Ok last poly request and then I'm going to sleep bc it may or may not be 4am here
Antonelli!reader who comes to see her brother race in canada and ends up catching the attention of kimi's divorced parents george + max
I loved this race's podium so I'd just enjoy anything related to it<3
grid dads? grid brother in laws. — gr63 + mv1
smau + written blurbs
george russell x !antonelli reader x max verstappen
what was supposed to be a quiet weekend supporting your little brother at his f1 race… quickly turned into something else entirely. you didn’t mean to catch anyone’s attention — let alone both of your brother’s very divorced (and very attractive) grid parents.
but now max verstappen keeps finding excuses to sit next to you, george russell won’t stop making you laugh, and kimi? he looks like he’s five seconds away from throwing himself into the st. lawrence river.
you’re not sure how this happened. you’re definitely not sure what to do about it. but one thing is clear: the boys are back together. and this time, you’re the one they can’t stop thinking about.
fc : ashton wood
(a/n): my baby<333 i loved this idea and i could not let myself rest until i wrote it. also working on one of your other requests as well!!!!! and i added more big sister moments with kimi bc everyone ate it up last time:)
—
ynantonelli
liked by kimi.antonelli, franciscagomes, maxverstappen1 and 875,000 others.
ynantonelli : montreal, you will forever have my heart. my baby brother got his first podium in f1 and i now have a 12 permanently inked into my skin😌 fratellino mio, sono così orgoglioso di te. ti ho visto dare tutto te stesso in questo sport, non c'è nessuno che lo meriti più di te. continua a essere straordinario e sappi che sarai sempre il mio più grande sostenitore <3
tagged : franciscagomes and kimi.antonelli
—
view 50,000 other comments.
kimi.antonelli : would not have been able to do it without you, mia sorella. ti amo più di ogni altra cosa❤️
liked by ynantonelli
↳ kimi.antonelli : still crying about the tattoo btw
liked by ynantonelli, olliebearman, lando and maxverstappen1
↳ ynantonelli : anything for you il mio fratellino❤️❤️
liked by kimi.antonelli
georgerussell63 : Your support means more to him than he’ll ever say. Truly one of a kind ❤️
liked by kimi.antonelli and ynantonelli
maxverstappen1 : He’s lucky to have you. We all are.
liked by kimi.antonelli and ynantonelli
↳ username00 : omg max and GEORGE in her comments????
charles_leclerc : Una sorella così è un regalo. Sei incredibile 🤍
liked by kimi.antonelli and ynantonelli
↳ kimi.antonelli : lei è la mia migliore amica🫶🏻
liked by ynantonelli and charles_leclerc
lando : waitttt is that tattoo real or are you just trying to make kimi cry again?
lilymhe : how do you manage to be THAT sister, THAT woman, and STILL the moment???
liked by ynantonelli
↳ ynantonelli : love you sm my angel 😭😭
liked by lilymhe
franciscagomes : simba and i missed you so much!!!💓💓 we need another date soon
liked by ynantonelli
↳ ynantonelli : yes yes yes!! missed my babies💋
liked by franciscagomes
username000 : THE 12 TATTOO STOP I’M SOBBINGGGG this family is too much for me
username55 : the way she was just supposed to come watch her brother and accidentally stole 2 grid dads
username75 : i love how she’s always been quiet about her life but when it comes to kimi she becomes a full-blown poet omg 😭😭
liked by ynantonelli
↳ ynantonelli : that’s my boy ❤️
liked by kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, lando and maxverstappen1
—
The Montreal sun is warm, the paddock louder and brighter than you remember — a blur of team uniforms, camera crews, and the faint whiff of tire rubber in the air.
You’re barely through the security gate before someone calls out—
“YN?”
You turn just in time to catch Kimi jogging over, race suit half-zipped, curls flattened from his helmet, and a grin stretching across his face like he hasn’t seen you in years — not just days ago on FaceTime.
He pulls you into a hug without thinking, arms tight around your shoulders, sweaty fireproofs and all. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he says, voice muffled in your hair.
You hug him back, smiling. “Would’ve ruined the surprise. What’s a big sister for?”
Kimi pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes a little glossy — not that he’d ever admit it. “You’re seriously here?”
“I’m seriously here,” you say. “All weekend. I came to watch you qualify, make fun of your interviews, and possibly cry if you land front row.”
He groans. “You always cry.”
“It’s called being emotionally available, Kimi.”
He rolls his eyes but grabs your wrist to tug you along behind him. “Come on. You have to meet the guys properly now. Before you get mobbed by photographers.”
“You mean your photographers,” you say, already laughing.
As you round the corner of the hospitality corridor, you spot them instantly.
Max Verstappen leans against a stack of Red Bull tires, arms crossed, watching the chaos like it owes him money. George Russell stands beside him, mid-conversation, gesturing with a water bottle, all boyish energy and perfectly styled hair.
They both look over the moment you appear.
And they don’t look away.
You feel it in the way George straightens slightly, brows raising, and in the way Max shifts his weight — subtle, curious. Assessing.
Kimi slows a bit, clearly considering turning around.
“Kimi,” you say sweetly, “do not bail on me.”
He sighs like you just asked him to walk into battle. “Fine. Just don’t flirt with either of them.”
“No promises.”
He stops abruptly in front of them, deadpan. “This is my sister. YN.”
Max gives a small nod, but his eyes are fixed on yours — unreadable but intense.
George, ever the charmer, offers his hand. “The infamous big sister,” he says. “We’ve heard things.”
You raise a brow as you shake it. “All good things, I hope?”
George grins. “Mostly that you’re scarier than Kimi when you’re mad.”
“I am,” you deadpan. “And taller.”
Kimi huffs beside you, clearly rethinking all of his life choices.
Max finally speaks. “You just flew out?”
“I flew out for Kimi,” you say, glancing at your brother.
George nudges Max. “Think she’ll bring luck?”
“I think she already has,” Max says quietly, gaze still locked on you.
Something about the way he says it makes your stomach flip — not quite flirtatious, but warm. Soft. Unexpected.
You glance away, suddenly shy.
George notices. “You sticking around after? Dinner, maybe?”
“Depends if you make it through to Q3,” you shoot back, grinning.
George clutches his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Savage. I like it.”
Kimi has had enough. “Okay, we’re leaving before you two start fighting over who gets to sit next to her at dinner.”
Max smiles, and it’s quick, fleeting, but real. “We’ll figure it out.”
As you walk away, Kimi mutters, “Them? Seriously? My grid dads?”
You just laugh. “Maybe I’ll help them get back together. A happy home for Kimi.”
—
The paddock is mayhem after qualifying — photographers yelling, team radios buzzing, people shouting split times and tire strategies while screens flicker with the final Q3 results.
But all you can hear is the squeal of your little sister, Maggie, clinging to your shoulders and bouncing with excitement as you carry her through the crowd.
“Kimi got P4! Kimi got P4!” she shrieks, gripping your neck like a koala. “Did you see? Did you see?!”
“I saw, Mags,” you say breathlessly, laughing as you weave through the chaos. “The whole continent saw. Now hold on tight — if I drop you in front of a Sky Sports camera, I’m never showing my face again.”
She giggles like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard, her cheeks pink from excitement. “Are we gonna see him? Are we gonna tell him he was amazing?”
You nod. “We’re going to find him and scream in his face like the supportive family we are.”
You adjust her higher up your hip and push through the knot of people around the garages, your heart still racing from the final minutes of qualifying. Kimi in P4. Max in P2. George on pole.
You’re not surprised by any of them — but it doesn’t make it any less exhilarating.
You finally break through the crowd just outside parc fermé, where teams are gathering and cars are cooling down. Kimi’s not here yet, but you catch a flash of a white race suit in your peripheral.
George.
He’s standing beside his car, helmet off, curls sticking to his forehead and a sweat-soaked grin stretching across his face like he’s trying not to explode with pride.
And then Max — still in his gloves, visor cracked, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s already planning the race.
Maggie spots them immediately and gasps. “Holy crap. That’s Max Verstappen. And George Russell.”
“Language, Mags,” you tease.
“Can we say hi?” she whispers.
You hesitate — but George turns at that exact moment, and the second he sees you, his smile softens. His eyes drop to the girl on your hip and back up to you, and then he’s already walking over.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Antonelli,” George says, still catching his breath, cheeks flushed with adrenaline and heat.
You raise a brow. “Me or the one clinging to me like a spider monkey?”
George leans forward, eyes twinkling. “Both, obviously.”
Maggie beams like she’s won the lottery. “You were so fast!”
George laughs. “Thank you, little one. Think I can keep it up tomorrow?”
She nods seriously. “Only if you eat pasta tonight. That’s what we do before Kimi races.”
You cover your mouth to hide your laugh as George turns to you, mock-impressed. “So that’s the secret.”
“Don’t go stealing family rituals now, Russell.”
He leans in just a little closer, voice dropping. “If it gets you to eat dinner with me, I might.”
You’re about to fire back when another shadow joins you, and Maggie stiffens slightly on your shoulder.
“Hi,” she whispers, eyes wide.
Max’s gaze flicks down to her, then up to you. “And who’s this?”
“Maggie,” she says in a tiny voice.
“She’s our baby sister,” you add, brushing her hair back gently. “And possibly your newest fan.”
“She has good taste,” Max says softly, and you feel it in your spine.
George coughs. “Hey. I’m the one on pole, remember?”
“You’re also the one flirting while she’s literally carrying a child,” Max replies, but his lips twitch.
You raise a brow at both of them. “Don’t act like you’re not just as bad.”
Max shrugs. “Didn’t say I wasn’t.”
Maggie, delightfully oblivious to the tension, reaches out and pokes Max’s shoulder. “You were really fast too.”
He gives her a rare, genuine smile — the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes. “Thank you, piccolina.”
She lights up at the nickname, burying her face in your neck.
You feel your heart twist a little at the softness of it all — the way George keeps glancing at your hand resting on Maggie’s leg, the way Max’s gaze lingers a little too long on your face.
“I should go find Kimi,” you say eventually, breath catching. “Before he accuses me of betraying the family.”
George smirks. “Tell him I said good luck beating me off the line.”
Max’s voice is low and close. “Tell him he drove like a beast.”
You nod, smile flickering. “See you both tomorrow?”
George grins. “Can’t wait.”
Max gives the smallest of nods. “We’ll be waiting.”
And with that, you adjust Maggie on your hip, turning to push through the paddock once again — heart pounding, smile tugging at your lips, and absolutely no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into.
But you have a feeling it’s going to be unforgettable.
—
The sun is still low in the sky when you step into the paddock, warm light stretching across the asphalt like the calm before a storm. It’s quiet in that specific way it always is on race mornings — calm but buzzing, like everyone is holding their breath for what’s about to come.
You’ve got a coffee in one hand, credentials around your neck, and the other tucked into the pocket of your hoodie as you head toward the garage.
And then you spot him — Kimi — pacing just outside hospitality in his race suit, hair already tucked into a fireproof balaclava pulled halfway down, jaw tight.
He doesn’t see you at first. He’s bouncing slightly on his heels, locked in that zone you’ve seen since karting days. Hyper-focused. Wired. A little nervous.
You smile softly and walk over, nudging him with your elbow.
“Deep breaths, Andrea.”
He startles slightly, then sighs in relief. “You scared me.”
“You’re acting like this is your first race,” you tease, but your voice is gentle.
“It’s not that,” he says quickly. “It’s just… I want a clean start. I’m in a McLaren/Ferrari sandwich. I don’t want to mess it up. And everyone’s expecting…”
He trails off before he says you. But you hear it.
You step in front of him, placing a hand on his chest, over the logo of the team he’s worked his whole life to get to.
“Hey. Look at me.”
He does.
“You’re not here by accident. You didn’t luck into P4. You earned this. Every late night, every lap in the sim, every godawful protein shake you made me try? It led to this.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You really drank those?”
“No. I pretended and dumped them in the sink. But that’s not the point.”
He finally cracks a real smile, tension easing from his shoulders.
“You’re going to be brilliant,” you say. “And no matter what happens, I’m proud of you. We are proud of you.”
Kimi blinks a few times, then leans forward and pulls you into a hug, burying his face into your shoulder like he’s ten years old again and you just bandaged a scraped knee.
“Love you, sorellina.”
“I love you too, kid.”
He pulls back reluctantly, then nods and turns toward the garage.
You watch him go, eyes soft — until a voice clears behind you.
“You always this good at pep talks?”
You turn to find George standing just a few steps away, race suit halfway on, curls still damp, soft morning light catching on his lashes.
He smiles at you, something gentle and a little sleepy in it.
“Only for people I love,” you say, then raise a brow. “But I suppose I could be convinced.”
George chuckles, stepping closer. “Suppose I could use one too.”
You pretend to consider it. “You’re already on pole. You need a reminder that you’re good?”
He grins. “No, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it from you.”
You roll your eyes fondly, then reach up to fix the fold in his race suit collar.
“You’re fast, you’re focused, and you’ve got the best teammate on the grid.” You pause. “Also the scariest big sister, so maybe drive like your life depends on it.”
George laughs. “Duly noted.”
You lower your voice. “Just… keep him safe out there, okay?”
George nods, instantly serious. “Always.”
You squeeze his arm once before stepping back.
And then, as if on cue, you feel someone else behind you. The air shifts.
Max.
He’s fully suited, helmet dangling from his fingertips, blue eyes calm but unreadable as always. You offer him a small smile.
“Morning,” you say.
He studies you for a second. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“This,” he says simply, tilting his head. “Being… grounding.”
You blink at him. “That’s the first time someone’s ever accused me of that.”
He steps a little closer, voice quieter now. “I’ve been around this sport a long time. Most people either take energy or drain it. You… balance it.”
You swallow. “Well. That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me at 8 a.m.”
He smiles faintly — a flicker, but real. “Good luck charm.”
You laugh, but your stomach flips.
“Good luck, Max.”
“Thank you, schat.” he says, gaze lingering just a moment too long before he turns back to his team.
You exhale, finally alone, heart fluttering like you’ve already run a lap.
The race hasn’t started yet.
But something else definitely has.
—
The champagne is already flying by the time you elbow your way through the crowd near the front of the paddock. Maggie is perched on your shoulders, waving her tiny Mercedes flag like her life depends on it, curls bouncing as she screams, “THAT’S MY BROTHER!!” over and over again.
You’re half laughing, half crying, your cheeks sore from smiling.
Kimi — your baby brother — is on the podium. Third place, with his name lit up behind him and a trophy in his hand, standing beside Max Verstappenand George Russell, and still somehow grinning like a kid who just won his first karting race.
He catches sight of you in the crowd — or maybe Maggie, still shrieking at full volume — and his whole face lights up. He waves, holding his trophy in one hand and saluting with the other, mouthing something that would make you cry if you understood it. Your heart swells, throat tight.
“He’s smiling at us!” Maggie yells. “He sees us! KIMI, WE LOVE YOU!!”
You squeeze her legs gently and laugh, eyes still trained on the stage. George is clapping Kimi on the back, leaning in to say something that makes Kimi nod, almost shyly. And Max — Max is looking right at you. Your breath catches for a second. He lifts his bottle in your direction, smirks, and sprays it directly at George.
Once the podium ceremony is over, you carry Maggie through the paddock chaos, waving to familiar faces, getting stopped for a few pictures, all the while keeping your eyes peeled for black and teal race suits. And then — in the calm just behind the garages — you hear your name.
“YN!”
You turn just as George jogs over, helmet tucked under one arm, curls damp, champagne on his race suit and happiness written all over his face.
“You came to find me?” he asks, flashing you a tired but radiant grin.
“I was trying to,” you say, lowering Maggie carefully to the ground. “But someone kept yelling that she needed to hug her brother immediately.”
George chuckles and crouches to Maggie’s level. “You cheer loud enough for me too?”
Maggie nods solemnly. “I cheered for everyone. But mostly Kimi. You were also good, though.”
George places a hand over his heart. “I’ll take it.”
Then you feel another presence — Max, suddenly at your side, slightly flushed and still in his race gear. His gaze flicks to your hand, still gently resting on Maggie’s shoulder, and then up to your face.
“You were right,” he says softly. “She’s a good luck charm.”
“I’m not sure which one of us you’re talking about,” you tease.
“Both,” he replies, and something warm spreads through your chest.
George straightens beside him. “So. Now that the race is over… and we’re all miraculously alive and well… how would you feel about dinner?”
You blink. “Dinner?”
“With us,” Max clarifies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
George nods. “You’ve been supporting your brother…and us all weekend. Seems only fair we feed you. As a thank you. And also because we both want to take you out and apparently decided we’re okay with doing that together.”
You raise a brow. “So this is a… shared date proposal?”
Max shrugs. “Efficient.”
You laugh, then tilt your head. “What if I say yes?”
George smiles. “Then we’ll pick you up in a sports car with terrible music and see where the night goes.”
Before you can answer, a familiar voice groans from behind you.
“No. No, no, no.”
Kimi. Still in his suit, podium cap slightly crooked, looking between the three of you like he just walked in on a crime scene.
“I knew you were flirting,” he says, pointing accusingly. “I left you alone for five minutes.”
You fold your arms. “It’s dinner, Kimi. Relax.”
“With both of them?!”
Max raises a brow. “You got a problem with that?”
Kimi narrows his eyes. “Only if I’m not invited.”
George blinks. “What?”
“If anyone’s treating my sister to dinner after a race,” Kimi says, walking past you and slinging an arm around your shoulders, “it’s me.”
“Oh my god,” you mutter.
“You don’t even have real money,” Maggie says with a frown.
“I HAVE SPONSORS,” Kimi replies indignantly.
Max chuckles beside you. “So what I’m hearing is… table for four?”
“Five,” George adds. “Maggie needs pasta.”
Maggie cheers.
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You guys are unbelievable.”
But you’re smiling. And blushing. And your stomach is fluttering in a way that has nothing to do with podiums or champagne or media day adrenaline. Because somehow, this insane, chaotic little group of people — your brilliant brother, your sassy baby sister, and two of the best drivers in the world — feel like home.
And if that means letting Kimi third wheel your very strange first date? So be it.
—
It’s quiet in the little Montreal studio, the buzz of the tattoo needle the only real sound filling the space — that, and the occasional soft “good boy, Simba,” from Kika, who’s gently cradling her tiny toy poodle in her lap like he’s a human baby.
You’re lying on the padded table, hoodie sleeve rolled up, gaze fixed on the number slowly taking shape on the outside of your wrist. 12.
Kimi’s number. You’d made the appointment the second qualifying ended — the moment he stepped out of the car and into parc fermé with that little crooked smile.
Kika had offered to come with you without hesitation. “It’s sweet. He’ll cry,” she’d said with a knowing grin, brushing your hair back behind your ear as you filled out the waiver. “You’re going to make him so emotional.”
You smiled at that. “Good. He deserves to feel it.”
Now, as the artist finishes the final stroke, you glance over at her. She’s still watching you — Simba curled into her elbow, both of them glowing in the soft afternoon light.
“You think he’ll like it?” you ask, quieter than you mean to.
Kika meets your gaze, eyes warm. “I think he’s going to remember this for the rest of his life.”
You look back at the ink. Small. Subtle. Permanent. Just like the way Kimi’s always lived in your heart — as your baby brother, your proudest story, your favorite reason to be soft. You reach over to gently scratch Simba behind the ears.
—
Dinner is somewhere between celebratory chaos and organized emotional meltdown. You’re tucked into a cozy private room at one of Montreal’s nicest restaurants — the kind of spot reserved well in advance for either heartbreak or triumph. Tonight, it’s triumph, and the room is glowing with candlelight and the low hum of laughter, champagne flutes clinking, and Maggie’s high pitched giggle cutting through the room like music.
She’s currently squeezed between George and Max at the long table, gleefully eating the chocolate soufflé the staff brought just for her. They’re both positively enchanted — feeding her extra spoonfuls, complimenting her dress, letting her wear Max’s P2 hat like it’s a crown.
You’re across from them, nursing a glass of wine, cheeks aching from how much you’ve been smiling.
Kimi sits beside you, arms crossed, watching the whole thing with narrowed eyes.
“Okay,” he deadpans. “Why is she getting all the attention?”
You snort. “Because she’s adorable.”
“I also got a podium,” he insists.
“And she’s ten. You’re eighteen.”
“Still. Equal treatment.”
You shake your head fondly, but before you can retort, George clears his throat dramatically.
“Speaking of attention,” he says, standing, “I believe it’s time we give some to the true MVP of the weekend.”
Your eyes widen. “George—”
But he’s already holding up a massive bouquet — deep red roses, golden wildflowers, and tiny soft sprigs of eucalyptus — and walking it over to you with a flourish.
“For you,” he says, bowing slightly, “for being the heart of this whole operation. For every pre-race pep talk, for carrying Maggie and the team on your back.”
You’re blushing, biting back a smile, when Max follows — naturally, with his own bouquet, slightly less dramatic but just as beautiful. Sunflowers and soft blues, tied together with a black ribbon.
“And this,” Max says, quieter, eyes steady on yours, “for grounding us both. You made today feel… like more than a race.”
You blink at him, lips parted, and he presses the bouquet into your hands.
“Okay,” Kimi blurts from beside you, “and what about me?”
Everyone laughs. George raises his glass in his direction. “Kimi, you can have our eternal respect and the last piece of focaccia.”
Kimi groans. “You all suck.”
Maggie leans across the table. “You can have some of my soufflé.”
Kimi perks up immediately. “Okay, you’re back to being my favorite.”
You shake your head, clutching the flowers to your chest. “You’re all ridiculous.”
But you’re glowing. Truly glowing. The moment softens. The energy dips into something quieter — not sad, just… full.
“I actually have something too,” you murmur.
Kimi raises an eyebrow as you roll up your sleeve. Gasps ripple across the table. There it is — your new tattoo, delicate and perfect on the outside of your wrist. 12. In clean, simple script.
Kimi stares at it like it’s not real. Like he’s seeing it through a fog. You shrug one shoulder, suddenly shy. “For you. For today. For everything you’ve already done and everything you still will.”
He doesn’t speak. He just stands up, circles the table, and wraps you into the tightest hug you’ve ever gotten from him. You feel his shoulders shaking, just a little.
“Te voglio bene,” he says into your neck, voice cracking.
You hold him tighter. “Sempre.”
George looks a little misty-eyed. Max is smiling, soft and small, watching like he’s seeing something sacred.
Kimi pulls back, rubbing his face, then looks around. “Okay. You can’t bully me anymore. I clearly have the best sister.”
Max raises a brow. “That depends. Is she free next weekend?”
George grins. “We’ve been meaning to ask—”
“You’re not taking her on another date,” Kimi interrupts, horrified.
“Oh,” you say, sipping your wine. “Too late.”
Kimi’s jaw drops. Maggie cackles. And as the whole table erupts into laughter, you sit back, warm and full and buzzing with everything you never knew you needed.
—
several weeks later...
ynantonelli
liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 1,100,000 others.
ynantonelli : heart eyes for spa😻
tagged : maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli and georgerussell63
—
view 200,000 other comments.
lilymhe : red and pink are YOUR COLORS
liked by ynantonelli
mercedesamgf1 : the george & kimi challenge video drops tuesday 👀
liked by ynantonelli
maxverstappen1 : never washing that shirt
liked by ynantonelli
georgerussell63: would carry 100 more bouquets. no questions asked.
liked by ynantonelli
↳ charles_leclerc: she deserves 101 at least. rookie mistake.
liked by ynantonelli
↳ georgerussell63: don’t start with me, charles.
kimi.antonelli : sigh. are they seriously my brother in laws?
liked by ynantonelli, georgerussell63 and maxverstappen1
—
You had a feeling they were up to something when Kimi kept smirking at breakfast.
“Are you wearing that?” he asked innocently, staring at the dress laid out on your bed — red satin, subtle slit, the kind you saved for special occasions.
You squinted at him. “You know something.”
“I know everything,” he grinned, tossing a strawberry into his mouth and strolling off like he hadn’t just dropped a cryptic bomb.
The mystery unraveled a few hours later, when a driver showed up at your hotel with a black car and a single envelope that read simply-tonight’s for you. - G & M
You rolled your eyes at the dramatics — of course they’d gone all coordinated and mysterious — but your stomach fluttered with anticipation anyway.
The drive was long enough to make you curious, winding through the city and eventually pulling up in front of what looked like a historic chateau turned upscale restaurant. The exterior was glowing under soft golden lights, ivy climbing up stone walls, and a host was already waiting at the door for Miss Antonelli.
They’d rented the entire place. Of course they had.
A quiet jazz trio played in the corner of the candlelit dining room, and as you stepped inside, you spotted them immediately — George in a crisp navy suit, Max in all black, top button undone, a lazy smile already tugging at his mouth the moment he saw you.
“Worth the wait,” Max said under his breath.
George stepped forward with a hand over his heart, theatrical. “You’re going to break necks walking in like that.”
You laughed, cheeks warm, as Max pulled your chair out and George handed you a small glass of champagne.
“This is excessive,” you teased, eyeing the white tablecloths and roses, the golden flicker of candlelight.
“Exactly,” George said, clinking his glass with yours. “You deserve excessive.”
Dinner was slow, indulgent. Handmade pasta, wine that Max half-pronounced wrong on purpose just to hear you correct him, and George telling you ridiculous stories from media day that had you giggling into your napkin.
They didn’t let you lift a finger. Every course was chosen with you in mind — soft cheese, no mushrooms (George remembered), and dessert included the chocolate torte you once mentioned offhandedly after the last race.
“You remembered?” you blinked, genuinely touched as Max placed the plate in front of you.
“You say something once,” Max said quietly, “and I make it a checklist.”
You didn’t realize how close you’d all leaned in until George’s hand settled on your thigh under the table, Max’s arm resting across the back of your chair. It wasn’t possessive — it was protective. Familiar. Soft.
By the time dessert was cleared, Max stood and extended his hand. “Dance with me.”
You stared. “There’s no dance floor.”
He smirked. “There’s no one here.”
George pulled a chair back with a laugh, watching as Max guided you into a slow sway between tables, your heels clicking gently against marble. The trio played something slow and moody, and for a few minutes, the world felt hushed. Just Max, just his eyes locked on yours, hands warm against your waist.
Halfway through, George tapped him on the shoulder and they wordlessly traded places, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
George held you a little closer, his voice soft by your ear. “You make this look easy, you know. Being with us.”
“I think you make it easy,” you whispered back.
The rest of the night blurred — more laughter, more soft kisses, Max feeding you a strawberry across the table while George complained about the sugar ruining your palate. You didn’t want it to end.
But when the car dropped you back off at the hotel, George kissed your knuckles like a prince from some old movie, and Max pressed a kiss to your neck like a promise.
“We’re just getting started,” George said.
—
You barely had time to swallow your bite of croissant before the door slammed open.
“Kimi—!” you shrieked.
“GOOD MORNING!” Maggie sang, bursting in right behind him, skipping with a suspicious amount of energy for 8:37 a.m.
Kimi looked dramatically appalled. “You’ve got men in your bed?”
“I don’t!” you spluttered.
“You don’t?” Max raised a brow from the armchair, holding a half-eaten pancake. “Rude.”
George snorted from the floor, where he was pouring syrup onto a plate balanced on a pillow. “We’re gentlemen, actually.”
“Gentlemen don’t sleep over without my permission,” Kimi declared, arms crossed, already stealing a strawberry off your plate. “This is outrageous. I didn’t even know you liked pancakes.”
“You literally watched me eat pancakes yesterday,” you muttered, scooting over on the couch so Maggie could clamber into your lap. She immediately reached for your juice and cuddled into you.
“We knocked,” Kimi added, now holding Max’s mug. “You just didn’t hear it over the sound of—” he paused, looking around dramatically, “—brunch with my enemy and teammate.”
George tossed him a banana. “Lighten up, little brother. You’re just mad we got to the pastries before you did.”
Max gestured to the coffee table now covered in plates, bowls, fruit, and one very crumb-covered Kindle. “We were going to invite you. But someone told us you needed your sleep schedule.”
“That someone was me!” Maggie said proudly, now licking jam off her thumb.
You leaned your head against hers, laughing into her hair. “You told me you weren’t gonna say anything!”
“I lied,” she beamed.
Kimi groaned. “Unbelievable. My little sister is being corrupted by these two bond villains in team polos.”
“I’m not even wearing a polo,” Max pointed out.
“Yeah,” George grinned, “but you give off strong polo energy.”
Kimi narrowed his eyes. “You're lucky Maggie’s here or I’d start throwing hands.”
“Oh no,” George deadpanned, “not in front of the ten year old.”
Maggie giggled so hard she nearly spilled your juice. You hugged her closer and looked around — Max stretched out, ankles crossed, flipping through your Kindle; George balancing a piece of toast on his knee, hair messy and golden from the morning sun; Kimi still glaring while stealing food from everyone’s plate. It was chaos. It was perfect.
Kimi eventually flopped onto the couch beside you, arm thrown dramatically over the back. “I guess I’m stuck with you two now.”
Max nodded solemnly. “We come with the package.”
“And with croissants,” George added.
“And flowers,” Maggie chirped. “They brought the biggest ones last night. Mine are pink and I named each one of them.”
Kimi huffed. “Where’s my bouquet?”
“You’re not dating them and you're not as cute as Mags,” you shrugged, grinning.
He paused. “Fair.”
George leaned back with a mock sigh. “Don’t worry, Kimi. We'll still take you on our next date.”
Max smirked. “You can even sit in the middle if you ask nicely.”
Kimi groaned again, dramatically hiding his face behind a throw pillow. “I hate my life.”
But he didn’t move from his spot on the couch. And when Maggie leaned back to whisper that “this is the best morning ever,” no one disagreed.
—
The moment Kimi’s car rolled into parc fermé, you knew something was wrong. He didn’t radio on the in-lap. No jokes. No sarcasm. Not even the usual tired “I hate this track” grumble. Just silence. And now, as the engine cut off and the mechanics opened the cockpit, you saw it — his hands shaking as he pulled off the wheel, his shoulders heaving. He wasn’t just exhausted. He was crying. You were already climbing over the barrier before the car was fully shut down.
“Kimi,” you called gently, jogging over, ignoring the frantic calls of the media manager trying to funnel drivers toward the pen. “Hey, hey, I’m here.”
He didn’t look up. Helmet off, balaclava half-pulled down, jaw clenched like he was holding back a sob. His eyes were red, and he blinked hard like he was trying to make it all disappear. You crouched beside him, one hand on his back, the other brushing his sweaty hair out of his face.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re okay.”
He shook his head, voice cracking. “I—I messed it up. I locked up and then the tires just—fuck, YN—”
“You didn’t mess anything up, baby,” you said softly, heart splitting at the way his voice broke. “It was a hard race. You still brought it home. You still fought.”
“I let everyone down.”
“You didn’t let me down.”
He finally looked at you, eyes glassy and lost. That was all it took for you to open your arms, and he collapsed into them like a wave crashing against the shore. You held him there, pressed against his helmet bag, letting him bury his face into your shoulder as he shook with quiet sobs. You looked up, spotted a cluster of media swarming, and immediately squared your shoulders.
“No interviews right now,” you said firmly.
The team PR lead stepped forward nervously. “YN, I—I know, but if he skips it he might get fined and—”
“Then we’ll pay the fine,” you snapped, one arm still around Kimi. “Look at him. You really want to put a mic in his face while he’s crying?”
“I’ll do it,” Kimi murmured suddenly, voice small.
You turned to him in alarm. “You don’t have to—”
“I will,” he said, wiping his face with his sleeve. “But only if you come with me.”
You paused.
Then nodded. “Okay. Let’s go together.”
—
You stood beside him as he gave the briefest interview he could manage, one hand wrapped gently around his elbow the whole time, thumb brushing calming circles against his suit. He kept his eyes down, voice quiet, the whole thing mercifully short.
The second it ended, he looked at you, like a kid asking silently if he could go home now. You nodded, guiding him out of the media zone and back toward the hospitality area where his engineers and physio were waiting. He didn’t say much. You didn’t ask for much. Until, of course, Max and George showed up.
“Hey, champ,” George greeted softly, sunglasses pushed into his hair. “We brought snacks.”
“And sparkling water,” Max added, shaking a can. “Because we’re nothing if not hydrated emotional support figures.”
Kimi blinked at them, face still blotchy. “Are you serious?”
George nodded. “Dead serious.”
“We also brought a meme compilation,” Max said, producing his phone from his back pocket. “Top tier stuff. Most of it is about George though.”
“I am a comedic treasure,” George said solemnly.
You tried not to laugh. Kimi did too. He failed first. It was just a small smile — barely there, barely real — but it was something. Max caught it and grinned like he’d won a bet.
“There it is,” Max said. “Knew you missed us.”
“I didn’t.”
“Sure, buddy.”
Kimi sighed and leaned back against the couch, arms crossed, but he didn’t stop George from sitting beside him or Max from tossing him a wrapped cookie. He didn’t flinch when you sat beside him either, resting your head against his shoulder the way you always did when he was younger and hiding from thunderstorms under your blanket fort.
George gently bumped his knee. “Rough race. But rough races don’t make or break your career.”
Max added, “You’re still one of the best drivers on the grid. One race doesn’t change that.”
Kimi looked between the three of you — sister, brother-in-laws, annoyingly supportive emotional support trio — and sniffled once, then muttered, “Okay. Fine. I’ll accept your stupid moral support. But only this once.”
You smiled, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “We love you too.”
Max and George nodded. Maggie appeared two seconds later, hugging his waist like a koala, and Kimi finally — finally — let himself breathe. No podium today. No champagne or trophies. But he had his people. And that mattered more.
—
The hotel suite was quiet. For the first time all day, there was no static in the background — no crowd noise, no interviews, no race replay murmuring on the TV. Just the soft hum of city lights beyond the windows and the low rustle of Max shifting on the couch to make room for you.
You’d just finished a long shower — washing the stress of the day off, the smell of the paddock out of your hair, the weight of being Kimi’s anchor during the hardest few hours of his career off your shoulders. And when you stepped back into the dimly lit living room, there they were: George, curled up on one end of the couch in sweats, reading something on his phone, and Max, in one of those old Red Bull t-shirts he always wore, a bowl of strawberries between his legs.
You didn’t say anything. You just walked over and sank into the spot between them, head resting against George’s chest, legs flung across Max’s lap. They didn’t hesitate.
Max reached down and began absentmindedly massaging your calf, thumb pressing slow, steady circles into your skin. George kissed the top of your head, arm looping around your shoulders, his phone forgotten. For a while, no one spoke.
Then George whispered, “You were amazing today.”
You huffed softly, eyes fluttering closed. “Didn’t feel amazing.”
“You were,” Max added. “Kimi needed you. And you didn’t even flinch. You were just… there.”
“Like you always are,” George murmured.
The lump in your throat returned out of nowhere. You buried your face deeper into George’s chest, overwhelmed.
“I just didn’t want him to feel alone,” you mumbled.
Max leaned down, his voice low. “That’s what you do, liefje. You hold everyone together.”
There was a beat. And then George said it. Soft. Almost casual. But it cracked something open in all three of you.
“I love you.”
Max froze.
Your breath caught.
Then — just as quietly, just as honestly — Max whispered, “I love you too.”
Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, warmth blooming so quickly it made your eyes sting. You sat up slightly, looking at them — really looking. Max, trying to play it cool but clearly a little shy now, a faint flush on his cheeks. George, biting back a grin like he’d just said something scandalous but couldn’t regret it for even a second. You blinked, eyes glassy.
“Okay,” you whispered. “Well now I feel like a dramatic little idiot because I was literally just lying here thinking about how in love I am with both of you.”
George beamed.
Max let out a little laugh, then leaned forward and kissed your shoulder, sweet and lingering. “Good. Then it’s settled.”
You turned and caught George’s mouth in a kiss next — slow, reverent, like a thank you and a promise all at once. And when Max leaned over to press one to George’s cheek, George just pulled him in too, arms around both of you, tangled together in the softest mess of limbs and heartbeats and trust. No fancy speeches. No orchestrated moment. Just three people who had fallen — not suddenly, not all at once — but deeply, undeniably. And finally found the right moment to say it out loud.
—
georgerussell63
liked by ynantonelli, maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli and 7,500,000 others.
georgerussell63 : haha get pranked. max and i are not beefing, we are actually in love with each other and our stunningly perfect girlfriend<3
tagged : maxverstappen1 and ynantonelli
—
user has limited comments on this post.
lewishamilton : finally. peace has been restored.
liked by ynantonelli, maxverstappen1 and georgerussell63
danielricciardo : the beef was just the foreplay huh?
liked by maxverstappen1
charles_leclerc : beautiful couple. and george and max are nice too i guess ❤️
liked by ynantonelli, maxverstappen1 and georgerussell63
lando : if you three don’t go as mr. & mr. & mrs. smith for halloween, what’s the point
liked by ynantonelli, maxverstappen1 and georgerussell63
fernandoalo_oficial : i’ve been in f1 for over two decades and i still don’t know what the hell is going on
liked by ynantonelli, maxverstappen1 and georgerussell63
carlossainz55 : you all kissed without me?
liked by ynantonelli, maxverstappen1 and georgerussell63
kimi.antonelli : hope you both know that when you marry her that you ARE TAKING THE ANTONELLI LAST NAME.
liked by ynantonelli, maxverstappen1 and georgerussell63
and was wondering if you could make one where its on of those mclaren bake offs but fans notice both lando and oscar flirting with the interviewer whose up there with them
kiss the cook — op81 + ln4
smau + written blurbs
oscar piastri x !model/influencer reader x lando norris
you never really thought much about formula 1. fast cars, fast drivers, the occasional photoshoot—nothing that had ever touched your world beyond glossy magazines. but then mclaren slid into your inbox with an invitation you couldn’t quite refuse— co-host a fan panel for their drivers, maybe judge a lighthearted bake-off, smile for the cameras and enjoy the race, easy enough, right?
except, nothing about it feels easy once you’re standing between lando norris and oscar piastri, both of them looking at you like you’re the most interesting part of their weekend. the fans notice first—how lando keeps cracking jokes just to make you laugh, how oscar’s quiet compliments seem to linger.
what you don’t know yet—what no one knows yet—is that lando and oscar aren’t just teammates. they’re already each other’s. and somehow, without meaning to, you’ve wandered right into the middle of it.
fc : fatherkels
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
yourusername
zandvoort 📍
liked by oscarpiastri, lando, franciscagomes and 4,300,400 others.
yourusername : got to spend the weekend judging two f1 drivers on their ability to race and make stroopwafels :) thank you @/mclaren for hosting me and congratulations on your win @/oscarpiastri 🧡
tagged : lando, oscarpiastri, franciscagomes and mclaren
—
view 134,500 other comments.
lando : thank you for the judging… although i think i deserved more points for presentation 😅
liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri
↳ alex_albon : can confirm lando’s stroopwafels were a disaster. yn’s score was being generous
liked by lando, yourusername and oscarpiastri
↳ yourusername : all i will say is neither lando or oscar should be allowed in a kitchen on their own😇
liked by mclaren, lando and oscarpiastri
↳ mclaren : noted 📝
mclaren : our favorite guest ever 🧡💪🏻 come back to us!
liked by yourusername, lando and oscarpiastri
↳ yourusername : on my way to italy as we speak🗣️
carmenmmundt : obsessed with the boots AND you. officially the cutest person on the planet 🤍
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : so nice to finally meet you😭😭 you’re the sweetest
franciscagomes : cutest judge in the paddock 🫶🏻 had the best weekend with you 💕
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : i missed you so much😭 it was so nice to get to spend the weekend w you💋
liked by franciscagomes
oscarpiastri : we have to have a redo at some point. we are both too competitive to do it just once
liked by yourusername and lando
↳ yourusername : ill be back whenever you guys need me ;)
liked by oscarpiastri and lando
↳ lando : just stay the rest of the season 😇
liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername
username00 : petition to keep her in the paddock forever pls and thank u
↳ mclaren : we are thinking the same thing
liked by yourusername
username55 : lando AND oscar both flirting with her had me in a chokehold ngl
↳ username75 : right???? bc wdym little shy oscar piastri is flirting in front of 20,000+ people
↳ username25 : id flirt with her too. can’t blame em
↳ username100 : those boys are in love your honor
↳ username77 : with each other AND yn.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You step out of the car with Kika’s arm looped through yours, both of you laughing about something silly from the drive. Pierre trails a step behind, shaking his head with that patient, fond expression he always wears when Kika is around. The three of you must look like trouble—two girls dressed to the nines for a weekend at the track and one driver already regretting his decision to arrive with you both.
The paddock is already loud, cameras clicking, fans waving from behind the barriers. Kika squeezes your hand.
“You’re going to love it,” she says, all bright-eyed excitement. “And they’re going to love you. Trust me.”
Before you can ask who “they” are, Pierre nudges you in the direction of papaya-orange banners fluttering above a garage. “This is where we leave you. Good luck.” His tone is teasing, but you notice the way Kika grins knowingly.
You smooth down your outfit and take a deep breath before stepping into the McLaren garage. The air is cooler here, filled with the faint scent of engine oil and something metallic. Engineers bustle around, but your eyes are immediately drawn to two figures near the back.
Lando Norris is the first to notice you. He does a little double-take before breaking into a wide grin, abandoning the tool in his hand and strolling over. “You must be our special guest,” he says, his voice warm, playful. “Finally, someone to keep Oscar in check.”
Oscar Piastri, standing a few feet away, looks up from his conversation with a mechanic. He’s quieter than Lando, more reserved, but the way his gaze lingers on you says plenty. He walks over at a slower pace, that easy smile of his making your chest feel a little lighter. “Welcome to McLaren,” he says softly. “I hope we make a good first impression.”
“First impressions are looking pretty solid so far,” you tease, earning a chuckle from Lando and the faintest pink dusting Oscar’s ears.
It doesn’t take long before you’re swept into easy conversation with them—Lando throwing in jokes at every opportunity, Oscar making sure you have everything you need, offering you a seat, water, anything. They’re different in every way, but somehow equally magnetic. And maybe, just maybe, you start to wonder if Kika’s grin earlier had meant something more.
The first hour in the garage feels like a whirlwind. McLaren’s PR manager whisks you through a quick rundown of the schedule—panel first, then the fan voted bake off. But even while she’s talking, you can feel Lando and Oscar orbiting you like satellites, hovering close enough to make sure you’re settled, cracking jokes, checking in with you like you’ve been part of the team for ages.
Lando insists on walking you through the garage like it’s his own personal museum.
“So here’s my car. Don’t touch, she’s moody,” he says with mock seriousness, wagging a finger before grinning. “Though, if you did touch it, maybe she’d behave for once.”
Oscar, trailing behind, shakes his head. “Ignore him. He treats her like a pet, but she doesn’t listen to him anyway.” He throws you a quick smile, the kind that makes your stomach do a little flip.
By the time you’re led to the stage area, the seats are already filling up with fans, the room buzzing with orange caps and jerseys. A table with three mics sits front and center. You’re seated between Lando and Oscar, which feels… strategic.
The panel starts lighthearted. Fans cheer, you introduce yourself, and Lando leans toward his mic dramatically.
“You should’ve seen her in the garage earlier. Already bossing us around like she’s been here for years.”
“I did not!” you protest, laughing.
“You kind of did,” Oscar says, smirking just enough that you can tell he’s teasing. His voice is softer, but it carries, and fans in the front rows nudge each other knowingly.
Questions roll in—about the season, about racing, about what it’s like having you there. Someone asks who’s the better baker, and Lando immediately points at himself.
“I have the creativity. That’s all that matters.”
Oscar shakes his head, deadpan. “It’s going to be a disaster. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The crowd laughs, but you notice how their eyes flick to you every time one of them speaks, like they’re waiting for your verdict. It’s both nerve-wracking and exhilarating, having their attention split between you and their favorite drivers.
The bake-off area is set up with two stations side by side, complete with mixing bowls, flour, sugar, and stacks of stroopwafel ingredients. You’re given a little judge’s seat in the middle, clipboard and all, which only makes Lando lean over with a mischievous grin.
“Are you going to be fair? Or do I get extra points for making you laugh?”
You raise a brow. “Bribery won’t work on me.”
“Flattery, then,” he shoots back without missing a beat, pouring flour into a bowl and immediately spilling half of it onto the table.
Oscar, carefully measuring his ingredients like a scientist, sighs. “I’m not even competing with him. I’m competing with the mess he’s about to make.” He glances your way with that small, crooked smile. “Don’t let him charm you into ignoring burnt stroopwafels.”
Fans are eating it up—phones raised, recording every exchange. You hear snippets of giggles from the crowd:
“Are they… flirting with her?”
“Both of them???”
Lando tries to flip a stroopwafel mid-air like a pancake and misses completely. It lands half-folded on the counter, and he gasps dramatically.
“Judge! That was a ten for effort, right?”
You can’t stop laughing. “That was a negative ten, actually.”
Oscar hides his laugh behind his hand, but when you catch his eyes, they’re sparkling. “You’re too generous. I would’ve given him negative fifty.”
By the end of it, you taste both. Lando’s are interesting—half undercooked, half slightly burnt, but he watches your face like your reaction is the most important thing in the world. Oscar’s are neat, perfectly golden, and the flavor actually surprises you. He tries to act casual, but you can tell he’s nervous too.
“They’re both…” You pause dramatically, clipboard in hand, and the fans start chanting “LANDO! OSCAR! LANDO! OSCAR!” like it’s the world championship.
“They’re both edible,” you finally declare, earning loud laughter. Then you grin. “But the winner is… Oscar.”
Lando groans, throwing his hands up. “Rigged again! Why do I even try?”
Oscar just shakes his head, ducking it a little, but when you hand him the makeshift trophy, you see the faint blush on his cheeks. He whispers, just for you: “Thank you, judge.”
And as the fans cheer, phones flashing and posts already making their way online, you can’t shake the feeling that something shifted today—that maybe the weekend isn’t going to be as simple as you thought.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
By the time the day winds down, your cheeks hurt from smiling. The panel, the bake off, the endless fan photos—all of it leaves you buzzing, but in the best way. When McLaren’s PR gently asks if you’d like to join the drivers for a dinner they had set up, you don’t even hesitate.
The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet street, a team favorite apparently. The kind of place with low golden lighting, warm chatter, and tables tucked into corners for privacy. When you arrive, Lando is already at the table, leaning back in his chair with his hoodie up like he’s trying to disguise himself. Oscar sits beside him, scrolling absently through his phone until he looks up and spots you.
“Finally,” Lando says, standing just enough to pull out the chair between them. “We were starting to think you ditched us.”
“Not yet,” you laugh, sliding into the seat. “But you might regret inviting me after the way I judged you today.”
Oscar smirks, closing his phone and setting it on the table. “I’m fine with your judging. I won.”
“Unfairly,” Lando mutters, reaching for the bread basket. “You only won because you can follow instructions.”
“That’s… usually how baking works,” Oscar replies, deadpan.
You giggle into your water glass, and the sound makes both of them look at you at the same time. It sends a strange little shiver through you—something about the way their attention feels, not competitive exactly, but… intent.
The three of you trade stories — Lando exaggerating wildly, Oscar cutting in with sharp little corrections that make you laugh even harder. You tell them about your career, the chaos of the modeling world, the way fans can sometimes feel like detectives with how closely they study your life.
“You’re telling me,” Lando says, rolling his eyes. “If I breathe wrong, it’s on TikTok within the hour.”
Oscar smirks. “Sometimes even before.”
There’s a comfortable rhythm between them, one you notice more and more as the night goes on. It isn’t just banter—they share looks, subtle nudges under the table, the kind of familiarity that only comes from trust. Still, every time your hand brushes against one of theirs reaching for a plate or your laugh lingers too long, you swear their focus sharpens, drawn back to you.
Dessert arrives—something decadent and rich. You cut into it with your fork, humming happily at the taste. Lando leans forward immediately.
“Okay, share. That sounded way too good not to.”
You roll your eyes but slide the plate toward him. “One bite.”
He grins, takes a forkful, and then, without missing a beat, holds the fork out toward you. “Here. Fair’s fair.”
It catches you off guard, the easy intimacy of it. But before you can decide, Oscar clears his throat. “You’re going to make her feed you in public?”
“What, jealous?” Lando teases, his grin widening.
Oscar doesn’t bite back—just takes his own fork, cuts a neat bite, and offers it to you with a quiet, “Here. Try this piece, it’s better.”
Your face warms as you lean in, accepting both their forks in turn, laughing at the absurdity of it. Around you, the restaurant hums on, but at this little table, it feels like the three of you are in your own bubble.
Later, when the plates are cleared and the night stretches on, the conversation softens. No cameras, no crowd—just the three of you tucked into a corner booth.
Lando fiddles with the paper wrapper from his straw, glancing at you. “So… did today scare you off? Or are we fun enough that you’d come back?”
You smile, tilting your head. “I had a lot of fun, actually.”
Oscar’s gaze lingers, steady and warm. “Good. Then you should come again. Next race.”
The way he says it, quiet but sure, makes your heart skip. It doesn’t feel like a polite invitation—it feels like he means it. Like they both do.
You don’t notice the way their knees press a little closer under the table, or the subtle glance Lando and Oscar share over your head, but you do notice the warmth blooming in your chest. And when you leave the restaurant hours later, with Lando insisting on walking you back to your hotel and Oscar quietly making sure you’re on the safe side of the street, you realize something undeniable: You’ve only just met them, but somehow, it already feels like you belong.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
mclaren
liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, lando and 2,750,000 others.
mclaren : @/yourusername is back by popular demand! she is now helping our boys create the ultimate italian cuisine🧡🍝 out now on our youtube!
tagged : yourusername, oscarpiastri and lando
—
view 77,000 other comments.
lando : kiss the cook (it’s not a suggestion)
liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri
↳ username55 : MR NORRIS. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!
yourusername : thank you for bringing me along to supervise the chaos again 🧡
liked by lando, oscarpiastri and mclaren
franciscagomes : i’m waiting for leftovers 😌🍝
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : come on over, we have plenty🧡 (i would only eat mine) (don’t touch what lando or oscar made)
liked by lando, oscarpiastri and franciscagomes
↳ lando : you said mine was good😟
↳ yourusername : i believe i said “edible” my love
liked by lando
↳ lando : edible means good in my brain
liked by yourusername
scuderiaferrari : italian cuisine? i need to judge this myself…
liked by yourusername and mclaren
username55 : the throuple cooking in monza, we won. keep feeding us mclaren
username75 : petition to make yn an official team member. orange was made for her
liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri and lando
username57 : these two want her so bad IM GAGGED
username85 : papaya throuple soft launch part 2 😌🧡
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
The McLaren kitchen is set up with cameras, lights, and an array of ingredients that look a little too ambitious for two Formula 1 drivers. Fresh tomatoes, herbs, bags of flour, eggs stacked neatly in bowls. You’re perched at the counter with a mic clipped to your shirt, watching as Lando and Oscar are herded in by the filming crew.
“Welcome back to another episode of Cooking with Chaos,” the producer jokes, and Lando immediately points at Oscar.
“Chaos is him. I’m the talent.”
Oscar gives him a flat look, then glances your way with a quick smile. “You’re here to keep us from burning the place down, right?”
“That’s the plan,” you say, hopping off the counter. “I’m the supervisor-slash-judge. The pasta police.”
Lando leans his elbow on the counter, grinning at you. “Can I bribe the police with compliments?”
Without missing a beat, Oscar adds, “Or with edible food, which I’ll actually be making.”
You laugh, shaking your head as the cameraman signals the start.
The first challenge is making pasta dough. Lando immediately cracks eggs onto the flour like he’s seen in a cooking show, but when he tries to mix it, yolk spills everywhere.
“Brilliant start,” Oscar mutters, kneading his dough with quiet focus. “It’s like watching a toddler.”
“Oi,” Lando protests, shoving his messy hands toward Oscar. “Give me a hand then.”
He reaches out like he’s going to smear flour on your shirt, but you catch his wrist just in time.
“Absolutely not. You’re not dragging me into this.”
The cameras catch the way Lando freezes for half a second at your touch, grin faltering into something softer before he recovers. “Fine. You get a pass. For now.”
Oscar, meanwhile, smirks down at his dough. “If you need help, you could just ask nicely.”
Lando huffs. “I’ll just ask her.” He shoots you a pleading look. “YN, save me.”
You give in, stepping behind him to guide his hands through the motion of kneading properly. Your palms press against his, fingers dusted with flour. “Like this,” you say quietly, aware of how close you are.
Oscar notices. He notices everything. His jaw flexes slightly, but when you move over to check his dough, his expression softens. He doesn’t need your help—his dough is already smooth and perfect—but he lets you lean in, lets your hand rest briefly on his wrist as you nod approvingly. “This is actually impressive,” you tell him.
He tilts his head, lips curving. “Impressing you was the goal.”
Sauce-making is next, and it’s chaos. Lando tries to chop garlic and nearly loses a fingertip before you reach out, steadying his hand.
“Do not give McLaren a medical emergency over garlic,” you scold, laughing.
“I’d heal faster if you took care of me,” he shoots back, eyes crinkling.
Oscar stirs his sauce methodically, but when you pass behind him to grab a spoon, his hand brushes your lower back, steadying you without thought. “Careful. Floor’s slippery.” His voice is low, warm.
It’s a small touch, barely noticeable, but it makes your heart jump.
By the time plating comes around, the kitchen looks like a storm passed through. Lando has flour on his cheek, Oscar has a smear of tomato sauce across his hand, and you’re somewhere in between, trying not to laugh every time the cameraman whispers “gold” under his breath at the chaos.
Lando twirls his pasta dramatically onto the plate, then holds the fork out toward you. “Ladies first.”
You take the bite, chewing thoughtfully as he watches you like your reaction is the only thing that matters. “It’s… surprisingly edible,” you admit.
“See? Chef Lando,” he announces proudly.
Oscar, more understated, sets his plate in front of you with a quiet “Try mine.” You do, and it’s rich, perfectly balanced. He doesn’t gloat, doesn’t say anything, but the little smile that curves his lips when you hum in approval says enough.
The cameraman calls cut, but none of you move right away. Lando’s still grinning at you, Oscar’s gaze lingering, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out. “I feel like I didn’t supervise as much as I was supposed to.”
“You supervised perfectly,” Oscar says softly.
“Yeah,” Lando adds, eyes crinkling as he leans in just a little closer. “You made it fun.”
And surrounded by the mess of flour and pasta, with two drivers standing a little too close on either side of you, it feels less like a video shoot and more like something else entirely. Something you can’t quite name yet—but you know the fans will pick up on it the second the video goes live.
The cameras shut off, crew members begin packing equipment, and suddenly the kitchen feels much quieter. The overhead lights are still buzzing, but without the lenses pointed at you, the air relaxes. You exhale, brushing flour off your hands onto a paper towel.
“That was…” You pause, glancing at the chaos on the counters, the bowls stacked haphazardly, tomato stains splattered across the stove. “…a disaster.”
“An artistic disaster,” Lando corrects, wiping at the flour streak across his cheek with the back of his wrist. He misses completely, leaving the smudge there, and Oscar just sighs.
“Hold still.” Oscar steps closer and, without thinking, reaches up to swipe the flour off. His touch lingers for a second too long, knuckles brushing against Lando’s jaw before he drops his hand back down.
You catch it, the softness in the gesture. The way Lando ducks his head like he’s trying to hide a smile.
“You two are worse than the flour and sauce combined,” you tease, trying to shake the warmth creeping into your chest.
“Don’t lump me in with him,” Oscar says dryly, but his eyes are on you now. “You’re the one who encouraged him.”
“I was supervising!” you protest, but you’re laughing, and that just makes Lando grin wider.
“Yeah, supervising very closely,” Lando adds, wagging his brows. “Especially when you were helping me knead the dough. Very hands-on.”
You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, Lando nudges your shoulder with his. It’s playful, light, but the brush of contact makes you stumble just slightly toward Oscar—who steadies you immediately with a hand at your waist.
It’s instinctive, protective, and when you glance up at him, his gaze is steady and unreadable. “I got you,” he murmurs.
Something flickers in your chest, quick and confusing.
“See?” Lando says after a beat, smirking. “I cause chaos, he saves you. We’re the perfect package.”
Oscar shoots him a look, but there’s no heat behind it. If anything, it feels practiced—like this is a dance they’ve done a hundred times. And somehow, you’ve been pulled right into the middle of it.
“Perfect package, huh?” you say lightly, brushing past both of them to toss your paper towel into the bin. “Not sure I’d go that far.”
Lando gasps dramatically. “Unbelievable. After everything I’ve done today to impress you.”
Oscar just shakes his head, but when you glance back, he’s smiling in that small, almost shy way again. “You’ll come around.”
The crew calls out goodbyes, leaving the three of you alone in the kitchen for a moment longer. It’s quiet, warm, flour dust still lingering in the air. And though nothing has been said outright, the energy between you feels charged, like you’re standing at the edge of something you don’t quite understand yet—but maybe don’t want to step back from.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You’re sitting cross legged on the small couch, fiddling with the edge of a water bottle label, while Oscar leans against the counter, still in his team kit.
Lando had been whisked away by comms for a last-minute press thing, leaving you and Oscar behind with an awkward stretch of free time. At first, you both tried to fill it with harmless small talk—your impressions of Monza, how quickly the pasta video had already racked up views, whether or not Lando would be unbearable about it later—but eventually the words tapered off.
Now, the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s heavier. Charged.
Oscar glances over at you, his expression soft but searching. “You know,” he says, voice quieter than before, “you’re… surprisingly easy to be around.”
You snort, trying to hide the way your stomach flips at the compliment. “Surprisingly?”
“Yeah,” he says, lips twitching. “I figured someone like you—model, media, all of that—you’d be… intimidating, maybe. Untouchable.” His eyes flicker down briefly before meeting yours again. “But you’re not. You’re…” He trails off, shoulders shifting like he’s not sure how much to say. “…real.”
The word lands heavier than you expect. Your breath catches, and before you can deflect with another joke, Oscar pushes away from the counter and takes the seat next to you on the couch. Close enough that his knee brushes yours. Close enough that you can smell the faint mix of his cologne and the lingering spice of whatever the catering team had for lunch.
You look at him, and for a moment, the world narrows to just this small space—your knees touching, his gaze flicking down to your lips, the way the air feels too thick to breathe.
“Oscar…” you murmur, not even sure what you’re about to say.
He leans in, slowly, carefully, like he’s giving you every chance to stop him. His hand hovers, then rests gently on your knee. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver up your spine. He’s so close now that if you shifted forward even an inch, your mouths would brush.
And god, you want to.
But reality slams back into you—Lando, the cameras, the fact that you barely know what any of this is.
You turn your head slightly, just enough that his lips graze your cheek instead of your mouth. The faintest brush of contact, electric and fleeting. Then you pull back, heart pounding.
“I—” Your voice cracks. You swallow and try again. “I’m sorry.”
Oscar blinks, pulling back immediately, guilt flashing across his face. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s not—” You shake your head, words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s not that I didn’t want to. I just… it feels… complicated.”
He studies you for a long moment, his hand still hovering near yours like he wants to take it but doesn’t dare. Then he nods slowly, his usual calm composure slipping back into place. “Yeah. I get it.”
The air between you feels different now—still charged, but fragile. Like you’ve both acknowledged something you can’t quite take back, even if nothing technically happened.
Before either of you can say anything else, there’s a knock at the door and Lando’s voice filters through, loud and teasing. “Oi, you two having a party without me?”
You both jump slightly, exchanging a look that’s equal parts guilty and unspoken promise. Then Oscar stands, running a hand through his hair, and you force a smile before calling back: “Just waiting for the fun to arrive.”
The door opens, and Lando bounces in, grinning. The tension dissipates, hidden neatly beneath practiced smiles. But when you glance at Oscar out of the corner of your eye, the memory of almost-kissing him lingers like static in the air.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
It’s later in the weekend, the day stretched out with sponsor events and press obligations. You’d found yourself tucked away in a quieter corner of the hospitality suite, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone while waiting for the next thing on the schedule. The noise of the paddock is still faintly audible through the walls, but here it’s warm, calm, almost cozy.
Then, like always, Lando shows up without warning—dropping into the seat across from you, spinning it around so he’s straddling it backwards, chin resting on the top of the chair.
“There you are,” he says, grin tugging at his mouth. “Been looking all over for you.”
You arch a brow, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Pretty sure you have a team of people paid to know exactly where I am.”
“Yeah, but it’s more fun when I find you myself.” His eyes are bright, mischievous, but there’s something else there too, something softer beneath the bravado.
You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously charming,” he corrects. Then, leaning forward, he adds, quieter, “And you laugh every time, so I must be doing something right.”
The words hang there for a second too long, and you feel your stomach flip. You should say something light, brush it off—but instead, you just look at him. Really look. The curve of his smile, the crinkle by his eyes, the way he’s studying you like he’s cataloguing every reaction.
He notices. Of course he notices.
“Careful,” Lando says softly, and it’s not a joke this time. He shifts the chair slightly closer, close enough that his knee bumps against yours. “You keep staring at me like that and I might get the wrong idea.”
Your pulse skitters. “What idea is that?”
“That you…” He trails off, a rare hesitation in his voice. “…like this as much as I do.”
He’s teasing, yes, but there’s something real underneath. His hand twitches against the back of the chair, like he’s holding himself back from reaching for you. You can feel the energy pulling tight between you, electric and impossible to ignore.
“Lando…” you start, but the word comes out softer than you mean, more like a plea than a warning.
“Yeah?” His voice is low now, eyes flicking down to your lips before snapping back up to your gaze. He leans in just slightly, like he’s testing the air, giving you every chance to stop him.
Your breath catches. He’s so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the shampoo from his damp hair. It would take nothing—just a tilt forward, just an inch—for this to tip into something else entirely.
But just like with Oscar, reality presses in. The chaos of the paddock, the fact that you don’t understand what you’re stepping into, that voice in the back of your head screaming too complicated.
You draw back a fraction, just enough to break the spell. “I… can’t.”
The words slice through the air like glass. For a beat, Lando just blinks at you, his smile faltering—but then he covers it, quick, with that easy grin you’ve already learned hides more than it shows.
“Yeah,” he says lightly, leaning back in his chair again, giving you space. “No worries. Timing sucks anyway.” He’s joking, but there’s a flicker of something raw in his eyes before he looks away.
You chew your lip, guilt prickling at you. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His voice is quiet, sincere this time. He glances back at you, that crooked grin softened. “I’d rather you stop me than regret it.”
Before you can reply, someone calls his name from the hall, pulling him back to reality. He stands, pushing the chair back into place, already slipping his mask of easy charm back on.
But as he leaves, he shoots you one last look over his shoulder—playful, yes, but loaded with something unspoken. The same static that had crackled between you and Oscar now hums with him too, leaving you breathless and confused, wondering how you got tangled in the middle of something you can’t quite name.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
third person pov ;
It’s late. The Monza paddock is winding down, mechanics trickling out, the hum of generators filling the emptying air. Most of the media have gone, and the hospitality suite is quiet except for the faint clatter of dishes being cleaned up in the kitchen.
Lando and Oscar are tucked away in Oscar’s driver’s room, both of them sprawled on the narrow couch, exhaustion pulling at their shoulders. But neither of them is really tired. Not in the way that matters.
There’s a tension between them that hasn’t let up since the weekend started. It’s not new—they’ve been together long enough to recognize the shape of it—but it’s heavier now, humming with an edge that neither of them has dared to put into words.
Finally, Lando breaks the silence.
“You’ve been quiet,” he says, tilting his head against the back of the couch to look at Oscar. “Even for you.”
Oscar exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
He hesitates. “About her.”
The air tightens instantly. Lando sits up a little straighter, studying him. He’d expected it—he’s not stupid, he’s seen the way Oscar looks at you—but hearing it out loud still makes his chest twist.
“You mean…” Lando says carefully, testing.
Oscar nods, slow. His voice is steady, but softer than usual. “You noticed too.”
It’s not a question.
Lando laughs, but it’s humorless. “Hard not to. The way you look at her, mate? You’ve got it bad.”
There’s no accusation in it, no bite—just truth. And maybe a hint of resignation, because Lando knows he’s not one to talk. He remembers the way you’d looked at him earlier in the week, the way your breath had caught when he leaned too close. He remembers the moment you pulled back, the apology in your eyes.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Oscar says quietly. “I just… when she’s around, it’s different. She makes everything feel good.” He glances over at Lando, searching his face. “But you… you’ve been the same way with her.”
Lando doesn’t deny it. He can’t. Instead, he runs a hand over his jaw, sighing. “Yeah. I have.” His voice drops. “And I feel like an idiot for it, because I already have you. That should be enough.”
Oscar’s throat bobs as he swallows, eyes fixed on the floor. “It is. You are. But—” He breaks off, frustration flickering across his face. “I can’t switch it off. And I don’t think you can either.”
The silence between them is thick, but not with anger. With something else. Something scarier.
Lando leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “So what are we supposed to do? Pretend it’s not happening? Let it eat us alive?”
Oscar shifts closer, his knee brushing Lando’s. “Or we could… not pretend.”
Lando looks up at him, eyes searching. There’s a beat of stillness, the world outside fading until it’s just the two of them in this small, dimly lit room, hearts pounding too loudly in their ears.
“Are you saying…” Lando trails off, but Oscar’s gaze is steady, unwavering.
“I’m saying I don’t want to lose you,” Oscar murmurs. “And I don’t want to lose what this could be either. With her.”
Lando’s chest tightens, the honesty of it hitting him square in the ribs. He reaches out almost without thinking, his hand brushing against Oscar’s. Oscar doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he leans in.
The kiss is slow at first, careful, like they’re testing the weight of what they’ve just admitted. But then Lando’s hand curls into the fabric of Oscar’s shirt, and Oscar tilts his head to deepen it, and suddenly it’s not careful anymore—it’s raw, desperate, full of all the tension they’ve been holding back.
And then the door creaks open.
You’re standing there, framed by the fluorescent light of the hallway, eyes wide as the scene registers. Your lips part, but no sound comes out.
The world seems to freeze. Lando jerks back, Oscar’s hand still half-clutching his. Both of them look at you with shock written across their faces—shock, and something else. Guilt.
You blink, throat tight, heat rushing up your neck. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Your voice cracks. You don’t finish.
Before either of them can speak, you step back, fumbling for the door handle, and the words tumble out of you like glass shattering. “I’m sorry.”
The door shuts behind you, leaving Lando and Oscar alone again, but now the air is heavier, suffocating. Neither of them moves for a long time, the taste of the kiss still lingering, the image of your face burned into their minds. And for the first time all weekend, neither of them knows what to do.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
second person pov ;
Your suitcase is half-zipped on the hotel bed, clothes spilling out in messy folds. You’ve been packing and repacking for the past hour, not because you need to but because it’s easier than thinking. Easier than replaying the image of Oscar and Lando kissing in your head over and over again like some cruel loop.
You’d been ready to leave Monza quietly—slip away before morning, bury the weekend under layers of “what ifs” and “almosts.” But a knock at your door stops you cold.
It’s late. Too late for housekeeping. You freeze, suitcase zipper in hand, debating whether to answer. Then the knock comes again, louder this time. And a voice.
“YN?”
Lando. Your stomach twists. You hover for a second, but before you can talk yourself out of it, your feet carry you to the door. You crack it open—and there they are. Both of them.
Lando, shifting nervously on his feet, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. Oscar, calm on the outside but with that tightness around his eyes you’ve come to recognize.
“What are you—” Your voice falters. “Why are you here?”
“Can we come in?” Oscar asks quietly.
You hesitate, then step aside, letting them slip into the room. They look out of place against the neutral hotel décor—bright papaya team jackets against beige wallpaper. The silence that falls is heavy, suffocating.
Finally, Lando blurts out, “We need to explain.”
You cross your arms, trying to hold yourself together. “There’s nothing to explain. I saw what I saw.”
Oscar takes a small step forward, measured, careful. “You deserve to know the truth.”
Your throat feels tight. “The truth?”
Lando and Oscar exchange a glance, and for once, neither of them looks like they know exactly what to do. Then Lando exhales, raking a hand through his hair.
“We’ve been together. For a while now,” he admits. “Not many people know—actually, no one knows. We kept it private. Just us.”
You blink, heart thudding. “Together?”
Oscar nods. “It’s real. We’re… in love. With each other.” His eyes lock on yours, steady and unflinching. “But then you came along.”
The words hit like a jolt.
“We didn’t plan it,” Lando rushes to add. “God, we didn’t even want it at first. We tried to ignore it, push it away. But it’s impossible.” He swallows hard, his usual bravado stripped down to something raw and trembling. “YN, we both… we both fell for you.”
Your chest aches, a cocktail of relief and panic and longing. You look between them, searching their faces for any trace of a joke, but there’s only sincerity.
“You’re serious,” you whisper.
Oscar’s jaw tightens, his voice low. “Dead serious.”
The room spins for a moment as everything collides—the almost-kiss in Oscar’s driver’s room, the charged moment with Lando, the guilt you’d carried for wanting both, for feeling too much.
“I—” Your voice cracks, and you press a hand to your mouth. “You don’t understand. I thought I was losing my mind. Because it wasn’t just one of you. It was both. I thought…” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “I thought I was selfish. Wrong. For wanting you both.”
Silence. Then, soft, “You do?”
Oscar’s words are almost a whisper, like he’s afraid he misheard.
You look up at them, eyes stinging. “I love you. Both of you. And that terrifies me.”
The tension in the room snaps. Lando exhales, shaky and disbelieving, like the weight of the world just slid off his shoulders. Oscar’s expression barely changes, but his eyes—his eyes shine with something you’ve never seen before.
Lando moves first, crossing the room in two strides. He takes your hand, tugging it gently, grounding you. “You don’t have to be scared. Not with us.”
Oscar steps closer too, his hand brushing yours where Lando’s already holds tight. “We’ll figure it out. Together. No pretending, no secrets.”
Tears prick your eyes, but you nod, breathless. “Okay.”
It feels fragile, this moment—like porcelain balanced on the edge of breaking—but also right in a way you can’t explain. You’re still trembling when Lando dips his head, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, and Oscar’s hand settles warm against your back.
The three of you stand there for a moment, tangled in the middle of a hotel room that suddenly feels like the center of the universe. It’s messy, terrifying, and yet—utterly, undeniably right.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 5,450,000 others.
yourusername : i love italy, pasta and this little orange team <3
tagged : lando and oscarpiastri
—
user has disabled comments on this post.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You’d barely had time to catch your breath after the race before they were planning something. They wouldn’t tell you what—it was all whispered conspiracies and teasing smiles, Lando’s excited energy barely contained, Oscar’s usual calm betraying just enough sparkle to give him away.
All you knew was that they told you to dress up. So you did.
When you step out of your hotel room that evening, they’re already waiting in the corridor. Lando whistles low, eyes trailing over you with no attempt at subtlety, while Oscar just shakes his head with a smile that somehow makes you feel even warmer.
“You look incredible,” Oscar says simply, sincerity heavy in his voice.
“Yeah, what he said,” Lando grins, looping his arm through yours before you can protest. “Now come on, no time to waste.”
They take you outside, where a sleek car is waiting. Oscar drives, calm and steady, while Lando controls the playlist from the passenger seat, bouncing in his seat as he cues up songs he claims are “perfect date night vibes.” The car fills with a mix of laughter and quiet anticipation, the city lights blurring past outside the windows.
When they finally stop, you realize you’re on the outskirts of town, pulled up beside an ivy-covered villa bathed in golden light. It doesn’t look like a restaurant—more like a private home.
“What is this?” you ask, eyes wide.
“You’ll see,” Oscar says, and his small smile makes your heart flip.
Inside, you find a long table set up just for the three of you on a terrace overlooking the hills. Candles flicker in glass holders, strings of fairy lights twinkle overhead, and the smell of fresh basil and tomato drifts through the air.
“You… you rented this whole place?” you breathe, stunned.
“Technically, we bribed one of the team chefs to help us out,” Lando admits proudly, tugging you toward the table. “But the idea was all ours.”
Oscar pulls out a chair for you, ever the gentleman, and when you sit, Lando immediately takes the one beside you while Oscar slides in across from you. For the first time all weekend, it feels like you’re not surrounded by chaos—just the three of you, wrapped up in soft light and possibility.
Dinner is simple but perfect: fresh pasta, bruschetta, roasted vegetables, all prepared by the chef but plated and served by your drivers themselves. Lando spills wine while trying to pour it, earning a long-suffering sigh from Oscar that makes you laugh so hard you nearly choke on your bread.
“See?” Lando smirks, handing you the glass. “All part of the charm.”
“Chaos,” Oscar mutters, but there’s a fondness in his tone that betrays him.
Between bites, the conversation flows easily. They ask you about your childhood, your career, your first modeling job. You ask about their earliest memories of racing. At some point, Oscar admits he used to line up toy cars on the carpet and commentate his own races. Lando teases him mercilessly until you threaten to demand a demonstration right there at the table.
The food dwindles, replaced by tiramisu and espresso. The night air cools, but the warmth between you only deepens.
At one point, Oscar leans forward, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you laugh at one of Lando’s dramatic reenactments of a karting crash. His gaze is so soft, so open, it makes your breath catch.
And when you glance to your side, Lando is already watching you too, grin fading into something gentler, more reverent.
It hits you then: they’ve both been planning this not just to impress you, but to show you they mean it. That this is real.
After dinner, they lead you down a small path behind the villa, where a blanket has been spread out on the grass. A bottle of wine sits in the middle, surrounded by lanterns glowing like fireflies.
“Okay, this is…” You shake your head, at a loss for words. “This is insane.”
“Romantic,” Lando corrects, plopping down on the blanket and patting the space beside him.
Oscar sits on your other side, stretching his legs out in front of him. The three of you lie back, staring up at the stars pricked across the sky.
For a while, no one speaks. You just breathe, shoulder to shoulder, the night wrapping around you like a cocoon.
Then Oscar’s hand finds yours in the dark. Warm, steady, grounding.
And a moment later, Lando shifts closer, head resting against your shoulder, his fingers brushing your other hand until you twine them together.
Your chest tightens, but not with fear this time. With something fuller. Softer.
“I don’t know how we got here,” you whisper, voice thick, “but I don’t want it to end.”
Lando hums against your shoulder, squeezing your hand. “Then don’t let it.”
Oscar’s thumb strokes gently across your palm. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of both of them pressed against you, the weight of the stars above, the certainty that for once, the chaos has stilled into something achingly, perfectly right.
And when Lando tilts his head up to kiss your cheek, and Oscar presses a kiss to the back of your hand, you realize you don’t have to choose. They both want you.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You blink your eyes open slowly, the early morning light spilling in through curtains. The room is quiet except for the faint sound of the air conditioner and the uneven breaths of the two men pressed against you.
Oscar is on your left, face pressed against the pillow, lashes fanned across flushed cheeks. His arm is draped firmly around your waist, holding you. His hair is sticking up in every direction—messier than you’ve ever seen it—and something about the sight makes your heart ache.
On your right, Lando is sprawled, one leg thrown lazily across yours, his nose tucked against your shoulder. His curls are damp with sleep and his lips are parted, a soft breath fanning over your skin. You shift slightly and he groans low, nuzzling closer like he instinctively knows when you move. And you remember. The night before.
The wine. The stars. The confessions whispered in the dark. The way one kiss became another, and another, until you were lost in both of them—hands, mouths, soft laughter between gasps, heat and tenderness all tangled together until it felt impossible to know where one ended and the other began.
Your cheeks heat at the memory, but the strongest thing you feel isn’t embarrassment—it’s peace. A quiet, overwhelming sense that somehow, this is where you’re supposed to be.
You shift a little, brushing a hand through Oscar’s messy hair, and he stirs. His eyes blink open slowly, bleary but soft, and when they land on you, his lips curve into the faintest smile.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.
“Hi,” you whisper back, brushing your thumb across his cheek.
Lando grumbles at the sound, not ready to wake, but his grip tightens on you anyway, pulling you closer between them. You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound muffled as Oscar leans forward to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead.
The movement makes Lando finally crack one eye open. “Oi,” he rasps, glaring halfheartedly at Oscar. “No fair starting without me.”
You roll your eyes affectionately, but before you can say anything, Lando shifts to press a sloppy kiss against your jaw, then another on your cheek, until you’re giggling and squirming. Oscar groans but doesn’t let go of your waist, muttering something about Lando being insufferable even as his lips find the corner of your smile.
For a long while, that’s all it is—kisses and cuddles, whispered teases, tangled limbs. Lando makes some joke about you looking like an angel stuck between “two very lucky idiots,” which makes you bury your face in the pillow out of sheer embarrassment. Oscar just shakes his head and tucks the blanket tighter around all three of you.
Eventually, hunger (and Lando’s relentless whining about coffee) pulls you out of bed. But even as you shuffle toward the kitchen, wrapped in one of Oscar’s hoodies with Lando trailing behind you like a puppy, you feel their presence at your sides—two steady anchors keeping you grounded.
And when you’re all crammed into the hotel’s tiny kitchenette, Oscar making coffee while Lando burns toast because he refuses to listen to the directions, you realize something important:
Last night might have been the first time. But it won’t be the last. Because the morning after is even sweeter.
୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
oscarpiastri
liked by yourusername, lando, patriciooward and 2,7500,000 others.
oscarpiastri : my forever and always. love you both so much
tagged : yourusername and lando
charles leclerc x !engineer sainz reader x alexandra saint mleux (smau + written)
you never thought the sound of an engine could feel like love until it was charles behind the wheel. four years of races, of headset crackle and late night strategy talks, of stolen glances between data screens and pit walls—and somewhere along the way, it stopped being just work. it became the two of you. then, somehow, it became the three of you.
alexandra had slipped into your lives like sunlight through a window—soft, certain, warm. and now, in 2025, with the world watching ferrari rise again and charles holding the title he’s chased his whole life, you realize what’s really worth celebrating isn’t the championship.
it’s that you built it together—engineer, driver, muse. and he’s about to make sure the world knows he never plans to do it without either of you.
fc : daniella avanzini + random pinterest gals
a/n : spent all night last night and today to write this for my little angel @dontreallylikemyname:) ++ so happy for alexandra and charles! (as always i will still continue to write for them both together or separate) (tea party series returns tomorrow)
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
3 months prior...(charles leading wdc by a decent margin)
yn_sainz
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, iamrebeccad and 2,305,000 others.
yn_sainz : life in rosso corsa ❤️🔥🏎️
tagged : alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc
-
view 89,000 other comments.
username05 : her and alex are sooooo 😍 and charles is just...there.
username090 : if charles wins this championship, he better propose. or i WILL.
alexandrasaintmleux : i fell in love w a woman who looks like this… how is that fair 🥀
liked by charles_leclerc and yn_sainz
↳ charles_leclerc : understandable. same.
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and yn_sainz
↳ yn_sainz : you’re both dramatic and i love it
liked by charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux
carlossainz55 : you make me want to return to ferrari sometimes...and then i realize i do not want to see the three of you making out
liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and yn_sainz
↳ charles_leclerc : mi cuñado!!!!!! (my brother in law)
liked by carlossainz55
↳ yn_sainz : charlie...i told you. no more spanish speaking until you are FLUENT
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and carlossainz55
↳ alexandrasaintmleux : two spanish speaking girlfriends and he still doesn't have clue what he is saying
liked by yn_sainz and carlossainz55
↳ charles_leclerc : ...yes i do
↳ yn_sainz : mi amor i see you on google translate constantly
liked by charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux
charles_leclerc : ...guilty 😅
username007 : charles and alex are literally obsessed with her and honestly, same
scuderiaferrari : our championship leader is in great hands ❤️💛 (we owe you our lives yn and alex)
liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and yn_sainz
charles_leclerc: my lucky charms ❤️🔥
liked by yn_sainz and alexandrasaintmleux
↳ username010 : charles you need to MARRY them. NOW.
liked by charles_leclerc
iamrebeccad : the two of you in those gowns?? almost forgot to breathe
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and yn_sainz
↳ yn_sainz : we love you SOOOOOO much
liked by iamrebeccad and alexandrasaintmleux
username005 : i sense a championship and two shiny engagement rings sooooooon
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
You wake up to sunlight spilling across crisp white sheets and the quiet hum of the sea outside your hotel room. The first thing you notice is warmth — Charles’ arm draped across your waist, his body pressed lazily against your back, his soft, even breaths tickling the curve of your shoulder. On the other side of you, Alexandra is already awake, her phone in hand, eyes catching yours with a gentle smile.
“Morning, engineer,” she teases, voice low and still heavy with sleep.
You smile, stretching slightly. “Morning, my muse.”
Charles stirs, eyes blinking open. His hair is a mess, and there’s a faint red mark from where his face was pressed against the pillow. “You two are conspiring again, aren’t you?” he mumbles, voice thick and rough in a way that makes Alexandra giggle.
“Always,” you reply. “You’re the main project, remember?”
He hums softly, eyes closing again as he pulls both of you closer, pressing a sleepy kiss against Alexandra’s shoulder before brushing his lips over the back of your neck. “Best team in the world,” he whispers, and for a moment, it’s quiet — just heartbeats and sunlight and the feeling of being exactly where you belong.
Eventually, you all drag yourselves out of bed. You and Alexandra move around each other in easy harmony, a silent rhythm perfected over time. She’s curling her hair while you fix your lipstick; you zip up her red silk dress while she adjusts the collar of your crisp white shirt and ties the red ribbon you wear in your hair on race days. Charles sits on the edge of the bed, already dressed in Ferrari gear, watching the two of you with quiet admiration and the softest smile.
“Do you two ever stop being perfect?” he asks.
“Mmm not really,” you shoot back playfully, and Alexandra laughs as she leans down to kiss the top of his head.
Breakfast is slow and sweet — fresh fruit, espresso, croissants, and laughter. Alexandra feeds Leo bits of croissant while Charles scrolls through messages from Fred and the team. You sit across from them, sipping your coffee, watching the two people you love most — one focused, one dreamy — and feel a wave of peace wash over you.
The drive to the track feels like muscle memory now. Leo sits in Alexandra’s lap, sticking his head out the window while Charles hums softly to whatever French song is playing through the speakers. Your hand rests on his knee, Alexandra’s hand rests over yours. The world outside blurs in red and gold.
At the paddock gates, the flash of cameras is instant. Alexandra adjusts her sunglasses; you secure Leo’s little Ferrari bandana. The three of you step out together, and the energy shifts — the paddock recognizes its power trio. Charles stops every few feet to sign hats and take photos, smiling and joking with fans. You and Alexandra carry on ahead, chatting softly, laughing at how Leo seems to pose every time a camera flashes.
Once you reach the garage, it’s back to business. You slip on your headset and dive straight into the data screens while Charles gets suited up. He finds you right before the pre-race briefing, helmet in hand, giving you that small, familiar look — the one that always means I trust you.
“You ready, amour?” he asks.
“Always,” you reply, tightening his earpiece like you always do. “Just drive. I’ll handle the rest.”
From the side, Alexandra watches — half in awe, half in love — as you move through your element. You’re calm, confident, commanding. The way you and Charles communicate borders on telepathic.
Then comes the race. The roar of engines, the blur of red, the heartbeat echo of strategy calls.
“Box this lap. We’re going for the undercut.”
“Copy.”
“Good. Stay focused. You’ve got this.”
Alexandra leans closer to the monitors, whispering under her breath, as if he can somehow hear her through sheer willpower. “Come on, Charles. You’re brilliant, bébé. Bring it home.”
And he does. Lap after lap, precise and relentless. When he crosses the line P1, the garage explodes. You rip off your headset, laughing and crying all at once as confetti rains down. Alexandra throws her arms around you, eyes shining. You cling to each other, both shaking with joy and relief.
From the podium, Charles looks down and finds you both immediately — two red blurs in the sea of celebration. He points, then presses his fingers to his lips and sends a kiss in your direction. You and Alexandra wave, tears streaming, hearts full.
Later, back at the hotel, the world is quieter again. Leo curls up at the foot of the bed, fast asleep. You’re half-lying on Charles’ chest while Alexandra traces soft shapes on your back. The glow of the city lights filters in through the window.
Charles whispers, “Days like this… they don’t feel real.”
“They are,” Alexandra says softly, brushing her thumb over his jaw. “Because we made them real.”
You lift your head, smiling sleepily. “Now get some rest, world champion-in-the-making.”
He laughs quietly, pulling both of you closer. “As long as I’ve got you two beside me,” he murmurs, “I’ve already won.”
And you fall asleep like that — tangled up in warmth, red still lingering at the edges of your dreams.
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
flashback! (in your dreams tehehe)
Ferrari had just announced that you’d be joining as Charles’ new race engineer. Everyone in the paddock was buzzing — Sainz’s sister, brilliant and bold, stepping into the scarlet chaos of Maranello.
You remember the way the factory smelled — metal, oil, and ambition. You’d barely dropped your bag before someone led you through the corridors to the simulator room. That’s where you first saw him. Charles Leclerc.
He turned around when you entered, hair a little too messy, team kit slightly askew, eyes wide with curiosity. You were supposed to shake his hand and introduce yourself professionally, but his gaze held you there — open, boyish, and inexplicably sure.
“You must be YN Sainz,” he said, offering a grin that was equal parts charm and nerves. “I’ve heard you’re terrifying.”
You laughed, straightening your posture. “Only when the car is bad.”
Something flickered across his face — admiration, amusement, something more dangerous. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes following your every move. When Carlos appeared a moment later, throwing an arm around your shoulder and saying, “Charles, meet my sister — the brains of the operation,” Charles only smiled.
“Good,” he said simply. “Then I am in good hands.”
You didn’t realize it then, but he meant more than racing.
It was six months later, after countless races, countless nights in the garage, and countless moments where your eyes found his through the chaos. You’d been avoiding it — the chemistry, the stolen glances, the way your voice softened only when you said his name.
He asked you out after a late debrief. Everyone had already left, the factory lights dimming. You were bent over a monitor, finishing notes, when he leaned in beside you.
“YN,” he said quietly, his accent wrapping around your name in that soft, deliberate way that always got to you.
“Hmm?”
“I know it’s… maybe not ideal timing,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, “but if I don’t ask you now, I might regret it forever.”
You turned, raising an eyebrow. “Ask me what?”
He smiled — small, nervous, honest. “To dinner. Somewhere that isn’t the garage. No race talk. Just us.”
You remember staring at him, torn between reason and instinct. He was your driver, your brother’s teammate, your constant. But the sincerity in his eyes made something inside you surrender.
“Alright,” you said softly. “Dinner. No data talk.”
That night, under the soft glow of Italian streetlights, he kissed you for the first time. It was hesitant at first — then certain. Like he’d been waiting his whole life for you to say yes.
You’d been together for nearly three years by then. Strong, solid, unbreakable. You’d learned to balance work and love, logic and heart. But love has a way of surprising you.
Charles first mentioned her after a Monaco event. “I met someone interesting today,” he said one evening as you both sat on the balcony, wine glasses half full.
“Interesting how?” you teased, tilting your head.
He hesitated. “Not like that. She’s… warm. Kind. She reminds me of you, actually. But softer. She sees people.”
You’d met Alexandra a few weeks later. You didn’t expect to like her. You expected to tolerate her — the way you did with most people orbiting your world. But from the first moment she smiled, something clicked. She was disarming. Elegant but sincere. And she looked at you the same way Charles did the first time — like she was already learning you.
The first time she stayed over, it wasn’t planned. You’d all been having dinner, laughter spilling into midnight, and somehow the three of you had ended up on the couch. Her hand brushed yours once, twice, and when Charles noticed, his gaze softened.
Later that night, after she’d gone, you turned to him in bed.
“Do you love her?” you asked quietly.
He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said honestly. “But I could. And I’d never want to if you didn’t.”
You’d stared at him for a long time, heart steady. “Then let’s not be afraid of something beautiful,” you whispered.
It happened during the Italian Grand Prix weekend later that year. The three of you had become inseparable — dinners, quiet mornings, trips where your fingers brushed and none of you pulled away.
After qualifying, Charles and Alexandra were waiting for you outside the paddock. You remember the tension, the way your pulse quickened. Alexandra looked at you with that curious expression she always had — part awe, part hesitation.
“Can I ask something?” she said softly. “What are we… doing?”
You looked at Charles, and he smiled gently. “Something that feels right,” he said.
You took Alexandra’s hands then, heart in your throat. “We don’t want to make this complicated. We just… both love you. In different ways. In the same way. And we’d like you to stay.”
She blinked back tears, her lips parting in disbelief. “You’re both serious?”
Charles nodded. “Always.”
That night, all three of you stayed tangled together in your hotel room — no words, just slow, careful touches and the sound of shared breathing.
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
a week later...
f1gossipgirls
567,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : charles leclerc, yn sainz and alexandra saint mleux have all been spotted outside a luxury jeweler in st tropez tonight...i think we all know what is happening soon👀💍
-
user has limited comments on this post.
username007 : OHHHHHHHHH I KNEW IT.
username102 : this man is rlly going to win the championship, marry his girls and disappear.
username105 : oh my god charles and carlos r officially going to be brothers. i cannot take it
username005 : imagine how beautiful their kids will be 😭
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
The week in St. Tropez feels like a pause between worlds — a soft exhale after months of travel, pressure, and podiums. The sea outside your villa glitters in late-afternoon light, and the air smells of salt and citrus. Charles insisted on a few quiet days before the next race.
You spend mornings on the terrace with coffee and Leo sprawled across your lap, afternoons swimming in the pale turquoise water, and evenings tangled up on the sand as the sky melts into pink and gold. Alexandra keeps taking pictures of you and Charles when you’re not looking — small moments: his hand in your hair, your laugh against his chest, the way he looks at you like he still can’t believe you’re his.
By the time Saturday comes around, the three of you have fallen into the easy rhythm of your relationship again — love without hurry, comfort without words. Charles calls it date night.
You dress together in the soft light of sunset. Alexandra slips into a silky pale yellow dress that moves like liquid when she walks; you choose something red, short and simple, with a back that makes her whistle as she zips it up for you. Charles watches from the doorway in linen and a faint grin.
“Mon dieu,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You two are dangerous.”
“Only to you,” Alexandra teases, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she passes.
Dinner is at a small restaurant tucked into one of the old streets near the port — the kind of place Charles loves: candlelit tables, a live band playing quietly, the scent of lemon and olive oil drifting through the air. You sit on the patio under string lights, Leo curled up in a tiny bed at your feet.
The night is slow and golden. There’s laughter, stories, shared bites of dessert, and more kisses than the waiter knows what to do with. Alexandra leans against you as you both watch Charles animatedly tell a story, hands flying as always. He looks so alive, so utterly content, that your heart aches.
After dinner, you expect to drive back to the villa — but Charles takes a turn toward the center of town instead. You glance at him, curious.
“Where are we going?” you ask.
He only smiles, eyes on the road. “Somewhere you’ll like.”
It’s late, but the streets are still alive with light. He parks outside a tall building with gleaming windows. A luxury jeweler — closed to the public this late, but clearly open just for him.
You and Alexandra exchange a look. “Charles…”
He cuts the engine and looks at you both, that soft, secret smile still on his face. “Come on.”
Inside, the air is cool and perfumed. There are candles lit on glass tables, champagne waiting in fluted glasses, and a jeweler in a sleek black suit who greets Charles by name. Leo trots happily beside you, little nails clicking on the marble floor, as the three of you are guided into a private room.
“Mr. Leclerc,” the jeweler says politely, “we’ve prepared a few selections based on your preferences.”
Charles nods once, then turns to you and Alexandra with a look that makes your stomach flutter. He still hasn’t said why you’re here.
You and Alexandra stand side by side as velvet trays are opened, each revealing diamonds that seem to catch every light in the room. Some are round and classic, some elongated and modern. Bands in gold, platinum, rose. Settings that sparkle like stars.
You blink at them, then at him. “Charles… what are we doing?”
He just grins — that same infuriating, heart-melting grin. “Having champagne.”
Alexandra laughs, a soft nervous sound. “And… trying on diamonds?”
He lifts his glass. “If you want to.”
You and Alexandra look at each other again — that unspoken understanding between you — and then slowly, you let the jeweler slip a ring onto your hand. The diamond catches the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the room. Alexandra gasps when she tries one herself, something vintage and delicate that fits her perfectly.
Charles leans back in his chair, watching you both with quiet joy, chin resting on his hand. His expression is a mixture of pride, wonder, and a secret he’s not quite ready to tell.
“Why are you smiling like that?” you ask finally, narrowing your eyes.
He shrugs, pretending innocence. “Can’t I enjoy seeing my girls happy?”
You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters all the same. Alexandra crosses to him, slipping into his lap, holding up her hand so the ring catches the light. “Charles, are you—”
He shakes his head gently, pressing a kiss to her wrist. “Not tonight. Tonight is just… because.”
“Because what?” you whisper, stepping closer.
His gaze softens. “Because I wanted to see what forever might look like.”
You feel Alexandra’s hand find yours, the weight of the ring still unfamiliar but somehow right.
You spend another hour there — laughing, trying on pieces, sipping champagne. Leo eventually curls up beside Charles’ feet as you and Alexandra admire each other in the mirror, sparkling and flushed. The jeweler discreetly packages two small boxes before you leave, and Charles insists on carrying them himself.
Outside, the St. Tropez night is warm and full of music. The streetlamps cast gold halos across the pavement as the three of you walk back to the car. Charles slips an arm around both your shoulders, drawing you close.
“Thank you,” he murmurs softly, almost to himself.
“For what?” Alexandra asks, her voice gentle.
“For letting me love you like this,” he says.
Neither of you answers — you just lean into him as the city glows behind you, the faint clink of champagne glasses and diamonds still echoing in your minds.
You don’t know yet what he’s planning. But as you look at the man beside you and the woman holding your hand, the only thing you feel is certainty — that whatever he’s dreaming of, you’re already living it.
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
quick flashback!
It had been a quiet evening in Monaco — the kind of golden-hour calm that settled over the harbor just before dinner. Charles had invited the Sainz men over under the guise of sharing a bottle of Rioja that Carlos Jr. had brought back from Madrid. You and Alexandra left for coffee, blissfully unaware.
Charles had been nervous — visibly, uncharacteristically so — pacing the balcony until Carlos Sr. finally laughed, leaning back in his chair.
“My boy,” he said, eyes twinkling, “you’re walking grooves into my floor. Say what you want to say.”
Charles exhaled, bracing his hands on the railing. “I wanted to ask for your blessing,” he said. “Both of you. I want to marry her.”
For a moment, the elder Sainz just watched him — that measured, assessing silence that could unnerve even world champions. Carlos Jr. was the first to break, grinning as he leaned forward.
“You’ve had my blessing since day one,” he said. “But you’d better not make me regret it.”
That made Charles laugh — a shaky, genuine sound.
Carlos Sr. finally stood, clapping a firm hand to his shoulder. “She is the one of the best things to ever happen to me,” he said with a teasing smile, “and to Ferrari. So take care of her, Charles.”
“I will,” Charles promised softly, a hand pressed over his heart. “Always.”
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
present day (abu dhabi 2025)
The sun was still low over Yas Marina, washing the circuit in pale gold when you woke up that morning — the day it all came down to. Months of strategy, endless briefings, late-night data sessions, and long, sleepless flights across continents had led to this: the final race, Charles versus Max. Winner takes the World Drivers’ Championship.
You’d barely slept, heart pounding with nerves and hope. Alexandra had woken up before you, her voice soft and calm as she brushed your hair out of your face, whispering, “He’s going to do it, mon amour. He’s going to finish what you both started.”
Now, hours later, the three of you were tucked away in Charles’ driver room, the hum of the paddock just beyond the closed door. You sat cross-legged on the small sofa, reviewing telemetry on your tablet while Alexandra perched behind you, braiding your hair with idle care. Charles sat across from you both, already in his fireproofs, his leg bouncing with nervous energy.
“You two are calmer than me,” he murmured, voice soft but charged.
“That’s because we trust you,” you said, glancing up. “We’ve seen how much work you’ve put in. You’re ready, Charles. Just… drive like you always do.”
Alexandra smiled, standing and crossing the room to him. “And remember,” she whispered, leaning in close, “you have two lucky charms right here.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, and you followed, setting your tablet aside and moving toward him. The three of you wrapped around each other — a tangle of red and white and warmth — the kind of silent, grounding embrace that said more than words ever could.
When the knock on the door came — a team member letting you know it was time — Charles pulled back, eyes already glassy. “No matter what happens,” he said, voice rough, “you two are my everything.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “And you’re ours. Now go make history.”
The track was a blur of noise and color when you took your place on the pit wall. The world narrowed to radio chatter, numbers, and Charles’ voice — steady but sharp with focus. Alexandra stood just behind you, headset on, hand resting lightly on your shoulder as if she could transmit her calm into you.
The start was clean. Charles tucked in behind Max through the first few corners, then pulled the move everyone had been waiting for — patient, precise, a slingshot through Turn 9 that had the entire pit wall erupting. You didn’t even realize you were shouting into the mic until Fred tapped your arm, laughing.
“Beautiful work, Charles! That’s P1, that’s P1 — let’s keep it clean to the end.”
You could hear him smiling when he replied, breathless: “Copy, amour. Let’s finish this.”
Every lap felt like a lifetime. Every sector time made your heart clench. Alexandra’s hand found yours around Lap 48 — fingers intertwined, knuckles white. You couldn’t speak. You could only watch the monitors, listen to the roar of the crowd, and count down the laps.
When Charles crossed the line, the world exploded. “YES! YES! YES!” he screamed into the radio, voice breaking. You were crying before you even realized it, laughing through tears as Alexandra threw her arms around you, both of you shaking with disbelief and joy.
“He did it,” she kept saying. “He really did it.”
By the time Charles pulled up in parc fermé, you were both running — Alexandra’s heels in her hand, your headset clattering against your chest. He jumped out of the car, tore off his helmet, and spotted you immediately. He didn’t hesitate.
He sprinted straight toward you and Alexandra, ignoring the cameras, the crowd, everything. You met halfway, and suddenly you were in his arms — sweat and tears and laughter all blending together. Alexandra pressed in too, her hand cupping his cheek, her forehead resting against yours.
“I told you,” you whispered, voice trembling, “you’d make history.”
Charles just shook his head, eyes shimmering as he kissed you, then her, then the space between your joined hands. “We did this,” he said. “All of us.”
And under the Abu Dhabi sun, as confetti burst and engines roared, the three of you stood together — a perfect picture in red and gold, a promise fulfilled. The champion, the engineer, and the artist — hearts bound by something stronger than any title.
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
two weeks later...(paris, france)
The morning sun spilled over the Parisian rooftops like liquid gold as you and Alexandra stepped out of the penthouse, the city stretching endlessly before you. Charles had kissed both of you goodbye just minutes earlier, promising he had some “work to take care of,” though the look in his eyes made you suspicious. You exchanged knowing smiles and shrugged it off. Today was for you and Alexandra — a day without engines, deadlines, or strategy.
The streets were alive, bustling but intimate in the early morning light. You and Alexandra wandered through little boutiques, passing stands with fresh flowers and windows brimming with silk scarves and vintage books. Alexandra laughed as you tried on a crimson beret she insisted you “needed,” tipping it jauntily on your head. You had to admit she was right — the color made your eyes pop, made your whole figure feel like Paris itself had been tailored for you.
You stopped for coffee at a café tucked along a side street, the smell of fresh pastries thick in the air. Alexandra reached over to brush a stray curl from your face, her fingers lingering a second longer than usual.
“You’re glowing today,” she murmured, her voice soft but intent, and you laughed, shaking your head. “Blame the city, not me.”
She just smiled, tugging your hand lightly as the two of you made your way to a small gallery where her exhibition was being prepared. Seeing her in her element — confidently arranging the pieces, chatting with assistants, her eyes alight with passion — made your chest tighten with love. You found yourself lingering nearby, watching her, proud and utterly captivated.
After a few hours, you left the gallery and wandered the city streets again, window-shopping, laughing at silly little tourist traps, stopping for gelato by the Seine. The world felt paused, perfect, as if it had been waiting just for you two. By the time you made your way back to the penthouse, the sky was tinged with pink and violet, the city lights beginning to blink awake.
Leo, usually just content to nap, was at the door before you even stepped inside. But this time, he wasn’t alone in excitement — he was wearing the tiniest little suit you’d ever seen, complete with a bowtie, and a tag dangling from his collar that read, in delicate script: “Mom + Mama, Dad wants to marry you!”
You and Alexandra froze for a heartbeat, eyes wide, hearts pounding. “No way,” Alexandra whispered, a giggle breaking through her shock. You shrieked and practically dove for Leo, burying your face in his fur while laughing uncontrollably.
“Follow me!” a familiar, teasing voice called from down the hallway. And then you noticed them — petals. A delicate trail of rose petals, lit by the soft glow of candles lining the walls, leading straight to the living room.
Your hands were trembling as you followed Alexandra down the path, your heart hammering in your chest. And there he was. Charles. Standing amidst a sea of roses, candles flickering around him, the soft light reflecting in his eyes. His fireproof red had been swapped for something more understated — a tailored suit that somehow still made your stomach flip.
“Charles…” Alexandra breathed, words caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
He held up a hand, gently taking yours first. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment,” he said softly, voice shaking just enough to let you know how much this meant. “But I realized… the perfect moment doesn’t exist unless I’m with both of you.”
He knelt down first before you, Leo hopping up to nuzzle your leg as Charles took your hand. “YN,” he said, eyes bright and unwavering, “I love you. Every part of you, every laugh, every late-night strategy call, every quiet moment. Every single thing about you. We've been through everything together and I can't imagine ever being without you. Will you marry me?”
Tears pooled in your eyes, your hands trembling as you nodded furiously. “Yes! Of course, yes!”
He stood, heart full, and turned to Alexandra, taking her hands in his. “Alexandra, you’re the light of my life. You make every day brighter, every triumph sweeter, and every challenge easier. Will you marry me too?”
Alexandra’s laughter bubbled out before she could even speak, a mix of tears and joy. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” She threw her arms around him, and he pulled you both into a tight, perfect embrace.
The three of you stood there, hearts beating together in that golden glow, surrounded by candles and roses and the soft fur of Leo, who seemed just as proud as the humans around him. Charles kissed your foreheads, your cheeks, pressing a hand to each of your hearts as if trying to make sure this was real.
“You two,” he whispered, voice breaking with emotion, “are my everything. Always. And now… officially, forever.”
You sank into the embrace, feeling the weight of every past race, every triumph, every quiet moment you’d shared, settle into perfect completion. Alexandra pressed her cheek to yours, and Charles’ arms tightened around both of you. Leo barked happily, jumping into the circle, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t exist.
The three of you — hearts intertwined, laughter mingling with tears — stood in the soft candlelight, bound by love, trust, and every shared moment that had led here. And for the first time, the future felt as infinite and dazzling as Paris itself.
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
charles_leclerc
liked by yn_sainz, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad, carlossainz55 and 10,000,000 others.
charles_leclerc : Mr. & Mrs. ² Leclerc ❤️❤️❤️❤️💍
tagged : yn_sainz and alexandrasaintmleux
-
user has disabled comments on this post.
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
f1gossipgirls
1,470,900 likes.
f1gossipgirls : charles leclerc is officially engaged to two of the most beautiful women in the world AND won a wdc with ferrari...what spell did he say????
-
view 89,000 other comments.
username07 : i knew it was coming and yet i am still jealous of that man.
username090 : meh...my names charles and i have two hot fiances and im a millionaire and i won a world championship...MEHHHH
username55 : sainz-leclerc and saint mleux- leclerc both sound INSANE. i fucking love it
username075 : i need the name of his etsy witch
username010 : i am dying to know arthur and carlos' reaction
username005 : i am forever sorry for making fun of charles for doing all them ads. those rings do not look cheap
🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧💍
The penthouse in Paris was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the occasional rustle of Leo padding across the marble floor. Candles from earlier still flickered in the corners, their wax pooling gently. You, Alexandra, and Charles were lounging on the velvet sofa, knees tangled, hands clasped together, each of you glowing with that surreal post-proposal happiness that only comes once in a lifetime.
“Should we… tell everyone?” Alexandra asked softly, leaning her head against your shoulder.
You nodded, grinning, and glanced at Charles, whose own smile was wide enough to hurt your cheeks. “I think it’s time,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, but your heart was racing with excitement.
Leo, sensing the energy, jumped onto the sofa and nudged your arm with his little snout, almost as if urging you to hurry.
Charles grabbed his phone and started the first call. “Carlos?” he asked, holding it up so the screen was between all three of you.
Carlos answered almost immediately, looking tired but curious. Rebecca was perched next to him, coffee in hand. The moment he saw the three of you together, all smiles and soft candlelight in the background, his eyebrows lifted.
“Uh… what’s going on?” he asked, voice uncertain, but a grin was already forming.
You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you and Alexandra lifted your hands — the left hands with the sparkling rings glinting in the soft light of the penthouse. Charles held yours, and Alexandra’s hand hovered just above his shoulder.
Carlos’ jaw dropped. “Wait… are those—”
“Yes,” Alexandra said softly, eyes shining, “they’re ours.”
Rebecca squealed and clutched Carlos’ arm. “Oh my God! You’re engaged? All three of you?!”
“Yes,” you said, laughing, Leo hopping up and wagging his little tail. “It’s official. We’re engaged.”
Carlos held up his hands, pretending to examine his palms like he needed to make sure this was real. “I can’t… I don’t even—this is insane!”
Charles grinned wide, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re going to be my brother-in-law,” he said, voice full of excitement.
Carlos blinked. Then blinked again. “Wait… what? I’m… your brother-in-law?”
“Yes!” Alexandra chimed in, laughing, tugging your hand. “And we think that makes Leo officially your nephew too.”
Leo barked in agreement, spinning around the room, tail wagging like crazy.
Carlos threw his head back and laughed, a mix of disbelief and absolute joy. “Oh my god. I’m going to be a brother-in-law to you? And you? BOTH of you?”
“Yes!” Charles said, practically bouncing in his seat. “Welcome to the family. Officially.”
Rebecca was doubled over beside him, laughing so hard she could barely speak. “Carlos, look at your face! You’re so excited!!”
You leaned closer to the camera, unable to stop your smile. “We just wanted you to see first.”
Carlos smiled. “This is… this is insane. I love it. I love all of you so much.”
The three of you laughed together, Leo barking at the phone as if celebrating too. You stayed on the call for several minutes longer, showing the rings from every angle, letting Carlos and Rebecca admire the details, and hearing their excited squeals and endless congratulations.
Once you hung up, the three of you exchanged gleeful glances, cheeks still flushed. “Should we call Charles’ family next?” you asked, heart fluttering again.
“Yes,” Charles said, already scrolling through contacts. “I think they deserve to see this before anyone else.”
The screen lit up immediately, and Arthur’s face appeared, messy hair, a grin already plastered across his face.
“Charles! What—wait, why do you look like that?” Arthur asked, squinting at the camera.
Before anyone could answer, you and Alexandra leaned in, holding up your hands so the rings sparkled in the camera’s glow. Leo jumped into Charles’ lap, tail wagging frantically as if he understood the importance of this moment.
Arthur’s jaw dropped. “No… are those… what I think they are?”
“Yes,” Charles said simply, voice full of pride and warmth. “We’re engaged.”
Arthur’s eyes widened, and then he threw his head back, laughing uncontrollably. “You didn’t just—wait, all three of you?! Oh my God, this is insane!”
Alexandra and you laughed, leaning on each other as Charles shook his head, grinning. “Happy to have you officially as a brother.”
Arthur nearly fell off his chair, bouncing up and down. “I am thrilled! I’m officially the coolest brother-in-law now!”
You chuckled to yourself, "I think Carlos might fight you for that title, Thur."
Just then, Lorenzo appeared behind him on the screen, Charlotte holding a glass of champagne. Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, trying to keep a composed expression. “I see chaos has arrived,” he said dryly.
Charlotte leaned into the camera, eyes sparkling. “Oh my god! Look at the rings! We've just added two more to the family!”
“Yes,” Charles said, shrugging, mock-innocent. “We come as a package.”
Pascale’s voice then rang out from somewhere behind Lorenzo and Charlotte, filled with warmth and a little exasperation. “Ohhhh, my babies! My babies are engaged! All of you! I can’t believe it! This is the happiest news I’ve heard in ages!”
You and Alexandra exchanged a glance, hearts full, and Charles squeezed both your hands. “We wanted you all to see first,” he said softly.
Arthur leaned closer to the camera, practically vibrating with excitement. “I don’t even know what to do! I should be throwing confetti, but I’m too busy squealing. Can we celebrate now?!”
Charlotte laughed, waving her champagne glass. “Yes! Drinks, hugs, chaos — I am so ready!”
Lorenzo, though attempting composure, couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I… I can’t believe this. All of you together. It’s… perfect.”
Pascale, ever the mom, sniffled happily, brushing a hand across her cheek. “I love all of you. I just… I can’t even. You are my children and my children-in-love! This is… this is the best day!”
Leo barked excitedly into the screen, hopping from Charles’ lap to yours. Arthur squealed. “Oh, Leo gets it! He knows! He’s already celebrating!”
You leaned back into Charles and Alexandra, hearts soaring. The three of you were laughing, crying softly, and cheering together with your families over the phone, and for a moment, nothing else in the world mattered.
Leo jumped onto Charles’ lap, circling his arms and whining happily. You pressed a kiss to Alexandra’s temple. “I think they’re happy,” you whispered.
Alexandra grinned. “Just a little,” she said, eyes sparkling. “And honestly… I can’t stop smiling.”
Charles wrapped his arms around both of you, pulling you in for a long, slow hug. “Neither can I,” he said, voice low, almost incoherent. “This… all of this… it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
And for the first time that day, surrounded by the warmth of love, family, and little Leo bouncing at your feet, you all just let it sink in — the reality of being engaged, together, forever.
charles leclerc x lawyer!reader x alexandra saint mleux
in which charles needs a lawyer and everyone on the grid recommends you…the one who reads NDAs like novels, redlines million-dollar contracts with a Montblanc pen, and somehow still finds time to go viral on tik tok for roasting poorly written sponsorship deals. he thinks it’ll be quick—one meeting, a signature, maybe a stern look over a brand clause or two. then you show up in monaco in heels and a tailored suit, quoting the FIA regulations better than his race engineer and making alex laugh harder than he’s seen in months. his Instagram explore page becomes full of edits of you. add in alex, who takes one look at you and says, “she is dangerous.” but won’t stop inviting you to brunch. suddenly, the paddock’s favorite couple has a third problem. or maybe… a third solution.
fc : bella hadid and various pinterest girlies
little draft for you all as I am working on finishing heal your heart rn — enjoy mamas
⚠️not proofread⚠️
—
charles_leclerc
liked by uhavebeenserved, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55 & 859,265 others.
charles_leclerc : proud, proud, proud 🤍 @/lec
scuderiaferrari: 🍦💛
liked by author
alexandrasaintmleux : so proud of you, mon ange!
liked by author
usernameee : need to try asap
uhavebeenserved : congratulations charles! can’t wait to try! 💛
liked by author & alexandrasaintmleux
charles_leclerc : would not have been possible without you! have some on the way to you right now 😉
liked by uhavebeenserved
username0 : who is she??
username20 : big time lawyer in monaco— half the grid has worked with her. she is also on tik tok and makes fun legal content!
arthur_leclerc : im out already
charles_leclerc : literally how— you got like 5 yesterday!
charles_leclerc : fatty
arthur_leclerc : stop arthur slander @/uhavebeenserved HELP
liked by uhavebeenserved
uhavebeenserved : all im hearing is good press for @/lec…if arthur likes it that much its clearly fabulous…and i would be nice to ppl who r giving me free press charles
liked by arthur_leclerc & charles_leclerc
—
uhavebeenserved
liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, lando & 1,855,467 others.
uhavebeenserved : i don’t only serve subpoenas but i also serve cunt
alexandrasaintmleux : belle fille 😻
liked by author
uhavebeenserved : ur the most beautiful alexxx
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
username1 : yn would you help me sue my ex for traumatizing me?
uhavebeenserved : absolutely I’ll do it for free
username4 : sjsjsjs I can’t with her
username5 : yn!! any advice on surviving law school?
uhavebeenserved : no distractions, study your ass off and knee any misogynistic men in the nuts :)
username5 : will do mamas. i promise to make you proud
liked by author
username00 : the amount of pure cunt and beauty you exert should be illegal
lando : how does one exactly serve cunt?
liked by author
uhavebeenserved : it is a way of life lando. you will learn eventually little one.
yourbff : god im obsessed with you
liked by author
scuderiaferrari: Nice car😉
liked by author
uhavebeenserved: pretty, ain’t she?
kikagomes : we miss you in the paddock pls come back soon
liked by author
maxverstappen1 : agreed
liked by author
carlossainz55 : need legal advice on if I can sue for emotional distress
uhavebeenserved: is this about f**rari? bc we may have a case carlos
carlossainz55 : 🤐 (yes)
liked by author
redbullracing: we will happily host you, yn!
mercedesamgf1 : pick us!!
mclaren : you’d look great in papaya!
scuderiaferrari: i think we are the obvious choice
uhavebeenserved: omg yes fight over me
username15 : why is half the grid in her comments?
username00 : she is pretty close to most of them as she has represented them before
—
vogue
liked by alexandrasaintmleux & 243,643 others.
vogue : What’s in Her Bag: Court Edition. Monaco based lawyer, YN LN, breaks down her everyday courtroom essentials—from highlighters to Hermès.
username00 : her casual paddock pass in her bag is killing me
username15 : she really said I don’t need this during court but I never empty my bag ever
username10 : multi purpose queen
username7 : so we’re all seeing the paddock pass and Alexandra’s sunglasses right?? ok just checking
username8 : how do you know they r hers?
username20 : Sunglasses last seen on Alexandra in a Milan street style reel 3 weeks ago. Do with that what you will.
username8 : damn ok detective
username20 : plus if you actually watch the video…she literally said “oh these belong to alex, i need to get them back to her.’
username17 : alexandra already likeddddd
username18 : the back of her paddock pass literally says “guest of charles leclerc” hmmm
username0 : they are friends don’t make it what it’s not
username22 : you guys are literally all focused on the wrong things—THERE WAS A PIECE OF PAPER THAT SAID ‘GOOD LUCK MON CHÈRI -C’
username15 : do you know how many men in this world have c names?
username22 : pls stop killing my joy
—
alexandrasaintmleux posted to her story!
seen by charles_leclerc, uhavebeenserved, arthur_leclerc & 232,545 others.
charles_leclerc : wish I could’ve been with my favorite ladies😞
alexandrasaintmleux : we will see you tomorrow pretty boy
uhavebeenserved : best day ever with you pretty angel
alexandrasaintmleux : u r making me blushhh
arthur_leclerc : where was my invite
alexandrasaintmleux: lost in the mail maybe
—
uhavebeenserved added two posts to her story!
{caption 1 : guess where I am???} {caption 2 : @/scuderiaferrari made me do hot laps with @/charles_leclerc…still feel ill}
seen by alexandrasaintmleux, lando, charles_leclerc & 3,375,266 others.
lando : still mad you let charles take you but not me
uhavebeenserved : I value my life
charles_leclerc : hope I didn’t make that pretty head spin too much
uhavebeenserved: ur good I think I still have all my wits about me
uhavebeenserved: I was too busy staring at you to get dizzy
charles_leclerc : your beauty was definitely distracting me- if we would’ve wrecked I’d have to sue you for being too stunning
—
hot laps!
YN slides into the passenger seat, sunglasses on and helmet over her head, calm as ever. Charles is already grinning behind the wheel.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Well I suppose with how much they pay you that you are somewhat decent and won’t kill us.” YN said dryly, tugging on her seatbelt.
Charles lets out a low laugh and turns on the ignition. The car comes alive.
“What was your first impression of me?” Charles asked as he took off down the track without warning.
“Fast. But not in the way you think.” YN said as she gripped the door handle, trying to steady herself.
“That sounds like you’re insulting me.” Charles said with a chuckle.
“You talked way too much in our first meeting. Absolutely rambling.” YN said with a small smile.
“And now?”
“Now you know when to shut up so that sounds like progress to me.”
He raises an eyebrow, cornering harder than necessary.
“If you weren’t a driver, what would you be?” YN asks, setting the cards in her lap.
“I’m not sure but I think I have some legal issues so I’d still need you.” He said with a smirk.
YN chuckled lowly. “Sounds like job security for me.”
“Or a very expensive habit.” Charles stated smoothly.
“Biggest red flag in a person?” Charles asked.
“People who treat rules as suggestions.” YN murmured.
“Uh-oh.”
“Exactly.”
“What’s your red flag?” Charles asked with a cheeky smile.
“I argue for a living and I always win.” YN said.
“Good thing I like a challenge.” Charles glances at her grinning.
“You know you didn’t have to say yes to this.” Charles said as the car started to slow down.
“I didn’t.” I said.
“So why did you?” Charles asked.
“Because I don’t mind the speed when I know who is driving. I already said no to Lando.” YN said causing another laugh from Charles.
“I’ll take that as consent to ask you out to dinner.” He said as he reaches over to help YN unbuckle herself.
“Only if you read the fine print, Leclerc.” She said with a smirk and stepped out of the car.
Towards the end of the video there was a cute clip of Charles helping YN take off her helmet and him smoothing down her hair.
—
alexandrasaintmleux reposted scuderiaferrari’s video with the caption : “only watching for yn, she is funny as hell”
—
alexandrasaintmleux added a post to her story!
{caption 1 : she is always working} {caption 2 : managed to convince y/n to come to brunch with me}
seen by charles_leclerc, uhavebeenserved, scuderiaferrari & 347,246 others.
charles_leclerc : she was literally already up working when I left this morning
alexandrasaintmleux: i know!! i told her she was insane.
charles_leclerc : do not let her pay for herself, use my card.
alexandrasaintmleux: already on it:)
uhavebeenserved : always a lovely day spent with you, mon ange
alexandrasaintmleux: i love youuuuu
—
twitter!
F1gossipgirls: does anyone else think it’s odd that alexandra reposted the hot laps video that YN and Charles were so clearly flirting in and the proceeds to hang out with her all day??
view comments
usernameee : ARE WE FRIENDS? ARE WE FLIRTING? ARE WE THROUPLING?
username5 : alexandra watching her boyfriend flirt with the lawyer then taking the lawyer out for drinks??? no notes. this is cinema.
username7 : guys maybe they are just all friends and alex doesn’t get jealous or doesn’t care
username17 : i could not be friends with someone who is openly flirting with my man like that
username00 : if this turns into a “two girlfriends and a driver” scenario I SWEAR I will never recover
username14 : charles rn trying to understand if he’s being soft-launched into a love triangle or quietly removed from it.
username0 : so is this a friendship? a situationship? a legal partnership with romantic benefits? we need answers.
—
uhavebeenserved added two posts to her story!
seen by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, lando & 2,164,175 others.
lando : still can’t believe you’ll go out with Charles and not me
uhavebeenserved : charles is rather charming and also has a hot girlfriend he is willing to share…what do you have Norris?
lando : i have oscar
uhavebeenserved : as adorable as you both are…no🤗
alexandrasaintmleux: omg I miss you both smmmm
uhavebeenserved : come home rn pretty we miss you too (very very much)
charles_leclerc : best night with you mon amor
uhavebeenserved : love you cha
—
f1gossipgirls
2,364,145 likes.
f1gossipgirls : Charles Leclerc was spotted out in Monaco with Lawyer YN LN — sources say the two had a dinner together and then left in the same car. YN LN was seen leaving his house the next morning and taking his car for a spin. Charles’ long term girlfriend and friend of LN’s, Alexandra, has been in Mexico with her family.
—
username5 : typical charles but I feel horrible for Alex esp after she clearly trusted yn
usernameee : OH WE’RE NOT EVEN PRETENDING ANYMORE.
username17 : me refreshing alexandra’s story every 30 seconds like she’s the press secretary
username20 : and y’all were clowning when she had alex’s sunglasses and a paddock pass in her court bag… WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?
alexandrasaintmleux : cute dress yn !!
liked by author and uhavebeenserved
uhavebeenserved : thanks love! stole it from your closet 🤐
liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux
username14 : okay what the fuck
username22 : I’ve never been more confused in my life
username15 : is this petty or sarcasm or what
—
uhavebeenserved
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 & 4,375,279 others.
uhavebeenserved : yall really know how to fuck up a soft launch but anyways alex and charles r the love(s) of my life and that is all goodbye🥰💕♥️❤️🥰😍
—
alexandrasaintmleux: i love you so so so so much beautiful,, so happy to be able to show you off now;)
liked by author
username00 : imagine dating your client AND your client’s girlfriend. that’s not a conflict of interest, that’s a power move.
oscarpiastri : so do i have another mom now?
liked by author
uhavebeenserved : yes
oscarpiastri : free legal representation?
uhavebeenserved : yes
lando : WHY DOES HE GET IT BUT NOT ME
uhavebeenserved : oscar stays rather quiet…I don’t see him becoming too much of an issue…unlike you
liked by maxverstappen1 and oscarpiastri
charles_leclerc : my girls ❤️ love you both so much
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and author
danielricciardo : ive been nosey and read a lot of fanfiction in my day but this beats them all
liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc
lilymhe : love love love
liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux
carlossainz55 : oh thank god I couldn’t be quiet much longer
liked by author and charles_leclerc
uhavebeenserved : we know
carlossainz55 : sorry for wanting to defend you and Charles from the internet MY BAD FOR BEING A GOOD FRIEND
liked by author and charles_leclerc
yourbff : cuties
liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc
—
charles_leclerc
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, uhavebeenserved, arthur_leclerc & 1,358,268.
charles_leclerc : my legal counsel has approved of a hard launch;)
love you both forever and always — the girls ive always dreamed of 🤍
—
username00 : i’m shaking. shaking. SHAKING. he posted this like it’s normal
alexandrasaintmleux : so blessed to have found both of my soulmates — my whole heart
liked by author and uhavebeenserved
uhavebeenserved : my favorite people on the planet,, you both are so incredibly special to me — love you my babies
liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux
username15 : what if Charles was cheating and this is the cover up
uhavebeenserved : oh yes when I make love to both of them it is def a cover up
liked by author and alexandrasaintmleux
scuderiaferrari: for being a lawyer, you are not very pr friendly
liked by uhavebeenserved
alexandrasaintmleux: it’s part of her charm
liked by author and uhavebeenserved
arthur_leclerc : bro I just woke up
arthur_leclerc : and I see you hard launching with my lawyer
liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux and uhavebeenserved
charles_leclerc : she is my lawyer too
uhavebeenserved: i will still be ur lawyer arthur and ill even give you a family discount
arthur_leclerc : oh slay love u for that
pierregasly : triple date soon?
liked by author, uhavebeenserved and alexandrasaintmleux
logan sargeant x !albon golfer reader x oscar piastri (smau/written)
you’ve grown up with the sound of engines and the smell of freshly cut fairways — part golf prodigy, part paddock regular. alex always says you belong in both worlds: quiet greens and roaring circuits. it’s probably why you get along so well with lily, who’s become your best friend and unofficial doubles partner — and why you’ve somehow ended up as a small fixture in the f1 paddock.
everyone knows you as the albon sister who can sink a birdie from thirty feet away — friendly with most drivers, especially the 2019 rookie bunch. but lately, two faces have stood out more than the rest.
logan, with his easy smile and shameless jokes, who treats you like you’ve been friends forever. and oscar, who never says much but always seems to be standing next to you — quiet, sharp-eyed, and far too good at listening.
you don’t realize how closely they orbit you until lando teases you about it. you laugh it off and ignore him. but if you paid attention, you’d notice how often logan’s eyes linger on both you and oscar — as if he can’t quite decide who he’s more drawn to. he never had to choose. you did it for him.
fc : denise julia
(day 14 of chef's tea party series!) (obvs logan is still in f1 in this fic! everyone say YAYYY.) (carlos back to ferrari, lewis at merc and kimi in reserve.) (also changed up my spacing again bc i think i like this more and it saves more time during editing, lmk what yall like!)
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
yn_albon
liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, alexandrasaintmleux, logansargeant, lando and 1,560,000 others.
yn_albon : recents w my brother (🤮) and the love of my life (@/lilymhe)
tagged : alex_albon and lilymhe
-
view 55,000 other comments.
lilymhe : my fave albon🤍 love you forever
liked by yn_albon
↳ yn_albon : love you even moreeee
liked by lilymhe
↳ alex_albon : between this and the caption...i feel so loved guys.
liked by lilymhe and yn_albon
↳ yn_albon : its called character building alexander
liked by alex_albon, lilymhe, lando and georgerussell63
↳ lilymhe : he is just jealous that im featured more on your instagram than he is
liked by yn_albon, alex_albon and lando
↳ yn_albon : get a better swing then @/alex_albon
liked by lando, lilymhe and alex_albon
↳ lando : yeah mate, for having a girlfriend and a sister who are professionals... you suck.
liked by yn_albon, lilymhe and carlossainz55
↳ alex_albon : who asked YOU😭
liked by yn_albon, lilymhe and lando
oscarpiastri : great photos 👍
liked by yn_albon and lando
↳ yn_albon : thank you oscar 👍
liked by oscarpiastri
↳ lando : way to get in there mate
↳ oscarpiastri : yet again who asked YOU
liked by lando and alex_albon
lando : carlos and i want doubles match against you and lily. (we know we will lose. just indulge us pls)
liked by yn_albon, carlossainz55 and lilymhe
↳ lilymhe : we accept surrenders in advance
liked by yn_albon, carlossainz55 and lando
↳ yn_albon : ive already recruited george and alex as caddies
liked by lando, carlossainz55, lilymhe, alex_albon and georgerussell63
alexandrasaintmleux : beautiful ladies ❤️🔥
liked by yn_albon and lilymhe
logansargeant : suddenly in need of golf lessons from you
liked by yn_albon
↳ yn_albon : im free any day that ends in y
liked by logansargeant and lilymhe
↳ alex_albon : logan.
liked by lando, yn_albon, logansargeant and lilymhe
↳ yn_albon : relax, old man.
liked by lilymhe, lando and logansargeant
carmenmmundt : you look UNREAL in blue 🩵
liked by yn_albon and logansargeant
username00 : THE ALBON SIBLING CHAOS IS BACKKK
username007 : oscar’s “great photos 👍” comment is so him i can’t breathe
↳ username001 : logan's horrible flirting and alex scolding him has me on the floor
username005 : oh i love her and lily so bad
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
The sun was already dipping behind the trees when you and Lily finished your last set. The court lights glowed golden against the deepening evening, and your arms ached in that deeply satisfying way that only came from a match well played.
“Remind me,” Lily said between sips of her electrolyte drink, “why exactly did we tell Alex we couldn’t make it to Singapore again?”
You smirked, wiping the sweat from your temple. “Because he’d panic and tell us to stay home and rest, and then complain that his ‘two favorite distractions’ weren't there to watch him.”
Lily giggled, reaching for her phone. “He’s so dramatic.”
“He’s an Albon,” you said simply, laughing when she lightly smacked your arm with her towel. “We all are. And besides—our flight’s in three hours. He’ll live.”
The two of you lingered on the course a little longer, the world quiet around you except for the squeak of birds and the occasional hum of a golf cart nearby. You’d both played ridiculously well— It felt easy, like it always did with Lily.
She’d become your best friend the moment you played together for the first time—a shared love of sport, of travel, of teasing Alex mercilessly. What started as a golfing friendship turned into something deeper: the kind of sisterhood that came with shared hotel rooms and whispered conversations about love and life at 2 a.m.
When you finally boarded the small jet—just the two of you, both wrapped in hoodies and still buzzing from adrenaline—you couldn’t stop grinning. Lily curled up across from you, makeup-free and glowing.
“He’s going to freak out,” she said, smile sleepy but giddy.
“Exactly the point,” you said, taking a photo of her half-asleep with her golf visor still tucked into her hoodie. “Worth every minute of jet lag.”
You landed in Singapore just as the first rays of sunlight broke over the skyline. The humidity hit instantly—thick, warm, and familiar. Lily yawned as she dragged her carry-on behind her.
“Why do I feel like I’m walking into an ambush?”
“Because you are,” you replied cheerfully. “An Albon ambush.”
The hotel was already bustling with Williams team personnel when you walked in, sunglasses perched high, coffee in hand. You and Lily barely had time to shower and change before you were doing your makeup side by side in the bathroom mirror—soft glam for you, bronzy glow for her.
“I’m going to cry when I see his face,” Lily said, fluffing her hair.
“You’re going to cry because you only got four hours of sleep,” you countered, fixing your lip gloss.
Downstairs, the team’s breakfast area was full of blue polos and chatter. You spotted Alex instantly—hair still messy, half zipped into his Williams top, a plate of fruit and toast in front of him. He was talking to a few engineers, laughing about something.
Lily nudged you. “Go on. Let’s ruin his peace.”
You sauntered up behind him and reached up to placed your hands dramatically on his shoulders. “Heard you were having breakfast with some strangers.”
Alex froze, then turned around so fast he nearly knocked over his orange juice. His expression was priceless: wide eyes, a half-formed “What the—?” and then that pure, boyish grin that you hadn’t seen in weeks.
“You’re here?!” He stood up so fast his chair squeaked. “I thought you were in the middle of your tournament!”
“We were,” you said, gesturing to Lily. “And then we finished our doubles match, hopped on a jet, and came here. Surprise.”
He blinked, utterly stunned. “You’re insane.”
“Insanely supportive,” Lily corrected, giving him a hug and small kiss.
Alex laughed, shaking his head as he hugged you too. “I swear, between the two of you, I’m never going to have a calm day in my life.”
“That’s the point,” you teased.
A few hours later, you and Lily made your way to the paddock—both of you dressed to perfection, sunglasses on, heat shimmering off the asphalt. Cameras turned almost immediately; people recognized you both from the golf world and from being, well, you.
Inside the Williams garage, Logan was tugging on his gloves when he spotted you through the reflective wall. His expression flipped from concentration to pure surprise.
“No way,” he said, grinning as you approached. “You said you weren’t coming!”
“That was a lie,” you said simply, laughing as he pulled you into a friendly hug. “We wanted to surprise Alex.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” Logan said, shooting a glance toward the monitors where Alex’s name blinked across telemetry. “I heard he nearly flipped the table when he saw you two.”
You were about to respond when another voice joined in.
“Should’ve guessed,” Oscar said lightly, hands in his pockets, water bottle tucked under one arm. He’d clearly come by for a chat— a relaxed smile and that calm, quiet energy that always made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
“Hi, Oscar,” you greeted, matching his smile.
“Hi,” he said softly. “You always seem to show up at the right time.”
Logan leaned closer to you, whispering loudly, “And by ‘right time,’ he means ‘right before qualifying,’ when everyone’s nerves are shot.’”
Oscar rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Exactly.”
You laughed, and for a second it felt like all the noise around you dulled. Just the three of you—familiar, easy, light.
Qualifying went better than anyone expected. Alex comfortably made Q3, Logan right behind him, Oscar solidly in the mix. You and Lily cheered from the hospitality suite, clutching each other’s hands and yelling through every lap.
By the end, when the timing screens froze and the Williams garage erupted in applause, you couldn’t stop grinning. It wasn’t just pride for Alex—it was for all of them.
When you went down afterward, the air was electric. Logan spotted you first, still in his suit, hair damp with sweat.
“Guess your surprise worked,” he said breathlessly, leaning against the wall near the entrance. “Best quali of my life.”
“Clearly, I’m your good luck charm,” you teased.
Oscar appeared beside him then, helmet dangling from his fingers. “You might be onto something,” he said with a small smile. His gaze lingered on you just long enough for your heartbeat to trip.
“I’ll invoice you both later,” you said with a wink, walking past as Lily caught up.
Behind you, you could hear Logan murmur something about “trouble” and Oscar’s quiet laugh in response.
That night, the three of you—Alex, Lily, and you—sat at a quiet restaurant overlooking the city. Alex was still glowing from qualifying, practically bouncing in his chair as he talked about strategy.
Eventually, Lily nudged you under the table and whispered, “So… are we going to tell him?”
You stifled a laugh. “Tell him what?”
“That his teammate and the quiet Aussie both have heart eyes for his sister.”
You bit back a grin, but Alex caught the expression instantly. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Nothing,” you said too quickly.
Lily, of course, betrayed you immediately. “Logan and Oscar were very happy to see your sister today.”
Alex’s fork paused midair. “Excuse me?”
“Oh no,” you groaned, putting your head in your hands. “Here we go.”
“They’re just being nice,” you said quickly.
“Nice?” Alex repeated, eyes narrowing. “Nice?”
“Relax, dad,” Lily said, laughing. “They just think she’s cute. And she thinks they’re—”
“Lily!” you hissed, but she was already giggling.
Alex looked between you two, completely scandalized. “No. Absolutely not. Not my teammate, and not Oscar Piastri.”
You raised a brow. “You realize I’m an adult, right?”
“Not when it comes to them you’re not!” he said, crossing his arms.
Lily snorted into her wine. “Oh my god, you sound like her chaperone.”
“Because I am her chaperone,” Alex muttered.
You and Lily exchanged a look, both fighting smiles, before saying in unison, “Whatever you say, Dad.”
Alex groaned, rubbing his face. “You two are insufferable.”
“And yet you love us,” you said sweetly.
He grumbled something incoherent, but his small smile gave him away.
You leaned back, the sound of dishes clinking and laughter mixing with the faint hum of the city outside. For a moment, everything felt easy—sun-warmed skin, full hearts, and the faint, lingering thrill of the paddock. Along with the thought of them.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
You, Lily, and Alex arrived at the paddock earlier than nearly anyone else—the sun still low, humidity already thick in the air. Alex was humming under his breath, doing that weird little walk-and-shake thing he always did before race day, part nerves and part ritual.
Lily nudged you with a grin. “He’s doing the pre-race chicken dance again.”
“Don’t mock the process,” Alex said, dramatically stretching his arms. “It’s scientifically proven to bring podiums.”
You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure that was the car, not the dance.”
Still, you followed him into the Williams hospitality area, the smell of coffee and fresh pastries greeting you. The place was quiet—only a few engineers and mechanics milling around, the faint buzz of paddock prep in the distance.
“Ah, the Albon entourage,” came a familiar voice. James Vowles, crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, smile warm as ever. “You two are the only people who can make a 7 a.m. call time look like a photoshoot.”
Lily laughed, brushing a hand through her hair. “Flattery will get you everywhere, James.”
You greeted him with a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, James. How’s the chaos?”
“As organized as it gets,” he said, chuckling. “Actually—there’s something I wanted to ask you both.” He gestured toward a nearby table, and you followed. “Williams is hosting a charity golf event in two weeks—raising funds for children’s hospitals across Southeast Asia. I was hoping the two of you would host it on behalf of the team.”
You froze, looking at Lily, who was already grinning ear to ear.
“Are you serious?” she asked. “You want us to host?”
“I can’t think of two people better suited,” James said sincerely. “Between your golf credentials and your charm, you’d bring the crowd in easily.”
You blinked, heart flipping. “We’d be honored.”
“Over the moon,” Lily added.
James smiled. “Excellent. I’ll have comms send over the details this week. Now, go enjoy the morning before Alex’s stress levels rise.”
You groaned. “They already have.”
Later that morning, you found yourself outside in the shaded seating area of the paddock , sipping tea with George and Lando. They were mid argument about something to do with their choice of drink, which, as usual, was both ridiculous and entertaining.
“I’m telling you, mate,” Lando said, gesturing wildly with his straw, “electrolyte gummies are superior. You don’t spill them.”
George scoffed. “They taste like rubber bands. Tea is elite. Look at YN—she’s got taste.”
You smiled, stirring your tea. “Tea is the superior beverage, but I’m not sure it helps you survive Singapore heat.”
Lando leaned back. “See, you’re diplomatic. She’d make a great team principal.”
“Or a menace,” George added.
Before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the banter.
“Heard you were causing trouble before ten a.m.,” Logan said, approaching the table with his usual easy smile. His blue Williams polo was slightly wrinkled, hair still damp from the heat.
“Only harmless chaos,” you said, grinning. “What brings you here?”
He tilted his head. “Actually, I came to find you. Heard you’re hosting the Williams charity golf event?”
You blinked. “Word travels fast.”
“James just told the garage,” he said. “I’m going to be there—with Oscar as my plus one. But…” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “We might need a few lessons beforehand.”
You smirked, setting down your tea. “A few? How bad are we talking?”
“Let’s just say Oscar’s better at corners than swings.”
George snorted. “That’s one way to say you’re terrible.”
Lando leaned forward, grinning. “Careful, mate. Sounds like you’re just looking for excuses to spend time with YN. Albono won't like that one."
“Lando,” you warned, shaking your head with a laugh.
“What? Everyone can see it,” he said, pointing between you and Logan. “And Oscar. Double crush. It’s kind of iconic.”
You groaned, face in your hands, while George nodded solemnly. “It’s true. Two very handsome men visibly smitten. You could do worse.”
“Thank you for your analysis,” you said dryly, standing up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a brother to cheer for.”
Logan laughed softly. “I’ll take that as a yes on the lessons.”
“Text me,” you said with a wink before heading off with Lily, their laughter following you down the walkway.
By the time the race began, the grandstands were buzzing, the humidity shimmering in waves off the tarmac. You and Lily clung to each other as Alex fought tooth and nail for the podium—every lap, every corner a breath held.
“He’s really doing it,” Lily whispered, eyes wide as the Williams pit wall erupted around you.
“I think I’m going to cry,” you admitted, clutching her hand.
And then, across the line—P3.
The roar of the crowd was deafening. You barely had time to process before Alex was out of the car, sprinting straight toward you and Lily through the chaos. His helmet still on, he wrapped both of you in a bear hug so tight you almost lost your breath.
“You came all this way and it worked!” he shouted, voice muffled through the visor.
You laughed into his shoulder. “Maybe your dance worked, too.”
When he finally let go, you wiped at your eyes, only to spot two familiar figures walking toward you through the sea of blue uniforms.
Oscar and Logan, both sweaty, still half in their suits, both smiling in that exhausted, post-race way.
“P2 and P5,” you said as they approached. “Not bad.”
Oscar’s grin was small but genuine. “Guess your surprise visit brought luck to all of us.”
“Guess so,” you said, meeting his eyes for a moment that lingered too long.
Logan elbowed him lightly. “Told you she was the good luck charm.”
Lily leaned in, whispering, “Oh, they’re both gone for you.”
“Lily,” you hissed, but she just grinned.
The five of you stood there amid the noise and champagne and flashing cameras—Alex still laughing, Logan pulling him into a hug, Oscar looking quietly content. And for the first time all weekend, you felt that subtle pull in your chest again. Maybe it wasn’t just the adrenaline of the race. Maybe it was the beginning of something else entirely.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
You woke to sunlight spilling over the sheets, the quiet hum of your phone buzzing against the nightstand. Still half-asleep, you reached for it and squinted at the screen—a message from Logan.
Morning, coach. Breakfast in an hour? Then we’re hitting the course so you can fix our swings.
I already regret agreeing to this.
You love us. You’ll be patient.
Patient isn’t the word I’d use.
By the time you joined Logan and Oscar in the hotel’s breakfast lounge, the two were already mid-banter—Logan halfway through his coffee and Oscar sipping quietly on his smoothie, smirking like he’d been dragged into chaos against his will.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Logan called, waving you over dramatically. “We were about to send a search party.”
You dropped into the seat across from them. “You texted me fifteen minutes ago.”
Oscar looked up at you with that understated calm that always made Logan’s dramatics funnier. “He’s been vibrating since six. You’d think we were about to race.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Excuse me for being excited to get professional coaching from the best golfer on the planet.”
You grinned. “Flattery won’t make me go easy on you.”
Breakfast was easy, laughter threading through the conversation. Logan insisted on ordering a “power breakfast” and then drenched his waffles in syrup, while Oscar quietly observed, shaking his head. “You’re going to crash halfway through the first hole.”
When you all finally made it out to the course, the air was bright and clear, the morning still holding that soft chill that promised a perfect day. Logan was immediately in performance mode—spinning his club, posing, pretending to line up for imaginary photographers.
“Alright, coach,” he said with a grin. “Give us the rundown. How hard can it be?”
You crossed your arms. “Famous last words.”
Oscar stood beside you, hands in his pockets, watching the green with quiet curiosity. “I’ve played a few times,” he admitted. “Not well, though.”
You smiled. “Good. Then you’ll actually listen.”
Logan gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You ignored him and stepped closer, gently adjusting his grip on the club. “First off, stop holding it like a baseball bat.”
He looked down, mock-offended. “I was going for power.”
“You’re going to go for distance straight into the woods if you keep that up.”
Oscar snorted quietly, earning a glare from Logan. “Don’t laugh, Oz, you’re up next.”
When you turned to Oscar, he looked at you expectantly, patient and focused in that calm, analytical way he always was. You adjusted his stance, nudging his foot with yours. “There. You’re overthinking—relax a little.”
He breathed out a laugh, eyes flicking toward you. “You sound like my race engineer.”
“Do I need to start charging you for coaching too?”
His ball sailed cleanly onto the fairway. Logan groaned. “Oh, come on! Beginner’s luck.”
Oscar shrugged modestly. “Or maybe I’m just better.”
You laughed, stepping up to demonstrate. “Watch and learn.”
You let the club connect with that familiar, satisfying crack—the ball soaring effortlessly, landing just where you wanted it.
Logan clapped slowly. “Okay, yeah, that was hot.”
Oscar tilted his head, smiling softly. “You make it look easy.”
You turned back with a smirk. “It is easy. For me.”
The rest of the morning was a blend of chaos and charm. Logan tried trick shots and nearly took out a seagull. Oscar attempted to stay composed, but even he couldn’t help laughing when Logan’s ball ricocheted off a tree and landed back at his feet.
Oscar muttered, “That’s physics having a personal vendetta against you.”
You doubled over laughing, tears stinging your eyes as you tried to correct their form again. “Okay, okay, focus—Logan, your stance. Oscar, you’re too tense again.”
Logan grinned at you. “You’re way too cute when you’re in teacher mode, you know that?”
Oscar looked up from his shot, smirk playing at his lips. “She’s also terrifying when you don’t listen.”
You feigned a glare. “Both true.”
By the time the sun started to dip, you were all sitting at the edge of the driving range, sipping cold drinks, the course bathed in gold. Logan sprawled out dramatically on the grass while Oscar leaned back against the fence beside you, relaxed in that quiet, understated way that made him hard to look away from.
“Alright, coach,” Logan said, “give us our grades.”
You sipped your drink, pretending to think. “Logan—C+. Oscar—B.”
Logan sat up. “What?! That’s outrageous. I brought energy!”
“You brought nonsense,” you corrected. “Oscar brought aim.”
Oscar smirked. “Fair assessment.”
You looked between them, laughter still bubbling in your chest. “For what it’s worth, you both did better than I expected.”
Logan grinned. “So you’re saying we have potential?”
You smiled. “I’m saying you didn’t completely embarrass me. That’s progress.”
Oscar chuckled softly beside you. “I’ll take that as a win.”
The day melted into evening, surrounded by laughter, sunlight, and two very different kinds of energy—one loud and chaotic, one quiet and magnetic—you couldn’t help but think: this was exactly the kind of perfect, messy balance you never knew you needed.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
The afternoon heat hung soft and golden over the padel courts, laughter echoing between the glass walls. You adjusted your ponytail, squinting up at Lando and George as they bickered over who got to serve first. Lily was next to you, grinning mischievously as Alex stood near the baseline with a whistle around his neck like some self-appointed referee.
“You’re taking this way too seriously,” you said, tossing a ball in his direction.
He caught it effortlessly. “You say that now, but I know how competitive you get. I’m just here to keep the peace.”
Lando snorted. “Between you two? There’s no peace when she gets involved.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you. “Don’t start with me, Norris. You still owe me from the last time we played.”
“That’s because you cheated!”
George laughed. “No, mate, she’s just better than you.”
Lily clapped her paddle against the court. “Okay, okay, less talk, more play. Let’s show the boys how it’s done.”
The first few rounds were all laughter and chaos. George, despite being the most serious at first, ended up flinging his paddle in a dramatic dive that had everyone doubled over. Lando couldn’t stop trash-talking, and Alex kept blowing his whistle at random intervals just to annoy everyone.
“Foul!” Alex called as Lily’s serve whizzed past Lando.
Lando looked over his shoulder, incredulous. “How was that a foul?!”
Alex shrugged. “Didn’t like your face in that moment. Looked guilty.”
“Ref bias!” Lando yelled.
You were doubled over laughing, clutching your stomach. “You’re the worst official ever, Alex.”
“Family discount,” he said, smirking.
After a while, you and Lily were leaning against the net, sweaty and happy, when George—the instigator and gossip he is —leaned casually on his paddle. “So… heard about your little golf outing the other day.”
You froze for a millisecond. “You heard wrong.”
Lando’s grin spread like wildfire. “Oh no, we didn’t. Oscar's been bragging about his ‘private lesson’ all week.”
Lily perked up immediately. “And Logan mentioned he might actually pick up golf now. Which is saying something, because I’ve been trying to get him to play for ages.”
Your eyes widened. “He said that?”
“Oh-ho!” Lando pointed dramatically. “She’s interested.”
“I am not!”
George laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Come on, YN, two single, good looking drivers begging for your attention? Sounds like the plot of a very romantic movie.”
Lily gasped, putting on a fake serious tone. “Golfing with the Grid... A Love Story.”
You smacked her arm playfully. “You’re all ridiculous. It wasn’t a date.”
Alex, who’d been quietly watching, finally cut in with a disapproving frown. “Wait—Logan and Oscar? As in my teammate and Piastri? No. Absolutely not.”
“Oh god,” you groaned. “Here we go again.”
Alex crossed his arms. “They’re both drivers. They’re both—no. You don’t need that kind of energy in your life.”
Lando jumped in immediately. “You say that like she doesn’t already live for chaos.”
George nodded solemnly. “Honestly, mate, she handled the Norris-Russell dynamic better than most would. She can take two boys.”
You shot him a look. “That sounded way worse than you meant it to.”
George choked on his laughter. “No, no, I meant—”
Lando lost it completely, doubling over. Lily smacked his back with her paddle. “You’re making it worse!”
Alex just groaned into his hands. “You’re all children.”
But you could tell from the flush creeping up his neck that he was both mortified and trying not to smile.
Lily leaned toward you, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Okay, but seriously—if they both asked you out, who would you pick?”
You blinked. “Lily!”
“What? I’m just curious!”
“I—neither! It’s not like that!” you protested, even though your mind betrayed you with flashes from that morning—the way Logan’s grin had softened when he missed a shot, the quiet concentration in Oscar’s eyes when he adjusted his stance, the way both had looked at you like they were completely and utterly taken.
“Right,” Lily said teasingly, clearly unconvinced. “Totally not like that.”
Lando pointed his paddle at you dramatically. “Mark my words, YN Albon—there’s something there.”
Alex cut in, deadpan. “The only thing that’s there is me, standing between her and any driver on the grid.”
You raised a brow. “Including you?”
He sputtered. “That’s not the point!”
Lily and the boys broke into laughter, and even Alex eventually cracked, shaking his head.
“Alright,” he said finally, trying to regain control. “Game resumes. And for the record, if either of those idiots even looks at you funny, I’m—”
“You’ll do nothing,” you interrupted sweetly, twirling your paddle. “Because you adore them both and you know it.”
He glared, but the way his lips twitched told you you’d won.
The match resumed, laughter echoing into the late afternoon, sunlight spilling across the court as Lily smacked a clean shot past George and you couldn’t stop smiling. Because maybe it wasn’t a date, technically. But the way your heart fluttered when you thought of their smiles said otherwise—and you weren’t ready to admit it yet, not to them, not to anyone. Not even to yourself.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
a week later…
f1gossipgirls
234,500 likes.
f1gossipgirls : today, williams held a golf charity match hosted by none other than yn albon and lily muni he! logan sargeant, alex albon, lando norris and oscar piastri all participated alongside the wonderful hosts. (they made the boys look horrible, i laughed the entire time)
-
view 20,000 other comments.
username09 : alex has his sister and his gf and he still golfs like that. crying
username88 : george as the caddy took me out.
username005 : yn helping logan and oscar with their swing but refusing to help lando and her brother PLEASEEE
username03 : none of them (except yn and lily) should ever be allowed to hold a club again.
↳ lando : i did GOOD.
↳ yn_albon : ok mr. 'i was in the bunker more than the green'
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
The morning of the Williams charity golf match began with the kind of sunny, easy energy that promised a good day ahead. You and Lily had spent the earlier hours organizing details, making sure everyone had their clubs, badges, and matching polos. Between your easy banter and Lily’s magnetic charm, the two of you had quickly become the event’s heart—warm, approachable, and effortlessly composed even amidst the chaos of drivers who couldn’t tell a putter from a pitching wedge.
“Alright, everyone,” Lily announced brightly as she held a clipboard, “welcome to the first annual Williams Charity Golf Classic!”
You grinned, microphone in hand. “Remember, it’s for charity, so try not to take it too seriously.”
Lando immediately raised his hand. “Does that rule apply to Alex?”
“Absolutely not,” you said, deadpan, which earned a roar of laughter. Alex shot you a mock glare from across the green, already swinging his club like it was qualifying morning.
The teams were set: Alex and Lando—an unfortunately combustible mix—against Oscar and Logan, with George volunteering as the “neutral” caddy. You’d known that meant insanity, not neutrality.
George strutted past you in oversized sunglasses, holding a towel over his shoulder. “I expect tips for my wisdom and my patience.”
“Patience?” Lando laughed. “You?!”
“Exactly,” George said, smirking. “It’s a premium service.”
You and Lily spent the first hole mingling, chatting with sponsors and making sure the cameras caught a few good moments, but eventually you grabbed your own club. “Alright, I can’t just watch this circus. Lily, come on—we’re saving golf’s reputation.”
“Again,” she added with a grin.
When you walked up to Logan and Oscar’s group, both men visibly straightened. Logan leaned on his club, grin wide. “Fancy seeing you here, coach.”
Oscar’s smile was subtler, but no less warm. “You’re welcome to join. We could use the help.”
Lily nudged you with her elbow. “They mean they need your help.”
You laughed. “Oh, believe me, I’ve seen their form. It’s a charity event, but I’m starting to think we need an intervention.”
Logan groaned. “You wound me.”
You took his club gently, adjusting his grip. “See this? Too tight. Relax your shoulders, focus on your follow-through.”
He nodded, eyes locked on you more than the club. “Like this?”
“Better,” you said, smiling, and turned to Oscar. “You’re over-rotating your hips when you swing.”
His brows lifted slightly. “I am?”
“Yeah, here—” you stepped behind him, placing a hand on his waist to correct his stance. His breath caught almost imperceptibly, and you quickly stepped back, pretending not to notice the quiet flutter in your own chest. “Try that.”
He did. The ball sailed clean across the green, landing near the flag.
“See?” you said, proud.
Oscar smiled—small, shy, but absolutely delighted. “Guess I have a good teacher.”
Logan looked between you both and laughed. “Alright, this is rigged. Clearly, she’s got a favorite.”
You turned to him, teasing. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Oh, ouch,” he said, pressing a hand to his heart. “You’re cruel, Albon.”
“Only when I’m honest.”
Behind you, Lando’s voice rang out from the next hole. “Hey! What’s going on over there? I thought this was a golf match, not flirting practice!”
You glanced over to see him and Alex watching with amused suspicion. Alex’s arms were crossed, that familiar protective frown settling in.
“Oh no,” Lily muttered under her breath. “Dad mode activated.”
Sure enough, Alex called out, “YN! You’re supposed to be impartial!”
“I am!” you yelled back, hands on your hips. “I’m just helping charity!”
“Does charity have blue eyes and the other an Australian accent?” Lando added.
You threw your golf tee at him. “Shut it, Norris!”
By the time you reached the last few holes, the competition was tight—and the atmosphere even tighter. Logan and Oscar had somehow found a rhythm, their teamwork surprisingly solid. Alex and Lando, on the other hand, were arguing about who had sabotaged their putt.
“Lando, you literally breathed during my backswing,” Alex accused.
Lando looked offended. “Sorry for existing!”
George, lounging with a club over his shoulder, sighed dramatically. “If I had a pound for every time you two bickered, I’d buy my own team.”
You and Lily were in tears laughing, trying to call the game back to order.
When the final scores came in, you clapped your hands together. “And… against all odds, the winners are—Logan Sargeant and Oscar Piastri!”
The two men cheered, exchanging a quick high-five before turning to you.
“Clearly, it was all thanks to our secret weapon,” Logan said, slinging his arm over your shoulder.
Oscar’s voice was quieter, but full of amusement. “Yeah. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Alex groaned. “Oh, give me a break.”
Lando pointed at him. “Admit it, mate, we got beat fair and square.”
“By my sister’s coaching!”
You laughed, tugging Logan’s arm off gently. “Alright, boys, it’s just for fun. And charity. Remember?”
They all rolled their eyes, but the teasing eased into warmth.
As the sun dipped low, the crowd dispersed, and Logan caught your attention with a quiet smile. “Hey, we were gonna grab dinner tonight—me and Oscar. You should come with.”
You hesitated for half a heartbeat before nodding. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
The restaurant they chose was tucked away on the quieter side of the city—dim lighting, low chatter, the scent of citrus and sea salt in the air. You sat by the window, the skyline reflecting off your wine glass.
Logan was his usual charming self, teasing you gently about your “teacher voice,” while Oscar added his dry, subtle humor between bites of pasta. You laughed until your cheeks hurt, trading stories about traveling, golf mishaps, and the strangest fan encounters.
And somewhere between laughter and the quiet, lingering looks, the world felt like it had shrunk to the three of you.
When the check came, Logan leaned back in his chair, smiling softly. “So, coach… when’s our next lesson?”
You tilted your head, matching his tone. “Depends. You planning on actually listening next time?”
Oscar smirked faintly, glancing at Logan before looking at you. “We’ll behave… mostly.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at your lips.
Later, outside the restaurant, the humid night air wrapped around you. The city lights danced in the distance, and for a moment, everything felt suspended—the kind of calm that comes before something bigger.
Logan smiled as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for coming, YN. This was… nice.”
Oscar nodded, his voice low. “Really nice.”
You smiled back, heart beating faster than you wanted to admit. “It was. We should do it again sometime.”
Logan’s grin widened. “Careful, I’ll hold you to that.”
As you turned to head back to the car, their laughter followed you—warm, familiar, and something dangerously close to the beginning of whatever this was becoming.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
several weeks later...
yn_albon
liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 1,908,000 others.
yn_albon : 💚🌱☘️🐍
tagged : oscarpiastri, logansargeant, lilymhe and alex_albon
-
user has limited amount of comments on this post.
lando : is that OSCAR PIASTRI I SEE 🗣️
↳ yn_albon : is that the BLOCK BUTTON I SEE 🗣️
↳ lando : i will behave. i am sorry
liked by yn_albon
georgerussell63 : your face in the 6th picture...someone has been taking classes at the george russell diva university
liked by yn_albon
↳ yn_albon : against my will, yes.
lilymhe : my baby 💚
liked by yn_albon
logansargeant : pretty girl 🤍
liked by yn_albon
oscarpiastri : 💚
liked by yn_albon
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
Several weeks have passed, and you can no longer ignore it: the way your heart races when you see Logan’s grin, the quiet pull you feel when Oscar brushes past you, the warmth that spreads through you just being around both of them. You’ve been hanging out as much as possible, squeezing them into your life wherever you can, and now the truth is undeniable.
You sit across from Lily at the small table on the terrace café, golf bag leaning against your chair, iced tea sweating in your hands. The chatter from the course drifts around you, but you can barely focus. Lily watches you carefully, one eyebrow raised.
“You’re doing that face again,” she says, tilting her head.
“What face?” you ask, though you know she can see right through you.
“The I’m-pretending-I’m-fine-when-I’m-actually-a-mess face.” She leans closer, resting her chin on her hand. “Spill, now.”
You take a shaky breath, swirling the ice in your glass. “Okay… don’t freak out, but…I think I…like both of them. Logan and Oscar.” Your voice drops to a whisper at the end, as though saying it out loud makes it real.
Lily blinks at you, then grins knowingly. “Ah, I knew it. And here I thought you were just being dramatic.”
“No, I mean it,” you insist. “And I have no idea what to do. I can’t… I can’t choose, and I don’t want to choose. But I can’t stop thinking about either of them.”
Lily reaches over and squeezes your hand gently. “Okay… breathe. First, let’s not panic. You’re allowed to feel this, and we’ll figure it out. You’re not alone.”
You smile faintly, grateful, but your heart still feels heavy with worry. And then—your gaze shifts, and your stomach drops in the best kind of way.
Through the glass doors of the club lounge, you see Alex strolling in, a grin spreading across his face. And just behind him? Logan and Oscar.
“Surprise!” Alex calls, his voice teasing. “I was supposed to come alone, but apparently, these two couldn’t let me have all the fun.”
Logan winks at you as he steps forward, playful and warm. Oscar’s smile is softer, quieter, but no less intent. Your chest flutters, and you can feel your cheeks warming instantly.
“They weren’t supposed to be here,” you murmur to Lily, who simply grins.
“They’re here now,” she whispers back. “Go with it.”
Alex crosses his arms, pretending to scowl. “YN, they’re just here for moral support, obviously. Totally innocent.”
Logan leans against the wall, smirking. “I’m innocent. Mostly.”
Oscar nudges past him. “Yeah, we just wanted to make sure our favorite player had the best pep talk possible.”
You laugh nervously, your nerves now completely tangled with excitement. They all sit down across from you, and before long, the conversation turns into a soft, warm pep talk. Alex gives his signature big-brother encouragement, reminding you to trust your instincts and stay calm. Logan leans closer, teasing but reassuring, reminding you to enjoy yourself and that he’s got your back. Oscar is quiet, focused, helping you adjust your grip on your glove and smoothing the strap with an almost imperceptible tenderness.
“Here,” Oscar murmurs, sliding the glove over your hand. “Perfect. You’re ready.”
Logan crouches to fix your visor, fingers brushing against your temple. “There. You can’t see, but now I’ve got you covered. Go smash it out there.”
Your chest swells with warmth and nerves as they step back, and with Lily by your side, you step onto the course feeling unstoppable. The match begins, and you immediately fall into a rhythm with Lily. Your coordination is electric, each swing a perfect sync of energy and instinct. Laughter and friendly taunts echo across the course as Alex cheers from the sidelines.
Somewhere in between holes, you notice Logan and Oscar leaning against the fence, watching your every move with a mixture of admiration and quiet delight. Every glance, every subtle gesture, sends your heart racing. You can’t deny it anymore—you feel for both of them.
By the final hole, you and Lily have completely demolished your opponents. You high-five, laughing and out of breath, victorious and triumphant. Logan and Oscar cheer the loudest, and even Alex is clapping with a fake scowl that betrays his pride.
Later, you all walk back to the clubhouse to celebrate. Drinks and laughter abound, the golden light of the afternoon making everything feel warm and soft. Before you leave, you hesitate, then turn to the two of them.
“Hey… dinner tomorrow night. Just us?” you ask, heart racing.
They exchange a quick glance, playful and warm.
“Absolutely,” Logan says first, grinning.
Oscar’s calm smile mirrors his, but his eyes are bright. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
You smile, feeling that perfect mix of relief and anticipation, already imagining the quiet, private dinner ahead, where the tension, the teasing, and the warmth between all three of you will finally have the space to breathe. And as you leave the course that evening, your heart is impossibly full. You know that tomorrow night, everything will feel even more real.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
You wake up that morning feeling a mix of excitement and nerves that makes your stomach flutter. Lily is bustling around your apartment, plucking earrings off the counter and helping you decide between two silk midi dresses.
“Trust me,” she says, adjusting the hem of the pale champagne one, “this is the one. It’s elegant, soft, and, most importantly, you look like you.”
You glance down at the fabric, smoothing it over your hips, and manage a small laugh. “You always know what to do, don’t you?”
“I do. That’s why you keep me around,” she says, grinning. “Now, go! Hair, shoes, lipstick—let’s move before Alex starts interrogating you about every single detail.”
Sure enough, Alex is leaning against the doorframe with a mock-serious expression. “So… dinner with who, exactly?”
You roll your eyes and grin. “Nope. Can’t tell you. Totally secret.”
“Secret?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “YN—”
“Bye!” Lily squeals, grabbing your hand and dragging you toward the car. Alex is left standing in the hallway, fists on his hips, shaking his head, muttering something about “absolutely ridiculous.”
The car ride is quiet, and you sit back against the leather seat, heart hammering. You requested the entire back room of the restaurant—small, intimate, candlelit, a table set perfectly for three. The quiet hum of the city outside the windows makes it feel like you’ve slipped into another world, one that exists only for you.
When you arrive, you’re momentarily breathless at the thought of what’s about to happen. Lily gives you an encouraging smile before she leaves you at the door, waving over her shoulder. “You’ve got this. Go get your happily ever after.”
You step in, and a few moments later, Logan and Oscar arrive almost simultaneously. Logan’s easy smile warms you instantly, while Oscar’s calm, steady gaze makes your chest flutter in a completely different way. They stand at the doorway for a second, taking you in—your dress, your smile, the slight nervous bite of your lip. You feel your cheeks heat, and they both grin softly.
“Hey,” Logan says, voice quiet but teasing. “You look amazing.”
Oscar steps closer, his hand brushing yours in a gentle, almost tentative way. “Absolutely stunning.”
You swallow, heart pounding. “Thank you… both of you.”
The three of you settle into your seats, the flickering candlelight between you making everything feel soft, private, safe. Conversation flows easily at first—racing, travel, music, family—but you can feel the tension in your chest building, that need to say something you’ve kept inside for weeks.
Finally, you set down your glass and take a deep breath. “I… I need to tell you both something. And I… I don’t really know how to say it.”
Logan leans forward, warm and steady. “Hey, it’s okay. Take your time.”
Oscar reaches across the table, just brushing his fingers against yours. “We’re listening.”
You bite your lip, and suddenly the words tumble out, trembling. “I… I have feelings for both of you. I don’t know who to pick. I care about you—both of you—so much, and it terrifies me because I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to lose you.”
Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, holding back tears. You feel the tightness in your chest, the vulnerability of laying your heart bare, and for a moment you just let yourself shake.
Logan reaches across the table and covers your hand with his. “Hey, hey, look at me. It's okay..”
Oscar’s other hand joins yours, warm and grounding. “You don’t have to pick. You don’t have to choose. We can make this work together if that’s what you want.”
You blink at them, stunned. “I… really?”
Oscar nods gently, his calm reassurance a balm to your nerves. “I want this. I want us. All of us.”
Logan exhales slowly, voice low and full of honesty. “I’ve been in love with Oscar forever. But… then I met you, and I realized I felt the same way for you too. I can’t lie—I want this. I want all of it. All three of us.”
The weight lifts from your chest, replaced with a dizzying, tender warmth. You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face. “You… you really mean that?”
They both squeeze your hands again, and the three of you lean in slightly, sharing a moment of quiet intimacy. Soft touches, gentle brushes of fingertips, a few stolen glances that make your heart race, but nothing is forced. Everything feels natural, right.
You take a shaky breath and laugh softly, the tension finally easing. “I think… I think we can make this work.”
Oscar smiles quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We will. We’ll figure it out together.”
Logan grins, a little teasing, a little tender. “And don’t worry—we’ll make sure you’re laughing the whole time.”
You laugh again, softly, your cheeks warm, your heart full. “I think I’m already doing that.”
The rest of the evening unfolds gently. You talk, laugh, and share little touches across the table—fingers brushing, leaning just a little closer than necessary, soft smiles. Logan’s warmth and humor keep the atmosphere light, while Oscar’s calm presence makes your chest feel like it’s finally breathing easy. You tell stories, tease one another, and for the first time in weeks, you feel completely at home.
By the time dessert arrives, you’re leaning against both of them slightly, the three of you cocooned in quiet comfort. Logan makes you laugh so hard you nearly choke on a bite of tiramisu, and Oscar quietly steals sips of your wine when you’re not looking, only to grin when you notice.
And in that candlelit room, with the soft hum of the city outside and the warmth of their hands around yours, you finally allow yourself to believe it: maybe, just maybe, this complicated, unexpected, beautiful thing could actually work.
You smile through a small sigh, eyes glistening, and say softly, “I’ve missed you both… when you’re away.”
Oscar squeezes your hand gently. “We’ve missed you too.”
Logan grins, playful, leaning a little closer. “You have no idea.”
The three of you sit like that for a long moment, the quiet intimacy stretching out, soft touches lingering. Logan leans back with that warm, easy charm, “So… maybe we get another round of golf soon?”
Oscar adds, smirk in his eyes, “Or I could teach you sim racing in return. Fair trade.”
You laugh, heart full, leaning between them, feeling the warmth and the possibility of everything ahead. And as the night drifts on, soft candlelight and quiet conversation wrapping around you, it feels like exactly where you’re meant to be.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
three months later... (im a whore for domestic loscar SHUSH)
Three months later, life has settled into something that feels impossibly perfect.
Winter has wrapped New York City in its quiet, glittering calm, and the three of you are hidden away from the world—just you, Oscar, and Logan in your penthouse. You’ve been spending nearly every day together over winter break: movie nights, long walks through Central Park, late breakfasts that bleed into afternoons. Everything about it feels easy now, natural, like the three of you have been orbiting each other your whole lives.
You wake up to the faint sounds of chaos from the kitchen. There’s clattering, a muffled curse, and then Logan’s unmistakable laugh. You stretch lazily, sunlight pooling over the duvet, and listen.
“Lo, you cannot burn eggs that fast,” Oscar's voice says, exasperated but amused.
You can’t help but smile into your pillow. Pushing yourself up, you pad barefoot toward the kitchen doorway, leaning against it with a sleepy grin.
The scene before you makes your heart flutter. Logan, in sweatpants and one of your oversized hoodies, is flipping pancakes with intense concentration, while Oscar is half-distracted—one hand holding a frying pan, the other awkwardly trying to arrange a small bouquet of flowers in a vase on the counter. The bouquet is… endearingly lopsided. There are tulips, roses, and what you think might be a rogue sprig of eucalyptus, all fighting for space.
“Okay,” you say softly, your voice still thick with sleep, “I think this might be the cutest disaster I’ve ever seen.”
Both their heads whip around.
Oscar’s expression softens immediately, the tension melting away into that small, shy smile that still makes your stomach twist. “You’re awake,” he says, voice low and warm.
“Barely,” you tease. “What’s going on here?”
Logan grins, walking over with a spatula in hand. “Breakfast. Chef Logan and sous-chef Piastri, at your service.”
Oscar shakes his head but can’t help smiling. “And maybe a small surprise.” He gestures to the flowers, now standing slightly askew. “I tried to make them look… romantic.”
You walk over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “They’re perfect,” you murmur, and he practically glows.
Before you can protest, Oscar scoops you up effortlessly, ignoring your squeak of surprise. “Nope,” he says, carrying you to the couch. “You sit. No helping. Chef’s orders.”
You laugh as he deposits you gently onto the cushions and tucks a blanket around you like it’s the most serious task in the world. “You’re ridiculous.”
Logan turns around from the stove, grinning. “And you love it.”
You smile, unable to deny it. Watching them move around your kitchen—Logan humming softly, Oscar pouring coffee, their quiet teamwork and easy laughter—you feel this overwhelming wave of affection. It’s so domestic, so normal, and somehow still unreal.
After breakfast, the three of you end up tangled together on the couch. The city hums outside your floor-to-ceiling windows, but in here, it’s peaceful. Logan has his arm draped across your waist, Oscar’s head rests against your shoulder, and your legs are a comfortable mess of warmth and blankets.
You don’t even realize you’ve drifted half-asleep until you hear the faint click of the front door.
Then Lily’s voice, frantic and stage-whispering: “Alex, wait! Don’t go in there yet—”
Too late.
Alex’s voice booms from the entryway. “Why does it smell like—oh my god.”
You groan softly, pressing a hand over your face as he rounds the corner, eyes widening comically at the sight of the three of you cuddled up like a Hallmark card.
“Absolutely not,” he declares, pointing dramatically. “This is my nightmare. I come to visit my sister and find her in some… some cozy cuddle cult.”
Logan snorts, trying to hide his laugh in your shoulder. “Morning, Albono.”
“Don’t ‘morning’ me, Sergeant!” Alex waves a hand. “You—get off my sister. And you—” he turns to Oscar, “you’re supposed to be the quiet one! You’re both in on this?”
Oscar, ever the calm one, just blinks innocently. “We’re just having breakfast.”
“On the couch?” Alex exclaims, scandalized.
Lily, who’s now standing in the doorway, groans. “Alex, you’re being dramatic. Again.”
“I am dramatic!” he says proudly, arms crossed. “Someone has to be the voice of reason in this—this—romantic sitcom you all have going.”
You laugh, sitting up and patting the space beside you. “Come on, big brother. Sit. Relax.”
He narrows his eyes but eventually flops onto the opposite chair, muttering under his breath.
Oscar glances over, smirking. “You know, we were going to go out for dinner tonight. You and Lily should join us—your favorite place, right?”
That perks him up instantly. “Which one?”
“The Italian place,” you answer, hiding your grin.
Alex squints, suspicious. “You’re trying to bribe me with truffle pasta.”
“Is it working?” Logan teases.
Alex sighs heavily. “...Yes. But I reserve the right to interrogate both of you at dinner.”
Lily claps her hands together. “Perfect! It’s a double date then.”
“Absolutely not,” Alex says, but no one’s listening.
That night, the five of you sit around a table at Alex’s favorite little spot downtown. The candles flicker, the food smells incredible, and the air is full of laughter.
Lily and Logan are swapping chaotic travel stories, Oscar and Alex are mock-arguing about who’s the better driver (“I’ve seen you parallel park, Alex.” “That was ONE TIME!”), and you’re just sitting there, cheeks aching from smiling so much.
Every now and then, Oscar’s hand finds yours under the table, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin, while Logan leans close to whisper something that makes you laugh out loud.
Alex notices, groans, and drops his fork dramatically. “I can’t do this. They’re too cute. Someone make them stop.”
Lily pats his arm, laughing. “You’ll live, babe.”
The whole table dissolves into laughter again, the kind that makes your chest hurt in the best way. Later, when you’re walking home, the city lights reflecting off the snow-dusted streets, Logan drapes his arm around your shoulders and Oscar slips his fingers into yours. You glance up at them both—two people you love, two hearts that somehow fit perfectly with yours—and smile softly.
“Best winter break ever,” you say quietly.
Logan grins down at you. “Oh, it’s only getting started.”
Oscar nods, eyes soft. “Yeah. We’ve got forever to go.”
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
oscarpiastri
liked by yn_albon, logansargeant, lilymhe, alex_albon and 3,405,000 others.
oscarpiastri : alex knows and i am still alive so...that's great. love you both!
tagged : logansargeant and yn_albon
-
user has disabled comments on this post.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
two months later...
f1gossipgirls
liked by yn_albon, lilymhe and 909,000 others.
f1gossipgirls : the team torque episode with oscar today😭 alex tries to act so mad and so big brotherly but this is him and his brother in law(s) PLEASEEEEEE. lily and yn laughing at him behind the camera had me rolling.
𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡
The Williams media team has outdone themselves this time. The group chat blew up three days ago when Alex saw the message:
Team Torque… with special guest OSCAR PIASTRI!
You had immediately called Alex, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. He had not found it as funny.
Now, sitting behind the camera in the Williams media suite, you’re grinning like a Cheshire cat. Lily’s next to you, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, both of you armed with iced coffees and a dangerous level of energy.
Alex sits in the center of the couch, microphone clipped to his Williams polo, eyes narrowed at the production crew. “I still can’t believe I agreed to this,” he mutters.
“You didn’t,” Logan says cheerfully, leaning back in his seat with a grin. “You were voluntold.”
Oscar, seated on Alex’s other side, hides a smile behind his cup. “This should be fun.”
“Oh, sure,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. “Fun for you. I’m about to sit through forty minutes of my teammate and my sister’s boyfriend—boyfriends—trying to gang up on me.”
“Don’t sound so dramatic,” Logan says, giving the camera a wink. “He loves us, really.”
You and Lily burst into laughter from behind the lens, and Alex shoots you both a withering look.
“Don’t encourage them!” he warns.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say sweetly.
The producer counts them in, and the red recording light flickers on.
“Welcome back to Team Torque, the most chaotic podcast in the paddock,” Logan starts brightly, voice smooth and easy. “I’m Logan Sargeant, joined by my ever-grumpy co-host—”
“Alex Albon,” Alex says dryly. “Who is currently regretting his entire life.”
“And,” Logan continues, ignoring him, “we’ve got a very special guest today. Fresh off a stellar season with McLaren, our good mate—”
Oscar smiles at the camera, calm as ever. “Oscar Piastri. Hi.”
“Mate,” Alex groans, “I’m begging you—don’t act all polite right now. You’ve been smiling smugly since you got here.”
“I’m just happy to be invited,” Oscar replies, perfectly deadpan. “It’s nice to spend time with family.”
“Family?” Alex repeats, scandalized. “You mean menaces—you and Logan have turned my entire life upside down.”
Logan bursts out laughing, almost snorting into his mic. “You love it, Albono.”
“I tolerate it,” Alex corrects.
From behind the camera, you call out, “He loves it!”
The crew laughs, and Lily cups her hands around her mouth. “He literally texted me this morning saying, ‘I wonder if Logan and Oscar will play padel with me tomorrow.’”
“TRAITOR!” Alex yells, spinning in his chair to glare at her. The room erupts in laughter again, Oscar trying (and failing) to hide his grin.
“She’s not wrong,” Logan teases. “We’re his favorite people.”
“Don’t push it,” Alex warns, though his tone is fond now.
As the episode continues, the teasing only gets worse—in the best possible way.
They quiz Oscar on how it feels to be “the calm one” in a group of chaos, Logan tells the story of the first time he met you and hit every golf ball into a lake (“I was nervous, okay?”), and Alex is forced to sit through ten minutes of his sister being praised by both of her boyfriends.
“YN’s swing is perfect,” Oscar says seriously at one point.
“Yeah, she’s unreal,” Logan adds. “I still can’t hit like that.”
Alex groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Can we not turn my podcast into a love letter to my sister?”
“Too late,” Logan says cheerfully.
You and Lily are crying from laughter now, tears streaming down your cheeks as Alex finally throws one of the couch pillows at Logan.
“You know what?” Alex says, sitting back with his arms crossed. “Fine. You two can have your little bromance and your little—whatever this is—but I’m still the older brother, and I will forever have veto power.”
Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Over what?”
“Everything!” Alex declares, pointing dramatically at him. “Outfits, dates, dinner choices—if you two take her to McDonald’s again, I swear—”
Logan gasps, clutching his chest. “It was her idea!”
You shout from behind the camera, “And it was great!”
Oscar nods solemnly. “Yeah, the fries were really good.”
The entire room dissolves into laughter again, Alex throwing up his hands in defeat. “I’m surrounded by children.”
Logan leans toward the mic, smiling. “And you love us.”
Alex sighs, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Yeah,” he admits quietly. “I really do.”
The laughter softens, replaced by an easy warmth that settles over the room. You glance at Lily and find her smiling too, soft and knowing.
As the episode wraps up, Logan signs off with his usual energy. “Alright, that’s it for this episode of Team Torque! Huge thanks to Oscar Piastri for joining us—”
“Thanks for having me,” Oscar says, smiling straight into the camera. “Even if your co-host was mildly traumatized.”
“Emphasis on mildly,” Alex mutters.
“Make sure to like, subscribe, and tell Alex to calm down in the comments,” Logan finishes, grinning.
The recording light clicks off, and the room erupts in cheers and laughter. Oscar leans back, shaking his head, Logan gives Alex a triumphant pat on the back, and you and Lily rush over, still laughing.
“See?” you say, throwing your arms around your brother. “That wasn’t so bad!”
Alex side-eyes you but hugs you back anyway. “You owe me for this, kid.”
You grin. “Dinner’s on us. You can complain the whole time.”
“Perfect,” he says dryly, though there’s a real smile behind it.
You glance over to where Oscar and Logan are chatting with the media team, both relaxed, laughing, comfortable. Logan catches your eye and winks, and Oscar’s gaze softens when he notices you looking. It’s all so easy now—your strange, beautiful little family.
Alex notices, shakes his head, and sighs with mock exasperation. “I’m doomed, aren’t I?”
“Completely,” Lily says, patting his shoulder.
As everyone starts packing up, you look around the room—your brother teasing Lily, your boyfriends laughing together, the team buzzing with energy—and it hits you how perfect this full circle is. From a doubles match before a Grand Prix to this tiny, chaotic family in a paddock media room… it’s been a journey of laughter, risk, and love.
You walk over to Logan and Oscar, threading your hands through theirs.
“C’mon,” you say softly. “Let’s go home.”
And as you leave together, the sound of Alex’s voice echoing after you—“You’re still not escaping from family dinner!”—you can’t help but laugh.
Because for the first time, everything feels exactly as it should. ok
pairing: max verstappen x age gap!reader x daniel ricciardo
summary: you thought the puppy fever that took over the paddock by storm would rub into your two boyfriends, but it seems to be a struggle to convince them to get a dog
fc: sab zada
request: here
a/n: grand prix winner max verstappen you were missed 🙂↕️
—
liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and others
yourusername leo’s play date with his favorite aunt (me)
tagged alexandrasaintmleux
view all comments
username leo!!!
username he’s the cutest little puppy 🥺
username besides alex and charles, there’s no one that loves that dog more than y/n
charles_leclerc ah, i was wondering where my son was
yourusername in my back pocket of course
username alex and y/n the ultimate it girls‼️
francisca.cgomes i beg to differ
yourusername you can’t
username pls she posts leo more than alex herself 😭
danielricciardo 😍 (liked by yourusername)
alexandrasaintmleux and he loves it everytime 🤍
yourusername i love him 😭😭
liked by danielricciardo, pierregasly and others
yourusername the og simba (he’s so cute i might steal him)
tagged francisca.cgomes
view all comments
username excuse me the face card on the first pic
username lethal
francisca.cgomes the best aunt 💗
yourusername my nephew 😭
username daniel and max i’ll fight you both i don’t care
danielricciardo ❤️ (liked by yourusername)
username simbaaaa 🤩
pierregasly please don’t steal my dog
yourusername fine, i’ll steal your girlfriend instead
pierregasly don’t even 🤬
username y/n is collecting all the paddock puppies like infinity stones
username someone please give this woman a dog 😩
yourusername maxvertsappen1 danielricciardo
maxverstappen1 no
maxverstappen1’s instagram stories
[caption 1: 🐱] [caption 2: cats❤️]
liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and others
yourusername lucky 24 🍀
view all comments
username happy birthday queen!
danielricciardo 24 years blessing the earth with your presence
yourusername 🙂↕️🙂↕️
username the most magical person ever 🤩 hbd <3
username have a great birthday y/n ❤️🩹
maxverstappen1 happy birthday schatje i love you ❤️
yourusername 🥹 <3
alexandrasaintmleux happy birthday y/n!! (leo sends his regards too)
francisca.cgomes happy birthday🫶🏽 from me and simba
username loveeee the dress and the cake
username and the crown!
lilymhe happy birthday pretty🩷
lewishamilton happy birthday y/n! roscoe misses you
yourusername i’ll drop everything rn 😭
yourusername’s instagram stories
[caption 1: totally not freaking out over how cute she is😭] [caption 2: love at first sight]
liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and others
yourusername this is the best day of my life and i’m not kidding at all. my baby 🥹🩷
view all comments
username omg so cuteeee 🥹
username she’s a cutie look at her!!
username her eyes 🥺🥺
username omg finally! this girl was screaming at the sky for a puppy
username ahhh so pretty 🥰 i wonder what her name is
maxverstappen1 lion
yourusername dandelion*
username clock him y/n‼️
alexandrasaintmleux can’t wait to meet her!
yourusername omg her and leo 🥺
username i’m afraid i already have grown fond of dandelion and we’ve only had a post and two stories
username the cuteness aggression is real
username i lowkey have a feeling this was daniel and max’s doing
yourusername best boyfriends ever !!!!!
danielricciardo 🥰🫶🏽
maxverstappen1 🙄
yourusername’s instagram stories
[caption 1: who’s more entertained with dandelion and why is it jimmy and sassy] [caption 2: hello there]
liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and others
maxverstappen1 family
tagged yourusername and danielricciardo
view all comments
username he include dandelion guys this is not a drill he include dandelion🚨🚨
yourusername the most perfect one❤️
maxverstappen1 ❤️🩹
username they might be the best throuple ever
username them and their pets
username jimmy, sassy and dandelion are the main characters
username awww max found his love for dandelion 🥰
username typical man saying he doesn’t want any pets and then being obsessed once they get them
danielricciardo love it ❤️🩹
maxverstappen1 ❤️
username he was NOT inmune to little dandelion charm
max verstappen x !norris veterinarian reader x kelly piquet
life in monaco was already full enough for you—between running your veterinary clinic and raising your six year old daughter, you didn’t have time for anything beyond work, school runs, and the occasional race to support your brother, lando. but things started to shift when your daughter became inseparable from penelope piquet at school. playdates turned into late nights helping kelly with her newborn, lily, and before you realized it, you weren’t just part of their routine—you were becoming part of them.
what began as shared school pickups and tired coffee chats slowly unfolded into something deeper, something neither you, kelly, nor max saw coming.
original request here.
fc : ashton wood
(a/n) : hi loves! glad to be back. sorry this took me a hot second, i’ve had a very big lack of motivation due to school and some hate and nonsense i’ve been receiving in my inbox as of late but i will always keep writing for the ones who support me and love me! i tweaked the original request just a tad bit to add a little more to the plot. hope you all enjoy! love you sm🤍🩵💕✨
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
yn_norris
liked by maxverstappen1, kellypiquet, lando and 1,890,000 others.
yn_norris : dumping my recents on you! (ft adela visiting uncle lan and my newest puppy patient, nino! he’s a cutie 🥰 @/kellypiquet and @/maxverstappen1)
tagged : kellypiquet and lando
—
view 75,000 other comments.
lando : uncle lando >>>>> uncle oscar
liked by yn_norris and oscarpiastri
↳ oscarpiastri : is this why she whispered to me “i hope you win osc” ????
liked by lando and yn_norris
↳ lando : GASP.
↳ lando : my own flesh and blood 😒
liked by yn_norris and oscarpiastri
↳ carlossainz55 : she also said she wanted uncle carlitos to win😉
liked by yn_norris and lando
↳ lando : she did not mean it. she was lying
liked by carlossainz55 and yn_norris
kellypiquet : you and nino 🥹🤍 (also thank you again for fitting him in so last minute!!)
liked by yn_norris and maxverstappen1
↳ yn_norris : anything for you and p 🤍
liked by kellypiquet and maxverstappen1
danielricciardo : adela already cooler than lando confirmed
liked by yn_norris and lando
↳ lando : nuh uh
↳ yn_norris : she was even cooler than you when she was in the womb
liked by danielricciardo and lando
lilymhe : you look stunning in that dress oh my god 🤤
liked by yn_norris and kellypiquet
↳ yn_norris : i love and miss you OH SO MUCH
liked by lilymhe
alex_albon : kitten in the coat pocket 😭😭😭
liked by yn_norris
↳ alex_albon : you’re making me want another
liked by yn_norris
↳ lando : god please no you already have 100
↳ yn_norris : 100 that i take care of. stop driving my business away
liked by alex_albon
maxverstappen1 : nino definitely picked you as his favorite human
liked by yn_norris and kellypiquet
↳ yn_norris : can you blame him though???
liked by maxverstappen1 and kellypiquet
alexandrasaintmleux : leo has the best and most beautiful vet on the planet🤍
liked by yn_norris
↳ yn_norris : love you and little leo dearly 💘
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
username00 : kelly and yn hugging…… my delusions are DELUSIONING
↳ username15 : lowkey always had a theory yn is also for the girls
↳ yn_norris : this is me proving your theory correct
liked by kellypiquet and username15
↳ username15 : WHDUWIWJDN
username75 : uncle lando is my roman empire i will SOB
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
The morning is slow in your clinic, the quiet kind of busy where paperwork and follow up calls take up most of your attention. You’ve just finished checking on a recovering golden retriever when the door opens, and in walks Kelly Piquet with a bundle of energy in her arms—a tiny, wriggling dachshund puppy.
You smile immediately, setting your clipboard down.
“Ah, you must be Nino.”
Kelly grins, looking a little harried but glowing in that unmistakable way.
“He’s a lot smaller than he looks in pictures,” you tease gently, motioning them toward the exam table.
Kelly laughs, a soft, airy sound that makes the puppy wag harder.
“I know, right? He’s already running our household like he owns it.”
You reach out, scratching under Nino’s chin. He melts instantly, and Kelly’s shoulders relax like she’s relieved someone else can handle him for a moment.
“So,” you say, slipping into your calm professional tone as you check Nino’s ears and heartbeat, “shots and a full check up today?”
“Exactly,” Kelly nods, shifting her weight a little as she perches on the chair. “Max thought it was important to get it all done quickly. He’s away this weekend, of course, so I drew the short straw.”
You glance at her, eyebrow raised.
“Or the lucky straw. Puppy cuddles are never a punishment.”
Kelly smiles again, this time warmer, and you notice how tired her eyes look up close. There’s makeup, sure, but no disguising the kind of exhaustion that only comes from late nights with a newborn.
As you prepare Nino’s first vaccine, you tilt your head.
“And how are you doing? I know it hasn’t been that long since Lily came along. Be honest—none of that ‘I’m fine’ business.”
She blinks at you, surprised by the question, then exhales slowly.
“I’m… okay. Tired, obviously. She’s only a few weeks old, and she doesn’t like to sleep unless I’m holding her. But she’s perfect.” Her expression softens immediately, and it’s clear she means it.
“That’s wonderful,” you murmur, offering her a reassuring smile. “But still, it’s a lot. You’re allowed to admit that.”
Kelly nods, watching you soothe Nino as you give him his shot with a practiced hand. The puppy barely flinches, too distracted by the treat you sneak him.
“You’re good with him,” she says, almost absently. Then, after a pause: “You’re good with kids too. Penelope is always so happy when she comes home from playdates with Adela. I can tell she feels really safe with you.”
That makes your chest warm.
“Your daughter is a gem. Adela adores her. Honestly, I think she’s convinced Penelope is her sister at this point.”
Kelly chuckles, shaking her head like she’s not surprised.
“Penelope has been asking when she can come over again. You might have two little shadows before long.”
“I don’t mind,” you reply honestly, finishing up with Nino’s exam. “It’s good for both of them. And I know how important those friendships are at this age.”
For a beat, silence stretches between you, but it’s a comfortable one. Kelly watches you tuck Nino back into her arms, her fingers absentmindedly stroking his ear.
“Actually,” she says suddenly, hesitating before continuing, “Lily has her newborn check up tomorrow. Max is still away, and I was planning on going alone, but…” She trails off, eyes flicking up to yours. “I don’t really want to, if I’m honest. It’s silly, but those appointments always make me nervous. Would you—would you mind coming with me?”
You blink, surprised but not at all unwilling. The way she asks—quiet, vulnerable, like it costs her something—makes you want to say yes immediately.
“Of course,” you say, voice firm but gentle. “It’s not silly at all. Those appointments can be overwhelming, and it’s always easier with someone there. I’ll come.”
Kelly’s shoulders drop in visible relief. She smiles, softer this time, the kind of smile that feels private.
“Thank you. Really. It means a lot.”
You shrug like it’s nothing, though inside you feel the weight of it—the trust she’s placing in you, the glimpse into her life beyond the schoolyard and puppy appointments.
“Consider it payback for you letting Adela monopolize Penelope every other weekend,” you say lightly, but your chest feels warmer than your words let on.
Kelly laughs again, and this time it lingers, her gaze holding yours just a little longer than it probably should.
When she leaves, Nino tucked against her chest, you’re still smiling at the door long after it closes. Tomorrow doesn’t feel like an obligation—it feels like something just bloomed.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
The next morning, your clinic runs smoothly enough that you can duck out early. You’ve arranged for your assistant to cover the last couple of check-ups, and now you’re standing outside Kelly’s apartment building in Monaco with a small tote bag slung over your shoulder—snacks, wipes, a toy you know newborns can’t technically play with yet but that always helps distract.
Kelly greets you at the door with Lily in her arms. She looks both beautiful and exhausted—hair pulled back hastily, eyes rimmed with the faintest shadow of fatigue. But when she sees you, her shoulders drop like she’s already less alone.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” she says softly, noticing the tote bag.
You smile.
“Vet instincts. Overprepared for all creatures, great and small.”
That earns you a laugh, and then you’re on your way.
The pediatrician’s office is bright and sterile, the kind of place that tries to disguise its clinical atmosphere with colorful posters and cartoon decals. Lily coos against Kelly’s chest, oblivious to the nervous energy radiating from her mother.
You notice the way Kelly keeps smoothing the baby’s blanket, the way her eyes dart between the closed exam room door and Lily’s face like she’s bracing herself.
“You okay?” you ask gently as you sit beside her in the waiting room.
Kelly exhales, almost a laugh, almost a sigh.
“I know it’s just routine—measurements, weight, reflexes. But every time, I get this knot in my stomach. What if something’s wrong? What if I missed something?”
You tilt your head, watching her carefully.
“That’s not silly. That’s love. But Kelly, you’re doing amazing. She’s happy, healthy, and she clearly adores you.”
Kelly looks down at Lily, who’s grabbing at her mother’s necklace with tiny fists. Her eyes soften.
“You sound so sure.”
You nudge her arm lightly.
“I see a lot of worried people. You’re not just doing fine—you’re thriving. And you don’t have to do it all alone, you know.”
Her gaze flickers up to yours at that, something vulnerable passing through it before the nurse calls her name.
Inside, the doctor greets Kelly warmly, clearly accustomed to new-parent nerves. You sit close, offering Lily your finger to grasp while the pediatrician runs through the exam.
“She’s gaining weight beautifully,” the doctor remarks. “Strong reflexes too. She’s exactly where she should be.”
Kelly lets out a breath you didn’t realize she was holding, shoulders sagging in relief. You catch her eye and smile.
“See? Perfect.”
When the doctor steps out to grab Lily’s vaccine, Kelly leans back in her chair, closing her eyes for just a second.
“You know,” she murmurs, voice low so only you can hear, “sometimes I feel like I’m failing Penelope. I’ve been so focused on Lily that I worry she feels left out.”
Your chest aches at the honesty in her tone.
“Kelly… Penelope adores Lily. And she knows you love her. She’s also lucky—she has a mum who worries about getting it right. That’s more than enough.”
Kelly’s eyes shine as she looks at you, gratitude unspoken but palpable.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I don’t think I’ve told anyone that before. Not even Max.”
You don’t push, but the weight of her trust settles warmly in your chest.
Lily handles the shot like a champ—only a brief cry before settling back against Kelly’s shoulder. You insist on carrying the diaper bag, and the walk back to your car feels lighter than before.
“Thank you for coming,” Kelly says as you buckle Lily into her car seat. Her voice is soft but steady now. “I don’t know if I would’ve gotten through that without… spiraling.”
You grin, closing the door gently.
“Anytime. You don’t even have to ask.”
Kelly lingers a second longer, her hand brushing your forearm as she steps past you. The touch is fleeting but charged, like something unsaid hangs in the air.
By the time you pull up to the school, Lily is asleep in her car seat, the soft rhythm of her breathing filling the car. Kelly stays in the passenger seat while you hop out to fetch the girls.
Adela spots you first, breaking into a run with her backpack bouncing against her.
“Mummy!” she squeals, arms wrapping tight around your waist.
Penelope follows more calmly but beams the second she sees you.
“Is Lily in the car? Can we see her?”
You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind Penelope’s ear.
“She’s sleeping, but yes, you’ll see her. Now come on, let’s not keep your mum waiting.”
When you lead them back, Kelly is already smiling, watching the scene unfold from the car. She helps them pile in, Adela immediately clamoring to sit next to Penelope.
As you pull away from the curb, Kelly catches your gaze in the rearview mirror, her expression soft, almost unreadable. But you know what it means: thank you—for today, for the comfort, for being here.
And as Penelope and Adela chatter away in the backseat, you realize you don’t mind being pulled deeper into their orbit.
Not one bit.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
It’s already dusk when you knock softly on Kelly’s door, balancing a grocery bag in one hand. You’d offered to stop by after your clinic closed since Kelly mentioned it had been “one of those days” with Lily, and she didn’t argue.
Penelope’s voice is the first you hear when the door swings open, her face bright with excitement.
“Adela’s here!” she calls into the apartment before tugging you inside.
Kelly follows her, barefoot, hair twisted into a loose bun. She’s in a soft cotton tee and leggings, comfortable but effortlessly elegant, though the faint tiredness around her eyes doesn’t escape you. Lily is cradled in one arm, cheeks pink from fussing.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” she says, nodding at the bag in your hand.
“I promised dinner,” you counter, slipping your shoes off. “And you deserve a break.”
Kelly’s smile lingers a little too long, her eyes softer than her voice.
“You’re a saint.”
The living room fills with the sound of giggles. Adela and Penelope have constructed a fort out of blankets and couch cushions, and they’re already negotiating which princesses they’re pretending to be.
“Unicorn princess,” Adela insists.
Penelope rolls her eyes but agrees with the gravity of a seasoned big sister.
“Fine, but I’m the queen.”
You chuckle, setting your bag on the counter. “That should keep them busy.”
Kelly lays Lily in her bassinet, rocking it gently until the baby settles with a tiny sigh. For a moment, the apartment feels peaceful—warm light, children’s laughter muffled by blankets, and Kelly leaning against the counter beside you.
“Honestly,” she admits, lowering her voice, “I don’t know how I’d get through half of these days without you.”
You glance at her, heart tugging at the sincerity in her tone.
“Well, lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”
She meets your gaze, and for a beat too long, neither of you look away.
You slip into the kitchen, unpacking ingredients: pasta, vegetables, fresh herbs. Kelly hovers at first, then joins in, chopping zucchini while you sauté garlic.
The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter from the living room. She tells you about Lily’s new habit of waking up at three in the morning “just to chat,” and you share a story about a client’s Great Dane who thinks he’s a lapdog.
At one point, Kelly brushes past you to reach for the olive oil, her arm grazing yours. The touch is fleeting, but it lingers.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, though there’s a smile tugging at her lips.
“Pretty sure I’ve been bumped harder by your cats,” you reply, trying to play it off—but your pulse betrays you.
Kelly laughs, a sound that fills the kitchen, and shakes her head. “You always know what to say.”
The table is set simply: plates of steaming pasta, salad, juice boxes for the girls, and wine you uncork for the two of you. Adela and Penelope chatter endlessly about school, their voices tumbling over one another as they eat.
“Lando picked us up last week and let us have ice cream before dinner!” Penelope announces, scandalized.
“Traitor,” you mutter under your breath, and Kelly nearly spits out her wine laughing.
Halfway through the meal, Lily stirs in her bassinet. You’re on your feet before Kelly can move, lifting the baby gently and cradling her against your chest.
“I’ve got her,” you say softly. “Finish eating.”
Kelly watches you bounce Lily carefully, her expression unreadable but intent. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, almost tender.
“She likes you.”
You smile down at the baby. “She has incredibletaste.”
When you glance back, Kelly’s gaze hasn’t shifted.
The girls beg for 30 more minutes of play before bed and Kelly shoos them off toward the living room. You stay behind to help with dishes, sleeves rolled up, hands in warm sudsy water.
“You really don’t have to—” Kelly begins, but you cut her off.
“Kelly, you’ve got two kids, a newborn, and a puppy in this house. Let me wash a few plates.”
She laughs, leaning against the counter beside you, her hip brushing yours. The proximity makes the air feel charged.
“Has anyone told you you’re too good at this?” she teases.
You glance at her, arching a brow. “At what? Washing dishes?”
Her smile falters just slightly, softening into something more serious.
“At… showing up. Taking care of people. Taking care of us.”
The words sink in, heavy with meaning. You want to answer—something light, something honest—but before you can, Adela bounces into the kitchen, holding Penelope’s hand.
“Can we go home now, mummy?” she asks, sleepy but still bright-eyed.
You smooth her hair back, nodding. “Yeah, sweetheart. Say goodnight to Penelope and Kelly.”
The girls hug tightly, promising another playdate soon, and Adela skips back to gather her things. Kelly watches her with an almost wistful expression before turning back to you.
“You make it all look so easy,” she murmurs.
You smile, sliding Adela’s backpack over your shoulder. “Trust me, it’s not. But nights like this make it worth it.”
For a moment, you and Kelly just stand there in the quiet kitchen, the hum of the dishwasher filling the silence. She reaches out impulsively, brushing a crumb from your sleeve, and when your eyes meet, the air between you feels charged again—gentle, unspoken.
“Drive safe,” she says finally, her voice softer than before.
“Text me if you need anything,” you reply, meaning it more than you should.
As you lead Adela toward the door, Kelly lingers in the kitchen, watching you go with that same warm, unreadable look. You can feel her gaze on your back even as you step into the cool Monaco night.
And though you leave with your daughter’s small hand tucked into yours, part of you feels like you’re leaving something else behind—something you’re not ready to name just yet.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
You’d noticed it for weeks—the tired look in Kelly’s eyes, the way she brushed off compliments with a weary laugh, how her shoulders seemed to always carry just a little too much weight. New motherhood, keeping up with Lily, managing life while Max was on the away—it was no wonder she never had a second to herself.
So you made a plan.
When you arrive at her place that morning, Adela’s already running off with Penelope, their chatter filling the house. The nanny greets you warmly and takes the two girls and baby Lily out for a day at the park, giving you and Kelly the rarest gift: uninterrupted time.
Kelly looks confused as you hand her a small tote bag.
“What’s this?”
“Swimwear, fluffy robe, snacks. I’m kidnapping you,” you grin, hooking your arm through hers. “We’re going to the spa. No arguments.”
Her jaw drops, then she laughs, that melodic sound that makes your chest tighten. “A spa? You actually planned this?”
“Yes. You deserve to be taken care of, Kelly. Just… let me do this for you.”
For a moment, she looks at you as if she might cry. Then she exhales, shoulders sagging in surrender. “Okay. But only if you promise to let me pay for the champagne.”
The spa is tucked into the hills above Monaco, serene and quiet, overlooking the glittering sea. The moment you both step into the warm, eucalyptus-scented lobby, Kelly’s entire demeanor shifts. She holds her robe against her chest and whispers, “I can’t remember the last time I did something just for me.”
“That’s the point,” you remind her gently, touching her elbow as you guide her toward the thermal pools.
The water laps softly around you, warm and soothing. You settle into the bubbling jets, watching her across the pool. The steam curls in the air between you, softening the edges of her already beautiful face.
“This was a good idea,” she says after a long silence, head tipping back, eyes closing. “I feel like… I’ve been running on fumes since Lily was born. You don’t realize how much until you finally stop.”
You nod, your own body unwinding for the first time in ages. “I know. That’s why I wanted you to have this. You’re always giving to everyone else. You deserve someone who reminds you to take a break.”
She opens her eyes, turning them on you, clear and piercing even through the steam. “That someone being you?”
You freeze under her gaze, then force a playful shrug. “Well, I am available for hire as your personal spa coordinator.”
Her laugh bubbles out, and she flicks water toward you. “I think I like that job description.”
Later, in the quiet lounge, you both lie side by side on cushioned chairs, wrapped in robes, champagne glasses in hand. The world outside could be miles away.
Kelly’s voice softens as she stares at the ceiling. “When I first had Penelope, I thought I had to be perfect. The perfect mother, the perfect partner, the perfect version of myself. But this time… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired of pretending.”
You turn your head toward her, your voice gentle. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Kelly.”
Her lips part, the words settling between you. She looks at you for a long moment, something unspoken flickering in her eyes, before she lets out a shaky breath.
“Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself,” she admits.
You want to reach for her hand, but you hold back, afraid of pushing too far too soon. Instead, you murmur, “Then let me keep knowing you. That’s all I want.”
The air between you shifts, heavier now, charged but tender. She bites her lip, then smiles—small, grateful, almost shy.
“Thank you for today,” she whispers. “For reminding me I’m more than just… everything I try to be for everyone else.”
You clink your glass softly against hers, a private little toast. “To you. Exactly as you are.”
She holds your gaze over the rim of her glass, and you know she feels it too—the slow, delicate unraveling of something you both might be too scared to name.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
Max comes home late afternoon, the familiar sound of the front door unlocking carrying through the Piquet-Verstappen house. You’re in the kitchen, swaying gently with Lily against your chest. The baby is half-asleep, cheek pressed against your shoulder, while you hum something soft without even realizing it. The girls are in the living room, their laughter mingling with the faint cartoon voices on TV.
You glance up when you hear the door, and your smile is immediate. “Hey, welcome back.”
Max sets his bag down quietly, trying not to break the peace of the moment. For a heartbeat, he just watches—Kelly at the table with her laptop open, visibly more relaxed than the last time he saw her, and you standing there, one hand supporting Lily, the other absently stroking her tiny back.
“Hi,” he says, voice low. He toes off his shoes and steps inside. “You look… settled.”
You grin. “She finally gave in to sleep after a small protest. I think she’s decided I’m good for cuddles.”
Kelly laughs, pushing her laptop aside. “She’s right. YN has magic. I swear Lily calms down faster with her than she does with me.”
Max’s eyes flicker between you both. There’s no sting in Kelly’s tone, just affection, but something tugs at him anyway. He comes closer, leaning down to press a kiss to Lily’s head, then to Kelly’s cheek. “That’s good. You need someone to help.”
Your arm tightens protectively around Lily before you gently pass her into his arms. “She’s been an angel today. A little fussy at lunch, but nothing you can’t handle.”
“She gets that from me,” Max jokes, cradling his daughter carefully. His blue eyes soften when they land on you again. “Thanks for being here. Really.”
You brush it off with a shrug, but Kelly interjects, “Don’t downplay it. She’s been a lifesaver while you’ve been gone. With Lily, with P, even with me.”
Max catches the warmth in Kelly’s voice. He’s used to her talking about friends, other mums at school—but this feels different. Deeper. Like there’s something in the way she says it, in the way she looks at you.
Later, after the girls are finally tucked in upstairs and Lily is sleeping in her bassinet, the three of you end up in the kitchen. You’re leaning against the counter, sipping tea, hair falling in loose waves around your shoulders. Kelly is perched on a stool across from you, smiling at something you’ve just said.
Max takes it in quietly—the easy rhythm between you and Kelly, the gentle teasing, the way you pass her a mug before she even asks. It’s… comfortable. Intimate, even. And he wonders how he hasn’t noticed it before.
“You know,” he says after a moment, sliding into the conversation, “the house feels different with you here.”
You glance at him, curious. “Different how?”
He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Lighter. Easier. Like everything runs smoother. The kids are happy, Kelly’s smiling more… even I feel less on edge. It’s nice.”
Kelly’s eyes flicker to his, then back to you. Her lips curve in a soft smile, but there’s something unspoken behind it.
You clear your throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Well, I spend half my life at this house anyway. With Adela and P inseparable, I don’t think I could avoid you if I tried.”
Max chuckles, but his gaze lingers a second too long. “I’m not complaining.”
The room goes quiet for a beat, not uncomfortable, but weighted. Kelly breaks it with a laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think that’s his way of saying you’re stuck with us now.”
You laugh too, though your cheeks warm. “I guess there are worse fates.”
Max doesn’t add anything else, but as you all finish your tea, his mind is turning. He’s always known you—Lando’s sister, the vet who adores her work, the woman with a little girl who trails after Penelope like a shadow. But tonight, watching you move around the kitchen like you belong, something shifts.
You’re not just Lando’s sister. You’re not just the girls’ friend’s mum.
You’re someone who makes his world easier, steadier.
And for the first time, Max wonders what it would be like if you weren’t just visiting—if you were truly part of it.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
a few weeks later…
yn_norris
liked by lando, maxverstappen1, kellypiquet and 1,950,000 others.
yn_norris : pics or it didn’t happen 📸
tagged : maxverstappen1, lando and kellypiquet
—
view 95,000 other comments.
lando : my beautiful niece is everywhere but in uncle lando’s garage. bad parenting 👎🏻
liked by yn_norris
↳ yn_norris : she spent the entire weekend with you and oscar. stop being annoying
liked by lando and oscarpiastri
↳ lando : she is a papaya baby since birth. these red bulls need to stay away
liked by yn_norris and maxverstappen1
kellypiquet : boat day w captain nino 🥹💞
liked by yn_norris
↳ yn_norris : my fave crew 😉
liked by kellypiquet
danielricciardo : need a full photo of you in the black dress 😻
liked by yn_norris
↳ yn_norris : blushing 🙈
liked by danielricciardo
↳ lando : OUT DANIEL
alex_albon: wholesome content only 🥺
liked by yn_norris
↳ lilymhe: agree. 10/10 dump.
liked by yn_norris
alexandrasaintmleux : i’m obsessed w you 🤍
liked by yn_norris
maxverstappen1 : very lucky to have so many beautiful ladies in my garage cheering me on
liked by yn_norris and kellypiquet
username55 : adela reaching for max someone SEDATE ME THIS IS BEAUTIFUL
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
The invitation comes casually, but it makes something warm bloom in your chest. Kelly sends you a message on a Thursday morning—
Weather looks perfect this weekend. Want to come out on the boat with us? Bring Adela, of course. P would be over the moon.
It doesn’t take more than a second to say yes.
By the time Saturday arrives, the marina is buzzing with sunshine and salt air. Adela clings to your hand, practically skipping with excitement, her little sunhat bobbing as she pulls you toward the familiar white boat where Kelly is already waiting with Penelope and baby Lily.
“Adela!” Penelope squeals the moment she spots her, running across the deck with arms wide. The girls collide in a hug, already chattering about swimming and snacks and seashells.
Kelly greets you with a smile so warm you almost forget the sea breeze. “You made it,” she says, leaning in for a light hug. Lily is tucked into the crook of her arm, a tiny sunhat covering her head, and you coo at her immediately.
“Of course. Adela’s been counting down since Thursday,” you laugh, reaching out to brush Lily’s little hand. “And I can’t resist these cheeks.”
Kelly’s laugh is soft, private, like you’ve just shared a secret. “She’s ready for her first proper boat day, though she’ll probably sleep through most of it.”
Max arrives a minute later, carrying a cooler on one shoulder, sunglasses perched on his nose. He nods toward you, a little smile curving his mouth. “Glad you’re here. We might need another pair of hands to manage those two,” he says, jerking his chin toward Penelope and Adela, who are already plotting something mischievous near the railing.
“Don’t worry,” you grin. “I’ve got years of practice.”
Out on the water, the girls shriek with laughter as Max lifts them one by one and tosses them into the sea, their little floaties keeping them bobbing happily. You watch from the deck, heart tugging at the sight of Adela’s smile—bright, fearless, so full of joy as Max swims alongside her and Penelope, guiding them gently.
Kelly sits beside you, Lily nestled against her chest, fast asleep with the rocking of the boat. Her legs are tucked underneath her, robe wrapped loosely around her bathing suit, hair pulled into a bun. She looks peaceful—more so than you’ve seen her in a long time.
“Max is really good with them,” you say quietly, eyes still on the water.
Kelly follows your gaze, lips curving. “He is. He doesn’t show it to the world much, but with kids… he’s so patient. Especially with Penelope. And now with Adela too.” She pauses, then glances at you. “She looks so happy out there with him.”
“She is,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your mouth. “She doesn’t always trust easily, you know? But she adores him. Both of you.”
Kelly’s eyes soften. “And we adore her. She feels like part of the family already.”
The words linger between you, heavy with meaning. You look down at Lily, whose tiny fingers twitch in sleep, and something swells in your chest. You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing—work, motherhood, friendship—but here, on this boat with them, it feels seamless. Like every part of your life has slipped quietly into theirs.
Later, after sandwiches and fruit are shared around, you sit cross-legged on the deck with Kelly, the two of you making sure the girls are slathered in sunscreen while Max attempts to wrangle them back into the water.
“You’d think they’d let me put it on without protest,” you mutter as Adela squirms under your hands.
Kelly laughs, dabbing Penelope’s nose with lotion. “Where’s the fun in that? It’s a rite of passage—arguing with mum about sunscreen.”
Max finally succeeds in scooping them both up and tossing them in the air until their laughter echoes over the waves. You and Kelly watch, shoulders brushing lightly, the kind of touch that feels accidental but lingers.
“She’s really good for him and Penelope,” Kelly says suddenly.
“Who?” you ask.
“Adela,” she clarifies softly. “Max is softer with her around. She makes him laugh. And it makes me love him even more. And i’ve never seen P happier.” She pauses, then looks at you, her gaze steady. “And you. You’ve been good for me, too.”
You swallow, unsure what to say, but before you can answer, Lily stirs, fussing lightly. You instinctively reach out, and Kelly lets you take her without hesitation. The baby settles against you almost immediately, tiny sighs puffing against your collarbone.
Kelly watches, her expression unreadable at first, then shifting into something tender. “See?” she murmurs. “Magic.”
Your cheeks warm under her gaze, but you force a playful grin. “I’m just good at rocking babies.”
She doesn’t argue, though. Just sits a little closer, the two of you watching the horizon together while Max and the girls splash below.
And for a brief, perfect moment, you can picture it—this life, this family, not as borrowed time but as yours.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
The end of the school day is always a little chaotic, a flood of children pouring out into the courtyard, voices overlapping with the flurry of parents and nannies waiting outside. You’re still in your lab coat, hair tied back from a long shift at the clinic, your bag slung over one shoulder as you scan the crowd for Adela.
“Mummy!”
You barely have time to react before Adela barrels into you, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. Her little backpack bounces against your side as she presses her face into your stomach.
“There’s my girl,” you murmur, crouching to her level and smoothing a stray curl out of her face. “Did you have a good day?”
Before she can answer, another squeal pierces the air. “YN!”
Penelope, pink bow askew in her hair, rushes straight for you as well. You laugh, opening your arms so both girls can collide into your chest at once. They smell faintly of crayons and strawberry yogurt, warm from the sun.
“We were waiting for you!” Penelope says breathlessly. “We need to ask you something really important.”
Adela nods furiously, eyes wide with excitement. “Can we go to the next race? Please, Mommy? P says we can sit together and we can cheer for Uncle Lan!”
You blink, caught off guard, but their expectant little faces make your heart squeeze. “The next race?”
“Yes!” Penelope insists, practically bouncing in place. “It’ll be so fun! We can wear matching shirts and make signs!”
Adela tugs on your sleeve, her voice turning pleading. “Please, Mommy? I really wanna see Uncle Lan drive. Please?”
You sigh, already knowing there’s no universe where you can say no. “We’ll see—”
“Promise?” Adela cuts in, her eyes shining with that hopeful determination that always undoes you.
Before you can answer properly, a familiar voice drifts closer. “Sounds like you’re being ambushed.”
You glance up to find Max a few feet away, Penelope’s school bag slung casually over his shoulder. He looks relaxed in a simple t-shirt and cap, but there’s a hint of amusement tugging at his mouth as he watches the scene unfold.
“Papa Max!” Penelope cries, running the few steps to him. “We’re asking YN if they can go to the race!”
“Oh, are you?” he asks, scooping her up effortlessly. “That’s quite the request.” His eyes flick to you then, softening. “Don’t let them pressure you. They can be very persuasive as a team.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Tell me about it. I don’t think I stand a chance against them.”
Adela slips her hand into yours, tugging gently. “Mummy, please?”
You glance at Max, a little helpless. “I mean… I’d love for her to see Lando, but logistically—”
Max interrupts, his tone casual but kind. “You could come with us. Kelly, the girls, and I are flying out early Wednesday. There’s plenty of space. It’d be easy for Adela to tag along, and for you too, if you’d like.”
Your brows lift. “You’re sure?”
“Of course,” he says simply, adjusting Penelope on his hip. “The girls will be happier together, and it’ll be less stressful than you arranging everything on your own. Besides…” His eyes hold yours for a beat longer than necessary. “You’re already part of the circus, whether you like it or not.”
Kelly’s words echo in your head—she feels like family already—and you feel warmth spread through your chest.
Adela looks between you and Max, practically vibrating with excitement. “Please, Mummy! Please, please, please?”
You chuckle, squeezing her hand. “Alright. I guess we’re going to the race.”
The girls shriek in victory, hugging each other and jumping in circles. Max laughs quietly, watching them spin, then looks back at you with a softness that makes your breath hitch.
“Thank you,” you say, a little shy. “For offering.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “It’s nothing. Really. We’re glad to have you with us.”
And as you walk toward the car, Adela and Penelope skipping ahead, you realize he means it. Not just for Adela’s sake, but yours too.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗
Friday morning comes with chaos wrapped in excitement. Adela is bouncing on your bed before the alarm even rings, already in her “Uncle Lan” t-shirt that she insisted on sleeping in. You laugh sleepily, brushing her curls back.
“Sweetheart, we don’t leave for another two hours,” you murmur.
“But Mummy, P said we’re gonna sit together on the plane! We can’t be late!”
Her urgency makes you laugh again, and before long you’re both packed, her little backpack stuffed with crayons, snacks, and the handmade “GO UNCLE LAN!!!” sign she insisted on bringing.
At the private terminal, the Piquet-Verstappen clan is already waiting. Kelly greets you with a bright smile, chic in a soft linen set, Lily nestled against her chest. Max is beside her, wheeling Penelope’s tiny suitcase, looking far too composed for the early hour.
“Mama YN! Adela!” Penelope shrieks, running toward you. She and Adela collide in a hug so forceful they nearly topple, both shrieking with laughter.
Kelly laughs. “Well, that answers the question of whether they’ll behave on the plane.”
“Behavior is overrated,” you joke, hugging her quickly before reaching for Lily. “May I?”
Kelly hands her over without hesitation, and Lily coos as you press your cheek against her soft hair. “You smell like home,” you whisper, bouncing her gently.
Max watches the exchange quietly as he loads the bags onto a trolley, his expression soft.
On board, the girls insist on sitting side by side, crayons already sprawled across the fold-out table. You settle into the seat opposite, Lily resting against you once again. Kelly slides in beside you, her hand brushing yours when she adjusts Lily’s blanket.
“Thanks again for coming,” she says quietly, a touch of vulnerability in her voice. “It means a lot to P. And to me.”
You glance at her, meeting her gaze. “Thank you for inviting us. It’s… nice to feel part of it.”
There’s a pause, heavier than the hum of the engines. Kelly’s lips curve into a small smile, one that says more than words.
Across the aisle, Max is half-listening as Penelope explains their drawing project to Adela—apparently, a massive poster that will feature both Lando and Max’s cars. His blue eyes flicker to you, to Lily sleeping soundly in your arms, to the way Kelly leans ever so slightly toward you. Something shifts in his chest, almost imperceptible, but undeniable.
Mid-flight, Adela wriggles out of her seat and climbs into Max’s lap without hesitation, holding up her sign proudly.
“Look, Maxie, I made this for Uncle Lan!”
Max chuckles, smoothing a hand over her hair. “That’s a very good sign. He’ll love it.”
“Do you think he’ll wave at me?” she asks earnestly.
“Definitely,” Max assures, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it. “He won’t be able to miss you.”
Your heart squeezes at the sight—Adela curled comfortably against him, her trust in him so instinctive. Kelly notices too; her hand finds yours beneath Lily’s blanket, a quiet squeeze of shared affection.
That evening, after check-in, you find yourself on the balcony of your hotel room, watching the city lights flicker against the night sky. There’s a knock, and when you open the door, Kelly is there, barefoot, hair undone, holding Lily against her shoulder.
“She wouldn’t settle unless she saw her favorite,” she teases softly.
You laugh, taking Lily into your arms. The baby quiets instantly, her small hand curling into the fabric of your shirt. Kelly watches the scene with an expression so open, so full of quiet gratitude, it makes your breath catch.
“You’re good for us,” she says quietly, almost to herself.
Behind her, in the hallway, you catch sight of Max watching, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. But then his mouth curves in the smallest of smiles, as though he agrees. And suddenly, you realize this weekend might change more than you ever expected.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
You could hardly contain your excitement as you and Adela walked hand in hand down the paddock lane. She’d been buzzing since the plane landed, and the second she spotted the familiar McLaren orange in the distance, her steps had gotten quicker, practically skipping in rhythm with her chatter.
Lando had no clue you were here. Neither did your parents. And Magui? She had texted you the night before asking when you were going to “stop gatekeeping Adela from me,” and you had to stifle a laugh, typing back a noncommittal “soon.” The thought of their faces when they realized you’d flown out made your heart beat a little faster.
Adela spotted McLaren’s hospitality first. “Mummy, that’s it! That’s where Uncle Lan is!” she squealed, tugging at your hand.
Inside, the Norris family was gathered at one of the tables—your mum and dad with cups of tea in their hands, Magui leaning close to them mid-conversation, laughing at something your dad had said. It was such a warm scene that for a moment you just stood in the doorway, smiling, letting Adela take the lead.
She didn’t hesitate. “Grandma! Grandpa!” she shouted, launching forward.
Your parents’ heads whipped around, and in an instant, your mum’s chair scraped back as she jumped up, arms wide. “Adela!” she cried, pulling her granddaughter into a tight hug. Your dad wasn’t far behind, his big hands lifting her right off the ground.
“What on earth—YN!?” your mum gasped over Adela’s shoulder, finally noticing you standing shyly in the doorway. “You didn’t tell us you were coming!”
You laughed, stepping inside properly. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”
It was then that Magui spotted you, her eyes lighting up. “You sneaky girl!” she said, rushing over to hug you. “I was literally texting you last night!”
“Had to keep the secret,” you grinned, squeezing her back.
The commotion drew attention, and soon enough, the back door opened and in walked Lando himself, helmet bag slung over one shoulder, expression distracted. He looked up mid-step—and froze.
“No way,” he muttered, blinking hard before breaking into a wide smile. “What are you two doing here?!”
Adela wriggled free from your dad and ran at him, arms wide. “Uncle Lan!”
Lando scooped her up effortlessly, spinning her in a circle. “Look at you, my little troublemaker. You kept this quiet too?”
Adela giggled. “Mummy told me it was a secret surprise.”
You shrugged playfully. “Worth it, right?”
Lando’s grin softened, eyes flicking to you. “Definitely worth it.” He stepped closer, still holding Adela, and wrapped his free arm around your shoulders in a rare brotherly squeeze.
It was warm, chaotic, and perfect—everyone talking at once, asking about your trip, Adela showing off the sparkly clip in her hair to Magui, who promised to braid it for her later.
After a while, Adela tugged on Lando’s sleeve, lowering her voice as though she was about to share classified information. “Uncle Lan?”
“Yeah, bub?” he said, crouching down to her level.
“Can I go wish Max good luck before he drives fast?” she asked, hopeful eyes flicking between him and you.
The words hung in the air for a moment. Lando’s brows arched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Max?” he repeated slowly, cutting a glance at you.
You lifted a shoulder, a little sheepish. “She’s been spending time with P and Kelly while I’ve been helping with Lily. Max has kind of… joined the club.”
Lando looked skeptical, eyes narrowing just slightly, but when Adela’s hopeful face turned toward him again, he sighed. “Fine. But only because it’s good luck for him.”
“Yay!” Adela cheered, clapping her hands.
You mouthed a silent thank you over her head, and he just shook his head, muttering, “This is so weird,” though the fond smile tugging at his lips gave him away.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
The Red Bull garage buzzed with activity, engineers and mechanics moving quickly around Max’s car, but the moment Adela’s small voice rang out, it cut straight through the noise.
“Good luck, Maxie!” she called, standing just at the rope line with her little hands cupped around her mouth.
Max turned instantly, helmet in one hand, and when he spotted her, his whole face softened. He crouched down, ignoring the curious stares around him, and opened his arms. Adela darted forward, giggling as he scooped her up in a quick hug.
“You came all this way to wish me luck?” he asked, his Dutch accent warm and gentle.
She nodded firmly. “Because you drive super, super fast.”
Max chuckled, tapping the tip of her nose. “Then I’ll drive extra fast today, just for you.”
You stepped closer, offering him an encouraging smile. “Good luck, Max. We’ll be cheering for you.”
For a moment, his eyes lingered on yours—something steady, something quietly grateful—before he gave a small nod. “Means a lot. Thank you.”
Adela leaned in, whispering loudly, “We’re your biggest fans now,” which made you laugh and Max grin wider than anyone in the garage was used to seeing.
As you pulled Adela back to your side, she waved enthusiastically. “Go win!”
Max stood watching the two of you for just a beat longer than necessary before turning back to his car, jaw set but smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
Qualifying had ended hours ago, and the city around the circuit had come alive with its usual weekend buzz. Neon signs glowed faintly in the dusk, the streets filled with chatter and music spilling out of open shop doors. You and Lando had slipped away for some much-needed sibling time, Adela staying back with your parents and Magui, who had promised to spoil her with ice cream and braids.
“Finally,” Lando said dramatically, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as the two of you strolled down a cobbled side street lined with little shops. “Just us. No six-year-old distractions. No parents grilling me about my eating habits. No Magui threatening to make me try on every matching couple outfit she finds.”
You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. “You love it and you know it.”
“Yeah, well…” He pulled a face, then grinned. “Maybe a little.”
The two of you ducked into a small souvenir shop, and while you browsed racks of postcards and keychains, Lando immediately gravitated toward a rack of ridiculous sunglasses. He put on a neon-green pair shaped like palm trees and turned toward you with a straight face.
“Stylish, right?” he asked.
You rolled your eyes. “You look like a tourist dad on holiday.”
“Perfect, that’s my aesthetic,” he shot back, putting on another pair shaped like flamingos. He snapped a selfie with you in the background, clearly planning to torment you with it later.
It was light, easy, the kind of sibling banter you’d missed lately. But once you stepped back out into the cool evening air with bags of small trinkets in hand, Lando’s tone shifted—still teasing, but laced with something more thoughtful.
“So…” he began, swinging the bag dramatically between you. “When exactly were you planning on telling me about… all this?”
You raised a brow. “All what?”
He gave you a look, the kind only a younger brother could. “Don’t play dumb. You and Kelly. And Max.” He emphasized the last name with a sing-song tone, like he was trying to catch you off guard.
You blinked. “Lando—”
“Don’t ‘Lando’ me,” he said quickly, pointing at you with mock seriousness. “I’m not stupid. I see things. The way Kelly looks at you. The way Max looks at you. And don’t even get me started on Adela calling him ‘Papa Max’ like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
Heat crept up your cheeks, and you shook your head with a laugh. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I though?” he pressed, eyes glinting with mischief. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like my sister is getting herself into the middle of a very interesting situation.”
You swatted at his arm. “You’re insufferable.”
He laughed, dodging your hand easily. “Come on, just admit it—you like them.”
You hesitated, chewing your lip as you looked ahead at the twinkling lights of another shop window. “It’s not… that simple.”
Lando’s grin softened just a little, his teasing easing into genuine curiosity. “Hey, I’m not judging. I just—” He shrugged. “I want to make sure you’re happy. And that they’re good to you. And to Adela.”
The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you smiled despite yourself. “Thanks, Lan. That means a lot.”
He quickly shook off the seriousness, bumping your shoulder again. “Of course. But if Max Verstappen breaks your heart, I’ll crash him into Turn 1.”
You snorted. “You’d never hear the end of that.”
“Worth it,” he said smugly, then ducked into another shop before you could argue.
And just like that, the weight of his question lifted, replaced again by easy laughter and the warmth of sibling banter echoing into the night.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
By the time you got back to the hotel, the suite was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside. The massive shared space was a chaos of toys, coloring books, and baby bottles tucked neatly in one corner, evidence of the long day.
Adela and Penelope were already asleep in the bedroom they shared—tiny limbs tangled under blankets, hair sticking up every which way.
Kelly was curled up on the couch in leggings and an oversized sweater, a mug of tea cupped in her hands. Max was beside her, socked feet propped on the coffee table, flipping absentmindedly through his phone. The soft, domestic glow of the lamp made the scene feel impossibly cozy.
“Hey,” Kelly said quietly when she saw you, her lips tugging into a tired but warm smile. “Long day?”
You nodded, sinking onto the couch across from them. “Lando dragged me all over town after quali. Adela was spoiled by my parents. I think she’s still buzzing.”
Max chuckled under his breath. “That sounds about right.”
For a while, the three of you sat in companionable silence, the kind that only happens when people are completely comfortable around each other. You pulled your legs up under you, settling in. And then, softly, Kelly broke the quiet.
“You’ve been doing so much for us lately,” she said, eyes fixed on her tea. “Helping with Lily, keeping P entertained, even just… being here. I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
You waved it off instinctively. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just happy to help. You’ve both done so much to make Adela feel welcome too.”
Kelly’s gaze lifted then, locking with yours, and there was something vulnerable in it. Something unspoken. Max noticed too—his phone slipping to the side as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“We’ve been talking,” Max said carefully, his tone lower, slower. “About… this.” He gestured vaguely between the three of you.
Your stomach fluttered. “This?”
“Yeah.” Kelly leaned forward a little too, her eyes soft but steady. “About how natural it feels. Having you here. With us. With the kids. It’s like you’ve been part of this little… family all along.”
Max’s voice followed, steady and sincere. “We were wondering if… if you’d ever thought about… joining us. In more than just the way you already have.”
The words landed heavy in the quiet of the room, your breath catching slightly. You hadn’t let yourself imagine hearing them out loud, though somewhere deep down you knew you’d been feeling the same shift.
“I…” You started, but the words tangled. Your heart beat loud in your chest. “You’re serious?”
Kelly nodded immediately, eyes bright with something tender. “Completely serious. We’d never push you into anything, but… we both feel it. And we wanted to be honest.”
You didn’t notice the faint scuffle of little feet in the hallway—two small shadows crouched just beyond the corner, wide-eyed and whispering giggles. Penelope had dragged Adela out of bed when she heard the grown-ups’ voices carrying, and now both girls were pressed shoulder to shoulder, listening intently.
Inside, you sat frozen on the couch, looking between Max’s steady gaze and Kelly’s hopeful one. The warmth in their words wrapped around you, equal parts terrifying and comforting.
“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted finally, your voice soft. “But… I feel it too.”
Kelly’s smile broke wide, relief softening her features. Max let out a quiet exhale, almost like he’d been holding it the whole time.
And around the corner, two little girls nearly squealed but clapped hands over each other’s mouths just in time, their secret eavesdropping pact stronger than sleepiness.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains in soft golden beams, the kind that made the whole suite feel like it had been washed in warmth. You padded quietly into the girls’ room, hair still damp from your shower, ready to rouse them for breakfast before the track.
Adela was already stirring, clutching her stuffed rabbit, blinking sleep from her eyes. Penelope, though, was stubbornly curled on her side, her curls wild around her pillow.
“Rise and shine, sleepyheads,” you said gently, perching on the edge of Penelope’s bed. You brushed her hair back from her forehead, just as you did with Adela at home. “Time to get dressed.”
Adela sat up and immediately started digging through the little backpack you’d packed for her, pulling out a shirt with glittery stars on it. “I wanna wear this, mummy!”
“Good choice, bug,” you smiled, smoothing it out for her.
Beside you, Penelope yawned and finally blinked her eyes open. She rolled toward you, squinting up with a mischievous little grin. “YN?” she whispered conspiratorially, as though Adela couldn’t hear, even though she was only a foot away.
“Yes, P?” you asked, reaching for the dress Kelly had laid out for her.
Penelope hesitated, biting her lip. Then, as casual as if she were asking what was for breakfast, she blurted, “Are you gonna be my other mommy now?”
The world seemed to pause for a beat. Adela froze mid-dress, eyes wide, before bursting into delighted giggles. “I told you she’d ask!” she sing-songed.
Your heart skipped, a rush of warmth and panic tangling in your chest all at once. You smoothed Penelope’s blanket nervously, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “Sweetheart… that’s a big question.”
Penelope just shrugged, her little face open and honest. “But you already take care of me and Lily, and you and Mummy are always together. And Max smiles more when you’re here. It feels like you’re already my mommy, too.”
Something inside you melted and squeezed all at once. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, smoothing her curls. “That’s very sweet, P. No matter what, I’ll always be here for you, okay? And I’ll always care about you, and Adela, and your family.”
She seemed satisfied with that, already wriggling to sit up so she could pick her socks. Adela leaned closer, whispering loudly, “That means yes.”
You laughed, though your pulse was racing, your mind spinning. You helped them both into their clothes, braided their hair, and ushered them toward the kitchen where breakfast was waiting.
But as soon as the girls were distracted—pouring too much cereal into bowls and chattering about who would draw the fastest car later—you caught Kelly’s eye across the room.
The weight of Penelope’s question, so innocent but so sharp, crashed over you all at once. You crossed the room quickly, tugging Kelly toward the hallway with wide eyes.
“She asked me,” you whispered frantically, your hand tightening on Kelly’s arm. “P just asked if I was going to be her other mommy!”
Kelly blinked, clearly startled, then her lips curved into the tiniest, knowing smile. “Oh, my love…”
“No, don’t ‘my love’ me,” you hissed, though your cheeks flushed hot. “What do I even say to that? She’s six!”
Kelly’s hand found yours, her thumb brushing soothingly across your knuckles. “You handled it perfectly. Calm, gentle. That’s all she needs.”
You let out a shaky breath, half-laughing, half-panicked. “I think I’m more freaked out than she is.”
“She sees what we see,” Kelly said softly, her eyes warm, her voice full of quiet truth. “How natural this feels.”
Your chest tightened, words catching in your throat. For a moment, you just looked at her, the morning light framing her hair, the sound of your daughters’ laughter echoing from the kitchen.
And suddenly, you weren’t so sure the idea was as impossible as you’d once thought.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
The race was over, the track now quiet except for the distant hum of departing engines. By the time the three of you returned to the hotel suite, the city outside was awash in golden light from the setting sun, the kind that made the glass windows of the suite glow like a private little world of warmth and calm.
Adela and Penelope had been tucked into bed by a sleepy but happy Magui, their quiet breathing drifting from the next room. Lily had been fed and swaddled, now snoozing in her bassinet beside Kelly. The suite was silent, luxurious, yet intimate—just the three of you, and the weight of everything that had been building these past days.
“You up for some dinner?” Max asked casually, though there was a softness in his eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.
“You mean just us?” you teased, leaning against the kitchen counter.
Max glanced at Kelly, who nodded slightly, and you felt your heart do a little flip. “Yes. Just us. I think… we need this.”
Dinner was simple but elegant, a small table set by the balcony, candles flickering, wine catching the light. You poured slowly, careful not to spill, and Kelly reached across to squeeze your hand, her thumb brushing over yours. Max watched quietly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
The conversation started easy, about the race, the kids, and the travel. But slowly, it drifted to the quieter, more intimate things. Kelly’s hand never left yours, fingers entwining, while Max leaned back in his chair, watching both of you with an intensity that made your stomach flutter.
“I feel like… these past few days, everything’s been different,” Kelly admitted softly, her eyes locking with yours. “Being here with you… with the kids… it just feels right. Natural. And it scares me how much I like it.”
Your chest warmed, and you squeezed her hand in response. “I feel it too. I’ve felt it creeping up for a while, but being here, seeing you and Max and the girls… I can’t ignore it anymore.”
Max set down his wine glass, leaning slightly forward, his voice calm but deep. “I’ve known you for years—seen you with Lily, seen you with P—but… this. You being here with us, with all of this—it makes me see you differently. I like you. More than I thought I could like anyone in this chaos of a life we lead.”
The three of you paused, the world outside fading to a hush. The candlelight reflected in your eyes, in Kelly’s, and in Max’s, a quiet, steady warmth binding the three of you together.
Kelly’s lips curved into a tentative smile. “So… we’re saying it out loud? Right here?”
You nodded, heart pounding. “Yes. I don’t want to hide it anymore. I like you both. I’ve been afraid of how it would feel, but… it feels right.”
Max reached across the table, taking your hand and then Kelly’s, bridging the space between all three of you. “Then we don’t hide it. We try this… together. All of us.”
A flush of relief and excitement washed over you. You pressed a gentle kiss to Kelly’s hand, then to Max’s, your heart full in a way that words could hardly capture.
Kelly leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours, her breath warm. “So, we’re… us?”
“Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling but sure. “Us. Together.”
Max smiled, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Us.”
And there, under the soft glow of the balcony lights, the quiet city humming below, the three of you settled into each other’s arms. No words were needed after that. Hands intertwined, fingers laced, and hearts aligned—you could all feel it: the start of something gentle, something real, something that had been waiting for this moment to finally take shape.
Adela, Penelope, and Lily slept just a few rooms away, safe and sound, unaware that the adults had just begun a chapter of their own—one filled with love, trust, and the certainty that, finally, you were all in this together.
The three of you stayed there for hours, talking, laughing softly, sharing small kisses, and just being. For the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly as it should.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
4 months later…
f1gossipgirls
7,050,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : Looks like things just got heated in the F1 world! We have spotted Max Verstappen sharing a sweet kiss with YN Norris! (Yes, Lando’s sister.) He was seen carrying little Adela 💛, strolling along the beach with YN and Penelope in total #familygoals mode ☀️… and THEN YN and Kelly Piquet turning up the heat by the pool with a very private moment caught on camera 😏💦 Are we officially witnessing the most complicated, adorable, and spicy F1 trio forming right before our eyes? 👀💞
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
You were scrolling through your phone when it hit you—a flood of notifications, all buzzing at once. At first, you thought it might be a normal wave of likes and comments on your own posts. But then your stomach dropped.
“Max… Kelly…” you muttered under your breath, panic threading through your words as you opened one of the notifications.
Scrolling down, your heart sank. There were multiple paparazzi shots, some clearly from the beach, others by the pool, and yes… the kiss. The look on your face in the photos was so happy and genuine that it made your stomach twist.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” you muttered, pacing in the suite. Your hands fluttered over your face, your mind racing a mile a minute.
Max, who had been quietly unpacking a few things from your shared luggage, glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”
“They… they posted pictures,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “All of it. The kiss, the girls, Kelly… everything!”
Max slowly put down the bag, walking over and leaning against the counter next to you. His expression was calm—so calm it made your panic spike even more.
“Liefje,” he said gently, reaching for your hands. “It’s fine. They’re just pictures. It doesn’t change what we are or what we’ve built.”
“I can’t believe this!” you breathed, running your hands through your hair. “The paparazzi! The gossip accounts! Everyone’s going to see everything…!”
Max squeezed your hands, his blue eyes soft but unwavering. “YN, look at me. They don’t control our lives. They don’t define us. We know the truth. That’s what matters. We’re fine.”
His calmness was grounding, but the adrenaline still buzzed through your veins. You leaned into him, pressing your forehead against his chest for a moment, your voice shaking. “I just… I wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. I didn’t want it to be public. I wanted it to be… ours first.”
Max brushed his thumb across your cheek. “I know. And that’s okay. But it’s out now. And it’s beautiful. Look at us—we’re happy. That’s what counts.”
Kelly appeared in the doorway then, Lily in her arms, giving you a soft smile. “See? Nothing changes. The girls are fine. We’re fine.”
You took a shaky breath, nodding. “Okay… okay, you’re right.”
Just as you were starting to calm down, your phone buzzed again. You hesitated, then saw the caller ID: Lando.
“No, no, no,” you muttered, already anticipating the teasing.
“YN Norris?” His voice was full of mischief on the other end of the line. “Care to explain why my timeline is exploding with pictures of you kissing Max and making eyes at Kelly?!”
You groaned, pressing a hand to your face. “Lando! I am literally trying to calm down right now—don’t start!”
“Oh, don’t start?” he repeated, mock offense dripping from every syllable. “You mean I don’t get to start? Babe, I’m your younger brother! It’s my right to start!”
“I can’t even—” you began, but Max’s quiet chuckle from beside you made you pause.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured again, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“And?” you demanded into the phone, finally giving in. “What do you want, Lando?”
“What do I want?” he said, voice rising in exaggerated scandal. “I want a full debrief, right now. Who took the first step? Who kissed who first? Was it as dramatic as it looks in the photos? And don’t even think about leaving out Kelly!”
You groaned again, flopping onto the couch. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re my sister!” he shouted triumphantly. “I have every right to interrogate you about this! And Max, I swear, you better not mess her up.”
Max chuckled softly, lifting an eyebrow. “I think I can handle it, Lan.”
“No, you can’t!” Lando shot back, pacing around in your mind’s ear. “She’s my sister! She’s precious! And you’re both making her—”
“Lando!” you interrupted, laughing despite the tension, finally letting some of the panic dissolve. “Stop yelling! I’m fine. Seriously.”
“You’re not fine! You’re freaked out, I can hear it!” he replied, still teasing.
Kelly, standing behind you, laughed softly and shook her head. “He’s your brother. You’ll get used to it.”
You slumped back into the couch, finally letting a smile break through, Max wrapping an arm around you, Kelly leaning in beside you. Even with the leak, the photos, the chaos, you felt… safe. Grounded. And maybe, just maybe, the world seeing it all wasn’t so scary after all.
And somewhere in the background, Lando’s continued teasing over the phone faded into muffled laughter as you all sat together, holding onto the warmth of the moment—and each other.
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ
maxverstappen1
liked by yn_norris, lando, kellypiquet and 7,750,000 others.
you didn’t mean for the glass of rosé at brunch to turn into three, and you definitely didn’t mean for brunch to last until qualifying was nearly over. but alexandra was laughing with you, clinking glasses, and leaning against your shoulder like you were lifelong best friends, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. by the time max and charles find you both, cheeks flushed and giggles spilling out without restraint, you’re tangled up together in a booth like you’ve sworn an oath never to be parted. you can see the way max’s lips twitch into a smile, the way charles shakes his head with fond disbelief. it’s clear from the start: the rest of the day won’t be spent apart, no matter what.
requested? yes!
original request here.
fc : saradeanii on ig
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
ynverstappen
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, lilymhe, maxverstappen1 and 3,400,000 others.
ynverstappen : quali days are for leo and nino play dates, alex and i having way too many cocktails and my hubby on pole (as always) 💋💕
tagged : alexandrasaintmleux & maxverstappen1
—
view 245,000 other comments.
maxverstappen1 : luckiest man in the world, with or without pole.
liked by ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen : maxxxxieee stoppp😭😭
liked by maxverstappen1
↳ maxverstappen1 : no seriously, you in that dress? i almost missed quali.
liked by ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen : priorities, mr. world champion.
liked by maxverstappen1
↳ maxverstappen1 : exactly, mrs verstappen. you come first. always 🤍
liked by ynverstappen
↳ lando : you two make me SICKKKKK
liked ynverstappen and maxverstappen1
↳ ynverstappen : less focus on us — more focus on the race and maybe you’d be the winner bub💋
liked by lando and maxverstappen1
charles_leclerc : i see brunch went very very well for you two…🤣
liked by ynverstappen and alexandrasaintmleux
↳ ynverstappen : define well…
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and charles_leclerc
↳ alexandrasaintmleux : we only got lost once charlie!!!!
liked by ynverstappen and charles_leclerc
↳ charles_leclerc : you literally texted me “where am i” during quali amor…
liked by ynverstappen and alexandrasaintmleux
alexandrasaintmleux : still recovering from the cocktails and the cuddles 🩷 love you more and more everyday
liked by ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen: my partner in everything 😭💕
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
↳ alexandrasaintmleux : including bad decisions and espresso martinis
liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and ynverstappen
danielricciardo: why do i never get invited to these elite brunches
liked by ynverstappen and maxverstappen1
↳ ynverstappen: because you turn brunch into an afterparty 😭
liked by maxverstappen1 and danielricciardo
↳ danielricciardo: and? sounds like a good time to me
liked by maxverstappen1 and ynverstappen
lando : “hubby on pole (as always)” you’re never letting us breathe huh 💔
liked by ynverstappen and maxverstappen1
↳ ynverstappen: just facts, lando 🤭
liked by maxverstappen1
↳ maxverstappen1: i like her confidence. she’s right.
liked by ynverstappen and lando
↳ oscarpiastri: god help us all.
liked by lando, maxverstappen1 and ynverstappen
lilymhe : my girls 🤤 you both are so beautiful
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen : we love you sm!!!!!!!
gerihalliwell : you and max are glowing 🩷 happiest couple in the paddock
liked by ynverstappen and maxverstappen1
↳ ynverstappen : thank u geri😭🩵 we miss you so much
liked by gerihalliwell and maxverstappen1
victoriaverstappen : the most gorgeous girls 🥰
liked by alexandrasaintmleux and ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen : my sister 🥹 love you forever
username00 : yn and alex are the paddock’s it girls and there’s no debate
username77 : max being soft in the comments?? she’s his entire world 🥹
username001 : yn!!!! my baby!!!! dress link please???
liked by ynverstappen
↳ ynverstappen : @/meshki babes!!!
↳ username778 : ugh she’s such a girls girl
username067 : yn and alex being besties >>> everything else
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
It’s quiet when you wake up — too quiet for a race morning. The curtains are half drawn, letting in a soft, golden light that glows against the white sheets and the pale blue of the hotel walls. Max is still asleep beside you, one arm slung across your waist, his hand resting against your stomach.
For a while, you just watch him. His hair is disheveled, his jaw slightly shadowed, and there’s a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. He looks peaceful — younger, even — like the noise of the world hasn’t found him yet. You trace your fingers along his arm, slow and gentle, until he stirs with a quiet sound, eyes fluttering open.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from sleep, Dutch accent heavier than usual.
“Can you blame me?” you whisper, smiling softly. “My husband’s kind of hot when he’s not talking about tire degradation.”
That earns you a quiet laugh, the kind that rumbles in his chest before it escapes his lips. He pulls you closer until your leg is hooked over his hip and your face is buried in his neck. He smells faintly like the hotel sheets — warm and familiar, a scent that feels like home.
“Careful,” he mutters, pressing a lazy kiss to your hair. “You keep saying things like that and I might skip the entire race.”
You laugh, the sound muffled against his skin. “You’d never.”
“I might,” he says, pretending to think. “If it meant staying here with you all day.”
You tilt your head back just enough to meet his eyes — bright and still a little sleepy, but full of that look he only gives you. The one that says he’s never really stopped being in love with you, even after all the races, the podiums, the chaos.
“You’ll win anyway,” you tease, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You always do.”
His hand finds your chin, thumb brushing your lips before he kisses you — slow, soft, like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.
“Maybe,” he whispers, “but the win is even sweeter when I get to come back to you.”
You smile, heart full in that quiet, private way only mornings with him seem to allow. For a few more minutes, you stay wrapped up together in the sheets and sunlight, pretending the world outside doesn’t exist — just Max and you, the calm before the roar of the engines.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
The drive to the circuit is filled with that quiet kind of anticipation — the kind you can feel humming in the air even through the tinted car windows. Max’s hand stays on your thigh the entire ride, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin while the low rumble of the car engine fills the silence. You can see the focus starting to settle into him, that shift from husband to driver — sharp, precise, and composed. But when he glances your way and catches you smiling, he softens all over again.
By the time you pull up to the paddock gates, the world outside has fully come alive. The usual crowd of photographers is gathered near the entrance, the sound of camera shutters echoing faintly as Max helps you out of the car first. He looks effortlessly composed — navy polo, team cap, and that easy half smile that still manages to make headlines. You adjust your denim dress and your Chanel helmet purse, slipping your hand into his as you both walk toward the energy of the grid.
It doesn’t take long before you hear it — a burst of laughter and a familiar call of, “YN!”
You barely have time to turn before you’re ambushed by the rookies — your unofficial “grid children.” Ollie Bearman, grinning like sunshine; Isack Hadjar, wearing that mischievous smirk that never quite fades; Kimi Antonelli, a mix of nerves and excitement buzzing off him in waves; and Gabriel Bortoleto, calm but glowing with pre quali energy. They’re all dressed in their team gear, radiating that chaotic joy only young drivers can manage.
“Look at my boys,” you laugh, immediately reaching out to hug Kimi first, his curls brushing against your cheek. “Are we ready to cause some chaos today?”
“Always,” Isack answers with mock seriousness, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’m going to beat everyone into Turn 1.”
Max laughs behind you, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say before the lights go out.”
“Don’t listen to him,” you tell Isack, turning to cup his face dramatically before kissing his cheek. “Manifest, baby. I’m rooting for you.”
He grins, already pink from the attention. “You always say that, but you’re married to the guy I’m trying to beat.”
“Conflict of interest,” you reply, shrugging playfully. “What can I say? I multitask.”
Ollie swoops in next, all dimples and nervous excitement. “Do I get my good luck too?”
You don’t hesitate — you grab him lightly and kiss his cheek, the same way you have since his first test day. “You get extra,” you tease, smoothing his hair affectionately. “For being my favorite.”
“Hey!” Gabriel protests with mock offense, laughing. “What about me?”
You turn to him, pretending to consider it. “Hmm… you did bring me coffee that one time, so fine.” You kiss his cheek too, earning another round of laughter.
Kimi waits patiently at the edge of the small chaos, hands tucked behind his back, the faintest smile on his face. You’ve always had a soft spot for him — the quiet one, the one who still looks to Max like he hung the stars.
When you finally reach him, you soften your tone. “You ready, cariño?” you ask, brushing a bit of hair away from his face.
He nods, eyes bright. “More than ever.”
You press a kiss to his cheek, gentle and sincere. “Good luck my boy,” you whisper. “Go show them what you’re made of.”
Max stands nearby, watching the entire exchange with that fond, quiet pride he never quite hides when it comes to you. “You spoil them,” he says as you walk back to him, amusement dancing in his voice.
“They’re babies,” you protest, looping your arm through his. “You were the same at their age.”
He hums, a smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But I didn’t get a kiss before every race.”
You grin up at him, eyes glinting. “Well, that’s because you didn’t have me yet.”
That earns you a low laugh, one that makes your heart flutter no matter how many times you’ve heard it. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth — soft, fleeting, but enough to send a few camera flashes your way.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
“You married trouble,” you shoot back, smirking as you glance toward where the other WAGs are gathering by the hospitality area — Alexandra, Lily, Carmen, and a few others, champagne glasses already in hand.
You squeeze Max’s hand once more before pulling away. “Go win your race, champ. I’ve got cocktails to share.”
He catches your wrist, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “Don’t get too crazy.”
“No promises,” you tease, winking before walking off toward the laughter and clinking glasses of your friends — the perfect pre qualifying chaos swirling around you, the paddock practically buzzing with energy and affection.
And as you disappear into the crowd, Max just shakes his head, that fond little smile still lingering — because somehow, no matter how intense the weekend gets, you always manage to make the paddock feel like home.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
You find Alexandra exactly where you expect her to be — tucked away in a corner booth of the Ferrari hospitality suite, her sunglasses perched on her head and a glossy magazine open in front of her that she clearly hasn’t turned a page of in twenty minutes. The room hums with the easy noise of race day: journalists drifting by, team members in polos and headsets walking briskly, the faint chatter from a nearby TV broadcasting pre-qualifying coverage.
When she spots you, her whole face lights up. “There you are!” she says, pushing the magazine aside and reaching out both hands like you’ve been gone for years instead of a day. “I thought Max kidnapped you again.”
You laugh, dropping your purse onto the booth seat and sliding in beside her. “He tried,” you tease, flagging down one of the servers with a smile. “But I told him I had a very important date with my favorite goddess and espresso martinis.”
Alexandra grins, pleased. “Flattery and alcohol — my two love languages.”
“Speaking of,” you say, tilting your head toward the server, “can we get two espresso martinis, please?”
The moment the drinks arrive — rich, foamy, and garnished with three perfectly placed coffee beans — it’s like the energy around you shifts. The two of you clink glasses gently, the sound soft but satisfying, and take that first sip together. The espresso hits strong, the sweetness lingering, and you both hum in appreciation at the same time.
“Oh, that’s dangerous,” Alexandra says, laughing softly. “I could have five of these.”
“Let’s not test that theory before qualifying,” you say, leaning back against the booth. “I want to stay sober enough to cheer and not start heckling the FIA.”
“Bold of you to assume you won’t anyway,” she says, and the two of you dissolve into giggles.
From there, the conversation drifts the way it always does — effortlessly. You talk about everything and nothing all at once: how hectic travel has been lately, which hotels have the best room service, what kind of pasta Charles tried to make last week (“He burned everything,” she deadpans), and how Max nearly fell asleep during a full strategy meeting (“He said the tire graph was soothing,” you reply).
Somewhere between your second sip and your third laugh, you realize just how easy it’s become with her — how what started as two women orbiting the same sport has quietly turned into something real, something warm. You reach across the table, tugging gently on her hand. “You know, I’m really glad we got close,” you admit.
Her expression softens immediately. “Me too,” she says. “It’s so nice having someone who actually gets it, you know? The travel, the schedule, the noise… it can be a lot.”
You nod, swirling the last bit of foam in your glass. “It’s like living in fast forward. But then you get mornings like this. And friends like you.”
She beams, squeezing your hand back. “Okay, now you’re going to make me emotional before quali, and then Charles is going to think something’s wrong.”
“Tell him it’s the martinis,” you joke, but your smile lingers a moment longer than you mean it to.
You settle deeper into the booth, legs crossed, watching as a few familiar faces walk past — engineers, media staff, a few other WAGs stopping to wave or whisper greetings. The whole place feels alive, pulsing with that mix of nerves and adrenaline that only happens on qualifying days.
“So,” Alexandra says suddenly, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “On a scale from one to ‘Max Verstappen in a sprint race,’ how competitive are you feeling about the cocktail situation today?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Define ‘competitive.’”
“I bet I can drink mine faster than you,” she challenges, lifting her martini and holding it midair like she’s making a toast.
“Oh, you’re on,” you say, grinning as you grab your glass.
The count-off is dramatic and childish and perfect — “Three, two, one—” — and you both take long sips, trying not to laugh as the strong coffee flavor burns just slightly on the way down. She finishes half a second before you and slams her glass down triumphantly.
“Ha!” she crows, eyes gleaming. “Still got it!”
You shake your head, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin. “That’s fine. I’ll win the rematch.“
She laughs so hard she nearly snorts, drawing a few curious looks from nearby guests, but neither of you care. You’re two glasses deep, cheeks warm from laughter, and the noise of the paddock feels miles away.
Eventually, Alexandra leans her head against your shoulder, sighing contentedly. “You know,” she murmurs, “I think we’ve officially become those girls — day drinking and gossiping before qualifying.”
You tilt your head against hers, smiling. “Good. Someone has to keep the glamour alive.”
She hums in agreement. “And the espresso martini industry.”
When the announcement for the start of qualifying echoes faintly through the hospitality speakers, neither of you move right away. You just sit there for a moment — two girls in heels and laughter and a little too much caffeine — savoring the calm before the chaos of roaring engines and checkered flags.
And as you finally get up, Alexandra loops her arm through yours, your matching grins enough to make a few photographers pause. You can already tell: it’s going to be one of those days — the ones that end in champagne, blurry selfies, and maybe a little too much love to fit into one frame.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
The sound of engines below shakes the air as you and Alexandra step out onto the upper deck, the warm wind carrying the deep, rhythmic growl of qualifying laps in progress. The afternoon light has softened to a golden haze, glinting off the glass of the hospitality building and the champagne flutes waiting for you both on the table by the railing.
From up here, the paddock looks like organized chaos — mechanics rushing, tires stacked in perfect rows, the flash of team colors streaking by on the track. It’s electric, alive, and yet somehow, in this small pocket of calm, it’s just the two of you — heels clicking against the floor, laughter floating between the noise.
Alexandra tucks herself close to your side almost immediately, looping her arm through yours with an ease that feels second nature now. She leans her head on your shoulder, her hair brushing against your cheek as she sighs, smiling softly. “You know,” she says, voice nearly drowned out by the engines, “I don’t think I’ve ever liked qualifying this much.”
You laugh, lifting one of the champagne flutes and handing it to her. “It’s because you’ve got me,” you tease.
She grins, clinking her glass gently against yours. “Obviously.”
You both take slow sips, bubbles tickling your lips, the cool sweetness of the drink a perfect contrast to the humid air. When you glance over, she’s already watching the track, eyes wide behind her sunglasses. Every time Charles’ name flashes on the big screen, her fingers tighten around your arm unconsciously, like she’s trying to will the car faster. It’s adorable.
“You get so nervous for him,” you say softly, smiling.
She exhales, nodding without looking away. “I do. Every single time. It doesn’t matter how many races he’s done. I still hold my breath when he’s on a flying lap.”
You rest your head against hers, swaying a little. “That’s love, babe.”
She turns her face toward you, smiling. “What about you? Still get nervous for Max?”
“Always,” you admit, tracing the rim of your champagne flute with your fingertip. “But it’s different now. I trust him completely — he’s just… him, you know? Calm. In control. I get butterflies watching him, but not the bad kind.”
She hums thoughtfully, pressing her cheek to your shoulder. “You two are disgustingly in love.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you laugh.
“I say that like I want it,” she says playfully, eyes shining.
That makes you both giggle, and you shift closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. It’s instinctive now — the way she leans into your touch, the way you absentmindedly fix the strap of her dress when it slips down her shoulder, the way she rests her hand on your thigh while she talks. It’s all so natural, so warm, so deeply affectionate it doesn’t even feel unusual anymore.
At one point, she points at the track, excited. “Look! Charles just went P4!”
You cheer right alongside her, clapping your hands and laughing as she jumps up a little. “Go, baby!” she calls out, cupping her hands around her mouth like he could somehow hear her over the roar of the engines. Then she sinks back into the seat beside you, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“You’re adorable,” you say, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I’m emotionally unstable,” she corrects with a laugh. “But thank you.”
You both dissolve into laughter again, your champagne glasses clinking as the sunlight catches in the bubbles. From a distance, the two of you probably look like a picture — glossy hair, chic dresses, perfectly done nails, sipping champagne as if the world isn’t shaking beneath you. But up close, it’s a different kind of beautiful: unfiltered, messy affection, hands brushing, fingers tangled, shared smiles that come too easily.
At one point, Alexandra pulls out her phone to take a selfie. “Smile!” she says, and before you can pose properly, she leans in and kisses your cheek. You squeal, laughing, the picture coming out blurry and perfect — your wide smile, her eyes half-closed with happiness, sunlight flaring between you.
“That’s going on my story,” she announces proudly.
“Tag me,” you say, giggling as she does exactly that, adding sparkly heart emojis before hitting post.
You both sit there for a long while after, just sipping and chatting. You talk about where you want to travel next, about maybe doing a girls’ trip during the summer break.
The longer you talk, the closer you end up — your legs draped over hers, her head tucked under your chin, the two of you swaying gently to the faint hum of the crowd below. Every so often, she tilts her glass toward yours in another lazy toast: to love, to friendship, to chaos, until both of your flutes are empty.
When Max’s name flashes to P1 on the screen, your whole face lights up instinctively, pride radiating from you like sunlight. Alexandra cheers with you, clutching your hand. “There it is!” she exclaims. “The Verstappen special!”
You’re grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “He’s ridiculous.”
“And brilliant,” she adds, nudging you gently.
The two of you stay there until the end of the session — hair tousled from the wind, champagne glasses empty, the sun dipping lower as qualifying wraps up. When the engines quiet and the cheers erupt from the grandstands, Alexandra takes your hand again, twining your fingers.
“Promise me,” she says softly, “we keep doing this. The brunches, the drinks, the cheering. All of it.”
You squeeze her hand back. “Always.”
And as the teams start preparing for the interviews below, you and Alexandra linger on the deck — still wrapped up in each other, still laughing softly, still glowing in that champagne haze that only ever happens on race weekends. From the track to the hospitality deck, the world is spinning fast — but for the two of you, it’s slowed just enough to savor it all.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
alexandrasaintmleux has added to her story!
seen by ynverstappen, charles_leclerc, lilyzneimer & 2,3450,000 others.
ynverstappen : wifey for lifeeee 🤍
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
When qualifying wraps up, the paddock dissolves into its usual blur of noise and motion — mechanics wheeling equipment, cameras flashing, engines cooling under the weight of adrenaline and relief. You and Alexandra, however, are still on the upper deck, entirely oblivious to the chaos below.
You’re curled up together on one of the lounge sofas, both of you barefoot now (heels long abandoned), the remains of your second glasses of champagne catching the evening light on the table beside you. Alexandra’s head rests on your shoulder, and your arm is looped lazily around her waist, your fingers tracing idle shapes against the silk fabric of her dress. You’ve been laughing about something stupid — something about Charles accidentally putting diesel in a rental once — and neither of you can seem to stop.
“She told me I was the responsible one,” Alexandra gasps between giggles, clutching your hand dramatically.
“You were,” you wheeze, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.
Before she can reply, a familiar low voice cuts through the air from behind you. “So this is where you two disappeared to.”
You turn around, startled and then instantly softening at the sight of Max standing a few feet away — in fresh Red Bull gear, hair messy from his shower, and that faint glow he always has. Charles stands next to him, equally amused, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Alexandra perks up immediately. “Baby!” she calls, stretching her arms toward Charles like she’s been waiting for him her whole life.
He laughs, shaking his head as he approaches. “How many drinks have you had, mon cœur?”
“Not enough to forget that you qualified P4,” she teases, sitting up a little straighter, though she’s still holding tightly to your arm.
Max walks over to you, one eyebrow raised as he looks at the two of you nestled together. “You look very cozy, liefje.”
You grin up at him, cheeks pink from the champagne and sun. “We’re celebrating,” you declare proudly. “P1 and P4! That’s teamwork.”
He hums, eyes soft with amusement. “Uh-huh. Looks like you’ve been celebrating for a while.”
“Just a little,” you say, holding up your fingers to indicate a small amount. Alexandra giggles beside you, clearly unhelpful to your defense.
Charles glances at the two of you, shaking his head in fond disbelief. “You’re adorable, but I don’t think you’re moving anytime soon.”
“Nope,” Alexandra says, popping the ‘p’ dramatically. “We’re comfortable.”
“Too comfortable,” Max mutters, though there’s no real irritation behind it — only that low, indulgent tone he always uses when you’re in one of your playful moods.
He crouches beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get some food in you before you start lecturing the stewards.”
“I would never,” you say, feigning offense, though your grin gives you away.
“Uh-huh,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Dinner?”
You glance at Alexandra, who immediately pouts. “I’m not leaving her,” she declares dramatically, looping her arm through yours even tighter.
“I’m not leaving her,” you echo, resting your head against hers again.
Charles sighs, though he’s smiling the entire time. “I see how it is. You two come as a set now.”
“Exactly,” Alexandra says proudly. “Buy one, get one free.”
Max straightens up, looking at Charles. “We might as well take both of them before they end up convincing security to let them on the podium.”
“Good idea,” Charles agrees. “But they’re sharing a booth, or I won’t hear the end of it.”
You and Alexandra exchange a look — the kind of wordless, tipsy telepathy that comes only from day drinking and laughter — and you both burst out laughing again.
Ten minutes later, the four of you are walking through the paddock, sunglasses on, still clinging to each other. Max keeps one steadying hand at your lower back, while Charles does the same for Alexandra, though both men look far too amused to be annoyed.
“Do you think they realize everyone’s staring?” Charles murmurs.
Max chuckles quietly. “They don’t care. And honestly… it’s kind of cute.”
When you finally make it to a quiet restaurant just outside the circuit gates, the hostess barely conceals her recognition of the group — four of the most photographed people in Formula 1, strolling in like it’s nothing. The staff moves quickly, leading you to a private booth near the back.
You and Alexandra slide in on one side, immediately leaning into each other again, giggling as you pull your phones out to show each other the blurry photos from earlier. Max and Charles sit across from you, exchanging glances that say, we’re definitely driving them home.
The waiter comes by with menus, but Alexandra waves a hand. “Four pastas and champagne,” she says decisively. “We’re celebrating!”
Max smirks. “You don’t even know what kind of pasta they have.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she replies, lifting her chin proudly. “It’s about the vibe.”
You reach for his hand across the table, your fingers brushing his knuckles. “Just let her win, babe,” you whisper conspiratorially.
He smiles, squeezing your hand. “Anything for you.”
Dinner is loud, messy, and full of laughter. Alexandra feeds Charles a bite of her pasta with too much enthusiasm and nearly drops it, while you end up stealing bites from Max’s plate, insisting yours “tastes weird” even though it doesn’t. The two men keep exchanging looks — the kind that say we’ve lost control but it’s adorable, so it’s fine.
At some point, you and Alexandra start whispering about something that makes you both giggle uncontrollably, and when Max asks what’s so funny, you both just shake your heads in unison.
“Secrets,” Alexandra says, eyes sparkling.
“Wife secrets,” you add, bumping her shoulder.
By the time dessert arrives, you’re all more relaxed than you’ve been in weeks. The night feels warm and slow, laughter echoing softly against the restaurant walls. When you finally pile into the car afterward — all four of you squeezed into the backseat because neither you nor Alexandra would agree to be separated — Max just wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as your head drifts to his shoulder.
“Did you have fun, liefje?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your hand.
“The best,” you mumble sleepily, Alexandra’s head resting on your other shoulder. “You boys are the best.”
Charles glances at Max in the rearview mirror, smiling. “They’re going to fall asleep like that, aren’t they?”
Max chuckles softly. “Probably. But look at them — how could you move them?”
And as the car hums quietly back toward the hotel, the city lights flickering through the windows, you and Alexandra stay tangled together — champagne-drunk, content, and completely wrapped in the affection of the two men who adore you both more than anything.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
The elevator hums softly as the four of you ascend to the top floor, the golden light from the hotel lobby giving way to the quieter, more intimate glow of the suite levels. It’s late — the kind of late where the laughter has turned slow and sleepy, where everyone’s eyes are soft from champagne and comfort.
You’re leaning against Max’s side, your arm around his waist, your heels dangling from his hand. Alexandra is doing the same with Charles, her head resting against his shoulder, still half giggling about something you said five minutes ago that neither of you can now remember.
When the doors open, Max slides the key card and pushes open the door to your suite — and immediately, Alexandra gasps.
“Oh my god, this is huge!” she exclaims, stepping in barefoot onto the plush cream carpet. The suite stretches out before you — a living space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering skyline, a bar in the corner, a long sofa facing a fireplace, and the massive king sized bed visible through the open bedroom doorway.
Max sets your shoes down with a clatter and you twirl once dramatically, your denim dress catching the dim light. “Told you Max doesn’t do anything small,” you tease, looking over your shoulder at him.
Max just shakes his head, smiling in that quiet, indulgent way he always does when you’re happy. “You could’ve stayed with Charles and Alexandra,” he says, voice warm with amusement. “But you wanted the view.”
“Of course,” you reply innocently, walking over to the window. “The view’s my favorite part.”
Behind you, Alexandra giggles and curls up onto the floor cushions by the coffee table. “The floor’s so soft,” she murmurs, sinking down fully, cross-legged, as Charles watches her fondly.
You join her without hesitation, sitting down beside her and kicking off what’s left of your composure — your makeup slightly smudged, your hair undone from the humidity, but you’re glowing. The two of you start whispering again, laughing softly, shoulders pressed together, your heads nearly touching as you scroll through the photos from the day.
“Look, that’s Leo hiding under the table,” Alexandra points out, zooming in on the photo.
“And that one,” you say, scrolling, “that’s when you tried to take a shot at lunch.”
“I was taste testing!” she protests through her laughter.
Max and Charles exchange a look from across the room — the kind that says they’re not moving for hours, are they?
“They’re like kids at a sleepover,” Charles murmurs, setting his phone down.
“Worse,” Max replies, though his tone is full of fondness. “Kids eventually get tired.”
He walks over and crouches behind you, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Liefje, you’re going to fall asleep there.”
You tilt your head back to look at him, eyes half-lidded, a drowsy little smile on your lips. “It’s comfy.”
Alexandra, ever the instigator, adds, “Yeah, Max, let her live her best life.”
Charles chuckles under his breath and sits on the edge of the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re both hopeless.”
“Completely,” Max agrees, standing up and offering a hand to Charles. “We might as well make sure they don’t pass out on the carpet.”
It takes both of them — one for each girl. Charles bends down first, scooping Alexandra into his arms like she weighs nothing, her soft laugh muffled as she hides her face against his chest. Max follows suit, sliding an arm beneath your knees and another around your back, lifting you with effortless strength.
You instinctively loop your arms around his neck, your voice muffled against his collarbone. “You always carry me like I’m fragile.”
He kisses your forehead softly. “Because you are.”
They both carry you and Alexandra into the bedroom — the lights are low, the massive bed perfectly made with crisp white sheets and a mountain of pillows. The air smells faintly of your perfume and Max’s cologne, and it feels like the world has slowed to something gentle.
Max lays you down first, carefully pulling the blanket up over you. Charles does the same with Alexandra, setting her beside you before climbing in on the opposite side.
Immediately, you both shift — like magnets — curling into each other again, your legs tangling, fingers interlacing in the space between. There’s soft laughter, half-dreamy, half-tipsy.
“I like your bed better,” Alexandra mumbles sleepily.
“That’s because you’re stealing all my warmth,” you murmur back, nuzzling closer anyway.
The two men stand side by side for a moment, watching the pair of you — tangled up and whispering nonsense through giggles. Max glances at Charles, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I don’t think they’re letting us leave.”
Charles sighs, though he’s smiling. “I think you’re right.”
“Come here,” Alexandra calls softly, eyes barely open but her voice firm with that familiar affection. “I can’t sleep without you.”
You echo her, half-whining, half-sweet: “Same. Please, Max?”
He chuckles quietly, setting his watch down on the nightstand. “You heard them,” he says to Charles. “Orders from the queens.”
Charles just laughs, shaking his head as he tugs off his shirt and slides into bed beside Alexandra. “You two are lucky you’re cute.”
Max joins from the other side, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He shifts closer to you, his hand immediately finding your waist, pulling you back into him.
You sigh softly, melting into the familiar warmth of him. “Perfect,” you whisper.
On the other side, Alexandra’s already tucked into Charles’s chest, her breathing slowing as he runs his fingers gently through her hair.
It’s quiet now — the kind of quiet that only happens when everything feels safe. The faint hum of the city outside, the soft sound of synchronized breathing, the steady rhythm of two men who love their girls beyond reason.
At some point, Alexandra’s hand finds yours again across the space between you, fingers brushing lightly before settling. You smile, eyes still closed, and Max leans in to kiss your temple, whispering in Dutch so softly it’s almost lost to the sheets.
“Sleep, liefje. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
You murmur something incoherent — maybe his name, maybe just a sleepy hum — and within minutes, the four of you are still.
Charles glances across the bed one last time, meeting Max’s eyes over the two sleeping women.
And it is — a tangle of limbs and warmth, laughter still lingering in the air, the city lights spilling through the window and painting the room gold. A perfect, quiet ending to a day full of noise and love.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
charles_leclerc has added to his story!
seen by maxverstappen1, lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 4,500,000 others.
lando : did you both ever get any sleep
↳ charles_leclerc : they passed out as soon as we got them in the bed 🤣
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
f1gossipgirls
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,900,000 others.
f1gossipgirls : omg can we talk about alex and yn’s friendship for a moment???? i love them so much. they were so cute in the paddock yesterday! their friendship means sm to me. plus those pics of alex and charles’ story!!! (edit : both husband and boyfriend have liked this post. i can’t.)
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
Morning filters into the suite slowly — soft and golden, the kind of sunlight that slips past the curtains in quiet ribbons, kissing the edges of pillows and tangled sheets. It’s warm, lazy light; the kind that makes the whole room feel wrapped in a dream.
Max stirs first, his arm stretching across the empty half of the bed. He blinks once, twice, frowning slightly when his hand meets only cool sheets instead of the soft weight of you beside him. Beside him, Charles does the same, blinking into wakefulness, his voice still low and gravelly with sleep.
“They’re not here?” he mumbles, lifting his head and glancing toward the other side of the bed.
Max groans quietly, running a hand down his face. “Impossible. They were dead asleep.”
Charles huffs out a quiet laugh, voice still rough. “Maybe they teleported.”
It’s only when Max hears faint giggles and the clinking of something from the bathroom that the confusion fades into realization — and amusement.
The door to the ensuite is cracked open, steam curling out in little wisps, and through the mirror reflection he can see the two of you — very much awake, perched side by side at the counter, faces glowing with that infuriating morning energy that neither of them can comprehend before coffee.
You’re brushing through Alexandra’s hair carefully, humming something under your breath, while she leans against the counter, sipping water through a straw and giggling. The vanity is already a cheerful chaos — open makeup bags, perfumes, your phone playing quiet music, the two of you in matching hotel robes with your initials stitched near the collar.
Max pushes himself up against the headboard, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he murmurs.
Charles sits up beside him, following his gaze — and then he just starts laughing. “They’re like two completely different people,” he whispers. “Didn’t they finish half a bottle of champagne each?”
“Two bottles,” Max corrects under his breath, still watching.
You’re currently applying mascara while Alexandra rummages through her bag for lipstick, both of you chatting animatedly about something completely domestic — whether you should both wear white today or if that’s “too matchy-matchy.” Every now and then, one of you leans over to look at the other in the mirror, fixing a strand of hair or dabbing something on a cheek with gentle precision.
When Alexandra spots Max and Charles’ reflection in the mirror, she gasps dramatically. “Look who’s alive!” she announces, turning and grinning. “The sleepyheads have risen.”
You follow her gaze, eyes bright and teasing. “Good morning, my loves,” you sing song, placing your mascara wand down. “How did you sleep?”
Max stretches lazily, feigning annoyance but failing entirely. “Not as well as someone who apparently got a full salon appointment at seven in the morning.”
You giggle and blow him a kiss. “Beauty takes commitment, darling.”
Charles groans good-naturedly and flops back against the bed. “I can’t believe you two look like that after last night.”
Alexandra smiles sweetly, dabbing perfume behind her ears. “It’s called hydrating, Charles.”
“She made me drink two glasses of water before,” you add, shrugging proudly. “We’re professionals.”
Before either man can respond, there’s a soft knock at the door. You and Alexandra exchange triumphant looks.
“That’ll be breakfast,” you announce, and you’re already halfway to the door before Max can even get out of bed.
A hotel staff member wheels in a massive tray — silver domes hiding plates of croissants, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, pancakes, smoked salmon, tiny pots of jam, and a carafe of orange juice. There’s even a vase of tiny pink roses in the center. You tip generously and thank them warmly before closing the door, and the moment it clicks shut, Alexandra throws her arms up in victory.
“Breakfast for four!” she declares.
Charles has to laugh at that — a low, sleepy sound that melts easily into the morning air. “You really planned this, didn’t you?”
“Of course we did,” you reply cheerfully, already stacking plates on the table. “You think we’d let you two survive race morning on coffee alone?”
Max finally drags himself out of bed, hair messy and voice still heavy with sleep. He walks over behind you, slipping his arms around your waist and kissing your temple. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs affectionately.
You tilt your head up toward him with a grin. “You love it.”
“I do,” he admits easily, his lips brushing your cheek before he sits down beside you.
Alexandra joins Charles on the couch, immediately spooning fruit onto his plate for him like it’s second nature. “Eat,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “You need your energy.”
Charles just smiles, watching her with that soft, sleepy admiration he always tries to hide but never manages to. “You’re very bossy in the mornings.”
“Someone has to be,” she replies, handing him a fork.
You and Max are no better — sharing bites off each other’s plates, laughing as you try to spread jam on a croissant without making a mess, his hand resting idly on your knee under the table.
The suite is full of quiet sounds: forks clinking, laughter spilling easily, the faint hum of a playlist in the background. The city hums outside the window, the race day sun already climbing higher.
At one point, you and Alexandra start showing the boys the photos you took the day before — the mirror selfies, the dog pictures, the blurry cocktail shots.
“You two were adorable,” Charles says, scrolling through your phone, shaking his head fondly. “A little tipsy, but adorable.”
“A little?” Max teases. “I had to carry you to bed, liefje.”
You shoot him a mock glare, cheeks warming. “You didn’t have to.”
Alexandra giggles. “Yes, he did. We were snuggled up on the floor like cats.”
The boys exchange a look again — the same amused, helpless expression as last night. They wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Eventually, the plates empty and the chatter softens. You’re sitting sideways on Max’s lap now, his hand idly tracing shapes on your thigh, while Alexandra leans against Charles’s chest, both of them scrolling through photos on his phone.
Max glances around the suite — at the half-finished croissants, the coffee cups, the two women glowing in the morning light — and smiles quietly to himself.
“You know,” he murmurs, his Dutch accent still thick from sleep, “I could get used to mornings like this.”
You turn your head to look up at him, smiling lazily. “Who says we can’t?”
Charles hums his agreement, pressing a kiss to Alexandra’s hair. “It’s a good tradition. Pre-race breakfast, post-qualifying chaos.”
“Deal,” Alexandra says sleepily, her voice muffled against his shirt.
And for a moment — before the race suits and the grid walks and the press and the chaos — it’s just the four of you. Warm sunlight, easy laughter, hands intertwined over plates of pancakes and coffee, the quiet intimacy of found family and shared love.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
several months later… (skip to summer break)
yn_verstappen
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux and 5,400,000 others.
yn_verstappen : summer break with my favorite people on the planet 🤍🩵
tagged : maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux
—
user has limited comments on this post.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
alexandrasaintmleux
liked by ynverstappen, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,890,000 others.
alexandrasaintmleux : happy summer break! 🩵🤍
tagged : maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and ynverstappen
—
user has limited comments on this post.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
bonus : lestappen + alexyn on vacation!
The summer heat hits like a soft, golden wave as the four of you step off the small prop plane onto the tarmac. The smell of saltwater and sunscreen immediately fills the air, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore makes your chest ache with happiness. The moment the breeze brushes against your skin, you can feel the tension of the season slowly peeling away — the endless hotels, the paddocks, the press events — replaced with something lighter, slower, and entirely yours.
Max is already in his element, his sunglasses perched on his nose, shirt untucked over swim trunks, carrying your bag casually over one shoulder while his other hand finds yours without even needing to look. You squeeze it, laughing as he gives a small tug forward, as if the sand itself can’t wait to greet you.
Alexandra strolls beside Charles, the way she always does — effortless, bright, radiant — her hair loose and tousled, the sun glinting off her sunglasses. Charles keeps a careful hand on her lower back, guiding her gently through the little cluster of other travelers. There’s that same quiet pride in his smile that you’ve come to love, the one that says, she’s mine, but I’ll share this adventure with the people I love most.
Your villa is waiting — whitewashed walls, terracotta tiles, and floor-to-ceiling windows that open directly onto a terrace overlooking the turquoise sea. When you walk through the door, the four of you almost squeal in unison. The living area is airy, the couches piled with soft cushions, a large dining table gleaming under the natural light. A gentle fan spins lazily from the ceiling, and the sound of the surf is constant, hypnotic.
“I can already tell,” Alexandra says, kicking off her sandals, “that I’m not leaving this place all week.”
“You won’t be allowed to,” Charles jokes, taking her hand and guiding her toward the terrace.
Max has already wandered toward the balcony doors, pulling you behind him. The sun is low in the sky, painting everything in shades of coral and gold. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Welcome to paradise, liefje,” he murmurs.
You take a deep breath, letting the salty air fill your lungs. “This is… perfect,” you say softly, spinning around to grin at him. He grins back, tugging you closer until your foreheads touch, laughter bubbling between kisses.
The first day is easy. You all unpack lazily, rolling your suitcases across the terracotta tiles and tossing swimsuits and sandals onto the bed. There’s room service for a light lunch — fresh seafood, tropical fruit, and sparkling water — eaten on the terrace with the waves lapping just below. You and Alexandra steal bites of each other’s meals, laughing as the men roll their eyes fondly at your antics. Max keeps brushing his fingers over your hand across the table, while Charles slides his arm around Alexandra’s shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head.
By mid-afternoon, the four of you are ready for the water. The villa comes with a private beach just beyond a low stone wall, and you dash down barefoot, wind tugging at your hair, Alexandra laughing as she chases you into the waves. Max splashes you lightly, and you retaliate by kicking water back at him, shrieking as it soaks his hair and the front of his trunks. Charles scoops Alexandra up mid-sprint, twirling her around before setting her down gently, her laughter ringing above the surf.
Hours pass in this blissful blur — sun, salt, sand, laughter. You bury each other in the sand, create elaborate sandcastles, and dare each other to wade farther out into the warm sea. At some point, Max drags you onto his back for a piggyback swim, carrying you effortlessly into the shallows, while Charles and Alexandra chase each other in mock races, the two of them colliding in giggles as they collapse into the wet sand.
When the sun dips low, you all retreat to the terrace. Towels wrapped around your shoulders, hair dripping, you share glasses of rosé and watch the sky shift from gold to pink to deep indigo. The men tease you both endlessly, pulling strands of wet hair from your faces, stealing little kisses in between sips of wine, while you and Alexandra steal them right back.
Dinner is prepared by a private chef, a feast of local delicacies served al fresco under twinkling fairy lights strung across the terrace. You all sit cross-legged on plush cushions, barefoot, elbows brushing as you pass dishes around. Charles insists on feeding Alexandra a bite of his pasta, and Max does the same with you, both pairs laughing like teenagers. Between bites, the four of you share stories, plan the next day’s excursions, and quietly steal glances at one another when no one’s looking.
Later, when the night grows quiet and the stars sprinkle across the sky like diamonds, you curl up on the terrace sofa with Alexandra, her head on your chest, your arm around her shoulders. Max and Charles lounge beside you, their legs brushing yours, hands occasionally resting on the backs or waists of their girls. There’s laughter, murmured jokes, shared memories, and long stretches of comfortable silence.
“I could stay here forever,” Alexandra murmurs, eyes half-lidded as you run your fingers through her hair.
“Me too,” you reply softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
Max and Charles exchange a look, both smiling faintly, both thinking the same thing: this is exactly what summer was meant for — soft mornings, sun-soaked afternoons, laughter echoing against waves, and the warmth of the ones they love beside them.
And as the night stretches on, with the surf below and the stars above, the four of you drift into an easy, happy exhaustion — the perfect beginning to a week where time belongs entirely to you, to love, and to each other.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
The sun is high and golden when you and Alexandra step out of the villa, tote bags slung over your shoulders, sandals clicking against the warm cobblestones of the island’s main shopping street. The air smells faintly of salt and sun-warmed stone, mixed with the rich scent of freshly baked pastries from a nearby café. You both giggle as the breeze tugs at your hair, Alexandra’s sunglasses sliding down her nose in the most perfectly charming way.
“Okay,” she says, spinning once dramatically on the cobblestones, “we are officially on a mission. Island shopping spree, part one: fashion conquest.”
You grin, grabbing her hand without a second thought. Fingers intertwining naturally, palms pressed together, the gesture effortless and intimate. “I’m ready,” you reply, tugging her forward toward the first boutique. “Lead the way, goddess of style.”
Max and Charles trail behind, slightly bewildered, sunglasses perched on their noses and hands stuffed into pockets. Max shakes his head, smiling faintly. “Do we have to come in here?” he mutters, though the corners of his mouth twitch.
“Yes,” Alexandra says firmly, tugging you through the boutique doors before either of them can protest. “Absolutely.”
The store is cool and air conditioned, racks of flowing linen dresses, tailored shorts, oversized sunglasses, and chic sandals lining the walls. You and Alexandra immediately split, hands still clasped, weaving between racks and shelves like synchronized dancers.
Max sighs, resigned, as Charles murmurs, “They’re insufferable… and adorable.”
Alexandra emerges from behind a rack, holding a sundress up against her body. “Cha,” she calls, grinning, “tell me if this screams ‘vacation goddess’ or just ‘I tried too hard.’”
He squints at her through the dim boutique lighting. “Definitely vacation goddess,” he admits, his voice low, eyes soft.
“See?” you call, tugging a bright coral dress from another rack and twirling in it. “This is totally me. What do you think, husband?”
Max’s gaze softens, and he bites back a smile. “You look… ridiculously perfect,” he mutters.
Charles, meanwhile, has been quietly observing Alexandra as she experiments with a wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses perched jauntily on her nose. “You look… dangerous,” he whispers, smirking as she strikes a mock-model pose.
“Dangerous is my middle name,” she replies with a flourish, spinning in a circle.
Soon, the two of you have amassed a small mountain of outfits: dresses, rompers, hats, sunglasses, shoes — every piece a little more dramatic than the last. You drop your arms around each other’s shoulders, letting your fingers brush as you plan your next move.
“Fashion show?” you suggest, eyes sparkling.
Alexandra’s grin is immediate. “Obviously.”
Before the boys can protest, you’ve grabbed two full-length mirrors near the corner of the store. “We’ll model them all for you,” you announce, tugging Alexandra toward the first set of outfits. You each change behind the racks with giggles and whispered commentary.
The first round emerges: you in a flowing yellow sundress, Alexandra in a crisp white linen jumpsuit. You saunter across the open space, holding hands like runway models, spinning once to show off the dresses. Alexandra tosses her hair dramatically, and you can’t help but laugh, striking your own exaggerated pose at the mirror’s reflection.
“Stop it,” Max says in mock severity, “you’re making me jealous of the clothes.”
Alexandra gasps, turning dramatically toward him. “Oh, you should be!”
Round after round, you both emerge in more ridiculous ensembles: one-piece metallic rompers, wide-brim hats that nearly cover your faces, oversized linen pants paired with crop tops, and even a sequined dress that makes you both howl with laughter at the absurdity of wearing it on a sunny island street. Each time, you twirl, hold hands, and strike poses, letting the boys critique (or groan) from the sidelines.
“You look like a goddess,” Charles says, finally, his tone soft and fond, leaning against a rack.
“You look insane,” Max mutters, holding back laughter as you and Alexandra take turns spinning into each other’s arms, laughing so hard the sequined dress nearly catches on a hanger.
By the end of the afternoon, your arms are full of shopping bags, your cheeks are flushed from laughter, and your fingers are still intertwined. You and Alexandra walk through the cobblestone streets back toward the villa, and planning which outfits you’ll wear to dinner, to the beach, and for sunset cocktails.
At one point, Alexandra tugs you gently toward her, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Best shopping day ever,” she whispers.
You lean your forehead against hers. “Agreed,” you reply. “And we got the best audience.”
Max chuckles, sliding his hand over yours and squeezing gently. “The only audience that matters,” he says, eyes soft.
Charles smirks from the other side, looping an arm around Alexandra’s waist. “Next time, you two are modeling at Milan Fashion Week.”
You and Alexandra laugh, walking hand in hand through the sun-drenched streets of the island, the boys following behind, completely powerless against your charm, your antics, and the effortless, undeniable cuteness of the two of you together.
⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖° ⋆˚✿˖°
f1gossipgirls
1,890,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : can we please talk about how lestappen is literally spending summer break together bc their girls can’t be apart????? i’m in love #nofragilemasculinityhere
logan sargeant x max verstappen x charles leclerc x dancer!reader
birthday celebration | main masterlist | taglist | buy me a coffee! | pateron | still taking requests! | feedback form!! | lance story tag list
face claim: whitney carson and pinterest girls
a/n: video that i reference
comments reblogs and likes appreciated!!
.・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・.
.・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・.
ynusername posted a story
[i'm back muppets!]
.・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・.
.・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・.
cute little time skip
.・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・..・。.・゜✭・.
ynusername
liked by maxverstappen1, logansargeant, and others
ynusername bye bye bye :)
user1 esteban is going to go crazy
estebanocon YOU DID A DANCE TO MARVEL?! WHY AM I ONLY HEARING ABOUT THIS NOW?! DUDES! @/maxverstappen1 @/logansargeant @/charles_leclerc
ynusername in my defense they were supposed to tell you
estebanocon BUT THEY DIDNT
ynusername it's on youtube estie bestie
flavy.barla pulling it up now :)
ynusername mwah mwah
lilyznimer you look hot
carmenmmundt no no i agree
lilymunhe pretty girl
iamrebeccad Sexy
maxverstappen1 Um excuse you? That's our wife.
fransisca.cgomes ok and?
charles_leclerc Oscar, Alex, Calos, George, and Pierre come get your girls.
alex_albon Hey Williams, do I have a challenge for you.
maxverstappen1 And redbull
charles_leclerc And Ferarri
logansargeant WE ARE NOT DOING ANY OF THOSE STUNTS ALEXANDER ALBON, CHARLES MARC HERVE PERCIVAL LECLERC, AND MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN
maxverstappen1 BOO you're no fun schat.
ynusername i would gladly come to each garage and teach them
carlossainz55 Please.
pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader x alexandra saint mleux, reader x ex!max verstappen
summary: when max breaks up with you, you find solace in his childhood rival and his stunning girlfriend
fc: taylor swift
request: here
a/n: guys i’m not even a charles girlie but he looked so happy in that podium i wanted to cry
—
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and others
yourusername always the biggest pleasure, paris🤎
view all comments
username she’s unreal
username forever obsessed with this tour
username watching the video i record of vigilante shit over and over
username max verstappen can you fight??? 🤨
username the most magical night fr
alexandrasaintmleux 💗
charles_leclerc ☺️
username max not even liking this but charles and alex …
username they’re hilarious 😭
liked by redbullracing, charles_leclerc and others
maxverstappen1 free practice was okay, now we can focus on quali and the race
view all comments
username no but max being furious and still finding a way to post charles 😭
username no power on earth can separate those two
username can’t believe we’re watching the fall of red bull in real time
username FREE MY MAN FROM THAT TRACTOR
username time for me to suggest y/n going to the grand prix and bring max good luck 😁
username frfr she hasn’t been in forever
username lestappen is alive and breathing i see
liked by ynupdates, f1gossip and others
f1wags y/n y/l/n on saturday and sunday at the paddock for quali and the grand prix
view all comments
username glad to see she’s still alive 😭
username omg i thought she wasn’t gonna go with the tour and everything
username the best wag everrr
username so iconic
username OMG SHE SAW THE COMMENTS
username y/n in the paddock means a good race for max i know it 🧿
username the way i had completely forgot she was dating max 😭
username those two don’t interact with each other anymore i swear 😩
liked by f1wags, ynupdates and others
f1gossip max verstappen and girlfriend y/n y/l/n were seen fighting outside their hotel after the grand prix, y/n later walked away and left max alone
view all comments
username damn
username right after we thought everything was okay 😔
username no because the first gp my girl goes to after forever and they fight?
username idc what happened i’m blaming max
username lol agree
username guys be honest do you think they’re breaking up???
username my heart says no but my head says they haven’t been seen together for a while and when they do they always fight so…
username yes
liked by charles_leclerc, gracieabrams and others
yourusername fresh out the slammer … into the studio
view all comments
username HUH?
username miss girl ??? explain
username new music yay!
username is the caption a lyric or something ??? WDYM FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER
alexandrasaintmleux sooo excited! 💕
yourusername 💞💞💞
username alex what do you know
username is this like a happy song or is it going to make me hate men?
username no because i need to know too 😩
liked by yourusername, flavy.barla and others
alexandrasaintmleux with a full heart ❤️
view all comments
username i love their friendship
username guys charles made it to the feed!
yourusername pretty gorgeous beautiful everything
alexandrasaintmleux 🤭
username no but y/n in the last slide took me out 😭
username SAME i thought this was a charles post
charles_leclerc favorite girls❤️
alexandrasaintmleux 💘
username “girls” ????
username explain !!?
username is this a safe space to say what i’m thinking? …
alexandrasaintmleux’s instagram stories
[caption 1: 🍝] [caption 2: 💘]
liked by f1wags, pierregasly and others
ynupdates charles leclerc, alexandra saint mleux, kika gomes and pierre gasly at tonight’s show of y/n’s tour in milan
view all comments
username i love their friendship they’re so supportive of her🥰
username now THAT is an outfit
username alexandra the fashion icon that you are
username this is such a green flag for all of them
username friends who support y/n >>>>
username notice how max has been quiet since y/n won charles in the divorce
username i know that man is FUMING
username no but seriously i’m glad she still has supportive friends after the break up 😔
username was i the only one who noticed that she kept looking at the vip tent while singing the love/crushing songs? 🤭
username which could mean nothing!
username WHAT WERE THE SURPRISE SONGS
username invisible string and sweet nothing!
username :0
liked by ynupdates, f1gossip and others
f1wags alexandra saint mleux and y/n y/l/n today at the paddock, y/n used to date max verstappen but recently broke up and was seen today at the ferrari hospitality with alexandra and charles, with whom she stayed friends
view all comments
username 😶🌫️😶🌫️😶🌫️
username they both look so hot
username and if i say power couple then what 🤨
username i’d say alexandra has a boyfriend and you’re delusional 😭
username messyyyy
username the amount of money i would pay to know what’s going through max’s brain
username imagine losing THE y/n y/l/n and not only that but your rival since you’re four years old stayed friends with her
username he lost the break up
username we got y/n at the ferrari garage before gta 6
username what do you mean your three hearts? wydm!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN
username honestly it makes so much more sense that they’re all dating 😭
username CONFIRMATION AT LAST
username the most drop dead gorgeous woman you’ll find and the cutest puppy on earth 🥰
username charles really won in life 😩
username and they called me crazy for even suggesting this 🙄
username POWER THROUPLE
scuderiaferrari the family as god intended🫶🏽
username ferrari 😭
yourusername gotta learn french asap!
alexandrasaintmleux we’ll teach you love💗
charles_leclerc de cette façon nous pouvons te dire que nous t'aimons dans toutes les langues chérie ❤️ (this way we can tell you we love you in every language dear)
yourusername ily both too much💘
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and others
yourusername monaco! you are one of the best crowds ever ❤️ i had too much fun singing from the top of my lungs with all of you and performing for the first time ever my two new singles, “fresh out the slammer” and “bye” 😽 i have the feeling we’ll see each other wayyy more often
view all comments
username STOP she’s so cute 😭
username i’m afraid “bye” is one of the best songs ever made and “fresh out the slammer” changed the trajectory of my life
username “boy bye it’s over its over oh yeah” GIRL-
username she had too much fun writing that one
username “didn’t think you’d lose me now it’s just too late to choose me” UHM
username if that song is not for max-
username RED DRESS FOR FERRARI IKTS
username “now pretty baby i’m running back home to you” the fact that she calls them home i- 🥺
username “another summer taking cover, he don’t understand me” i gasped
username y/n calling her relationship with max literal prision was not in my bingo card
charles_leclerc you’re incredibly mesmerizing love 😍 best concert ever!
alexandrasaintmleux the prettiest and most talented there is! 💗
yourusername je vous aime tous les deux❤️ (i love you both)
summary: after your boyfriend starts hanging out more with his future teammate, your start catching feelings for him, not knowing that he also seems to be interested in him
fc: different girls from pinterest
request: here
a/n: VIVA MEXICOOOO (that’s literally all i have to say)
—
liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux and others
yourusername nyc with my loveeee ❤️🩹
view all comments
username that picture of carlos actually killed me
username it doesn’t get more it couple than this
username the outfit ateeee
alexandrasaintmleux miss you!
yourusername miss you love, i’ll be back soon 💗
alexandrasaintmleux plssss leo misses his favorite aunt 😩
yourusername 🥺🥺🥺
francisca.cgomes excuse me??
username thank you y/n for the carlos content 🙏🏽
username sooo boyfriend coded
carlossainz55 😍😘
carlossainz55’s instagram stories
[caption 1: 🗽] [caption 2: look who i found 👀 alex_albon]
liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and others
alex_albon new york for the day 🥐
view all comments
username adorable
username ahhh with carlos and y/n
username love their new friendship
username he’s so cute i need to marry him
yourusername sooo was my bakery recommendation any good? 👀
alex_albon the best!
username actually on the verge of tears for how much i need him
carlossainz55 and the credits to the photographer?
alex_albon credits to carlossainz55 for the picture 🙄
liked alex_albon, charles_leclerc and others
yourusername in case you couldn’t tell by my outfit, i was rooting for the guy in red (who got a podium!!!)
view all comments
username CUTIES
username you’re beautiful
username neeeed that jacket
carlossainz55 te amo hermosa 😘 (love you, beautiful)
alexandrasaintmleux my fashion icon
yourusername you’re one to talk!
alex_albon 🙏🏽 (liked by yourusername)
username nahhh the parallels between her picture and his picture go crazyyy
username they’re so meant to be
liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and others
alex_albon nice time in quali, now ready for tomorrow 🏎
view all comments
username going a bit feral at the moment
yourusername congrats on p9 alex!!
alex_albon thanks y/n! ☺️
username my goat let’s goooo
username the way he’s dragging that tractor to q3 every weekend MUST be studied
carlossainz55 nice one mate 👊🏽
alex_albon thanks!
username is it just me or carlos and y/n seem a bit obsessed with alex these days? 😅
username OMG YES!! i thought i was the only one that noticed
oscar piastri x !pediatric nurse reader x max verstappen
you’ve loved oscar since you were sixteen, and by twenty four the two of you have built a steady life together—quiet, safe, full of love. you never expected max verstappen to stumble into it with a four month old baby in his arms and panic written across his face. but you’re a pediatric nurse, and when he reaches out, you can’t say no. what starts as late night phone calls and emergency visits slowly becomes something else: a rhythm, a family, and feelings you never thought you’d have to untangle.
requested? yes!
original request here.
fc : zara goedemans (zaargoedemans on ig) (also no hate to kelly, anything said is just for plot purposes!)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 567,000 others.
yourusername : working, racing & exploring 📷 🤍 🐨
tagged : oscarpiastri
—
view 67,000 other comments.
oscarpiastri : koala looks familiar
liked by yourusername
↳ oscarpiastri : but you are forever my favorite person, gorgeous
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : love you forever oz🤍
liked by oscarpiastri
↳ username555 : these two kill me everytime
nicolepiastri : beautiful as always, sweetheart. miss you so xx
liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri
↳ yourusername : i miss you so so much😭 pilates soon??!
liked by nicolepiastri
↳ username00 : always cracks me up that nicole always comments on yn’s instagram and not oscar’s
↳ oscarpiastri : yn is her favorite…as soon as she came into the picture, i stood no chance
liked by yourusername and nicolepiastri
↳ yourusername : at least you know your place king 💋
liked by oscarpiastri and nicolepiastri
hattiepiastri : i am requesting another koala be added to the stethoscope to represent your second favorite aussie (me)
liked by yourusername
↳ hattiepiastri : also your beauty is insane 🧎🏻♀️ im obsessed
liked by yourusername
↳ ediepiastri : her second favorite is me ‼️
liked by yourusername
↳ oscarpiastri : you’re all wrong. it’s mum…
liked by nicolepiastri and yourusername
↳ yourusername : i don’t play favorites! i will just have to acquire a whole family of koalas for my stethoscope 😌
liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, ediepiastri and hattiepiastri
lando : everyone say thank you yn for the boyfriend oscar content
liked by yourusername
↳ oscarpiastri : shut up
liked by yourusername and lando
↳ lando : did the cat steal a shrimp from your plate oscar, is that why you’re cranky?
liked by yourusername
↳ oscarpiastri : lowkey he was plotting but i didn’t let him
liked by lando and yourusername
lilymhe : i need the details on that dress immediately please and thank you
liked by yourusername
↳ lilymhe : you are so stunningggggg
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : i love you SO much. just texted you the link 💋
liked by lilymhe
alexandrasaintmleux : babies and you 🥹 you were born to be a nurse, mon ange! so precious
liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri
↳ yourusername : you’re the sweetest, my love! i miss you and love you 💗
liked by alexandrasaintmleux
georgerussell63 : can you teach me your ways??? my baby nephew does NOT like me for some reason
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : you’re telling me this baby doesn’t love his diva of an uncle????
liked by georgerussell63 and carmenmmundt
↳ yourusername : but there are a ton of babies who need cuddled and practice makes perfect! so stop by anytime georgie 🩵 (and you too carms, i miss you)
liked by georgerussell63 and carmenmmundt
↳ carmenmmundt : will do babes! miss you more 🤍
liked by yourusername
username007 : she was born to be a mum, oscarrrrrrrr make it happen!
username57 : the oscar koala is so cute im in tears
kellypiquet : such a beautiful soul! i have a baby waiting to meet you:)
f1gossipgirls : multiple sources confirm that max verstappen and kelly piquet have split. the pair, who welcomed their daughter just 4 months ago, were seen arguing in the red bull garage earlier this month. this morning, kelly was spotted alone at the airport with luggage in tow. max has yet to make a statement.
—
view 570,000 other comments.
username000 : okay but who’s gonna be helping max with a newborn?? yuki said he can’t even make toast 💀
username58 : i knew something was off when they were fighting in the garage…
username01 : feel bad for the baby, she’s so tiny 🥺
username0005 : not people already speculating custody agreements 😒 let them figure it out privately
username67 : wait…so max is alone with a newborn during a race season?? this is going to be messy
username90 : hate that the cameras caught their fight. like imagine having to parent and break up in front of the whole world.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
You tug your scrub top over your head the second you step into the staff locker room, exhaustion rolling through your shoulders like a weight. Another twelve-hour shift in the pediatric unit, and though you wouldn’t trade it for anything—the tiny hands curled around your finger, the parents’ relief when things went well—you’re more than ready to crash into bed and do absolutely nothing for the next century.
The evening air is soft when you leave the hospital, dusk settling over the city, and you can already imagine curling up under a blanket with Oscar’s jumper that you may or may not have stolen permanently. You fish for your keys in your bag, dragging yourself up the stairs to your apartment—only to stop short the moment you push the door open.
There are flowers.
Not just flowers, but a ridiculous amount of them. Pink tulips, daisies, a bundle of eucalyptus for freshness—arranged haphazardly in vases and cups and anything else Oscar must have found around the kitchen. And standing in the middle of it all, wearing the softest grin you’ve ever seen, is your boyfriend.
“Oscar,” you breathe, setting your bag down without even realizing it. “You’re home?”
“Surprise,” he says, stepping forward, and before you can say another word he’s got his arms around you, his lips brushing yours in the kind of kiss that makes your knees weaken instantly. He still tastes faintly of coffee, and you melt into him without a second thought, letting his warmth chase away every ache from your day.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I missed you.”
“You’re supposed to be in the sim,” you mumble, still dazed. “Or at the factory. Or—”
“Or here,” he interrupts gently. “With you.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb stroking your cheek. “I called your bosses this morning.”
You blink at him. “You… called the hospital?”
He nods, looking far too pleased with himself. “And canceled your shifts for the week.”
“Oscar!” You shove his shoulder lightly, though you’re laughing as you do it. “You can’t just—”
“I can, and I did,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because you’re coming with me to the next race. No excuses.”
Your mouth falls open. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He kisses you again, quick and soft this time, before pulling back with that smug grin that only appears when he knows he’s won. “You’ve been running yourself ragged, and I want you there. I want you with me. We’re not doing this whole FaceTime-at-midnight thing when I could be kissing you in the paddock instead.”
The laugh that bursts out of you is half delight, half disbelief. “You’re insane.”
“Insanely in love with you,” he corrects easily. “And insanely tired of being away from you all the time.”
You press your face into his chest, the fabric of his hoodie soft against your skin, and for the first time all day the tension in your body dissolves. Flowers filling the room, his arms around you, and the promise of a race weekend together—it’s more than you ever could have asked for.
“Fine,” you whisper, smiling against him. “But only because you brought flowers.”
“Not because of the grand romantic gesture of freeing up your schedule?” he teases, tilting your chin up.
“Flowers,” you insist, and kiss him before he can argue.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The paddock always feels hectic to you, a constant stream of chaos with cameras, chatter, and the underlying hum of engines even when the cars aren’t running. You haven’t been in months—your shifts at the hospital kept you away—but now, walking in hand-in-hand with Oscar, you remember exactly why you love it. The colors, the fans pressed against barriers, the little glimpses of drivers ducking into garages. It’s chaos, but it’s home in its own way.
Oscar squeezes your hand, glancing sideways at you. “You okay?”
“Better than okay,” you admit, smiling. “I missed this.”
“You mean you missed me,” he corrects, mock serious, and when you roll your eyes, he ducks in to press a kiss against your temple anyway. “I’m glad you’re here. Everyone’s going to be thrilled to see you.”
And he’s right. Within minutes, you’re being greeted by familiar faces—mechanics, engineers, even a few drivers from other teams. Oscar stands taller beside you, pride clear in the way he introduces you to anyone who doesn’t already know who you are. His hand lingers at your waist, his grin wide and genuine, and you realize he’s not just happy you’re here for him. He’s happy to show you’re here for him.
It’s sweet. Warm. Easy. Until you notice Max.
He’s across the paddock, Lily balanced against his chest, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks… unsettled. Not the cool, unshakable Max Verstappen the world knows, but a man completely unsure of what to do. Lily squirms in his arms, fussing, and though he rocks her gently, his eyes keep darting around, like he’s looking for something—someone—to anchor him.
And then his gaze lands on you.
Before you can fully process, he’s striding over, relief flickering across his face like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“YN,” he says quickly, voice low but urgent. “Can I—can I borrow you? Just for a second?”
You glance at Oscar, who looks confused but nods, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, eyes flicking curiously between you and Max.
Max shifts Lily carefully, freeing one hand to gesture you aside. You follow him a few steps away from the bustle of the garages, out of immediate earshot. Up close, the stress is more obvious—the tension in his jaw, the slight panic in his eyes, the way his arms tighten around Lily as if he’s terrified of doing something wrong.
“I—I don’t usually do this,” he starts, voice uneven. “But I don’t know who else to ask. Look, Kelly’s gone, and it’s just me right now, and my mum and sister are flying in but they’re not here yet, and—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing. She’s been crying, and I think she’s hungry, and I’ve tried everything but she won’t settle, and I just—”
The words tumble out fast, clipped with frustration at himself rather than anyone else. He looks down at Lily, then back at you, his voice dropping. “Would you mind… watching her? Just for a bit? Until my family gets here? I know it’s not your job, but— I just thought you’d be perf—“
You reach out before he can finish, gently brushing Lily’s tiny hand with your finger. Her fussing softens almost immediately, her big eyes blinking up at you as if she recognizes something safe. Your heart melts on the spot.
“Of course I’ll help,” you say softly, meeting Max’s eyes. “You don’t even have to ask.”
His shoulders slump, the tension easing out of him all at once. “Thank you,” he breathes, and for the first time since you spotted him, he almost looks like himself again. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without—” He stops, swallows. “Thank you.”
You smile gently, adjusting your bag so you can take Lily from his arms. She settles against you with surprising ease, one tiny fist curling into the fabric of your shirt. Max stares, almost dumbfounded, as if he can’t believe she’s calm already.
“See?” you murmur, rocking her slightly. “You’re doing fine, Max. She just needed a change of scenery.”
His laugh is small and a little broken, but grateful. “I’ll… I’ll get her bag. Just in case.” He hesitates, then adds, “You’re a lifesaver, YN.”
You glance back toward the garage, where Oscar is waiting, curiosity written across his face as he watches you cradle Lily like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is.
You look down at the tiny girl in your arms, then back at Max, and something in your chest stirs—something you can’t even start to believe.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The paddock noise fades as soon as you step into the team hospitality unit, the door shutting out the roar of engines and the constant murmur of press. In here, it’s quieter, calmer, just the low hum of conversations and the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen. You find a corner booth tucked away from the main windows, far from the stream of people coming in and out, and lower yourself carefully onto the cushioned seat with Lily.
She’s small, impossibly small, and though she still fidgets in your arms, her cries have softened to little hiccups and whines. You rock her gently, humming under your breath without even thinking about it, one hand brushing over the soft fuzz of her hair.
Oscar finds you a few minutes later, slipping through the doorway with that quiet ease he always carries. His eyes land on you instantly, and something in his face changes—melts.
“Well,” he murmurs, sliding into the booth beside you. “That didn’t take long.”
You glance at him, puzzled. “What didn’t?”
“She already likes you more than she likes Max,” Oscar teases, grinning as Lily’s tiny fingers reach out to curl around the edge of your necklace. “I’ve never seen a baby this calm.”
“She just needed a little soothing,” you say softly, adjusting her blanket. “Newborns pick up on stress, and Max is wound tighter than a spring right now.”
Oscar watches you, pride clear in his eyes. He doesn’t just see you as his girlfriend in this moment—he sees you as something more, something deeper. The way you cradle Lily, the ease with which you settle into the role without hesitation—it tugs at something in him, something that looks suspiciously like awe.
“You’re incredible,” he says simply, and when you start to protest, he just shakes his head. “You are. I mean, look at you.”
Before you can respond, the door swings open again. Max steps in, a little breathless, Lily’s diaper bag slung awkwardly over his shoulder. His eyes dart around until he finds you, and when he sees Lily asleep against your chest, he freezes.
“She’s—sleeping?” he asks, almost disbelieving.
“Out like a light,” you confirm with a smile. “She was overtired. I think all the noise out there was a bit much for her.”
Max exhales, a shaky sound that seems to carry all the weight of the past few days. He drops into the chair across from you, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying for an hour. She just… screamed.”
You reach across the table, brushing his arm lightly. “That doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. It just means she needed a break. You’re figuring it out, Max. That’s all any parent can do.”
For a moment, his eyes lock on yours—blue, wide, almost desperate for reassurance. You hold his gaze, steady and calm, and something flickers between you, quiet but undeniable.
Oscar breaks the silence gently, leaning forward. “YN knows what she’s doing,” he says, tone warm rather than competitive. “You picked the right person to call.”
Max lets out a small laugh, though it’s more relief than amusement. “Yeah. Guess I did.”
You shift Lily slightly, careful not to wake her, and glance at both of them. “She’ll be fine until your mum and sister get here. You just need to breathe, Max.”
He nods slowly, shoulders finally relaxing as he slumps back in the chair. For the first time today, he looks like he might actually believe it.
A few hours later, Lily is still sleeping soundly on your chest by the time an hour ticks by, the faint weight of her tiny body grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. The hospitality unit stays quiet, a few team members coming and going but no one intruding. Oscar has half-stretched out beside you in the booth, one arm lazily draped across the back of the seat so his fingertips brush your shoulder every now and then. He’s content just to sit and watch—eyes soft, expression almost dreamy—as if he’s memorizing every second of you like this.
You glance down at Lily, then at him. “You’re staring.”
He doesn’t even deny it. “I know.”
Before you can tease him further, the door opens again, and Max steps in, his pace quick, almost jittery. Behind him trail two women—Sophie and Victoria Verstappen. Max’s mum and sister. Their faces are tight with concern until their eyes land on you, sitting in the corner with Lily curled against your chest, wrapped snug in her blanket.
The tension breaks instantly.
“Oh, mijn god,” Sophie breathes, crossing the room in quick strides. She crouches beside you, her eyes softening at the sight of her granddaughter. “She’s asleep?”
You nod, smiling gently. “Out completely. She just needed somewhere quiet.”
Sophie’s gaze flicks from Lily to you, her expression filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” she says quietly, as if she knows how much more that means than just two words.
Victoria slips in beside her, peering down at Lily before glancing at Max. “You said she wouldn’t stop crying.”
“She wouldn’t,” Max admits, running a hand over his face. “Not with me.”
“Not with you because you were panicking,” you correct softly, careful not to make it sound like blame. “Babies can feel that. She just needed calm.”
Sophie’s eyes meet yours again, and there’s something warm there, something approving. “You’re very good with her,” she says. “It’s not easy, not at this age. Even experienced parents struggle.”
You flush slightly under the praise, adjusting Lily carefully as she stirs but doesn’t wake. “I work in pediatrics. It helps, knowing the little cues.”
Victoria smiles, almost teasing. “Max should just hire you as a live-in nanny.”
“Victoria,” Max warns, but she just grins at him, the joke landing more truthfully than he’d probably like.
Oscar chuckles from beside you, finally speaking up. “You’d have to fight me for her. She’s mine first.”
Sophie glances between the three of you—Max, you, Oscar—and though she doesn’t say anything, there’s a spark of something in her eyes.
“Still,” she murmurs, reaching out to gently stroke Lily’s tiny hand where it rests against your chest, “I’m grateful she had you here today. It made all the difference.”
Max exhales, the sound heavy but lighter than before. He drops into the chair across from you, looking at his mum and sister with something between embarrassment and relief. “I told you she was crying nonstop,” he mutters. “YN held her for two minutes and she was fine.”
“Two minutes?” Sophie raises her brows at him. “Sounds like more than luck to me.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “It was timing, that’s all. Anyone could have done it.”
But Max doesn’t look convinced. His eyes linger on you, quiet and thoughtful, as if he knows there’s something more in the way you cradled Lily so instinctively.
And though you pass Lily over to Sophie a few minutes later, watching the proud grandmother fuss with kisses and whispers, the weight of Max’s gaze doesn’t leave you.
Not then, not after.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
By the time the day winds down, you’re sprawled on the bed in the hotel room, still in the dress you wore to the paddock. Oscar is half-leaning against the headboard with his laptop balanced on his knees, muttering about tire strategies as if you haven’t just spent hours surrounded by racing talk already.
You let your eyes drift closed, enjoying the muffled hum of the city outside, when a knock echoes through the room.
Oscar frowns, glancing at the clock. “It’s nearly ten. Who the hell—”
Another knock, sharper this time.
You slip off the bed with a sigh, padding over to the door. When you open it, the last person you expect to see is standing there. Max. Hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, hair messy like he’s run his hands through it one too many times, and—of all things—a paper bag dangling from his wrist.
“Hi,” he says, almost awkwardly.
“Hi…” you reply, blinking. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just…” He clears his throat, glancing past you as if checking whether Oscar is inside. “I wanted to thank you. Properly.” He lifts the paper bag. “I, uh, brought dessert to, uh, apologize.”
You bite back a smile. “You didn’t have to—”
“I did,” he insists, voice a little sharper before softening again. “You saved me today. I don’t think you realize how bad it was. I was—” He breaks off, exhaling heavily. “I didn’t know what to do. And you… you just stepped in. Like it was nothing. And suddenly Lily was fine.”
Your chest tightens, sympathy tugging at your heart. “Max, it wasn’t nothing. Taking care of a newborn is hard. You’re doing the best you can.”
He swallows, gaze dropping. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”
Before you can reply, Oscar appears behind you, stretching his arms above his head. “What’s going on?”
Max straightens immediately, holding out the bag like a peace offering. “I brought dessert. To say thank you.”
Oscar quirks a brow but accepts it easily, tugging you back into the room so Max can step inside. “Well, I’m not saying no to stroopwafels.”
The three of you settle around the little table by the window. Oscar tears open the bag, biting into one with an appreciative noise, while Max sits stiffly, clearly still carrying more weight than he wants to admit. You watch him, your heart aching a little.
“She’ll be okay, you know,” you say gently, breaking the silence. “Lily. She’s healthy, she’s loved. That’s what matters most.”
Max looks at you then, really looks, and for the first time you see the fear beneath the surface—raw, unfiltered. “I’m terrified I’m going to screw her up.”
Oscar leans back, licking sugar from his thumb. “We’re all terrified of screwing things up. YN has to remind me not to kill her plants every week.”
That earns a small laugh from Max, tension easing for a heartbeat. But his eyes drift back to you, searching, like he’s looking for permission to believe what you said.
You reach across the table, letting your fingers brush his wrist. “You won’t. Because you care this much. That’s all Lily needs right now—love and effort. The rest you’ll figure out.”
Something flickers in his expression—gratitude, relief, something heavier too. He nods once, as if locking your words into place, and takes a slow bite of his stroopwafel.
The three of you sit there a while longer, the quiet easy, the sugar sweet on your tongues. And though nothing is said out loud, you can feel it: a thread pulling tighter, weaving between you, Oscar, and Max.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
one week later…
It’s been a week since you first held Lily in your arms, her tiny fingers curled so tightly around your own that you thought your heart might split in two. Since then, you’ve seen Max a few times around Monaco—always polite, always a little guarded—but you can tell your words have lingered with him.
You don’t expect to see him at your door on a quiet Thursday evening.
Oscar’s half-distracted in the kitchen, humming under his breath as he slices vegetables for dinner, when the frantic knock makes him frown. He wipes his hands on a towel, glances at the clock, and pulls the door open.
Max is standing there, pale and wide-eyed, with a wailing Lily cradled against his chest.
“She won’t stop crying,” Max blurts before Oscar can even get a word out. “I’ve tried everything. Feeding, rocking, swaddling, changing—nothing works. I didn’t know where else to go.” His voice cracks, raw with exhaustion and panic.
Oscar blinks, then steps aside without hesitation. “Come in.”
Max hesitates only a second before stepping inside, shoulders tense as Lily’s cries echo in your apartment. Oscar guides him toward the couch, the sharp edges of his usual dry humor softening into something more careful. “She’s okay, mate. Babies cry. That’s their job.”
“It’s been hours,” Max mutters, his jaw tight as he rocks her gently. “I thought maybe something’s wrong. That I’m missing something.”
Oscar sits beside him, holding out his hands. “Can I?”
Max looks reluctant but eventually passes Lily over, his movements stiff with nerves. Oscar settles her against his chest, bouncing lightly as he murmurs nonsense words—half dry humor, half Australian slang, fully nonsensical. For a moment, Lily’s cries taper off into soft hiccups, her little body shuddering as she catches her breath.
“There we go,” Oscar says softly, shooting Max a quick grin. “Not so bad, huh?”
But as if on cue, Lily scrunches up her face and lets out another piercing wail, her tiny fists trembling against Oscar’s shirt. He winces, patting her back, but the crying only grows louder.
“Brilliant,” Oscar mutters, rocking her a bit more desperately. “YN makes this look a lot easier.”
And that’s when the front door clicks open.
You step inside, tired but glowing from your long shift at the pediatric unit, and freeze at the sight before you: Oscar on the couch, hair sticking up, rocking a squalling Lily while Max sits beside him looking utterly undone. The picture is messy and chaotic, but something about it makes your chest ache—it’s domestic, almost heartbreakingly sweet.
“Hey,” you say gently, setting your bag down. “What’s going on here?”
Max is on his feet instantly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in, I just—she wouldn’t stop crying, and Oscar said you’d be home soon, so—”
You’re already crossing the room, slipping Lily from Oscar’s arms with practiced ease. “It’s okay. You did the right thing coming here.”
The moment Lily feels your hands, she calms, her cries tapering off into soft whimpers. You rock her gently, humming under your breath, pressing your cheek to her tiny head until her little body relaxes fully against you. Within minutes, she’s asleep.
Both men just stare at you like you’ve performed some kind of miracle.
You smile softly, brushing your thumb across Lily’s downy hair. “She’s just overtired. Happens all the time. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Max exhales shakily, sinking back onto the couch. His hands scrub over his face, and for the first time you realize just how exhausted he looks—dark circles, slumped shoulders, the weight of it all pressing down on him.
You carry Lily into your bedroom, laying her carefully on the middle of your bed and surrounding her with pillows as guards for safety. When you return, the sight of Max and Oscar waiting on the couch—one stiff with nerves, the other awkward but quietly solid—makes you smile.
You curl up beside Oscar, your leg brushing Max’s as you settle. “She’ll be out for a couple of hours. You can breathe now.”
Max laughs, but it’s hollow. “I don’t think I remember how to breathe anymore.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands. “I can’t do this. Not on my own. She deserves better.”
Your heart twists. “Max…”
“I mean it,” he interrupts, voice sharp with self-loathing. “I look at her and I see how small she is, how much she needs, and all I can think is—what if I’m not enough? What if I mess her up? I didn’t even plan to be here, not like this. I never thought I’d be doing this alone.”
Oscar nudges him with his shoulder, his voice unusually firm. “You’re not alone. You’ve got family, you’ve got people around you. And—” he gestures between you and himself, “you’ve got us.”
You nod immediately, reaching for Max’s hand. He flinches at the contact but doesn’t pull away. “You care, Max. That’s the most important thing. The rest? It’s trial and error. Nobody’s perfect at this. And it’s okay to be scared.”
Max’s throat works as he swallows, eyes glassy but stubborn. “I just… I don’t want to fail her.”
“You won’t,” you say softly. “Because you’re here. Because you’ll keep showing up for her, no matter how hard it feels. That’s what makes a good parent.”
Oscar leans back, arms folded, smirking faintly. “Also, worst case scenario, you’ve got YN on speed dial. She’s basically the baby whisperer.”
That pulls a weak laugh out of Max, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension drains from him. For the first time all evening, he looks almost at ease.
The three of you sit there quietly for a while—Oscar flipping through his phone, you curled against his side, Max leaning back into the couch cushions with his head tipped against the wall. It feels strangely natural, the three of you tangled in this moment of exhaustion and comfort.
And when Lily stirs faintly in the bedroom, Max doesn’t spring to his feet in panic. He just glances at you, and when you smile reassuringly, he breathes out slowly and stays right where he is.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
It’s late in the afternoon when your phone rings, the familiar name flashing across the screen. You answer instantly, already sensing the panic before Max even speaks.
“YN,” his voice comes tight and low, like he’s holding himself together with threads. “I think something’s wrong with Lily. She’s warm and she won’t take her bottle. I’ve tried everything, and she just keeps fussing.”
Your stomach flips, all instinct kicking in at once. “Okay, breathe. I’ll come over right now.”
“I’ll drive,” Oscar says the moment you hang up, already pulling on his hoodie. He doesn’t even need the details—you only have to say “Max” and “Lily,” and he’s grabbing the keys.
The drive is quick, though Max lives in a quieter part of town, and when you arrive he’s already standing at the door, Lily fussing miserably against his chest. His hair is a mess, eyes wide and bloodshot with worry.
“She feels hot,” Max blurts before you’re even through the door. “Like fever-hot. She won’t eat, she just keeps crying, and I—” His voice cracks, and he clutches Lily tighter.
You reach out gently. “Can I?”
He hands her over with trembling hands, and you immediately cradle her against your shoulder, shushing softly as you press your cheek to her head. She’s warm, yes, but not alarmingly so. A quick glance at her lips and skin reassures you—pink and hydrated, not pale or sunken.
“She’s okay,” you murmur, rocking her gently as you touch her little forehead. “She’s not fever-hot, Max. Babies’ temperatures can feel higher than adults’. And she’s probably refusing the bottle because her tummy hurts or she’s a bit gassy. See how she keeps pulling up her knees?”
Max blinks at you, chest heaving. “So she’s not sick?”
You smile softly. “Not sick. Just uncomfortable. I’ll show you.”
You sit on the couch, positioning Lily carefully across your lap. With one hand, you rub gentle circles on her tummy, then guide her knees up toward her chest in slow, soothing motions. She fusses, cries a little, and then—relief. A tiny burble of air, followed by a long sigh.
Oscar snorts from where he’s leaning against the wall. “That’s my girl.”
You shoot him a look, but Max is staring like you’ve just parted the Red Sea. “She—she’s better already,” he says, awe softening his rough edges. “How did you know?”
You shrug lightly, continuing to rub Lily’s back. “I’ve seen it a hundred times on my floor. Babies are dramatic little things, but it’s usually something simple.”
Max runs both hands over his face, his entire body sagging. “I thought—God, I thought I was failing her again. That I missed something important.”
“You didn’t,” you say firmly, shifting Lily so she’s resting against your chest, her tiny fists tucked under her chin. “You noticed something was wrong. You called for help. That’s not failing—that’s being a good dad.”
Oscar crosses the room then, dropping onto the couch beside Max with a grin that’s gentler than his usual teasing. “Also, we’re not exactly hard to call. YN’s got you covered, and I’m excellent at being moral support. And comic relief.”
That pulls a faint laugh out of Max, though his eyes are still glued to his daughter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you both.”
You spend the next few hours there, refusing to leave until you’re absolutely sure Lily is settled. You guide Max through some soothing tricks—gentle rocking, laying her tummy-down across his forearm, rubbing little circles along her spine—and when she finally drifts off into sleep, he looks like he’s holding the crown jewels.
“Why don’t we stay tonight?” you suggest quietly once you’ve tucked Lily into her bassinet beside the bed. “Just in case she gets fussy again. I’ll keep an eye on her so you can actually rest.”
Max opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. You can see the exhaustion in every line of his face, the way his shoulders slump with the weight of the last few days. He just nods, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
The three of you retreat to his bedroom, dimly lit and cozy in its own messy way. You curl up first on one side of the bed, Lily’s bassinet stationed close enough that you can reach out if she stirs. Oscar flops down beside you, slinging an arm over your waist with practiced ease. And Max, after a long moment of hesitation, climbs in on your other side, stiff as a board until you bump his shoulder gently.
“Relax,” you whisper. “It’s just sleep.”
Slowly, he does.
Lily stirs once, letting out a tiny whimper, and all three of you freeze instinctively—but she settles almost instantly with the soft sound of your humming. Within minutes, the room is quiet except for the sound of steady breathing.
It’s not what any of you planned. Max, the once fiercely independent champion, curled up in bed with his daughter safely sleeping beside him, Oscar pressed into your back, your hand stretched toward the bassinet. But somehow, it feels right.
It feels like a family.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
yourusername
liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 1,050,000 others.
yourusername : i think i like this little life <3
tagged : oscarpiastri
—
user has limited comments on this post.
oscarpiastri : pancake credit please
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : pancakes were made by mr. piastri himself. not only a talent on the track, but also in the kitchen!
liked by oscarpiastri and maxverstappen1
↳ carmenmmundt : i’m coming over next time pls
liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri
lilymhe : such a beautiful angel. love u smmmm
liked by yourusername
↳ yourusername : love u even more
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Max doesn’t usually fumble with words. On the track, he’s precise, sharp as a blade. Even in press conferences, where the questions are invasive or ridiculous, he’s calm enough to answer with clipped confidence.
But when he texts you and Oscar a few days later—would you both come to dinner? just the three of us. a thank you—he stares at his phone for far too long before pressing send.
You don’t even hesitate.
Of course. What time?
The restaurant he chooses isn’t flashy. It’s tucked into a quiet street, candlelit and warm, more like someone’s living room than a place for Michelin-starred chefs. When you and Oscar arrive, Max is already waiting outside, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, expression caught somewhere between shy and relieved.
“You here,” he says, as though he half-expected you wouldn’t.
“Of course we are,” you answer, smiling as you step forward to hug him. He stiffens for half a second before letting himself relax into it, and when you pull back, Oscar claps his shoulder with the easy familiarity of someone who’s decided Max is, against all odds, family now.
Inside, Max insists on holding the door for you both, steering you toward a small table tucked into the corner. The lighting is soft, the hum of conversation around you muted enough to make the space feel private.
He orders a bottle of wine before you can protest, his tone firm but almost nervous when he tells the waiter, “Something good, please.”
The first half-hour is easy—laughter over your work stories, Oscar teasing Max about how “parenthood has already aged him ten years,” Max dryly replying that at least he doesn’t sound forty when he’s twenty-four. There’s warmth to it, though, a comfort that surprises you.
It’s not until the food arrives—pasta for you, steak for Oscar, fish for Max—that the air shifts. Max sets down his fork, clears his throat, and fixes his eyes on the candle flickering between you.
“I just wanted to say… thank you,” he says, quiet but steady. “For everything. For answering the phone when I panicked, for coming over at stupid hours, for not making me feel like I’m drowning alone.” He looks between you and Oscar, eyes shining faintly in the low light. “You didn’t have to. And yet you did.”
You feel Oscar’s hand slide over yours beneath the table, grounding you.
“You don’t have to thank us,” you say softly. “We care about you. And Lily.”
Max exhales, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe it. “It’s been a month, and I still wake up some days thinking I’m going to break everything. But when you’re around… it doesn’t feel impossible.”
There’s a silence then, not uncomfortable but heavy with something you can’t name. Oscar squeezes your hand, and when you glance at him, his expression is uncharacteristically open—like he understands the same thing you do. That this isn’t just about Lily anymore.
You reach across the table without thinking, brushing your fingers against Max’s. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he flips his palm up, lets you rest there, his thumb grazing your knuckles once before he takes a sip of wine to steady himself.
The rest of dinner passes in that delicate balance—half laughter, half lingering glances, words you don’t quite say but all feel anyway. Max relaxes more as the evening goes on, shoulders no longer hunched with invisible weight, his smile softer, unguarded.
When the plates are cleared and the last of the wine poured, none of you make a move to leave right away. Instead, you sit there together in the quiet hum of the restaurant, like the three of you belong to some secret little world.
And when Max finally says, voice almost lost beneath the candlelight flicker, “I think this is the first night I’ve felt… okay...since she left," you don’t answer with words. You just squeeze his hand, feel Oscar’s thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm, and let the silence say everything.
It’s soft. It’s simple. It’s unspoken. But it’s enough.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
It was one of those rare free evenings when you and Oscar had agreed to take Lily for a few hours so Max could actually step outside the “single dad bubble” to handle some Red Bull obligations. He had been reluctant at first — pacing in the entryway of your apartment with Lily bundled in her little blanket, repeating for the third time, “I won’t be gone long, really. She might fuss when she gets tired—she likes to be rocked sideways, not up and down, you’ll remember that—” until you finally reached up, put a hand gently on his shoulder, and said,
“Max. Go. We’ve got her.”
Oscar, behind you, was already crouched on the floor with Lily laid carefully across his lap, cooing at her in the softest voice you’d ever heard him use. That seemed to convince Max enough. He muttered a quiet “thanks”, kissed Lily’s forehead, and slipped out the door.
The evening was…surprisingly easy. Lily had her moments — a little whimper when she was overtired, a tiny pout when her bottle wasn’t exactly the right temperature — but between the two of you, she was soothed in minutes. Oscar was a natural, though he didn’t seem to realize it. You caught him more than once just staring at her in awe, whispering things under his breath like “I can’t believe how small her hands are” and “her smile is identical to Max’s”.
At one point, while you rocked Lily against your chest, Oscar leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded, watching you with this dazed expression that made your heart skip. You tilted your head, smiling, “What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, though the faintest blush touched his cheeks. “Just…every time I see you with her, I think I’m done falling for you, and then you prove me wrong.”
Your lips parted, soft and warm at his words, but before you could reply, Lily let out a squeaky laugh — a real, proper baby giggle — and both of you froze, then burst out laughing with her.
The evening slipped into night easily after that. Lily fell asleep in her bassinet in your living room, your dog curled loyally at the base of it, and you and Oscar sprawled together on the couch, half-dozing.
That was how Max found you when he returned.
The door clicked softly, and he stepped in, careful not to make too much noise. His eyes immediately softened at the sight of Lily sleeping peacefully, then moved to you and Oscar cuddled up, heads tilted against each other. His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t quite name. Relief, gratitude, maybe something deeper he didn’t want to analyze.
When you blinked awake at the sound of the door, you sat up quickly. “Hey, you’re back! Everything go okay?”
Max nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Better than expected. And—” he lifted a small branded bag in each hand, almost sheepishly, “—I might’ve gone a little overboard.”
You raised a brow but reached for yours anyway, carefully pulling open the Cartier bag. Your breath caught immediately. Nestled inside the box was the very bracelet you’d tried on weeks ago in Monaco when you’d gone shopping with Alexandra, admiring it but ultimately leaving it behind with a wistful shake of your head.
“Max…” you whispered, eyes wide. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” he admitted, shifting slightly as though uncomfortable with the weight of your stunned gaze. “I remembered you liked it. Thought…well. You’ve done more for me and Lily than I could ever repay. It’s just a small thank you.”
Oscar’s own bag revealed a sleek little Cartier box as well. Inside, a delicate pinky ring (I NEED TO SEE OSCAR WITH RINGS) (THIS FED MY OWN AGENDA) glinted under the light. He slipped it on instinctively, and it fit perfectly. He looked up at Max, almost lost for words.
“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” Max said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I saw this one and thought it would suit you. Something simple. Strong.”
For a moment, the room was silent, filled only with the hum of the fridge and Lily’s soft breathing. You looked between Oscar and Max, your chest aching at the sight of both of them — Oscar with his hand flexing, staring at the ring like it was more than just jewelry, Max shifting uncomfortably as though worried he’d crossed some invisible boundary.
“Max,” you said gently, standing to close the distance and brushing his arm reassuringly, “this is…beautiful. Really. You didn’t need to, but thank you.”
Oscar chimed in, his voice softer than usual. “Yeah. Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” Max said quickly, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to seem like—like I was interfering. You two are—well. I just wanted you to know I’m grateful. That’s all.”
Neither you nor Oscar spoke at first. Instead, you each reached out in your own way — you, by giving his arm a gentle squeeze, and Oscar, by flashing that rare warm smile that he usually saved for you.
Max exhaled, tension bleeding out of his shoulders as though that unspoken acceptance was all he needed.
The three of you ended up back on the couch, Lily still fast asleep nearby, and the mood softened again. Oscar played absently with his new ring, you traced your bracelet with your thumb, and Max leaned back with the quietest smile, letting himself—for just one night—believe he wasn’t as alone in all this as he feared.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
two weeks later…
Two weeks.
That’s how long it had been since either you or Oscar had really seen Max. Since the night of the gifts, he’d gone quiet — not completely gone, but quiet. A text here or there if you asked about Lily, a thumbs-up emoji if Oscar messaged him, but never anything that opened a door for a conversation.
At first, you gave him space. You figured maybe Red Bull was piling work onto him, or he was getting his footing again with parenting. But as the days stretched into a week, then two, both you and Oscar found yourselves trading worried glances whenever Max’s name came up.
So one rainy Tuesday evening, Oscar finally said what you’d been thinking:
“We should check on him.”
Which was why you both found yourselves standing outside his Monaco apartment door now, a plastic container of lasagna in your hands and your stomach twisted with unease.
Oscar knocked softly, then again, louder. For a long moment, there was nothing. Just as you were about to fish out your phone to call, you heard footsteps shuffle across the floor, then the lock clicked.
The door swung open to reveal Max — and it was immediately obvious something was wrong. His hair was unbrushed, his eyes rimmed red and tired, and he wore an old hoodie that hung off his frame like armor. Behind him, the apartment was dimly lit, cluttered in a way you’d never seen it.
“Max…” you said softly, instantly concerned. “Hey. We brought food.”
For a second, he looked like he might send you away. His hand hovered on the doorframe, his jaw tight. But then, wordlessly, he stepped back, opening the door wider.
You slipped in first, Oscar close behind. “Where’s Lily?” you asked gently.
“With my mum and Victoria,” he muttered, voice low. “They…took her for a few days. Said I needed a break.”
You nodded, setting the lasagna on the counter, though your eyes never left him. He looked…hollow. Not broken, exactly, but like he’d been carrying something so heavy for so long it had finally started to show.
The three of you ended up in the living room, the rain tapping against the balcony glass. Max sat on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, while you and Oscar settled beside him, giving him space but refusing to let him pull away.
It was quiet for a long while. You could feel Oscar’s eyes flicking to you, waiting, and you knew he was leaving the first move up to you.
“Max,” you said softly, reaching out to rest a hand lightly on his arm. “Talk to us. Please.”
He flinched slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull away. His jaw worked, like he was chewing on words he didn’t want to release. Finally, he exhaled, the sound shaky.
“I can’t…” His voice cracked, and he tried again. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Both of you.”
Your breath caught. Max’s eyes were downcast, fixed on the floor as though looking at either of you would make it worse.
“You’ve been together so long,” he continued, his words tumbling out faster now, like a dam breaking. “And you’re—God, you’re perfect for each other. And then there’s me. I’m just—” His voice wavered, raw and unguarded. “I’m a mess half the time, and I’ve got Lily, and I don’t sleep, and I keep thinking I should just be grateful for what you’ve already given me. But I can’t get it out of my head. I love you. Both of you. And it’s killing me because I can’t say it without risking what you have. What we have. And I don’t want to ruin it.”
Silence fell heavy in the room. The rain outside seemed louder, like the world was holding its breath.
You felt Oscar shift beside you, his hand brushing against yours briefly, grounding you. You exchanged a glance — a whole conversation passing silently in the look. And then you leaned forward, your voice steady but soft.
“Max,” you said, making him finally look up. His eyes were glossy, his expression pained. “You haven’t ruined anything.”
Oscar nodded, his voice low and certain. “We love you too.”
Max blinked, stunned, as though he hadn’t dared to even imagine hearing those words. “You…what?”
You smiled faintly, tears pricking your eyes. “You think we haven’t felt it too? All those nights with Lily, all those dinners, all those little moments—we felt it, Max. We just didn’t want to push you. Didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
Oscar added, “You’re not…intruding, or messing with us. You’re part of us already. You and Lily both.”
Max’s breath hitched, a quiet, choked laugh escaping as he ran a hand over his face. Relief and disbelief mingled in his expression, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d heard right.
“You’re serious,” he whispered.
“Dead serious,” you said, reaching out to take one of his hands in yours. Oscar mirrored you, covering Max’s other hand with his. Max looked between the two of you, his walls cracking completely now.
Something in him gave way then. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, and he let out a shaky breath as though finally, finally letting himself rest. And when he looked up again, his eyes were wet but his smile—soft and small—was real.
The three of you sat there for what felt like hours, hands tangled, no rush to move or explain or plan. Just soaking in the quiet truth of it all: that none of you had been imagining it, and that maybe, just maybe, there was space in this little world for the three of you to love each other fully.
For the first time in weeks, Max looked lighter. Not fixed, not perfect, but lighter. And when he whispered, “Thank you,” it wasn’t just gratitude. It was a promise.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
When you blink awake, it takes you a moment to realize where you are. The unfamiliar ceiling, the gray morning light streaming through the curtains, the heavy warmth of two bodies on either side of you. Then it all comes back: last night, Max’s voice breaking as he finally let himself confess, Oscar’s steady hand over yours as you told him you loved him too, the three of you tangled up in honesty until the early hours.
You shift slightly, and Max makes a quiet noise beside you, still half-asleep. His arm is heavy across your waist, his forehead tucked into the pillow near your shoulder. On the other side, Oscar is curled against your back, his hand resting loosely on your hip, his breathing soft and even. You’re cocooned between them, the weight of them grounding and new and yet somehow already right.
For a while, you just lay there. Listening. Breathing. Letting yourself feel what it means to belong here.
Eventually, though, your stomach wins out, and you carefully slip from the bed. Max stirs a little, murmuring something unintelligible, but doesn’t fully wake. Oscar stretches in his sleep, but the two of them stay nestled in their cocoon, leaving you smiling at the sight.
The kitchen is quiet, sunlight just starting to filter in. You tie your hair back, dig through Max’s cupboards until you find what you need, and set about making breakfast. Eggs, toast, some fruit you discover tucked away in the fridge. It feels strange and comforting all at once — moving around Max’s kitchen like it’s natural, like you’ve been doing this for years.
The knock at the door startles you. You wipe your hands on a tea towel and pad over, opening it softly.
Standing there is Sophie, holding Lily in her carrier.
“Oh,” she says, a flicker of surprise passing over her face when she sees you — hair a little messy from sleep, still in last night’s clothes, barefoot in Max’s apartment at eight in the morning.
For a heartbeat, you freeze, unsure how to explain. But then Sophie’s expression softens, and she lets out a quiet sigh. “Good morning.”
“Hi,” you say gently, your voice low so you don’t startle Lily. You reach for the carrier instinctively, and Sophie lets you take it, adjusting the straps as you settle the baby against you.
“Max didn’t tell me you’d be here,” she admits, though there’s no sharpness to it — more curiosity than anything.
You smile faintly, rocking Lily a little when she fusses. “It was…a long night.”
Sophie studies you for a moment, and then her expression shifts into something warmer. She reaches out to squeeze your arm lightly. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for him. For Lily. He hasn’t said much, but I can see the difference. It means more than you know.”
Your throat tightens a little at her sincerity. “Of course,” you murmur. “She’s…she’s wonderful. And Max is doing so well. He just needs people in his corner.”
Sophie nods, a little glimmer in her eyes. “Send Oscar my thanks too, will you? You both have been…” She shakes her head, smiling softly. “Exactly what he needed.”
You promise you will, and after one last gentle pat on your shoulder, Sophie heads off, leaving you with Lily snug against your chest.
You carry her back inside, pressing a kiss to her soft hair. “Let’s go wake your boys, hmm?”
By the time you step into the bedroom, Max and Oscar are stirring. Max pushes himself up on one elbow, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes still heavy with sleep. But when he sees you standing there with Lily, his entire face softens. Oscar sits up too, rubbing his eyes, smiling at the sight of the two of you.
“Breakfast is on the stove,” you say, settling Lily into her bassinet by the bed. “And Sophie dropped her off.”
Max’s throat works, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary, gratitude shining in his eyes.
The three of you end up around the small table in his kitchen, plates of eggs and toast between you. Lily coos softly from her bassinet nearby, the morning light spilling over the scene like something out of a dream.
Oscar teases Max about his bedhead until you’re laughing so hard you nearly spill your juice. Max retaliates by stealing a piece of Oscar’s toast. You reach across the table to swat at both of them, only for Max to catch your hand and hold it, his thumb brushing over your skin. Oscar notices, and instead of jealousy, his smile just widens, warm and knowing.
It’s easy. So easy, the way the three of you fall into rhythm — trading jokes, sharing food, glancing over at Lily every few minutes as though you can’t believe she’s real.
And for the first time, none of it feels like you’re dancing around the edges of something forbidden. It feels like a beginning.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
several weeks later…
f1gossipgirls
1,800,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : rumors are swirling around yn ln after a string of new sightings in monaco…yn and longtime boyfriend oscar piastri were spotted strolling through monaco last week — with a stroller. fans immediately speculated whether yn had secretly given birth after her recent absence from the paddock. neither oscar nor yn have commented, but it hasn’t stopped theories from spreading that the couple are now parents.
and then a couple of eagle-eyed fans also noticed what looked suspiciously like yn holding baby lily in the background of victoria verstappen’s instagram story. the blurry shot has added fuel to the fire, especially since yn has recently been seen out and about with sophie (max’s mother) and victoria. this, combined with her close friendship with max, has the internet wondering: is there more going on here than meets the eye? is yn simply helping out, or is there some sort of arrangement between her, oscar, and max verstappen? 👀
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The three of you had been curled up in Max’s living room, Lily babbling happily in her little bouncer seat while you scrolled through your phone. The headlines were impossible to miss — screenshots of Victoria’s story, paparazzi photos from Monaco, threads dissecting every detail like amateur detectives.
Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I should’ve known it was only a matter of time before people started putting things together.”
Max leaned back against the couch, Lily’s tiny hand wrapped around his pinky. “They’re not even putting the right things together,” he muttered.
You were about to reply when Oscar’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and winced. “It’s Mum.”
You and Max exchanged a look as Oscar answered. “Hi, Mum.”
Nicole’s voice came through so loudly you could hear it from where you sat. “Oscar Jack Piastri, do I have a grandchild you’ve been hiding from me?!”
You snorted, pressing your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Max raised his brows, amused despite the tension, while Oscar grimaced.
“Mum, no—”
“I’ve just been sent three different articles from your aunt about you and YN pushing a stroller in Monaco. And now someone’s texted me a photo of YN with a baby in the Verstappen family’s kitchen! If this is my secret grandchild, I want to know immediately!”
At that, you couldn’t hold it in — you burst out laughing, grabbing Lily gently from her bouncer and cradling her in your arms. Max laughed too, rubbing a hand over his face as Oscar shot you both a betrayed look.
“Mum,” Oscar tried again, chuckling despite himself, “she’s not ours. YN isn’t pregnant. You do not have a secret grandchild.”
There was a beat of silence, then Nicole’s suspicious voice. “Then whose baby is that?”
Max leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle. “She’s mine. This is Lily.”
“Oh!” Nicole gasped audibly. “Max’s baby! Oh, that’s wonderful, congratulations, darling! And YN—oh, sweetheart, you’ve been helping, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” you said softly, adjusting Lily as she reached for your necklace. “I’ve been around a lot, just to support. And Oscar too.”
There was another pause on the other end, and then Nicole’s tone melted into warmth. “I can’t wait to meet her. And Max, I’m so proud of you. Raising a baby is no small thing, and you’ve clearly chosen the best people to help you.”
Max’s throat worked, his eyes glistening faintly at her sincerity. “Thank you,” he murmured.
After a few more reassurances that no, Nicole was not being kept from a grandchild, and yes, she would absolutely be invited to meet Lily soon, Oscar finally hung up, shaking his head in disbelief.
You cuddled Lily against your chest, still smiling. “She’s over the moon. That could’ve gone worse.”
“Much worse,” Oscar agreed, leaning back into the couch.
But the moment of humor faded quickly into reality — the rumors weren’t going away. Not after those photos.
“What do we do now?” you asked quietly, glancing between them.
Oscar sighed. “We can ignore it. Or say you were out with a niece or nephew. That’ll take the heat off Max.”
But Max shook his head immediately. His eyes were sharp, certain, in a way you hadn’t seen before. “No.”
You blinked at him, surprised. “No?”
He reached out, brushing his hand over Lily’s tiny foot, then looking up at the two of you. “I don’t want to hide anymore. Not you, not Oscar, not Lily. People are going to talk no matter what we say. But I’m tired of acting like what we have is something shameful. It’s not. It’s…” He paused, searching for the word, and then his mouth curved faintly. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Your chest tightened, your heart aching at the honesty in his voice.
Max leaned back, his gaze steady. “I want the truth out there. I want to be able to love you both loudly. I don’t care what the press says, or the fans. I care about Lily growing up in a world where her family isn’t a secret. Where she sees us together and knows it’s okay to love the way we do.”
Oscar was quiet for a long moment, watching Max. Then he glanced at you, and you saw the softness in his eyes — the same look he always gave you when he’d already made up his mind.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Oscar said simply. “No more hiding.”
You felt Lily shift against you, her small face nuzzling into your shoulder. And as the three of you sat there, the weight of the decision settled — not heavy, not frightening, but freeing.
It wasn’t going to be easy. The world would have questions, opinions, judgments. But right then, in Max’s living room with Lily safe in your arms and the two men you loved beside you, it felt worth it.
Because this — the laughter, the honesty, the choice to stand together — this was your family. And you weren’t afraid to let the world see it anymore.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The whispers start before you even clear the main gates.
The Monaco sun is already hot against your shoulders, flashes from cameras bouncing off the glassy helmets in the crowd. You keep your chin high, your steps steady, Lily pressed snug against your chest in the soft beige carrier. Her little sunhat wobbles when she shifts, a small sound leaving her throat.
And immediately—of course—Oscar’s hand steadies at your back while Max leans in, murmuring something in Dutch that makes her settle. The way the two of them react in perfect sync sends warmth blooming in your chest.
The cameras eat it up.
“Is that—Oscar’s baby?” someone whispers from the crowd.
“Wait, wait, did she have a secret baby? Is it both of theirs?”
You don’t flinch. You don’t even glance over. Because on your left, Oscar’s fingers brush against yours, just enough to remind you he’s there. And on your right, Max is a wall—tall, steady, shielding you from anyone who dares step too close. Together, the three of you are untouchable.
When the photographers surge forward, trying to capture the moment, Max’s hand presses to your lower back, pulling you closer. Oscar’s glare alone is enough to make them hesitate. Lily fusses once, but a little rock from you and the sound of Max humming low settles her again.
“Maybe this wasn’t the worst idea,” you murmur, tilting her sunhat back into place.
Oscar glances at you, his face soft. “You mean walking in like… us?”
Max answers before you can. “It’s the truth. I’m done pretending.” His eyes flick between you and Oscar, careful, but steady. “I can’t keep acting like you aren’t both my family.”
Your chest feels too full. You glance at Oscar, whose expression matches the ache you feel, then back at Max. “Good. Because you’re stuck with us.”
As you walk past the Red Bull motorhome, you catch the way engineers freeze mid-step. A few exchange looks, one of them muttering about Verstappen being domesticated. Max doesn’t acknowledge it—he doesn’t have to. Instead, his hand brushes your elbow, grounding you.
Oscar notices, and quietly, his fingers skim Max’s for just a second. The tiniest contact, but the shift in Max’s shoulders is instant. You don’t even think; you smile, your free hand squeezing Oscar’s gently as Lily snores softly against your chest.
By the time you reach the Mclaren garage, Twitter is already in chaos.
Is that Oscar and YN’s baby??
Why is Max Verstappen walking in with them??
This looks like an alternate universe.
You don’t care.
Max shifts the diaper bag off his shoulder and hands you a water bottle without asking. Oscar adjusts the dangling stuffed bunny on the carrier so it won’t get tangled. Their movements around you feel natural, rehearsed, like you’ve always been this way.
Lily yawns, scrunching her nose, and all three of you melt instantly.
“Think she’ll nap through quali?” you whisper.
Oscar chuckles. “Not a chance. She already takes after Max.”
Max scoffs, though the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “She’s part Verstappen, part Piastri so who knows?”
“You’re both ridiculous,” you tease softly, shaking your head.
“Maybe,” Oscar says, brushing your hand with his, his voice warm. “But we’re yours.”
Max doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. The look in his eyes—quiet pride, love that’s almost too much to carry—tells you everything you need to know.
So you keep walking, Lily strapped against your chest, Oscar’s hand brushing yours, Max steady at your other side. Let the world think what it wants.
For once, you look exactly like what you are: a family.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
maxverstappen1
liked by yourusername, lando, oscarpiastri and 11,050,000 others.
maxverstappen1 : forever grateful for the family i found in both of you. thank you for loving me and lily both in a way we will never forget. my soulmates forever and always. i love you both endlessly.
tagged : oscarpiastri and yourusername
—
user has turned off comments on this post.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅
bonus scene! piastri family meets baby lily
You knew Nicole had been itching for this moment ever since you’d explained everything to her. Her voice over the phone had gone from gasping disbelief—*“do I have a secret grandchild??”—to delighted squeals when you told her about Lily and Max, to gentle, overflowing warmth when you explained how much the three of you had come to mean to each other.
So it isn’t surprising that the second the doorbell rings, it’s not Nicole’s calm face you see first, but Edie’s. She’s practically bouncing as she blurts, “Where’s the baby?!” before you’ve even managed to say hello.
Oscar laughs, pulling his little sister into a hug. “Hi, Edie. Nice to see you too.”
Behind her, Mae and Hattie hover with wide eyes and impatient smiles, clearly restraining themselves. And then there’s Nicole, looking poised as always, but you catch the sparkle in her eyes, the way she cranes her neck like she’s hoping to hear a baby’s coo before she even steps in.
You usher them inside, the air buzzing with excitement. Max has Lily in his arms when they come into the living room—she’s dozing against his chest, a tiny fist clutching the edge of his t-shirt. His shoulders tense automatically, protective instinct kicking in with strangers, but you rest your hand lightly on his arm.
“Max,” you murmur gently, “this is Nicole. And Edie, Mae, and Hattie.”
Nicole steps forward first, her smile warm and steady. She doesn’t reach for Lily—doesn’t crowd him—but her eyes soften. “So you must be Max. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. And this…” She tilts her head, her voice quieting, “this must be Lily.”
Max swallows, then nods once. “Yeah. This is Lily.”
For a beat, he looks almost nervous, like he’s bracing for judgment. But Nicole only places her hand softly on his arm, eyes kind. “She’s beautiful. You’re doing wonderfully, Max.”
You see something ease in him at that—the smallest flicker of relief.
Then it’s chaos.
“Can I hold her?” Edie blurts immediately, bouncing on her toes. “Please, please, I’ll be careful, I promise—”
“Edie,” Nicole chides gently. “Give them a moment.”
Max looks a little overwhelmed, so you step in, smiling. “Why don’t we sit down first? Lily just fell asleep.”
So you all gather in the living room. Max settles on the couch with Lily still nestled against him, and Oscar sits close on his other side, one arm along the backrest like a quiet reassurance. You perch near the armrest, angled toward Nicole and the girls, ready to field whatever questions are about to come.
It doesn’t take long.
“She’s so small,” Mae whispers, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. Her eyes are wide with awe. “Like… tinier than I imagined.”
“She’s got so much hair already,” Hattie adds softly, her smile tender. “She’s perfect.”
Nicole sits back, watching Max quietly for a moment. Then she looks at you, then at Oscar. “And you two have been helping?”
Oscar nods, his voice warm. “Yeah. YN especially.”
You flush at the praise, but Nicole only smiles at you, pride swelling in her expression. “Of course. I knew you would.”
It’s Edie who finally blurts what they’re all thinking. “So… wait. Does this mean you guys are like… a thing? Like, Max is… are you dating?”
Your cheeks warm, and you glance at Max, who looks torn between panic and amusement. Oscar rescues him, chuckling softly. “It’s complicated, Ed. But yes… we’re all figuring it out together.”
The girls exchange looks, half-giggling, half-melting.
“That’s… kind of adorable,” Mae admits, her grin wide.
Nicole’s smile is softer, steadier. “What matters is that you’re happy. And that Lily is loved.”
At that, Max finally relaxes fully. He glances down at his daughter, then back up at Nicole. “She is,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “She really is.”
You feel Oscar’s hand slide onto your knee, grounding you. Max leans just slightly into your shoulder, and the warmth of the moment washes over you.
Eventually, Edie does get her wish. Max carefully transfers Lily into her eager arms, watching closely as if ready to swoop in, but Edie cradles her with surprising care. “Oh my god,” she whispers, swaying a little. “I could just melt.”
Nicole takes her turn too, cooing down at the baby with the kind of love that only comes naturally to a mother. “She’s going to be spoiled rotten with all of us around,” she says knowingly.
Oscar laughs, shooting Max a teasing glance. “You’ve been warned.”
Max’s lips twitch into a smile, but his eyes shine as he watches. For the first time, maybe he truly believes it: that he isn’t doing this alone.
When Nicole finally hugs you goodbye later, she holds you a little longer than usual. “You’ve built something beautiful here,” she murmurs into your hair. “Don’t be afraid to love it out loud.”
Your throat tightens. You nod.
And when you step back inside, Oscar catches your hand, Max gives you a quiet, grateful smile, and Lily stirs softly in Edie’s arms.
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
jacobvanloon
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
2087
romaincrisis
