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𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 — ka12

kimi antonelli x !verstappen driver reader

the world has always known you as the other verstappen. max's teammate, his closest person, his other half. quiet. untouchable. all sharp edges and locked doors.

love was never part of the plan. racing was. racing was supposed to be enough.

then kimi antonelli arrives.

nineteen, wide-eyed, painfully earnest — following max around like a lost puppy, which means he keeps running into you. again. and again. and again.

and somehow, without trying, he becomes the one person that gets you to open up. to feel. you've never let anyone this close. and max notices. but max also notices how kimi looks at his sister like you're the only person in the world.

fc : stephmandich on ig

(a/n) : hello guys!!!!!! sorry i've been missing, i have been busy w/ work and actually planning big things for you all! big announcements coming soon;) anyways about the fic, this is based on the 2025 season and kimi is 19 at the beginning of the season and reader is 20 and has been in f1 since 17 :) (reader has max's old #) (warnings of j*s verstappen being j*s verstappen!) (also this takes place in 2025 season BUT laurent has already replaced christian bc i said so) (also ty to whoever requested lysm)

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ynverstappen33 (pre 2025 season)

liked by maxverstappen1, kellypiquet, lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,890,000 others.

ynverstappen33 : winter break diaries 💭 excited to be back with my fave team and fave brother‼️

tagged : maxverstappen1 and kellypiquet

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view 192,000 other comments.

maxverstappen1 : im your only brother

liked by ynverstappen33

↳ ynverstappen33 : yes but i could not say favorite sibling bc that is simply not true

liked by maxverstappen1 and victoriaverstappen

↳ victoriaverstappen : 😇😇

liked by ynverstappen33 and maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : wow ok

liked by victoriaverstappen and ynverstappen33

kellypiquet : love you endlessly gorgeous 🤍

liked by ynverstappen33

victoriaverstappen : mijn kleine zusje 💕 this is your season!!! i am so proud of you 💋

liked by ynverstappen33

username003 : the fact that she credits all her racing talent and success to her mother instead of her father...clock it miss girl

liked by ynverstappen33

danielricciardo : ready to watch you terrorize the grid for the 3rd year in a row, little one.

liked by ynverstappen33 and maxverstappen1

↳ ynverstappen33 : promise you'll watch? 🥹

liked by danielricciardo

↳ danielricciardo : just for you

liked by ynverstappen33

↳ lando : do not encourage her menace tactics !!!!!!

liked by ynverstappen33, danielricciardo and maxverstappen1

alexandrasaintmleux : such a beauty 😻😻

liked by ynverstappen33

↳ ynverstappen33 : says the most beautiful person i've ever seen omg

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

redbullracing : we are READY‼️‼️ verstappenx2 is back

liked by ynverstappen33 and maxverstappen1

kimi.antonelli : excited to race with you!

this comment has been deleted.

↳ username008 : kimi it's too late we already saw you

liked by olliebearman, isackhadjar, gabrielbortoleto_ and f1

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The lights of London blur past the tinted windows as the car slows near the venue, the city glowing like it knows something important is about to happen. The F1 launch event is always excessive—grand staircases, photographers packed ten deep, flashes like lightning—but tonight it feels heavier. Real. The season begins here.

You step out beside Max, Laurent Mekies already straightening his jacket with an amused smile as the crowd reacts instantly. Cameras swing toward you and Max like magnets.

You loop your arm through Max’s without thinking. It’s instinct—always has been.

The black lace gown clings to you in a way that feels both elegant and dangerous, sheer in places but never careless. Long sleeves, delicate patterning, the fabric moving like smoke when you walk. Your hair is swept back, makeup soft but sharp enough to hold its own under a thousand lights. Max leans in slightly.

“You good?” he murmurs.

You nod, smiling. “Always.”

The carpet is chaos, but familiar chaos. You greet faces you’ve known for years—team principals, drivers, partners. Max does his usual understated nods and half-smiles, letting you take the lead when someone stops you. You’re warm, composed, effortlessly charming. Laurent watches the two of you with quiet pride.

Inside, the room is opulent—low lights, crystal everywhere, the hum of anticipation buzzing under the music. Assigned seating pulls you toward your table. Right next to Mercedes.

You clock George Russell immediately, already mid-laugh, animated as ever. His face lights up when he sees you.

“There she is,” George says, standing to greet you. “Red Bull’s secret weapon.”

You laugh, hugging him lightly. “Still trying to steal me, Georgie?”

“Always,” he replies easily. “One day you’ll get bored of him.” He nods toward Max.

Max smirks. “Not happening.”

You slide into your seat between Max and George, the dynamic comfortable, familiar. But then—just across from George—you see him.

Kimi Antonelli.

He looks younger than he does on screen, suit tailored perfectly but posture still slightly unsure, like he’s reminding himself he belongs here. His eyes flick to Max again and again, unmistakable admiration written all over his face.

Max notices immediately.

“Kimi,” Max says casually, already standing. “Come here.”

Kimi looks like he might short-circuit.

He steps over, hand extended, a little stiff. “Max—hi. I mean—hello.”

Max shakes his hand, amused. “Relax.”

Then Max turns slightly, placing a hand at the small of your back.

“This is my sister,” he says. “YN.”

Kimi’s brain fully leaves his body.

“Oh,” he says, too fast. Then, softer. “Hi.”

You smile at him, easy, kind. “Hi.”

He blinks, then laughs nervously. “Sorry—uh—I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope.”

“All of them,” he blurts out, then winces. “I mean—yeah. You’re incredible. I mean—not just—your driving—”

You laugh, warm and unbothered, and something in his shoulders loosens instantly.

“It’s okay,” you say gently. “I get nervous meeting people too.”

Max watches closely from beside you, arms crossed now, expression unreadable—but his eyes never leave Kimi.

The conversation settles into something easy. Kimi asks about your off-season Porsche work, genuinely fascinated. You ask him about the step up to F1, his tone brightening when he talks about learning from George, from Max, from everyone. He listens when you speak—really listens—like every word matters.

Later, Red Bull is called to the stage. You rise smoothly, Max trailing just behind you like he always does at events like this. On stage, the lights are blinding, the crowd loud—but you don’t falter.

You take the lead naturally, speaking about the season ahead, the work behind the scenes, the trust in the team. Max stands beside you, nodding occasionally, offering a short sentence here and there—but it’s clear who’s carrying the room.

And you feel it. A gaze. You don’t have to look to know where it’s coming from. Kimi.

When you finally glance toward the Mercedes table, his eyes meet yours instantly. He looks like he’s watching something unreal—pride, awe, something softer tangled together.

As you step down from the stage, you send him a small smile. Just for him. It floors him.

After the event winds down, the room softens. Music lowers. People begin to drift. Max is deep in conversation with Kimi near the bar, George hovering nearby.

You approach, heels quiet against the floor.

“I’m heading back,” you say, touching Max’s arm.

Max turns immediately. “You want me to—”

“I’m good,” you reassure him.

Kimi hesitates for half a second, then gathers his courage.

“I can walk you,” he offers. “If that’s okay.”

Max’s eyes flick between the two of you.

Then, surprisingly, he nods. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Protective. Watching. Approving—just a little.

Outside, the night air is cool, London calm in that rare way it gets after something big. You walk side by side, close but not touching.

“Thanks,” you say. “For earlier. You were very sweet.”

Kimi rubs the back of his neck. “I was terrified.”

You smile. “I noticed.”

He laughs, then grows thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How do you… handle it?” he asks quietly. “The pressure. Being compared. Living up to a name.”

You slow slightly, considering him. “You stop trying to be someone else. Even if that someone else is a legend.”

He nods, absorbing every word.

“You’re here for a reason, Kimi,” you add softly. “Don’t forget that.”

When you reach your hotel, he stops, hands in his pockets.

“Thank you,” he says. “Really.”

You meet his eyes. “Anytime.”

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several weeks later...

The air in Melbourne feels different at the start of a season. Sharper. Charged. Like the track itself is holding its breath. By the time the race rolls around, routines have already formed.

Max’s driver room has quietly become yours too. Between sessions, you slip inside with practiced ease, kicking off your shoes, perching on the couch or the edge of the table while Max debriefs with engineers or stares blankly at data like he’s trying to absorb it through sheer will. It’s your safe space—quiet, controlled, familiar.

The morning of qualifying, you’re mid-sentence, talking with your hands as you explain something inconsequential—how the wind felt weird through Turn 9, how the car wants more rotation than you expected—when there’s a knock on the door.

Max doesn’t even look up. “Yeah?”

Kimi steps in hesitantly, like he’s entering a church.

“Sorry—uh,” he says, glancing between the two of you. “I wanted to ask Max something.”

"Ask,” Max replies flatly.

But Kimi doesn’t. Not immediately. Because you turn toward him with a small smile, completely at ease, and say, “You can sit, you know. You don’t have to hover.”

He freezes. Then, awkwardly, he lowers himself to the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled up slightly—like he’s afraid to take up too much space. Max notices. Of course he does. Says nothing. You keep talking. Kimi listens.

Not the polite kind of listening, where someone waits for their turn to speak—but the kind where their whole focus narrows. He watches the way your hands move, the way your voice shifts when you’re thinking through something technical, the way Max occasionally glances at you for confirmation without realizing he’s doing it.

Eventually, Kimi forgets why he knocked in the first place.

This would slowly become a pattern.

Drivers’ briefings—Kimi somehow always ends up next to you. Media pen—he trails Max, which means he trails you. It’s subtle enough that no one comments on it, but consistent enough that you notice.

He’s like a shadow. A quiet one. You don’t mind.

That night, the paddock finally goes still. The kind of stillness that settles after adrenaline has burned itself out but sleep refuses to come. Your thoughts won’t shut up. Your body feels wired, restless.

So you change into running clothes and slip out into the night.

The air is cool, the city muted. Your breath evens out as you settle into a steady pace, shoes striking pavement in rhythm. It helps—usually.

You round a corner and nearly collide with someone coming the other way.

“Kimi,” you say, surprised.

He slows to a jog, then a walk. “Oh—hi.”

You glance at his watch, then the empty street. “What are you doing out here?”

He hesitates. Shrugs. “Nerves.”

You huff out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah. Same.”

No teasing. No jokes. Just honesty.

You fall into step together, side by side. No words. Just shared breath, shared pace. The silence isn’t awkward—it’s heavy, but not uncomfortable. Like both of you understand this is something that doesn’t need to be filled.

When you part ways later, you don’t say much. Just a quiet, mutual good luck hanging unspoken between you.

The next morning is sharp and bright. Time to race.

Kimi comes by the Red Bull garage early, looking for Max. He doesn’t announce himself—just walks down the hallway, hands tucked into his pockets, nerves buzzing under his skin.

That’s when he hears voices. Yours.

And another unfamiliar voice. Jos.

You’re just around the corner, unaware you’re not alone. Your voice is controlled—too controlled. Calm in the way that comes from years of practice.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” you say.

A scoff. “Someone has to. You think you’re untouchable now.”

“I am doing my job.”

“Barely,” he snaps. “And if you keep embarrassing yourself, I won’t keep showing up. I won’t keep supporting this.”

Your jaw tightens. “That’s your choice.”

“It shouldn’t be,” he says cruelly. “You’re wasting your potential. Both you and your brother. Getting soft.”

There’s a pause. Long enough to hurt. Kimi’s chest tightens.

“You don’t get to define me anymore,” you say quietly. “Or him.”

He doesn’t wait to hear more.

Kimi backs away, heart pounding, guilt and anger and something protective twisting together in his stomach. He turns, nearly colliding with Max moments later.

“Hey,” Max says, instantly reading his face. “What’s wrong?”

Kimi swallows. “Nothing. Just—wanted to wish you luck.”

Max studies him for a beat longer than necessary, then nods. “You too.”

When you walk back into the garage a few minutes later, the atmosphere shifts instantly. Kimi looks up. Your expression is composed—perfectly neutral—but your eyes give you away. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push. Just steps closer and offers a soft smile.

“Good luck today,” he says.

You return it, small but genuine. “You too.”

And as you turn away, both of you carry the same unspoken thought— Some battles are fought on track. Others are survived quietly, together, without anyone ever knowing.

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Miami arrives loud and bright and unforgiving, the kind of place that doesn’t let you disappear even when you want to.

By now, the rhythm of the season has settled into something familiar. Max and Kimi are inseparable in the way only mentor and student can be—Max answering questions without judgment, pulling Kimi into debriefs, looping him into conversations with engineers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Kimi absorbs everything, eyes sharp, always listening.

And somehow, quietly, you and Kimi have found your own rhythm too. It starts with the runs. Before every race weekend, before the noise and the expectations and the weight of it all, the two of you run. No music. No talking. Just side by side, shoes hitting pavement in sync. It’s never discussed, never labeled. If one of you is already stretching, the other just joins in. If one of you doesn’t show up, there are no questions.

Kimi never pushes. When you’re quiet, he stays quiet. When you isolate, he gives you space—but never distance. He’s learned the shape of your silence and treats it gently, like something fragile instead of something to be fixed.

Miami qualifying is supposed to be good. The car feels decent. Not perfect, but workable. You tell yourself that over and over as you pull on your gloves. Then everything goes wrong. Traffic. A yellow you didn’t cause. A compromised lap that never had a chance to breathe. Q1 ends with your name too low on the timing screen. Knocked out.

The moment you climb out of the car, the world feels too sharp. Too loud. You barely register the engineers’ voices, the hands on your shoulders, the reassurances that blur together into nothing.

All you can think about is one thing. Jos.

You speak to the media, reluctantly. You wait patiently for qualifying to end, proud to see Kimi and Max do so well. Max meets you in your drivers room.

“Hey,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. “Hey.”

You don’t even try to hold it together.

The tears come fast, ugly, humiliating. You press your palms into your eyes, shaking your head like that might undo what just happened.

“I messed it up,” you choke. “I should’ve—if I’d just waited—this is on me.”

“It’s not,” Max says immediately, firm but gentle. “You know that.”

“I know what he’s going to say,” you whisper. “I know how this looks.”

Max pulls you into him without hesitation, one arm solid around your shoulders, the other resting protectively at the back of your head. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t try to logic you out of it.

He just stays.

Out in the hallway, Kimi paces. He hasn’t even processed his own qualifying yet—not really. P3 feels distant, unreal, like something that happened to someone else. All he can think about is the way your voice sounded on the radio replay he heard. Flat. Too calm.

He stops when the door opens.

Max steps out, closing it quietly behind him. His expression tells Kimi everything before he even speaks.

“She’s blaming herself,” Max says low. “Even though it wasn’t her fault. She’s… shutting down.”

Kimi nods once. “Can I?”

Max looks at him for a long moment. Protective. Assessing.

Then he steps aside. “Yeah.”

Kimi exhales and pushes the door open.

The room is dim. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, face blotchy and red, eyes unfocused like you’re somewhere far away. Max squeezes Kimi’s shoulder as he passes him in the doorway.

Kimi doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t announce himself. He just walks over and sits beside you, close enough that your knees brush. He doesn’t crowd you. Doesn’t look at you like you’re broken.

He offers you his hand. That’s it.

You stare at it for a second, then lace your fingers through his and grip tight—like if you let go, something worse might happen. He squeezes back immediately, grounding, steady.

He stays silent. And somehow, that’s what finally lets you breathe.

Later, when Kimi stands in front of cameras, the adrenaline hits all at once. The questions come fast—rookie performance, P3, pressure, expectations.

He answers the first one.

Then the second.

Then someone asks about the weekend overall.

And he forgets himself.

“I mean—today was… mixed,” he says slowly. “Because obviously I’m happy with the result, but—” He hesitates, then continues anyway. “I think people forget how incredible YN is. One thing doesn’t define her. She’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever seen, and she deserves so much respect.”

The interviewer blinks. Kimi keeps going.

“She’s strong. And smart. And she makes everyone around her better. I learn just by watching her.”

He realizes what he’s doing about three sentences too late.

His ears go red. “Sorry—I’m rambling.”

Later that night, curled up in your hotel room, phone warm in your hands, you see the clip on Twitter.

You watch it twice. Then a third time. A warm feeling twisting in your stomach each time.

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f1gossipgirls

1,209,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : kimi worming his way into the verstappen family has been my favorite part of the season so far. he always talks so highly of max and yn and says that they have taught him so much🥹

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username775 : did anyone see him blushing when he was talking about yn in that interview after miami????

liked by f1gossipgirls

↳ username009 : so cute omg

username101 : i feel like kimi has healed something in both of them ❤️

liked by f1gossipgirls

username710 : funny how their own competition can say incredible things about them but their own father drags them in the press...make it make sense.

liked and pinned by f1gossipgirls

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ynverstappen33 (pretend there is a 4 week break in between miami and emilia romagna)

liked by maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli, isackhadjar, kellypiquet and 2,345,000 others.

ynverstappen33 : quick trip w my faves 🌴🍹🐠

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user has disabled comments on this post.

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The break after Miami almost feels necessary. Four weeks with no race schedule, no alarms set around sessions, no radio crackling in your ear. Just heat and salt and space to breathe. Max calls it a reset. You call it survival.

When Max mentions the trip, he does it casually—like it isn’t a big deal.

“Kimi’s coming,” he says one morning, already scrolling through something on his phone. “Invited him.”

You don’t look up. “Okay.”

Your heart does something stupid anyway.

The island is quiet in the way only places far from everything else can be. White sand, water so clear it looks fake, a villa tucked just far enough from the beach that the waves are a constant, gentle soundtrack.

It’s… domestic. In a way you’re not used to.

Penelope runs through the open doors the moment you arrive, already barefoot, already excited. Lily is passed between arms like the most precious cargo on earth. Kelly is radiant in the sun. Victoria claims a room immediately and Sophie moves through the space like a mother on a mission.

Kimi arrives last, a little sunburnt already, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, grin unmistakable when he sees Max.

“Hey kid,” Max says, pulling him into a quick hug.

Kimi laughs, relaxed in a way he rarely is during race weekends. “Thanks for inviting me.”

You catch his eye from across the room. He smiles at you like it’s instinct now.

The beach day happens naturally, like it was always meant to.

You’re sitting in the sand with Penelope, helping her build something that looks nothing like a castle and everything like chaos. Lily is next to you on a blanket, little fists grabbing at the air, fascinated by the light and the sound of the waves.

You’re laughing—actually laughing—when Kimi appears, already barefoot, shorts rolled up.

“Need help?” he asks.

Penelope looks up at him seriously. “She’s bad at this.”

You gasp. “Traitor.”

Kimi drops down into the sand beside you without hesitation. “Okay. I’ll fix it.”

He doesn’t fix it. He just joins in, scooping sand, letting Penelope direct him completely. When Lily fusses, he’s the first to notice, reaching for her gently, instinctively.

“Is it okay?” he asks you softly.

You nod.

He lifts her carefully, like he’s been doing it his whole life, bouncing her slightly until she settles. Lily grips his finger with surprising strength, eyes wide and curious.

Something in your chest tightens.

You watch him like this—kneeling in the sand, Lily against his chest, Penelope climbing over his back, completely unbothered by the mess, the noise, the sun.

He looks… right.

It scares you a little.

Later, as the sun dips lower, you’re on the balcony with Max and Victoria, drinks sweating in your hands. The air is warm, the sky streaked pink and gold.

“You’re quiet,” Victoria says, glancing at you knowingly.

You shrug. “Just tired.”

Max leans against the railing, looking out toward the ocean. “He’s good with them,” he says casually.

You know exactly who he means.

Inside, Kimi is helping Kelly and Sophie. You can hear his voice drifting through the open doors—animated, curious.

“So you raced?” he’s saying, awe clear even from here.

Sophie laughs. “A long time ago.”

“YN always says she gets everything from you,” he replies easily.

Sophie softens at that. “She was always watching. Always listening.”

Kimi hums thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

They talk easily, comfortably. Sophie asks him about his season, about his family. He listens the same way he listens to you—fully, respectfully.

When dinner is ready, it’s laid out on the beach. Lanterns glow softly, the sound of waves filling the spaces between conversation. Lily babbles from Kelly’s lap. Penelope is already half-asleep, curled against Victoria.

Kimi sits beside you without comment. Your knee brushes his. Neither of you move away.

He passes you a plate. You thank him. Your fingers linger just a second too long.

Across the table, Max watches with a quiet smile. Victoria catches his eye and raises her brows, amused.

You don’t notice. You’re too busy watching the way Kimi looks at you when you speak—like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

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several weeks later...

This race feels like momentum. It is undeniable—whatever has been building between you and Kimi has crossed the line from coincidence into something real. Not spoken. Not defined. But present in the way he always finds you without trying, in the way you move toward him instinctively after sessions, in the quiet runs you still take together before race days.

Side by side. Always side by side.

You’ve realized something over the last few weeks, and it terrifies you more than any high-speed corner ever could.

You have feelings for him.

Real ones. The kind you can’t outthink or outdrive or bury under discipline. And you’ve never let yourself have that before—not once. Vulnerability was never safe growing up. Love always felt conditional. Earned. Temporary.

Kimi doesn’t feel like any of that. That’s what scares you.

The race itself is electric. Everything clicks in a way that feels rare and fragile, like the universe decided to be kind for once. Max is untouchable out front. You’re relentless behind him. Kimi drives like he belongs there—calm, sharp, fearless.

When the checkered flag falls, the radio explodes with noise and emotion. P1. P2. P3.

Red Bull. Red Bull. Mercedes—but it feels like family anyway.

On the cool-down lap, Max laughs over the radio. “Not bad, huh?”

You grin so hard your face hurts. “I’ll take it.”

By the time you three make it to the podium, it is chaos. Champagne sprays everywhere. Max pulls you into his side, knocking his head gently against yours. Kimi stands just close enough that your shoulders brush, his laughter unrestrained, eyes bright with disbelief and joy.

When you look at him, he’s already looking at you. Something warm blooms in your chest.

Later, the noise fades. The motorhome is quiet, dimly lit, a cocoon away from the world. You’re sitting beside Kimi on the couch, still buzzing, still riding the high.

Your phone lights up.

Jos.

Your stomach drops instantly.

Kimi notices. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says softly.

You stare at the screen for a second longer. Then you turn it face down.

“I don’t want him to ruin this,” you whisper. “I don’t want him to take another good moment.”

Your voice cracks despite yourself.

The tears surprise you—not loud, not dramatic. Just sudden and overwhelming, like your body finally deciding it’s safe enough to feel.

Kimi moves without thinking.

He pulls you into him, arms solid and warm, holding you like you’re something precious instead of fragile. You curl into his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

When you pull back, he doesn’t let go completely. One hand stays at your waist. The other comes up, gentle, wiping the tears from beneath your eyes with his thumb.

You look at him. Really look. The room feels too quiet. Too small. His breath stutters just slightly, like he’s nervous too. And then—he kisses you. It’s soft. Careful. Like a question more than a statement. You kiss him back without hesitation.

The moment breaks when he pulls away abruptly, panic flashing across his face. “I—wait—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to push—I—”

You stop him, hands still resting against his chest.

“No,” you say quickly. Then softer, more honestly than you’ve ever been with anyone. “I just… I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never… had this.”

He stills completely. Then he smiles—not big, not triumphant. Just warm and steady and sure.

“That’s okay,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulls you back into him, no rush, no expectations. Just holding you while the world stays kind a little longer.

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The Hungarian Grand Prix always feels like a threshold. One last push before the season exhales.

And for the first time in a while, you feel light. You and Kimi are… together. Quietly. Intentionally. No rush, no labels shouted into the void. Just mornings that start with side by side runs and end with his hand finding yours without thinking. Just the way he looks at you when you talk—like he’s memorizing you, not consuming you.

Since Canada, everything has clicked. Your driving is sharper, freer. Podium after podium stacks up beneath your name, each one earned without panic clawing at your throat. The pressure hasn’t disappeared—but it no longer owns you.

Max notices. Of course he does.

He watches you from across garages and debrief rooms, clocks the way you smile easier now, the way your shoulders don’t sit quite so tense. He doesn’t say anything. He never pushes. Max knows you well enough to understand that when you’re ready, you’ll come to him.

Hungary delivers again.

Another clean weekend. Another strong result. When you climb out of the car on Sunday, sweat soaked and glowing, Max pulls you into a hug that’s all pride and familiarity.

“Good job,” he murmurs.

You beam. “Thanks.”

Later that evening, the paddock winding down, Max finds you sitting outside the motorhome, legs tucked beneath you, helmet resting at your side. The sun is low, casting everything in gold.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Kelly and I were thinking—first week of summer break. Somewhere quiet. Kids, beach, no schedules. You should come.”

Your heart stutters just a little.

“I can’t,” you admit.

Max turns to look at you fully now. “Oh?”

“I’ll be in Italy.”

He raises an eyebrow slowly, expression unreadable but knowing. “Italy,” he repeats. Then, dryly, “Does this have anything to do with a certain Italian?”

You feel your face heat instantly. You look down. Then nod. Just a little. There it is.

Max exhales, something between a laugh and a sigh of relief. “Finally.”

You glance up at him, nervous now. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He scoffs. “I was going to be mad if it was anyone else.”

You blink. “What?”

Max smiles, softer now. “He’s good to you. I can see it. And he listens. That matters.”

Your throat tightens. “We’re… together,” you say quietly. “Taking it slow.”

Max nods once. “Good.”

The door opens behind you before either of you can say more.

Kimi steps out, still in team gear, hair damp from a shower, smile already forming when he sees you—until he clocks Max’s expression.

Max turns slowly. Crosses his arms.

“Well,” he says flatly. “There is the boy who is dating my sister.”

Kimi freezes.

“Oh—uh—hi,” he says, instantly panicked. “I mean—hello. Sir. Max.”

You bite your lip, fighting a laugh.

Max lets the silence stretch just long enough to be cruel—then breaks. He pulls Kimi into a sudden hug, squeezing him hard.

“Relax,” Max says. “If anyone was going to date my sister, I’m glad it’s you.”

Kimi laughs, breathless, stunned. “You scared me.”

“Good,” Max replies, smirking. “That’s my job.”

You watch them, heart full in a way that feels almost unreal. Everything fits. And you don’t feel like running from it anymore.

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ynverstappen33

liked by maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli, lando, victoriaverstappen and 2,500,000 others.

ynverstappen33 : italy, i love you 🍝🇮🇹❤️

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Italy feels like a deep breath. Not the dramatic kind—the quiet one that slips out of you when you finally realize you’re safe.

You’ve been here a few days now, tucked into the Antonelli home where mornings are slow and loud in the best way, where windows are always open and someone is always cooking. Kimi fits here so naturally it almost makes your chest ache. And somehow, impossibly, so do you.

You wake to soft light spilling across the room and the sound of birds outside the open window. Kimi is still asleep beside you, hair a mess, face relaxed in a way you rarely see during race weeks. One arm is slung loosely around your waist, like he reached for you in his sleep without thinking.

You don’t move right away. You just watch him breathe. When he stirs, it’s slow. Sleepy. His eyes blink open and soften instantly when they find you.

“Hi,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

He smiles, small and private, and presses his forehead to yours. No rush. No urgency. Just warmth. Just this.

Eventually, you slip out of bed, pulling on one of his shirts before padding downstairs. The kitchen is already alive—sunlight pouring in, the smell of coffee and something sweet in the air.

Veronica is at the stove, humming to herself.

“Buongiorno,” she says brightly when she sees you. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod, smiling. “Very.”

“Good. Come—help me with this?”

You join her without hesitation, slicing fruit, stirring batter, listening as she talks about nothing and everything. It feels domestic in a way you never realized you craved.

At the counter, Maggie is perched on a stool, tongue poking out slightly as she concentrates on a drawing. She looks up when you pass her a napkin.

“It’s you,” she says proudly. “And Kimi. And me.”

You lean closer. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Yes,” she says seriously. “You’re tall.”

You laugh, warmth blooming in your chest.

Later, you and Kimi take Maggie out for the day. She drags you both through her favorite gelato place, insists you try three flavors each, talks nonstop as you walk through the streets. Kimi listens like every word matters. You do too.

She slips her hand into yours at some point, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Back at the house, the afternoon settles into something lazy and golden. You step out onto the balcony when your phone buzzes, already knowing who it is.

Jos.

You answer before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Where have you been?” he snaps immediately. “I’ve been calling.”

“I’ve been busy,” you say carefully.

“With what?”

“I’m in Italy.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “Italy? You’re on break and you’re resting? You should be on the sim. Training. Improving.”

“I’ve been on the podium every race since Canada,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s working.”

“I don’t care,” he cuts in. “That’s not enough. It’s never enough.”

Something in you wilts.

You hang up with shaking hands.

You don’t realize Marco has heard until he steps out onto the balcony, concern etched into his face.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Can I sit?”

You nod, tears threatening.

He doesn’t ask questions. Just sits beside you, close but not crowding.

“You know,” he says after a moment, “when Kimi talks about racing… he talks about you.”

You blink, surprised.

“He says you drive with instinct,” Marco continues. “With heart. That cannot be taught.”

Your throat tightens.

“You are doing more than enough,” he says firmly. “And you deserve to rest. To live.”

He pats your shoulder, warm and grounding. “You are family here.”

Later, you curl up on the couch with Kimi and Maggie, a movie playing softly. Maggie is wedged between you, Kimi’s arm around your shoulders, his thumb tracing absentminded patterns against your sleeve.

You let yourself sink into it. Into them. Into the quiet certainty that for once, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

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f1gossipgirls

1,890,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : photos dont lie👀 after months of speculation, it appears to be confirmed that kimi antonelli and yn verstappen are dating!

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You’re curled up on the couch at Max and Kelly’s place, sunlight spilling through the tall windows, the muted sound of old race replays filling the room. Lily is warm and heavy on your chest, fast asleep, her tiny breaths puffing against your collarbone. One of her hands is fisted into the fabric of your shirt.

Kimi sits beside you, legs stretched out, attention split between the screen and Lily. He’s carefully letting her grip his finger, smiling every time she squeezes like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever felt.

“She’s strong,” he murmurs.

“Like her dad,” you whisper back.

It’s peaceful. Domestic. Safe. Then your phone starts vibrating. Once. Twice. Then nonstop. Your chest tightens before you even look.

You carefully shift Lily so she doesn’t wake, lifting the phone with your free hand. Notifications stack on top of each other—texts, DMs, tags, missed calls.

You open Twitter.

Photos. Blurry at first, then clearer. Italy. Monaco. Your hand in Kimi’s. His arm around your waist. A kiss, caught from too far away to be private.

YN VERSTAPPEN & KIMI ANTONELLI CONFIRMED??

THE PADDOCK’S IT COUPLE?

VERSTAPPEN’S SISTER DATING HER OWN RIVAL?

Your breath leaves you all at once.

“Oh god,” you whisper. “Oh god, oh god—”

Kimi turns instantly, concern flooding his face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“They know,” you say, panic climbing fast. “They know. It’s everywhere.”

He leans in, scanning the screen, jaw tightening—not angry. Focused.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “Look at me.”

You shake your head, tears already stinging. “I can’t. This is bad. This is really bad. He’s going to—”

“Hey,” Max’s voice cuts in from the hallway as he walks out of the room where his sim is, towel slung over his shoulder. “What’s—”

“They found out,” you choke. “About us.”

Max frowns. “And?”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Max. Jos. He’s always said nothing comes before racing. No distractions. Ever. This—this is exactly what he warned me about.”

Max is quiet for a long moment.

Then he shrugs.

“If it becomes a problem,” he says simply, “I’ll deal with it.”

Your eyes fill immediately.

Kimi slides closer, one arm steady around you, grounding. “You’re not alone,” he murmurs. “Not in this.”

The rest of the afternoon drifts by like you’re underwater.

Max and Kimi disappear into the living room, arguing over a game controller, competitive and loud in that familiar way. Laughter bursts through the apartment every so often.

You’re in the kitchen with Kelly and Penelope, flour dusting the counters, cookie dough sticking to your fingers. Penelope is beaming, proudly cutting misshapen shapes while Kelly sneaks chocolate chips when she thinks no one’s looking.

For a moment, you almost forget. Then there’s a knock at the door. Three sharp raps. Your stomach drops.

Max stands. “I’ve got it.”

The door opens.

You hear Jos’s voice immediately—tight, furious. “Where is she?”

Your heart starts racing. You wipe your hands on a towel and step out of the kitchen at exactly the wrong moment.

“There you are,” Jos snaps, eyes locking onto you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Before you can answer, he’s already unloading.

“You’re embarrassing yourself. The team. The family. Dating a competitor? Distracted, unfocused—this is why I warned you. This is why—”

“Stop,” Max says sharply, stepping between you without hesitation.

Jos scoffs. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“She’s my sister,” Max growls. “It concerns me.”

Kimi appears beside you instantly, hand finding yours. You’re shaking now, barely holding it together.

Jos points at you. “You’re throwing everything away for a boy—”

“That’s enough,” Max snaps.

Kimi doesn’t wait. He gently but firmly pulls you away, guiding you down the hallway, into the bedroom. The door closes behind you, muffling the shouting.

The second it does, you break.

Kimi wraps you up immediately, arms strong, steady, shielding you from everything. Your face presses into his chest, sobs tearing out of you like they’ve been waiting for this moment.

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry—”

“Hey,” he says softly, holding you tighter. “None of this is your fault. None.”

You cling to him, fingers digging into his shirt like a lifeline.

The yelling goes on for a long time.

Too long.

When Max finally comes back—fifteen minutes later—his face is pale, jaw clenched, hands shaking slightly.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just crosses the room and pulls you into his arms, hugging you so tightly it almost hurts.

“He won’t be a problem anymore,” Max says quietly, voice rough. “I promise you.”

You nod into his shoulder, exhausted, spent.

Kimi stays close, one hand warm at your back, the other tangled with yours. You let yourself believe that no matter how loud the world gets— you’re protected.

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kimi.antonelli

liked by ynverstappen33, victoriaverstappen, isackhadjar, maxverstappen1 and 3,405,000 others.

kimi.antonelli : my beautiful gf <3333 (yes, she is a better driver than me)

tagged : ynverstappen33

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Abu Dhabi. The city hums with energy, a mix of luxury, heat, and anticipation. The final race of the season always carries extra weight, but this year—it feels like everything is coming full circle. The air is charged, the track glittering under the artificial lights, and somewhere inside, you can feel the culmination of months of hard work, tension, and quiet victories.

The race itself is flawless. Max is untouchable, calm and precise, carving his way to his fifth championship. Every lap, every corner, every overtake seems effortless, like the culmination of a lifetime of dedication. Kimi is strong, sharp, finishing P3, and you—well, you’re right there, driving with focus, with determination, with heart, finishing just behind Max. Your efforts throughout the season have secured you second place in the championship battle, and for the first time, the results feel like more than numbers—they feel like validation.

When the checkered flag waves, the emotion hits all at once. You climb out of the car, helmet under your arm, chest heaving from adrenaline and relief, and your eyes immediately find Kimi. His face is radiant, eyes wide, breathless, a grin breaking across his features. Max approaches you both, laughing, his own exhaustion tempered by triumph.

The podium celebration is chaotic in the best way. Champagne sprays everywhere, laughter and cheers filling the air. You and Kimi can’t stop grinning at each other. He takes your hand, squeezing it once, then leans down, kissing you softly in front of the cameras. The press erupts, flashbulbs exploding, fans online going wild. Everyone is eating it up, but it doesn’t matter. The moment is yours.

Max laughs loudly, clapping both of you on the shoulders.

Kimi’s family is there, smiling proudly—Marco and Veronica beaming, Maggie waving excitedly. Your own support system is close as well: Victoria, Sophie, Kelly, Penelope, all cheering, all sharing in the moment. It’s a rare thing to feel so surrounded by love, by family, by people who see you for who you truly are.

Later, the team hosts a celebration at a club near the paddock. Music pulses through the air, laughter bouncing off the walls. You and Kimi slip in together, shoulders brushing, hands intertwined. The team surrounds you, everyone caught up in the euphoria of the season’s final victory.

You’re sitting at a table, sipping a drink and watching the chaos, when Max suddenly appears. In one fluid motion, he grabs Kimi by the waist and hoists him up. “Dance floor, now!” he announces. Kimi laughs, struggling briefly before Max drags him out, spinning him around. You watch them, laughing, shaking your head. Kimi’s face is flushed, radiant, caught between embarrassment and joy, and Max is gleeful, a giant grin splitting his face.

Sophie leans over, resting her head on your shoulder, eyes soft and full of pride. “He’s good for you,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never seen you this happy, YN. Never.”

You lean into her, heart full, watching Kimi twirl with Max on the dance floor, laughter spilling from him in waves that make you feel like it’s only ever been you two against the world. You squeeze Sophie’s hand, nodding, because it’s true. You’re finally happy. Truly happy.

The night stretches on, filled with music, laughter, and celebration. Champagne flows, congratulations are exchanged, and the lights blur around you. But even in the chaos, you and Kimi find each other’s hands. Even in the crowd, you stay connected. Even in the noise, there’s a quiet certainty: you belong.

Abu Dhabi, the last race, the final champagne toast, the laughter, the dancing—everything comes together. Max has his fifth championship. You’ve earned your place as a rising star. And with Kimi beside you, family around you, love finally allowed to be seen, it feels like the perfect ending.

You lean back against the booth, resting your head on her shoulder, smiling as the world keeps spinning around you. Sophie squeezes your hand once more, whispering, “Enjoy this, lieve. You’ve earned it.”

And you do. You finally do. The season ends. The championship ends. But this—this is yours. And it’s only just beginning.

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