𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 — ka12
kimi antonelli x !fashion designer hamilton reader (smau/written)
when kimi antonelli joined mercedes, the world called him the next great prodigy. when he met you, lewis hamilton’s daughter, he just called you trouble.
what started as quiet talks in the paddock and shared playlists turned into something neither of you meant to fall into. you kept it private — a secret between silver walls and hotel hallways.
but secrets don’t stay hidden forever. especially when your boyfriend starts showing up in head-to-toe designer… and everyone online realizes he’s dressing like you dressed him…which you did.
fc : halima saadiyah a/n : day 16 of chef’s tea party series!
࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆
ynhamilton
liked by lewishamilton, isackhadjar, georgerussell63, charles_leclerc and 2,500,000 others.
ynhamilton : dive into the camera roll <3
tagged : lewishamilton
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view 176,000 other comments.
lewishamilton: Proud of you always. You’ve got that Hamilton energy 😎🖤
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : love you dad
carmenmmundt: you are actually radiant omg 🔥
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : i miss you sm 😭
isackhadjar: ok but who’s the guy in white 👀
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : creative direction, babe.
yourbestfriend : you are so unreal <3
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : says youuuuu
dior : our girl 🖤
liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton
↳ ynhamilton : love you so much
georgerussell63 : miss my personal stylist :(
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : miss my ken doll model :(
susie_wolff : Beautiful girl! Miss you 🤍
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : susie 🥹
sebastianvettel : Mein Liebling 💗 So proud of you!
liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton
↳ ynhamilton : miss you so much uncle seb 🥰 can't wait to see you!
liked by sebastianvettel and lewishamilton
gabrielbortoleto: nah cause who is bro in slide 3 😭😭
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : you rookies r nosey DAMN
kimi.antonelli : 👀
liked by ynhamilton
↳ username005 : ?????
↳ username007 : mystery man could be kimi...
࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆
The Dior studio is bathed in soft afternoon light — golden and warm, pouring through the tall windows that overlook the quiet Paris street below. The city hums faintly outside, but inside, there’s only the sound of fabric slipping under your fingers and the low whir of the sewing machine.
You’ve been here since morning — hair tied up, sleeves rolled, music playing low on the speaker as you lose yourself in your work. The Dior project has consumed every ounce of you lately. You’d been given creative freedom to design a capsule collection inspired by “modern rebellion,” and you’d been living off coffee, adrenaline, and the thrill of creation ever since.
A yellow fabric — bold, radiant, just the right shade to demand attention — sits on the mannequin in front of you. You tug at a seam, adjusting the drape, stepping back to examine your work. It’s coming together beautifully.
You don’t even hear the door open at first. It’s only when the familiar scent of his cologne — clean, a little sharp, unmistakably him — hits you that you look up.
“Kimi?”
He’s standing in the doorway, Mercedes hoodie half-zipped, hair a little messy from travel, and that quiet, boyish smile that always makes your chest flutter.
“Hi,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. “I had a few days off. Thought I’d… stop by.”
You blink, trying not to grin too hard. “In Paris?”
He shrugs, walking closer. “Flight wasn’t long. And I missed you.”
You roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, curving into a full smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, stopping just in front of you, “but it worked.”
You lean into him instinctively when his arms slide around your waist. He kisses the side of your neck, light and fleeting, careful not to smudge the makeup you’ve barely remembered to apply that morning.
“God, you smell amazing,” he teases.
“That’s what hard work smells like,” you shoot back, laughing quietly. “What are you doing here, really?”
He pulls back enough to look at you properly. “I wanted to see you before Brazil. And I wanted to see what you’ve been working on.” His gaze drifts to the rack of half-finished pieces and sketches pinned to the wall. “It’s insane in here. In a good way.”
You smile, a little proud. “Actually… I made something for you.”
That gets his attention instantly — his eyes light up. “For me?”
“Mmhm.” You walk to the rack, rifling through hangers until you find it — a crisp white two-piece set you’ve been working on for weeks. Soft tailored trousers, slightly oversized shirt, clean lines, structured shoulders. Minimal, elegant — very him.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d like it,” you admit, handing it to him, “but I thought — if you’re going to be the face of Mercedes’ next generation, you might as well dress like it.”
He grins. “You designed this?”
You nod. “From scratch.”
He doesn’t hesitate — just disappears into the adjoining room to change. When he walks back out, it’s over for you. The fit is perfect. The all-white contrasts against his darker hair, and the fabric moves effortlessly with him as he walks.
You stare for a second too long before finding your voice again. “Okay, wow. Yeah. You’re keeping that.”
He chuckles softly. “You sure? I don’t want to get it dirty.”
“I’ll make another,” you say, pretending to sound casual, but he catches the warmth in your tone.
“Feels like it was made for me,” he says, tugging lightly at the cuff.
“It was,” you reply simply.
He smiles — that shy, small, real smile he saves just for you. “Then I love it.”
You’re still smiling when your phone buzzes on the worktable. You glance over — Dad 💜 — and your stomach flips.
“Shit,” you whisper, fumbling to pick it up. “Act normal.”
Kimi snorts. “What’s normal?”
You glare at him as you swipe to answer. “Hi, Dad!”
Lewis’ voice comes through immediately, warm and bright. “Hey, sweetheart! You’re in the studio, yeah? Just checking in on you.”
You turn the camera slightly so it shows your workspace — not Kimi standing a few feet away pretending to study a mannequin. “Yeah! Just finishing some sketches and samples.”
Lewis grins at the screen. “Look at you, all focused. Dior treating you well?”
“Always,” you say, smiling wide. You can feel Kimi behind the camera now — doing something stupid, probably trying to make you laugh — and it’s working because your grin just keeps growing.
Lewis narrows his eyes slightly. “What’s got you smiling like that?”
Your breath catches. “What? Nothing! I’m just… happy. It’s been a good day.”
Behind you, Kimi mimics your tone under his breath, lips quirking up, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
Lewis raises an eyebrow but lets it go with a faint chuckle. “Alright, alright. Just making sure you’re not overworking yourself. I know how you get when you’re in the zone.”
“I promise I’m fine,” you say softly. “And I’m really proud of this one, Dad. I think you’ll like it.”
“I always do,” he says, smiling. “You’re brilliant, kid. Keep shining, yeah?”
“Always,” you reply.
You hang up, exhale slowly, then turn to Kimi, who’s trying very hard not to laugh.
“You almost got me killed,” you say, throwing a stray fabric swatch at him.
He catches it easily, smirking. “Worth it.”
You cross your arms. “You think everything’s worth it.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice just a little. “Not everything. Just you.”
You melt again — Dior project forgotten for the moment as he leans in, his forehead brushing yours, his voice soft against the hum of the city outside.
࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆
The city is soft tonight — the kind of Paris evening that feels half like a dream, half like a secret. Below, the lights flicker against the Seine, and every so often, you can hear a car hum by, its sound echoing faintly through the open window of your penthouse suite.
You’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in a loose cream cardigan and tucked under Kimi’s arm. The penthouse is all soft neutrals, glass, and muted golds, but somehow, with him here — socks mismatched, hair still damp from his shower — it feels like home.
The two of you have been doing absolutely nothing for the past hour. Just being. Watching the city. Talking about everything and nothing.
Kimi’s voice is quiet, his accent wrapping around every word like a whisper. “You know… this place doesn’t feel real.”
You glance up at him, chin resting against his shoulder. “It’s not,” you say softly. “Dior’s paying for this whole setup. I feel like I’m in some kind of movie.”
He hums. “A good one, I hope.”
“The best,” you reply, smiling faintly. “You being here makes it better.”
He turns to look at you, that small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. “You always say stuff like that and expect me to be normal after.”
You laugh quietly, pressing your face into his chest. His hand rubs lazy circles on your arm, and for a moment, everything is still — the chaos of F1, the fashion world, the secrecy — it all fades.
Then Kimi says, “By the way, I got us dinner reservations.”
You tilt your head up. “Dinner?”
He nods, that boyish glint in his eyes again. “Your favorite place. Le Meurice. 8:30.”
Your mouth falls open. “Kimi! That place books out weeks in advance!”
He looks smug. “I asked Toto for help.”
You blink, torn between horror and amusement. “You what?”
He shrugs. “He owed me a favor. He didn’t ask questions.”
You laugh, shaking your head, but your heart swells a little. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m romantic,” he corrects. “And you deserve it.”
Later, your penthouse is a flurry of controlled chaos — jewelry boxes open, a curling iron plugged in, Kimi’s cologne hanging in the air.
You’re in front of the mirror, slipping into a sleek black satin dress that catches the light every time you move. Kimi’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed — white shirt, tailored jacket, the same one you helped design for him weeks ago.
“You’re staring,” you say, catching his reflection in the mirror.
“I can’t help it,” he admits easily. “You look…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “Beautiful doesn’t even cover it.”
You feel heat rise in your cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” you tease, walking over to fix the collar of his jacket. “There. Perfect.”
He catches your wrist gently before you pull away. “You nervous?”
You hesitate. “A little. Feels like we’re walking around with a neon sign that says Hamilton’s daughter and Mercedes’ golden boy — together.”
He laughs under his breath. “Then we just don’t get caught.”
You roll your eyes. “Easy for you to say.”
But still, when he offers his hand as you leave, you take it — fingers brushing, not quite lacing together as you walk through the marble lobby and into the crisp Paris night.
Dinner is perfect.
Le Meurice is candlelit and warm, the scent of truffle and butter in the air. You sit across from Kimi, your heels brushing against his shoes beneath the table as you sip champagne. He keeps making you laugh quietly — about Toto’s confused expression when he asked for the reservation, about how George tried to give him “fashion advice” in the drivers’ room.
For a while, it feels easy. Simple. Until it’s not.
You see them out of the corner of your eye first — a familiar silhouette, tall and graceful, with that walk you could recognize anywhere. Lewis. And beside him — Nicole.
Your stomach drops.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, sitting up straighter.
Kimi looks up immediately. “What?”
You tilt your head slightly, voice barely above a breath. “My dad. He’s here. With my mom.”
Kimi’s fork pauses mid-air. “What do we do?”
“Panic quietly,” you hiss. Then, trying to think quickly, you add, “Okay, okay. Go to the bathroom. Now.”
“What?”
“Kimi, go. Before they see you!”
He blinks at you, confused but obedient. “Okay, okay.” He pushes his chair back, trying not to draw attention as he disappears toward the back of the restaurant.
You exhale slowly, turning your attention to your water glass, pretending to scroll through your phone.
But fate, of course, has no mercy.
“Sweetheart?”
You freeze before slowly looking up. “Dad! Hi!”
Lewis smiles wide, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, his silver jewelry glinting under the restaurant lights. Nicole waves cheerfully beside him.
“I didn’t know you were in Paris!” you say quickly, your heart hammering.
He grins. “Surprise! I wanted to check on you — maybe we could fly to Brazil together for the next race. And Nicole’s here doing some fashion week stuff, so I thought, why not?”
“That’s… great!” you manage, forcing a smile.
Lewis glances at the table, eyes flicking toward the spot across from you — empty wine glass, half-folded napkin. “You here alone?”
Your pulse jumps. “Um — no, I mean, yes — sort of. I’m with someone from the Dior team. We were talking about fabrics and, uh, collaboration stuff.”
Lewis raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but doesn’t push. “Mhm.” He smiles again, softer now. “Alright. Just make sure you’re not working too hard, yeah? You look tired.”
“Thanks, Dad,” you say, laughing nervously.
He kisses your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Love you.”
“Love you too,” you whisper as he and Nicole head toward the door, waving goodbye.
You wait until they’re out of sight before you slump back in your chair, exhaling the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
A moment later, Kimi returns, eyebrows raised. “Is it safe?”
You nod, still wide-eyed. “Barely. I told him I was here with someone from Dior. He so didn’t buy it.”
Kimi chuckles, sitting back down. “He didn’t see me?”
“No, thank God. But if he had—”
“—we’d be on the front page of every F1 gossip page by morning?” he finishes for you.
You nod gravely. “Exactly.”
He laughs again, reaching across the table to steal your dessert fork. “Then we’ll eat this and pretend it didn’t happen.”
You watch him take a bite of the chocolate soufflé, a smudge of powdered sugar dusting the corner of his lip. You can’t help but laugh, finally relaxing again.
“You have sugar on your mouth,” you say, leaning over to wipe it off with your thumb.
He catches your hand gently, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You worry too much,” he murmurs.
“And you don’t worry enough,” you counter.
“Maybe that’s why we work,” he says simply.
You look at him for a moment, the soft glow of candlelight reflected in his eyes — calm, steady, adoring. Despite everything — the secrecy, the chaos, the near-misses — it still feels like something solid. Something real.
You smile faintly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Maybe that’s exactly why.”
࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆
You wake up to sunlight slicing through the sheer curtains, cutting soft stripes across the duvet. For a moment, it’s quiet — the city hums faintly below, and Kimi’s arm is draped lazily over your waist, his breathing slow and even. Then the panic hits.
You sit up so fast the blanket slips off your shoulders. “Shit,” you whisper, glancing at the clock. It’s 8:17 a.m. Your dad’s jet leaves at ten.
Kimi stirs, groaning softly. “What?”
You’re already halfway across the room, grabbing your open suitcase. “My dad. The jet. We’re leaving for Brazil in like—” you glance at your phone “—ninety minutes, and I still haven’t packed.”
He blinks, hair a mess, voice rough from sleep. “You could’ve told me last night.”
“I was too busy having a minor breakdown about almost getting caught!” you hiss, throwing clothes into the suitcase without folding.
Kimi sits up, rubbing his eyes. “What are you gonna tell him about me?”
“I don’t know yet!” you admit, pacing. “He’s gonna be suspicious no matter what. God, I can’t just leave you here though, can I?”
Kimi raises an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting I fly on the jet. With him.”
“I’m suggesting,” you say, pointing at him, “that you act like you’ve never met me outside of the paddock and that this is just a totally normal, totally platonic trip.”
He grins. “You think I can pull that off?”
“No,” you say honestly, “but we have to try.”
Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in the middle of the penthouse, phone pressed to your ear as you zip your suitcase shut.
“Hey, Dad,” you say, trying to sound casual.
Lewis’ voice crackles through. “Morning, baby girl. You up?”
“Yeah! Almost ready to go,” you say quickly. “Um — can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Would it be okay if I brought a friend on the jet? They’re heading to São Paulo too, and it’d just be easier than booking another flight.”
There’s a brief pause on the other end. Then, in true Lewis fashion, “Of course, love. The more the merrier. Who is it?”
Your brain scrambles for a vague half-truth. “Uh — Kimi.”
“Kimi Antonelli?”
“Yeah,” you say, praying he doesn’t ask why. “He was visiting a friend in Paris, and I figured he shouldn’t have to fly alone. Plus, it’s kind of on the way.”
Lewis chuckles. “That’s thoughtful of you. I’ll have the crew add his name.”
You exhale quietly. “Thanks, Dad.”
You exhale quietly. “Thanks,”
“Always, darling. See you soon.”
The ride to Le Bourget is a blur — the city flashing by, your mind a jumble of “what ifs” and “please don’t let him figure it out.” Kimi sits beside you in the backseat, dressed in his usual understated style: hoodie, black joggers, a Dior cap (which, yes, you designed), and that calm expression that hides how nervous he really is.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
He nods, though his fingers tap against his knee. “It’s just weird. Flying with him.”
You smile faintly. “He likes you. He just… can’t ever find out why.”
When you arrive, the silver jet gleams on the runway, sleek and elegant — like everything your father touches. The stairs are already down, and Lewis is at the top, sunglasses on, phone in hand, that easy smile spreading as soon as he spots you.
“Hey, sweetheart!” he calls.
“Hi, Dad!” You wave, climbing up — and then step aside to let Kimi follow.
Lewis blinks in surprise when he sees him. “Kimi! Didn’t expect you to be seeing you.”
Kimi gives a polite, slightly awkward smile. “Hi, Mr. Hamilton. Hope that’s okay.”
Lewis grins, clapping him on the shoulder. “Of course it is, man. Always good company on a long flight. Come on in.”
You exchange a quick glance with Kimi — relief flickering between you both — before settling into the plush cream seats.
Once you’re airborne, things ease up. The tension melts into quiet laughter and casual conversation as the jet hums through the clouds.
Lewis stretches out across from you, hoodie on, hair tied back, scrolling through his phone while the flight attendant brings a tray of his favorite vegan snacks — kale chips, hummus, fruit, and something that vaguely looks like brownies but smells suspiciously like lentils.
He looks up with a grin. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
Kimi eyes the tray skeptically but takes a chip anyway. “This is… actually good,” he admits after a beat.
Lewis looks smug. “Told you. You young guys always think vegan means boring.”
You laugh softly. “I think he’s officially converted, Dad.”
They end up talking about racing for a while — setups, travel schedules, training. You watch from your seat, quietly proud. Kimi’s calm, respectful, even charming. Lewis clearly likes him — which somehow makes this both better and much worse.
After a while, you dig out a deck of cards from your tote bag. “Okay, since we’re trapped in the sky for ten hours, I propose a distraction.”
Lewis grins. “Cards? You know what happens when I play games.”
“You cheat,” you shoot back.
He feigns offense. “I strategize.”
Kimi laughs quietly. “That’s what all cheaters say.”
“Excuse me?” Lewis raises an eyebrow, amused. “You talking smack already, rookie?”
Kimi shrugs, the hint of a grin playing at his lips. “Just facts.”
And that’s how you end up playing Uno at 30,000 feet — your dad, the seven-time world champion, pretending to be calm while Kimi absolutely destroys him with back-to-back +4 cards.
Lewis groans. “I swear this game is rigged.”
“You said that last time,” you say through laughter.
“That’s because it was!”
Kimi tries (and fails) to hide his smirk, and you reach over under the table to nudge his knee gently. He glances at you — that small, secret smile you both know so well.
By the time dessert arrives — fresh fruit and dark chocolate — Lewis is half-asleep, reclining in his seat with a blanket thrown over him and his headphones on. The hum of the jet fills the quiet.
You and Kimi exchange a look, shoulders brushing as you sit close.
“See?” you whisper. “Not so bad.”
He exhales softly, smiling. “I almost had a heart attack when he saw me.”
You laugh under your breath. “You were perfect. He didn’t suspect a thing.”
Kimi leans his head back, eyes half-closed. “Maybe I’m getting good at this secret relationship thing.”
You grin. “Oh, you think?”
He turns his head toward you, voice low and teasing. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”
You nudge him again, but the smile that breaks across your face is impossible to hide. Outside, the clouds stretch endlessly, the horizon painted gold and pink.
You lean your head on his shoulder, letting the rhythm of the engines lull you both. Between the laughter, the adrenaline, and the thrill of nearly getting caught, it hits you again — this weird, wonderful, dangerous love that somehow still feels like the safest place in the world.
࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆
ynhamilton
liked by lewishamilton, sebastianvettel, isackhadjar, alexandrasaintmleux and 3,405,000 others.
ynhamilton : greetings from sao paulo 💛💚💙⭐
tagged : sebastianvettel and lewishamilton
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lewishamilton : My beautiful girl🌟
liked by ynhamilton
alexandrasaintmleux : you are so stunning🤩
liked by ynhamilton
sebastianvettel : So happy to see my beautiful goddaughter! 💛💚💙
liked by ynhamilton
isackhadjar : mystery man is also coincidentally among us...
liked by ynhamilton
↳ ynhamilton : IMPOSTER
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kimi.antonelli : ⭐⭐
liked by ynhamilton
࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆
f1gossipgirls
liked by isackhadjar, olliebearman and 45,000 others.
f1gossipgirls : Mercedes rookie Kimi Antonelli spotted arriving in São Paulo today in full custom Dior — fans are noticing the 19-year-old’s style evolution since joining the team. From paddock casuals to full designer fits, it seems someone’s been giving him a very fashionable upgrade 👀🖤.
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view 1,670 other comments.
username007 : custom. dior. at. 19.?? oh he’s not playing around anymore 😭
username60 : he definitely got a stylist orrrr… a certain designer friend maybe 👀
liked by isackhadjar and olliebearman
username78 : funny how this glow up started right around the same time YN Hamilton started working with Dior 😌 coincidence??
username100 : he looks so confident lately and i love it 🥹🖤
username146 : imagine if YN is styling him??? that would be the crossover of the year 😭😭
↳ username50 : imagine she is dating and styling him😭
࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆
It’s the softest morning in Brazil — sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains of your penthouse suite, warm and golden, the city humming below like a heartbeat. Kimi’s sitting on the edge of your bed, hair still damp from his shower, eyes sleepy and content while you move around the room with a purpose only you have when it comes to fashion.
Bolts of fabric, garment bags, and open sketchbooks fill the space — your creative chaos — and Kimi’s been caught right in the middle of it.
He’s in loose sweatpants and a white tank top, watching you pull a freshly steamed outfit off a rack. “Is that… for me?” he asks, eyes flicking between the clothes and your focused expression.
You smile without looking up. “Mm-hmm. Custom. Handmade by yours truly,” you hum, smoothing the front of the jacket. It’s a cream tailored set with soft blue detailing — minimalistic, clean, but effortlessly elegant. “You’re wearing it for quali today.”
Kimi blinks, a little wide-eyed. “You made this?”
You nod proudly, setting it against his shoulders to check the fit. “Of course. You have to look like the next Mercedes star, don’t you?”
His cheeks flush the faintest pink. “I’d rather look like your favorite project.”
You freeze for a second, your heart doing that dizzying thing it always does around him. “You already are,” you say softly, and he smiles like you’ve given him the world.
He changes into the outfit while you finish your hair in the mirror. When he steps out of the bathroom, you pause mid-motion — he looks insane. The tailored Dior fits him perfectly, sharp yet soft, every detail reflecting your touch.
Kimi catches your stare, pretending to brush imaginary dust off his lapel. “You’re staring.”
“I designed you,” you tease, walking over to fix his collar. “Of course I’m staring.”
He leans down slightly, his voice low. “Then keep staring, yeah?”
You laugh, pushing him away before you melt right there. “You have to head to the track before me. Go make Lewis proud.”
He grins, slipping on his sunglasses and kissing your forehead. “And you. Always you.”
A few hours later, the paddock in São Paulo is alive — humidity clinging to the air, fans shouting, engines roaring in the background. Kimi walks through the paddock gates like he’s stepped off a magazine cover, and the cameras eat it up.
Later in the paddock, Lewis spots him.
“Hey, Kimi! You’re really stepping up the fits lately,” Lewis says, grinning as he pats his shoulder. “Is that custom?”
Kimi feels his ears go pink but nods. “Yeah. Custom.”
Lewis smirks, clearly impressed. “Well, whoever’s making those for you has a serious eye. You look good, man.”
Kimi just hums shyly, trying to act casual while you, who just arrived separately, walked into the paddock across the way in your own perfectly tailored cream two-piece. Your eyes meet for half a second — just long enough to make both of you smile.
Unfortunately, that tiny slip doesn’t go unnoticed.
After quali briefing, Kimi’s heading out of hospitality when he hears Isack Hadjar’s voice.
“Antonelli,” Isack calls out, strolling over with Gabriel Bortoleto and Ollie Bearman trailing behind. “Who’s that you were walking out with just now? Looked a lot like YN Hamilton.”
Kimi freezes for a beat too long.
Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, don’t tell us Mercedes PR is pairing you two for photoshoots now too?”
Kimi just shrugs, trying to keep a straight face. “She’s… a friend.”
Isack smirks. “A friend who happens to make you custom Dior suits?”
“Shut up,” Kimi mutters, but there’s no venom. He’s smiling, just a little.
Ollie groans dramatically. “You’re so bad at lying, mate. Like, impressively bad.”
Kimi laughs, brushing past them toward the garage. “Go away. You guys have too much time on your hands.”
You’re in the viewing area with Sebastian Vettel — your godfather, your second-favorite person after your dad — who’s happily munching on a piece of vegan banana bread as you both watch the timing screens.
Kimi crosses the line, improving his lap time, and you light up.
“Come on, Kimi!” you whisper under your breath, hands clasped together like you’re praying.
Seb catches it, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You seem… particularly invested in this one,” he says, tone teasing but kind.
You glance at him, cheeks warm. “He’s a good driver. I just want him to do well.”
“Mhm.” Sebastian smiles knowingly but doesn’t press. “He’s lucky to have someone in his corner.”
Kimi ends up qualifying P4 and you’re beaming, practically bouncing in your seat while the team celebrates below.
Later that evening, the paddock is quieting down, journalists long gone, the sky painted in pink and orange hues. You find a quiet corner behind the garages, away from the noise, where Kimi’s waiting for you.
He doesn’t say anything — just steps forward and pulls you into his arms.
“You were amazing today,” you whisper against his chest.
“So were you,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw before he kisses you softly. It’s sweet and slow and familiar — your favorite kind.
Except… you don’t notice the figure walking past until it’s too late.
Sebastian freezes mid-step, eyes widening slightly as he spots the two of you. You practically leap back, face flaming. “Oh my god—Seb! I—”
He raises his hands quickly, smiling gently. “Relax, liebe. I didn’t see anything.”
“Seb—”
“I said I didn’t see anything,” he repeats, amusement tugging at his lips. “Though… I will say he’s got good taste.”
You groan, covering your face as Kimi chuckles quietly beside you.
Seb pats your shoulder, still grinning. “Your father would not be ready for this conversation yet. Let’s… keep this between us, hmm?”
You nod quickly, heart pounding. “Thank you.”
He just winks. “Don’t thank me yet. You owe me a coffee tomorrow morning. I like mine with oat milk.”
And with that, he walks off, humming, leaving you and Kimi staring at each other in disbelief before breaking into matching laughter.
Kimi presses a kiss to your forehead again. “Well,” he says softly, “at least if someone had to find out, I’m glad it was him.”
You laugh, leaning into him as the lights of São Paulo twinkle in the distance. “Me too.”
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It’s race day in São Paulo — one of those Brazilian mornings that feels alive, sunlight streaming through misty air, samba beats echoing faintly from somewhere outside the paddock gates. You wake up to the smell of espresso and Kimi humming quietly, already dressed in one of the custom fits you made for him — cream trousers, a pale blue shirt, and the matching jacket with subtle embroidery only someone who paid attention would notice.
“Turn around,” you say, rubbing your eyes and standing on your toes to straighten his collar.
He obeys immediately, smiling softly. “You don’t have to keep fixing me every morning.”
“Yes, I do,” you murmur, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. “You’re my walking portfolio.”
Kimi laughs, low and sweet. “I thought I was your boyfriend.”
“You’re both,” you reply, pretending to adjust a button just to stall the inevitable — the part where he has to leave first, separately, like you’re strangers. He kisses your forehead before heading to the paddock, and when the door shuts behind him, you sigh, heart already skipping ahead to the afternoon.
By the time you arrive at the track — separately, of course — the atmosphere is electric. Fans wave flags, chanting, cameras flashing from every direction. You slip into the Ferrari suite quietly, a sleek pair of black sunglasses hiding your face, and head straight for your favorite seat.
Lewis is already there, deep in conversation with Charles, his posture relaxed but commanding as always. He spots you, instantly grinning. “There’s my girl!”
“Hey, Dad,” you smile, hugging him tight. The familiarity still warms you; it doesn’t matter how many countries or years go by — he’s always home.
“You excited for the race?” he asks, taking a sip of his coconut water.
“Of course,” you reply, trying to sound casual even though your heart’s already pounding for entirely different reasons.
Later on, Sebastian drops into the seat beside you, wearing a bucket hat and that faint smirk that means he knows everything.
“Morning, Lieblingsmädchen,” he greets. “Nervous?”
“Just excited,” you say quickly.
“Mhm,” he hums, clearly unconvinced.
When the lights go out, you forget everything else. You’re on your feet half the time, hands clasped, voice hoarse from cheering. Every overtake Kimi makes has you biting your lip, bouncing slightly in your seat. Sebastian keeps glancing at you, amused, but doesn’t say a word.
And when Kimi crosses the line in third, your whole body lights up — your smile blinding, your heart pounding like you’ve just won the championship yourself.
“YES!” you practically shout, throwing your arms up. “LET’S GO, KIMI!”
Fred turns toward you, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. “Someone’s a big Kimi fan, huh?”
You freeze for half a second but recover with a laugh. “He’s the rookie underdog! Everyone’s rooting for him!”
Fred chuckles. “Fair. He did really well. You should tell him yourself later.”
Seb hides a smirk behind his hand.
After the podium, you sneak down to the hospitality area. The paddock is buzzing — flashes everywhere, champagne on Kimi’s hair, that boyish grin on his face as he poses with his trophy.
When he catches sight of you across the crowd, his whole face softens — just for a second — before he looks away quickly.
You find him later, tucked away behind one of the Mercedes motorhomes, still in his race suit, holding his jacket. “You were incredible,” you whisper, grinning up at him.
He smiles, tired but happy. “All for you.”
“I feel so special,” you reply, and he leans down to kiss you, quick and quiet, the world still buzzing somewhere out of sight.
He pulls back, setting the jacket over your shoulders as he gets called away for media. “Keep that for me?”
You nod, heart full. “Always.”
Hours later, you’re back upstairs in hospitality with Lewis, waiting for the team to finish debriefs before heading to the airport. He’s laughing about something Fred said when he notices a jacket draped over the back of your chair.
“Whose is that?” he asks, curious.
You glance at it too quickly. “Oh, just—someone from the team left it here, I think.”
Lewis picks it up, running his fingers over the embroidery. “Dior, huh? Custom-made. That’s clean work.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, hoping he’ll drop it.
He flips the inner tag to check the lining — something he always does, because he loves quality stitching — and there, delicately sewn in gold thread, are the words:
Made for K.A. — YN Hamilton Atelier.
You feel your stomach drop.
Lewis pauses, eyebrows rising. “YN Hamilton Atelier?”
You laugh nervously. “Oh! I… prototype. Just practicing embroidery, you know?”
Lewis tilts his head, amused but sharp. “Practicing… on the rookie’s jacket?”
You freeze again. He studies you for a long moment, then smiles — that mischievous, too-smart smile that means he’s not going to press it. Not yet.
“Alright,” he says lightly, tossing the jacket back onto the chair. “You know, if you are designing for Kimi, you should tell the team. He’s never looked better.”
“Thanks, Dad,” you manage, your heart racing so fast you can barely breathe.
As he turns back toward the window, chatting casually about dinner plans, you glance across the paddock — and there’s Kimi, waving briefly as he heads toward the garage.
You can’t help it. You smile.
And somewhere behind his sunglasses, Lewis Hamilton hides his own little grin, muttering under his breath, “K.A., huh? …We’ll talk about that later.”
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several weeks later…
f1gossipgirls
670,000 likes.
f1gossipgirls : F1 meets fashion! Half the grid arrived in Paris tonight for YN Hamilton’s Dior collection unveiling — the 20-year-old designer debuted her first solo capsule collection, and the guest list was nothing short of iconic.
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It’s the morning of your biggest day yet — the debut of your Dior collection in Paris — and your nerves feel like champagne bubbles under your skin. The whole city hums outside your penthouse windows, but inside, you’re pacing around barefoot in one of your robes, phone clutched in your hand, running through your mental checklist for the millionth time.
Swatches, check. Model lineup, check. Final adjustments, check. Breathing? …not so much.
Kimi’s sitting on the couch, still in sweats, watching you with a fond little smile. “You’ve walked around the room like twelve times,” he says gently.
You stop, blinking. “Have I?”
He nods. “And you’ve said ‘I’m fine’ fourteen times.”
You shoot him a look, trying not to smile. “Well, maybe I’m trying to convince myself.”
Kimi laughs softly and stands, crossing the room to pull you into his chest. His hands find your waist, grounding you instantly. “You’ve been working on this for months, amore. You’ve checked every stitch twice.”
“I know, but—”
He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “No buts. You’re ready. Dior is lucky to have you.”
Your heart melts at the sincerity in his voice. You let yourself relax against him, breathing in the scent of his cologne and calm steadiness. “You’re too good to me.”
“I just tell the truth,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead.
Hours later, backstage at the venue, the chaos has begun. Stylists and models bustle everywhere — racks of clothing, trays of jewelry, the hum of hairdryers, and the rhythmic click of heels on marble floors. You’re in the middle of it all, headset on, clipboard in hand, somehow managing to give instructions, fix a loose hem, and check lighting notes all at once.
Every time you start to spiral, though, you feel a familiar presence — Kimi, leaning casually against a rack of garments in his all-black Dior sweats, hands in pockets, calm as ever. He’s already had his fitting — you’d asked him to walk weeks ago, but it’s been kept completely secret from everyone but your inner team.
You glance up at him between tasks and smile. “You look way too relaxed for someone about to walk a runway.”
He shrugs, that small, boyish grin tugging at his lips. “I’m not the one unveiling a whole collection to the world.”
You point your pen at him. “Don’t remind me.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Then remember this instead — whatever happens out there, I’m proud of you.”
The words stick in your chest like sunlight.
Minutes before the show, a small commotion ripples through backstage as two familiar faces step in — your mum, Nicole, looking radiant in a sleek black Dior gown, and your dad, Lewis, in a tailored grey suit and his signature soft smile.
“Baby girl,” Lewis says, arms open. “You ready?”
You nod, trying to keep your voice from shaking as you hug him tight. “I think so.”
Nicole joins in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve worked for this your whole life, sweetheart. Just breathe. And enjoy it.”
Lewis squeezes your shoulders. “We’ll be out there cheering louder than anyone. You’ve got this.”
You grin through misty eyes. “Thank you both. For… everything.”
Lewis tilts his head, beaming. “We’re so proud of you, YN. No matter what.”
When they step out to find their seats in the front row — alongside half the grid, it seems — you finally find yourself alone with your team and your models. Your stomach flutters. The Dior show director gives you a small nod. “You’ll speak first?”
You nod, microphone trembling slightly in your hand. As the lights dim and the audience quiets, you step into the spotlight.
“Bonsoir,” you begin, your voice steady despite the adrenaline. “Thank you all for being here tonight. This collection represents everything I’ve learned so far — about growth, about courage, and about creating something that feels true.” You pause, taking a breath. “Fashion, for me, has always been about storytelling. Tonight, I hope you see a little piece of mine.”
The applause is warm, genuine — you even spot Lewis smiling proudly from the crowd, next to Nicole, George and Carmen, Charles and Alexandra, Seb, and so many familiar faces.
Then the music swells. The first model walks.
And the show begins.
It’s perfect. Every piece flows into the next like a melody — soft tailoring, structured details, the blend of power and delicacy that defines your touch. The crowd watches in awe as light glimmers across metallic silks and embroidered mesh.
But then — a collective ripple of surprise moves through the room.
Kimi steps out.
No one saw it coming. He’s in the final menswear look — an immaculate dove-grey suit with sharp lapels and intricate blue threadwork, just subtle enough to look effortless, just bold enough to command the room. The lighting hits him perfectly, his expression calm and confident as he strides down the runway like he’s done it all his life.
The crowd erupts. You hear murmurs of his name, cameras flashing wildly, even Lewis leaning forward slightly with a grin of disbelief.
When the show ends, the applause is deafening. You step out for your designer’s walk, heart pounding, and bow with your team — and then suddenly Kimi’s there beside you, taking your hand briefly as the crowd rises for a standing ovation.
Backstage after, everything is a blur of hugs, laughter, champagne, and flash photography. Designers and editors flood the space, congratulating you; Lewis and Nicole are first through the crowd.
Lewis hugs you so tightly you can barely breathe. “You killed it, baby girl! That was unbelievable.”
Nicole beams. “The craftsmanship, the detail — it was stunning, YN.”
Charles and Alexandra join in, Alexandra gushing over your color palettes; George and Carmen are taking photos for their story; even Seb appears in his eco-friendly suit, giving you a quiet high-five.
And then, finally, Kimi appears again — hair slightly tousled from the show, the top button of his shirt undone, his eyes only on you.
Without thinking, you run into his arms. He lifts you slightly, spinning you once in that quiet corner away from the crowd.
“You did it,” he murmurs, still holding you.
“We did it,” you correct softly, smiling up at him.
The two of you stay there a moment longer — hidden but glowing — before the chaos of congratulations swirls around you again.
When you finally glance across the room, you catch Lewis watching the two of you from afar, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. He doesn’t say a word. Not yet. But the twinkle in his eyes says it all: he’s figured it out.
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You were still buzzing from the adrenaline of the show — the music, the lights, the applause. Everyone was hugging you, congratulating you, snapping pictures of you and the models. Your phone wouldn’t stop vibrating, and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
Kimi had disappeared for a bit after the runway ended, but when he reappeared in his fitted Dior suit, hair a little messy and smile tugging at his lips, your whole world softened. He reached for you before saying a word — arms sliding around your waist, holding you tight.
“You did amazing,” he murmured against your hair. “So proud of you.”
You pulled back just enough to grin up at him, eyes still sparkling. “You too, runway star.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Never doing that again,” he teased, though you could tell he secretly enjoyed it — the way everyone gasped when they realized he was walking, the quiet thrill of being part of your world for once.
You were still standing there, wrapped up in each other’s little moment, when Lewis’ voice cut through the hum of conversation.
“Well, well, well.”
You both froze.
He was leaning against the backstage door frame, a knowing smirk spreading across his face, arms folded like a man who’d just caught his kids sneaking cookies before dinner. Nicole was beside him, hiding a laugh behind her hand.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Lewis said, taking a few steps closer. “Go on. Hug it out. Whisper some sweet nothings. Pretend I’m not here.”
You immediately groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, Dad—”
Kimi looked like he’d rather evaporate into thin air, cheeks redder than your Dior lipstick. “Mr. Hamilton—”
“Oh, don’t you ‘Mr. Hamilton’ me,” Lewis interrupted, laughing. “I knew something was going on. You two have been acting like you’re in a rom-com for weeks. The glances? The smiles? The fact that you were both conveniently in Paris at the same time?” He shook his head, clearly amused. “You’re not slick, sunshine.”
Nicole smirked. “He’s been waiting to say that all night.”
You let out a nervous laugh, sneaking a look at Kimi. “So… you’re not mad?”
Lewis rolled his eyes affectionately. “Mad? Nah. You’re grown, baby girl. You make your own choices. And if it’s this guy…” He turned to Kimi, giving him the once-over. “Then he better keep treating you right.”
Kimi straightened up immediately, hands behind his back like he was facing a royal inspection. “Of course. Always.”
Lewis grinned, clearly satisfied with the answer. Then he slung an arm around both of your shoulders, pulling you into a group hug. “Alright, alright. You’ve officially been outed. Now let’s get some champagne — my daughter just killed it at Dior, and apparently she’s also dating a runway model.”
You and Kimi both groaned, laughing into each other’s shoulders as Lewis led the way toward the afterparty.
Nicole lingered for a moment, giving you a soft smile. “He really did already know, sweetheart,” she whispered. “He’s just been waiting for you to tell him.”
You exhaled, feeling the last of your nerves melt away. “Figures.”
And when you and Kimi finally caught up to Lewis, he was already at the bar, raising a glass with that wide, proud grin of his.
“To my daughter,” he said, “and to the boy brave enough to date her.”
Everyone around you laughed, the music swelled, and for the first time in weeks, you felt completely, beautifully at peace.
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kimi.antonelli
liked by lewishamilton, ynhamilton, olliebearman and 3,756,000 others.
kimi.antonelli : yes, my gf dresses me <3
tagged : ynhamilton
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bonus : father in law lewis!
Lewis had been shockingly chill about the whole thing — borderline smug, even. Every time a reporter hinted at Kimi’s “fashion evolution,” Lewis would smirk and say something like, “Yeah, my daughter’s been a good influence on him.”
And now, the three of you were strolling through the Paris streets — the sun golden, the air crisp, and your father absolutely insufferable with how proud he was.
“Alright,” Lewis said, pulling on his sunglasses. “You two better have your credit cards ready, because I’m not paying if you both start raiding Burberry again.”
“Dad,” you groaned, laughing, “you literally have a partnership with them.”
“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “Doesn’t mean I want my daughter bankrupting me through my own collab.”
Kimi was quietly amused, walking between you and Lewis with that soft, reserved smile of his — the one that always betrayed how content he really was. Every once in a while, you’d reach for his hand, and Lewis would pretend not to notice… but he’d smirk to himself anyway.
At one point, you stopped in front of a vintage boutique — racks of old leather jackets and limited-edition sneakers on display. Lewis’ eyes lit up instantly.
“Ohhh,” he said, pulling you both inside. “This is dangerous.”
Within minutes, you were buried in racks of clothes, Lewis was deep in conversation with the store owner about fabric aging, and Kimi — quiet, polite, observant — was trying on a jacket that looked straight out of a 90s racing movie.
You turned just in time to see your dad’s jaw drop.
“Hold on,” Lewis said, snapping a picture. “Look at this boy. He’s out-styling me.”
Kimi laughed softly, shaking his head. “She taught me well.”
That made Lewis pause — and then smile, warm and genuine. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, she did.”
Later, the three of you grabbed coffee at a little café tucked down a quiet side street. You sat between them, watching them talk about cars, training, fashion, travel — like they’d known each other for years. Lewis was teasing him one second (“You ever let her drive your car?”), and then praising him the next (“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, man.”).
Kimi met his eyes with quiet sincerity. “I really care about her, Mr. Hamilton.”
Lewis smiled — that same soft, protective look he’d always had when it came to you. “I know, Kimi. And for the record… you can drop the ‘Mr.’ part. Makes me sound old.”
You laughed, leaning into Kimi’s shoulder. “He is old.”
Lewis gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I’m timeless.”
“Sure, Dad,” you teased. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh but couldn’t stop smiling as he looked at the two of you — his daughter glowing, her boyfriend calm and kind beside her, both of you impossibly happy.
“You know,” he said finally, “I wasn’t sure how this would go at first. But seeing you two like this… I get it. You balance each other out. I like that.”
You felt Kimi squeeze your hand beneath the table, a quiet promise written in the gesture.
By the time you all left the café, the sky was streaked with soft pinks and golds. Lewis wrapped an arm around your shoulders, Kimi’s hand brushed yours as you walked, and laughter spilled between you as the city buzzed softly around you.
Your dad turned back once more, grin wide. “Alright, lovebirds. Who’s ready to hit one more store?”
You and Kimi groaned in unison, which only made him laugh harder.
And somewhere between the laughter, the teasing, and the clinking of coffee cups — you realized this was exactly how you wanted life to feel.
Warm. Easy. Home.
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