cw: swearing, sarcasm, general silliness, probable typos (i’m dyslexic but i try my best)
regret’s note: another request! short and silly. i’ll be posting two more max smaus over the next week because i’m about to hit 300!!! followers. it’s so insane, you’re all amazing. enjoy!
liked by gp.lambiase, ynln, maxverstappen1, and others…
redbullracing as we bid a tearful goodbye to longtime redbull team member gianpiero lambiase, we also are giving a warm welcome to the new race engineer in garage 1, yn ln! yn spent the last two years working alongside GP and is the woman for the job.
gp.lambiase: it’s been a great run of years, but i know yn will do great things!
f1gossip a source from inside the paddock reported rumors that redbull race engineer, yn ln, is in talks with mclaren about a potential contract. this, after months of tension in the redbull garage, doesn’t surprise me.
user: yn literally bleeds redbull. no way she’d go papaya
user: okay seriously. what tf happened
user: not to be that guy… but this is why coworkers shouldn’t be friends outside of work
| user: user this is a stupid ass take
user: can you imagine yn and oscar teaming up? legendary.
“max?” you asked, opening the door to your hotel room. the last few months had been long and tense. qualifying had been an unmitigated disaster, as had the meetings that followed the session. you just wanted to sleep and have an overnight stroke of strategic brilliance. but here, at 11:37pm, was the source of all your stress and frustrations. “what do you want?”
“can we talk?” he asked. “not in the hall.”
you stepped back and let him in, saying nothing. you really didn’t want to talk. he hadn’t said anything after forcing you to talk in hungary, so you really didn’t feel like hearing him out months later.
but he was max, and you were weak.
“i owe you an apology,” he started, catching you off guard. “for a lot of things, but mostly for pushing you in hungary and then going radio silent. i shouldn’t have done that.”
“apology accepted. can i go to bed now?”
“i’m not done,” he huffed a laugh, shaking his head at you. “i shouldn’t have pushed you away, not after i forced you to be vulnerable with me. and i regret it. not because it’s affecting the team and the race results, but because you are not you. and fucking hell, i miss you.”
“i see you everyday, max. you can’t miss me.” you did your best to stand your ground and maintain an unaffected air.
“i miss you being mean to me, because at least then i knew you cared.”
“your silence made your feelings on the matter perfectly clear.”
“no it didn’t,” he countered. “because i should have been honest with you that day. instead, i sat on my feelings and let the situation grow and spiral into this.
“because i am so unbelievably in love with you, yn.”
“don’t,” your said harshly, taking a step away. “don’t say it just because you think it’s what i want to hear to make it okay.”
“seriously? you think that low of me? i’m a lot of things, but i’m not a liar.”
“you can’t do this to me,” you whispered, chest aching. “you can’t ignore me for months and then show up at midnight and tell me you love me. that’s not fair.”
“i’m so sorry i hurt you,” he said, taking two steps towards you. “i’m so sorry i was a coward. i’m sorry that it took the threat of losing you to tell you how i feel.”
“you’re reading gossip pages now?” you scoffed.
“didn’t need to,” he retorted. “lando told me i need to get my shit together before i lose the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“so you decided to tell me you love me? just so i don’t leave the team?! there’s something seriously wrong with you.”
“i can’t lose you, idiot. you’re my constant, you’re my calm. you’re fucking everything to me. on and off track.”
“your timing is convenient.” you glared, not letting your guard down for a second.
“do you want to leave redbull?” he asked. “or are you running away from me because i’m an emotionally stunted dickhead?”
you said nothing. you both knew the answer, even if you were too choked by your pride to admit it.
max reached for you, cradling your cheek in his palm. “because i love you and i can’t lose you. i know i fucked it, liefje. let me fix it. your sad eyes are killing me because i know it’s my fault.”
“you hurt me,” you admitted, losing your battle with the tears in your eyes. “i hate you so much right now. but i kept showing up. i kept putting you first because that’s my job. and every day it hurt more and more. every frustrated radio message twists the fucking knife because i’m paying the price for you being an ass.”
“i know, and i’m sorry. i’ll be better, i promise.“
“i don’t trust you.”
“i’ll earn it again,” he swore. “i’ll work for it. i’ll put you first.”
“you should go. it’s late and we have a long, rainy day tomorrow,” you said, changing the subject. “i still need to find a magical strategy to save the race.”
“i’ll save it. you do your thing and i’ll drive,” he told you. “and if i finish in the points, you can’t leave. i’ll do anything to fix what i broke. but you have to stay.”
“top five,” you countered. “you finish top five, and we can revisit this conversation.”
“top five,” max agreed. he kissed your forehead lightly. “get some sleep, liefje.”
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summary: after your break up from your two year long relationship, you never thought you would find love like that again, until charles comes in and shows you what healing can really feel like
warnings: use of cuss words, use of y/n
face claim: olivia rodrigo
a/n: i came up with this idea to maybe post something lighter before continuing "to all the boys i've loved before" (yes, i have decided there will be a part 2 to that). also, no idea why this is labelled as mature content? trying to get that fixed lol
mtv
liked by charles_leclerc, conangray, user1 and 784520 others
mtv Y/n L/n and long time boyfriend Louis Patridge confirm split after two years of publicly dating.
view comments
user1 conan basically confirming by being in the likes :(
user2 no shut up i'm still in denial
user3 I AM A CHILD OF DIVORCE.
user4 well there goes my belief in love
user5 why is charles in the likes? does he know y/n or louis?
⤷ user6 i was wondering the same thing!
⤷ user7 bro was probably waiting his whole life for this announcement🥀
ynln
liked by charles_leclerc, conangray, ynhq and 793589 others
ynln sooo excited to announce my new single, "the cure", out this friday!
view comments
conangray MOTHER IS BACK
gracieabrams i'm so ready
user1 so we all know it's gonna be about louis...?
⤷ user2 i'm so sad, we got to hear one love song about him and they already broke up
user3 oh THE ALBUM IS GONNA SLAP.
user4 i'm convinced that charles might just be one of us at this point
charles_leclerc
liked by lewishamilton, lando, arthur_leclerc and 1375924 others
charles_leclerc geared up for bahrain
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lando stop trying to flex mate we get it
⤷ user1 flexing for WHO?
⤷ user2 oh he definitely knows something we don't
user3 ARE YOU INTO Y/N?????
hollywoodinsiders
liked by user1, user2, user3 and 869403 others
hollywoodinsiders charles leclerc has recently been spotted multiple times with mystery woman. according to our sources, she is an influential figure as well and the two have been seeing each other for about four months
view comments
user1 why are we invading celebrities' privacy again? it's their business who they date
user2 is it just me or does that woman look like maddison beer?
⤷ user3 isn't she engaged though?
user4 hear me out... what if that's y/n
⤷ user5 haha, very funny
⤷ user6 i mean, y/n has been single for a bit..
⤷ user7 and he's been in her likes for a while!
⤷ user8 y/n doesn't look like his type though
ynln
liked by charles_leclerc, conangray, arthur_leclerc and 1267490 others
ynln "the cure" song and music video are officially out now!!! i'm so happy to finally be able to share this song with you, i absolutely adore how this one turned out with the help of so many insanely talented and dedicated people!
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user1 "i've got toxins in my bloodstreams you tried hard to suck them out" Y/N MY BABY
user2 when i tell you i SOBBED
⤷ conangray same
⤷ user3 LMFAO-
user4 those lyrics actually broke me
user5 Y/N I AM SCARED OF YOUR GUITAR
charles_leclerc
liked by ynln, arthur_leclerc, lando and 1476239 others
charles_leclerc this podium might have just been the cure
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ynln i dropped dead
⤷ user1 Y/N?!?!?!!
⤷ user2 charlesy/n was real the entire time?
⤷ user3 a congrats and a reference to her song doesn't mean they're dating. they could be just friends or he could just be a fan and she noticed
scuderiaferrari master drive today!
user4 so we're all just gonna ignore the y/n ref?
ynln
liked by charles_leclerc, conangray, scuderiaferrari and 1475890 others
ynln soso excited to share that my new album, "you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love", comes out june 12th! take a little sneek peek from "drop dead", song and music video out this friday <3
view comments
user1 MAMA IS FEEDING US
conangray am i supposed to act like i don't know who the inspo behind drop dead is
⤷ user2 conan just be trolling us at this point
⤷ user3 i'm telling you guys, IT'S CHARLES!!!!
sabrinacarpenter you look pretty excited for a girl so mysterious
⤷ user4 sabrina is representing all of us rn
user5 if this isn't about charles then i don't know what is!
hollywoodinsiders
liked by conangray, user1, user2 and 735891 others
hollywood insiders millie bobby brown teases louis patridge during the "enola holmes 3" press tour about long term ex girlfriend, y/n l/n, who is sparking dating rumours with formula 1 driver, charles leclerc:
interviewer: *towards louis* who's your favourite singer?
millie: your g- *pauses, then laughs*
view comments
user1 millie is all of us rn
conangray as she should
⤷ user2 he has no PR training whatsoever and i'm loving it
user3 she's literally actively traumatizing him after he asked her "are you happy in your marriage?" during that lie detector test
ynln
liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, conangray and 1539861 others
ynln two secrets of mine are out today. "drop dead", and my love for the red italian cars
view comments
user1 THIS IS FOR ALL THE PEOPLE WHO DOUBTED CHARLESY/N
user2 THE HARD LAUNCH-
conangray finally, y'all are gonna love that album
⤷ user3 more love songs about charles in the album?
charles_leclerc ❤️
⤷ user4 the man who made y/n herself say "you're looking like an angel on the walls of versailles" about him btw
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.
summary: a chatty girl starts showing up at your family flower shop every single day and, for some reason, decides you'd be the perfect match for her older brother.
warnings: fluff, love at first sight, maggie playing cupid, gorgeous kimi (obviously), brief mention of annoying men 🙄
word count: 3.2k | pt.2 ᰔ arvid version
a/n: i loved every single second of writing this 🤭 i really hope you all enjoy it too.
ଓ english is not my first language, be kind.
All you ever wanted was to rest your head on the counter and have a three-hour nap.
Your family’s flower shop is on a completely deserted street corner. Seriously, nobody ever passes by there. And when the bell above the glass door finally rings, signalling some sign of life, ninety per cent of the time the scene is the same: a man, his eyes fixed on his mobile screen, clearing his throat before asking for ‘anything red that looks expensive’. They never buy them out of affection. They buy out of guilt, after forgetting their wedding anniversary, or to avoid spending the night on the sofa. And, to make your mood even worse, they almost always complain about the price of the roses or spend the five minutes whilst you’re cutting the stems venting about how ‘women are far too complicated’.
You simply smile, tap the card machine, hand over the bouquet, and silently hope those women break up with their partners.
Then she appeared.
At first, she was just a passing figure after school hours. A little girl, no older than ten or eleven, clutching the straps of her heavy rucksack with both hands, slowing her pace until she came to a complete stop in front of the shop window. She'd stand there with her nose almost pressed against the glass, utterly mesmerised by the yellow tulips.
On the third day, she finally gathered the courage to push the door open. "Do they need lots of water?" Was the very first thing she asked, without even saying hello, pointing straight at the yellow tulips.
You couldn't help but smile. Patiently, you explained how much water they needed, how to keep the soil moist, and how much sunlight they liked.
The next day, she came back with more questions. The day after that, you decided to cut a particularly vibrant pink dahlia and held it out to her.
"A little gift for my most loyal customer of the week," you said.
The girl's eyes lit up so brightly that you thought she might actually jump with excitement.
From that moment on, your own little desert found its soundtrack.
Her name was Maggie.
Maggie was a force of nature — chatty, endlessly curious, and bursting with energy that never seemed to run out. Yet she was remarkably polite, with a level of manners you rarely saw in children her age these days. She looked you straight in the eye when she spoke, asked for the scientific name of every plant in the shop, and wanted to know why rose thorns grew the way they did.
Quickly, Maggie’s visits became the highlight of your day. Her parents, realising that their daughter had found a safe and wholesome refuge amongst the flowers and conversation, gave her permission to spend that sacred hour there after school. The arrangement worked perfectly: she would walk in, fill the shop with stories about her teachers, her lunch and her history essays, and at half past five sharp, a car would turn up to pick her up.
It wasn’t just any car. It was always a luxury sports model, a car far too posh, far too expensive for your circumstances — or for anyone you knew. The driver, the girl’s father, would simply give a gentle double-beep from the kerb; Maggie would give you a tight hug and rush to get into the back seat.
On a mild Tuesday afternoon, Maggie's stream of words was moving even faster than usual. She was perched on the tall stool beside the till, swinging her legs as she watched you arrange a bouquet of lilies.
"…and then mum said I couldn't have chocolate before dinner, but my brother secretly gave me a piece because he's the best, even though he can be a bit grumpy when he has to wake up early," Maggie rattled on, only pausing to take a breath. She rested her chin in her hands, staring at you with an almost comically serious expression as she studied your face.
You let out a quiet laugh, wiping the sap from your hands with a cloth.
"Thank you, Maggie. That's very kind of you."
"No, I'm serious. You look like a model," she insisted, with the peculiar certainty only she could have. Then, completely out of nowhere and as naturally as if she were asking about the weather, she leaned forwards.
"Do you want to date my big brother?"
You nearly dropped the bunch of lilies onto the floor. Your eyes widened, and you blinked a few times, trying to process what she'd just asked.
"What? No…?"
"Why not?" Maggie pressed, pouting in genuine confusion at your immediate rejection. "He'd think you were beautiful! And he's not dating anyone right now, so there's nothing stopping you from dating him. He's really nice, I promise."
You smiled awkwardly, shaking your head at your little friend's boldness.
"Maggie, sweetheart, I don't even know your brother. And I don't think people just start dating because someone's little sister decides to play cupid."
"But he's famous!" She argued, as though that were the final piece of evidence that settled the matter. "Everyone knows who he is. If you look him up online, there are loads of pictures of him wearing those weird racing clothes and holding trophies."
You simply shrugged, returning to tie a satin ribbon around the stems of the lilies. You'd heard her chatter before about her brother being a racing driver and famous, but you'd never paid much attention. You didn't watch motorsport, you didn't follow celebrity news, and since you didn't have social media, the name Kimi meant absolutely nothing to you.
Well…
Other than the fact that he was the older brother of this adorable girl.
"Famous or not, I don't really care about those things, Maggie," you said gently, a smile tugging at your lips. "Your brother probably has far too busy a life to be pushed towards the florist by his very chatty sister."
Maggie didn't look remotely convinced.
She hopped off the stool, adjusted her rucksack as the familiar, elegant horn of a luxury car echoed from outside the shop window. She walked to the door, but before pushing it open, she turned back to you with a mischievous, determined grin.
"Fine. Have it your way," Maggie sang, holding the handle. "But I'm going to introduce him to you anyway. One day I'll bring him here, and you'll see I was right! Bye!"
♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡
Two weeks had passed, and you had almost forgotten the solemn promise Maggie had made at the shop door. After all, the days remained grey, the counter continued to accumulate dry leaves, and the customers were still the same men buying roses out of sheer guilt and complaining about the price.
Until that Thursday.
The clock struck exactly five o’clock in the afternoon when the bell above the door not only rang, but seemed to herald an event. Maggie came in first, practically skipping, her brown hair swinging and a grin from ear to ear that gave away the fact she was up to something.
"I told you I’d bring him!" She exclaimed, her childish voice echoing through the silent room.
Just behind her, the glass door was pushed open by a large hand with long fingers. A boy stepped into the flower shop, and when he looked in your direction, it felt as though the air had been sucked out of your lungs for a whole second.
You tried to remain professional, but the shock was inevitable. He really was handsome. His honey-coloured eyes mesmerised you. He was dressed simply, in a dark jacket and a plain t-shirt, but his bearing and the way he filled the room made it seem as though he belonged somewhere completely different from that plywood counter.
What you didn’t realise, however, was that the shock on the other side was exactly the same.
Kimi stopped a few steps away, his eyes fixed on you. For weeks, he'd had to listen to Maggie chatter nonstop over breakfast about "the perfect flower girl", who gave her dahlias as gifts and seemed to know everything about the world. He had expected to find a kind elderly woman or, at most, an ordinary girl. But seeing you standing there, surrounded by green leaves, with a few loose strands of hair falling out of place and a genuinely surprised expression, completely disarmed the driver. You were breathtakingly beautiful, with a natural, fresh beauty that felt completely removed from the world of appearances and plastic he was used to living in.
For a moment, silence filled the flower shop, broken only by Maggie's attentive, eager gaze as she looked back and forth between you and her brother, waiting for the magic to happen.
"Hi." Kimi broke the silence. "I'm Kimi, this little brat's older brother."
You let out a genuine laugh, immediately feeling your cheeks grow warm. To your own despair, you felt your heart jolt inside your chest, beating much faster than normal. You felt silly, like a teenage girl having a meltdown over a handsome guy, but his presence was far too magnetic to ignore.
"Nice to meet you, Kimi." You replied, stepping out from behind the counter to stand closer to them. "I'm ____. Your sister is adorable."
"I suppose she is." Kimi gave a small, relaxed smile.
The conversation flowed with a surprising ease for both of you. There was none of the irritating rush of the men in suits who usually came into the shop, nor any need to impress one another. While you talked about how Maggie had learnt to take care of tulips and how she had become the shop's most important customer, Kimi simply watched.
He was completely enchanted. Not only by your voice or your beauty, but by the way you moved through the space, with a gentleness and calmness that seemed to numb the exhaustion of his day. But what truly meant the most to Kimi — what genuinely warmed something inside his chest — was the way you treated Maggie. You looked at the little girl with genuine affection, answered all of her ridiculous questions without the slightest hint of condescension, and treated her like a real friend. In his world, where everyone either wanted a piece of his fame or only came close because they wanted something from him, seeing someone treat his little sister with such purity and devotion felt almost like a miracle.
Maggie, meanwhile, was on the verge of bursting with excitement. She folded her arms, narrowed her eyes at the two of you with a knowing smile, analysing every exchanged glance and every shy laugh. In her mind, Cupid's plan was working perfectly. You were going to fall in love — she was absolutely certain of it.
"Well," Kimi finally said, clearing his throat softly, although he clearly didn't want to end the conversation. He looked around at the buckets of flowers surrounding you. "Since we're here, I suppose I should buy something. I don't want to leave Maggie's favourite flower shop empty-handed."
"What were you thinking of getting?" You asked, walking over to the displays of fresh flowers.
"I'd like a really beautiful arrangement for my mum." He said, pointing towards a few classic flowers that matched the style he had in mind. "And…" He looked down, meeting his little sister's bright eyes. "…what would you recommend for my tiny co-driver?"
Maggie let out an excited squeal, wrapping her arms around Kimi's waist. You laughed at the sight, feeling that pleasant flutter in your stomach all over again.
"For Maggie, today it'll be yellow tulips… They suit her." You said, carefully picking the prettiest flowers from the bucket and trimming the stems to the perfect length.
You arranged the bouquets with practised skill, feeling Kimi's eyes burn into your hands as you tied the ribbon around them. When you handed over both bouquets — the elegant one for his mother and the tulips for the little girl. Kimi's fingers brushed against yours as he passed over his bank card. It was only a brief touch, but it sent a shiver down your spine.
Kimi didn't complain about the price. He paid with a grateful nod, slipped his wallet away, and looked straight into your eyes.
"Thank you for the flowers. And… for looking after her every day." He said, with a sincerity that made your heart skip another beat.
"You don't have to thank me. It's the best part of my day." You replied, and you weren't lying.
Kimi gave you another one of those crooked smiles, gently patted Maggie on the shoulder to signal it was time to leave, and walked towards the door. Maggie followed straight behind him, but before stepping outside, she turned back, pointed at her brother, then at you, before making an extremely obvious heart shape with her hands and winking. Kimi, slightly embarrassed, simply tugged her away by the back of her rucksack.
The door closed, and the sound of the luxury car's engine echoed outside as they drove away. You remained standing behind the counter for several long minutes, still holding the tea towel, wearing a hopelessly silly smile that simply refused to disappear.
The following days took on a completely different colour from the usual grey that surrounded your little corner of the street. Kimi kept showing up. Almost always at the same time, parking his luxury car outside. But unlike his father, he didn't simply honk the horn. He got out, pushed open the glass door, making the bell chime overhead, and stepped inside to tell his sister it was time to go home.
Later on, somewhere between conversations with the little girl, you eventually discovered why he had been around so often: formula one was on a short break in the racing calendar. That was why he was home, enjoying some time with his family before travelling the world again to race fast cars.
And it was on one of those mild afternoons that your routine changed completely.
"Please, please, pleeease!" Maggie begged, leaning over the counter with both hands clasped together, her wide brown eyes wearing the most perfectly calculated pleading expression an eleven-year-old could possibly manage. "It's just a trip to the shopping centre! Kimi will drive, we'll have some gelato, and you can help me choose my new trainers… Please!"
You glanced at the clock on the wall, then out at the empty street. The flower shop was completely dead, just as it usually was. You hesitated, looking over at Kimi, who was leaning against the tiled wall beside the ferns with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He wasn't saying anything to pressure you, but there was an amused sparkle in those absurdly expressive eyes as he watched his little sister's performance.
"Maggie, I still need to close the shop, tidy the buckets…" you began, stumbling over your words as you desperately clung to your safe little bubble.
"I'll help carry the boxes if you promise you'll come." Kimi interrupted, his gentle voice carrying an almost teasing challenge, accompanied by a crooked smile.
Looking at Maggie's impossibly adorable face, your resistance crumbled completely. You let out a defeated sigh, laughing at your own lack of resolve.
"Alright. You win. I'll close early today."
Maggie's victorious squeal almost made the gerbera petals tremble.
The outing turned out to be surprisingly light-hearted, with nothing awkward or uncomfortable about it. At the shopping centre, you found yourself immersed in Maggie's pre-teen world. You spent well over an hour wandering from rack to rack through department stores, helping her put together outfits that were stylish but still appropriate for her age, and the three of you spent ages debating which pair of trainers was the perfect one — eventually settling on a beautiful pair that was colourful without being over the top, making Maggie practically strut through the shopping centre afterwards. Kimi walked just behind the two of you, carrying all the shopping bags without a single complaint, simply watching the dynamic between you with that attentive, genuinely warm look that kept making your stomach flutter.
After shopping, you all headed to a gelateria. Sitting by the window, sharing different flavours of gelato, conversation flowed effortlessly. Kimi laughed at Maggie's sarcastic comments about school, and every now and then he'd tease her just enough to make her stick her tongue out at him. More than once, you caught yourself watching his profile beneath the shopping centre lights, the way he seemed so relaxed away from the spotlight, and you still couldn't believe just how handsome he was.
The highlight of the day, however, came as you were walking towards the car park. Maggie stopped abruptly in front of a jewellery shop window, pointing excitedly through the glass.
"Look at that one!" She exclaimed, nearly pressing her nose against the display. It was a delicate necklace with a tiny butterfly pendant, its wings shimmering softly in a colour that shifted depending on how the light caught them. Maggie turned to you, completely enchanted. "It matches your eyes perfectly. Doesn't it, Kimi?"
Kimi stepped closer, narrowing his eyes to study the necklace in the display before shifting his gaze directly to your face. His stare lingered long enough to make your cheeks burn.
"It does." He agreed, his voice coming out a little quieter, never taking his eyes off yours. "We'll take it."
"No, honestly, you don't have to…" you began, instinctively taking a step backwards as your shyness took over.
But Kimi was already pushing open the jewellery shop door. It took a long time before you finally agreed. You argued that it was too expensive, that it was unnecessary, that you couldn't possibly accept such a gift, but the combined persistence of the two siblings proved impossible to resist. Maggie used every pout and promise of good behaviour she had, while Kimi simply handed his credit card to the shop assistant with infuriating calmness, saying only, "She's taking it." In the end, you gave in, holding the little gift bag with trembling hands and your heart beating in your throat.
Later that night, the silence of your bedroom felt like the perfect setting to process everything that had happened. You placed the bag on top of your chest of drawers, took a long shower, and changed into your pyjamas.
Before going to bed, your eyes drifted towards the little black jewellery box, now resting outside the bag. Carefully, you unclasped it and lifted the butterfly necklace out. Standing in front of your wardrobe mirror, you gathered your hair with one hand and, with some difficulty thanks to your returning nerves, fastened the clasp behind your neck.
The pendant settled just below your collarbone.
You let your hair fall back into place and simply stood there in silence, looking at your reflection beneath the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Your fingertips brushed the cool metal of the butterfly. Maggie had been right, and so had Kimi. The subtle shimmer of the butterfly's wings truly brought out the colour of your eyes in a way you'd never noticed before.
You smiled foolishly at your own reflection, your mind replaying the image of those honey-coloured eyes looking at you…
୨ৎ : Pairing : Max Verstappen's little sister x Kimi Antonelli
୨ৎ : Sypnosis : Kimi and Y/N have been dating in secret for several months now but what happens when the paddock slowly becomes suspicious of the pair and what's Max's reaction?
୨ৎ : Pov : Third person
୨ৎ masterlist- coming soon
a/n : I am not italian, I used google translate so the italian may be wrong. There are probably some mistakes in here. This was so fun for me to write, I hope you all enjoy it x
P.S I am taking requests for fanfictions, either put your request in the comments or go to my blog and request x
The paddock had a rhythm to it.
It always had.
Engines roaring in the distance, mechanics moving like clockwork, journalists hovering for quotes, and somewhere in the middle of it all—Y/N Verstappen, the unofficial heart of it.
Nobody really knew when it started.
Maybe it was when she was little, trailing behind Max with oversized headphones and wide eyes. Or maybe it was when she grew into someone who could walk into any garage, any hospitality unit, and instantly lift the mood without even trying.
She wasn’t just Max’s little sister.
She was everyone’s little sister.
The paddock princess.
—
“Y/N! My favourite little sister!” Daniel called, arms open dramatically as she walked past the Red Bull garage.
She didn’t even hesitate—just laughed and ran into his hug. “You say that every weekend,” she teased.
“And every weekend I mean it more.”
A few meters away, Max watched, arms crossed, expression neutral.
Protective.
Always protective.
“She’s fine,” someone muttered beside him.
Max didn’t even look. “I know she’s fine. That doesn’t mean I trust you lot.”
What Max didn’t know—what no one knew, at least at first—was that Y/N wasn’t as unattached as she seemed.
Not even close.
Because across the paddock, pretending to be very interested in his phone, stood Kimi.
And if you were paying attention—really paying attention—you’d notice how his eyes flicked up every few seconds.
Always landing on her. Always softening.
Keeping it a secret had been easy at first.
Too easy.
Because no one expected it.
Y/N was off-limits.
Untouchable in a way—not because she wasn’t approachable, but because of Max.
Max didn’t like the idea of her dating.
At all.
Especially not someone in the paddock. Especially not a driver.
“Distraction,” he’d called it once. “Dangerous.”
Y/N had just rolled her eyes. “Relax, Max. I’m not planning on falling in love in the paddock.”
Kimi, sitting two seats away, had nearly choked on his drink.
But secrets never stay secrets for long.
Especially not in a place like this.
The first hints were small.
So small they almost went unnoticed.
A shared look a second too long. A hand brushing briefly as they passed each other. Kimi showing up in places he didn’t need to be—Red Bull hospitality, media zones, even the café where Y/N liked to sit between sessions.
“Funny how he’s always here when you are,” Oscar muttered one afternoon.
Y/N didn’t even flinch. “Maybe he just likes good coffee.”
“Or maybe he likes you.”
She smiled sweetly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Across the table, Lando raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
—
The WAGS noticed.
They always did.
It was during a quiet moment in the hospitality suite when Lily leaned closer to Carmen and whispered,“Tell me I’m not imagining this.”
“You’re not,” Carmen replied instantly.
Both of them glanced toward the corner, where Y/N was laughing, head tilted toward Kimi, who was listening like she was the only person in the room.
Alex followed their gaze.“Oh,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” Lily nodded.
“Since when?” Alex asked.
“Long enough,” Carmen said, smiling slightly.
“And we’re not telling anyone?” she asked.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
Carmen’s grin widened. “Because watching the drivers figure it out is going to be way more entertaining.”
And she was right.
The clues started stacking.
Kimi’s phone lock screen—caught briefly on camera—was a blurry photo of someone laughing.
Fans speculated.
The paddock ignored it.
But the WAGS?
They knew.
Y/N’s Instagram became another layer of chaos.
Nothing obvious.
Never obvious.
Just… hints.
—
YN_Verstappen has posted
Y/N_Verstappen
Liked by MaxVerstappen, User9 KellyPiquet, User4, LilyMuniHe, User7, kimiAntonelli... click to see more
Coffee☕️👍
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LilyMuniHe Ditch him and go out with me instead!! liked by author
↳User2 Him!? Who's him!?!? Y/N EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!
User7 Girl i need to know where you get your hair done!!
AlexandraSaintMleux Gorgeous gorgeous girl💞
↳Y/N_Verstappen Love youuu soo muchh🥰💗
User6 Why is Kimi in the likes? Since when were they friends?..
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—
“Is that…?” Charles started one day, squinting at his phone.
“No idea,” Carlos shrugged, though his smile said otherwise.
Meanwhile, Max remained blissfully unaware. Mostly because—
“Y/N, you’re staying in my sight this weekend,” he said firmly.
She groaned. “Max, I’m not five.”
“No, but you’re still my responsibility.”
“I’m literally an adult.”
“And I’m still your brother.”
Kimi, standing a few feet away, looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
The first driver to really suspect something was George.
It happened during a random Thursday media day.
Y/N walked past, waving at a group of drivers.“Hey, guys!”
Kimi didn’t just wave back.
He lit up.
It was subtle—but not invisible.George frowned slightly.“…Okay.”
“What?” Lando asked.
George shook his head. “Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
—
Then came the almost-slip.
It was late. Most of the paddock had cleared out. Only a few people lingered.
Kimi and Y/N sat side by side on a bench, talking quietly.
Too close.
Too comfortable.
“Can I—” Kimi started, reaching for her hand—
“Oi!”
They jumped apart instantly.
Daniel stood there, grinning. “Well, well."
Y/N crossed her arms. “What do you want?”
“Just checking why you two look like you’ve been caught committing a crime.”
“We haven’t,” she said quickly.
Daniel’s eyes flicked between them.
Then he smiled.
“Ohhh.”
“Don’t,” Y/N warned.
“I’m not saying anything,” he held his hands up. “Yet.”
The domino effect had begun.
One by one, the drivers started noticing.
Not at the same time.
Not in the same way.
But eventually…they all saw it.
The way Kimi always knew where Y/N was. The way she always found him in a crowd. The way their conversations felt… different.
More private. More them.
“Okay, I need confirmation,” Lando said one evening.
“About what?” Oscar asked, already knowing.
“Are they—?”
“Yes,” Oscar said simply.
“You knew?!”
“I had a suspicion.”
“And you didn’t tell me?!”
Oscar shrugged. “It was obvious.”
“It was not obvious!”
“It was.”
—
By the time Charles figured it out, it wasn’t even a question.
He just watched them for a few minutes. Then nodded. “…Right.”
Carlos leaned over. “You too?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone knows now, right?”
“Everyone except—”
They both looked toward Max.
“…him.”
Max was the final boss.
The one obstacle no one wanted to face.
The reveal wasn’t dramatic. Not really.
It was quiet. Accidental. Inevitable.
Max had gone looking for Y/N.
She wasn’t in hospitality.
Not in the garage.
Not with the WAGS.
So he checked the quieter areas of the paddock.
And that’s when he saw them.
Not doing anything outrageous.
Not even close.
Just sitting together. Close enough that it meant something. Talking in low voices. Smiling in a way that felt… different.
Max stopped walking.
Watched.
Listened.
And then—Y/N reached over and gently fixed something on Kimi’s collar.
A small, absent gesture. But intimate.
Familiar.
Real.
Max exhaled slowly. “…Right.”
They didn’t notice him at first.Which somehow made it worse.
Because it meant they weren’t hiding in that moment. They were just… being.
Together.
When Y/N finally looked up and saw him—Everything froze.“…Max."
Kimi went pale.
Max walked over slowly. Calm.
Too calm. “How long?”
Y/N swallowed. “Max—”
“How. Long.”
“…A few months..”
Silence.
Then—“…You’re kidding.”
“No.”
Max ran a hand through his hair. Looked at Kimi. Then back at her. Then—He sighed.
Not angry.
Not explosive.
Just… resigned.
“You hid this from me?”
Y/N stepped closer. “Because you would’ve reacted like this."
“I’m not reacting!”
“You’re doing the Max thing.”
“What ‘Max thing’?!” he snapped.
She crossed her arms. “The overprotective, slightly terrifying older brother thing.”
“…I am not terrifying.”
Kimi made a small noise.
Max turned to him.“…Don’t.”
The tension hung for a moment.
Then—Max shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
He started to walk away—
Then stopped. Turned back.
Pointed at Kimi.
“You. Come with me."
Kimi froze.
Y/N stepped forward. “Max—”
“It’s fine,” Kimi said quietly.
(It was not fine.)
The “big brother talk” was… intense.
Not loud. Not aggressive.
Just very, very direct.
“If you hurt her—”
“I won’t.”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it.”
Max studied him.
Long.
Carefully.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then Max nodded slightly. “…Okay."
Kimi blinked. “Okay?”
“You mess this up, I will make your life hell.”
“…Fair.”
Max sighed. “…Take care of her.”
“I will.”
—
When they walked back, Y/N was pacing. “You’re alive,” she said immediately.
“Barely,” Kimi joked.
Max rolled his eyes. “Relax. I didn’t kill him.”
She looked between them. “…Are we good?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t love it.”
“Max—”
“But…” he sighed. “I trust you.”
She smiled softly and hugged him.
“That’s all I needed.”
The paddock found out about Max finding out within minutes.
“How is he not dead?” Lando whispered.
“I’m right here,” Kimi said.
“Still shocking.”
A week later—
They both decided it was time to soft launch.
Kimi posted first and Y/N followed soon after. The internet went feral.
KimiAntonelli has posted
KimiAntonelli
Liked by Y/N_Verstappen, MaxVerstappen, GeorgeRussell, LandoNorris, LilyMuniHe.... click to see more
La mia bella ragazza. Io ti amerò per sempre, amore mio. (My pretty girl. I will always love you, my love.)
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Y/N_Verstappen My pretty boy❤️💋
liked by author
User4 The cutest couple on the grid fr
MaxVerstappen You better treat her right or im slamming my car into you.
↳KimiAntonelli Yes Sir!
User67 mama y papa😍
LilyMuniHe She was our's first,dont forget that.
↳AlexandraSaintMleux mhm
↳CarmenMundt mhm
↳KellyPiquet mhm
↳Y/N_Verstappen always💗
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Y/N_Verstappen has posted
Y/N_Verstappen
liked by KimiAntonelli, Maxverstappen, User8, LilyMuniHe, User2, LandoNorris...click to see more
Im so lucky!!🤭🤩
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User2 Not kimi always being the first to like her posts-
User6 I LITERALLY CALLED IT
KimiAntonelli No,im lucky for having such a beautiful girlfriend.
↳Y/N_Verstappen giggling and kicking my feet rn🤭😚
↳LandoNorris Get a room you two!🤢
↳KimiAntonelli and Y/N_Verstappen 🖕
User7 the most unexpected yet the best couple ever
CarmenMundt Can i call you Y/N Antonelli now?
↳KimiAntonelli YES
↳MaxVerstappen NO
↳Y/N_Verstappen ABSOLUTELY
But the paddock?
They just laughed.
“Only took them forever,” George said.
“Only took you forever,” Carmen corrected.
And just like that—
The secret wasn’t a secret anymore.
They didn’t change.
Not really.
Still soft. Still subtle.
Still them.
Just… no more hiding.
Max still watched.
Still protective.
Still Max.
But one evening, as he stood beside them, he nudged Kimi slightly. “You’re doing alright.”
Kimi smiled. “High praise.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Y/N laughed at something an engineer said, her hand slipping seamlessly into Kimi’s.
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author. Please please please continue with talia basically snatching away neglected reader like "yep, thats mine." I would love to read more and I want to see how you put a twist on the story. Love oove love your writing!!
original post
I will in the future; right now I’m a little stuck with my Constantine two‑shot.
But I would love to write more about Talia and the daughter she didn’t know she needed.
I imagine the reader’s personality as someone people perceive as dumb and sort of a brat, but in fact she is kind and brutally honest (most people can’t handle honesty). It’s so easy to twist her personality with mean rumors, especially when she doesn’t correct anyone. She doesn’t care if she is happy, that’s enough. Being neglected taught her she can have peace by herself, but even if she’s fine on her own, she still has friends.
She doesn’t need a mom, but she will cherish Talia—not from the lack of a mother in her life, but because Talia adds joy to it. They love each other genuinely. Talia can act like a regular mom, even more when Bruce finds out and go insane about it. But she has enemies, so… maybe they end up having a little bonding adventure.
"I feel like I’m in Taken," the reader whispers while bullets fly over their heads.
"Don’t dream about being kidnapped, dear," Talia chastises.
"Yeah, you’re way cooler than Liam Neeson," the reader admits.
"And you thought Kosovo would be boring," Talia teases.
"Didn’t expect the James Bond twist, but I’m embracing it."
"Are you calling me a James Bond villain?"
"Of course not. I know you’re going to win."
The bullets stop, and Talia jumps out before they can recharge.
"Don’t tell your father about our little detour," Talia warns.
"I would never, but I already texted Grandpa, and he’s sending me creepy laughing memes again."
"I told you my father was too old to understand pop culture."
✒ you are known for a lot of things and that includes your sweet tooth for ice cream
๑•͈ᴗ•͈๑
your.name
liked by friend1, friend2, lec and others
your.name saw this new brand of ice cream and just couldnt resist to go and try it (unfortunately for me its not from where i am so i flew into monaco for the full experience 🤭) 100/10 😋
tagged: @.lec
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friend1 so thats why you said you couldnt hang with us for the weekend ☹️
your.name sorry!!
friend2 gurl did you seriously just travel for an ice cream???
your.name yup
friend3 so this is where ice cream addiction takes you ♥︎ liked by author
your.name it takes me places 😌 win win
lec thank you for coming!! i hope you like it! ♥︎ liked by author
your.name i loveee it but more so if you guys release a banana flavor pleasee 😩
userone you tell em queen
usertwo would be iconic if that happens
userthree we need a banana lec(lerc) ♥︎ liked by author
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ a few days later...
lec
liked by charles_leclerc, userthree, your.name and others
lec The most awaited banana flavor is out now!
view all comments
userone AINT NO WAY
your.name OMG running back to the shop!! ♥︎ liked by author
usertwo so we just needed (name) to speak up about it OKAY ICON
userthree BANANA LECLERC
userfour FINALLY this is a long time coming
charles_leclerc 💛💛💛 ♥︎ liked by author
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
charles_leclerc
liked by your.name, lec, userfour and others
charles_leclerc you asked, we served🍦
tagged: @.lec
view all comments
userone charles probs saw (name)'s post and comment to lec and was like "hmm i guess it is time for a new flavor"
usertwo i fear this is him
userthree no bcs like i've never seen this man take action so fast 😭 lots of fans mentioned it before but he didnt even do anything about it 🥲
userfour is the caption directed to (name) perhaps? 👀
your.name FAV and BEST flavor EVER ∞/10 ♥︎ liked by author
userfive so (name) could be the reason for this? EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU (NAME) 🗣️
usersix thank you @.your.name!!
userseven thank u QUEEN
lec 🙌 ♥︎ liked by author
usereight "why resist?" is so perfect because charles didnt resist when (name) asked for it HAHAHA
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
your.name
liked by charles_leclerc, lec, friend1 and others
your.name absolute yummers 🥰 made my summerrr (so glad i was able to try it before i leave monaco 🥹)
tagged: @.lec
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friend1 you look so beautiful gurl this is borderline impossible 😍 ♥︎ liked by author
your.name got it from you 🫵
friend1 we better hang out once you're back ♥︎ liked by author
your.name for sureee 🙂↕️
lec thank you for coming back again!! we hope you love it more this time 💛 ♥︎ liked by author
your.name ABSOLUTELY 💯 THANK U
friend2 im glad you get to have the flavor you wont stop talking about
your.name I KNOW made my trip more worth it 😚
charles_leclerc 🩵 ♥︎ liked by author
userone AYOO 👀
usertwo i can feel something brewing here
userthree you're not alone
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ a month later...
charles_leclerc
liked by your.name, friend3, lec and others
charles_leclerc look who's happy after she got to know we opened a new branch near her place
tagged: @.your.name
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your.name out of all the pics you took, you chose this one??? ♥︎ liked by author
charles_leclerc its my favorite ma cherié 😘
your.name also yesss i can finally eat it everyday and i wont run out of stock 🤌 ♥︎ liked by author
charles_leclerc 😌 my goal from the very beginning
your.name LUV YOU 😍 ♥︎ liked by author
friend1 its giving "thank you for feeding my delusions" but make it "thank you for feeding my ice cream addictions" lol
friend2 ²you beat me to it
friend3 both of you are insane, she travelled to monaco just to try a new brand of ice cream and then that same brand made the flavor she requested in just a few days and now it opened a branch next to her place?? the things you do for love truly
your.name thanks to my love for ice cream 😋 and the rest orchestrated by him ♥︎ liked by author
charles_leclerc 🥰
userone OH!!
usertwo reading the comments, yep, he's whipped ALSO I KNEW SMTH WAS GOING ON
userthree i dont blame you charles, i'd do the same for her
userfour oh he bagged THE baddie
userfive CHARLES TEACH ME YOUR WAYS
usersix HOLD ON
usersix I LIVE IN THE SAME CITY AS HER
usersix HOLY-
usersix I CAN FINALLY HAVE LEC ICE CREAM
usersix THANK YOU (NAME) I OWE MY LIFE TO YOU
your.name LMAO enjooooyy bestiee 😋
userseven ice cream does takes you places
your.name and gets you a man apparently 🤷♀️ ♥︎ liked by author
usereight i bet charles is thanking that he had an ice cream brand ♥︎ liked by author
≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼
Please do not copy, translate, repost to any other social media, Thank you. (CTTO for the dividers, pics are from pinterest)
Summary: When he's drunk, he becomes a giggly mess with you
Song: Cake By The Ocean · DNCE
Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶
Word count: 2.0k
MASTERLIST - F1
The air inside the rented penthouse overlooking the Monaco harbor smelled of expensive champagne, lime wedges, and the distinct, humid electricity of a Formula 1 weekend that had finally reached its chaotic conclusion.
Down below, the Mediterranean lapped lazily against the docks, indifferent to the multi-million-dollar yachts jostling for berth and the adrenaline still humming in the veins of everyone inside the room.
You were sitting on the edge of a velvet-upholstered sofa, nursing a gin and tonic that had long since lost its ice, watching the room spin in a blur of designer labels and relieved laughter.
Across the room, standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, was Max.
Earlier that evening, under the blinding lights of the podium, he had been the portrait of the ruthless, hyper-focused machine the world knew him to be.
The grim set of his jaw, the sharp, calculating glint in his blue eyes as he sprayed the champagne—that was the three-time World Champion.
That was the driver who lived and breathed apexes, telemetry, and tenths of a second.
Right now, however, Max was leaning against the window frame, wearing a slightly rumpled white linen shirt with the top three buttons casually undone, holding a red solo cup that looked entirely too casual in his hand.
He was talking to Christian and a couple of engineers, and he was currently laughing so hard he was practically folding in half.
It wasn't his usual polite, media-trained chuckle. It was a breathless, high-pitched giggle that made his shoulders shake, his hand coming up to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.
You couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. You knew the secret that the rest of the paddock, the press, and the millions of fans watching on television would never believe: when Max Verstappen had a few too many drinks, the ice melted entirely.
The ruthless competitor vanished, replaced by a warm, impossibly affectionate, and deeply giggly mess who only had eyes for one person in the room.
You.
As if feeling the weight of your gaze across the crowded room, Max’s head snapped up. His eyes, bright and unfocused, scanned the room until they landed on you.
Instantly, a massive, brilliant grin spread across his face—the kind of smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look ten years younger.
He abandoned his conversation mid-sentence, mumbling something to Christian that caused the team principal to just laugh and wave him off with a knowing smirk.
Max navigated the room with the slightly buoyant, uncoordinated stride of a man whose equilibrium had been entirely compromised by tequila and a very successful race weekend.
He weaved past a group of mechanics, narrowly avoided a low-hanging brass lamp, and dropped heavily onto the sofa right next to you, sliding across the velvet until his thigh pressed flush against yours.
"Hiii," he breathed out, the word stretching into a soft, melodic sigh. He dropped his head immediately onto your shoulder, his forehead resting against the crook of your neck.
"Hi, Max," you murmur, setting your drink down on the marble coffee table before your hand instinctively finds its way into his soft, messy hair, your fingers threading through the damp strands at the nape of his neck. "Did you have a good night?"
Max let out a muffled giggle against your collarbone, his warm breath fanning against your skin. "The best night. The best night ever. You look…"
He pulled his head back just enough to look up at you, his blue eyes wide, glassy, and completely starstruck. "…you look so pretty. Did I tell you that? I feel like I didn't tell you that enough today."
"You told me three times while we were getting out of the car, and twice in the elevator," you tease gently, a fond warmth blooming in your chest.
Max gasped dramatically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead with exaggerated shock. "Only five times? That’s terrible. I am a terrible boyfriend. I need to fix this immediately."
He tried to sit up straight to deliver a proper compliment, but his coordination betrayed him, and he wobbled dangerously to the left, letting out a sudden, high-pitched snort of laughter as you caught him by the waist to keep him from tumbling off the sofa.
"Careful there, champion," you laugh, steadying him. "Don't break yourself on a Sunday night. You have simulator work on Tuesday."
"Simulator," Max repeated the word slowly, as if it were a foreign language he had never heard before. He wrinkled his nose in profound disgust. "No. No simulators. Simulators are stupid. You know what's not stupid?"
"What's not stupid, Max?"
"You," he declared triumphantly, pointing a slightly unsteady index finger right at the tip of your nose. "You are very smart. And very soft. And I love you so, so much."
The declaration was delivered with such absolute, unfiltered sincerity that it caught you completely off guard.
Even when he was sober, Max wasn’t a man of excessive, flowery words; his affection was usually shown through quiet loyalty, shared meals, and the occasional lingering hand on your lower back.
But when the alcohol hit his system, his emotional filter dissolved entirely, turning him into a walking, talking puddle of pure devotion.
"I love you too, Max," you whisper, your thumb gently tracing the line of his cheekbone, feeling the heat radiating off his skin.
Max beamed, looking immensely pleased with the answer, before his expression suddenly shifted into one of deep, philosophical concentration. He stared at your hand on his face for a long moment, blinking slowly.
"Hey," he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in close so his lips brushed against your ear. "Do you think the fish in the harbor are sleeping right now?"
You pressed a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh. "It's three in the morning, Max. I'm going to guess yes."
"That's wild," he giggled, burying his face back into your neck, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Imagine being a fish. Just swimming around. No tires. No pit stops. Just vibes."
By four in the morning, the party had thinned out significantly. The music had been lowered to a soft, ambient hum, and the remaining guests were slumped in corners, nursing coffees or quietly talking in small groups.
Max, however, had reached the stage of intoxication where sitting still was no longer an option, but walking in a straight line was a distant dream.
He had spent the last twenty minutes trying to balance a coaster on top of your water glass, giggling uncontrollably every time it tilted and slid off.
"Okay, sleeping beauty," you whisper, gently taking the coaster out of his hand and setting it aside. "I think it’s time we head back to the hotel."
Max blinked up at you, his lower lip pushing out in a dramatic, pathetic pout that would have melted the heart of the sternest team boss on the grid. "So soon? But we haven't fed the fish."
"We can feed the fish tomorrow. Come on." You stand up and offer him your hand.
Max stared at your hand for a second before wrapping both of his large, warm palms around yours, letting you haul him up to his feet.
As soon as he was upright, his momentum carried him forward, and he promptly crashed into your chest, wrapping his arms securely around your waist and burying his face right in your stomach.
"You're warm," he mumbled happily, refusing to let go.
"Max, we have to walk across the room. People are watching."
"Let them look," he sighed dramatically against your shirt. "They don't get to hug you. Only I get to hug you."
With a soft laugh, you managed to guide him—half-walking, half-dragging him—toward the private elevator that led down to the underground parking garage.
After a brief, quiet goodbye to Gianpiero, who shot you a deeply sympathetic and amused look as Max waved frantically with both hands, the elevator doors slid shut, sealing the two of you in blessed, air-conditioned silence.
As the car descended, Max let out a long, contented sigh, his forehead resting gently against the cool mirrored wall of the elevator. Then, slowly, a mischievous little smile crept onto his face.
Without warning, he turned around, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and lifted you effortlessly off your feet, spinning you around in a slow, clumsy circle.
"Max! Put me down!" you yelp, laughing despite yourself as your feet dangle in the air.
"Weee!" he giggled, the sound bubbling out of him bright and carefree. "Look! I’m stronger than an F1 car!"
"You're going to drop me!"
"I would never drop you," he said instantly, his tone suddenly dropping from playful silliness to a soft, profound seriousness that caught you off guard.
He set you back down on your feet carefully, keeping his hands firmly on your waist, his blue eyes searching yours in the dim light of the moving elevator.
"Never. You're my favorite person in the whole universe."
Before you could reply, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to the quiet, concrete expanse of the underground garage.
The cool night air hit your skin as you finally made it to your rented car. You unlocked the doors, and Max slid into the passenger seat with the practiced grace of a man who spent his life climbing in and out of tight spaces, though he immediately hit his head on the door frame because he was smiling too wide to look where he was going.
"Ow. Okay, that hurt," he whispered, giggling again as he rubbed the top of his head. He pulled his seatbelt across his chest with exaggerated precision, clicking it into place with a loud clack. "Safe! Safety first. Safety car deployment."
You slide into the driver's seat, shaking your head with a fond smile, and start the engine. The drive back to your hotel was short, winding along the empty, sodium-lit streets of Monaco.
Max spent the entire five-minute journey pressed flat against the passenger window, staring out at the passing streetlights with wide-eyed fascination, occasionally humming a tune that didn't seem to belong to any known song.
Getting Max out of the car, up the hotel elevator, and into your suite required the kind of tactical coordination usually reserved for a high-stakes pit stop.
By the time you finally managed to unlock the suite door and guide him inside, Max looked like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut.
He kicked off his designer loafers—leaving them haphazardly in the middle of the entryway—and shuffled into the bedroom like a giant, sleep-deprived toddler.
"Bed," he announced to the room at large, before face-planting directly onto the king-sized mattress, burying his face deeply into the crisp white pillows.
He let out a long, wheezing groan of pure satisfaction. "Oh, god. This is the greatest invention in human history. Better than the RB19. Better than anything."
You walk over to the side of the bed, crossing your arms and looking down at the heap of limbs currently occupying your sheets. "You know, you still have your shirt and jeans on, Max."
Max slowly turned his head to the side, one eye peering out from beneath a pillow. He looked at you with an expression of profound, tragic betrayal. "Are you telling me I have to move?"
"I'm telling you that you'll regret sleeping in jeans tomorrow morning when your head feels like a V10 engine failing on the final lap."
With a dramatic, theatrical sigh that sounded like he was being led to the gallows, Max rolled over onto his back, throwing a forearm across his eyes. "Help me. I am a broken man."
Suppressing a laugh, you sit down on the edge of the mattress and gently pull his arm away. Max opens one eye, squinting up at you with a dopey, affectionate smile.
"Come on, sit up," you murmur.
You help him shrug out of the rumpled linen shirt, tossing it onto a chair. He cooperative, albeit entirely limp, letting you guide his arms out of the sleeves like an oversized toddler.
When it comes to the jeans, he insists on unbuttoning them himself, though his fumbling fingers take three clumsy tries to get the button through the hole, setting off another round of quiet, breathless giggles.
Once he's finally stripped down to a soft pair of gray sweatpants, he wriggles beneath the duvet, pulling the covers all the way up to his chin.
He looks up at you from the pillows, his hair sticking out in every direction, looking entirely unlike the fierce, unyielding athlete the world worships.
"You're taking care of me," he whispers softly, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion. "You always take care of me."
"Of course I do," you say softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Now close your eyes and go to sleep, Max."
Before you can pull away, a large, warm hand shoots out from beneath the blankets, wrapping securely around the back of your neck. With surprising strength for a man who had nearly fallen off a sofa an hour ago, Max pulls you down toward him.
He doesn't kiss you immediately. Instead, he just presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in, his blue eyes shining in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
"I love you," he murmurs again, the words quiet, steady, and utterly sincere, stripping away all the giggles and silliness to reveal the deep, anchor-like devotion underneath. "Don't ever leave me, okay?"
You smile, your heart swelling to fill your entire chest, and wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close.
"I'm not going anywhere, Max. Go to sleep."
Max hums contentedly, closing his eyes as the alcohol finally pulls him under. Within seconds, his breathing deepens and evens out, the tension draining completely from his frame.
You turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, and slip into bed beside him.
Almost instinctively, even in his deep sleep, Max shifts closer, throwing an arm heavy and warm over your waist and pulling you flush against his chest.
Safe in the quiet dark of the hotel room, far away from the screaming fans, the flashing cameras, and the relentless pressure of the racing world, the World Champion finally rests, anchored safely in your arms. . .
Hii, can I requests a fic with Kimi x reader where she is a tennis player? Thank you ♥️
Thank you for your request❤️ I am so sorry I don't know much about tennis so had to research a fair amount so I apologise if it's not accurate 😭
I Knew She'd Steal My Cap - Kimi Antonelli
Kimi Antonelli x Tennis Player Reader
Word Count: 2635
Warnings: A little fluffy
The first time they met, neither of them expected to leave with the other’s phone number. It had been at a luxury watch brand photoshoot in Monaco a year earlier. Formula One drivers, Olympic athletes and tennis players had all been invited to celebrate the launch of the new collection, creating an unusual mix of sporting worlds under one roof.
Kimi Antonelli had spent most of the evening trying to avoid the cameras whenever he wasn’t standing exactly where a photographer wanted him. Fresh into Formula One, he was still getting used to the attention that seemed to follow him everywhere. Every conversation, every smile, every glance in someone’s direction somehow found its way onto social media within minutes.
Y/N was different. As one of the brightest young stars in women’s tennis, she’d been dealing with media obligations since she was a teenager. Press conferences, sponsorship events and endless interviews were simply another part of the job now. She wore confidence as naturally as she held a racket.
When the organisers introduced them, expecting nothing more than a quick photograph together, the pair ended up talking for nearly an hour. They compared travel schedules that barely allowed them to unpack a suitcase before flying somewhere else. They laughed about the strange questions journalists insisted on asking. They admitted neither of them could remember what a normal weekend looked like anymore. For the first time in months, Kimi spoke to someone who actually understood. Not because she’d watched Formula One, not because she was a fan but because her life wasn’t all that different from his.
She knew what it felt like to have thousands of people analyse every mistake. She understood the pressure of walking onto a court knowing millions expected you to win. She understood cancelling birthdays, missing family dinners and living more out of hotel rooms than your own home.
When the event finally drew to an end , Kimi found himself hesitating.
“I’d probably regret not asking,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. “Could I maybe… get your number?”
Y/N smiled before taking his phone from his hand. “I was wondering how long it’d take you.”
Neither of them expected the relationship to become serious. At first it was simply messaging between tournaments and race weekends. A quick ‘good luck today’ before qualifying. A ‘well played’ after she’d battled through another three set match. Video calls from airports, voice notes sent between training sessions. Neither of them demanded more time than the other could give because they both knew exactly how impossible their schedules were.
As the months passed, the messages turned into late night FaceTime calls that lasted until one of them accidentally fell asleep. She started recognising every member of the Mercedes garage from the background of his calls. He learnt the names of her coaches, physio and hitting partner without ever properly meeting them.
Whenever she had a free weekend, she’d quietly slip into the Mercedes hospitality unit wearing sunglasses and a cap, cheering him on from the back of the garage where cameras were less likely to spot her.
When Kimi’s calendar allowed, he’d find himself tucked away in the player’s box at tournaments across Europe, applauding every winner so he wouldn’t look obvious.
It wasn’t always easy. There were weeks where the only conversation they managed was a sleepy five minute phone call after midnight. Weeks where different time zones made speaking almost
impossible. Weeks where one was celebrating a victory while the other was trying to recover from a disappointing result.
But somehow, despite the distance and the chaos, they made it work. Perhaps because neither of them ever questioned the sacrifices. They simply understood.
Which was exactly why, when Wimbledon arrives, there was only one place Kimi wanted to be.
Not in a simulator, not at the Mercedes factory, not anywhere near a racing circuit. He wanted to be in London watching her.
The Wimbledon changing rooms were unusually quiet. Y/N sat on the wooden bench in front of her locker, elbows resting on her knees as she stared at the grass stains already drying on her practice shoes. Through the walls she could hear the distant murmur of Centre Court filling up, so many voices blending into a low hum that made her stomach twist.
A Wimbledon final.
The words still didn’t feel real.
Her phone buzzed in her hand, and despite the nerves she smiled the second Kimi’s name appeared on the screen.“Hey,” she answered.
“Hey champion.”
She laughed under her breath. “Don’t say that yet. I haven’t won anything.”
“You’ve made the Wimbledon final,” he replied. “That’s pretty impressive.”
Y/N leaned back against the locker, letting his voice calm her racing thoughts. “Where are you?”
“Near the front,” Kimi said. “A few rows back from the court. Navy suit, sunglasses. Very Wimbledon.”
“Trying not to get recognised?”
“Trying and failing probably.”
Her smile widened. They had kept their relationship private for almost a year. A few people in
Formula One had their suspicions, and some tennis fans had noticed a familiar face appearing in her player box at tournaments, but neither of them had confirmed anything.
“Well,” she said, “if the cameras find you, pretend you’re here for the tennis.”
“I am here for the tennis.”
She could hear the grin in his voice.
A tournament official knocked on the door. “Five minutes Y/N.”
Her stomach flipped. Kimi must have heard the knock through the phone. “That’s your cue.”
Y/N exhaled slowly. “I’m nervous Kimi.”
“Good,” he said gently. “You always play your best when you’re nervous. Just look for me before the warm up okay?”
She closed her eyes for a second. “Okay.”
“And one more thing?”
“Hm?”
“No matter what happens out there, I’m already so proud of you.”
For a moment the noise outside faded completely. “Thank you Kimi.”
“Now go win Wimbledon.”
The called ended, and Y/N stared at the dark screen for a heartbeat before slipping the phone into her bag. She stood, smoothed down the white skirt and picked up her racket.
The walk from the changing rooms to Centre Court felt surreal. Officials led the way through the narrow corridor as photographers crowded near the entrance. The closer she got, the louder the crowd became until it was no longer a murmur but a roar.
Then the doors opened.
Sunlight flooded the tunnel. Centre Court stretched out in front of her, perfect green framed by packed stands. Thousands of people rose to their feet, applauding as she stepped onto the court for the Ladies’ Singles Final.
Y/N forced herself not to look around too quickly. Find him. She scanned the front rows until she spotted a familiar face in a navy suit, sunglasses pushed up onto his head. Kimi was already standing, clapping with a smile that somehow made the enormous stadium feel smaller.
He gave her a tiny nod.
You’ve got this.
Y/N nodded back before turning toward the net.
Her opponent, the world number one, bounced on her toes at the other side of the court. They shook hands with the umpire, completed the coin toss, and took their positions.
Y/N would serve first.
She walked to the baseline, bounced the ball three times, and looked up at the sea of faces.
Somewhere in that crowd was the one person who had seen her cry after losses, who had stayed away through different time zones to watch her matches, who knew exactly how heavy pressure could feel.
The umpire’s voice rang out across Centre Court.
“Play.”
Y/N tossed the ball high into the London sky and swung. The final had begun.
Centre Court had become almost unbearably tense.
Two hours and forty three minutes of relentless rallies, impossible gets and blistering winners had brought the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles Final down to this. One final game. The scoreboard glowed above the court.
7-5, 4-6, 6-5.
Y/N took a deep breath as she walked to the baseline, bouncing the ball against the grass. Across the net, her opponent crouched low, ready to receive.
The crowd barely moved.Somewhere in the front rows, Kimi realised he hadn’t taken a proper breath in nearly thirty seconds. His hands were clasped so tightly together his knuckles had turned white. He’d sat through Formula One races where he’d driven at over 200 miles per hour. He’d fought wheel to wheel into the first corner with twenty cars surrounding him. None of that compared to watching this.
“Championship point.” The umpire’s calm voice echoed around Centre Court.
Everything suddenly felt silent. Y/N bounced the ball three times like she always did. She tossed the ball high into the air. Her first serve landed perfectly. Her opponent managed to return it deep.
The rally began. Forehand. Backhand. Forehand. Slice. The crowd followed every shot, heads turning from one side of the court to the other.
Neither woman gave an inch.
Then Y/N spotted it. Her opponent’s backhand drifted just a little shorter than intended.
She stepped inside the baseline. One clean swing.
The ball flew across the court, clipping the line before bouncing beyond her opponent’s desperate reach.
For a split second…
Silence.
Then Centre Court exploded.
The roar from thousands of people crashed over the court like a wave.
Y/N dropped her racket. Her hands flew to her face before her knees gave way beneath her. She collapsed onto the grass, tears spilling freely down her cheeks as years of sacrifice, heartbreak and relentless training finally caught up with her.
She’d done it.
She was Wimbledon champion.
The applause seemed endless.
She stayed there for several seconds, laughing through her tears before finally pushing herself upright.
After embracing her opponent at the net and thanking the umpire, she turned instinctively towards the player box.
Her team were already on their feet, cheering louder than anyone.
And there —
Kimi.
He’d abandoned any attempt at looking composed. He’d hurried down to the front barrier, both hands gripping the rail as the biggest smile she’d ever seen spread across his face. The moment Y/N saw him, nothing else mattered.
Ignoring the photographers shouting her name, she sprinted across the grass.
“Kimi!”
He leaned over the barrier just as she reached him. She threw her arms around his neck, nearly pulling him over the rail as he caught her effortlessly.
“You did it,” his voice cracked. “You actually did it.”
“I won,” she laughed through tears. “Kimi… I won!”
“You won Wimbledon.”
He couldn’t stop smiling and neither could she.
Without thinking, without caring that Centre Court, millions of television viewers and hundreds of photographers were watching, Y/N cupped his face and kissed him.
The cameras erupted. A chorus of shutters clicked so rapidly it sounded like rain. Neither of them noticed or perhaps they simply didn’t care.
For nearly a year they’d hidden stolen moments in airport terminals, quiet dinners in cities where nobody recognised them and late night video calls across different time zones.
Now, standing in front of the entire world, none of it mattered anymore.
Y/N rested her forehead against his, both of them still smiling through happy tears.
“I guess,” she whispered with a watery laugh, “we’re not exactly a secret anymore.”
Kimi chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I think the whole world’s just found out.”
One month later, the Wimbledon trophy had finally found a permanent place in Y/N’s apartment.
The endless media appearances had slowed down. The interviews about the kiss had almost disappeared. Almost.Every newspaper had run the same front page photo of her kissing Kimi over the barrier on Centre Court. Every sports channel had debated the unexpected hard launch of one of the world’s newest sporting power couples.
In the end, neither of them had addressed it. They hadn’t needed to. The picture had said enough.
Now, for the first time since Wimbledon, it was Y/N’s turn to support him.
The Formula One paddock couldn’t have been more different to the tennis equivalents. Engines roared to life in garages, mechanics dashing about with tyres and equipment, team radios crackled from the pit walls on the other side.
Y/N walked down the starting grid, smiling politely as photographers snapped away. Unlike Wimbledon, where she’d worn an all white tennis outfit, today she’d happily traded elegance for comfort. An oversized black Mercedes team shirt hung loosely over a pair of white shorts, while a black Mercedes cap embroidered with “12 ANTONELLI” shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun.
She’d stolen it from Kimi’s wardrobe. Well… borrowed. He still didn’t know.
As celebrities, former drivers and VIP guests wandered around the grid ahead of lights out, several fans recognised the reigning Wimbledon champion, calling her name from behind the barriers. She waved back with a grin before continuing towards the Mercedes car of her boyfriend. She was only a few metres away when she heard a familiar voice.
“Y/N! Have you got a minute?”
She turned to find Martin Brundle weaving expertly through the crowded grid, microphone in hand with a Sky Sports camera following close behind.
“I suppose I have,” she laughed.
Martin smiled as the camera settled on them.
“I’m delighted to say I’m joined by the Wimbledon champion herself. First of all, congratulations. A month on, has it sunk in yet?”
“Thank you. It’s started to yeah. I still catch myself looking at the trophy wondering if it actually happened though.”
Martin chuckled. “I think everyone watching remembers that incredible final. It was a fantastic match.”
“Thank you. It definitely wasn’t easy.”
He glanced down at her outfit before looking back “Now,,, call me Sherlock Holmes here,” he began dramatically, “but I do wonder who you’re supporting this afternoon.”
Y/N looked down at the Mercedes shirt she’d deliberately chosen that morning before laughing. “I know, it’s subtle isn’t it?”
Martin gestured towards her cap. “I still can’t quite work it out.”
“I thought I’d keep everyone guessing.”
“So… who are you cheering on today?”
Without a second’s hesitation, Y/N smiled directly into the camera. “My boyfriend.”
Martin raised an eyebrow theatrically. “And who’s that?”
“Kimi. Kimi Antonelli,” there wasn’t the slightest hint of regret in her voice. “I’ve watched a few races in the garage and watched him on TV plenty of times. But this is my first time here on the grid. So hopefully he has an amazing race.”
“I imagine he’ll have a little extra motivation knowing the Wimbledon champion is cheering him on.”
“I hope so,” Y/N said with a smile. “Although I think he’ll tell you he doesn’t need any extra motivation.”
“I’m sure he would,” Martin nodded towards the Mercedes garage. “Well, enjoy the afternoon and thank you for stopping to chat.”
“Thank you.”
Meanwhile, in the Mercedes garage as he was getting ready to put on his gloves and helmet, Kimi had been watching the interview on one of the screens.
One of the engineers nudged him with a smirk. “Boyfriend eh?”
Another mechanic laughed. “I don’t think she could’ve made that anymore official.”
Kimi shook his head laughing. “I knew she’d steal my cap!”
pairing: fernando alonso x ollie bearman x alpine!reader
summary: fernando isn’t used to feeling this hunted
a/n: @sinofwriting is like entirely to blame for this…also I completely forgot about his birthday 🤷🏻♀️ so we’re just gonna pretend I wasn’t late with this one 😂
Masterlist
Private Messages: The Old Guard
fa14fan
liked by user, user, user, and 1,729,096 others
fa14fan: and here we see this years rookies all together
view all comments
user1: so young and with such full careers ahead of them…
↳user2: I can't wait to watch them grow 😂
↳user1: right??
user3: isn't avid the only rookie this year?
↳user4: I'm sure you're a fun one to have at family dinners
↳user3: hey!
↳user5: I'll stop calling Kimi and Ollie a rookie when they finally grow out of their baby faces
↳user3: ok that's fair
user6: he's so nice and smiling for literally everyone but Liam
↳user7: a beef that's gonna span generations
↳user6: for real
user7: a single father working hard to provide for his children
↳user8: is he looking for someone? Cause I volunteer
user9: ok I know he's helping all the rookies but like his bond with Ollie and yn??? That's something special
↳user10: it really truly is
Private Messages: Ollie and YN
Private Messages: Pierre and YN
lando
liked by olliebearman, yn, charles_leclerc, and 3,182,112 others
lando: one last dinner before summer break
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user11: god i haven't wanted to be somewhere so badly before
user12: I can take them
yn: show of hands — lando pays
↳maxverstappen1: ✋
↳oscarpiastri: ✋
↳charles_leclerc: ✋
↳pierregasly: ✋
↳lando: oi!
user13: oh my god look at Fernando with Ollie and YN
↳user14: they ARE THE best mentor and mentees
↳user15: I love them
↳yn: and we love you random citizens
↳user14: oh my god 😱
Private Messages: The Old Guard
f1gossip
liked by user, user, user, and 1,899,627 others
f1gossip: as the season heads into the summer break, fans spotted rookies Fernando, Ollie, and YN catching a plane away from Hungary together.
view all comments
user16: our rookies all together!
↳user17: love that for them
user18: did…did Ollie and yn just invite themselves to Fernando's plane?
↳user19: what do you mean?
↳user18: Nando had been talking about how he was looking forward to a quiet plane ride
↳user19: …a quiet plane ride with Ollie and YN?? Not likely liked by user18
user20: did he know they were coming along?
↳user21: I don't know which answer is funnier honestly
↳user22: I do and it's him not knowing
Private Messages: The Old Guard
yn
liked by pierregasly, aussiegrit, jensonbutton, and 2,827,445 others
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The Last Line Home - Sidney Crosby x Rookie Reader
Sidney Crosby x Male Rookie Reader (platonic)
Summary: You unexpectedly become the caregiver for your two younger siblings, during your rookie season.
Warnings: child abandonment, anxiety, burnout, mentions of neglect
Word Count: 2,000
requests open :)
You know something’s wrong the moment your sister asks, for the third time, “Are they coming home tonight?”
Your apartment is quieter than it should be.
The TV is still on, some late-night show playing to an tense room, the volume low enough to feel like background noise but loud enough to remind you that time is passing.
It's 11:48 PM.
Your brother sits cross-legged on the couch beside her, a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders like armor. He’s trying—really trying—to look unaffected, but every time headlights sweep past the window, his eyes flick toward the door.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
You check your phone again.
Nothing.
No missed calls. No texts. No location updates. You’ve already checked three times in the last ten minutes anyway, like somehow this time will be different.
It isn’t.
A tight feeling settles in your chest, something heavy and unfamiliar—but you push it down before it can take shape.
“Hey,” you say, stepping in front of them, forcing your voice into something steady. “C’mon. Go brush your teeth. Let’s get ready for bed.”
Your sister immediately shakes her head. “But—”
“I’ve got you. Okay?”
You don’t let her finish.
You can’t.
Her lip trembles, eyes glossy in a way that makes something twist painfully in your chest. Your brother looks at you longer, searching your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying.
If you actually know something he doesn’t.
You hold his gaze.
Just long enough.
Something in him softens—just a little—and he nods.
You move quickly after that.
Routine.
That’s what this is. Just routine.
You walk them to the bathroom, stand in the doorway while they brush their teeth, remind your sister not to flood the sink, nudge your brother when he zones out halfway through.
Normal.
Everything is normal.
You tuck them into bed like you’ve done a hundred times before, even though your hands feel heavier tonight.
Your sister clings to your sleeve. “You promise?”
You don’t ask what she means.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I promise.”
The hallway light stays on when you leave.
The door stays cracked open.
And you go back to the couch, sitting in the same spot your brother had been in earlier, elbows on your knees, staring at the front door like if you just wait long enough—
It’ll open.
It doesn’t.
The hours drag.
Midnight turns into one, then two.
At some point, the TV shuts off on its own, leaving the apartment in a kind of silence that feels too big for the space.
3:02 AM.
Your parents still aren’t home.
And somewhere between exhaustion and something you don’t want to name, the realization settles in—not all at once, but slowly, like cold seeping into your bones.
They’re not coming back.
Morning doesn’t feel real.
It comes too fast, sunlight spilling through the blinds like nothing has changed, like the world didn’t just quietly shift under your feet overnight.
But it did.
And now it’s just you.
You, and an 8-year-old who pretends he’s fine, and a 5-year-old who doesn’t know what's happening.
And you’ve got morning skate at 9.
Breakfast is chaos.
Your sister refuses everything you put in front of her until she finally mumbles, “I want cereal. Like Mom makes it.”
You don’t ask what that means.
You just guess—too much milk, not enough cereal—and when she takes a hesitant bite and doesn’t complain, it feels like a small, fragile victory.
Your brother, on the other hand, is already spiraling.
“I can’t find my math folder.”
“It’s probably in your bag.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
You check.
It is.
You don’t say anything when you hand it to him.
Just ruffle his hair and tell him to grab his shoes.
You’re all out the door ten minutes late anyway.
The drive to school is quiet.
Not comfortable quiet—just quiet.
Your sister stares out the window.
Your brother fidgets with the zipper of his backpack.
You keep one hand tight on the steering wheel, the other tapping anxiously against your thigh as you watch the clock tick forward.
She needs picked up at 3:15. He's at 3:45. You’ll figure it out.
You always do.
You drop them off, wait until they’re both inside, and only then let yourself exhale.
Then you’re back in the car.
Back on the road.
Back to the part of your life that’s supposed to make sense.
You barely make it to the rink on time.
You’re still pulling on your gear, tying your pads with rushed, slightly clumsy hands when a voice cuts across the locker room—
“Rough night, rookie?”
A few guys chuckle.
You don’t even look up.
“Something like that.”
It’s easy to brush off.
That’s the thing.
Rookies are supposed to be a mess—new team, new system, new pressure. No one questions it when you look a little off.
No one looks close enough to see what’s actually wrong.
They don’t see the crumpled grocery list shoved into your bag.
Or the sticky note taped inside your stall, written in rushed handwriting:
Pick up — Ellie 3:15
Liam 3:45
They don’t see the way your phone never really leaves your line of sight.
Game days are worse.
They have to be.
Because as a goalie, especially a rookie goalie, you don’t get the luxury of distraction.
You are the last line of defense.
You are the difference between a win and a loss.
You are supposed to be locked in.
And you are.
Mostly.
You’re in the crease, knees bent, stick steady on the ice, eyes tracking every movement, every pass, every shift in momentum.
Reading the play.
Anticipating the shot.
Reacting.
But there’s a split in your focus now—a fracture you can’t quite seal.
Between whistles, your mind drifts.
Did your brother remember his homework?
Did your sister get picked up on time?
Did you leave enough food in the fridge?
A shot comes in—high, glove side.
You react on instinct.
Snap.
Clean.
Controlled.
The puck hits leather and stays there.
The crowd erupts.
But you don't hear it.
It’s about two weeks in when things start to slip.
You’re late to a morning skate.
You miss a team dinner.
You forget a meeting time and have to be reminded, twice, both in the same day.
You show up one day with shadows under your eyes so dark someone whistles and says, “You look like you fought someone and lost.”
You laugh, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.
“I’ve had worse.”
And maybe you have.
But not like this.
On the ice, it shows.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
Your reactions are a split-second slower.
Your reads are a step behind.
Nothing dramatic—nothing anyone can call out outright.
But it’s there.
The coaches notice.
Your teammates notice.
You notice.
That night, you don’t even make it out of your base layers.
You sit on the couch, gear half-unpacked, exhaustion weighing down every part of you as your sister curls up against your chest, already half-asleep.
Her small hand is fisted in your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll disappear too if she lets go.
Across the room, your brother sits at the table, pencil in hand, staring down at his homework like it personally offended him.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
“You’re gonna get in trouble.” He says quietly.
You glance up. “For what?”
He gestures vaguely.
“For… all of this.”
The apartment.
The mess.
The situation neither of you knows how to name.
You look at him properly then.
At the way he’s trying so hard to sound older than he is.
Braver than he feels.
You reach over, ruffling his hair lightly.
“I’ve got it handled.”
He doesn’t argue.
But he doesn’t look convinced either.
And if you’re being honest, neither are you.
Then, everything changes on an off day.
You’d planned it carefully—quick grocery run, early enough that the store wouldn’t be crowded, in and out before anyone could recognize you.
Normal clothes.
Hat pulled low.
Just another guy picking up groceries.
Your sister holds your hand as you walk down the aisle. Your brother trails beside you, arguing about bread like it’s a life-or-death decision.
“This one’s better.”
“It’s literally the same thing.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
You almost smile.
Almost.
Then—
“Hey.”
You go still.
That voice—
You know it instantly.
You turn.
And there he is.
Sid.
He’s holding a basket in one hand, something simple inside—nothing that should matter—but his attention is entirely on you now.
On the kids.
Back to you again.
You watch it happen in real time—the shift in his expression. Recognition turning into something sharper. More focused.
“…You babysitting?” he asks.
It sounds casual.
It isn’t.
Your stomach drops.
“Oh—uh. Just family,” you say quickly. “They’re staying with me for a bit.”
Your sister’s grip tightens around your hand.
Your brother frowns slightly.
Sid notices both.
Of course he does.
“Yeah?” he says, quieter now. “For how long?”
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough.
It always is with him.
He steps a little closer, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry.
“Hey. Talk to me.”
Your throat tightens.
Not here.
Not like this.
“I’d love to,” you say carefully, forcing something steady back into your voice, “just… not here. And not right now.”
For a moment, he studies you.
Then he nods.
“Okay.”
No pressure.
But his eyes don’t leave you as you check out and leave.
And you know this conversation isn’t over.
A few days later, the opportunity comes whether you’re ready or not.
The locker room is quiet.
Empty, except for you and him.
You’re sitting at your stall, staring down at your hands, turning your tape roll over and over between your fingers without really seeing it.
You don’t plan on saying anything.
You really don’t.
But when he sits down beside you and says, gently—
“So,"
It all just… comes out.
Messy.
Unfiltered.
“Our parents didn’t come back.”
The words hang in the air.
Heavy.
You swallow hard, pushing through before you lose the nerve.
“They just—left. I don’t know where they are. I’ve tried calling, texting, everything. I’m handling it, I just—needed time to figure stuff out, and I didn’t want—”
Your voice cracks.
You stop, jaw tightening in frustration.
You hate that.
You gesture vaguely around the room.
“I didn’t want to lose this. I just got here.”
There it is.
The truth of it.
The fear you haven’t let yourself fully think about.
For a second, you brace yourself. For doubt. For concern.
For someone to finally say what you’ve been thinking this whole time—that this is too much, that you can’t do both, that something has to give.
Sid exhales slowly.
“Okay.”
You blink.
“…Okay?”
“Okay,” he repeats, just as steady. “We’ll figure it out.”
We.
After that, things don’t change all at once.
They shift.
Subtly.
Quietly.
But undeniably.
A grocery delivery shows up at your door one evening—stuff you didn’t remember ordering.
A message comes through from the team coordinator asking about “family support needs.”
A teammate casually offers you a ride after practice—one that just so happens to line up perfectly with school pickup times.
You piece it together quickly.
Sid told them.
You should be mad.
You thought you would be.
But when your fridge is full and your siblings are fed and you’re not running on empty for the first time in weeks, you’re not.
The first time someone from the team, Anthony Mantha, comes over, it’s almost awkward.
He shows up with his wife and kids, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Figured they could hang out,” he says with an easy shrug.
And just like that—
Your apartment isn’t so quiet anymore.
Kids’ laughter fills the space.
Your brother actually smiles.
Your sister laughs—really laughs—for the first time in what feels like forever.
And you stand there for a moment, taking it in, something in your chest loosening just a little.
𖣘 summary: you were already in the advanced stages of pregnancy, and it was taking its toll. You decided to lie down to rest a bit, but ended up getting stuck, unable to get up on your own.
𖣘 warning: risk of grammatical errors, my english is rusty.
𖣘 pilots: Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Max Verstappen, George Russell, Carlos Sainz, Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris
Lando Norris
● His first reaction would be to laugh... until he realizes you really can't get up.
● After that, he would immediately switch into "concerned boyfriend mode," trying to disguise the fact that he still finds the scene funny.
● He would keep repeating that you need to stop throwing yourself on the bed like that, even knowing that you would probably do it again the following week.
● "Honey, you literally threw yourself off like a starfish falling from a building."
● He would always ask if your stomach feels heavy, if your back hurts, or if you want a snack before even trying to lift you.
● For the remainder of the pregnancy, He would rush to lie down on the bed first, just to serve as support or a barricade in case you decide to throw yourself down like that again.
⁺˚⋆｡ ° ✦ ｡⋆˚⁺ Scenario
It was one of those afternoons when the tiredness seemed to come not only from her body, but also accumulated in her joints. At only seven months pregnant, her belly already looked like she was nine months along. The extra weight on her hips, the nagging pain in her lower back, and the constant heat made any simple movement a true test of patience.
As soon as you stepped into the room, you simply gave up trying to maintain any elegant posture or take cautious steps. The bed seemed like the most welcoming place in the universe.
You let go completely and threw yourself right in the middle of the mattress. The dull thud made the moldy things shake around you.
For about five minutes, it was paradise. But the bladder, pressed by the baby, soon demanded attention.
You decided it was time to get up.
First, she tried to push off with her hips. Her stomach didn't even budge.
She tried to turn to her side. Gravity seemed to have tripled in the room.
You tried to use his arms to push himself up. His body simply didn't respond.
You stared at the ceiling for a few long seconds, frustrated, listening to Lando's footsteps walking around the room.
"Lando..." you called, your voice muffled by tiredness.
He answered from the other room, in his usual distracted tone:
"I'm coming, honey! I'm just grabbing a glass of water!"
When he finally stepped through the bedroom door and looked at the bed, he froze in place. He found you completely still. Your arms and legs spread out to the sides, your prominent belly pointing towards the ceiling, staring at the cast with a deep, bored look.
He raised an eyebrow, looking from you to the empty space on the bed.
"...What exactly happened here?"
"I'm trapped."
For a second, Lando tried to hold back. His cheeks flushed, his lips twitched, and he put his hand over his mouth. He tried to be mature. He really tried.
But he completely lost the battle. His boisterous laughter echoed through the room, causing him to bend forward.
"You threw yourself onto the middle of the bed again, didn't you?!" he said, almost choking with laughter.
"I know. It's not funny, Lando. Get me out of here." you just grimaced in response.
At that moment, noticing her sullen face and heavy sigh, his amused smile gave way to an instant look of concern. Lando took two quick steps to the edge of the bed, kicked off his shoes, and knelt beside her on the bedspread.
He placed his large, warm hand on the curve of her belly, caressing the fabric of her blouse.
"Hi, little one... making things difficult for Mommy today, aren't you?" he whispered to her belly, before looking up at her face "I'm sorry, honey, I swear I didn't mean any harm. But you looked like a turtle that flipped over."
"Lando!"
"Okay, I'll stop!" he chuckled softly, holding her hands firmly and gently "Let's take it slow, okay? No rushing, so you don't strain your back."
He counted to three aloud, leaning his own body back to use his weight as leverage and carefully pulling you into a seated position. The effort made you gasp loudly, and when your torso finally rose, gravity did the rest: you fell almost entirely onto his chest.
Lando let out a low, warm laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tightly against him.
"There. Saved by your amazing boyfriend." He gave her a long kiss on the forehead, letting his lips rest there for a second "Next time, call me before you decide you want to turn into a starfish in the middle of the mattress."
You simply buried your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of your body. And Lando stayed there, kneeling on the bed, embracing you for long minutes, without giving the slightest indication that he intended to move anytime soon.
────────── ✦ ──────────
Oscar Piastri
● He wouldn't panic or make a drama out of it, approaching the situation with an absurdly calm logic.
● First, he would analyze the physics and the entire position before placing his hand on you, calculating the best way to relieve the pressure.
● He would help you in the most practical and efficient way possible, as if he were solving an equation or making a pit stop.
● "Brute force won't work. We'll build up step by step."
● It would never make you feel guilty, "heavy," or awkward at any time.
● After making you feel safe, he would discreetly search on his phone for more anatomical positions and body pillows for pregnant women to rest in without getting stiff.
⁺˚⋆｡ ° ✦ ｡⋆˚⁺ Scenario
Oscar was organizing some things in the office, reviewing telemetry data on the computer, when his weak voice echoed down the hallway.
"Oscar?"
"Hm?" he replied, without taking his eyes off the screen for a second.
"I think I need help here. A lot of help."
He appeared in the doorway of the room a few seconds later. His gaze quickly surveyed the scene: you were still exactly where you had fallen a few minutes earlier, right in the center of the king-size mattress. Completely paralyzed, with no angle to roll off.
He observed the scene in absolute silence. He adjusted his posture under the door frame. He looked at her face, which displayed a mixture of tiredness and frustration. Then he glanced at her large belly, gauging the center of gravity of the situation. Then he looked directly into her eyes again.
"You miscalculated the landing this time," he observed in that calm, almost clinical tone that only he possessed. You sighed, burying your head in the pillow.
"I didn't know gravity was going to keep me stuck in bed like this, okay?"
A slight, fleeting smile appeared on his lips. Without making unnecessary jokes or dwelling on mockery, Oscar walked calmly to the edge of the bed.
He raised one knee onto the mattress to have a firm footing.
"Okay, don't try to use your abdominal muscles. Let me do the work of leverage," he said, his voice conveying an automatic sense of reassurance.
First, with extreme patience, he placed his hands under your legs and hips, helping you gently turn to your side. Then, he positioned one hand flat on your back, supporting your spine, while the other hand firmly enveloped yours.
"When I count to three, you put your elbow down and I lift your torso. No rush. One... two... three." With a rhythmic, clean, and perfectly calculated movement, he managed to get you into a seated position, bringing your legs off the bed.
Before you could even try to put your feet on the ground and feel dizzy, Oscar's hands gripped both sides of your waist, keeping you firmly in place.
"Breathe. Slowly."
You released the breath you hadn't even realized you were holding, feeling immediate relief in your lower back.
"Thank you... I feel ridiculous."
Oscar ran his thumb gently over his hand, his gaze focused and incredibly calm.
"Don't be absurd. You're carrying a huge baby and your abdominal muscles are under ridiculous stress. I think you have every right to need help moving around."
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently and lingeringly, as if solving that small technical problem was the most natural thing in the world for him.
────────── ✦ ──────────
Lewis Hamilton
● He would immediately notice that you were exhausted before you even had a chance to say a word.
● He would never make a joke before being absolutely sure that you are physically well and comfortable.
● He would help you with an almost reverent gentleness, respecting your body's rhythm without any rush.
● "You don't have to do everything alone, my love. Let me take care of you."
● He would make a point of reminding you daily that your body is working tirelessly to create a human life and that rest is a duty.
● After helping you get up, he would probably make a cup of tea, bring you some ice water, a snack, and cover your legs on the sofa.
⁺˚⋆｡ ° ✦ ｡⋆˚⁺ Scenario
The pregnancy was proving significantly more difficult than either of you had initially imagined. The doctors assured you that everything was perfect and healthy, but the baby was large. Far too large for your physical stature, draining every ounce of your energy every hour of the day.
That particular afternoon, the weight of your belly felt like an impossible burden to bear. You entered the room slowly, almost dragging your feet across the wooden floor.
She carelessly dropped her phone on the nightstand. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second.
And he simply threw himself onto the mattress, surrendering his entire body to exhaustion.
In that first minute, it seemed like the best decision of the day. Until the need to change position arose and you realized that the soft mattress had swallowed up all your support. After several failed attempts to roll over, feeling the pain in your groin stabbing, you gave up and called out softly:
"Lewis..."
The bedroom door was already half open. He appeared almost in the same second, as if he had been waiting for his signal. A single glance was enough for him to read the whole scene: his tired expression, his hand covering his eyes, and his completely frozen position in the middle of the bed.
Lewis walked to the bed without laughing. Without making a single ironic comment. His gaze overflowed with pure empathy. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his weight causing the fabric to sink a little more, and gently reached for her hand, covering it with his own, warm and protective.
"Are you uncomfortable, my love?" his voice came low, soft, in an almost comforting, lullaby tone.
You nodded, your eyes slightly watery with frustration at not being able to do something so simple.
"I just wanted to lie down for a bit... I thought I could get up on my own afterwards."
Lewis smiled with immense tenderness. He brought his free hand to her belly and began to caress it, drawing slow circles over the fabric, feeling the warmth of both of their bodies.
"Don't put so much pressure on yourself," he whispered, looking at her belly and then up to her eyes. "You two are working very hard, all the time. It's normal for your body to need a break."
He moved closer, making sure you didn't have to exert any force.
"You don't need to strain yourself. I'm here for that."
With extremely slow and careful movements, Lewis placed one arm under your shoulders and the other supporting your legs, helping you to gently turn onto your side. He was in no hurry at all. He waited for you to settle into position before placing his hand firmly on your back.
"Breathe with me. Take your time."
You followed the rhythm of his deep breathing, feeling the tension gradually leave your shoulders. When he finally helped you sit on the edge, keeping his body close to yours for support, you let out a long sigh of relief.
Lewis wrapped his arms around her, gently pulling her body against his and nestling her head under his chin.
"There. We did it." He kissed her forehead lingeringly, holding his lips there for several seconds. "You're doing an incredible job carrying this baby. The least I can do is support you when your body needs a break."
And before you could even protest or try to get up to go to the kitchen, Lewis was already standing up, adjusting the pillows behind you to make you comfortable.
"Now you're going to continue relaxing here or on the sofa while I go get a glass of ice-cold water. Then, the three of us will see what this belly wants to eat."
You smiled, the tiredness seeming a little lighter, knowing perfectly well that the last part had been said with his hand resting once more on your baby.
────────── ✦ ──────────
Charles Leclerc
● He would panic for approximately two seconds before realizing you were perfectly fine, his eyes wide and his voice rising an octave.
● He would keep repeating "mon amour" nonstop and asking if you were feeling any pain, with his hands in the air, not knowing exactly where to put them first.
● He would find the situation incredibly adorable and funny... but he would only allow himself the luxury of laughing after making sure you weren't hurt or uncomfortable.
● "You and that baby are clearly plotting against me to give me a heart attack before race weekend, aren't you?"
● He would kiss and talk to your belly even before reaching out to help you get up.
● After the incident, he would make a point of lying down with you whenever you went to rest, just to make sure you wouldn't get stuck again, and to have an excuse to get an extra nap.
⁺˚⋆｡ ° ✦ ｡⋆˚⁺ Scenario
The pregnancy seemed to have picked up speed in recent weeks. At just seven months, her belly was already drawing attention wherever she went, beautiful and prominent, but taking a heavy toll on her lower back. Even the simplest tasks, like tying her shoes or climbing two flights of stairs, required twice the effort of her breath.
On that sweltering afternoon in Monaco, all you wanted was to switch off your mind and relax for a few moments.
You entered the room. You dropped your phone on the dresser and simply threw yourself onto your back, right in the center of the soft bed.
It was absolutely wonderful for the first three minutes... until your bladder protested and you decided it was time to get up.
You tried to turn to your side. Your belly felt like it weighed a ton. You tried to support yourself on your elbows on the spring mattress. Your hands just sank in without providing any support. You strained with your legs.
Nothing. Not even a millimeter.
You let out a deep sigh of defeat, staring at the ceiling beams.
"Charles..."
He appeared at the door almost immediately, as if he were a step away.
"Yes, my love?" His voice was soft, but his gaze changed the second he saw you completely paralyzed, arms stretched out beside your body in the middle of the mattress. He frowned, taking two quick steps inside. "What happened? Where does it hurt?"
You let out a somewhat awkward laugh, your face flushing.
"I think I'm stuck."
For a catastrophic two-second instant, his green eyes widened, his expression filled with pure, genuine panic.
"What do you mean, 'arrested'?! Are you hurt?! Does your stomach hurt?!"
"No, Charles! I'm fine!" you hurried to reply, noticing his breathing become uneven. "It's just... the mattress is too deep and I don't have the angle to roll over."
Once the information was processed, the weight on his shoulders vanished. Charles exhaled sharply in a small, disbelieving laugh, covering his face with his hands.
"Mon Dieu..." he murmured, his French accent becoming more pronounced. "You really managed to get stuck on your back."
Charles walked over to you and knelt directly on the wooden floor beside the bed. But before anything else, he brought both warm hands to your belly, caressing the curve through the fabric. He tilted his head and pressed his lips there for a long moment.
"Hello, my little love..." he whispered to her skin. "You're giving Mommy a lot of trouble today, aren't you? Let Daddy handle it."
He looked up at you, his eyes shining with a tenderness that warmed your heart.
"Let's take it slow, okay? No rush."
With one hand firmly supporting the curve of your back to brace your spine and the other holding your hand tightly, he helped you gently rub your back to the side. Then, using his own body weight for support, he carefully pulled you up until you were sitting on the edge.
Once you managed to stabilize your torso, Charles climbed onto the mattress and wrapped both arms around you, pulling you onto his lap.
"There," he murmured, pressing a long, warm kiss to her forehead. "You've been carrying our baby all day, mon chérie... let me carry you a little too."
You chuckled softly, your frustration fading as you buried your face in his neck, inhaling his subtle scent. Charles simply smiled, resting his cheek against your head, completely satisfied to see you safe and comfortable again.
────────── ✦ ──────────
Max Verstappen
● He would pretend not to be at all worried or impressed by the scene, trying to maintain a tough-guy pose.
● But he would immediately jump up from his chair, dropping whatever he was doing to come to you in the blink of an eye.
● He would complain in a grumbling tone while solving the problem, just to disguise how apprehensive he gets when you're in a tight spot.
● "Why do you insist on doing these things? You know you no longer have the center of gravity for it."
● Despite the direct and straightforward conversation, his hands would be incredibly careful, firm, and protective when touching your body.
● He would spend the rest of the day and night discreetly asking if your back hurt or if you needed anything, without openly admitting that I was monitoring you.
⁺˚⋆｡ ° ✦ ｡⋆˚⁺ Scenario
You were so exhausted that you didn't even realize the severity of your fatigue until your legs practically gave way beside the bed. The entire day spent keeping up with the hectic routine and the weight of seven months of pregnancy had drained you of your last reserve of energy. You entered the room. You took a deep breath. And simply relaxed, letting your body fall back onto the soft quilt.
It was wonderful for ten seconds. But when you tried to turn over to nestle your head on the pillow, your body didn't respond.
You pushed once. You tried using your elbow. The pain in your lower back tightened. You pushed again, letting out a frustrated sound.
Nothing.
"Max..."
He answered from the desk in the corner of the room, where he was focused on the computer screen with his headphones hanging around his neck.
"Hm?" he murmured, without taking his eyes off the monitor.
"I think I'm stuck."
Silence reigned in the room for three full seconds. Only the sound of the computer cooler running could be heard.
Then the chair spun around. Max stood up immediately. He walked to the edge of the bed, stopped with his hands in his trouser pockets, and stared at you.
He looked at his bored face. He looked at his giant belly pointing towards the ceiling. He took a deep breath through his nose, shaking his head slowly.
"You did it all by yourself," he said, in a completely neutral tone.
"Yes..."
"...He simply threw himself in without thinking about how he was going to get out of there afterwards."
You just gave a small, sideways smile, without any further argument. Max clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.
"Unbelievable. You're being completely reckless."
Despite his scolding tone and harsh words, he didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. He immediately sat on the edge of the mattress. His large, warm hand went straight to her stomach, resting there with extreme, almost instinctive care.
"Hey, little one... help your mother a little, because she doesn't think much before she acts," he grumbled to her belly, his voice low and strangely soft.
Then he looked at you with that direct, blue gaze.
"Don't strain yourself. Let me pull. If you try to use your abs, you'll have back pain afterward."
With slow movements and an absurdly controlled force, he held your waist and your hand, bringing your torso up without you having to make the slightest effort. In two seconds, you were already sitting with your feet touching the ground.
Once you were steady, Max kept one hand flat on the middle of your back for a few long seconds. Just checking your balance. Just making sure you weren't going to fall backward.
"Better?" he asked, his voice gruff, masking the fact that he was checking.
You nodded, smiling, and he leaned in quickly and gave you a dry, but affectionate kiss on the forehead.
"Excellent."
He made to turn around and go back to the computer, taking two steps away from the bed. But he stopped. He hesitated for a second, turned around, moved closer again, and wrapped his arms around her waist in a short, tight hug, burying his face in her shoulder for a moment.
"Don't do that again, okay? Call me next time," he murmured against her skin.
You smiled, returning the hug tightly, because you knew Max well enough to know that that grumble and that sudden hug said much more than a thousand sweet words.
────────── ✦ ──────────
Carlos Sainz
● The first reaction would be to make a witty and sarcastic comment about your terrible choices for navigating the house.
● But the real concern and protective instinct would appear in the next millisecond.
● He would always try to make you laugh and relax to alleviate any feelings of frustration or helplessness that your big belly might be causing you.
● "You knew perfectly well that gravity would win this battle... and yet you decided to test it. Very mature."
● He would never make you feel ashamed, guilty, or 'burdened' for needing his help.
● After solving the problem, he would begin to analyze the room and suggest layout and pillow changes, just like an engineer analyzing car telemetry.
⁺˚⋆｡ ° ✦ ｡⋆˚⁺ Scenario
It had been a long day. Long and exhausting. The fluid retention made her legs feel heavy, and the baby seemed to decide to use her ribcage as a punching bag every half hour.
You entered the room completely drained of energy and, before your mind could even calculate the logical consequences of the action, you let your body weight fall onto the king-size mattress.
Right in the middle of the bed. Lying on his back. The first three minutes were a blessed relief for the soles of his feet. But the need to get a glass of water arrived, and with it, the harsh reality.
You tried to lift your torso. Your abdomen simply no longer existed to perform that function.
He tried to use his knee for leverage. His stomach acted as an anchor. He tried again, letting out an indignant grunt.
Nothing.
You took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling.
"Carlos..."
His voice came from the hallway, in a relaxed tone:
"I'm coming, my love! I'm just putting things away in the kitchen."
As soon as he stepped through the bedroom door, he stopped in his tracks. He didn't approach immediately; he simply crossed his arms over his chest and watched the scene for a few seconds, a raised eyebrow and a provocative smile spreading across his lips.
You looked at him. He looked at you and then at the gigantic empty mattress space surrounding your body.
And he looked back at her sullen face.
"That was a strategically catastrophic decision, you know that, don't you?" he said, with that slow, deliberate Spanish accent.
You grimaced, pointing your finger at him.
"Don't even start, Carlos Sainz."
He let out a low laugh, walking slowly to the edge of the bed.
"No, seriously. You literally chose the only geometric point on the bed where you can't even put your feet on the floor or reach the headboard. It's brilliant."
You sighed, burying your head in the pillow.
"Are you going to stand there analyzing the data from my fall, or are you going to get me out of here?"
"Both, for sure," he replied, without losing his smile.
Carlos knelt on the mattress beside her. The mockery vanished from his face, replaced by a thoughtful and focused expression. He gently took her hand, intertwining their fingers.
"Let's turn around first. Don't try to stand up all at once."
Calmly and precisely, he placed his open hand on your hip, helping your body to gently turn onto its side. When you finally managed to sit on the edge of the bed, you let out a long sigh of relief that seemed to have been trapped in your chest for hours. Carlos approached, kneeling on the floor between your legs, and ran his large hand along the curve of your belly, feeling the baby move inside.
"There. See? We survived," he whispered, looking her straight in the eyes before adopting a more serious and comforting tone. "Hey... don't get angry, okay? You're doing an amazing job carrying this boy. Asking for help doesn't mean you're any less strong."
He smiled, giving her a tender kiss on the chin.
"But next time... for God's sake, try to land a little closer to the edge. It makes your track engineer's job easier." You couldn't hold back and ended up laughing along with him.
────────── ✦ ──────────
George Russell
● He would enter "problem-solving mode" in the same second, maintaining an impeccable and extremely controlled posture.
● He would help you step by step, narrating exactly what you would do so that you would feel in control and not apprehensive at all.
● He would try to maintain an incredibly calm and gentle tone of voice to avoid frustrating or irritating you about your body's limitations.
● "No rush, my love. We'll solve this together in two simple steps."
● He would be genuinely impressed and respectful of how hard your body was working to carry such a large and healthy baby.
● After the incident, he would search on his iPad for anatomical positions, nursing pillows, and buy a complete support kit without even telling you beforehand.
⁺˚⋆｡ ° ✦ ｡⋆˚⁺ Scenario
You were completely exhausted, at the limit of your physical endurance. At seven months pregnant, your belly seemed to grow a different size each week, and on that particular day, even taking a deep breath seemed to require considerable effort.
Upon entering the room, the sight of the bed seemed like an oasis. You didn't think twice: you let your body go and fell.
In the center of the mattress. Without planning an exit.
Five minutes later, when the urge to move arose, you realized that the sagging of the mattress combined with the baby's weight had created a perfect trap. You tried to roll over. No luck.
"George..." he called, trying to keep his tone calm.
The bedroom door opened instantly. He entered with his usual upright posture, but his gaze softened immediately upon seeing his situation.
"Is everything alright, dear?"
You gave a weak little laugh, covering your eyes with your hand.
"I don't think... I can't get up. I'm stuck."
George looked at the scene for a second and let out a low, elegant, restrained laugh. It wasn't out of malice; it was simply because you had managed to position yourself perfectly in the exact center of the king-size bed, completely out of reach of any support.
George moved closer quickly, placing one knee on the bed and holding her hand firmly yet gently.
"It's alright, don't worry," he said. His voice was a balm of tranquility. "We'll resolve this now. No rush." He positioned himself strategically.
"Let's do this step by step. First, we'll turn your hips. That's it. Now, put some of your weight on my shoulder. You can lean on it, I'll hold you."
You did exactly as his serene voice instructed. A few seconds later, with perfect support and without any jolts, you were finally sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing in the fresh air.
George smiled proudly, as if they had just achieved a flawless podium finish.
"See? Perfect."
He knelt in front of her and gently ran his hand over her belly, feeling the warmth and the baby's little kicks.
"You two are doing incredibly well. Your body is doing an extraordinary job."
He cupped her face in his hands, leaning in to give her a long, tender kiss on the forehead.
"There's no reward for trying to do everything alone, my love. When you feel you need someone to lean on, call me."
He stood up, straightened his shirt, and looked at the bed once more, now with the reflective gaze of someone planning something.
"We definitely need to optimize this. I think it's time to order some more ergonomic pillows. And maybe... a structured plan to prevent you from getting stuck again."
You chuckled softly, knowing perfectly well that the next day, delivery people would be knocking on your door with a mountain of pregnancy support pillows because George Russell simply couldn't leave a problem without a 100% effective solution.
𖣘 note: I missed updating here, I'll try to get back into it little by little, I'm a bit (very) rusty.
Words: 368
Summary: Fernando has had an eye for her since last season but now he wants her more.
Note(s)/Warning(s): Takes place during the 2025 Miami Race Weekend, Reader is Liam Lawson’s older sister. Happy birthday Fernando!
Masterlist | Support Me!
Fernando, for not the first time, eyes the woman in the paddock, a Red Bull junior team pass around her neck.
He first remembered seeing her in the Red Bull junior team garage, on Lawson's side, after the Austin sprint race. He had been glaring, hoping that Lawson would make eye contact with him, maybe get a little spooked, but his eyes had wandered to what visitors they had and when they landed on her, the glare had instantly faded, and he's sure if he had been twenty years younger, his jaw would've dropped.
She was captivating.
He practically lived off the glances of her he'd see during the following race weekends and cursed himself more than once for not approaching her or sending an Aston Martin team member to get her name once the season ended. He didn't even know her name. Fernando had stupidly admitted that to Mark and then been forced to watch and listen as the older man practically fell out of his seat with laughter, tears streaming down his face as he called Fernando a school boy.
Now, though he has her name. Had gotten it on the first race weekend, purposely bumping into her lightly and then apologizing and offering to buy her another drink as hers had a spilled a little. He had only wanted her name from the meaning and to leave an impression of him being nice instead of the demon, a good portion of the paddock liked to claim he was. But he hadn't been able to help himself as they walked to get her another drink.
Charm came easy to him, especially with someone so beautiful, and Fernando was fueled by the way she moved a bit closer, leaned towards him. Being so close to her had been intoxicating and it was truly a miracle he had mostly kept his distance since.
He really doesn't want to keep his distance now. Not after learning her last name, learning that she's Lawson's older sister. The sister of the boy who had made him go into a wall yesterday during a sprint race of all things. His plan for courting, seducing, and maybe marrying her, were far sweeter now.
Hii I love all of your fics so much! I was wondering if you could write a fic a bit of an angsty one - something along the the lines of max perhaps being sort of neglectful towards his wife and family in general (too much time with everything else racing wise). Wife has someone pay more attention towards her and kid (no cheating tho) and max kinda wakes up and realises what he could potentially lose
Take For Granted
Max Verstappen x Wife!reader
Synopsis: Max gets lost in racing until you’re left doing everything alone. When he finally sees how distant he’s become, he chooses to show up, rebuild, and make your family feel whole again.
You’re sitting on the living‑room floor with your daughter, her tiny hands patting at the wooden blocks you’ve stacked for her. She knocks them over again, giggling, and you smile because she deserves to see you smile. Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re lonely in a way that feels embarrassing to admit.
Max should be home by now.
He said he’d be home by seven. It’s half past nine.
You don’t check your phone. You don’t need to. You already know the message waiting for you will be something like sorry, got caught up at the factory or meeting ran late or I’ll be home soon - except soon never means soon anymore.
Your daughter crawls into your lap, warm and soft and smelling faintly of the baby lotion you put on her after her bath. You kiss the top of her head and hold her close, letting her weight anchor you.
You don’t cry. You’re past crying.
You just sit there, in the quiet, and wait.
—
— Max
Max doesn’t realise he’s sprinting until he’s already halfway down the corridor of the factory, keys in hand, bag slung over his shoulder. He’s late. Again. And he hates it. He hates the way his stomach twists when he thinks about you sitting at home, waiting for him. He hates the way he’s become the man he swore he’d never be - the man who lets racing swallow everything else.
He loves racing. He loves you more.
But lately, he hasn’t been acting like it.
He gets into the car, starts the engine, and exhales sharply. He should’ve left hours ago. He should’ve been home for dinner. He should’ve been the one giving your daughter her bath, reading her a story, tucking her in.
He should’ve been there.
He drives faster than he should, guilt clawing at him with every passing streetlight.
—
— you
You’re in the kitchen now, rinsing bottles, wiping counters, doing the small repetitive tasks that keep your hands busy and your mind from spiralling. Your daughter is asleep upstairs. The house is still quiet.
You hear a knock on the doorframe.
“Hey.”
You turn.
It’s Daniel.
He’s leaning against the doorway, jacket half‑zipped, hair messy from the wind. He gives you a soft smile - the kind people give when they’re worried but trying not to show it.
“Thought I’d drop off the stuff you asked for,” he says, lifting a small bag of groceries. “Didn’t want you running out of milk again.”
You smile back, grateful. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he says gently. “But I wanted to.”
Daniel has been around more lately. Not in a weird way. Not in a threatening way. Just… present. He checks in. He helps carry things. He plays with your daughter when he visits. He listens when you talk.
He notices you.
Not romantically. Not in a way that crosses any lines. Just in a way that feels like someone finally sees you again.
He sets the groceries down and leans on the counter. “You okay?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
He gives you a look - the kind that says he doesn’t believe you but won’t push.
“Max still at the factory?”
“Probably.”
Daniel hesitates. “You know… you’re doing an amazing job. With her. With everything.”
Your throat tightens. “Thanks.”
He squeezes your shoulder - warm, reassuring - and then steps back. “I’ll get out of your hair. Call me if you need anything.”
You nod again, and he leaves.
The house is quiet.
You stand there for a moment, staring at the groceries, wondering when you started needing someone else to fill the gaps Max left behind.
—
— Max
He sees Daniel’s car pulling away as he turns onto the street.
His stomach drops.
He parks quickly, gets out, and walks toward the house, heart pounding. He knows Daniel. He likes Daniel. He trusts Daniel. But seeing him here - at your home, at night, when Max should’ve been the one inside - makes something sharp twist in his chest.
He opens the door quietly.
You’re in the kitchen, back turned, wiping the counter again even though it’s already clean.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You freeze for a second before turning around. “Hi.”
He steps closer. “I saw Daniel leaving.”
“Yeah. He dropped off some groceries.”
Max nods, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease. “Right.”
You don’t elaborate. He doesn’t ask. The silence stretches.
He hates it.
He hates how unfamiliar it feels - this distance between you, this carefulness, this quiet.
He steps closer again. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
You nod. “Okay.”
“I should’ve been home earlier.”
“Yeah.”
He swallows. “I’m trying.”
You look at him then - really look - and he feels the weight of everything he’s missed. The exhaustion in your eyes. The loneliness. The resignation.
He reaches for your hand.
You let him take it, but your fingers don’t curl around his.
It breaks him a little.
—
The next few days are the same.
Max leaves early. Comes home late. You handle everything - the meals, the naps, the tantrums, the laundry, the endless cycle of domestic tasks that never seem to end. You don’t complain. You don’t ask for help. You don’t ask Max to stay home or slow down or choose you.
You just… stop expecting him to.
Daniel stops by twice. Once to drop off a toy he found that he thought your daughter would like. Once to bring you coffee because he was “in the neighbourhood.”
Max notices.
He notices everything.
He notices how your daughter lights up when Daniel walks in. He notices how you laugh more when Daniel’s around. He notices how Daniel kneels on the floor to play with her, how he listens to you talk about your day, how he fills the space Max keeps leaving empty.
He notices how he’s losing you.
Not to Daniel. But to the quiet.
To the loneliness.
To the absence he’s created.
—
It happens on a Thursday.
Max comes home late again - nearly ten - and finds you sitting on the couch, staring at the baby monitor. Your daughter is asleep, but you’re still watching the screen like you’re afraid she’ll disappear if you look away.
He sits beside you.
You don’t move.
“Talk to me,” he says quietly.
You swallow. “About what?”
“About us.”
You keep your eyes on the monitor. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There is,” he insists. “There’s a lot.”
You exhale slowly. “Max… I don’t want to fight.”
“I’m not trying to fight.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
He hesitates. “Fix it.”
You finally turn to him, eyes tired. “You can’t fix something you’re never here to see.”
The words hit him like a punch.
He opens his mouth, closes it, tries again. “I know I’ve been gone a lot. I know I’ve been… distracted.”
“Neglectful,” you say softly.
He flinches.
You don’t say it cruelly. You say it like a fact.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he whispers.
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“I love her.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t feel it,” he says, voice cracking.
You look down at your hands. “I feel alone.”
He feels something inside him fracture.
You continue, voice quiet. “I feel like I’m raising her by myself. I feel like I’m living by myself. I feel like I’m married to someone who’s never home. And when he is home, he’s exhausted or distracted or thinking about the next race or the next meeting or the next thing he has to do.”
He swallows hard. “I didn’t realise it was this bad.”
“That’s the problem,” you whisper. “You didn’t notice.”
He closes his eyes.
You don’t cry. You don’t yell. You don’t accuse. You just sit there, calm and quiet, telling him the truth he’s been too busy to see.
He reaches for your hand again.
This time, you pull away.
And that’s when he breaks.
—
The next morning, Max doesn’t go to the factory.
He doesn’t go to the simulator.
He doesn’t go to meetings.
He stays home.
He wakes up early, makes breakfast, feeds your daughter, changes her, plays with her, lets her crawl all over him while he lies on the floor laughing.
You watch from the doorway, arms crossed, unsure whether to trust this sudden shift.
He sees you.
He gets up, walks over, and cups your face gently.
“I’m here,” he says softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You nod, but you don’t melt. Not yet.
He doesn’t expect you to.
He spends the entire day with you both - taking your daughter to the park, pushing her on the swing, carrying her on his shoulders, letting her tug at his hair. He holds your hand when you walk. He kisses your temple. He listens when you talk.
He’s present.
Really present.
And for the first time in weeks, the quiet feels warm again.
—
It’s not perfect overnight.
There are moments when you still feel unsure. Moments when Max still feels guilty. Moments when the distance between you feels like something you’re both learning to cross again.
But he tries.
He tries so hard.
He starts coming home earlier. He starts saying no to unnecessary meetings. He starts carving out time - real time - for you and your daughter. He starts noticing things again — the way you hum when you cook, the way your daughter scrunches her nose when she laughs, the way the house feels different when he’s actually part of it.
He starts being the man you married.
One night, after dinner, you’re sitting on the couch with your daughter asleep upstairs. Max sits beside you, close enough that your knees touch.
He takes a breath. “I was scared.”
You look at him. “Of what?”
“Of losing you,” he says quietly. “Not because of someone else. But because of me.”
Your chest tightens.
He continues, voice soft. “I got so caught up in racing that I forgot racing isn’t my whole life. You are. She is. And I don’t ever want to make you feel alone again.”
You swallow. “I don’t want to feel alone again.”
He reaches for your hand.
This time, you let him take it.
Your fingers curl around his.
He exhales shakily, relief washing over him.
“I love you,” he whispers.
You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you too.”
He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip.
You don’t slip away.
You stay.
—
Weeks later, the house feels different.
Lighter.
Warmer.
Alive.
Max is in the living room, lying on the floor with your daughter sprawled across his chest, babbling happily as she pats his cheeks. He laughs - a soft, warm sound - and kisses her forehead.
You watch from the doorway, heart full.
He sees you and smiles, reaching out a hand.
“Come here.”
You walk over and lie beside him, your head on his shoulder, your hand resting on his chest. Your daughter reaches for your face, giggling, and you kiss her tiny fingers.
Max looks at you - really looks - and his eyes soften.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.
You smile. “Good.”
He kisses you - slow, gentle, full of everything he hasn’t said and everything he’s learning to say now. Your daughter squeals between you, and you both laugh, pressing your foreheads together.
The quiet in the house is no longer heavy.
It’s peaceful.
It’s home.
And Max holds you both like he finally understands what he almost lost - and what he’ll never take for granted again.
Hey !!!! I love your stories. Could you please write about a rookie reader but in times of like hamilton or seb or maybe around the mark webber time ? And how she is their grid kid and then Max and Carlos and charles are her grid kids. Thank you so much
"the grid's kid… until she accidentally became the grid's mom."
Pairing: Platonic!F1 Grid × formerRookie!Reader
Genre: Found Family • Humor • Fluff • Slice of Life • "Everyone accidentally adopted each other"
Warnings: Feelings. Lots of paddock chaos. Mild language. Drivers forgetting they aren't actually related.
A/N: really sorry i haven't posted in a while, 've kinda been caught up handling my bio class
There are rookies.
There are young rookies.
And then...
...there was Y/N.
Nobody remembered when the nickname started.
Some claimed it was Mark.
Lewis insisted it was Jenson.
Fernando swore it had been Sebastian.
Kimi claimed he never gave anyone nicknames.
Nobody believed Kimi.
What everyone did remember was the first day the seventeen-year-old rookie wandered into the paddock looking completely overwhelmed.
Helmet in one hand.
Backpack slung over one shoulder.
Hair still damp because she'd apparently overslept.
She stopped in the middle of the paddock, looked at all the motorhomes, then quietly muttered to herself,
"...they all look the same."
She immediately walked into the wrong hospitality unit.
Ferrari.
She didn't drive for Ferrari.
Five minutes later she emerged with a croissant.
"...wrong building."
"How did you leave with food?"
"They were really nice."
She became the unofficial little sister before she'd even driven a race.
Not because she was the youngest.
Because she had the uncanny ability to make every veteran simultaneously sigh and smile.
She'd forget where she'd left her gloves.
Someone would find them.
She'd leave her water bottle on top of a pit wall.
Someone would return it.
She'd wander into another team's garage because she was following the smell of coffee.
Someone would gently point her back toward her own.
It became routine.
Mark Webber caught her staring at a setup sheet upside down.
"You know that's upside down, right?"
"..."
"...I was testing you."
"Mhm."
"You passed."
Lewis found her asleep on a stack of spare tires between practice sessions.
Not hiding.
Actually asleep.
Her helmet had somehow become a pillow.
Lewis stood there for a second.
"...comfortable?"
She opened one eye.
"It was until you woke me up."
Sebastian quickly discovered that Y/N collected random things.
Bottle caps.
Old paddock passes.
Interesting rocks from different circuits.
Broken wheel nuts.
Tiny flags.
One particularly shiny bolt.
"Why?"
"They're neat."
"You know..."
He smiled.
"I used to collect things too."
That was how Sebastian accidentally became the person everyone expected to solve her problems.
Couldn't find her passport?
"Ask Seb."
Need help carrying luggage?
"Seb."
Someone stole her fries?
"...actually, that's probably Fernando."
Fernando denied everything.
He absolutely had stolen one fry.
Only one.
Jenson once walked into the driver's briefing to discover Y/N trying to braid Mark hair.
Mark had simply accepted his fate.
"She said it'd make me faster."
"It won't."
"We don't know that."
Even the mechanics adored her.
Mostly because she'd spend hours sitting beside them asking questions.
"What does that do?"
"This?"
"No, that."
"What about this?"
"Why?"
"Can I hold it?"
"No."
"...okay."
Five seconds later.
"...can I hold it now?"
The engineers quickly learned that if Y/N went suspiciously quiet...
...she was definitely doing something.
One afternoon an entire garage went into panic mode because nobody could find the rookie.
They searched everywhere.
Garage.
Hospitality.
Medical center.
Media pen.
Nothing.
Eventually someone looked underneath the strategy table.
There she was.
Curled up with a notebook.
Writing.
"What are you doing?"
"I had an idea."
"For the car?"
"...no."
"What then?"
"A dinosaur comic."
"..."
"...fair enough."
Years passed.
Not all at once.
Little moments.
Tiny traditions.
The kind that quietly become memories.
Lewis always saved her a seat during driver's parade.
Sebastian always remembered her birthday.
Mark still stole half her fries.
Fernando still denied stealing them.
Jenson still called her "kid."
Even after she'd started beating some of them on Sundays.
Especially then.
When retirement announcements started happening...
...the paddock felt different.
Mark left first.
The farewell hugs lasted forever.
"You'll be alright."
"You sound like I'm twelve."
"You'll always be twelve."
Then more changes came.
New faces.
New helmets.
New rookies.
The paddock kept moving.
It always did.
The first one she really noticed was Max.
Young.
Ridiculously quick.
Trying very hard to look intimidating.
He wandered into the paddock with that familiar expression she'd worn years earlier.
Everything is huge.
Everyone knows everyone.
Please don't let me embarrass myself.
Y/N smiled.
"...hey."
He looked up.
"Oh—hi."
"Nervous?"
"No."
"..."
"...yes."
She laughed.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"Breakfast."
"I already ate."
"Second breakfast."
That became tradition.
Carlos arrived.
Then Pierre.
Then Alex.
Then Charles.
One by one.
The next generation.
She never meant to become the responsible one.
It just...
...happened.
Charles once spent twenty minutes looking for his phone.
Y/N silently reached into his backpack.
Handed it over.
"You knew?"
"You've done this six times."
Carlos forgot his accreditation.
Twice.
She kept spare lanyards in her bag.
"For emergencies."
"I'm the emergency, aren't I?"
"...yes."
Alex texted her from the wrong hotel.
"I'm lost."
"How are you lost?"
"I took the wrong shuttle."
"...stay where you are."
Pierre showed up to media day with mismatched shoes.
Nobody noticed.
Except Y/N.
She quietly handed him the matching one she'd rescued from the hospitality lounge earlier that morning.
"...how?"
"I know you."
Then came George.
Organized.
Prepared.
Checklist for everything.
He'd arrive with folders.
Spreadsheets.
Color-coded notes.
Y/N looked at him once.
"You're carrying too much."
"I have backups."
"You have backups for your backups."
"...yes."
She grinned.
"You'll fit right in."
Lando was different.
He had endless energy.
She had endless patience.
Mostly.
He'd burst into her driver's room.
"Come look at this meme."
"I'm in a debrief."
"It'll take two seconds."
"It never takes two seconds."
"..."
"It took six."
Oscar joined later.
Quiet.
Observant.
The first week he simply watched.
By the second week he asked,
"...why does everyone ask you where things are?"
She blinked.
"...I don't know."
Lewis walked by.
"Y/N?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you seen my sunglasses?"
She pointed toward his race bag without looking up.
"They're in the front pocket."
Lewis checked.
"...how did you know?"
"I packed your autograph cards yesterday."
Oscar just stared.
"Oh."
"I think..."
"...you're the paddock's older sister."
The realization spread.
Slowly.
Then all at once.
Lewis still called her "kid."
Sebastian still texted to ask if she was eating enough.
Mark still sent photos from cycling trips.
But now...
Max was asking if she'd seen his charger.
Charles wanted advice before difficult interviews.
Carlos called to vent after rough weekends.
George asked her to proofread charity speeches.
Lando appeared whenever he needed someone to laugh with.
The grid's kid had quietly become the person everyone leaned on.
Not because she was the oldest.
Not because she had the most championships.
But because someone had once done the same for her.
One generation had taught her that Formula 1 wasn't just about racing.
It was about looking after the people beside you.
So she passed it on.
The way Lewis had.
The way Seb had.
The way Mark had grumbled while handing her the last fry anyway.
And every now and then, when the newer drivers forgot their passes, misplaced their phones, or wandered into the wrong hospitality unit...
She'd smile.
Hand them what they were looking for.
And think to herself—
"Yeah... I get it now."
Because the paddock always had room for one more kid.
And if they were lucky...
One day that kid would grow up and take care of the next one
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Summary: After giving birth to a son, Max doesn't feel worthy of having you two in his life
Song: Latch · Disclosure
Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶
Word count: 1.3k
MASTERLIST - F1
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic, pale sunlight, and the intoxicating, impossible scent of newborn skin.
You were propped up against a stack of crisp white pillows, every muscle in your body aching with a heavy, profound exhaustion. But the pain was entirely eclipsed by the tiny, swaddled bundle resting against your chest.
A little shock of dark hair, fists curled like miniature boxing gloves, and a soft, rhythmic heartbeat that felt like a continuation of your own.
The door clicked open.
Max stepped inside, bringing with him the faint chill of the Monaco evening air and the residual adrenaline of a life lived at three hundred kilometers per hour.
He was still wearing his team hoodie, his blond hair slightly damp from a post-flight shower, his eyes shadowed with the kind of bone-deep fatigue that no amount of sleep could cure.
He had caught the earliest private jet out of London the moment your water broke, missing the simulator session, missing the media debrief, missing everything that usually commanded his world.
When his blue eyes locked onto you—onto both of you—the breath visibly left his lungs.
"Hey," you whispered, your voice a cracked, tender thing. "Look who decided to join us."
Max didn’t answer right away. He stood frozen by the door, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if he didn't quite trust them not to shake.
He looked at the baby, then at you, and an expression crossed his sharp features that made your heart ache. It wasn’t just awe. It was terror.
And something worse: unworthiness.
"Max?" you murmured, tilting your head. "Come here. Come meet your son."
He swallowed hard, taking a slow, hesitant step forward, as though approaching a fragile glass sculpture that might shatter at the slightest disturbance.
"How… how are you feeling?" he asked, his voice rougher than usual. He didn't look at you; his gaze was magnetically drawn back to the baby's tiny face.
"I'm tired," you said honestly, offering a soft smile. "But we're okay. We're both okay. Do you want to hold him?"
Max’s throat worked as he swallowed again. He stepped up to the side of the hospital bed, but instead of reaching out, he kept his arms rigidly at his sides. H
e stared down at the infant with an intensity that bordered on painful, his jaw tight.
"I shouldn't," he muttered, shaking his head.
The words dropped into the quiet room like lead weights. You frowned, the soft glow of new motherhood dimming just a fraction. "What do you mean, you shouldn't? He's your son, Max."
"I know," Max breathed, turning away for a second, rubbing a large hand over the back of his neck. When he turned back, his eyes were shining with a desperate, trapped kind of panic. "I just… look at him. He’s pristine. He’s completely innocent. And look at me."
"Max, stop it," you said, your voice firming up despite your exhaustion.
"No, let me finish," he pleaded softly, resting his palms on the edge of the mattress, leaning down so he was at eye level with you, though he still refused to look at the baby.
"My hands are built for steering wheels, for fighting, for pushing things to the absolute limit. I live in a world of pure aggression, of selfishness. Every weekend I risk everything just to chase a trophy. How am I supposed to hold something like that?"
He gestured helplessly toward the bundle on your chest. "I’ll break him. I'll mess him up. I'm not… I'm not like you."
"Like me?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your tone.
"You carried him, you protected him, you gave him life," Max said, his voice cracking, the formidable three-time World Champion crumbling entirely under the weight of his own insecurities. "You are pure. You’ve always been too good for me, and now… now you've given me this incredible gift, and I just keep looking at myself and thinking: He deserves better. They both deserve better than me."
The raw honesty of it tore through your chest. You knew how Max's mind worked—it was a machine designed for relentless self-analysis, always finding the flaw, always hunting for the millisecond lost in a corner, always demanding perfection.
But applying that brutal telemetry to his own soul, to his own family? It was breaking him.
"Sit down," you instructed softly, shifting the baby gently against your arm.
"I don't think—"
"Max Verstappen, sit the hell down right now or I will kick you out of this room."
He blinked, startled by the sudden command, but he obeyed. He sank slowly into the armchair beside the bed, looking like a chastised schoolboy, his broad frame swallowed by the oversized seat.
"Give me your hands," you said.
He hesitated, then reached out, extending his large, calloused hands, palms up. You maneuvered the swaddled baby carefully, lifting him from your chest and transferring him directly into Max's waiting arms.
Max froze. He stopped breathing entirely. His arms locked rigid, his biceps straining as if he were holding a heavy boulder rather than a seven-pound infant.
"Support his head," you guided gently, your hand guiding his right palm into the correct cradle beneath the baby's neck. "There. Relax your shoulders, Max. He won't break."
Slowly, agonizingly, the tension in Max's shoulders began to bleed out, replaced by a profound, trembling awe as the baby stirred slightly against his chest, letting out a tiny, squeaking sigh and turning his face instinctively toward the warmth of his father's heartbeat.
Max stared down, and a tear—hot and completely unmasked—finally spilled over his lashes, tracking down his cheek.
"He has your nose," Max whispered, his voice trembling so violently you could barely catch the words. "God, he has your nose. He's… he's so small."
"He's ours," you corrected softly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of blond hair from Max's forehead. "Listen to me, Max. Look at me."
It took a moment, but Max finally dragged his gaze away from the baby, looking up at you with those haunted, beautiful blue eyes.
"You think you're not worthy of this because your life is loud and fast and aggressive," you said, your voice steady and laced with absolute conviction. "You think because you race cars, you're somehow disqualified from being a good, gentle man. But you don't know yourself, Max. You are the most fiercely loyal, protective, deeply loving person I have ever known."
"I'm selfish," he protested weakly. "I'm obsessed with winning."
"You are driven," you corrected. "And that drive is part of who you are. But it doesn't define your heart. Your heart belongs right here. Look at how you're holding him. Look at how he's already calming down just because he smells you."
Max looked back down. The baby had quieted completely, his tiny chest rising and falling in sync with Max's steadying breath.
One minuscule hand had slipped out of the blanket, a finger curling instinctively around the fabric of Max's hoodie.
Max let out a ragged, shuddering breath, the last defenses of his self-doubt finally shattering. He carefully adjusted his hold, drawing the baby closer to his chest, burying his face gently against the top of the infant's head.
He stayed like that for a long time, his shoulders shaking slightly as he wept silently, holding the two most important things in the world as if they were his anchor against a stormy sea.
"I was so scared," Max murmured into the quiet room, his voice thick with emotion. "When you were in labor, when I was on that plane… I realized that for the first time in my life, there is something in this world that I care about infinitely more than myself. And it terrified me. Because what if I fail you? What if I'm not enough?"
You reached out, resting your hand over his forearm, right above where his son lay sleeping.
"You don't have to be perfect, Max," you whispered, smiling through the emotional haze of your own tears. "You just have to be here. And you're already here."
Max turned his head slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles before leaning in to press another gentle, reverent kiss to the crown of his son's head.
"Always," he whispered, the haunting self-doubt finally replaced by a fierce, unshakable peace. "I'm not going anywhere."
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