Summary: Kimi Antonelli and YN Wolff have been friends forever and dating for just as long - nothing changes when he makes it to F1.
Requested: Yes / @n1kissingincarslover - maybe for kimi it’s x toto’s daughter and they’ve known eachother since they where 12 obvi since he’s known mercedes since then
Old Posts:
Instagram /
Posted 424 weeks ago:
liked by: lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, kimi.antonelli and 92,901 others
yn.wolff: Kimi won!!!
username: seeing this after kimi signed for Mercedes is insane btw
username: they were babies😭
kimi.antonelli: I won!! *424 weeks ago
username: look at them omg
username: Nobody was rooting harder for Kimi than YN
Instagram /
Posted 392 weeks ago:
liked by: yn.wolff, olliebearman and 92,901 others
kimi.antonelli: YN and Kimi take on Italy
username: LOOK AT THEM
username: they were two apples tall 😭
-> username: They're still two apples tall
yn.wolff: Had the best day ever with you!! *392 weeks ago
username: SCREAMING!!!
Instagram /
Posted 215 weeks ago:
liked by: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, lewishamilton and 102,901 others
yn.wolff: It's my birthday !!!
username: happy birthday!! *215 weeks ago
username: Their old posts keep coming up on my tl and I'm sobbing
username: omg the set up, your mum and dad love you *215 weeks ago
-> username: They do but this was all Kimi actually!! *215 weeks ago
-> username: sorry he did all that and they're NOT together?? *215 weeks ago
username: my favs 😭
kimi.antonelli: Buon compleanno caro!! *215 weeks ago
-> yn.wolff: Love you!!! *215 weeks ago
-> username: BABY YN AND BABY KIMI WERE SO CUTE OMG!!
Instagram /
Posted 205 weeks ago:
liked by: kimi.antonelli, yn.wolff and 4,792,901 others
totowolffofficial: A successful weekend
username: Did anyone see Toto telling yn and kimi off bc they snuck off😭 *205 weeks ago
username: This coming up on my fyp just before the 2025 season
username: YN jumping onto Kimi's back when he won 😭 They're gonna be iconic when he makes it to f1 *205 weeks ago
username: I love seeing this in 2025 and reading the lore on kimiyn growing up
Instagram /
Posted 77 weeks ago:
liked by: lewishamilton, kimi.antonelli, nicorosberg and 192,901 others
yn.wolff: Happy Birthday to my most favourite person in the world!! I love you!!
username: HAPPY BDAY KIMI *77 weeks ago
username: stop they were so cute
username: THE CAKE??? *77 weeks ago
username: Oh so they've just always been in love
kimi.antonelli: Grazie, amore mio, non vedo l'ora di festeggiare con te! *77 weeks ago
-> username: STOP 😭 he said he can't wait to celebrate with her!! they were adorable back then *77 weeks ago
-> username: pls never pr train my fav couple *77 weeks ago
username: THEY DO KIMI FUNKOS?? *77 weeks ago
-> yn.wolff: lol no I got it custom made *77 weeks ago
username: obsessed with the fact they go all out for each others bday
2025 Season:
Instagram /
liked by: georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli, yn.wolff and 4,792,901 others
mercedesamgf1: Breaking: Andrea Kimi Antonelli to race for Mercedes from 2025
username: as if some kid is replacing the GOAT
-> yn.wolff: 'sOmE kId' stfu
-> mercedesamgf1: YN, please, we've spoken about this
-> username: OH F1 IS NOT READY FOR THIS
-> username: who is she??
-> username: she's toto's kid and Kimi's best friend and she will fight everyone that talks shit about Kimi
username: im not hating yet
-> yn.wolff: Better never start hating
username: Stupid ass decision
-> yn.wolff: Shut up
-> username: I LOVE HER
username: YN fighting every hate comment im acc obsessed
yn.wolff: YES THERE IS THE FUTURE WDC!!
-> kimi.antonelli: In the comments but won't text me back
-> yn.wolff: I'm busy hyping you up omg
-> kimi.antonelli: Grazie 😐 Now text me back.
-> username: Mercedes I'm begging you don't media train them !!
username: the next post is gonna be merc releasing an apology statement for yn
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, nicorosberg, georgerussell63 and 792,901 others
yn.wolff: Race weekends just got even better because KIMI ANTONELLI IS AN F1 DRIVER!!!
username: When I show up to a 'who's kimi Antonelli's biggest fan' competition and YN's already there 🚶🏼♀️🚶🏼♀️🚶🏼♀️ *liked by yn.wolff
username: people that only watch f1 and haven't watched kimi advance through the ranks aren't ready for the carnage that is kimiyn
kimi.antonelli: let's goooooo!!
username: as somebody who has been here since they were 15 I have been waiting SO LONG for this!!
Twitter /
Instagram /
liked by: yn.wolff, georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and 4,792,901 others
mercedesamgf1: Solid weekend from the team, bring on the next race where we will be doubling the size of our photography team.
username: sorry how many team photographers do they have and she used him💀
username: he was nearly late because he can't say no to her
-> mercedesamgf1: We really wish he would
-> username: kimiyn: a pr headache
username: Honestly I thought that f1gossip was just lying but ummmmm apparently not 😭😭
Instagram Story /
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, lando, georgerussell63 and 1,092,901 others
yn.wolff: Who needs a professional photographer when you've been training your own personal one since you were twelve 🤷🏻♀️
username: I’m actually in love with how she has no shame
username: i mean they got told off but damn she looks good
username: Jesus she really has trained him I wish my bf took pictures this good of me
-> username: wait until you find out they’re not dating
-> username: WHAT
-> username: YOUTE LYING OMG
-> username: wtf do you mean they’re not dating??
-> username: I can’t tell you how much I love breaking this news to the new kimiyn fans 😭 so basically her and Kimi have been friends since they were like 12 cos obvs Kimi was in the junior program and Toto wanted him, blah blah blah since they met KIMIYN have been joined at the hip and have given Toto and the media team a headache ever since
-> username; I’m sorry I actually can’t believe this like ??? They post each other in pretty much every post, I don’t even post my own bf this much and then every time he was shown on sky sports this weekend she was there😭😭
-> username: you think you’re suffering?? Some of us have been here since they were 15 😭😭
kimi.antonelli: f1 driver ❌ yn's personal photographer ✔️
-> yn.wolff: We both know which gig you prefer
-> mercedesamgf1: Yes we do YN, the one were he represents his team to the highest standard
-> username: i know their pr team hates them
kimi.antonelli: Easy to be good at photography when the model is as beautiful as you
-> yn.wolff: You weren’t saying that after my dad shouted at us
-> username: what did he say
-> yn.wolff: he started ranting in Italian about how my instagram account is not the most important thing, i disagreed but stayed quiet bc he gets VERY Italian when he’s stressed
-> username: WTF DO YOU MEAN THEYRE BOT DATING??
-> username: listen man I love my friends but wtf did I just read
Twitter /
Instagram Story /
Instagram /
liked by: yn.wolff, georgerussell63 and 2,792,901 others
kimi.antonelli: P7 in the sprint, P6 in the race! Brilliant weekend in China, ready for more!
username: sorry??? He got points and two out of four of the posts have yn in it
-> username: actually obsessed with them omg
username: I hate these two wtf
username: KIMI GOT POINTS AGAIN!!!
-> yn.wolff: KIMI GOT POINTS AGAIN!!!
-> username: HELLO??
username: not dating my arse
mercedesamgf1: That’s our rookie 🤩
-> yn.wolff: More importantly that’s MY rookie 😍
-> username: admin just sighed so hard
-> mercedesamgf1: So hard.
username: matching outfits and they’re not together????
yn.wolff: 6TH IN THE WDC, THAT’S MY CHAMPION RIGHT THERE
-> username: obsessed with her
-> kimi.antonelli: Grazie tesoro mio
-> username: MY DARLING?????
Texts /
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, lewishamilton and 1,792,901 others
yn.wolff: They're trying to media train your favourite driver and your favourite wag
username: don’t media train them !!
username: SORRY DID SHE JUST SAY SHE IS A WAG
username: they’re not dating surely
username: WAG???? AS IN KIMI’S WAG?? AS IN KIMI’S GIRLFIREND?!?!?
username: this is not how she tells us
username: guys calm down, it’s just cos we call her a wag all the time
username: this is the most yn way to go public I hate her so so much
kimi.antonelli: And who’s fault is it that we need media training?
-> yn.wolff: I’m going to be the bigger person and say it’s both of our faults
-> kimi.antonelli: 🙄
-> username: she has a point, if I know anything about these two it’s that he is incapable of saying no to her
-> yn.wolff: @/username: the people get it 😌
-> kimi.antonelli: Please do not encourage her
username: kimi really said 🧍🏻♂️🧍🏻♂️
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1 and 1,792,901 others
yn.wolff: Welcome to Miami
username: her posting the most couple ass looking post despite them not being together is crazy work
kimi.antonelli: Best day with you
username: obsessed with them omg
username: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THYERE NOT DATING
mercedesamgf1: YN, please bring our driver back
-> yn.wolff: He was mine first
-> mercedesamgf1: Actually he joined the Mercedes junior program before he was yours, so bring him back
-> yn.wolff: Fine 😤
-> username: mercedes confirming kimi is hers wtf
Instagram /
liked by: maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63 and 2,092,901 others
yn.wolff: KIMI ANTONELLI IS ON THE PODIUM!! THAT'S MY GUY!!
username: nobody is happier for kimis p3 than yn
username: the least deserving driver
-> yn.wolff: Just cause your fav can’t get on the podium
-> username: I love her
-> username: yes she can fight when it comes to kimi
-> mercedesamgf1: YN, we are all exceptionally proud of kimi but let’s tone it down a bit please
-> yn.wolff: No.
-> mercedesamgf1: Thursday, 8am, media training
-> yn.wolff: Free me from this hell
-> georgerussell63: Ah, this explains the text I just got.
-> yn.wolff: What text🤨
-> georgerussell63: You’re watching the race from my side of the garage next week.
-> yn.wolff: @/mercedesamgf1 seriously!!!???
-> mercedesamgf1: It’s for the good of everyone
-> yn.wolff: Not to play THAT card but do you know who I am? I'm texting my dad rn
-> mercedesamgf1: Hate to break it to you but the orders came from Toto
-> yn.wolff: Betrayed by my own dad😔
-> username: wtf is this whole exchange
kimi.antonelli: Grazie, amore mio!
-> username: he calls her my love and we’re just supposed to believe they’re childhood friends 🙄
username: kimi podium and a date post, what a weekend
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, georgerussell63, lando and 2,792,901 others
yn.wolff: My guy DNF'ed
username: LMAOOOO
username: im dead yn have some sympathy please
kimi.antonelli: I would be lost without your support 🙄
-> yn.wolff: I got you ice cream
-> kimi.antonelli: you spent an hour crying over how proud you were off Lando
-> yn.wolff: Yes?
-> lando: thats my girl *liked by yn.wolff
username: poor kimi:((
username: Silverstone was brutal this year but damn did she look good
-> kimi.antonelli: The only highlight
-> mercedesamgf1: Tuesday. 8 am.
username: awww kimi:((
username: I know the captions is jokes but you just know she looked after him so good
username: NOT THAT PICTURE YN
Texts /
Instagram /
liked by: lando, lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 4,792,901 others
kimi.antonelli: My favourite place is wherever she is 🤍
username: OMG
username: WAIT IT’S FINALLY HAPPENED OMG
username: crazy that it’s 6am and he posts this like it’s normal
-> yn.wolff: @/username: Imagine my surprise waking up at 7am and seeing this like its normal 😧
-> kimi.antonelli: Me posting my girl? Check my instagram, seems pretty normal to me
-> username: the way he’s not even wrong, yn is in more of his post than she’s not 💀
yn.wolff: ‘mY fAvoUriTe pLacE iS WhErEveR sHe Is?’ Yeah then why did I wake up alone this morning
-> username: ohhhhh I love this
-> username: we thought they were unhinged before, I can already hear Mercedes pr team crying
-> kimi.antonelli: I was getting you breakfast 🙄
yn.ln: Oh ok
-> yn.wolff: we’re doing this then
-> yn.wolff: I want it noted this was entirely kimi’s doing for when we’re inevitably dragged into my dads office
-> username: obsessed with all of this btw
-> username: I well had all my bets on yn being the one to hard launch them wtf
username: I MEAN WE KNEW THEY WERE TOGETHER BUT HOLY SHIT WHAT IS HAPPENING
lewishamilton: Happy for you two kids!
-> yn.wolff: Love you, Lew!!
-> username: I always forget lewis has known yn since she was a kid
mercedesamgf1: We’ll see you in the media training meeting on Monday.
-> yn.wolff: don’t be a hater admin:((
-> username: never media train the best couple in f1
yn.wolff: I love you so much, you’re my most favourite person ever 🥰
-> kimi.antonelli: ti amo, bella
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, lando, nicorosberg and 4,792,901 others
yn.wolff: Then & Now...my best friend, the man I've loved since we were fourteen, I love you more than anything
username: iM CRYING
mercedesamgf1: You know what? We’re just gonna pretend we didn’t see this one.
-> username: kimiyn is a pr nightmare, you just know they run nothing past the team
username: wait stop that’s so cute, they’ve been together since they were 14 😭
-> username: they’re the reason I believe in love omg
kimi.antonelli: Mia bellissima ragazza, sei la luce della mia vita. Ti amerò per sempre. (*see translation: ‘My beautiful girl, you are the light of my life. I will love you forever.)
-> yn.wolff: 🥰🥰
username: im screaming omg this is everything
maxverstappen1: Happy for you both
username: quick every one pretend to be shocked
georgerussell63: It’s about time
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, lando and 4,792,901 others
yn.wolff: Meet Oliver Bearman, my boyfriend's boyfriend.
username: iconic I love them
olliebearman: stay jealous
-> yn.wolff: hope your car stops working xoxo
-> mercedesamgf1: YN….
-> yn.wolff: Yeah yeah I know the drill
-> kimi.antonelli: Don’t worry amore, you’re still my favourite
-> olliebearman: thank you Kimi☺️
-> yn.wolff: @/olliebearman Crash
-> mercedesamgf1: YN!
-> yn.wolff: Worth it
-> username: wtf just happened??
Instagram /
liked by: kimi.antonelli, yn.wolff, lando and 7,792,901 others
georgerussell63: Do you really want to talk about third wheeling, @/yn.wolff?
username: didn’t expect George to get involved
username: obsessed with the fact that they just hang out with George
-> username: I always forget that YN’s just been with the grid since she was a kid
username: HELLO??
username: George is sick of them
username: them flipping George off😭
yn.wolff: You’re not third wheeling, you’re just our chaperone
-> kimi.antonelli: Toto said we ‘can’t be trusted to get to our obligations on our own’
-> georgerussell63: I did not sign up for unpaid childcare
-> yn.wolff: Perks of the job 👍🏻
-> georgerussell63: Can’t wait for contract negotiations I’m making you two stay far away from me
-> mercedesamgf1: They’re your problem now 😌
username: SCREAMING
username: George might do the swap with red bull just to get away from kimiyn😭😭
⪩⪨ featuring: lando norris, oscar piastri, george russell, kimi antonelli, lewis hamilton, charles leclerc, carlos sainz and max verstappen
⪩⪨ synopsis: f1 drivers react to their engineers letting you do their radio check during practice
⪩⪨ genre: fluff
a/n: oh how i wish i could actually talk to them through their radio. short blurbs!
➜ lando norris
the second he hears your voice, he forgets he's in the car.
"wait, what?"
you giggle, talking into the headset again. "radio check, lando."
lando smiles, focus back on the track. "bit tacky but we can fix it during quali. also hi, love."
he giggles for the rest of the practice and refuses to listen to his engineers, asking to put you back on (they don't).
➜ oscar piastri
oscar takes a second. you hear him inhale quietly before answering. "radio check loud and clear. hi."
he's much calmer, full attention to the car and the track, but his ears are burning under his helmet and his face hurts from smiling so hard.
➜ george russell
george is locked in, annotating in his head everything he sees and feels from the car for his engineer until his radio goes off first.
"okay, and radio check please."
he blinks, doubting if he heard right or not. "that's... not my engineer."
he stays quiet for a second, going through a curve, then he speaks again with a little laugh, "radio is good. you're distracting me."
he sounds mean, but he was smiling under his helmet.
➜ kimi antonelli
with kimi there is immediate chaos.
"hold on a second... ITS YOU!"
his engineer takes the lead back and tries to get the boy to focus again. "kimi, radio check."
"yeah, yeah — radio works. tell y/n i say hi!"
when he's done with practice he goes up to you and asks if you can do it again. this definitely boosts him.
➜ lewis hamilton
lewis goes soft and sweet as soon as he recognizes your voice through the radio.
"radio loud and clear," he pauses for a second and then: "good to hear your voice, sweetheart."
he absolutely loved the change.
➜ charles leclerc
charles laughs quietly, breathy. he's professional but still affectionate at the same time.
"radio check is good. you sound lovely."
he's smiling like an idiot by the way.
➜ carlos sainz
carlos's brain reboots for a quick second.
"radio check—yes—perfect."
then, unable to resist te urge, he says: "careful there, cariño. you're making this difficult."
his engineer doesn't let you say more, but carlos drives like he's trying to impress you specifically after that.
➜ max verstappen
max reacts the least with his nonchalant personality, which for some reason means the most.
"radio clear."
a pause.
"you're not supposed to be on my radio, love."
he tries to be professional, serious, but his tone was light and you could hear the smile in his voice.
☆ ⠀⠀⠀ ⑅ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ♩ ⠀⠀⠀⠀◌ ⠀⠀⠀ ꕤ
i've had this idea for quite a while and i finally got the time to write it out! i hope you all enjoy it <3 the reactions are a little short but it was the idea i had in the first place. something short and sweet. feel free to leave feedback in the comments or my ask and if you want you can even leave a request! not without reading my pinned first :). thats all from me! ciao lovelies 💘
everyone in the paddock knows kimi antonelli. very few know he has an older sister, and even fewer know that max verstappen has been hopelessly in love with her since the moment she asked him if he'd eaten.
warnings: fluff, smau
note: hello ♡ this was written for an absolutely lovely request by @ateliefloresdaprimavera i hope i did your idea justice! i took a few creative liberties to flesh the story out while keeping the heart of your request the same. enjoy!! - dean
masterlist | sign up for my taglist
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ INSTAGRAM
🌸 yn.antonelli
liked by kimi.antonelli, max.verstappen and 14,565 others
yn.antonelli i raised him better than this!!!! @.kimi.antonelli
kimi.antonelli: delete this.
yn.antonelli: no ❤️
georgerussell: 😭😭😭😭
kimi.anotnelli: mate HELP ME
landonorris: kimi blink twice if you need help
yn.antonelli: he absolutely does not.
user1: WAIT KIMI HAS A SISTER!?
user2: HOLD ON
user3: new paddock sibling duo unlocked
max.verstappen: 😂
liked by author
The Mercedes hospitality is already buzzing by the time you arrive. Mechanics move between garages carrying equipment, journalists rehearse questions into voice recorders, camera shutters click every few seconds. You instinctively slow your pace, letting Kimi walk half a step ahead, because you'd learned years ago that being his sister meant allowing him to take the lead here. This was his world.
"You'll meet everyone eventually," Kimi says, adjusting the strap of his backpack.
"I don't have to."
"You do."
"I came to spend time with my little brother."
"You also came to see where I work."
"I've seen enough already."
"You've been here for... six minutes."
"Exactly."
He laughs.
"You'll like them."
"I work in an emergency department."
"So?"
"I've met every personality imaginable."
Kimi considers that.
"...fair."
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ INSTAGRAM
🌸 yn.antonelli
liked by kimi.antonelli, max.verstappen and 19,529 others
yn.antonelli apparently i survive outside the emergency department too
kimi.antonelli: debatable
kimi.antonelli: you do know i have pictures to show too -_-
yn.antonelli: do you dare?
georgerussell: welcome to the paddock!
yn.antonelli: thank you!
landonorris: guys, she is already threatening to make me drink water
yn.antonelli: because you need it
oscarpiastri: she has a point
yn.antonelli: @.landonorris listen to your boyfriend
max.verstappen: Hope you enjoy the weekend.
yn.antonelli: thank you! 😊
The paddock is quieter away from the garages, not silent, never silent. Just... calmer. The steady hum of conversations blends with distant engines and the occasional burst of laughter. You find the coffee station tucked into the corner of one of the hospitality units, perfect, until you realise someone else got there first.
Max Verstappen stands with one hand resting against the counter, waiting for the machine to finish pouring. He glances over as you approach.
"Hi."
"Hi."
For a second, neither of you moves. Then you point towards the coffee machine.
"Are you trying to blow the coffee machine up with your mind?"
A laugh escapes him before he can stop it.
"No."
"It looked like it."
"I think it's ignoring me."
"It does that."
"You've been here before?"
"My brother has worked here for months."
"Fair point."
He steps aside without another word, giving you enough room to reach the machine.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
The machine lets out an unimpressed hiss before finally beginning to pour. You watch it for a moment.
"So..."
Max breaks the silence first.
"Emergency nurse?"
You glance at him.
"I've been exposed."
"Oscar mentioned it."
"I'll have to have a word."
"He seemed frightened."
"He should be."
That earns another smile, one that softens his entire face. You hadn't expected Max Verstappen to smile like that. It suits him.
The coffee finishes pouring. You reach for the paper cup just as he notices the faint pink line across the back of your hand.
"You cut yourself."
Looking down, you shrug.
"Paper."
"Paper?"
"I lost."
He lets out an amused breath.
"I didn't know that was possible."
"You've clearly never worked in a hospital."
"I haven't."
"You'd be amazed what stationery is capable of."
He chuckles quietly. Then, almost absentmindedly, you notice the split skin across his right knuckles. Old enough not to be bleeding, but fresh enough to still look angry.
"What happened to your hand?"
His eyes follow yours.
"This?"
He flexes it once.
"Nothing."
You give him a look.
"The universal male diagnosis."
"It's fine."
"Mhm."
"It is."
You take a sip of your coffee before speaking again.
"I'll believe you when you clean it."
He looks at you, then at his hand, then back at you.
"It's only a scratch."
"So was mine."
"You noticed."
"I notice everything."
The words leave your mouth so casually that you don't think twice about them. Max does, because nobody has ever looked at him the way you just did - not as a world champion or a rival, just... as someone with a cut that should probably be cleaned before it gets infected. It's strangely refreshing.
"You always this bossy?"
You smile into your coffee.
"Occupational hazard."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"You should."
Before either of you can say anything else, a familiar voice echoes across the paddock.
"There you are!"
Kimi. He stops beside you, looking between the two of you.
"Am I interrupting?"
You shake your head.
"I was just telling Max to clean his hand."
Kimi doesn't even hesitate.
"Oh, yeah. You should listen."
Max raises an eyebrow.
"You too?"
"I've been listening to her for nineteen years."
"And?"
"It's easier."
You grin triumphantly.
"See?"
Max looks between the two of you before letting out a quiet laugh.
"I don't think I've got much of a choice."
"No," you say warmly "You really don't."
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ TWITTER
@.f1paddock
kimi antonelli's sister has been in the paddock for approximately three hours and she's already become everyone's older sister.
@.papayafiles
apparently yn told lando to drink water 😭
@.landonorris
i was HYDRATED.
@.oscarpiastri
you weren't.
@.f1tea
according to people in the paddock kimi's sister told max verstappen to clean a cut on his hand 😭
@.verstappenupdates
imagine being told off by max verstappen
❌️
imagine max verstappen being told off
✅️
@.formulafiles
not max smiling while talking to yn...
@.maxieschamp
can we PLEASE remember yn is literally kimi's sister and leave her alone 😭
@.gridgossip
no because why did max walk over to mercedes hospitality FOUR TIMES today
@.redbullracing
max: "i was looking for coffee."
@.f1fan247
oooh redbull admin is MESSY today
@.f1memes
coffee machine at mercedes after seeing max every twenty minutes:
"bro just admit you have a crush."
@.kimiupdates
kimi has absolutely no idea what's happening around him 😭
@.papayafiles
antonelli sister nation we're up.
@.gridgirlies
she has no clue twitter is shipping them and honestly let's keep it that way for now 😭🤍
By the time Max wanders back towards the Mercedes hospitality later that afternoon, he's managed to convince himself he's there for an entirely reasonable reason. The reason being... coffee... again. Never mind the fact that the paper cup in his hand is still half full. He steps inside just as you finish reorganising the contents of your tote bag.
"You know," you say without looking up, "I don't think anyone drinks as much coffee around here as you do."
Max glances down at his cup.
"...Probably not."
"You're proving my point."
"I like coffee."
"So do I."
You zip your bag shut before your eyes drift almost absentmindedly towards his right hand. You pause.
"Did you clean it?"
He looks down.
"The cut?"
"Mhm."
"I did."
You narrow your eyes.
"Can I see?"
For a split second, Max genuinely considers saying no, not because he minds, but because he suddenly becomes acutely aware that you want to hold his hand, which is an entirely ridiculous thing to think. You're a nurse. This is your job. Still...
He holds it out. You take it without hesitation. Your fingers are warm. You turn his hand over, studying the split skin across his knuckles with the same concentration he imagines you give every patient. For a moment, the noise of the paddock fades into the background.
"Hm."
That single syllable immediately worries him.
"What?"
"You cleaned it."
"I told you."
"You also put one tiny plaster over it."
"..."
"Which accomplished approximately nothing."
"I tried."
"I can tell."
You look up at him.
"It's a very... enthusiastic attempt."
"I feel judged."
"You are."
You release his hand for only a second before reaching into your tote. Max watches, mildly fascinated, as you produce what appears to be an entire miniature first-aid kit. Alcohol wipes, sterile gauze, bandages, medical tape, a tiny bottle of antiseptic. He blinks.
"You carry all of that around?"
You look at him as though he's asked why the sky is blue.
"I'm an emergency nurse."
"Right."
"What if someone gets hurt?"
Max raises an eyebrow.
"You're assuming people just... injure themselves around you?"
"They usually do."
"That's oddly concerning."
"It's usually men."
"I don't know whether to be offended."
"You shouldn't."
You tear open an antiseptic wipe.
"Give me your hand."
He does, again. Without thinking. You dab gently across the cut.
"This might sting."
"It already-"
The antiseptic touches the wound. He winces.
"Oh."
"There it is."
"I take it back."
You can't help smiling.
"You racing drivers are all the same."
"We are?"
"So dramatic."
"I wasn't dramatic."
"You flinched."
"It stung."
"It barely touched you."
"It absolutely did."
You laugh quietly, shaking your head before carefully pressing fresh gauze over the cut. Your movements are practised like you've done this a thousand times before. Maybe ten thousand.
"You've done this a lot."
You don't look up.
"A few times."
"A few?"
"I work in A&E."
"Right."
"Trust me," you murmur, smoothing the edge of the bandage into place, "this doesn't even make the top thousand."
He lets out a quiet laugh.
"I'll try harder next time."
Your head snaps up.
"You'll do no such thing."
"I'm joking."
"I know."
You point a finger at him anyway.
"But if you come back with another split knuckle tomorrow, I'm charging you."
"For medical treatment?"
"For being stubborn."
Before he can reply, another voice cuts through the room.
"There you are."
Kimi walks in carrying two bottles of water. His eyes immediately land on the two of you. More specifically, on the fact that you're holding Max's hand.
"Oh," he says simply.
"You got him."
Max looks between the two of you.
"...Got me?"
Kimi nods sympathetically.
"She'll look after the cut."
He lifts one of the water bottles.
"Then she'll tell you you're dehydrated."
"I was literally about to."
"I know."
He hands you the bottle before passing the other to Max.
"You should drink that."
Max glances down at the bottle. Then at Kimi.
"You planned this."
Kimi shrugs.
"I've had plenty years to learn how she works."
You smile sweetly.
"And yet he still forgets to drink water."
"I don't forget."
"You do."
"I choose not to."
Max laughs a proper laugh. It makes both you and Kimi look at him. He rubs the back of his neck.
"What?"
"Nothing," you say, fastening the last strip of tape across the bandage.
"There."
You finally let go of his hand.
"All done."
He looks down at the neat dressing. It looks professional - far better than the crooked plaster he'd attempted earlier.
"Thank you."
The words come genuinely. You offer him a smile that reaches your eyes.
"Occupational hazard."
He smiles back. Neither of you notices Lando walking past the open hospitality entrance. He slows just enough to glance inside. Takes one look at you carefully bandaging Max Verstappen's hand. Grins to himself.
"Oh," he mutters under his breath. "So that's what's happening."
Then, wisely deciding not to interrupt, he keeps walking.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ PADDOCK GROUP CHAT
Lando
boys
Lando
i've seen something today
Charles
that sounds ominous.
Oscar
is it another labubu? better keep it away from kimi
Lando
worse
George
Impossible.
Lando
verstappen smiled
Max
?
Lando
TWICE
Oscar
can confirm
Charles
i refuse to believe this.
George
At who?
Lando
oh you know exactly at who...
Max
i don't.
Oscar
kimi's sister
Seen by Max.
Seen by Charles.
Seen by George.
Seen by Lando.
Max
she fixed my hand.
Lando
mate
Charles
...
George
Did you deliberately injure yourself?
Max
no.
Oscar
that's not actually an answer
Lando
i give it until tomorrow before he develops another mysterious cut
Max
i hate all of you.
Charles
have you considered asking for her number?
Max
no.
George
Coward.
Lando
MASSIVE coward
Charles
it's alright max, i hear nurses like stubborn patients.
Lando
throw yourself down some stairs
Oscar
don't encourage workplace injuries!
Charles
paper cuts seem to be enough.
George
Or you could just tell her she's pretty?
Max
absolutely not.
Lando
he's gone
George
He's finished.
Charles
finished.
Kimi
can everyone stop trying to set my sister up?
Lando
...
George
...
Charles
...
Oscar
i forgot you were here
Kimi
clearlyy
Charles
to be fair...
George
Your sister is lovely.
Lando
yeah we're big fans
Kimi
that's worse!!!!
Max
i didn't say anything.
Lando
you didn't have to
By the time the afternoon settles into its familiar rhythm, you've reclaimed the small sofa tucked into the corner of the Mercedes hospitality. One leg is crossed beneath you, a paperback rests in your lap.
You barely make it through two pages before someone dramatically clears their throat. You don't even bother looking up.
"Yes, Lando."
"...How did you know it was me?"
"You sigh louder than everyone else."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
Only then do you lift your eyes from the page. Lando is standing in front of you with the most exaggerated pout you've ever seen.
"What happened?"
"I've suffered a workplace injury."
You slowly close your book.
"Oh no."
"I know."
"What happened?"
He holds up his wrist, as though presenting evidence in court.
"I hit it."
"On what?"
"..."
"Lando?"
"...a door."
Oscar walks past behind him carrying a bottle of water.
"You walked into the door."
Lando turns immediately.
"The door moved."
Oscar doesn't even break stride.
"The door was stationary."
"It came out of nowhere."
"It has been attached to the wall since Thursday."
You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself laughing.
"So..." You reach out, gently taking Lando's wrist into your hand. "Can you move it?"
He rotates it dramatically.
"Like this?"
"Yes."
"It hurts."
"On a scale of one to ten?"
"...Three."
You nod thoughtfully.
"So you're not dying."
"I thought I was."
"You thought wrong."
He gasps.
"I came here for sympathy."
"You came to the wrong person."
You stand, crossing over to your tote bag before rummaging inside. A moment later, you pull out a reusable ice pack. Lando blinks.
"You just... carry those?"
"I'm an emergency nurse."
"You carry emergency ice?"
"I do." You press it into his hand. "There."
He looks between the ice pack and you.
"...That's actually really nice."
"I know."
The interaction lasts perhaps two minutes. Long enough for George to wander in. He spots the ice pack and Lando, who looks like he has just given birth at the least.
"What happened?"
"He fought a door."
"I lost."
George nods solemnly.
"Happens to the best of us."
"It really doesn't," Oscar mutters from somewhere nearby.
George laughs before rubbing absentmindedly at the back of his neck.
"You don't happen to have another one, do you?"
You don't ask why. You simply kneel beside your bag again.
"Blue or green?"
He stares.
"...You have options?"
"I like to be prepared."
He accepts the blue one with an expression somewhere between gratitude and disbelief.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Max arrives just in time to witness Charles wandering over.
"I have a question."
You don't even look up.
"Second pocket."
Charles pauses.
"...What?"
"Second pocket in the tote."
Curiosity gets the better of him. He reaches inside and pulls out a packet of plasters.
"...How did you know?"
You finally glance up.
"You've been picking at that cut on your finger since lunch."
Charles looks down.
"...Oh."
"Stop doing that."
"I'll try."
"You won't."
"...Probably not."
Max finds himself smiling. He doesn't even realise he's doing it.
Lewis is next. Not because he's injured, but because he's looking for painkillers after a headache starts creeping in.
"Left pocket," you say before he can finish asking.
"You've got a frightening system."
"I've had years to perfect it."
"I can tell."
Eventually, the room settles again. Lando is happily holding his ice pack against his wrist, George has one draped across the back of his neck, Charles has stopped absentmindedly picking at his finger, Lewis has disappeared with a bottle of water and two painkillers. You simply reopen your book as though none of it had happened. Max watches you for another moment before walking over.
"You really don't mind?"
You glance up.
"Mind what?"
"People," He gestures vaguely towards the room. "Coming to you."
You consider the question for a second. Then shrug.
"Not really."
"They interrupt you."
"They need something."
"They're capable adults."
You smile.
"Debatable."
He laughs quietly.
"I suppose."
You mark your page with a finger.
"My job isn't really about fixing people."
"No?"
"It's about making things a little easier."
He doesn't say anything.
"So..." You continue. "If someone trusts me enough to ask for help, why would I make them feel bad for asking?"
Max looks at you differently after that, not because you'd bandaged his hand or because you'd remembered his cut, but because you'd just revealed something about yourself so effortlessly. Kindness wasn't something you performed - it was simply the way you moved through the world.
"...That's a nice way of looking at it," he says quietly.
You smile.
"I think so too."
Before either of you can say anything else, Kimi pushes through the hospitality doors. He stops. Looks around the room at Lando, George, Charles. Then at you. He sighs.
"I leave for half an hour." Nobody says anything. "And somehow..." His eyes drift towards the collection of first-aid supplies spread neatly across the coffee table. "...you've opened another emergency department."
You grin innocently.
"They came to me."
"I know." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "They always do."
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ INSTAGRAM
🔵 kimi.antonelli
liked by yn.antonelli, max.verstappen and 568,798 others
kimi.antonelli happy nurses appreciation day to the one that somehow opened another emergency department in mercedes hospitality. thanks for looking after us. ❤️ @.yn.antonelli
yn.antonelli: you all would've survived without me… probably <3
landonorris: debatable
georgerussell: still got the ice pack 👍
yn.antonelli: i am glad i could help!
charlesleclerc: finger has stopped bleeding thank you doctor
yn.antonelli: *nurse
lewishamilton: thank you for keeping everyone in one piece 🖤
yn.antonelli: that's my job! <3
oscarpiastri: especially lando!
landonorris: why am i catching strays?
max.verstappen: Thank you. My hand's much better.
yn.antonelli: glad to hear it 😊
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Y/N'S DMs
Max
Hi.
Thank you again.
Y/N
max you already thanked me in person 😭
Max
I know.
I just...
Wanted to again.
Y/N
then you're welcome again :)
Max
Would you let me repay you somehow?
Y/N
that's really not necessary
Max
Coffee?
Y/N
only if you promise not to injure yourself this time.
Max
I'll try.
Y/N
emphasis on try?
Max
No promises. :)
You almost don't notice the bouquet. It's only as you step through the café door that your eyes land on Max, already waiting by the window, standing as soon as he sees you... And holding flowers. Your pace falters.
"Oh."
He suddenly looks far less confident.
"I-"
His grip tightens around the bouquet.
"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I asked the florist to pick something that reminded them of summer."
You stare at the flowers, then at him.
"They're for me?"
He smiles, just barely.
"I don't see anyone else here."
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
"That's... incredibly sweet."
You accept the bouquet carefully, almost as though you're afraid you'll crush it.
"No one's ever brought me flowers on a coffee run before."
Max's eyebrows lift ever so slightly.
"A coffee run?"
You nod.
"You said you wanted to thank me."
"...Right."
He can't bring himself to correct you. Instead, he pulls out your chair. You blink.
"You're making me feel terribly underdressed."
"You look lovely."
The compliment slips out before he can think better of it. For the first time all afternoon, you seem genuinely caught off guard. A faint smile spreads across your face.
"Thank you."
The conversation comes surprisingly easily after that. It begins with work. You tell him about overnight shifts, impossible patients, and the elderly woman who insists on bringing homemade biscuits for the entire emergency department every Christmas.
He tells you about growing up around racing circuits, about travelling more than staying still, about how strange it feels to call so many airports familiar. At one point, you laugh so hard you have to wipe a tear from the corner of your eye. At another, the café around you fades into little more than background noise.
Hours pass unnoticed. Neither of you is in any hurry to leave. As you finally step back out onto the street, bouquet tucked safely in one arm and coffee still warming your hands, you smile at him.
"Thank you."
"For the flowers?"
"For today."
He smiles back.
"It was my pleasure."
You tilt your head.
"We should do this again sometime."
His heart practically stops.
"I'd like that."
"So would I."
Completely oblivious to the fact that, somewhere across the street, a photographer has already taken three pictures of the two of you walking side by side. And even more oblivious to the fact that, to Max Verstappen, this had never been a coffee run. It had always been a date.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ TWITTER
@.f1gossip
BREAKING: Max Verstappen spotted leaving a café in Milan with Kimi Antonelli's sister.
@.gridupdates
DID YOU SEE HE GOT HER FLOWERS???
@.papayafiles
MAX VERSTAPPEN BOUGHT HER FLOWERS??????
@.f1tea
mind you... HE was carrying the flowers when he arrived. this wasn't a "thank you for coming" bouquet.
@.maxnation
oh. OH.
@.formulaobsessed
she looks so happy 😭🤍
@.verstappenfiles
need everyone to remember max does NOT do public dates.
@.landonorris
💐
@.oscarpiastri
...
@.landonorris
don't act surprised.
@.oscarpiastri
i'm not.
@.charles_leclerc
finally.
@.georgerussell63
about time.
@.f1girlies
WHO SAID FINALLY??? WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW???
@.kimiupdates
kimi antonelli has liked absolutely none of these tweets 😭
@.gridgossip
imagine introducing your sister to your coworkers and accidentally creating the paddock's newest couple.
@.f1memes
kimi watching the internet discover what he witnessed two days ago: 🧍🏼
@.f1tea
calling it now. they're either dating already... or they'll be dating by the end of the season.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Y/N'S DMs
Lando
are you busy
Y/N
just got home
Lando
how was your date
Y/N
what date?
Lando
😐
Y/N
?
Lando
with max.
Y/N
it wasn't a date
Lando
...
he brought you flowers.
Y/N
yes?
Lando
Y/N.
sweetheart.
gorgeous.
Y/N
😭
Lando
MEN DON'T BRING FLOWERS TO THANK-YOU COFFEES.
Y/N
maybe max does
Lando
MAX VERSTAPPEN ESPECIALLY DOESN'T.
Y/N
...
Lando
how long were you there
Y/N
about three hours?
Lando
THREE???
Y/N
time flew by
Lando
because it was a date.
Y/N
no because we were talking.
Lando
...
what did you talk about
Y/N
work
childhood
family
travelling
books
music
painting
he asked if we'd do it again
Lando
i'm going to need you to read that message again.
Y/N
...
oh.
The next race weekend feels... different, not because anything has changed. At least, not visibly. The paddock still hums with the same familiar energy. Mechanics hurry between garages. Engineers carry tablets tucked beneath their arms. Media personnel weave through the crowds.
And yet, somehow, you feel oddly aware of yourself. Aware of every time your phone buzzes. Aware of the flowers still sitting in a vase back at your apartment. Aware of one particularly smug British racing driver who has not let you forget, even once, that your "thank-you coffee" had very much been a date.
You find refuge in the hotel lobby while Kimi disappears into a team meeting. Book in hand, coffee beside you. It feels almost comforting. Almost.
"You really do always have a book with you."
The familiar voice makes you glance up. Max stands a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, smiling in that quiet way you've quickly come to recognise. You smile back before you can stop yourself.
"I do."
"Mind if I join you?"
"Only if you've managed to avoid injuring yourself since last week."
He laughs.
"I've been very careful."
"I'm proud of you."
He settles into the chair opposite yours. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Not because it's awkward, strangely enough... It isn't.
"So," Max says eventually.
"So."
"I heard Lando finally told you."
You let out a groan dramatic enough to rival Lando himself.
"He was unbearably pleased with himself."
"I can imagine."
"I think he considered it one of his greatest achievements."
"He probably does."
You shake your head, laughing softly.
"He hasn't stopped reminding me."
Max smiles.
"I suppose that means..."
He hesitates.
"...you know."
"I know."
The words come quieter than you expected. You close your book carefully before placing it on the table.
"I owe you an apology."
His brows knit together immediately.
"For what?"
"I genuinely didn't realise."
"I know."
"I wasn't pretending."
"I know."
"I just..."
You rub the back of your neck, suddenly finding the coffee cup fascinating.
"I thought you were being really nice."
"I was."
"No, I mean..."
You laugh at yourself.
"I thought you were just... an unusually thoughtful person."
"I'd like to think I am."
"You are."
You look back up at him.
"But I didn't realise you were asking me on a date."
He lets out a quiet laugh.
"I was trying to."
"You were?"
"I thought the flowers might've helped."
"They did."
"They did?"
"I just thought they were a thank-you present."
He drops his head for a moment, laughing properly now.
"You really had no idea."
"None."
"I was convinced I'd made it obvious."
"I was convinced you were just the nicest Dutch man I'd ever met."
"I'm afraid I'm only one of those things."
You smile.
"I know."
For a brief moment, neither of you says anything. The silence settles comfortably between you. You reach into your tote bag absentmindedly. Max watches as you pull out a small bookmark tucked between the pages of your novel. Only it isn't a bookmark. It's one of the pressed flowers from the bouquet he'd given you. His eyes linger on it.
"I kept them."
Your voice is almost shy.
"I thought they were too pretty to throw away."
Something in his expression softens.
"So..."
You twirl the pressed flower carefully between your fingers.
"I've been thinking." You smile. "I'd quite like to fix something."
He tilts his head.
"What?"
"Our first date."
He blinks.
"You mean..."
"I'd quite like to be aware I'm on the second one."
For perhaps the first time in his Formula One career, Max Verstappen is completely speechless. Then, slowly- A grin spreads across his face.
"I'd like that."
"So would I."
He stands, offering you his hand.
"Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
You pretend to think about it.
"Hm."
"You don't trust me?"
"Oh, I trust you."
You slip your hand into his.
"I just hope there aren't any flowers."
He laughs.
"There are definitely flowers."
You groan dramatically.
"This is going to make Lando insufferable."
"I think that ship has already sailed."
Hand in hand, the two of you leave the hotel lobby. Neither of you notices the photographer across the street lowering his camera with a very satisfied smile.
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ INSTAGRAM
🌸 yn.antonelli
liked by kimi.antonelli, max.verstappen and 23,529 others
yn.antonelli turns out… it really was a date after all. 🤍
max.verstappen: Best first date I've ever accidentally been on. ❤️
yn.antonelli: ❤️
landonorris: I HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS FROM DAY ONE.
oscarpiastri: finally.
charlesleclerc: about time 🤍
georgerussell: knew we'd get here eventually.
lewishamilton: Happy for you both 🖤
kimi.antonelli: i suppose he's alright.
landonorris: THIS IS KIMI'S VERSION OF A BLESSING EVERYBODY STAY CALM.
max.verstappen: I'll take it.
yn.antonelli: @.max.verstappen don't let it get to your head.
maxverstappen1: Too late.
landonorris: disgusting.
oscarpiastri: says the one who played cupid.
landonorris: you're welcome.
Summary: Charles is trying to move on. His new girlfriend checks all the boxes, but there’s one problem. He can’t stop thinking about Y/N. And their dog, Leo, is making it worse. From suspicious barking to full-on sabotage, Leo clearly has a favorite. Now Charles has to figure out what’s louder: his own heart or a very dramatic golden dachshund.
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Childhood Best Friend!Reader
Contains: A matchmaking dog, unresolved feelings, suspicious barking, soft denial, and a love story Leo is tired of waiting for.
Author’s Note 🏎️:
This story is purely fictional and written just for fun. No hate or shade toward anyone, especially not Alex. I genuinely love and respect her. This is just a lighthearted, chaotic little fic with a matchmaking dog and lots of feelings. Enjoy the drama, the fluff, and Leo’s unhinged energy 💛🐾
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
If you asked Charles when he first fell in love with Y/N, he wouldn’t know what to say. There wasn’t a moment. No lightning bolt. No fireworks. Just one day, she laughed at one of his terrible jokes and it hit him like a truck.
Oh. I love her.
But he never said anything. Because they were best friends. They’d been through braces, bad breakups, go-kart drama, and years of race weekends. Saying something now? Too risky. Too much.
So instead, he suffered. Silently. Like an idiot.
That is, until everyone around him decided to make it their business.
“You’re in love with her.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Pierre didn’t even look up from his phone as he threw the accusation out during a group dinner in Monaco. Arthur nodded, backing him up. Carlos just sipped his drink, waiting for Charles to cave.
“I’m not in love with Y/N,” Charles repeated, stabbing his pasta like it had personally offended him.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you threaten to fight a grown man because he looked at her in Italy?”
“I did not-”
Carlos pulled out his phone. “I have screenshots.”
“Those don’t count!”
“Charles, come on,” Pierre said, finally looking at him. “You’ve been in love with her since we were kids.”
Charles clenched his jaw. “I’m over it.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
They all laughed.
“I’m serious,” Charles insisted. “I’m dating someone.”
Everyone stopped laughing.
“You’re what?” Arthur asked.
Charles cleared his throat. “I’m dating someone.”
Pierre narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Who?”
“…Alex.”
Pierre blinked. “As in Alexandra? The art girl?”
“Yeah. That Alex.”
“Holy sh-”
Arthur slammed the table. “You’re dating the art girl just to prove a point!”
“I’m not!”
“You so are!”
Charles stared at them. “Can’t a man just date someone without being accused of emotional crimes?”
“No,” Pierre said. “Not when he’s obviously in love with someone else.”
———
Truthfully? Alex was great. Alexandra, technically, but he liked calling her Alex. She was pretty, cool, interesting. She dragged him to museums and taught him how to sketch like some artsy romantic. She didn’t blink when he zoned out at dinner, probably lost in some Y/N memory. And when he kept talking about Y/N? She just smiled and nodded like she already knew.
But it didn’t feel serious. Not even a little.
It felt like both of them were playing pretend. Like they were together just to not be lonely.
So, naturally, they made a Very Normal Couple Decision.
They got a dog.
Enter: Leo 🐾
“You don’t have to,” Alex had said, scrolling through an adoption site on her tablet. “But I’ve always wanted a dog.”
“I’m in,” Charles said too quickly.
A week later, Leo arrived.
He was a golden ball of fluff with judgmental eyes and a powerful attitude for someone who weighed less than a helmet.
Leo liked tennis balls, selective cuddles, and destroying Charles’ socks.
He hated the vacuum, Alex’s perfume, and being told what to do.
But overall? He was okay.
Until he met Y/N.
———
“Look at him!” Y/N gasped the first time she came over.
She dropped to the floor faster than Charles could blink. “Who’s the most handsome boy ever? Is it you? I think it’s you.”
Leo, who had previously ignored Charles for two hours, threw himself into her lap like he’d found his long-lost love.
Charles stood off to the side, arms crossed.
“He never lets me pick him up,” he muttered.
Y/N rubbed her face into Leo’s fur. “Because he has standards.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t get jealous just because your dog likes me more.”
“I’m not jealous of my own dog.”
Leo licked her nose.
Pierre, who had somehow FaceTimed himself into the situation, laughed through the phone. “Charles. You got replaced by a dog. In your own house.”
“Hang up.”
From that moment on, Leo was obsessed.
He wanted Y/N. Only Y/N.
She’d walk into a room, and Leo would bolt to her side. She’d laugh, and Leo would spin in circles. She’d leave, and Leo would sit at the door and whine.
Charles, meanwhile, was slowly losing his mind.
“Bro,” Arthur said one day, watching Leo ignore Alex. “He hates your girlfriend.”
“He doesn’t hate her. He’s just… more attached to Y/N.”
Pierre sent a voice note. “Aka..Leo knows who his real mom is.”
“Shut up.”
Max even sent a photo he took of Leo asleep in Y/N’s lap with the caption “he looks happier than you’ve ever been.”
Charles replied with ten middle finger emojis.
———
Operation: Escape
One night, Charles came home and nearly had a heart attack.
“Leo?” he called.
Nothing.
He ran around the apartment. Backyard? Empty. Under the table? Gone. Not even in the laundry basket, which was his usual throne.
Then his phone buzzed.
Y/N: “Look who showed up at my door 🐾😭”
A photo of Leo curled up on her couch like a prince.
Charles stared at the screen. “He escaped.”
He showed up at her door at 1 AM. In the dark. Somehow navigated Monaco like he had GPS.
“I swear this dog memorized your address,” Charles said when he picked Leo up the next day.
Charles glared at Leo. “You’re grounded.”
Leo yawned.
———
The thing was, Charles knew it was coming.
Alexandra wasn’t stupid. She saw it too.
They were having dinner on her balcony, the lights soft, the food untouched, and Leo sleeping a full three feet away like even he wanted distance from the situation.
She was staring at him.
He was staring at the table.
“Can I ask you something?” she said finally.
“Sure.”
“Have you ever been in love with me?”
Charles blinked.
There it was.
He opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Alex smiled. Not sad. Not mad. Just… knowing. ‘Yeah. That’s what I thought.’”
He let out a breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She shrugged, poking at her pasta. “I knew before we started. I mean, come on. I’m an art girl, Charles. I read body language like newspapers. You look at your best friend like she hung the stars.”
He swallowed. “We’ve known each other forever.”
“And you’ve been in love with her for just as long.”
Charles ran a hand through his hair. “We never talk about it.”
“Maybe you should.”
A silence fell between them.
Then Alexandra raised her glass. “To not wasting each other’s time.”
He smiled faintly. “To peace.”
They clinked glasses.
And that was that.
No yelling. No fighting. No guilt.
Just quiet understanding.
As they cleared the plates, Alexandra glanced at Leo, still dead asleep on the floor. “You know,” she said, “he’s gonna be thrilled.”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“The breakup,” she said. “Leo. He’ll probably throw a party.”
Charles snorted. “He did growl at you for hugging me once.”
Alex laughed. “That little traitor. He’s been shipping you and Y/N since day one.”
Charles rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. As weird as it sounded… she wasn’t wrong.
They hugged goodbye at the door. No drama. No tears. And just like that, it was over.
Alex left with her tote bag slung over her shoulder and her headphones already in, waving once before disappearing down the hallway.
And that was how Charles found himself officially single, standing in a quiet apartment with a half-asleep dog who barely reacted to the breakup.
Leo just blinked up at him from the floor like, Finally.
———
After Charles and Alex broke up, things went weirdly quiet.
No more dinner reservations. No more fake-couple photo dumps. No more Leo trying to wedge himself between Charles and Alex on the couch like a clingy toddler.
Just Charles. And Leo. And the occasional judgmental huff when Charles tried to feed him kibble instead of grilled chicken.
The breakup was mutual. Predictable. Emotionally flat. Charles couldn’t even remember who technically said it first. All he remembered was walking Leo later that night and thinking, “Well. That’s over.”
And then came the weirdest part…Y/N started borrowing Leo. Constantly.
“Oh, can I take Leo to the park?”
“Leo and I are going to get puppuccinos!”
“Do you mind if I bring Leo on a drive? He likes the windows down.”
And every time, Charles said yes. Because it’s Y/N. Because Leo would actually whine at the door if she was late.
But lately… something felt off.
Because every time Leo came back from one of these mysterious little Y/N adventures, he would stand in front of Charles, stare him dead in the eyes, and bark.
Not just a “hello” bark. No, this was aggressive. Personal. Like he was trying to say something. Like he was personally offended by Charles’ existence.
“You okay, buddy?” Charles asked one day, crouching down as Leo barked directly into his soul.
Leo responded by turning around and peeing on Charles’ shoe.
Cool.
———
One Race Weekend Later
Charles was sitting with Max, Lando, George, and Pierre in the hospitality lounge, trying to eat his salad in peace, when Y/N appeared like a sunshine-wrapped grenade.
“Hi!” she smiled, leash in hand. “Returning your son.”
Leo trotted beside her, tail wagging like he’d had the best day ever.
“Oh, thank you,” Charles said, standing up and reaching for the leash. “Did he behave?”
“Of course,” she said sweetly. “Didn’t you, Leo?”
Leo sat down like a good boy. Looked up at Charles. Then immediately stood up on his hind legs and barked. One. Two. Three times. Loud. Sharp. Full-body commitment.
Y/N blinked. “Well, I’ll leave you to it!” she chirped, patting Leo’s head. “Bye, boys!”
She turned on her heel and walked away.
Leo watched her go. Tail still wagging. Love in his eyes.
Then he lost it.
BARK. BARK. BARK. BARK.
Straight at Charles.
Again.
Lando nearly dropped his water bottle.
“Mate,” George said slowly, “I think your dog’s yelling at you.”
Pierre was already doubled over. “No, no. He’s scolding him. Like a parent. You hear that? That’s ‘I raised you better than this’ energy.”
“What could he even be trying to say?” Max asked, half-laughing.
Charles sighed, rubbing his temples. “He always does this when he comes back from Y/N’s. Every time.”
“Maybe he’s saying stop making him spend time with her,” George suggested, shrugging.
“Stop spending time with Y/N?” Lando repeated. “Leo? The same dog who ditched Alex mid-walk just to run into Y/N’s arms? That Leo?”
“The dog who literally adopted Y/N as his real parent?” Pierre added.
“Are we talking about the same Leo?” Max joined in. “The one who escaped Charles’ house at one in the morning, ran three blocks, and rang Y/N’s doorbell with his paw?”
“That wasn’t even a one-time thing,” arthur said. “He did it again two nights later with Charles’ wallet in his mouth. Like he was leaving him.”
Pierre was howling. “Leo said ‘divorce is real.’”
“Guys,” Charles muttered, covering his face with both hands, “he’s just a dog.”
“You mean the dog?” Max said. “The dog that growled at Alex for three straight days and wouldn’t let her sit on the couch?”
“I just think it’s suspicious,” Lando added. “He doesn’t bark like that for anyone else. Only after Y/N drops him off.”
“Okay,” Pierre said, clapping his hands dramatically. “Let’s list the possibilities. Option one: Leo is trying to tell you Y/N’s keeping secrets. Option two: Leo is mad you’re not confessing your feelings. Option three: Leo is a reincarnated therapist and wants you to get your shit together.”
“Option four,” Max said, sipping his water, “he’s just deeply disappointed in you.”
Leo barked again. Loud. One single, dramatic bark.
Everyone went silent.
George pointed slowly. “That sounded personal.”
Lando suddenly gasped. “Wait. You said he only does it after Y/N drops him off, right?”
Charles blinked. “Yeah?”
“Then maybe he’s mad about something they did during the day.”
George nodded seriously. “We need to find out what.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “You want to follow Y/N?”
“Yes,” Pierre said instantly, already pulling out a cap like this was Ocean’s Eleven. “We follow her. We watch. We learn. We discover what Charles did to offend the Dog Overlord.”
Charles groaned. “Guys-”
“You’re outvoted,” Lando said. “You’ve been barked at. That makes you biased.”
———
The Next Day: Operation Bush
The mission was a disaster from the start.
For starters, their idea of stealth was laughable. A group of grown men in bucket hats and sunglasses, wearing a chaotic mix of Ferrari and McLaren hoodies. And of course, Max in his Red Bull Against the World. All of them crouched behind a bush across the street from Y/N’s building like that somehow made them invisible.
“She’s coming out!” Lando whisper-yelled.
Y/N stepped out, leash in hand, Leo happily trotting beside her like a kid on summer break. She was wearing sunglasses, humming something under her breath.
“She looks normal,” George whispered.
“Too normal,” Pierre muttered, scribbling something down.
“She’s heading to the park,” Max said, already power-walking to keep up. “Everybody act casual.”
So, of course, they walked in a straight line behind her, all five of them holding identical takeaway cups and pretending to talk to each other like this was a team-building exercise.
She sat on a bench. Leo ran around. She took selfies. Leo chased a leaf. They sat together and watched ducks for 15 full minutes.
“She’s literally just existing,” George said flatly.
“Wait. Wait. She’s leaving,” Lando pointed. “Where now?”
Y/N walked for a bit, Leo trotting beside her, until she turned the corner into a cozy-looking street and entered a small café with fairy lights and plants spilling out of every windowsill.
They all scrambled into a bush across the street.
“She always comes here,” Charles said softly. “It’s her favorite. Says the view’s the best outside.”
They watched as she sat at her usual corner table on the terrace, the one that overlooked the marina. She unhooked Leo’s leash and plopped him into the seat beside her like he was royalty.
“That’s his seat?” George blinked.
“Oh, he’s definitely her son,” Lando whispered.
Suddenly, the owner walked out. Mid-twenties, charming smile, carrying a tiny dessert plate.
“Here you go!” the guy grinned, placing the dessert in front of Y/N. “Your usual. And of course it’s on the house, for my number one fan.”
“HA!” Pierre whispered. “Number one fan?! You heard that right?!”
Y/N laughed. “You’re the best, Marco.”
“Anything for you.” He winked.
“Oh my God, they’re flirting,” George gasped.
“They look like a couple,” Lando added. “This is how rom-coms start.”
Charles was frozen. Silent.
Leo, however? Leo snapped to attention. Sat up in his little chair like a mafia boss. Eyes locked on Marco.
Then it began.
BARK. BARK. BARKBARKBARK.
He tried to stand on two legs, pawing furiously at Marco. Tail stiff. Deeply offended.
“Leo! Not again,” Y/N groaned, holding his collar. “He’s a nice guy! I swear, he’s never like this with anyone else.”
Marco chuckled, adjusting the plate. “It’s fine. He’ll eventually end up loving me. Everyone does.”
The boys collectively gasped from the bush.
“OH MY GOD HE’S CALLING SHOTGUN,” George whisper-screamed.
“HE SAID eventually. As in, he’s sticking around,” Lando added.
“HE’S BASICALLY DECLARING HIS INTENTIONS IN FRONT OF THE DOG,” Pierre shouted in a whisper.
Leo was now practically crawling over Y/N’s lap, trying to wedge himself between her and Marco, paws pushing, tail going wild.
“You’re gonna knock the dessert over. Leo, STOP!”
Charles hadn’t said a word.
———
Twenty Minutes Later: Nearby Restaurant
The team had relocated to a corner restaurant around the block, all huddled in silence around a table, water glasses untouched, menus ignored.
Nobody spoke for a full minute.
Until-
“So that’s why he’s been barking,” George said softly.
“Charles,” Pierre began gently, “even Leo is telling you to make a move.”
“You’ve had years,” Max said. “And a dog figured it out in one café trip.”
“Even a dog can tell other guys to back away from Y/N,” Lando added, “but you? You’re just standing there letting leo fight your battles.”
“He literally tried to commit assault by paw,” Pierre said. “For you.”
Charles sighed. “They were just laughing.”
“They were giggling, Charles. Giggling. Do you know what it means when a girl giggles?!” George shouted.
“Marco said ‘eventually’ like he’s planning the wedding.”
“LEO is fighting for your woman harder than you are!”
“Hold on. Are we saying Leo’s the main character now?”
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
Charles wasn’t even pretending to be chill anymore.
He stood at the front door, arms crossed, pacing like he was about to meet the principal. Behind him, the living room was full of chaos.
Pierre was sprawled dramatically across the couch. George was holding Leo’s favorite toy like a support item. Max and Lando were eating snacks like they were watching a pay-per-view event.
“I thought you guys were going home,” Charles muttered, glancing back.
“We are,” Max said, mouth full. “After Leo returns.”
“Yeah,” George added. “Can’t miss the bark show.”
“This is messed up,” Charles muttered.
“This is science,” Pierre corrected. “We’re studying the phenomenon of Bark Communication.”
And then, the doorbell rang.
Everyone sat up straighter like trained dogs themselves.
Charles nearly tripped over his own feet getting to the door. He flung it open, smiling too fast.
“Hi!” he said, a little too eagerly.
“Hi, Y/N,” George, Pierre, Lando, Arthur, and Max called from the couch like a chorus of nosy aunties.
Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, hi…?”
Charles ignored the chaos behind him. “Had a good day? Where did you go? Who did you meet?”
Y/N squinted at him suspiciously. “Just the park. A cafe. You know…around.”
Charles leaned slightly forward. “Who did you meet?”
“Oh, just… someone,” she said vaguely, bending down to unclip Leo’s leash. “Here’s your baby back.”
Leo padded into the apartment like a prince returning from war.
“Thanks for letting him spend the day with me,” Y/N said, smiling as she straightened up. “Makes the start and end of my day so much brighter.”
Charles blinked.
George mouthed bro you’re done for.
Pierre audibly sighed like he was watching a romance movie.
“See you guys,” Y/N waved, completely unaware of the crowd watching her.
“Bye!” Charles said quickly.
“Bye Y/N!”
“See you again soon!”
“Say hi to Mar-!”
Charles slammed the door.
Leo trotted into the kitchen for a dramatic slurp of water like a man who had experienced too much.
The boys already buzzing.
“Oh oh,” Lando said, pointing as Leo walked into the living room. “It’s scolding time.”
Sure enough, Leo marched right up to Charles. Planted his feet. Looked him dead in the eye.
And barked.
Loud.
Three times.
“Here we go,” George grinned. “Translation: you absolute moron.”
“Are you mad at me, Leo?” Charles asked, eyebrows raised.
BARK.
“That’s a yes,” Pierre said, nodding solemnly.
“Is it because you don’t like guys being all over Y/N?” Charles continued.
Leo let out a growly bark and gave what definitely looked like a head nod.
Charles blinked. “Well… I also didn’t like that.”
“Then why don’t you bark at him too?” Max said dryly. “Start a turf war.”
“Bring Leo for backup,” Lando added. “Two dogs, one girl, one love story.”
“This is ridiculous,” Charles muttered.
“No, this is destiny,” Pierre corrected.
Charles looked at Leo, who was now wagging his tail like mad, practically vibrating.
“Okay,” Charles said softly. “I’m going to talk to Y/N. About everything.”
Leo’s tail kicked into overdrive. He circled Charles like a little tornado of golden fluff. Let out a high-pitched happy bark and practically jumped onto the couch in victory.
Everyone stared.
George whispered, “Did… did Leo just do a happy dance?”
“He did,” Max said. “That was definitely a happy dance.”
“Even the dog is celebrating and you haven’t even confessed yet,” Pierre pointed out. “Imagine how much tail wagging we’ll get when you kiss her.”
“I’m telling you,” Lando said with his mouth full of popcorn. “Leo’s not a dog. He’s a wingman. And he’s doing God’s work.”
“Better than Charles is,” George added.
Leo barked in agreement.
———
The next morning, Y/N was already at Charles’ place with Leo when he casually walked over, trying not to look like he’d rehearsed this four times in the mirror.
“Hey,” he said, voice too casual. “Can I tag along today?”
Y/N looked up from where she was adjusting Leo’s collar. “With me and Leo?”
“Yeah. Just… you know, hang out. Go wherever you two usually go.”
She smiled. “Sure. You’re the owner. You’re allowed to see your dog.”
Charles grinned. Leo wagged his tail like he knew.
Later That Day…
It was honestly… nice. Strolling through the park, walking along the promenade, stopping by the market where Y/N bought Leo a cookie and Charles a lemonade “because you’re always dehydrated, idiot.”
Charles was floating. Leo was smiling. Even the pigeons weren’t annoying today.
But then. Then came the café.
Y/N’s café.
The Café of Flirtageddon.
They sat at her usual table outside. Leo was curled up at her feet, the sun was shining, the breeze was light. Then Charles suddenly started scanning the area like a man on a mission.
“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, amused.
“Nothing,” he muttered, frowning at the door like it had personally offended him.
Enter: Marco. The friendly cafe owner. Carrying Y/N’s favorite dessert with a practiced hand and a charming smile.
“Here you go,” Marco said, setting the plate down. “Same as always. Best customer gets the best treatment, huh?”
Charles’ eyes narrowed.
Y/N smiled. “Thank you, Marco.”
Marco leaned on the table slightly. “You know, I added extra caramel today. Thought of you when I made it.”
“Oh, it looks amazing-”
“Actually,” Charles cut in, loudly, “Y/N can’t eat too much sugar. She’ll get a headache.”
Y/N blinked. “Charles, what—”
“Also, we’re gonna walk Leo after this. Sugar and walking, not the best combo, right?” he added, folding his arms.
Marco looked confused. “Uh. Right. Well… enjoy!”
He left with an awkward smile, and Y/N slowly turned her head.
“Charles,” she said, grinning. “What was that?”
“What?” he asked, pretending innocence. “Just looking out for your health.”
She laughed but said nothing else.
Charles did not notice the idiots sitting behind a hedge across the street, disguised once again in hoodies and sunglasses.
“Bro,” Pierre wheezed, recording the whole thing. “He interrupted every sentence. Like... every Single. One.
“Marco didn’t even get to blink without Charles breathing down his neck,” Lando added.
George cackled. “Oh my god. Side-by-side video. Leo vs Charles. Interrupting Bros.”
Max just snorted. “Looks like we know where Leo got it from.”
They filmed everything. Charles footage. Charles turning red. Marco fleeing.
Iconic.
———
Back at the Table
Y/N was giggling to herself.
“What?” Charles asked, confused but suspicious.
Y/N pointed at him. “Now I know where Leo gets it from.”
“Gets what?”
“That.” She laughed. “Interrupting my conversations when I’m talking to guys.”
Charles blinked. “I don’t do that.”
“You literally did it ten minutes ago.”
Charles tried to change the subject, flustered. “What do you mean Leo does it? Like… how often?”
Y/N picked at her dessert. “Well, at first I thought he just didn’t like strangers. But I noticed he’s only like that when I’m with guys. Even with your brother Arthur. He started guarding me like a jealous boyfriend.”
She laughed again, clearly joking.
But Charles didn’t.
He went quiet. Rubbed the back of his neck. Cheeks turning very, very red.
“Yeah. I guess he got it from me.”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
Charles looked down. “I mean… I always interrupt. I get mad. I get jealous. Because I-because I’ve been in love with you. For a long time.”
Y/N froze.
Charles rushed on, nervous. “I get it if you don’t feel the same. I just… Leo clearly sees it, and I thought maybe…”
Y/N cut him off.
“I feel it.”
Charles stopped. Looked up.
“What?”
Y/N smiled softly. “I feel it, Charles. I’ve felt it for a long time. I literally told you the other day.”
He blinked. “You… what? When?”
(Flashback)
Y/N handing Leo back at the door, grinning.
“Thank you for letting him spend the day with me. Makes the start and end of my day brighter.”
She had looked right at him when she said it.
Not Leo.
Him.
(END)
Charles’s eyes widened. “That was about me?”
Y/N nodded.
Charles laughed, completely overwhelmed, before pulling her into a tight hug. “I am Stupid, I am stupid”
“You are,” she mumbled into his shirt.
Leo barked, circling them happily before wedging himself right between them like the chaos king he is.
“Of course,” Charles muttered, laughing. “He wants in too.”
———
Later That Night…
Charles was curled up on the couch with Y/N, her head tucked under his chin, his arms around her. Leo was squished between them like the furry bridge that started it all.
Suddenly, Y/N’s phone pinged.
It was a message from Pierre.
Video attachment: 🐶🐶 “WHO DID IT BETTER?”
The video had two side-by-side panels.
On the left: Leo interrupting Marco.
On the right: Charles interrupting Marco.
Same energy. Same timing. Same dramatic expression. Even the tail wag (in Charles’ case, it’s obviously metaphorical).
Y/N burst out laughing, ruffling Charles’s hair.
“What?” he mumbled into her neck.
She showed him the video.
He groaned. “I hate all of them.”
“They’re your best men at the wedding,” she said immediately.
Charles blinked. “Wedding?”
She smirked. “Manifesting.”
Leo barked once, very confidently.
Charles kissed her temple and sighed. “Unbelievable.”
Summary… Vogue invites Y/N Leclerc to film her beauty routine, but between breastfeeding, toddlers barging in, and a very attentive husband named Charles, it becomes the internet’s favorite accidental family vlog.
A/N: This was so much fun to write. Thank you for the support.
Comment to be added to the tag list 🫶
Reblog if Charles in lip gloss healed you 💋
Requests open!
Donate a matcha?!
Like, Comment, Reblog, Enjoy!! - 💋
⋆｡˚☁︎˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆
Sophie was not emotionally prepared for what awaited her in the new Vogue Beauty Secrets video.
She had expected skincare tips and light glam. Maybe a glimpse of the Leclerc home in Monaco. What she got instead? Full-blown domestic intimacy and the softest glimpse into Charles Leclerc’s family life that had her immediately texting her group chat in all caps.
The video starts with a soft click of a camera. Then, a yawn.
“Hi, Vogue,” Y/N greets, bleary-eyed but smiling, her voice raspy from sleep. “I’m Y/N Leclerc. It’s 6:42 a.m., I haven’t had coffee, and I have approximately six minutes before someone needs me, so let’s go.”
She’s in a silky ivory robe, hair loosely twisted up, bare-faced but still radiant. The Monaco morning light spills in through tall windows, and behind her, their bathroom is sleek and softly lit, complete with pampas grass, glowy wall sconces, and a tiny pink toothbrush on the counter.
“So, I start my routine with cold water to fake looking awake,” she says, splashing her face. “This cleanser is my holy grail. Saved me from pregnancy acne, postpartum dry skin, and whatever hormonal situation is happening now.”
Just as she starts patting her face dry, a high-pitched wail breaks through the audio.
Y/N sighs, already smiling. “Hold on.”
The camera stays rolling as she walks out of frame. A minute later, she returns with a sleepy, whimpering baby girl snuggled into her chest and latched under her robe, suckling quietly.
“This is Amélie,” Y/N explains with a gentle bounce. “She woke up from a nightmare. Or gas. Or because the moon shifted slightly. Who knows.”
She reaches for her toner with one hand. “We multitask in this house.”
From the hallway, there’s the unmistakable sound of tiny feet running and then,
“MAMAN! Maxime threw the car in the toilet!”
Y/N freezes mid-serum. “Of course he did.”
Seconds later, Charles appears in the doorway in a plain white tee and black boxers, holding their son Maxime upside down like a sack of potatoes while their other son, Luca, trails behind looking scandalized.
“We’re resolving a Formula 1 incident in the bathroom,” Charles says, grinning at the camera. “Luca’s the steward. Maxime is currently being investigated for unsportsmanlike conduct.”
“Did you retrieve the car?” Y/N asks.
Charles shrugs. “No comment.”
He presses a kiss to her temple, checks on Amélie with soft eyes, then scoops up both boys with ease. “We’ll be back. Maybe.”
As he disappears, Y/N turns back to the camera with a laugh. “As you can tell, I live with four Leclercs. And none of them understand volume control.”
She continues her routine: moisturizer, under-eye cream, a little face oil, occasionally pausing to adjust Amélie’s head or sip coffee that mysteriously appears beside her.
Y/N narrows her eyes toward the door. “He always does this. Drops off coffee like a skincare fairy.”
There’s a beat.
Then Charles reappears with Leo, their dog, trailing behind him and immediately curling up at Y/N’s feet.
Charles grins, now shirtless and balancing Luca on one hip, Maxime hanging from his back like a little koala.
“Thought you needed a refill.”
Y/N lifts her brows. “You mean a refill of chaos?”
He kisses her cheek again. “Always.”
She rolls her eyes fondly. “I’m going to try to do mascara. Let’s see how this goes with a baby attached to me and a toddler kicking a soccer ball off the bidet.”
The camera captures her reflection in the mirror, her swiping mascara with practiced precision while Amélie dozes, Charles wrangling twins in the background, Leo curled up protectively beneath her. Somehow it feels… cinematic. Like watching a memory unfold.
She reaches for her blush and hears,
“Maman, I want the pink lips too!” Maxime shouts, bolting into the room again with one of her glosses in hand.
Charles walks in, sheepish. “He stole it. I tried.”
Y/N gestures to the camera. “Well. Raw and real, right Vogue?”
She lifts Maxime onto the counter, dabs a bit of gloss on his lips, and hands the wand to Charles with a teasing smirk. “Your turn.”
Charles blinks. “I thought this was your video.”
“Your lips are dry. Don’t embarrass the family.”
The camera catches Charles puckering obediently, Y/N laughing as she applies the gloss while holding Amélie in place.
Sophie can’t believe she’s witnessing this. Charles Leclerc in a lip gloss application tutorial. Shirtless. Surrounded by three kids and a dog. Whispering something soft in French to his daughter, whose little fist is tangled in his necklace.
“I swear by this nipple cream,” Y/N adds, completely unbothered. “For any of you breastfeeding, it’s a life saver. Charles applies it for me when I’m too tired.”
“I do?” he calls from the hallway.
“You do now,” she calls back.
She finishes her makeup with one hand, blush, a bit of highlighter, tinted lip oil.
“And that’s it,” she smiles. “That’s my five-minute face for school drop-offs, F1 events, or just chasing the dog through the garden while holding a crying baby.”
Charles reappears once more, now with Amélie peacefully burping over his shoulder, the twins playing with Lego on the rug behind him.
He leans into the frame. “She forgot the most important product.”
Y/N blinks. “I did?”
Charles kisses her cheek. “Confidence. And a little gloss.”
Sophie feels like her heart’s going to explode.
The screen fades just as Maxime announces, “Papa tooted,” and chaos erupts behind them.
Y/N blows a kiss to the camera.
“Thanks, Vogue. Come back when we’ve slept for more than three hours.”
summary: after lando surprises your son for his birthday, you decide to surprise him by dressing up for silverstone, only this time, it's not spider-man: milo dresses up like lando himself.
wc: 7.6 k
warnings: none!
authors note: okay so the love 'the costume' has received has been wild?? y'all are fantastic
➤ MASTERLIST - part one - part three - part four(ish) - part five - part six
You wish orange were a more common colour for clothes. After all, it could be bright and colourful or muted and rusty, a nice warm tone to add to your everyday wardrobe.
It totally didn't have anything to do with the fact that you and Milo had nothing to wear to Lando's race next week.
Not remotely.
"You could dress like a car?" Milo says, running his hands along a display of dress pants, much to the disdain of the shopping attendant.
"We want to wear Lando's team colours, silly." Despite all the time you had spent with the driver, you had yet to have a real piece of McLaren merch, or Lando's, or anything even remotely F1 related. If Lando were currently in England, you fantasize about the idea that you could call him up and ask him to borrow something of his, a daydream of wearing something that he'd worn before.
It's the kind of thought that makes you blush in the middle of the store, the ridiculousness of it all getting to you. It's a childish thing, the sort of act a teen would blush over, but you couldn't help it. Lando had returned you to a youthful, bubbly sort of romance that you had thought you'd never get the chance to experience again. Well, you hope it's a romance, at least, and not just another doomed infatuation.
After all, it was hard to call something a romance when you hadn't seen the man in two weeks.
Lando hadn't been back to England since the birthday party, which was expected of someone like an F1 driver. A race in Austria, a movie premiere in New York. You, on the other hand, were a single mom halfway across the world. You had kissed him, sure, but that wasn't anything concrete. You knew how whirlwind romances could end, what those quick kisses could turn into.
The evidence of it was currently trying to sneak his way into a rack of coats. "Milo, I don't think we're finding anything in there." You hold out your hand, and he happily runs to grab it. "How about we try another store?"
"Won't Mr. Norris have things for us at the race?" He asks as you lead him out of the store, and it's a fair question. Lando certainly could surprise you with merch, but seeing as you have a week until the race, and that he's off travelling the world with far more important people, getting McLaren hats and shirts for you and Milo wouldn't be top of his list.
Well, perhaps not for you. After all, despite the connection you hoped to grow with the racer, it was obvious he already loved Milo. He'd come dressed as Spider-Man, got Milo gifts, babysat when he could, hell, he was paying for you to go to Silverstone!
Really, the fact that he kissed you almost takes a back burner to just how involved he is in Milo's life. So, who's to say he wouldn't be thoughtful enough to remember merch?
Then, just as soon as the thought arises, it leaves a strange feeling in your stomach. Lando was an unfathomably wealthy person, compared to your situation. How could you possibly want more?
Oh, you don't have something orange to wear to support him, so you need whatever ridiculously expensive merch he has?
You don't want him for his money, and more than anything, you don't want him to think you're ungrateful. Milo tugs at your hand, breaking you out of your thoughts, and he grins so wide that for a moment, you forget what you were thinking of entirely. "Mum, look!" He says, pointing to a charity shop. "A race suit!"
And, because maybe miracles do happen, or some parent was cleaning out their kids' clothes, there's an old Lightning-McQueen race suit costume slung over the back of a chair in the shop's display, with a five-pound note sticker attached to it.
All you need now, you think, is some black dye, some orange paint, and some white paint markers.
-
Lando makes it exactly three weeks before he cracks. Well, that's not exactly true. He sends you an Instagram reel on Wednesday night, questions about hotel preferences on Saturday morning, train times the following Tuesday.
However, he hadn't talked about the party, or the aftermath, or the fact that he kissed you at all, and it was sort of driving him mad. He was given a glimpse of the domestic life, of what his days could look like off the road and off the track, and it was eating him away inside.
How do you not fall in love like that?
Well, love might be a strong word, but Lando was feeling things for you he'd never felt this fully before, and he had no way of knowing if that was a pity kiss, or a kiss with no strings attached, or if maybe, just maybe, you did like him back, and Lando had to consider a lot of things about his future if you did.
However, none of that mattered right now, because Lando was slightly tipsy, and he just really, really wanted to see your face. FaceTime rings twice before you pick up, looking at him rather confused. "Lando? Everything alright?"
"M' perfect." He says, sitting on the edge of his hotel bed, loosening the tie around his neck. "You?"
"I'm doing alright," You say with a laugh, and as Lando squints down at his phone, he realizes you have a streak of orange paint near your chin. "Busy getting ready for the race this weekend."
"Is that Mr. Norris?" Lando hears faintly, and he perks up instantly.
"Milo! Can I say hi?" You pause, glancing down to where he imagines Milo stands by you, and something stutters in his chest. Did he do something wrong?
Do you not want him to see Milo?
He fully well could've overstepped some boundaries, tucking you both in like that, reading, invading your personal space. It had felt right for Lando to have been part of that equation, but it didn't mean-"You can, but you're not allowed to say anything. It's a surprise."
"A surprise? For me?" With a slowly easing heart, you pass off the phone, and Lando laughs so hard he has to fall back on the bed.
Milo is just covered in orange paint. It's on his hands, smudged on his face, splattered on an old t-shirt he's wearing. It was very obviously a surprise for the race, probably a sign, he thinks, and he takes screenshots as he stares at Milo grinning at him. "Hello, Mr. Norris!"
"Hey, you muppet. Did you get into some paint?" Milo nods, turning to show him something, and your hand covers the camera. "Aw, come on!"
"It's a surprise, sweetheart." Lando knows you're talking to Milo, not him, but god, does the name do things to his insides. "You can't show him yet."
"Oh," Milo says, as his face returns to the camera. "Mum says you can't see."
"I'll just have to wait. You excited for the race?" Milo nods excitedly, once again trying to show the camera something, but your hand covers it once more as you laugh, an unexpected sound.
"Milo, what did I just say?"
"I was just going to show how excited I am! Here." Milo steps back from the camera, and he spreads his arms super wide. Rather than focusing on the cute moment, however, Lando's gaze drifts to the background of Milo's bedroom. His McLaren Lego car box is proudly on display, however, all the Spider-Man decor is not. Or, at least some things were missing from when he tucked Milo and you in. Not that he memorized the room, or anything, but simply that he'd been replaying that memory in his head so often, it felt like he knew what the decorations should be.
"Wow, that's pretty exciting." He says, tuning back into the conversation. When you flip the camera around to show yourself, you immediately catch the furrow in Lando's brow.
He's sure it's just from you being attentive to your own child's needs, but something is telling in the way that, just from looking at him, you know what he's thinking. "Everything alright?"
"Where's all the Spider-Man stuff?" It couldn't have been long enough that Milo had changed interests. Sure, kids go through different interests, but Lando had got Milo web shooters, he had posters on his walls, comic books on the shelves. Now, it was oddly bare, and Lando's immediate first thought, his first fear, is that you could be moving, and he refuses to allow it to take root in his brain.
You would have a nice and simple and not scary explanation. You had to. "He's going through a bit of a phase, right now." You explain, turning the camera back to Milo, who is still grinning up at you, gap-toothed and all. "Milo, who's your favourite hero?"
And there, Milo says the one sentence that makes Lando wonder if he should abandon everything to fly home early just for you, and more importantly, just for Milo: "Mr. Norris!"
"Me?" Lando squawks out, words caught in his throat. "But I'm not a hero."
"Well, you are in this house." You'd just shot him in the heart, he thinks. He can't imagine an appropriate response, just staring at Milo, who keeps grinning. In this house, which means Milo and you. Lando was his favourite hero now, for reasons even Lando didn't quite understand. Sure, he was a F1 star, a celebrity, but he wasn't anything important. He wasn't a hero, by any means, but with Milo staring at him like that? He just might believe it. "He wants to do another birthday party Lando-themed."
"Can Milo hear me right now?" You shake your head, and Lando dramatically throws an arm over his face, trying to cover his growing blush and crack a joke, because if he doesn't, he might cry. "So I dressed up for nothing?"
"Lando!" You're laughing in unison now, and he wishes, above anything, that it wasn't just over the phone. Seeing you in person might ease the ache in his heart or the anxiety growing in his head. Honestly, it could just make it all ten times worse, but all Lando can think is that you had to like him back. Even if there were concerns of how Milo might fit into the equation, or his racing career, or your own past, you had to.
He was a hero in your household, anyway.
Which meant he might be a hero to you, and really, Lando would give anything to be that knight in shining armour, whisking you away to experience the finer things in life, to give you and Milo the happiness you deserve.
He just sort of has to get off of Facetime and into your life to make it happen.
-
"Mum," Milo whispers up to you, "Why are they taking our picture?"
The cameras flash around you as you enter the Silverstone track, however, even as your heart rate picks up, and the fear sets in of what Lando's world means, you know exactly why the cameras are flashing: because a little Lando Norris just walked in, decked out in a little McLaren racesuit, made as accurately as you could. "Because they love your costume, sweetheart."
"I made it myself." Milo then says up to one of the photographers as you pass. "Mum helped."
"I'm sure mum helped a lot!" The woman says with a laugh, and you offer her a warm smile. You're sure, if people knew you were here at Lando's request, after he dressed up as Spider-Man for Milo's birthday, they'd be acting much differently.
But, for now, you're fairly invisible, able to walk through the paddock with Milo and enjoy the morning for what it is. Lando had told you to message him when you arrived, but had so far been MIA. It was qualifying today, so he was probably just swamped with media, or training, or getting ready to race, or more important people.
Milo, however, very obviously notices Lando's disappearance. "Where's Mr. Norris?"
"I'm sure he's getting ready," You say, stopping under the shade of an umbrella. It was a ridiculously hot time for England, and coming in an all-black outfit wasn't the best decision, but it was the nicest thing you owned for this kind of event. "We'll see him later, sweetheart."
"I want to show him my suit." Milo says, tugging at your hand toward the bright orange McLaren hospitality. You were a guest of McLaren, technically, so if you were to be anywhere, you think this might be it. Milo, marching his way toward the building, draws the attention of even more cameras, and even more people. In your eyes, Milo truly was adorable, and deserved to be the centre of attention, but even this was a bit much.
"Look, it's a mini you." Someone says, and to your surprise, you look up to see the other McLaren racer standing by the doors.
"Oh, wow." Oscar says, offering a little wave to Milo, who, for some reason, immediately hides behind your leg. You squat down to his height, gently carding your hand through his curls, as you try to figure out how he'd become so shy so fast.
"Look who it is!" You say, as Oscar approaches with even more flashing cameras, and Milo stares up at him, wide-eyed. "Can you say hi to Mr. Piastri?"
Oscar crouches to also be Milo's height, which helps somewhat, but the boy is obviously wary. "Hello," Milo says shyly. "Mr. Pias-tri."
"Hi there," Oscar says, holding out a hand for a high five. Much to your horror, Milo leaves him hanging. "I like your race suit."
"It's for Mr. Norris." Milo says, pulling at the front of it. "We made it at home."
"You must be Milo," Oscar says, and for a moment, your heart stops. Lando spoke about Milo. And, probably not just Milo, but you, and you're not sure what to do with that information. "Lando told me you were coming today. Are you having fun?"
Milo nods, turning to look at you with a strange sort of look in his eye, and you still can't figure out why. Sure, it's not Lando, but Oscar is just as impressive! "It's okay, sweetheart. Mr. Piastri is also a pretty cool car driver."
"Lando and I are teammates," Oscar says, and Milo shoots him an unimpressed look. After all, considering the little racing fan Milo was turning out to be, he seemed to believe Oscar was underestimating him.
"I know." He says defensively, and Oscar cracks a smile. "I saw you on TV."
"Do you want a photo?" Someone says from above, and Oscar shifts to kneel beside Milo as you rise, giving the two of them space.
Milo finally seems to warm up to Oscar, offering a little smile, and without much thought to the action, Oscar takes off his hat and puts it on Milo's head. Milo gasps, grabbing the brim as he tries to look up at the hat, and ends up pulling it over his eyes. The small group laughs, including Oscar, who folds in on himself as he rises. "He's adorable," He says, reaching down to gently pat Milo's head. "I get why Lando loves him so much."
Loves.
I get why Lando loves him so much. "Oh, well, thank you," You manage to stutter out. "Milo, what do you say to Mr. Piastri?"
"Oscar," Oscar says, extending a hand. "You don't have to call me Mr. Piastri."
You shake his hand, and somewhere in the universe, you feel a change you can't describe, a cord unplugged from something too early. You turn to your right instinctively, where you find Lando a few steps away, out of breath and panting, staring you down, like a man who'd just spotted his lost love coming home from war.
At least, that's what you hope that expression means. "Mr. Norris!"
-
Lando's going to fucking die, and so far, there's at least like three potential reasons for it. He missed your text of your arrival, missed sending his attendant to gather you to bring you back to his drivers room and the paddock early, and then couldn't find you. He'd run around, probably looking a little mad, until he thought to stop by the McLaren hospitality, where he finally did find you.
However, you were looking at Oscar and blushing and stuttering out something before shaking his hand, and his heart turned into something he could only describe as shrivelled. You were supposed to look at him like that, like when he stopped to help you bring groceries in, or fix your wifi router, or when he held the door. That hand you were shaking, even if it was just Oscar, wasn't right. Oscar shouldn't have been the first person to greet you, it should've been him. Lando should've been here, for you, and he wasn't, and how did that show he was dependable? That he cared?
However, all of that sort of went out of the window when he heard Milo call his name, and then his shrivelled heart exploded, because all the orange paint made sense now.
It wasn't for a sign, it was for an outfit. Milo was stood in a perfect little replica race suit, running at him full tilt with his arms spread out, and Lando wasted no time bending down to scoop the boy up, happily holding him in his arms as he babbled on about something, but Lando was sort of too far gone to hear it.
You had made Lando's race suit. You got all the details right, even the little sponsor names, the little British flag and the name Norris on his hip, and for a moment, Lando has the realization that if, one day, you took his last name, Milo would too. Milo Norris, he thinks, is a perfect name for a perfect kid.
Then, Milo pulls the hat off his head, and Lando gets a glimpse of the number on it. "What! 81?" He says, taking the hat and happily tossing it at Oscar, who catches it with a laugh. "That's betrayal! That's-that's enemy territory, Milo. What number should it be?"
"Four!" Milo says as Lando reaches up to take his own hat off his head and place it on Milo's.
"Exactly. 81's for ass-" Well, that's certainly not a word you would approve of him saying in front of Milo. "Uh, Australians."
"Nice catch." You tease, coming to stand beside him, and there really must be something wrong with him, there's got to be. Because with you at his side, adjusting Milo's hat, smiling at him like that? All he can picture is this one day being his, and he's only kissed you once. "Did you just come from a work out?"
A work out?
Oh, him being out of breath and sweating.
"Yeah, getting ready before qualifying." Totally not because he ran here.
Not at all. "Can mum have the hat?" Milo asks, and Lando blinks a couple times before realizing he's never given you any merch, and for a moment, he just sort of hears ringing in his ears.
Because how could he have never given you merch? Both McLaren or his own? How could he have never seen you in his shirts, wearing his number, god, maybe even just some of his own worn clothes? It's all he can picture, of you curled up beside him, repping him, and he has to think about rather terrible things to keep his body from reacting. "You know what? Let's take a trip to my store."
"Lando, you don't have to-" Lando holds up a hand, cutting you off, and he then beckons you to follow.
"I hope you brought a bag," He says. "Cause you're getting everything."
-
Lando gets it, now.
Why the guys like having their partners at races. It's sweet to have anyone come to watch, to celebrate, but coming off third, a not-so great result, coming back to his drivers room, and coming back to you?
Oh, it takes so much restraint not to just kiss you senseless, because you're in his jersey, grinning at him with Milo in your arms, the image of perfection. Who cares about third when you have this?
Lando gets it, now, as you wrap an arm around him in a hug, squeezing Milo between the two of you as you laugh.
He gets why guys put everything on the line to come home to something like this.
-
McLaren having a partnership with Hilton is, you think, maybe one of the best perks Lando comes with. Sure, there are the fancy cars and free t-shirts, but a two-room hotel suite for you and Milo? At no cost at all?
Well, that's the sort of thing you could see yourself getting used to, and as you wrap yourself in one of the comfy, complimentary robes, the thought doesn't bring about giddiness of the future, or of Lando, but a strange unease. This was a whole new world, where things were just handed to you on a silver platter when before, you had to fight tooth and nail for the same kind of respect. You got the free merch, the complimentary food and drink, the beautiful hotel suite, and it was all because of Lando.
Lando was out there wearing watches more expensive than your apartment, and Milo was in a charity shop jumpsuit that you hand-painted. It was a very new world to step into, and one you're not sure exactly how to adjust to. There's a soft, tentative knock on the door, and you press your face to the peephole to spot Lando with a plastic bag in hand.
"I hope I didn't wake Milo?" He says as you open the door, gesturing to the bag. "Just wanted to drop off something."
"I just put him down," You say softly, letting him in. "Poor guy fell asleep on the way home."
It was also a stupid thing to get caught up on when you and Lando had only kissed once. He probably had made out with countless women and let them go in a single night. Doesn't mean you didn't value his presence, or that you didn't miss the absence he filled. The empty side of the bed, the empty plate at dinner. Lando had played that role only once, and yet it had just felt so right. It was delusion, probably. Having fallen so quickly, after a single day, but you can't forget how right it felt, how much you wanted it, how long you'd seen him with Milo before it finally tipped over the edge.
"You're something else, you know that?" Lando says, sitting down on the edge of your bed with a grin. "For dressing him up like that. Think it might've stopped my heart."
You come to stand between his open legs, and somehow not quite getting the message, Lando extends the plastic bag. "It was all his idea," You say, taking the bag. "He wanted to dress up like his hero, after all."
"Oh, you can't say that!" Lando covers his face and leans back on the bed as you crack open the bag. "I'm not a hero, I'm just-" He props himself up on his elbows when he hears the crinkling of the bag. "Oh, that's for you."
In hand is a worn McLaren sweater you're pretty sure you've seen Lando wear at least ten times, which isn't a lot, but considering how little you saw him? It was a staple piece of his wardrobe. You must turn bright red, because Lando turns a matching shade as he quickly gets up, leaving little space between you.
"It's just-I thought it might be a better everyday colour than the...the green." He tries to take it from your hand, and you pull it away from him, much like a child refusing to share. "If you don't want-"
"Oh, you're never getting this back now." He gave you.
His sweater. "I thought it matched you more." Then, because saying you matched an old worn hoodie, more than you did brand new, expensive merch might not exactly be taken the best, you watch his face fall in real time. "Because you should be comfortable! And it's like, the most comfortable thing I own! I-"
"Lando." He immediately shuts his mouth, and sits back down on the bed, and you can't help but laugh, coming to sit beside him. So maybe you weren't alone, in how new this all was, the strange territory you toed the line on. "It's very sweet."
"You're laughing! I gave you my jumper and you're laughing." He lets out a low breath, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting his own smile. "And to think I flew you out here."
"We took the train, actually." You correct, folding the sweater up and leaving it beside you. "Which I never got to thank you for. All this has been...so much." And as much as you hate to admit it, you need to start being honest at some point. "Maybe too much."
Lando pauses as he watches you, you fiddling with the tie of your robe as you wait for his response. Telling him this was too much, to his face, was probably an idiotic decision, but this was all so foreign. The glamour, the respect. People didn't just do these sorts of things for you, didn't do anything anywhere near as close.
But Lando? He came dressed as Spider-Man, and invited you to races, and for the first time in a long time, made you feel something in a heart normally reserved for Milo and Milo alone. "I couldn't tell you the last time I went on holiday." You finally say, just barely above a whisper. "Had someone pour me champagne, got more free, fancy things than I could ever name. And I'm so grateful for all of it. For you, Lando. I just..."
"It's a lot." Lando finishes for you, rubbing his hands together. "It's okay, if I'm too much too."
"You?" You turn to look at him, and Lando refuses to meet your eye, staring a hole into the carpet. "I don't think I could ever get enough of you, honestly."
"I just really want this to work, you know." Lando suddenly blurts, cheeks tinted pink from your comment. "And I don't know how to do that without just fucking going crazy. Like the Spider-Man suit, paying for you to come to a race? Who does that?" Lando Norris does, apparently. "I just...I want you, and I want that little guy at all of my races, in that little suit, cheering me on." It all sort of comes out in a tumble of a confession that just keeps going. "And not just at races. I want to come home to this, to the Spider-Man webs on the walls, reading him a bedtime story, and I want to come home to you. Wearing my jersey, or my jumper, being with me, kissing me over the backs of couches." Lando looms nearer, then, and in another life, you might grab his face and kiss him, if it weren't for that little, minuscule fear that held everything back. Your words, your future, your feelings. "I think I'm sort of going crazy about it, actually."
"Oh." You were supposed to be confessing your feelings of inadequacy to him, not him confessing actual feelings for you, but you truly don't mind the flip in conversation. However, he looks on the edge of something, a word that he just can't quite get out. "But?"
He drops his head into his hands, raking his fingers through his curls.
It's something he doesn't want to say, and it's something you've had to face for the past four years. "But having that is more than just races and little orange track suits." You fill in for him this time.
"It's a lot of travelling, and a lot of away days, but...other drivers do it?"
"With their own kids, Lando. That's a bit different." You break slowly, because it's the truth.
Lando adored Milo. It's one of the things that made the man so dear to you, but there was a difference between being good with kids and being good at raising kids, between being a babysitter and a potential father. "Milo's pretty much mine, if you want him to be." Lando admits quietly. "D'you see what number he was wearing? Whose name you put on that suit?"
There's a part of you that wants to yell at him to be realistic. His world is so far from yours, with so much more to offer. There must be models and actresses and others cut out for this, not you, not Milo. But when he says things like that? When he looks at you like that? It's a lot harder to make that argument believable. "Kids are a lot of responsibility, Lando. There's more than one heart at stake here. I need you to think about this seriously."
"Mum?" Both of you jolt at the sound of Milo's voice, somehow having gotten out of his room without either of you noticing. You have half a mind to put some distance between you and Lando, considering how close you're sitting, but Milo doesn't seem to care, scrambling up the other side of the bed to sit near you.
"Missing out?" Lando says, turning to sit cross legged on the bed, and letting Milo join the little huddle. It's an act that shouldn't be as heartstopping as it is, but it was Lando, and it was Milo.
It was the realization that you could have someone else to turn to on those sleepless nights, someone at your side who accepted Milo, not rejected him. It was someone in your corner, who wanted you, and it was the first time, in a long time, that anyone's made you feel so...whole. You'll cry about it later, you decide, when both your boys aren't present.
"You should be in bed, love." You whisper, gently pressing a kiss to Milo's forehead. "So should Mr. Norris."
"Sleepover?" Milo asks behind a yawn, and Lando laughs softly, shaking his head.
"We've got a big day tomorrow. We can't stay up." Lando pats the pillow at the head of the bed, and Milo crawls up to lie against it. "How's that?"
"I'm sure it's great, stealing my bed." You tease, coming to lie on one side of Milo, tickling his stomach as he cackles with laughter. Lando falls onto the bed on the other side of Milo and looks over at you with a grin.
As much as you would like to continue your conversation, some things in life are just more important. Seemingly tired of your presence, Milo rolls away from you, and plants his head on Lando's chest. Lando doesn't move, freezing immediately as the boy curls up into his side. "Picking favourites, are we?" You ask softly, and Milo yawns into Lando's ribs.
"I am a pretty good pillow." Lando says, shooting you a wink, and you move onto your side, your arm splayed over Milo and onto Lando's chest. Your palm flattens against him to feel his pounding heart, the movement quick enough to convince you that he'd just run a marathon, or maybe won a race, instead of lying next to you.
It would be a more intimate moment if Milo didn't wipe his drool on Lando's t-shirt, who luckily takes it in stride. "I should take him to races more often," You say absentmindedly, stuck between watching Milo and watching Lando. "He's pretty tuckered out."
"You can come to every race," Lando says softly, rolling his head to the side to look at you. "I'll pay for every one."
"Lando..." The thing is, when he said things like that, you knew he meant it. You knew that this could be your future, such an opportunity for both you and Milo, but it shouldn't be yours to take. At least, it shouldn't be yours to take, unless Lando considers all the little repercussions that come with dating you. "I just want you to think about this." You peek down at Milo, whose eyes are fluttering, still fighting sleep. You move your hand from Lando's chest to gently rub at his back, and in seconds, he's finally dozing. Only when you're sure he won't wake from your whispers do you continue. "You mean more to me than you know, so if we're doing this, I don't want...I just, I need you to know that I need all of you."
"You have all of me." Then, because he knows it's not a fair thing to say, "I'll think about it."
As gently as you can, you pull Milo back off Lando's chest and onto the bed. Lando's face falls at the loss, and you have to steel yourself to stop from confessing something catastrophic then and there. Despite all the doubts you have, the way Lando looks at Milo stirs something deep in your heart. "Don't worry about it at the race, either." You warn, knowing how he might stew over this long enough to hurt his performance tomorrow. "Just...when you know, tell me."
Lando leans over, and you expect him to say something, but instead, he presses a kiss to your cheek. "Trust me," He says, "You'll be the first to know. Goodnight." He then gently places his hand on Milo's head and whispers, "Goodnight, Mini-me."
-
So, maybe Lando's love confession didn't exactly go as planned last night. He had gotten the two-room suite for a reason: Milo goes to bed, you stay up, he confesses everything he's been dying to say, maybe you kiss him, it all works perfectly.
However, that sort of love confession wasn't realistic, and he'd ended up not beginning a relationship with you, but he did kiss you on the cheek, and got a reminder to think about the relationship, you, and Milo. Despite your warning, it's all he can think about the entire time he's in the car, which most certainly isn't helpful.
He wanted this.
He wanted you. And Milo.
And despite what those around him might think, it was realistic. It could be, anyway. He was young, he was well aware, but he had the energy to be a father. Other people had kids at his age! I mean, Milo wasn't exactly a teenage pregnancy, you were both in your twenties. You could handle this. He could handle this. Or, at least, he was pretty sure he could.
He had already cornered Max in the Red Bull Motorhome to annoy him with enough questions about being a step-dad that the man now refused to answer his texts. He had done the research. He'd seen Milo in that race suit. He knew how his own father raised him, the kind of kindness that he couldn't believe others never received.
That was enough. You were enough. And, as he overtakes Max, he hopes you know that. He hopes that you delaying this wasn't coming from your view of yourself, because he knew what the media could be like. You weren't what most people might expect from him, but that didn't make it wrong, didn't make you any less of a partner. Milo was a glorious part of this, not something for you to ever feel ashamed about.
He had meant it, when he said Milo was his. He might not know exactly how to be a dad, but he knows how to be himself, and everytime he is himself, around you, around Milo, it feels right. It feels like he belongs, like that kid was always supposed to be his, like you were always supposed to be his.
Mr and Mrs Norris, and Milo Norris.
As he pits, he wonders where you're watching from, if you'll get to the Parc Ferme in time, or get to the barrier. It's cocky to think of, halfway through a race, but he can't help it. It's his home race; he might die if he loses, especially now that you're here. His mind drifts, as he takes off, wondering if he'll get to kiss you.
Then, as Lando gets back out on the track, weaving his way back to first, he lets himself wonder, just once, if this is the right decision.
Because what if he did make a mistake? What if he screwed up? What if he messes up Milo? If he messes up what you have? He'd never forgive himself. A child is such a large commitment, and honestly, if he ignores Milo, a very hard task to do, you're a big commitment too. Lando's not sure what happened to you in the past, to leave you with Milo and no one else, but he couldn't fathom hurting you further, seeing you hurt at all.
God, if he fucked this up, he could never-
"Message for you, Lando." A voice cuts through his earphones as the worst of the thoughts spiral, giving him just enough of a branch to cling onto.
"Mr. Norris?" Milo says, "There's a-what is it? Oh, there's rain expected in ten minutes."
Lando has to suck in a breath to respond, his mind going blank. "Yeah?"
"If you win, will you give the trophy to mum?" And there, on the Silverstone track, Lando realizes he could never screw up.
Not with Milo or you on the line. Not with this. He might be young, and this might be new, but he knows he'd give everything up in a heartbeat to have this at every race.
To have someone to give his trophies to, to have someone to come home to, to have you, and Milo. To have a happily ever after that didn't depend on a race car, or winnings. One that simply depended on you saying yes in a white dress someday. And, long before that, of you meeting him at the barrier after this race. "Of course, you muppet."
-
When Lando wins, because of course Lando wins, Silverstone goes ballistic. It's the sort of celebration you'd never witnessed before, all the mechanics, all the orange staff, all the fans in the stands, they all erupt in cheers and hugs, a morphing, crushing mob that rushes towards Parc Ferme with a speed that forces you to pick up Milo to avoid him getting trampled.
"The trophy!" He says, smacking against your shoulders as you join the rush, jogging to keep up. "He promised you his trophy!"
"I think I'll keep it in the kitchen," You say with a soft laugh, taking off your earmuffs to let them hang around your neck, settling nicely against Lando's jumper. It might not be the prettiest of things to wear to an F1 race, but who else could say they were wearing Lando Norris's clothes when he won his home race? "We can serve pasta out of it."
"Or sweets!" Milo says, trying to get up out of your arms to see over the crowd as you approach. "Or apple juice!"
Lando stands on top of his car, and for a moment, you regret not keeping the earmuffs on, because the screams around you are deafening, your own included. It's the sweetest possible sound of victory, Lando jumping up on his car and shaking his fists in the air, a ball of energy that belonged there.
He makes his way around the crowd, throwing himself at mechanics and other staff, embracing family and friends, celebrating like he deserves to. As he takes off his helmet, you watch him pause, jumping up on the tips of his toes to try to scan over the crowd, and it's Milo who figures it out before you do.
"MR. NORRIS!" He screeches, startling the few people in front of you. They awkwardly shuffle to the sides to let you and Milo through, and Lando is instantly reaching for the boy, swinging him over the barrier and hoisting him on his shoulders.
It's the sort of view you don't think you could ever get tired of. In fact, it's the sort of memory you want burned into the back of your eyelids to see every time you blink, or sleep, or dream. It's Milo and Lando, matching suits and curls and grins, stretched from ear to ear. The crowd keeps chanting, hollering at the two of them, but all the noise sort of fades as you watch.
That, you think, is how you want Milo to look at a man, at someone who might be your partner. That's the kind of care you want your partner to have, holding Milo like his own, spinning around in circles as the cameras flash and the world applauds them. At least, you think, the world sees your boys as you do.
Absolutely perfect. Lando catches your stare as he ends his celebratory dance, stopping a few feet away as he watches you right back. And that smile, that ridiculous, contagious smile, only grows.
"I thought about it!" He has to shout, words barely heard as he approaches.
"What?" You ask, leaning against the railing to try and make out the meaning.
"I said," He repeats, ducking forward to hover just above you, "I thought about it."
His lips are on yours before you can even react. To some, it probably isn't the most pleasant kiss in the world, with the sweat and the heat and the crowd crushing in, but you find there's not a single thing you could ever complain about as your hands come up to cup his cheeks. It's Lando, in the clearest declaration you've ever seen, calling you his, in front of Silverstone, in front of everyone, in front of Milo, in front of you. It's not a soft thing over the back of the couch in a Spider-Man costume, but it's so much more real, heavy and yet somehow lightening all the weight on your shoulders, all the worries preying at the edge of your mind.
This is how it should feel when you kiss someone. This is how it feels when you know it'll last, when that love extends past you and into the boy resting on Lando's shoulders. It's how it feels when you know, and he knows, and there's nothing else to say about it. "You won!" You say against his lips with a smile, and he pulls back to practically cackle at you.
"I won!" Later, when you tell him there were tears in his eyes at this moment, he'll deny them, but you watch the way they shine, all that hard work and effort paid off. "I've got my good luck charms with me. Now you have to come to every race."
"Oh, we'll be there." Lando reaches over the railing to pull you somehow closer into him, bending his head to press a kiss to your cheek, and whisper something without the world to hear.
"Thank you," He says, almost choking on the words. "I'll make this work, I promise."
"I believe you, Lando." You say, and you'd say more, but the moment gets interrupted by a certain someone.
"Mr. Norris!" Milo says, pulling softly at Lando's hair. "You kissed my mum."
Lando freezes, realizing that, as much as you might be happy about this relationship, Milo might not be. "That okay?"
Milo thinks for a moment. "Can I get your trophy?"
"I'll give you all my trophies from now on," Lando says, letting the boy down and back into your arms. "Do we have a deal?"
"Deal." Lando laughs, a pure, bright thing, and heads back to do whatever it is he does after a race, and you let reality settle in. There are cameras, and people staring, and questions to be asked, but you find that they don't quite matter, because you can't stop grinning like an idiot.
This, you think, was how it should feel, being in love.
It's the way your heart calms, watching Lando get up on that podium, accept his award, knowing he deserves it all and more. It's you screaming until your lungs are raw in celebration, watching him spraying champagne, holding his trophy high, beaming down at you.
It's the Lego trophy that's in Milo's hands mere minutes after it's given to Lando, who, in his post-race celebration, hoists the boy back up on his shoulders, looking more proud of the boy above him than he was to win. They match, in their outfits, and their trophies, and their smiles, and their curls, and the way you're so utterly smitten for both of them.
It's the sort of joy you hope will never fade, and after it's all done, and the fans go home, and the energy wears off, you doubt it ever will, as you discover Milo and Lando passed out together in his little en-suite room. The man had insisted on coming over to read Milo a bedtime story, but it seems the two never got that far, the book still open in Lando's lap.
Without much thought to the action, you press a kiss to Lando's temple and Milo's forehead, close the book, and turn off the light.
It's this sort of love you hope to experience every day for the rest of your life.
a/n: i tried so hard to balance cute and realistic in this one, so i really hope i did them justice <3 (also i rewrote the ending eight times.)
Summary- When you were 7 years old you made the decision to ask a boy to play with his cars- flash forward many years later he's a formula one grand prix winner, and you... are the first person he goes to!
Notes- My first ever Kimi story! Please request more if you'd like however I am not writing any smut for him... he's too much of an angel!
The first time you met Kimi Antonelli, you were seven years old, clutching a tiny red Ferrari toy car in your small hand, your knees grass-stained from playing outside. He was crouched by the edge of the karting track where your families had ended up that sunny afternoon in Italy, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he lined up his own collection of miniature racing cars on the concrete.
You remember the way your heart had hammered in your chest—not from nervousness, but from pure, childish excitement. He had so many cars. At least ten of them, all different colors, all perfectly lined up like they were on a starting grid.
"Can I play?" you'd asked in Italian, your voice small but hopeful.
He'd looked up at you, those warm brown eyes considering you for a moment, and then he'd nodded, the brightest smile breaking across his face. "Si! You can be this one," he'd said, handing you a blue Mercedes. "We're racing to the tree."
That was it. That was the moment your life changed, though you wouldn't understand it for years to come.
From that day forward, you and Kimi were inseparable. You were there for his first proper karting race, standing at the fence with your fingers threaded through the chain-link, screaming his name until your throat was raw. You were there when he won his first championship, jumping up and down so hard you nearly twisted your ankle. You were there through every step, every climb up the motorsport ladder—through the wins and the losses, through the crashes that made your heart stop, through the disappointments that left him quiet and withdrawn.
And he was there for you, too. When your grandmother passed away the summer you turned fourteen, Kimi had held you while you cried, his arms steady around you even though you could tell he didn't quite know what to say. When you got accepted into university, he'd been the first person you called, and his excited shout through the phone had made you laugh until tears streamed down your face.
You'd been there when he got the call about Mercedes. December 2024, sitting in his childhood bedroom, your university textbooks spread across his desk because you'd been trying to study while he played simulator racing. His phone had rung, and you'd watched his face transform—shock, disbelief, pure unbridled joy.
"They want me," he'd whispered, phone still pressed to his ear, staring at you like he couldn't quite believe it. "Mercedes wants me for 2025."
You'd screamed. Actually screamed, launching yourself at him, and he'd caught you, spinning you around his small bedroom, both of you laughing and crying at the same time. His mother had come running, thinking something was wrong, and then she'd been crying too, and his father had opened a bottle of prosecco even though it was two in the afternoon.
The 2025 season had been a whirlwind. Kimi's rookie year with Mercedes, one of the most prestigious teams in Formula 1 history, and you'd been there for as much of it as you possibly could. It meant sacrifices—so many sacrifices. Missing lectures to fly to race weekends. Studying in hotel rooms and hospitality suites while the sound of engines screamed in the background. Taking exams online from different time zones, your professor's face pixelated on your laptop screen while you sat in a cramped motorhome, exhausted from the night before.
Your friends at university didn't always understand. "You're missing Emma's birthday party for a race?" they'd ask, confusion evident in their voices. "Can't you just watch it on TV?"
But they didn't get it. They didn't understand that Kimi needed you there. That seeing your face in the garage before he got in the car settled something in him, made him breathe easier. That you'd been part of this journey since the very beginning, since two seven-year-olds racing toy cars to a tree, and you weren't about to miss the biggest moments of his life now.
The rookie season had been good—better than good, really. Points finishes, a few podiums, flashes of the brilliance everyone knew Kimi possessed. But no wins. He'd come close in Silverstone, so heartbreakingly close, leading until five laps to the end before a late safety car had shuffled him back to third. You'd found him afterwards, helmet hair and tired eyes, and he'd just folded into you, face pressed against your shoulder.
"I'm so proud of you," you'd whispered, and you'd felt him nod against you.
"I know," he'd murmured back. "I don't know what I'd do without you, you know that?"
You'd been there through the criticism too, when the media questioned whether he was ready, whether Mercedes had promoted him too soon. You'd held his hand through the doubt, through the nights when he couldn't sleep, going over every corner in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently.
"You're exactly where you're meant to be," you'd told him more than once, sitting on hotel balconies at midnight, the city lights of whatever country you were in spread out below you. "You're going to win a race, Kimi. I know you are."
"I hope you're right," he'd say, squeezing your hand.
"I'm always right," you'd tease, and he'd laugh, that soft, genuine laugh that was reserved just for you.
Now it's 2026, and you're in your third year of university, somehow managing to balance your degree with a travel schedule that would exhaust most people. Your backpack is a constant companion, stuffed with textbooks and notes, your laptop covered in racing stickers that Kimi pretends to find embarrassing but secretly loves.
China. The Shanghai International Circuit. The second race of the 2026 season, and you're standing in the Mercedes garage, your stomach a knot of nerves and anticipation. Kimi had qualified second, his best qualifying position of the season so far, and the energy in the garage is electric.
You're standing with his mother, Veronica, who has become like a second mother to you over the years. She reaches over and squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back, both of you too nervous to speak.
The start is perfect. Kimi gets a better launch than the pole sitter, and into Turn 1, he's ahead. You're screaming, jumping up and down, and Andrea is gripping your arm so tightly it almost hurts, but you don't care. He's leading. Kimi is leading a Formula 1 race.
The laps tick by in a blur of anxiety and hope. Every corner, you're holding your breath. Every straight, you're watching the gap. The pit stops are perfectly executed, and Kimi comes out still in the lead. Twenty laps to go. Then fifteen. Then ten.
"He's going to do it," Veronica whispers beside you, and you realize you're crying, tears streaming down your face even though nothing has happened yet.
Five laps to go, and the gap is three seconds. Four laps, and it's four seconds. Three laps to go, and you can barely see the timing screens through your tears.
"Come on, Kimi," you're whispering, over and over like a prayer. "Come on, love, you can do this."
Two laps to go. The garage is silent except for the sound of the engines through the speakers, everyone holding their breath. You're gripping Veronica’s hand so tightly your knuckles are white.
Final lap.
You watch the tiny dot that represents Kimi's car make its way around the circuit one last time. Through Turns 1 and 2, through the long back straight, through the final complex of corners. And then he's on the main straight, crossing the line, and the garage explodes.
"YES!" you're screaming, sobbing, and Veronica is crying too, and you're hugging each other so tightly you can barely breathe. The entire garage is chaos, everyone shouting and celebrating, but all you can think about is Kimi, your Kimi, who just won his first Formula 1 race.
His voice comes through the radio, and even through the static and the engine noise, you can hear the emotion. "YES! YES! Oh my god, we did it! We actually did it!" There's a pause, and then: "This is for everyone who believed in me. For my family. For—" His voice cracks. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
You're full-on sobbing now, the kind of crying that makes your whole body shake. Years of memories are flashing through your mind—that seven-year-old boy with the toy cars, the teenager who'd held you when you cried, the young man who'd spun you around his bedroom when he got the Mercedes call. All of it has led to this moment.
The team is running out to parc fermé, and you and Veronica follow, swept up in the tide of celebration. You can see Kimi's car now, pulling into the number one position, and your heart is so full you think it might burst.
He climbs out of the car, standing on top of it, arms raised to the sky, and the roar of the crowd is deafening. He's jumping down, being mobbed by his team, everyone wanting to congratulate him, to be part of this moment.
But then he's looking around, searching, and even from where you're standing, you can see the exact moment his eyes find you.
He breaks away from the team, pushing through the crowd, and he's running. Actually running toward you, his race suit still unzipped, his hair plastered to his head with sweat, the biggest smile you've ever seen on his face.
"Kimi!" you shout, and then he's there, his arms wrapping around you, lifting you clean off your feet and spinning you around, just like he did in his bedroom that December day, just like he's done a hundred times before.
But this time is different. This time, he's a Formula 1 race winner.
"We did it," he's saying into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "We actually did it."
"You did it," you sob back, your arms tight around his neck. "I'm so proud of you. I'm so, so proud of you."
He sets you down but doesn't let go, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears even though his own eyes are red and wet. "I couldn't have done any of this without you," he says, and there's such intensity in his gaze that it takes your breath away. "All those times you should have been at university, living your life, and instead you were here, supporting me. All the sacrifices you've made—"
"Kimi, no—" you start, but he shakes his head.
"Let me say this," he insists. "You've been there since the beginning. Since we were kids playing with toy cars. You've believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself. You've given up so much for my dream, and I—" His voice breaks, and he pulls you close again, his face buried in your neck. "I'm so grateful. I'm so grateful for you. I love you so much."
"I love you too," you whisper, and you're both crying now, holding each other in the middle of the chaos, in the middle of the celebration, in the middle of the moment you've both been dreaming of for years.
Veronica appears beside you, and Kimi pulls her into the embrace too, the three of you holding each other and crying and laughing all at once. His father is there too, and then it's a family group hug, everyone talking at once, everyone crying happy tears.
"My boy," Veronica keeps saying, kissing Kimi's cheeks over and over. "My beautiful boy."
Eventually, Kimi has to go to the cooldown room, to the podium, to all the media obligations that come with winning a race. But before he goes, he turns back to you one more time.
"Wait for me?" he asks, even though he knows the answer.
"Always," you say, and his smile could light up the entire circuit.
You watch from below as he stands on the top step of the podium for the first time, as the Italian anthem plays for him, as he lifts the trophy high above his head. He's looking right at you the entire time, and you're crying again, but this time they're purely tears of joy.
Later, much later, after the celebrations have died down and the circuit has grown quiet, you find yourself back in his driver's room. Kimi is sitting on the small couch, still in his race suit, the winner's cap backwards on his head, just staring at the trophy on the table in front of him like he can't quite believe it's real.
You sit down beside him, tucking yourself into his side, and he automatically wraps his arm around you, pulling you close.
"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," he murmurs, his voice soft and wondering.
"You're not dreaming," you assure him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "You're a Formula 1 race winner, Kimi Antonelli."
He turns to look at you, and there's something in his expression that makes your heart skip. "I meant what I said earlier," he tells you. "About the sacrifices you've made. I know how hard you work to balance university and being here. I know you're exhausted all the time. I know your grades have suffered sometimes because you're on a plane instead of in a lecture hall."
"Kimi—"
"I'm going to make it up to you," he continues, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining. "I promise. When you graduate, we're going on the longest vacation. Somewhere with a beach and no racing and no schedules. Just us."
You laugh, even though you're getting teary again. "I don't need you to make anything up to me. I'm here because I want to be. Because seeing you happy makes me happy. Because I love you, and I believe in you, and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
"How did I get so lucky?" he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours.
"We both got lucky," you whisper back. "That day at the karting track. When I asked to play cars with you."
He laughs, the sound soft and full of affection. "Best decision I ever made, saying yes."
"Best decision I ever made, asking."
You sit there together in the quiet of his driver's room, the trophy gleaming on the table, the sound of the circuit being packed up outside. Tomorrow, you'll fly back to university, back to your textbooks and lectures and the life you're building for yourself. But tonight, you're here, with your childhood sweetheart, celebrating a dream that you've both been chasing since you were seven years old.
Kimi shifts, reaching into his bag, and pulls out his phone. "Come here," he says, holding it up. "I want to remember this."
You lean in, and he snaps a selfie—both of you exhausted and tear-stained and happier than you've ever been, the trophy visible in the background.
"Perfect," he murmurs, looking at the photo. Then he looks at you, his eyes soft and full of love. "Absolutely perfect."
You kiss him then, soft and sweet, tasting the champagne on his lips, feeling the way he smiles against your mouth.
"I'm so proud of you," you whisper one more time.
"I know," he whispers back. "And I'm so grateful for you. For everything. For always being there. For always believing."
"Always," you promise, the same word you've been saying to him for years, the same word you'll keep saying for years to come.
Because that's what you do when you love someone the way you love Kimi Antonelli. You show up. You sacrifice. You believe. You celebrate the wins and hold them through the losses. You're there for the toy cars and the Formula 1 trophies and everything in between.
You're there, always, from the very beginning to whatever comes next.
And as you sit there in his arms, his first win trophy gleaming in the dim light, you know with absolute certainty that you wouldn't change a single thing. Not the missed parties or the exhausting travel schedule or the late-night study sessions in hotel rooms. Because all of it, every single sacrifice, has been worth it to see him achieve his dreams.
And the best part? You know he feels exactly the same way about you.
That's love. That's partnership. That's what you and Kimi have always had, since you were seven years old, and what you'll have for the rest of your lives.
