands of euros spent on me in one afternoon. I'm just... me. You don't have to buy my love."
Kimi’s playful demeanor instantly vanished. He stood up, crossing the room in two long strides, and gently took your hands, pulling them away from your chest.
"Look at me, Y/N," he said quietly, his dark eyes fiercely serious. "I am not buying your love. I already have it, and it is the greatest privilege of my life. I am doing this because you spend so much time taking care of everyone else, making yourself small, and denying yourself happiness over a price tag. You deserve to be spoiled. You deserve nice things simply because they make you smile."
He lifted one of your hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, right over the gold stars on your nails.
"You are not a burden. You are not high-maintenance," he whispered, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that escaped your eye. "You are my girl. And as long as you are with me, you are going to be treated like it. Do you understand?"
You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as the weight you’d been carrying for years finally began to crack and fall away. "I understand."
Kimi smiled, the bright, boyish grin you loved so much returning. He kissed you softly, lingering for a moment before pulling back.
"Good," he said, turning his head to look at the personal shopper who was pretending very hard to arrange scarves in the corner. "Elena? We're taking the evening gown. And the green silk dress. Actually, you know what? We'll just take the whole rack."
The trunk of Kimi's car was completely packed. So was the backseat. By the time the two of you managed to haul all the shopping bags, boxes, and garment bags up to his apartment, you were both breathless and laughing.
The living room floor was practically covered in boutique bags, the glossy packaging gleaming under the warm overhead lights. You stood in the center of it all, looking around at the sheer volume of things he had bought for you. The heavy guilt that usually accompanied even buying a simple coffee for yourself was entirely gone, replaced by a warm, glowing sense of being deeply, truly cherished.
"I don't even know where I'm going to put all of this," you laughed, shaking your head as you kicked off your shoes. "Your closet is going to be completely overrun."
"Good," Kimi said, shedding his jacket and tossing it over the back of the sofa. He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and pulling your back flush against his chest. He rested his chin on your shoulder, looking at the beautiful chaos of shopping bags. "I've been telling you to move more of your things in any way. Consider this my strategy to claim all your drawer space."
You leaned your head back against his shoulder, letting out a soft, contented sigh. You lifted your hands, catching the light on your new, starry nails. They were so perfectly you, and every time you looked at them, you felt a little spark of joy.
"Thank you, Kimi," you said softly. This time, there were no 'buts' attached. No 'but it was too much', or 'but you shouldn't have'. Just genuine, unapologetic gratitude.
Kimi noticed the shift immediately. He smiled against your skin, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. "You're welcome, principessa."
You turned in his arms, looping yours around his neck to look up into his dark, expressive eyes. "I mean it. Not just for the clothes or the nails or the books. Thank you for... making me see it. For not letting me shrink myself today."
"I'll never let you shrink yourself, Y/N," he promised, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate register. He brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch infinitely gentle. "You light up every room you walk into. It’s about time you let yourself enjoy the spotlight a little bit."
You smiled, leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. He responded instantly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. When you finally pulled away, you were both smiling.
"Now," Kimi said, taking a step back and gesturing toward the kitchen counter, where the stack of books from this morning was still waiting. "I believe you have a special edition hardback that has been calling your name for three months. And I have a very comfortable couch that requires our immediate attention."
"Are you going to let me read in peace, or are you going to distract me?" you teased, walking over to grab the book.
"I make no promises," Kimi grinned, already dropping onto the plush sofa and pulling a throw blanket over his legs. He patted the space right between them. "Come here."
You curled up against him, resting your back against his chest. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, providing the perfect, warm cocoon. As you cracked open the spine of the beautiful gold-foiled book, your starry nails resting perfectly on the crisp pages, Kimi pressed one last kiss to the top of your head.
You had the perfect book, the perfect nails, a closet full of gorgeous clothes waiting to be unpacked, and the boy you loved holding you close. For the first time in a long time, you didn't question if you deserved it. You just let yourself be happy.
the world has always known you as the other verstappen. max's teammate, his closest person, his other half. quiet. untouchable. all sharp edges and locked doors.
love was never part of the plan. racing was. racing was supposed to be enough.
then kimi antonelli arrives.
nineteen, wide-eyed, painfully earnest — following max around like a lost puppy, which means he keeps running into you. again. and again. and again.
and somehow, without trying, he becomes the one person that gets you to open up. to feel. you've never let anyone this close. and max notices. but max also notices how kimi looks at his sister like you're the only person in the world.
fc : stephmandich on ig
(a/n) : hello guys!!!!!! sorry i've been missing, i have been busy w/ work and actually planning big things for you all! big announcements coming soon;) anyways about the fic, this is based on the 2025 season and kimi is 19 at the beginning of the season and reader is 20 and has been in f1 since 17 :) (reader has max's old #) (warnings of j*s verstappen being j*s verstappen!) (also this takes place in 2025 season BUT laurent has already replaced christian bc i said so) (also ty to whoever requested lysm)
The lights of London blur past the tinted windows as the car slows near the venue, the city glowing like it knows something important is about to happen. The F1 launch event is always excessive—grand staircases, photographers packed ten deep, flashes like lightning—but tonight it feels heavier. Real. The season begins here.
You step out beside Max, Laurent Mekies already straightening his jacket with an amused smile as the crowd reacts instantly. Cameras swing toward you and Max like magnets.
You loop your arm through Max’s without thinking. It’s instinct—always has been.
The black lace gown clings to you in a way that feels both elegant and dangerous, sheer in places but never careless. Long sleeves, delicate patterning, the fabric moving like smoke when you walk. Your hair is swept back, makeup soft but sharp enough to hold its own under a thousand lights. Max leans in slightly.
“You good?” he murmurs.
You nod, smiling. “Always.”
The carpet is chaos, but familiar chaos. You greet faces you’ve known for years—team principals, drivers, partners. Max does his usual understated nods and half-smiles, letting you take the lead when someone stops you. You’re warm, composed, effortlessly charming. Laurent watches the two of you with quiet pride.
Inside, the room is opulent—low lights, crystal everywhere, the hum of anticipation buzzing under the music. Assigned seating pulls you toward your table. Right next to Mercedes.
You clock George Russell immediately, already mid-laugh, animated as ever. His face lights up when he sees you.
“There she is,” George says, standing to greet you. “Red Bull’s secret weapon.”
You laugh, hugging him lightly. “Still trying to steal me, Georgie?”
“Always,” he replies easily. “One day you’ll get bored of him.” He nods toward Max.
Max smirks. “Not happening.”
You slide into your seat between Max and George, the dynamic comfortable, familiar. But then—just across from George—you see him.
Kimi Antonelli.
He looks younger than he does on screen, suit tailored perfectly but posture still slightly unsure, like he’s reminding himself he belongs here. His eyes flick to Max again and again, unmistakable admiration written all over his face.
Max notices immediately.
“Kimi,” Max says casually, already standing. “Come here.”
Kimi looks like he might short-circuit.
He steps over, hand extended, a little stiff. “Max—hi. I mean—hello.”
Max shakes his hand, amused. “Relax.”
Then Max turns slightly, placing a hand at the small of your back.
“This is my sister,” he says. “YN.”
Kimi’s brain fully leaves his body.
“Oh,” he says, too fast. Then, softer. “Hi.”
You smile at him, easy, kind. “Hi.”
He blinks, then laughs nervously. “Sorry—uh—I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only good things, I hope.”
“All of them,” he blurts out, then winces. “I mean—yeah. You’re incredible. I mean—not just—your driving—”
You laugh, warm and unbothered, and something in his shoulders loosens instantly.
“It’s okay,” you say gently. “I get nervous meeting people too.”
Max watches closely from beside you, arms crossed now, expression unreadable—but his eyes never leave Kimi.
The conversation settles into something easy. Kimi asks about your off-season Porsche work, genuinely fascinated. You ask him about the step up to F1, his tone brightening when he talks about learning from George, from Max, from everyone. He listens when you speak—really listens—like every word matters.
Later, Red Bull is called to the stage. You rise smoothly, Max trailing just behind you like he always does at events like this. On stage, the lights are blinding, the crowd loud—but you don’t falter.
You take the lead naturally, speaking about the season ahead, the work behind the scenes, the trust in the team. Max stands beside you, nodding occasionally, offering a short sentence here and there—but it’s clear who’s carrying the room.
And you feel it. A gaze. You don’t have to look to know where it’s coming from. Kimi.
When you finally glance toward the Mercedes table, his eyes meet yours instantly. He looks like he’s watching something unreal—pride, awe, something softer tangled together.
As you step down from the stage, you send him a small smile. Just for him. It floors him.
After the event winds down, the room softens. Music lowers. People begin to drift. Max is deep in conversation with Kimi near the bar, George hovering nearby.
You approach, heels quiet against the floor.
“I’m heading back,” you say, touching Max’s arm.
Max turns immediately. “You want me to—”
“I’m good,” you reassure him.
Kimi hesitates for half a second, then gathers his courage.
“I can walk you,” he offers. “If that’s okay.”
Max’s eyes flick between the two of you.
Then, surprisingly, he nods. “Yeah. That’s fine.”
Protective. Watching. Approving—just a little.
Outside, the night air is cool, London calm in that rare way it gets after something big. You walk side by side, close but not touching.
“Thanks,” you say. “For earlier. You were very sweet.”
Kimi rubs the back of his neck. “I was terrified.”
You smile. “I noticed.”
He laughs, then grows thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How do you… handle it?” he asks quietly. “The pressure. Being compared. Living up to a name.”
You slow slightly, considering him. “You stop trying to be someone else. Even if that someone else is a legend.”
He nods, absorbing every word.
“You’re here for a reason, Kimi,” you add softly. “Don’t forget that.”
When you reach your hotel, he stops, hands in his pockets.
The air in Melbourne feels different at the start of a season. Sharper. Charged. Like the track itself is holding its breath. By the time the race rolls around, routines have already formed.
Max’s driver room has quietly become yours too. Between sessions, you slip inside with practiced ease, kicking off your shoes, perching on the couch or the edge of the table while Max debriefs with engineers or stares blankly at data like he’s trying to absorb it through sheer will. It’s your safe space—quiet, controlled, familiar.
The morning of qualifying, you’re mid-sentence, talking with your hands as you explain something inconsequential—how the wind felt weird through Turn 9, how the car wants more rotation than you expected—when there’s a knock on the door.
Max doesn’t even look up. “Yeah?”
Kimi steps in hesitantly, like he’s entering a church.
“Sorry—uh,” he says, glancing between the two of you. “I wanted to ask Max something.”
"Ask,” Max replies flatly.
But Kimi doesn’t. Not immediately. Because you turn toward him with a small smile, completely at ease, and say, “You can sit, you know. You don’t have to hover.”
He freezes. Then, awkwardly, he lowers himself to the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled up slightly—like he’s afraid to take up too much space. Max notices. Of course he does. Says nothing. You keep talking. Kimi listens.
Not the polite kind of listening, where someone waits for their turn to speak—but the kind where their whole focus narrows. He watches the way your hands move, the way your voice shifts when you’re thinking through something technical, the way Max occasionally glances at you for confirmation without realizing he’s doing it.
Eventually, Kimi forgets why he knocked in the first place.
This would slowly become a pattern.
Drivers’ briefings—Kimi somehow always ends up next to you. Media pen—he trails Max, which means he trails you. It’s subtle enough that no one comments on it, but consistent enough that you notice.
He’s like a shadow. A quiet one. You don’t mind.
That night, the paddock finally goes still. The kind of stillness that settles after adrenaline has burned itself out but sleep refuses to come. Your thoughts won’t shut up. Your body feels wired, restless.
So you change into running clothes and slip out into the night.
The air is cool, the city muted. Your breath evens out as you settle into a steady pace, shoes striking pavement in rhythm. It helps—usually.
You round a corner and nearly collide with someone coming the other way.
“Kimi,” you say, surprised.
He slows to a jog, then a walk. “Oh—hi.”
You glance at his watch, then the empty street. “What are you doing out here?”
He hesitates. Shrugs. “Nerves.”
You huff out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah. Same.”
No teasing. No jokes. Just honesty.
You fall into step together, side by side. No words. Just shared breath, shared pace. The silence isn’t awkward—it’s heavy, but not uncomfortable. Like both of you understand this is something that doesn’t need to be filled.
When you part ways later, you don’t say much. Just a quiet, mutual good luck hanging unspoken between you.
The next morning is sharp and bright. Time to race.
Kimi comes by the Red Bull garage early, looking for Max. He doesn’t announce himself—just walks down the hallway, hands tucked into his pockets, nerves buzzing under his skin.
That’s when he hears voices. Yours.
And another unfamiliar voice. Jos.
You’re just around the corner, unaware you’re not alone. Your voice is controlled—too controlled. Calm in the way that comes from years of practice.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” you say.
A scoff. “Someone has to. You think you’re untouchable now.”
“I am doing my job.”
“Barely,” he snaps. “And if you keep embarrassing yourself, I won’t keep showing up. I won’t keep supporting this.”
Your jaw tightens. “That’s your choice.”
“It shouldn’t be,” he says cruelly. “You’re wasting your potential. Both you and your brother. Getting soft.”
There’s a pause. Long enough to hurt. Kimi’s chest tightens.
“You don’t get to define me anymore,” you say quietly. “Or him.”
He doesn’t wait to hear more.
Kimi backs away, heart pounding, guilt and anger and something protective twisting together in his stomach. He turns, nearly colliding with Max moments later.
“Hey,” Max says, instantly reading his face. “What’s wrong?”
Kimi swallows. “Nothing. Just—wanted to wish you luck.”
Max studies him for a beat longer than necessary, then nods. “You too.”
When you walk back into the garage a few minutes later, the atmosphere shifts instantly. Kimi looks up. Your expression is composed—perfectly neutral—but your eyes give you away. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push. Just steps closer and offers a soft smile.
“Good luck today,” he says.
You return it, small but genuine. “You too.”
And as you turn away, both of you carry the same unspoken thought— Some battles are fought on track. Others are survived quietly, together, without anyone ever knowing.
Miami arrives loud and bright and unforgiving, the kind of place that doesn’t let you disappear even when you want to.
By now, the rhythm of the season has settled into something familiar. Max and Kimi are inseparable in the way only mentor and student can be—Max answering questions without judgment, pulling Kimi into debriefs, looping him into conversations with engineers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Kimi absorbs everything, eyes sharp, always listening.
And somehow, quietly, you and Kimi have found your own rhythm too. It starts with the runs. Before every race weekend, before the noise and the expectations and the weight of it all, the two of you run. No music. No talking. Just side by side, shoes hitting pavement in sync. It’s never discussed, never labeled. If one of you is already stretching, the other just joins in. If one of you doesn’t show up, there are no questions.
Kimi never pushes. When you’re quiet, he stays quiet. When you isolate, he gives you space—but never distance. He’s learned the shape of your silence and treats it gently, like something fragile instead of something to be fixed.
Miami qualifying is supposed to be good. The car feels decent. Not perfect, but workable. You tell yourself that over and over as you pull on your gloves. Then everything goes wrong. Traffic. A yellow you didn’t cause. A compromised lap that never had a chance to breathe. Q1 ends with your name too low on the timing screen. Knocked out.
The moment you climb out of the car, the world feels too sharp. Too loud. You barely register the engineers’ voices, the hands on your shoulders, the reassurances that blur together into nothing.
All you can think about is one thing. Jos.
You speak to the media, reluctantly. You wait patiently for qualifying to end, proud to see Kimi and Max do so well. Max meets you in your drivers room.
“Hey,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. “Hey.”
You don’t even try to hold it together.
The tears come fast, ugly, humiliating. You press your palms into your eyes, shaking your head like that might undo what just happened.
“I messed it up,” you choke. “I should’ve—if I’d just waited—this is on me.”
“It’s not,” Max says immediately, firm but gentle. “You know that.”
“I know what he’s going to say,” you whisper. “I know how this looks.”
Max pulls you into him without hesitation, one arm solid around your shoulders, the other resting protectively at the back of your head. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t try to logic you out of it.
He just stays.
Out in the hallway, Kimi paces. He hasn’t even processed his own qualifying yet—not really. P3 feels distant, unreal, like something that happened to someone else. All he can think about is the way your voice sounded on the radio replay he heard. Flat. Too calm.
He stops when the door opens.
Max steps out, closing it quietly behind him. His expression tells Kimi everything before he even speaks.
“She’s blaming herself,” Max says low. “Even though it wasn’t her fault. She’s… shutting down.”
Kimi nods once. “Can I?”
Max looks at him for a long moment. Protective. Assessing.
Then he steps aside. “Yeah.”
Kimi exhales and pushes the door open.
The room is dim. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, face blotchy and red, eyes unfocused like you’re somewhere far away. Max squeezes Kimi’s shoulder as he passes him in the doorway.
Kimi doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t announce himself. He just walks over and sits beside you, close enough that your knees brush. He doesn’t crowd you. Doesn’t look at you like you’re broken.
He offers you his hand. That’s it.
You stare at it for a second, then lace your fingers through his and grip tight—like if you let go, something worse might happen. He squeezes back immediately, grounding, steady.
He stays silent. And somehow, that’s what finally lets you breathe.
Later, when Kimi stands in front of cameras, the adrenaline hits all at once. The questions come fast—rookie performance, P3, pressure, expectations.
He answers the first one.
Then the second.
Then someone asks about the weekend overall.
And he forgets himself.
“I mean—today was… mixed,” he says slowly. “Because obviously I’m happy with the result, but—” He hesitates, then continues anyway. “I think people forget how incredible YN is. One thing doesn’t define her. She’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever seen, and she deserves so much respect.”
The interviewer blinks. Kimi keeps going.
“She’s strong. And smart. And she makes everyone around her better. I learn just by watching her.”
He realizes what he’s doing about three sentences too late.
His ears go red. “Sorry—I’m rambling.”
Later that night, curled up in your hotel room, phone warm in your hands, you see the clip on Twitter.
You watch it twice. Then a third time. A warm feeling twisting in your stomach each time.
f1gossipgirls : kimi worming his way into the verstappen family has been my favorite part of the season so far. he always talks so highly of max and yn and says that they have taught him so much🥹
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username775 : did anyone see him blushing when he was talking about yn in that interview after miami????
liked by f1gossipgirls
↳ username009 : so cute omg
username101 : i feel like kimi has healed something in both of them ❤️
liked by f1gossipgirls
username710 : funny how their own competition can say incredible things about them but their own father drags them in the press...make it make sense.
The break after Miami almost feels necessary. Four weeks with no race schedule, no alarms set around sessions, no radio crackling in your ear. Just heat and salt and space to breathe. Max calls it a reset. You call it survival.
When Max mentions the trip, he does it casually—like it isn’t a big deal.
“Kimi’s coming,” he says one morning, already scrolling through something on his phone. “Invited him.”
You don’t look up. “Okay.”
Your heart does something stupid anyway.
The island is quiet in the way only places far from everything else can be. White sand, water so clear it looks fake, a villa tucked just far enough from the beach that the waves are a constant, gentle soundtrack.
It’s… domestic. In a way you’re not used to.
Penelope runs through the open doors the moment you arrive, already barefoot, already excited. Lily is passed between arms like the most precious cargo on earth. Kelly is radiant in the sun. Victoria claims a room immediately and Sophie moves through the space like a mother on a mission.
Kimi arrives last, a little sunburnt already, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, grin unmistakable when he sees Max.
“Hey kid,” Max says, pulling him into a quick hug.
Kimi laughs, relaxed in a way he rarely is during race weekends. “Thanks for inviting me.”
You catch his eye from across the room. He smiles at you like it’s instinct now.
The beach day happens naturally, like it was always meant to.
You’re sitting in the sand with Penelope, helping her build something that looks nothing like a castle and everything like chaos. Lily is next to you on a blanket, little fists grabbing at the air, fascinated by the light and the sound of the waves.
You’re laughing—actually laughing—when Kimi appears, already barefoot, shorts rolled up.
“Need help?” he asks.
Penelope looks up at him seriously. “She’s bad at this.”
You gasp. “Traitor.”
Kimi drops down into the sand beside you without hesitation. “Okay. I’ll fix it.”
He doesn’t fix it. He just joins in, scooping sand, letting Penelope direct him completely. When Lily fusses, he’s the first to notice, reaching for her gently, instinctively.
“Is it okay?” he asks you softly.
You nod.
He lifts her carefully, like he’s been doing it his whole life, bouncing her slightly until she settles. Lily grips his finger with surprising strength, eyes wide and curious.
Something in your chest tightens.
You watch him like this—kneeling in the sand, Lily against his chest, Penelope climbing over his back, completely unbothered by the mess, the noise, the sun.
He looks… right.
It scares you a little.
Later, as the sun dips lower, you’re on the balcony with Max and Victoria, drinks sweating in your hands. The air is warm, the sky streaked pink and gold.
“You’re quiet,” Victoria says, glancing at you knowingly.
You shrug. “Just tired.”
Max leans against the railing, looking out toward the ocean. “He’s good with them,” he says casually.
You know exactly who he means.
Inside, Kimi is helping Kelly and Sophie. You can hear his voice drifting through the open doors—animated, curious.
“So you raced?” he’s saying, awe clear even from here.
Sophie laughs. “A long time ago.”
“YN always says she gets everything from you,” he replies easily.
Sophie softens at that. “She was always watching. Always listening.”
Kimi hums thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”
They talk easily, comfortably. Sophie asks him about his season, about his family. He listens the same way he listens to you—fully, respectfully.
When dinner is ready, it’s laid out on the beach. Lanterns glow softly, the sound of waves filling the spaces between conversation. Lily babbles from Kelly’s lap. Penelope is already half-asleep, curled against Victoria.
Kimi sits beside you without comment. Your knee brushes his. Neither of you move away.
He passes you a plate. You thank him. Your fingers linger just a second too long.
Across the table, Max watches with a quiet smile. Victoria catches his eye and raises her brows, amused.
You don’t notice. You’re too busy watching the way Kimi looks at you when you speak—like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.
This race feels like momentum. It is undeniable—whatever has been building between you and Kimi has crossed the line from coincidence into something real. Not spoken. Not defined. But present in the way he always finds you without trying, in the way you move toward him instinctively after sessions, in the quiet runs you still take together before race days.
Side by side. Always side by side.
You’ve realized something over the last few weeks, and it terrifies you more than any high-speed corner ever could.
You have feelings for him.
Real ones. The kind you can’t outthink or outdrive or bury under discipline. And you’ve never let yourself have that before—not once. Vulnerability was never safe growing up. Love always felt conditional. Earned. Temporary.
Kimi doesn’t feel like any of that. That’s what scares you.
The race itself is electric. Everything clicks in a way that feels rare and fragile, like the universe decided to be kind for once. Max is untouchable out front. You’re relentless behind him. Kimi drives like he belongs there—calm, sharp, fearless.
When the checkered flag falls, the radio explodes with noise and emotion. P1. P2. P3.
Red Bull. Red Bull. Mercedes—but it feels like family anyway.
On the cool-down lap, Max laughs over the radio. “Not bad, huh?”
You grin so hard your face hurts. “I’ll take it.”
By the time you three make it to the podium, it is chaos. Champagne sprays everywhere. Max pulls you into his side, knocking his head gently against yours. Kimi stands just close enough that your shoulders brush, his laughter unrestrained, eyes bright with disbelief and joy.
When you look at him, he’s already looking at you. Something warm blooms in your chest.
Later, the noise fades. The motorhome is quiet, dimly lit, a cocoon away from the world. You’re sitting beside Kimi on the couch, still buzzing, still riding the high.
Your phone lights up.
Jos.
Your stomach drops instantly.
Kimi notices. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says softly.
You stare at the screen for a second longer. Then you turn it face down.
“I don’t want him to ruin this,” you whisper. “I don’t want him to take another good moment.”
Your voice cracks despite yourself.
The tears surprise you—not loud, not dramatic. Just sudden and overwhelming, like your body finally deciding it’s safe enough to feel.
Kimi moves without thinking.
He pulls you into him, arms solid and warm, holding you like you’re something precious instead of fragile. You curl into his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
When you pull back, he doesn’t let go completely. One hand stays at your waist. The other comes up, gentle, wiping the tears from beneath your eyes with his thumb.
You look at him. Really look. The room feels too quiet. Too small. His breath stutters just slightly, like he’s nervous too. And then—he kisses you. It’s soft. Careful. Like a question more than a statement. You kiss him back without hesitation.
The moment breaks when he pulls away abruptly, panic flashing across his face. “I—wait—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to push—I—”
You stop him, hands still resting against his chest.
“No,” you say quickly. Then softer, more honestly than you’ve ever been with anyone. “I just… I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never… had this.”
He stills completely. Then he smiles—not big, not triumphant. Just warm and steady and sure.
“That’s okay,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulls you back into him, no rush, no expectations. Just holding you while the world stays kind a little longer.
The Hungarian Grand Prix always feels like a threshold. One last push before the season exhales.
And for the first time in a while, you feel light. You and Kimi are… together. Quietly. Intentionally. No rush, no labels shouted into the void. Just mornings that start with side by side runs and end with his hand finding yours without thinking. Just the way he looks at you when you talk—like he’s memorizing you, not consuming you.
Since Canada, everything has clicked. Your driving is sharper, freer. Podium after podium stacks up beneath your name, each one earned without panic clawing at your throat. The pressure hasn’t disappeared—but it no longer owns you.
Max notices. Of course he does.
He watches you from across garages and debrief rooms, clocks the way you smile easier now, the way your shoulders don’t sit quite so tense. He doesn’t say anything. He never pushes. Max knows you well enough to understand that when you’re ready, you’ll come to him.
Hungary delivers again.
Another clean weekend. Another strong result. When you climb out of the car on Sunday, sweat soaked and glowing, Max pulls you into a hug that’s all pride and familiarity.
“Good job,” he murmurs.
You beam. “Thanks.”
Later that evening, the paddock winding down, Max finds you sitting outside the motorhome, legs tucked beneath you, helmet resting at your side. The sun is low, casting everything in gold.
“Hey,” he says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Kelly and I were thinking—first week of summer break. Somewhere quiet. Kids, beach, no schedules. You should come.”
Your heart stutters just a little.
“I can’t,” you admit.
Max turns to look at you fully now. “Oh?”
“I’ll be in Italy.”
He raises an eyebrow slowly, expression unreadable but knowing. “Italy,” he repeats. Then, dryly, “Does this have anything to do with a certain Italian?”
You feel your face heat instantly. You look down. Then nod. Just a little. There it is.
Max exhales, something between a laugh and a sigh of relief. “Finally.”
You glance up at him, nervous now. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” He scoffs. “I was going to be mad if it was anyone else.”
You blink. “What?”
Max smiles, softer now. “He’s good to you. I can see it. And he listens. That matters.”
Your throat tightens. “We’re… together,” you say quietly. “Taking it slow.”
Max nods once. “Good.”
The door opens behind you before either of you can say more.
Kimi steps out, still in team gear, hair damp from a shower, smile already forming when he sees you—until he clocks Max’s expression.
Max turns slowly. Crosses his arms.
“Well,” he says flatly. “There is the boy who is dating my sister.”
Kimi freezes.
“Oh—uh—hi,” he says, instantly panicked. “I mean—hello. Sir. Max.”
You bite your lip, fighting a laugh.
Max lets the silence stretch just long enough to be cruel—then breaks. He pulls Kimi into a sudden hug, squeezing him hard.
“Relax,” Max says. “If anyone was going to date my sister, I’m glad it’s you.”
Kimi laughs, breathless, stunned. “You scared me.”
“Good,” Max replies, smirking. “That’s my job.”
You watch them, heart full in a way that feels almost unreal. Everything fits. And you don’t feel like running from it anymore.
Italy feels like a deep breath. Not the dramatic kind—the quiet one that slips out of you when you finally realize you’re safe.
You’ve been here a few days now, tucked into the Antonelli home where mornings are slow and loud in the best way, where windows are always open and someone is always cooking. Kimi fits here so naturally it almost makes your chest ache. And somehow, impossibly, so do you.
You wake to soft light spilling across the room and the sound of birds outside the open window. Kimi is still asleep beside you, hair a mess, face relaxed in a way you rarely see during race weeks. One arm is slung loosely around your waist, like he reached for you in his sleep without thinking.
You don’t move right away. You just watch him breathe. When he stirs, it’s slow. Sleepy. His eyes blink open and soften instantly when they find you.
“Hi,” he murmurs, voice rough.
“Hi,” you whisper back.
He smiles, small and private, and presses his forehead to yours. No rush. No urgency. Just warmth. Just this.
Eventually, you slip out of bed, pulling on one of his shirts before padding downstairs. The kitchen is already alive—sunlight pouring in, the smell of coffee and something sweet in the air.
Veronica is at the stove, humming to herself.
“Buongiorno,” she says brightly when she sees you. “Did you sleep well?”
You nod, smiling. “Very.”
“Good. Come—help me with this?”
You join her without hesitation, slicing fruit, stirring batter, listening as she talks about nothing and everything. It feels domestic in a way you never realized you craved.
At the counter, Maggie is perched on a stool, tongue poking out slightly as she concentrates on a drawing. She looks up when you pass her a napkin.
“It’s you,” she says proudly. “And Kimi. And me.”
You lean closer. “Is that supposed to be me?”
“Yes,” she says seriously. “You’re tall.”
You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest.
Later, you and Kimi take Maggie out for the day. She drags you both through her favorite gelato place, insists you try three flavors each, talks nonstop as you walk through the streets. Kimi listens like every word matters. You do too.
She slips her hand into yours at some point, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Back at the house, the afternoon settles into something lazy and golden. You step out onto the balcony when your phone buzzes, already knowing who it is.
Jos.
You answer before you can talk yourself out of it.
“Where have you been?” he snaps immediately. “I’ve been calling.”
“I’ve been busy,” you say carefully.
“With what?”
“I’m in Italy.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “Italy? You’re on break and you’re resting? You should be on the sim. Training. Improving.”
“I’ve been on the podium every race since Canada,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s working.”
“I don’t care,” he cuts in. “That’s not enough. It’s never enough.”
Something in you wilts.
You hang up with shaking hands.
You don’t realize Marco has heard until he steps out onto the balcony, concern etched into his face.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Can I sit?”
You nod, tears threatening.
He doesn’t ask questions. Just sits beside you, close but not crowding.
“You know,” he says after a moment, “when Kimi talks about racing… he talks about you.”
You blink, surprised.
“He says you drive with instinct,” Marco continues. “With heart. That cannot be taught.”
Your throat tightens.
“You are doing more than enough,” he says firmly. “And you deserve to rest. To live.”
He pats your shoulder, warm and grounding. “You are family here.”
Later, you curl up on the couch with Kimi and Maggie, a movie playing softly. Maggie is wedged between you, Kimi’s arm around your shoulders, his thumb tracing absentminded patterns against your sleeve.
You let yourself sink into it. Into them. Into the quiet certainty that for once, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
You’re curled up on the couch at Max and Kelly’s place, sunlight spilling through the tall windows, the muted sound of old race replays filling the room. Lily is warm and heavy on your chest, fast asleep, her tiny breaths puffing against your collarbone. One of her hands is fisted into the fabric of your shirt.
Kimi sits beside you, legs stretched out, attention split between the screen and Lily. He’s carefully letting her grip his finger, smiling every time she squeezes like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever felt.
“She’s strong,” he murmurs.
“Like her dad,” you whisper back.
It’s peaceful. Domestic. Safe. Then your phone starts vibrating. Once. Twice. Then nonstop. Your chest tightens before you even look.
You carefully shift Lily so she doesn’t wake, lifting the phone with your free hand. Notifications stack on top of each other—texts, DMs, tags, missed calls.
You open Twitter.
Photos. Blurry at first, then clearer. Italy. Monaco. Your hand in Kimi’s. His arm around your waist. A kiss, caught from too far away to be private.
YN VERSTAPPEN & KIMI ANTONELLI CONFIRMED??
THE PADDOCK’S IT COUPLE?
VERSTAPPEN’S SISTER DATING HER OWN RIVAL?
Your breath leaves you all at once.
“Oh god,” you whisper. “Oh god, oh god—”
Kimi turns instantly, concern flooding his face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
He leans in, scanning the screen, jaw tightening—not angry. Focused.
“Okay,” he says calmly. “Look at me.”
You shake your head, tears already stinging. “I can’t. This is bad. This is really bad. He’s going to—”
“Hey,” Max’s voice cuts in from the hallway as he walks out of the room where his sim is, towel slung over his shoulder. “What’s—”
“They found out,” you choke. “About us.”
Max frowns. “And?”
You stare at him, incredulous. “Max. Jos. He’s always said nothing comes before racing. No distractions. Ever. This—this is exactly what he warned me about.”
Max is quiet for a long moment.
Then he shrugs.
“If it becomes a problem,” he says simply, “I’ll deal with it.”
Your eyes fill immediately.
Kimi slides closer, one arm steady around you, grounding. “You’re not alone,” he murmurs. “Not in this.”
The rest of the afternoon drifts by like you’re underwater.
Max and Kimi disappear into the living room, arguing over a game controller, competitive and loud in that familiar way. Laughter bursts through the apartment every so often.
You’re in the kitchen with Kelly and Penelope, flour dusting the counters, cookie dough sticking to your fingers. Penelope is beaming, proudly cutting misshapen shapes while Kelly sneaks chocolate chips when she thinks no one’s looking.
For a moment, you almost forget. Then there’s a knock at the door. Three sharp raps. Your stomach drops.
Max stands. “I’ve got it.”
The door opens.
You hear Jos’s voice immediately—tight, furious. “Where is she?”
Your heart starts racing. You wipe your hands on a towel and step out of the kitchen at exactly the wrong moment.
“There you are,” Jos snaps, eyes locking onto you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Before you can answer, he’s already unloading.
“You’re embarrassing yourself. The team. The family. Dating a competitor? Distracted, unfocused—this is why I warned you. This is why—”
“Stop,” Max says sharply, stepping between you without hesitation.
Jos scoffs. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“She’s my sister,” Max growls. “It concerns me.”
Kimi appears beside you instantly, hand finding yours. You’re shaking now, barely holding it together.
Jos points at you. “You’re throwing everything away for a boy—”
“That’s enough,” Max snaps.
Kimi doesn’t wait. He gently but firmly pulls you away, guiding you down the hallway, into the bedroom. The door closes behind you, muffling the shouting.
The second it does, you break.
Kimi wraps you up immediately, arms strong, steady, shielding you from everything. Your face presses into his chest, sobs tearing out of you like they’ve been waiting for this moment.
“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry—”
“Hey,” he says softly, holding you tighter. “None of this is your fault. None.”
You cling to him, fingers digging into his shirt like a lifeline.
The yelling goes on for a long time.
Too long.
When Max finally comes back—fifteen minutes later—his face is pale, jaw clenched, hands shaking slightly.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just crosses the room and pulls you into his arms, hugging you so tightly it almost hurts.
“He won’t be a problem anymore,” Max says quietly, voice rough. “I promise you.”
You nod into his shoulder, exhausted, spent.
Kimi stays close, one hand warm at your back, the other tangled with yours. You let yourself believe that no matter how loud the world gets— you’re protected.
Abu Dhabi. The city hums with energy, a mix of luxury, heat, and anticipation. The final race of the season always carries extra weight, but this year—it feels like everything is coming full circle. The air is charged, the track glittering under the artificial lights, and somewhere inside, you can feel the culmination of months of hard work, tension, and quiet victories.
The race itself is flawless. Max is untouchable, calm and precise, carving his way to his fifth championship. Every lap, every corner, every overtake seems effortless, like the culmination of a lifetime of dedication. Kimi is strong, sharp, finishing P3, and you—well, you’re right there, driving with focus, with determination, with heart, finishing just behind Max. Your efforts throughout the season have secured you second place in the championship battle, and for the first time, the results feel like more than numbers—they feel like validation.
When the checkered flag waves, the emotion hits all at once. You climb out of the car, helmet under your arm, chest heaving from adrenaline and relief, and your eyes immediately find Kimi. His face is radiant, eyes wide, breathless, a grin breaking across his features. Max approaches you both, laughing, his own exhaustion tempered by triumph.
The podium celebration is chaotic in the best way. Champagne sprays everywhere, laughter and cheers filling the air. You and Kimi can’t stop grinning at each other. He takes your hand, squeezing it once, then leans down, kissing you softly in front of the cameras. The press erupts, flashbulbs exploding, fans online going wild. Everyone is eating it up, but it doesn’t matter. The moment is yours.
Max laughs loudly, clapping both of you on the shoulders.
Kimi’s family is there, smiling proudly—Marco and Veronica beaming, Maggie waving excitedly. Your own support system is close as well: Victoria, Sophie, Kelly, Penelope, all cheering, all sharing in the moment. It’s a rare thing to feel so surrounded by love, by family, by people who see you for who you truly are.
Later, the team hosts a celebration at a club near the paddock. Music pulses through the air, laughter bouncing off the walls. You and Kimi slip in together, shoulders brushing, hands intertwined. The team surrounds you, everyone caught up in the euphoria of the season’s final victory.
You’re sitting at a table, sipping a drink and watching the chaos, when Max suddenly appears. In one fluid motion, he grabs Kimi by the waist and hoists him up. “Dance floor, now!” he announces. Kimi laughs, struggling briefly before Max drags him out, spinning him around. You watch them, laughing, shaking your head. Kimi’s face is flushed, radiant, caught between embarrassment and joy, and Max is gleeful, a giant grin splitting his face.
Sophie leans over, resting her head on your shoulder, eyes soft and full of pride. “He’s good for you,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never seen you this happy, YN. Never.”
You lean into her, heart full, watching Kimi twirl with Max on the dance floor, laughter spilling from him in waves that make you feel like it’s only ever been you two against the world. You squeeze Sophie’s hand, nodding, because it’s true. You’re finally happy. Truly happy.
The night stretches on, filled with music, laughter, and celebration. Champagne flows, congratulations are exchanged, and the lights blur around you. But even in the chaos, you and Kimi find each other’s hands. Even in the crowd, you stay connected. Even in the noise, there’s a quiet certainty: you belong.
Abu Dhabi, the last race, the final champagne toast, the laughter, the dancing—everything comes together. Max has his fifth championship. You’ve earned your place as a rising star. And with Kimi beside you, family around you, love finally allowed to be seen, it feels like the perfect ending.
You lean back against the booth, resting your head on her shoulder, smiling as the world keeps spinning around you. Sophie squeezes your hand once more, whispering, “Enjoy this, lieve. You’ve earned it.”
And you do. You finally do. The season ends. The championship ends. But this—this is yours. And it’s only just beginning.
