You watched from the window of the Ferrari motorhome, curled up on the corner of the couch in your socks, a steaming mug in your hands. You weren’t staff. Not exactly. But you had a badge, well, a badge that said “Media Assistant” and no one had kicked you out yet.
Rain tapped against the glass. The paddock shimmered under it like a half washed painting. You didn’t notice the door open behind you until the warm scent of motor oil, faint smoke, and something minty drifted in.
You didn’t have to look to know it was him.
He never slammed doors. Kimi didn’t move like the others didn’t barge, didn’t flinch. He just… appeared.
“You’re always here,” he said simply.
You smiled into your cup. “I like the quiet.”
He hummed. No real reply. Just a soft sound. Then came the rustle of fireproofs and the low creak of leather as he dropped onto the couch beside you.
You hadn’t meant to become friends. Not with him, of all people. But Spa weekends were slow. Rainy. Soft-edged.
Somehow, over the last few days, you’d started trading silences like secrets.
Kimi’s hair was still damp from the track. It curled gently against his neck, darker at the ends. His suit was unzipped halfway, revealing the edge of a plain black shirt and the silver chain he always wore.
He didn’t speak. Just looked out the window, like he always did when his mind was far away. You never asked where he went.
You reached over gently, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone to push a stray strand of hair behind his ear.
Kimi turned to you.
Not fast. Not startled. Just… turned.
His eyes didn’t scare you anymore. Not like the first day. They weren’t cold they were just still. Quiet. Like a glacier in sunlight.
“You always do that,” he murmured.
“Do what?”
“Touch my hair.”
Your cheeks flushed. “Sorry. Habit.”
He blinked, slow. “I don’t mind.”
Silence. Only the rain now. And your heart doing things it probably shouldn’t be doing near a World Champion.
“Can I braid it?” you asked suddenly, like an idiot.
Kimi blinked again. A long pause.
You were about to backtrack when he shrugged, barely, and said:
“Okay.”
Your breath caught.
You moved behind him, folding your legs up on the couch, and gently began separating sections of his thick, soft hair. The room felt smaller now. Closer. Every breath shared. The motorhome was warm, and the only sound was the rainfall and the soft shuffle of his breathing.
“You’re good at this,” he said quietly.
“I used to braid my little brother’s. Before he cut it all off.”
A ghost of a smile touched Kimi’s lips. You saw it. He smiled.
Not a grin. Not a press thing. But real. Barely there. Just enough to make your heart ache.
“I never cut mine,” he said. “Too lazy.”
“No,” you murmured, twisting the braid. “You keep it long because you know people like it.”
He turned his head slightly, enough for you to see the glint in his eye.
“You like it?”
You froze.
“Yes,” you whispered, a little stunned by your own honesty. “Very much.”
Silence.
Then:
“Okay.”
You didn’t know what okay meant. But when he leaned back just enough that his shoulder brushed your knee , you felt like it meant something more than the word ever held before.
---
You ended up spending the rest of the afternoon on that couch. He didn’t say much. He never did. But he let you lie against him, head on his shoulder, as you both watched the rain and the flicker of lights from the paddock across the window.
At one point, he tugged your wrist gently, thumb brushing across your palm. Not possessive. Not asking. Just… connecting.
You were the first to break the silence.
“Do you ever get tired of everyone wanting something from you?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Then he said, “Not when they don’t ask for anything.”
You looked up at him.
“I never asked for anything.”
“I know.”
His gaze dropped to your face. His expression softened...barely. But it was there. That look. The one he never gave to press. To cameras. To the world.
“I just like being here,” you said softly.
He nodded.
“You make the noise stop.”
You didn’t need to ask what that meant. He didn’t need to explain. And so you just let your head fall against his chest again, feeling the slow beat of his heart beneath your ear.
---
The next morning, Kimi won the race.
But before the celebrations, the champagne, and the photos, he found you.
Pulled you aside.
Wrapped his arms around your waist, tucked his head against yours, and whispered:
“Don’t go back to the quiet. Stay where it’s warm.”
And you did.
Because once you knew what it felt like to braid the hair of the man who never smiled
it was impossible to forget the way he smiled only for you.
---
THE END
What fanfic of Kimi. R do yall want next ?
2008 off-season getaway in Finland with snow and cuddles?
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Request from @lanamaze02 - I would like to know if you can write about Kimi Raikkonen and ginger!reader?
Ginger!reader
Word count: 970
Kimi, like most men, had always somewhat divide women into blondes and brunettes. The third rare hair colour was rarely on his radar and certainly not on his radar when it came to women of his interest.
But the coppery glimmer under the sun of y/n's hair caught his attention for some reason. He couldn't even figure it out and it took him a long time to get a formal introduction to y/n who is the media manager for the new Red Bull team.
After their first date that was just a simple dinner, they continued to go on dates. Then one thing led to another and y/n had moved in with Kimi and they were always travelling together with him making sure she was not in with the rest of the Red Bull team in economy.
One thing the two have absolutely bonded over is a love of sleep.
Days off are generally spent in bed either sleeping or other physical activities that they want to stay in bed for.
But at the moment they're easing into the day. Or more Kimi is watching y/n sleep while she is none the wiser to his silent admiring of her.
He has opened the curtain to try and ease her back into the land of the living through the use of natural light, but the sun hitting her is making her hair glow almost looking magical in the light.
The vibrance of her hair is making him resist the urge to reach out and play with it. They had an event for McLaren which he did try to get out of but she scolded him and ended up going with him to make sure he couldn't just pretend he attended.
Her relationship is beginning to be a bit of a point of tension with Red Bull. Y/n has made comments that she thinks it's only a matter of time before they fire her but she hasn't made any vocalising of possibly ending the relationship and choosing her job over Kimi.
He'd take care of her anyway, not that he'd take joy out her being fired but he'd take joy out of getting more time with her and just being able to spend every spare second with her.
"I can feel you staring." Y/n mumbles from her sleep, her back still facing him which only makes the Finn smile and move forward to wrap his arms around her, dodging getting a face full of red hair as he kisses her shoulder and pulls her back to himself.
"Good morning, punainen." He can only just she the smile on her face at his nickname which is just red in Finnish but for some reason it just always earns a smile.
He gently stretches her back listening to her doze for a bit longer before she finally wakes up and lifts her head a little then rolling over and facing him. A bright smile on her face before she squints over the sun now shining directly into her face.
"Ah, why is it so bright?" Y/n groans raising her hands to shield her eyes while Kimi laughs and reaches to close the curtains again.
"Sorry, I like seeing your hair in the sun." Kimi chuckles while y/n hums shuffling till she's closer to the blonde man.
"I think yours looks best. It's golden in the sun." Y/n smiles before she sighs softly and nuzzles into him.
-
Y/n got called to Milton Keynes on the same day Kimi had to be in Woking for McLaren and she suspected bad news.
So when she was sat down and fired. It obviously hurt and it was a blow, but she really did suspect it coming.
She let's out a shaky breath as she steps out her former place of work, swallowing the tears back as she pulls out her phone and calls Kimi knowing there's a good chance he won't answer but she tries anyway.
"Punainen?" Kimi answers after about 4 rings.
"I'm officially jobless...I'll get the train back down to London and meet you for later but figured I'd let you know."
"I will meet you there. They don't need me here today anymore." Kimi states which does surprise her but also she knows Kimi notoriously doesn't do the most and still manages amazing performances.
Y/n doesn't even bother arguing, she wants Kimi there to cry on even though the man might not necessarily be the right man to handle tears, he'll do his best to comfort her.
-
Y/n had been a little more quiet than usual since losing her job but when Kimi decided to spoil her to a spa day which he initially intended for her to go on her own but ended up being talked into, her mood definitely perked up.
"I do think that I might need to get myself to the salon and get my hair refreshed too. Might get a couple treatments, definitely a trim." Y/n sighs making Kimi frown since while he doesn't actually care all that much about the length the idea of less of her hair isn't one he's a fan of. "Don't make that face. I just have to make sure I look good for my debut as an unemployed WAG."
"Y/n." Kimi scolds lightly before shaking his head a little. "And I will pay for your hair but you look beautiful exactly how you are anyway."
Y/n smiles at him before she sighs moving to kiss him a couple times to actually just show her appreciation for him supporting her through this.
"I love you." Y/n smiles while Kimi flashes a smile at her that even shows teeth.
"I love you too, punainen." Kimi states then gently kissing her.
drabble about ferrari 2009 kimi being lowkey a freak….in his garage….
something something champagne soaked hair….
this gif is from 2009 actually, after his p1-p6 win at Spa
anyway i'll get on with the smut ↓
You smelt him before you saw him, the heady smell of champagne wafting off him in waves. Rough hands found your waist as he pressed himself to your back, sopping wet hair tickling the back of your neck and dripping alcohol down your spine.
‘Been thinking about this all race,’ he murmured, his rough, broken English not doing anything to help stifle the heat rising in your body. ‘You.’
It was just the two of you in his garage, as the Ferrari mechanics had opted to remain in the parc ferme for a little longer, and he was going to make the most of it. Kimi’s lips found your boiling neck, and his teeth did too; you gasped as he left little nips all over the velvet skin of your collarbone and nape.
‘Kimi, we’re—’
‘—In my garage,’ he finished, and you felt the corner of his lips quirk up. ‘I can do what I want.’
You couldn’t argue with his skewed logic at the moment, because his hand was snaking it’s way under your skirt.
‘I could stop?’ he asked cheekily, but you knew he had no intention of it. And by now, you didn’t want him to—you were too riled up by his lips and the cloying smell of expensive bubbly.
‘N-no.’
‘Hyvä tyttö.’ you knew that phrase all too well, despite having a rusty repertoire of Finnish. It meant “good girl”.
And you knew exactly why Kimi smiled when he finally pushed your panties aside—you were soaked.
‘Knew it.’ he tutted. ‘Watching me get sprayed with champagne does it for you, huh?’
‘Mm—’
‘Should win more often.’
His bluntness, yet another turn-on for you, combined with his fingers plunged deep in your cunt, had your knees quaking like you’d never felt before.
You could faintly hear the roar of the distant crowd over the dirty stream of Finnish being mumbled into your ear. You tensed up—imagine if someone caught you two like this—but Kimi didn’t seem to care.
‘C’mon,’ he muttered, pumping his fingers faster. ‘Pieni aare…’
You could feel tightness knotting deep in your gut, slowly growing almost painful. As his thumb flicked over your clit, you had to bite the inside of your cheek hard to stop yourself from screaming.
A few seconds later, he pulled his hand out of your skirt, your release dripping down his wrist.
You were gasping, trying to fight the red flush you knew was racing up your neck, but there was no use.
Kimi was still as stony-faced as ever, except with a tiny little upward curve to his lips that only you could notice.
He held you close, letting you lean on him as you recovered from the sudden climax.
The Ferrari mechanics and engineers slowly filtered back into the garage. Some clapped Kimi on the back, congratulating him again, and others glanced at you with knowing smirks that they quickly stifled.
‘Just wait ‘till we get back to the hotel,’ Kimi murmured in your ear, and you shivered—for you knew he was a man of his word.
Hi I would like to request a 2009 era kimi Raikkonen x Indian descent (she was born in Vancouver Canada but like ethnically Indian )reader (she is a intern journalist for sky news and about 20-22) since Kimi is the iceman and can she be the opposite still introverted but like more emotional
(It can be romantic or platonic your choice)
Have a great day/night :]
Hi! I hope you like this! I had a ton of fun making this, had to check the timeline of the circuits for this lmao. I love kimi raikkonen heheheh.
Open for Request and Asks!!!
request open for any F1 drivers, can do F2, F3, Indy, Motogp but I need to check them out before doing them so I actually know them. No smut cause I can't write smut to save my life.
Ice Man's Journalist
Kimi Raikkonen x Journalist!Reader
A young Sky News intern surprises Kimi Räikkönen in 2009 with sharp, thoughtful questions, sparking the start of an unexpected connection between the blunt Iceman and the soft-spoken journalist.
Vancouver had been rain-soaked and loud, but nothing compared to the sharp chaos of the Formula One paddock.
The clamor of mechanics, reporters, and cameras pressed in from every side, yet you moved through it quietly, notebook tucked against your blazer, red tie hanging loose at your collar.
At twenty-one, you were the Sky News intern, young, unproven, and painfully aware that most people did not expect you to last long in this world.
But you had grown up balancing both sides of yourself: the soft-spoken Indian daughter raised in a Canadian city that demanded sharp elbows, and the girl who preferred listening over shouting.
You did not fight for space with noise. You fought for it with focus.
Your editor had told you not to worry about making headlines. Just observe. Learn. But you had no interest in wasting time with fluff.
If you were going to be here, even as an intern, you wanted to ask the right questions, the kind that showed you understood racing instead of chasing drama.
And that was how you found yourself standing in front of Kimi Räikkönen, the Iceman himself, recorder in one hand, pen in the other.
The first time you pointed a microphone at Kimi Räikkönen, you expected him to brush you off.
After all, you were the Sky News intern, twenty-one, barely trusted with live questions, and you had seen him give short, clipped answers to seasoned reporters without hesitation.
But instead of brushing you off, he actually looked at you when you asked.
“Given the setup changes since Friday practice, do you feel more confident in the balance through sector two?” you asked, voice calm despite your pulse thundering in your ears.
For a moment, Kimi did not say anything. Then, in his flat, deliberate tone:
“Car is better. Still not perfect. But good enough if I keep it on track.”
Straightforward. Useful. Not headline-chasing. You nodded, jotting it down quickly. When you looked up, his gaze lingered.
“Better question than the usual,” he muttered.
You blinked. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.”
The corner of his mouth twitched like the faintest ghost of amusement, and then he walked away.
By Monaco, the paddock had noticed.
You were the quiet one who did not ask about contracts or rumors, who never tried to corner a driver into soundbites about rivals.
You asked about tire temperatures, aero tweaks, whether the track evolution surprised them.
And Kimi answered.
Not always at length, but longer than the six words he usually gave.
Sometimes, he even stopped at the edge of the scrum, waiting for your question.
“Your car seemed stable through the hairpin today. Was it a setup change or just confidence with the track?” you asked one afternoon, notebook poised.
He shrugged. “Maybe I am just good.”
You shot him a flat look, lips curving despite yourself. “Right. Because Monaco is easy, of course. Anyone can do it.”
That earned you a dry chuckle. “You are cheeky for someone who speaks so softly.”
You froze for half a second, then looked down quickly, pretending to adjust your pen. He had caught you, cheeks warming.
And from the way his eyes glinted under his cap, he knew exactly what he had done.
Silverstone was worse.
You were waiting outside the Ferrari garage when he appeared, helmet still in hand, sweat on his brow from practice.
The other journalists were swarming Massa, which left you with Kimi.
“The car felt twitchy on the exits today. Was that the wind or the rear balance?” you asked.
Kimi tilted his head, considering you.
Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that it felt private.
“Maybe you just like watching me wrestle the car.”
Your pen nearly slipped from your fingers. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” he said flatly, expression unchanged. But you could see it, the tiniest flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
You cleared your throat, fighting to stay composed. “Balance. Rear balance. That is the answer I was looking for.”
“Mm,” he hummed, finally taking pity. “The rear was sliding too much, yes. They will change it.”
When he walked away, you were left scribbling notes furiously, trying to ignore how warm your ears felt.
By Spa, it had become a game.
Your colleagues teased you for being the only journalist Kimi seemed to actually tolerate.
You did not bother explaining.
They would not understand that your questions were not about tolerance at all, that he respected you because you cared about racing, not the circus drama.
But he also clearly enjoyed toying with you.
“Good question,” he said one day after you had asked about his tire strategy. Then, after a pause, he leaned closer. “Good voice too. Easy to listen to.”
You nearly choked on your own breath. “Kimi.”
“Yes?” He blinked at you innocently.
“You cannot just say things like that in the middle of an interview.”
“Why not? I said it.”
And there it was, that infuriatingly calm tone, like he had just stated the weather.
Meanwhile, your heart was battering against your ribs.
The confession came at Suzuka.
The paddock was quieter than usual in the evening, reporters gone, engines silent.
You were finishing up your notes when you noticed him standing nearby, hands in his pockets, eyes on you instead of the car.
“You always ask about racing,” he said suddenly.
“That is the job,” you replied softly, not looking up from your notebook.
“No. Most ask about gossip, contracts, drama. You do not.”
You raised your head then, meeting his gaze. “I am not interested in stirring things that are not mine to stir. Racing is what matters.”
Something unreadable flickered across his face. Then, in the same flat tone he used for everything else, he said:
“I like that. And I like you.”
Your pen froze against the page. “What?”
Kimi stepped closer, expression calm as ever, as if he had just announced tomorrow’s weather. “I like you. You are not annoying. You do not ask stupid questions. You are different. Better.”
You blinked at him, your heart climbing into your throat. “Kimi, are you saying-”
“Yes. I am asking you out.” He tilted his head, almost impatient. “We can eat. Or not eat. Whatever. Just come.”
The bluntness of it left you stunned.
No flowers, no grand speech.
Just Kimi Räikkönen, saying exactly what he meant.
And despite the heat rushing to your cheeks, you found yourself smiling. “You really do not waste words, do you?”
He shrugged. “No point.” Then his lips curved just slightly. “So yes or no?”
You laughed softly, shaking your head in disbelief. “Yes, Kimi.”
The iceman gave nothing more than a small nod, as if it was already settled.
But as he turned to walk away, you caught the glimmer of something rare, satisfaction, maybe even warmth, in his eyes.
And you realized that behind all the ice, Kimi Räikkönen had chosen you to melt for.
babysitter!reader who was hired after a divorce and a single-parenting plan was made. Kimi often spent his non-racing days at home but his small kid couldn’t exactly travel every weekend to god knows where.
babysitter!reader who’d kill for the little toddler. The tiny two year old whose dictionary was mostly ”isi”, ”vroom vroom” and ”mwoah” (aka making fun of his dad) had the reader and his dad wrapped around his finger.
babysitter!reader who didn’t even mean to be a babysitter. Literally happened to be at the right place at the right time (see: at a cafe for her part time job and happened to slip she had a pedagogical degree). Won’t complain, she gets quite the sum for ’just babysitting’.
babysitter!reader who doesn’t know she’s being paid extra so she doesn’t (won’t) stop the babysitting work for someone else.
babysitter!reader who doesn’t know anything about the kid’s mother, and is not keen to. Only knows it’s her who’s there to coddle the toddler when he misses his dad, it’s her who goes to his swimming lessons with Kimi and it’s her who bakes a cake with the kid because Kimi won a race and the toddler wanted to do something nice.
babysitter!reader who eventually also goes to races. Most likely Monaco GP because that’s where they live and it’s easiest for families. Babysitter!reader who ignores the questions and whispers, instead smiles when the kid on her hip comments on everything with an innocent beam of a smile.
babysitter!reader who comes by even though she’s not scheduled to, because the kid got sick and she wouldn’t let Kimi stay up multiple nights in a row to take care of him. Babysitter!reader who also ignores his grumbling about how ”you’re not getting paid for this”. (yet gets compensation)
babysitter!reader who gets the bug and feels incredibly guilty for not being able to work. Only to get a ”bwoah, don’t be stupid” and a homemade meal in a tupperware to her place with the frowny racer and his excited kid on her doorstep.
babysitter!reader who once gets rained in after an evening and ends up staying over in the guest bedroom. The toddler wakes up from the storm and when Kimi wakes up in the morning, he finds two sleeping bundles in the guest bedroom instead of one. Ignores the weird tightening feeling in his chest.
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Request: "will you be writing any Mika Hakkinen or Kimi Raikkonen fics?"
Pairings: Kimi Raikkonen x f!reader
Warnings: Probably unrealistic dialogue, alcohol consumed, Nando is a flirt, 2006 F1 season
Word count: 1.9k
A/n: This kinda took awhile. I was going to write this a week ago (for the 7th,) and I had it ALMOST finished but had school shit thrown on me and now I'm away on holiday. So, what better time to do it then now?
He was aloof, appearing closed off to all onlookers. He was difficult for press and didn't have much of an opinion on anything, always giving short answers to in depth questions. Kimi didn't mind, though, as long as it kept nosy reporters and crowded cameras out of his face, he'd do anything.
Another factor of his personality was, in short, a lack of friends. Sure, he had plenty of acquaintances, but were they really friends? They didn’t know what he was like outside of racing. His personal life.
It wasn't that the iceman didn't want friends, rather that he couldn't be bothered to make new ones.
But he also was beyond content keeping many people in the acquaintance zone. He deeply cherished his privacy.
He stood off to the side of the garage, getting ready for qualifying.
The 2006 season was mid way through when Montoya left Mclaren for good.
Kimi didn't necessarily feel too down about it, he had remained purely cordial with the Columbian.
He saw you step into the garage, clad in racing gear with a helmet tucked under your arm and pressed to your side. At first, he didn't believe you were his team mate. Perhaps an engineer or a mechanic, but a fellow driver? No way.
You were the first to introduce yourself to him. Sauntering up to him without a speck of hesitancy, you reached out and offered to shake hands.
“Hi!” You said, voice cheery.
It was then that you smiled. You beamed a hearty smile that stretched from ear to ear.
Kimi could've sworn he'd been blinded. Teeth so bright they seemed to shine and shimmer. He'd never seen something so.. so bright. Friendly. Outgoing.
He didn't realize it, but from that moment onward, he was hooked.
Kimi didn't return the smile, only offering a small nod to you. His ears burned red hot and he felt strangely awkward.
Kimi wasn't particularly interested in being friends with you. He had made that much clear. Or atleast, that's what you'd made out his reserved persona as.
But you were determined.
Hot summer sun beat down on you, feeling like every second you stood under its gaze you darkened with tan.
So, what better day for a cold snack?
With two ice-cream cones in hand, you weaved through the many people on the grid to your team garage.
You managed to get close to Kimi, standing beside him. Gently nudging him with your shoulder you presented one of the cold treats to him.
For a long minute he just stared, ice blue eyes flickering from you to the ice cream cone. It looked like he was contemplating or considering something, his brows pinched together and a quizzical look fell into his gaze.
Eventually, Kimi took the ice cream cone, mumbling– or grumbling, you weren't quite sure– a very quiet ‘thank you’.
But what you could've swore you'd seen on his face a moment before was just an ounce of shock. And that was enough to keep you determined to befriend the reserved driver even more.
The minute you'd climbed out of your car you looked for Kimi.
Your team had reported that he'd had some technical malfunction mid lap but said nothing else.
It was only after the fact that you exited your car that you found out he had walked off the track and went straight to his yacht.
You imagined he'd be upset over the race; no racer would have been jumping with joy after his incident. Kimi had made it well over half way through the race before unfortunately ending up out on lap 50 due to a mechanical issue.
So, doing the only thing you thought suitable, you sought him out– bringing an offering that was in hope of comforting him and being a good friend.
Or atleast, being a good friend is what you'd told yourself. That there was nothing besides friendly intentions, is what you resorted to claiming. Only, your heart had it twisted. Your emotions had already acted like a fishing hook, thrown straight into the flesh of your heart by his cool blue eyes and ocean vast personality. Kimi had you hooked.
Others may not agree with the ‘ocean vast’, but they were very wrong. Kimi was unique. He was reserved yet still cared about those around him. He wasn't outgoing, eager to meet new people, but he wasn't disinterested in maintaining a friend once you'd gotten there. Sure, it may have taken a bit more effort on your side, but before long you'd chipped through that glacier-tough outside to discover his real self. The one he had put aside for friends only, tucked away from media and press and the other competitors. Kimi wasn't as he appeared, he never had been and it only took a bit of time and observation skills to see that.
Before long, you were at his yacht. Kimi looked shocked when you appeared on the ramp of his boat, still clad in your racing gear and a smile on your face. “Hey,” you greeted, raising a hand slightly to showcase the items you'd run to get as soon as you'd found out about his incident.
In your hand sparkled a bottle of liquor, glinting under the sun. Then, Kimi grinned. His lips tilted up and he genuinely smiled. The action almost made you drop the bottle in shock, luckily, however, you managed to snap out of it and keep your grip on the glass. He may have been feeling upset, but your inclination of bringing a comfort of sorts had him feeling grateful beyond his own words.
And his smile was worth a thousand words to you.
You were welcomed onto Kimi's boat then, the two of you cracking open the liquor and sitting in the shade provided by the boat.
The liquor goes by quicker than you'd imagined.
By the bottom of the bottle you've moved closer, sitting shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressing together while your hands almost touch, lingering a hair's breadth away from each other.
You converse animatedly with Kimi, even if you're the one doing a majority of the talking.
Kimi didn't mind it, though. His head, which previously felt weighted by the loud swirling thoughts, had cleared. Something likely because of your presence.
You're mid story, telling him about some childhood thing you remember when he closes that distance with his hand.
You stop talking, shocked by his action. In your chest, your heart does somersaults, flipping and beating wildly against your ribs. Your eyes dart down to his hand, which tentatively touches yours. Slowly, you reciprocate the action, moving to shift your hand into his. He spreads his fingers and you take the initiative to lace them together.
For Kimi, it's a grounding tactic and a way to show how grateful he is for you. He'd never been one for words, so instead he chose to show his emotion by holding your hand.
Nobody says anything, instead taking the moment silently. Neither of you know what it means to the other, or how the action mirrors an unknown, unspoken affection that’d been brewing for a while.
The end of the season rolled up quickly. The Monaco incident was far from forgotten to either of you, rather pushed away by the lightning-paced world of Formula 1. It was the evening after Brazil, the final race of the season.
Most of the drivers had gone out to a local bar, deciding to get shitfaced in celebration of what they would argue a successful season.
Kimi sips on a Hardwall Long, a drink of gin and grapefruit soda. The bitter yet sweet mixture dances on his lips as he swallows a mouthful.
Across the bar, you sip your own drink. You know Kimi is here, but you're content while off on your own or meeting new people.
A presence makes itself known to you, leaning against the bartop and flashing a charming smile at you. Immediately, you recognize the face of the Championship winner and fellow driver, Fernando Alonso. His hair peeks out from behind his ears, brown locks waving hello.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks politely, gesturing to your almost empty glass. When he speaks, his Spanish accent is thick and rather nice on your ears.
But you don't care for the Spaniards' speech, you've already got your own accented man – whose voice lingers even now in the back of your mind,– to charm your ears.
You smile at Fernando, but politely decline, “I'm good but thank you, Nando. Congratulations on winning the championship, by the way.”
Little did you know that on the other side of the bar, you've caught none other than The Iceman's attention.
It's rare for the Fin to change expressions often– he's simply a man wearing a neutral face most of the time. But as of now, his eyes have narrowed uncharacteristically more, face pulling together in an expression of pure jealousy. Though, Kimi wouldn't really admit that out loud.
Fernando doesn't stick around too long after that, he just flashes you another smile and makes a comment about ‘still being there if you change your mind, hermosa’ before slipping away.
It isn't long before another figure stands beside you, only this time he seems.. off.
You turn your eyes to look at Kimi. He's got this subtle, sour look on his face, like he's just sucked on a lemon. It's unnatural on him, something you're unaccustomed with.
“Is everything alright, Kimi?” you ask, feeling concern.
He doesn't look at you, instead glaring at some object across the bar. “What did he want?”
“Alonso?” you ask, eyeing Kimi suspiciously, “he just wanted to buy me a drink.”
Kimi's eyes dart to the bar top, where a half-finished drink of yours sits. You can see his jaw clench while he simply hums.
“Let me take you on a date.”
“What?”
Kimi stares at you now, icy blue eyes trained on yours. He's serious and there isn't a speck of joke or jab in his speech.
“I promise it'll be better than whatever that.. Kusipää,” the foreign word slides off his tongue smoothly, alien to your ears, “has to offer.”
To say you were speechless was an understatement. Out of everything you expected to come from Kimi's mouth, his offer to take you on a date was not one of them. It wasn't even in the ballpark.
“He didn't ask me on a date,” you say, feeling confused. This whole thing feels confusing and like a big misunderstanding. Like a trick.
“My offer still stands.”
Something in his voice has you doubting your previous thought. How could he sound so sincere and be deceiving? It would be far-fetched. Even more so when you meet his gaze and see the genuine ask present in his eyes.
“Then I'd be honoured, Kimi,” you say, smiling at last. Your heart has taken that leap of faith.
He nods, and for a split second a smile graces his lips. You're thrown back to Monaco, even just for a short time, where he's smiling at you and you're smiling at him with booze in hand. He checks his phone before turning back to you, “let's get out of this place.”
The night was still young, and outside of the bar, within the city of Sao Paulõ, it was alive. Kimi extended his hand and you took it instantly, letting him lead you out of the bar.
tags: smut/pwp, skiing, wife!reader, age gap (20s/40s), breeding kink, winter fic, established relationship, missionary, dirty talk & praise
mark webber ver. - sebastian vettel ver. - jenson button ver.
"it's cold!" you shivered as you got back inside, you had spent most of the day out on the slopes with your husband, kimi. he had been more than happy to show you how to navigate skis despite your slight nervousness around it.
it felt nice being under the glow of your lover, even when you stumbled. even though you didn't trip in the snow, but rather your own boots when you had a break at the chalet, "you've become too good at skiing, you have forgotten how to walk!" he then wrapped his arms around you.
and now back at your hotel room, your older husband wanted to get out out of that heavy jacket you were wearing. the jacket that he bought for you. he felt something shudder in him when you got the jacket off of you. he nearly tripped over himself. you were beautiful.
you looked over your shoulder before you draped your jacket over your arm, "kim-kim, you're so good at skiing you forgot how to walk!" your tone was cheeky and kimi almost tripped over himself once more as he tried to get to you. he wrapped his arms around and rested his chin on your shoulder. he hand your middle tightly. he kissed the roundness of your cheek, "funny, funny, little hare." that was what he called you in the winter. you were cute like a little arctic hare, all bundled up for the snow.
but now kimi wanted your ski clothes off of you and onto the floor. and while he stripped you of your clothes, you did the same to him. you gave his biceps a good squeeze and you licked your lips. even got a good feel of his chest under his thick grey sweater.
"are you warm enough, my little hare?" he asked before his bare hands went up your t-shirt, "does it feel good?"
you moaned a little as he pinched your nipple through your bra. you nodded, "always perfect, kimi. despite you being to icy, you're hotter than the sun."
he cupped your breasts under your shirt, "how could i not be? you pull me in, my beautiful wife." he then laughed when you ehlped him out of his sweater then t-shirt. he could feel your hungry gaze on him.
mrs. raikkonen loved the sight of her husband.
a weekend away was a good idea. kimi wanted you, recently something had been itching at his brain. and this weekend had only fueled it more. kimi wanted to start a family, you were in your twenties and he was closer to fifty than thirty, so it felt like it was time.
and the first step for kimi was to strip you. expose your beautiful body to him. gray light streamed through the large windows of the hotel room as cloud draw across the sky. kimi kissed your neck sweetly and eventually your collarbones when he got your t-shirt off of your body. he exhaled deeply and rubbed into your warm skin.
"my little hare, my dear." he groaned. he only moved away to finish getting his clothes off. you both were finally nude and in bed. he had you pressed against the covers. you looked like a cute bunny in the sea of white sheets.
kimi's cock was achy, the tip was glossy with pre-cum. it didn't hurt the hurt the feeling when a thought crossed his mind. cuddled up in the chalet with a loose sweater on your body. but, could still see the outline of your baby bump. kimi beside you with a hand on your middle. smitten like the day he married you. he stroked his cock as he eyed you, admiring your beauty. your nude body on a alluring display for him.
"you look beautiful." he said softly, "how did i get so luck? the most beautiful woman under me."
you shifted under him from his intense gaze on you. you were both hungry for one another. the iceman and his little hare, a perfect match.
"you know i think you're beautiful." he said softly as he stroked his cock faster, "beautiful, beautiful." he couldn't take it anymore, he needed you.
you shuddered as he soon grabbed your thighs and hiked your his upwards. he got a pillow under your behind to give him a little extra height to access your pretty little cunt. give him the perfect angle to fuck you with.
"my wife." he said as he slowly sank into you. your cunt fluttered around his cock as he got his entire length into you. he cursed under his breath and shakily exhaled. you moaned and held onto his shoulders when he got closer enough to you. he said softly, "my little obsession."
the pace was steady, but not particularly fast. kimi was never a fast lover, he moved to savour every moment with you. he wanted to feel every inch of heated skin. see the rise and fall of your chest, the expressions that crossed your face when pleasure hit you just right. kimi strived to make his wife feel good.
"you look so beautiful under me. i remember when i first met you, such a cute little assistant. but you're much more suited to being my wife. you let me spoil you, and you spoil me." he continued to move against you.
your pulse leapt from the pleasurable feeling. you clung to him as he pressed into you further, the movements were steady as you tightened your legs around his waist.
kimi wanted a baby with you, that had been on his mind. to grow your little family, seeing you taking care of his child only made him want to get you pregnant faster. maybe he could make you have twins.
that notion made him even more excited.
he moved against you faster. his pace still had a lot of power behind it, and it remained steady. there was a force behind them and a fierceness that made your heart race. he thought you were perfect. of course you were, he wouldn't have been ring shopping after three months of dating if you weren't perfect. he eyed your face for a moment as he pressed his chest against yours.
"i love you."
"and i love you."
quite a pair you were, and it fueled your love. you understood one another. you and kimi were a lovely pair, a type of love that ran deep.
"i want you to have my children. you'd be such a good mother. raise them well." he groaned, your bodies moved together as kimi continued to speak, you leg-locked him, "you'd be glowing, a proud mother to all of them. if we have one child or seven." he chuckled, "we'll raise them perfect. future little racers, with your beauty of course." his words were hot in your mind
it fueled the inferno in his core as his cock hit against your sweet spots with heavy thrusts. your nails held onto him, leaving small tracks across his shoulders. you let out sweet noises, the pleasure built up inside of you.
he knew exactly how to make you squirm. how to make you moan. your noises grew as the two of them fucked on the hotel bed. the feeling was beautiful, he still enjoyed the feeling of you against him. he loved how it felt, he swore under his breath at the feeling. the force of his thrusts made your pussy clench around him. his groans were paired with your sweet moans.
"my little hare, beautiful in bed, quick in the snow, and perfect under me." he hissed through his teeth as the thrusts continued. he scratched his short nails up your thighs which made your nipples hard.
kimi craned his neck down to lick your hard nipples. he gave them both attention, he groaned as the pleasure continued to course through him. a growing heat between the two of you. he loved you, adored you. he held onto you tighter and rocked his hips against you. the euphoria rolled in his head, fire in his body as he continued to move his hips.
"fuck." you shuddered and held on tightly. toes cureld and hissed a little bit from the heat, the pleasure. more curses left your lips as the thump in your chest grew.
he pressed his forehead against yours and he whispered sweet nothings to you. rolled together in finnish and english. the praise left his lips with ease and he knew exactly how he wanted you. to be with you for the rest of his days.
you two moved against one another, the noises were loud and passionate. the heated curses and you held onto him tightly. you almost bit him on the should when you climaxed around his cock. kimi didn't last much longer. the two of you kissed deeply when he came.
he finished inside of you and he said a quiet prayer that you'd have a child with him by next winter. the kisses continued as you both slowed to a stop. he held your face for a moment after he broke the kiss. he exhaled deeply through his nose then gave you one last quiet kiss on the cheek. a promise of a future with you.
-
"i think she's over dressed. it hasn't even started to snow yet." you remarked as you watched kimi make sure that the wool hate was on your small daughter's head.
it was the first winter since you had your daughter, amelia. and kimi wanted to make sure she was kept warm for the season. he didn't want her little head or tiny fingers and toes got chilled while you went out.
"she will be fine, hare. if anything she looks like a teddy bear." he remarked with a small chuckle before he took her in his arms. he kissed her rosy little cheek. she looked a great deal like him.
it was a running joke that she would have the same icy demeanor as her father once she started racing - if she wished to persue that - kimi was supportive of any path she wanted to take when she got older.
even with the speculation of her being an ice queen, for now she was a smiling, happy baby, all bundled up for an afternoon out. kimi leaned over to kiss you gently.
you looked to him then to your daughter. you smiled softly, "you do look like a teddy bear, don't you, amelia?" you kissed her on the face then kissed your husband once more.
the iceman, the arctic hare and their little baby. a sweet little family and the both of you couldn't have been happier <3
kimi steps back as his daughter paves her own path — separate from, yet reminiscent of his own.
ᯓ★ kimi räikkönen x daughter!reader
ᯓ★ depictions of a protective dad, a dad nostalgic about his daughter growing up, & a dad who has a preference for his daughter’s potential other half
ᯓ★ paragraph format — 5.9K words
masterlist | the ghost of you masterlist
[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]
ᯓ★ taglist: @edgyficuselastica (lmk if y’all wanna be added!)
ᯓ★ all spanish, german, & finnish words in this are from google! as is the italian dialogue </3 all bolded dialogues are in finnish!
ᯓ★ i humbly request for some feedback on this because i got carried away, if y’all can’t tell by the word count :’) this got to be the longest one-part of a series/one shot i’ve ever written, i swear. that aside, look what finally has a series masterlist now :D
Kimi has long forgotten what prompts him so, but he finds himself at the paddock once more. His darling daughter [first name] was nowhere close this time — her Williams Racing internship having ended weeks ago — and thus blameless for his current whereabouts.
He supposes the lack of media around is a welcomed bonus. Very much so, frankly. It almost makes up for the fact that he’s currently miles away from his closest child — and that he’s potentially missing out on whatever milestone his youngest is about to achieve.
As it has always been, the paddock is loud. Not deafening, as he’s currently in the general hospitality and there’s no cars running on track at Formula One speed, but rowdy still with the amount of overlapping conversations all around.
Once upon a time (until four years ago, really), this had been his life. Regularly, for the twenty-ish years. He can’t say he prefers it, especially since he willingly traded it for a chaos he finds more precious, but he does miss it in a way. Because of nostalgia, more than anything, considering that his late childhood and the entirety of his teenage years built up to it — and that he spent his twenties and thirties in it.
Now, though, he is just someone passing by. A special guest, as some might call it, but a mere visitor nonetheless.
Yet, as always, Kimi welcomes any reason to get out of the paddock.
And, today, that seems to have come in a form of a random check-in text from his eldest. Faija, it reads, are busy?
He wastes no time to respond. No.
Technically, he is — with being a special guest and all. But they’re on a break right now. And, besides, nothing’s more important than his children.
Can I call real quick?
Call now, he sends.
Not a moment later, his phone rings with his ringtone for [first name]. He gets up from his seat to take it somewhere more private. However, on instinct, he clicks on the accept before he comprehends what he has done.
He almost scrambles to press his phone close to his ear. "—Someone asked me on a date."
And, immediately, he almost drops it. "Someone asked you on a date?" He accidentally echoes loudly before he can completely exit the room. He earns a lot of attention, but he pays them no mind. He only almost cared when he accidentally made eye contact with Oscar Piastri, A-K-A [first name]’s current crush, as he turns to leave. "Piastri?"
"My lab partner for Physics."
It’s not that he’s against [first name] dating. As much as he considers her his baby always and forever, he also knows she’s old enough for such things. It’s not like he has a fear of his daughter ruining her life for a man, as he trusts her to make informed and well-thought-out life decisions. Rather, he’s merely in-denial of her ever-growing maturity and stronger independence — and her eventual ability to navigate the world without his guidance.
In simplest terms, he’s afraid of losing his place as the only constant — and important — man in her life.
That aside, Kimi doesn’t really know what to feel about who her date is. He has somewhat expected her first date to be with someone who genuinely makes her happy, in some form or another. Like Oscar Piastri has, as of late.
He doesn’t help that he hasn’t heard anything about her Physics partner before. Frankly, there had been a fleeting second when he assumed it’s Oscar Piastri. "When’s your date?"
"I turned him down."
That response, he knows how to feel about. Relief. And curiosity, especially after she spent a call a couple weeks before on making sure she was within the age range he permits her to date. (That had been a half-meant joke he made when she was seven, but she had apparently made sure to abide by it all this time.) "Why?"
He can hear the shrug in her voice, albeit he doubts she physically did it, "I don’t like him like that. It’d be cruel to lead him on."
He makes a noise of understanding. Suddenly, he pieces what this call is about. She feels bad about rejecting her lab partner. "You did the right thing."
"You think so?" She sounds unsure.
His reply is somewhat indirect, but he’s confident she’ll get what he means. "Don’t settle for just anyone."
[First name] lets his words marinate in the air. He can only assume she’s thinking it over on the other side of the phone. He doesn’t rush her.
Eventually, like he knows she will, his daughter finds her voice again. "You don’t think I should give it a try so I can forget about my crush?"
There’s merit in that inquiry. However, ignoring all the complicated details and caveats, his answer really just comes down to one thing. "I don’t want you to live with regrets."
Kimi’s relentless pursuit of protecting her right to choose is included in that. He raised her to follow her heart wisely to make sure of it. He intends to uphold it, even if he has to live with the possibility of having an F1 driver for a son-in-law.
(Besides, based on the current selection, he’d say his daughter did her best in choosing.)
Kimi re-enters the room where everyone has gathered twenty minutes later. And, surprisingly enough, the atmosphere he came back to isn’t the same one he left earlier. Rather, the dissonance of overlapping conversations has been replaced by a sharp silence — which seems to be pointed at the McLaren driver closest to the doorway he just entered.
He has a theory but he isn’t sure how likely it is, as he isn’t told how many people know of the fact his theory is heavily dependent on. As far as he knows, only Sebastian and Fernando do — at least in an extent that can rival his. Carlos and Charles, he presumes, know just a little bit less. Maybe as do Alex, Esteban, Lance, Max, Pierre, Yuki—
Oh. That’s basically half of the current grid.
Even if not all of the last six turns out to be in the know, there’s probably a substantial enough portion to sway the atmosphere. Still, it won’t hurt to confirm first. "What happened here?"
"Oscar keeps denying that he has a date with [first name]," Alex tattles. He looks at Sebastian and Fernando’s direction to confirm. They both nod once, affirming and serious.
Kimi has half a mind to leave Oscar Piastri at the mercy of his fellow drivers. But, alas, his conscience ultimately doesn’t allow him to. "You’re barking up the wrong tree."
That loosens the sharpness of the silence. "He’s not the one that asked [first name] on a date?"
He almost scoffs amusedly at Sebastian’s attempt at asking for a confirmation. "It would’ve been the other way around, don’t you think?"
"So [first name] asked Oscar on a date?" Lando speaks up this time, sounding like he has completely lost the plot. He’s clearly not close enough to his daughter, albeit he’s not sure why so. The older McLaren driver seems to be a good one to be around, too.
"No."
"Is she—"
He interrupts the seven-time champion’s predictable question with a borderline threat. "One more question and I’ll personally rescind [first name]’s invite to her karting competition."
"What!" Younger Kimi — or Kiminen, as his daughter refers to him — exclaims. "No! Please!"
"She karts?!"
"[First name] never mentioned—"
"Princesa’s racing again?" Fernando’s calm — and surprised — intrigue is the quietest reaction amidst the audible gasps and varying exclaims.
"She’s doing it for charity," he clarifies. "She’s inviting you guys to watch. Except for Esteban—"
"What did I do?!" The French Haas driver interrupts in disbelief.
"—she wants you to be in her team."
Esteban’s relief gets drowned by protests — with Charles being the loudest of them all. "Why didn’t she ask me? I’m her favorite!"
Kimi is merely starting to realize why [first name] is joyed to hear he’s currently with the grid. It has nothing to do with her excitement about why he’s there — and everything to do with what he can do on her behalf while he’s there.
With him acting as her messenger, she doesn’t have to deal with the chaos that sets off for literally anything. Which means he just unknowingly let her escape something she didn’t want to do. Looking back, it’s a little amusing, considering it’s closely related to what he wanted her to have since childhood, albeit in an entirely different context.
However, a part of him doubts it’s just her unwillingness to surround herself with their familiar chaos, seeing that she invited all of them to her karting competition. A part of him is convinced she likes their company; she just doesn’t want to be forward about it. And, worse, he’s also convinced she’s wordlessly hoping Oscar Piastri comes with her guest ensemble — without burdening him with a personal invite.
Kimi isn’t graced with the specifics, but his daughter’s last story about Oscar Piastri has something with her admitting she had a crush on the latter just before he saw them enter the Aston Martin garage together. The McLaren driver had been shocked into near silence, as far as he is told, and that is all he got. [First name] doesn’t seem to mind the reaction she received, but he doesn’t really trust that completely. Nevertheless, regardless of his confidence, her feelings seem to be unaffected by the outcome.
He eventually dignifies Charles claim with a refute, "You’re not the favorite."
Kimi takes in his surroundings. He is far from being a stranger in the chaos of people preparing for a race, even post his Formula One days. However, still, he marvels at the stark difference the word ‘friendly’ brings into the competition. The latter part of the term is still very much present in the air, though.
He arrives with Sebastian, Lance, Fernando, and Gabriel. They’re all carpooling, just to be mindful of the other guests, albeit he doesn’t exactly know who’s going and with who. Apart from them five, he’s only aware of Alex coming with his girlfriend — as is Carlos — since the three women apparently bonded during her internship.
The directions [first name] sent him eventually lead them to a makeshift garage with a banner reading Cynder by the opening. Unlike a typical Formula One garage, however, there are three karts parked in front — one with a ‘31’ sticked on the front wing, another with a ‘36,’ and the last one with a ‘97.’
He knows two of them are hers and Esteban’s, but they’ve been surprisingly tightlipped on who their other teammate is. But, then again, it isn’t like he has asked.
"That one’s Esteban’s, for sure," Lance comments with a gesture towards the kart 31. "That’s—" he points toward the 97 one next— "[first name]’s. Whose—"
"How do you know that’s [first name]’s?" Fernando interrupts his teammate with the same question he doesn’t want to bother asking.
"She told me," the younger Aston Martin driver replies. "She switched around the numbers of Kimi’s birth year."
Kimi merely nods. In the most humble way possible, he’s aware of how much his daughter looks up to him. He’s uncontestedly her favorite person, from the moment she was born. Her paying homage to him, in some form or another, isn’t at all surprising. Yet, still, it never fails to touch him every time.
By the time [first name] shows up, a lot of the current grid has flooded in. She graces them with her race suit snuggly zipped up to her neck, with her helmet on hand. There are two figures next to her, donning the same designed suits with their respective helmets still on. Esteban wears the same red helmet he does for this season, so he’s able to identify the Haas driver with no problem. The identity of the bright lime green helmet’s owner — and simultaneously also the driver of kart 36 — evades him, even with the Alpine name clearly plastered across the front.
He doesn’t dwell on it for a moment longer. He has better things to use his brain power on, especially with his firstborn around this many F1 drivers.
"Dad!" [First name] jogs straight towards him, ignoring everyone else in her path. She doesn’t go in for a hug, but rather stops just three steps away. She beams happily, with a stance that reminds him of her first time wearing her school uniform.
And like he did then, he snaps photos to immortalize the moment.
"Have you eaten?" He asks after he’s satisfied with the photos he took. He leads her to the table where he left the bag of food he packed mostly for her.
Instead of answering directly, she opts to say, "I can eat." And, frankly, he approves of that response over whatever alternative she might’ve chosen. "Wait, dad, you can take a picture of us three first?"
Kimi’s immediate response comes by holding out his hand to ask for her phone. "Gimme."
It takes thirteen photos before he’s finally graced with the identity of his daughter’s other teammate. It’s Mick Schumacher, [first name]’s big cousin of sort since childhood. He’s also partly responsible for why she started racing comfortably under a pseudonym.
In hindsight, Mick is an obvious choice for [first name]. They’ve raced each other for fun numerous times over the years. Not quite with teamwork, but always with the same goal: To beat the other on track.
He has no doubt today won’t be any different, even if they’re teammates this time. He just feels bad for Esteban now — as there’s no telling the horrors those two will get into once they’re fastened on their karts.
"This has to be some form of cheating," someone from the crowd of drivers behind him comments. Unfortunately, he can’t identify whose voice it belongs to while he’s preoccupied with taking good shots. "Like, a Räikkönen and a Schumacher in one team?"
"Only if we had Verstappen!" [First name] rebuffs with quick wit. She returns her attention to the camera right after, as if nothing happened.
"You might as well!" That disapproval comes from behind him, and he’s willing to assume it’s Max. "You’re literally a kart racing champion!"
She doesn’t dignify it with a response.
"Those two kind of grew up racing each other," he hears Sebastian give the rest of the crowd a vague and brief history. "So them being teammates can either be the best or the worst thing to happen for this race."
"Man," another voice sighs all of a sudden. It’s Gabriel. "If I had known, I would’ve packed some popcorn."
Kimi’s slightly impressed with how spacious this makeshift garage is. Not only does it hold three racing karts, but it also shelters the twenty-something of them comfortably with space for more. It almost feels like a less fancy, one-story hospitality-motorhome of sorts rather than a mere garage where mostly engineers are about.
Yet, despite the ample space, it seems to shrink whenever someone unwanted — by him, as a forerunner — drops by.
It starts with a couple suspicious recruiters who has the audacity to interrupt [first name] while she’s eating. "Excuse me?" One of them approaches their large crowd. "Which one of you attends Polytechnic University of Milan?"
"That would be me," his daughter slightly steps forward. "Can I help you?"
The other stranger does a double take. "By chance, are you [pseudonym]? The one who won the kart racing championship in—"
"I am."
"Oh, wow. This is amazing." The first interrupter sounds a little awestruck. "We’re actually here to scout potential engineers for F1 academy, but you— You—"
"We’ll be delighted if you join us at F1 Academy as one of our drivers," the second one helps out. She hands her a calling card.
[First name] hesitates to accept it. "I’m flattered, but I think I’m only going to take a chance on your engineer spot."
Kimi has the pleasure to catch the recruits’ faces fall before they recovered. He isn’t surprised by her response, unlike the rest of his company who are subjected to hear the entirety of her rejection somewhat against their will. After all, [first name] has been upfront with what she wants to do with her life when she told him about her university application all those years ago.
"Karting is just a hobby for me," she echoes the words she told him then, albeit this time the tense has changed to reflect its current status. It’s not just a ‘want’ anymore, but rather an ‘is.’
"But you’re a champion?" The first interrupter, who he’s now realizing must’ve had less training than the other one, is aghast. He definitely has more audacity, though. "You shouldn’t just — excuse me — throw all that talent away."
Kimi must admit, he’s liking this recruiter less and less the more words leave his mouth. And, by a quick sweep over the crowd with his eyes, so are the rest.
"What my colleague here means is," the other recruiter starts in hopes of saving the face of their company, "it’ll be a shame to have someone of your caliber to be . . . behind-the-scenes."
The Cynder garage isn’t air-conditioned nor closed and, yet, the sudden thermal change is palpable. The breeze might blow cold from the openings, but their relative area is abnormally colder somehow.
"You’re absolutely right." [First name] doesn’t change her expression, but something undetectable within her definitely has. "I mean— What was I thinking? I’m a multi-year champion. I’m a Räikkönen. I do have a higher caliber than most."
"Exactly!" The first interrupter lights up. He can almost imagine him boasting to his workmates about how he helped a kart racing champion see reason. "I knew you’d get it."
"Of course." Her voice remains even. "Non posso credere che una persona del mio calibro abbia persino considerato una squadra che non valuta i propri ingegneri tanto quanto i propri piloti." ["I can’t believe someone of my caliber even considered a team who doesn’t value their engineers as much as they value their drivers."]
Neither of the two move to take the calling card she’s handing back. "We didn’t mean to offend you—"
"Not offended," she interrupts with the same even tone. Although nothing has changed from before, her voice suddenly feels jagged — like a razor-sharp ice stalagmite. "Just enlightened." She subtly nods towards the direction where they presumably came from. "Thank you for dropping by."
Silence starts as temperature warms up to normal. The former continues even after the second recruiter successfully — and not-so-subtly — drags the first out of their sight.
[First name] goes back digging into her portion in the Tupperware like no one interrupted her meal in the first place.
"Are we not going to talk about it?" Kiminen asks on everyone’s behalf.
[First name] halts her forkful mid-air to give her full attention to the younger Mercedes driver. She partially raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"We do." It’s Kimi’s turn to speak for everyone.
"I don’t," she counters in a beat. "It’s not interesting enough to talk about."
"Can we at least get where they work?" Lewis tries to get their interrogation somewhere. He feels some of the drivers around him anticipate her answer with partly bated breath.
Unfortunately, even that is futile. "Somewhere irrelevant," she dismisses with a shrug. "Nice try, though, Uncle Lewis."
Yuki tries his luck next. "Will you whisper it to me?"
"If I do, then we’ll just be playing telephone," she turns the younger Red Bull driver’s inquiry down. "You’ll tell Pierre. Then Pierre will tell Charles. Then all of the sudden everyone knows."
"Hey!"
"Telephone will make it more interesting," Oscar Piastri joins in. Having learned nothing, the rest gets their hopes up once more. Kimi can’t really blame them, since they all know by now about her crush on the Australian driver.
Maybe she’ll bend a bit of her will for him. "True."
"Mate, ask her," Alex not-so-subtly whispers while repeatedly gesturing towards [first name] with his eyes. He’ll give him kudos for trying not to move his mouth too much, though.
Alas, before they can witness the extent of Oscar Piastri’s influence on her, her phone rings in tune of a song Kimi doesn’t recognize.
They watch as she half-raises her left arm while her attention is at the parked karts on the other side of the garage. "On your left."
And, of course, as the curious crowd that they are, they all follow her eyes with their own.
Which land on a man around [first name]’s age in a plain white shirt and dark jeans, with styled gelled hair and a loose strand. He moves with an easy confidence, his eyes scanning the crowd with a practiced nonchalance that Kimi instantly finds irritating.
He has seen enough in the whole fifteen seconds the other has his attention. Whoever this person is, he’s obviously wrong for [first name]. He doesn’t hold a candle on Oscar Piastri.
"I’ll be right back," she excuses herself without taking her eyes off of the newcomer. They all watch as she gives the latter a short, almost missable nod, "Cassano."
Likewise, they all witness Cassano — as she called him — light up when he sees her approaching. Although he’s a distance away, they see how fast a smirk spreads across his face very clearly. "Räikkönen," he reciprocates with a playful tone. "Took you long enough."
Kimi focuses on watching the interaction [first name] strategically drags out of earshot. He glares at Cassano’s back, readying to pounce in case the other gets too comfortable about being close with his daughter.
As spacious as the Cynder garage is, there’s simply not enough room for Cassano. (Read: Kimi only prepared for one particular person to be his daughter’s other half — and it’s definitely not him.)
"Prinzessin has a boyfriend?" Sebastian voices the question that’s also floating in everyone’s heads.
Kimi knows the answer but, at that moment, he’s not sure if it still holds true. He definitely wants it to, though.
"At least he’s not an F1 driver, eh, Kimi?" For the life of him, he can’t even find comfort in that.
Kimi doesn’t know how to feel when [first name] returns with a renewed light in her eyes and her hands full of gifts. He’s all for anything that makes her happy, but he doesn’t exactly enjoy seeing it unfold when a boy’s involved — especially if that boy is someone he knows nothing about.
Not even her confusion at his one-word inquiry helps ease the one-sided animosity he feels towards the boy in question. "No?" She answers with her tone slightly raised by the tail. "That was just Cassano, my lab partner in Physics."
He almost malfunctions at that. "The one that asked you on the date?"
[First name] casts everyone a weirded out look when they all seemingly flinch forward. "Yeah." She doesn’t comment on their tuned ears, but he knows she notices them and their silent attention. "The one I turned down."
A wave of relief washes over the tension that unconsciously settled on his shoulders. Good, he almost says out loud. Oscar Piastri still has a chance.
"He’s quite a looker," Sebastian joins the conversation with a sugarcoated why did you turn him down?
"He is?" She’s unfazed. "I don’t notice."
"Seriously?" It’s Mick’s turn to join, disbelieved.
[First name] shrugs, unbothered. "He’s not my type."
"Does he know he’s not your type?"
She hums, still uninterested in the conversation as in the beginning. "I told him I like someone else."
Esteban gestures toward the gifts that she carefully places on the table. "Doesn’t seem like he received the memo."
[First name] doesn’t miss a beat in her rebuttal. "Cassano does whatever he wants."
Kimi doesn’t feel comforted. If anything, it only gave him the validation he needs for his instant dislike of the Italian boy. Never mind that that’s exactly what she does, too, just with more dignity and class.
"Do you know what three red roses mean, [first name]?" Mick’s eyes don’t leave the three roses she stacked like a pyramid on the table.
"Is it not because there are three drivers in our team and our team color’s red?"
No one actually does it, but he feels the collective urge to face palm as soon as she finishes her response. He can’t blame them, as he, too, is struck with the same urge at the same instant.
If only the meaning’s as innocent and as thoughtfully nonsensical as [first name] thinks it is.
"Prinzessin . . ." Mick’s pronunciation of her nickname comes out disappointed. Somehow, he can tell he’s mentally debating how to break the actual meaning to her.
Kimi, in all honesty, is a bit torn on the matter. Is it better to let her think it’s just a friendly, thoughtful gesture? Something that she can just say ‘thank you’ for upon receiving? Or is it better to tell her it’s nothing of that sort? That it carries a weight heavier than what she has already denied before?
Does he want her to carry the guilt of unknowingly accepting something she can’t promise to reciprocate?
Or does he want to give that choice up to her, like always?
To his luck, it’s Oscar Piastri who — unknowingly — takes him out of his short-lived complicated dilemma. "It means ‘I love you’."
[First name] looks at the McLaren driver with apparent surprise. "‘I love you’?" She echoes.
It takes him a second to confirm. And, somehow, he needs to clear his throat before he does so. "I— Yeah."
Kimi isn’t oblivious to the fact that he just missed a whole conversation between his daughter and Oscar Piastri amidst his blinks. After all, his eyes have been set on them two since.
And yet, for the life of him, he collects nothing that can help him fill the void no matter how long he sustains a hard look.
Kimi has seen his daughter race countless times, ever since her childhood. But the inexplainable feeling he gets whenever she zooms on track remains indescribable with a single word even after all these years.
There’s anxiousness, for the possibility of her getting hurt; anticipation, for what her hard work will amount to in front of the crowd; and proudness, for how far she has come from the five-year-old that almost refused to leave the cockpit of his Ferrari F2007.
There’s nostalgia this time around, too, because [first name] hasn’t been on a kart — that he knows of — for at least seven years by this point. It used to be a constant in her life, and now . . . He has missed it being part of her element.
He has almost forgotten how it progresses differently for her, compared to his second oldest’s, with her rituals and whatnots.
"Dad." She seeks him out after she zips her suit back up and secures her helmet back in place. "I’m ready for my lucky pat now."
A smile almost breaks through as he imagines a much younger [first name] standing before him with the same expecting eyes.
He obliges, his hands move like it’s still a muscle memory he hasn’t quite forgotten after all this time. "I’ll see you in the finish line, Princess."
[First name] nods once, satisfied with the completion of her pre-race ritual.
Kimi watches as her demeanor visibly shifts the further away she is from him. She transforms with every step, from just [first name] to [pseudonym]. Still his firstborn, though; still his daughter through and through.
"You’ve done well with her." Sebastian appears next to him. He hasn’t moved his attention from his daughter, so he can only assume his old teammate is also watching her and Mick as they teach Esteban their little pre-race ritual. "She has grown up well."
It takes him a moment to say anything in response, half-satisfied with the silence doing everything on his behalf. "She has, hasn’t she?"
He sees a glimpse of younger [first name] again, with a helmet that almost looks too big for her head.
However, before his thoughts can turn more nostalgic and sentimental, the very subject of his thoughts reappears directly in front of him. "Please keep it safe for me."
He accepts it without looking down to see what she needs him to hold. He freezes momentarily once he does so.
It’s a handmade orange and black bracelet, with beads spelling ‘OP81.’ It’s the very bracelet Fernando has hailed as her most prized possession.
A light, almost soundless chuckle escapes. "So it goes."
Kimi knows this is all for charity. He knows this is all for the children who dream of competing in Formula One, but have no means to start nor continue. He knows the mere objective is for all three cars to finish, for the charity of their choice to receive a donation. He knows the podium has little value, much less the top step, and yet—
He’s agitated. He’s heated. He’s competitive.
Which, funnily enough, is the complete opposite of [first name] who’s actually the one on track.
She, as the two gentlemen on her team, is cruising — relaxed and without a care.
"Have you decided if you want the trophy, [pseudonym]?" Mick’s voice comes through the small speaker [first name] placed on the table before they hopped onto their respective karts and drove off.
It’s from the gifts Cassano handed her, along with the earpieces that allow her, Mick, and Esteban to communicate directly as they go around on track. (They aren’t actually gifts, as it turns out, but rather a group project the Italian made final touches on.) They also have their respective buttons to radio their race engineers, but the speaker and earpieces are born from the creative freedom [first name] and her fellow engineering students have.
[First name]’s voice comes next. "It looks okay."
Which is swiftly followed by Esteban’s, "Copy that. We’ll continue with the pace, then."
On the other side of the speaker, the rest of them are understandably baffled. "Are they seriously basing their speed on the trophy?"
"Sounds like it."
Pierre shakes his head with a chuckle, "They’re something else."
"On a second thought," [first name] returns to the speaker — unknowingly halting their conversation from continuing further, "let’s pick it up a notch. My dad’s getting fussy back in the garage."
There cues the amused laughter and the stunned bewilderment. "How does she know?"
"How do you know?" Esteban unknowingly echoes Lance’s sentiment.
Kimi can hear a shrug in [first name]’s voice amidst the nonchalance, "I’m bored."
An elaboration doesn’t follow, which is typical of [first name] whenever she feels her energy is better used elsewhere. He understands her more than anyone in that regard, for he follows her train of thought with just two words. If I’m bored driving, then faija must be bored watching me drive.
Of course, it’s another matter if they don’t follow. But she doesn’t usually concern herself with such — and neither does he.
Mick isn’t one of them, though, having been around her since childhood. "Let’s give Onkel Kimi a show, then."
And, like a promise, the screens broadcasting the race’s progress are immediately thrown into chaos as kart 36 overtakes three karts as soon as it accelerates.
"You’re on, Junior." They hear [first name] accept the indirect challenge over the speaker. On the screens, kart 97 chases 36 after it zooms past.
Kart 31 has no choice but to speed up as well to keep up with the other two.
"Forget the popcorn," Liam references to Gabriel’s earlier comment. "I want hot dogs and pizza. This is proper stadium entertainment."
"You brought your wallet?" Ollie inquires without missing a beat. In lieu of answering verbally, the Racing Bulls driver merely pats one of his pockets with a nod. "Great! Let’s go, you’re paying."
Isack pulls Liam off of his seat before the latter processes what just happened. "Text in the group chat if you guys want anything!" The former says over his shoulder, one hand on Liam with a presumably tight grip. The rest of the rookies follow, with Ollie even taking a page from Isack’s book and putting an arm around Liam’s shoulders.
By the time the rookies come back, the track has become Cynder’s playground — with the three of them occasionally taking turns chasing each other. [First name], Mick, and Esteban’s playful banters over the speaker color the race’s privately televised broadcast much better than the commentary it comes with.
Kimi stands with the huge crowd at parc fermé, surrounded by Cynder’s burgundy red and the other teams’ navy blue and emerald green. The air crackles, thick with the scent of spent fuel and raw triumph.
It had been a close fight, mostly because Cynder didn’t utilize their strengths effectively to level the playing field with the rest, but they ultimately came on top. Not only did their team manage to claim the top step even with the bursts of unserious driving, but they were also the first team to have all three drivers finish the race.
Esteban gets out of his kart first and celebrates like he just won a Grand Prix with his fists punching the sky.
Mick follows, with a mirroring gesture of happiness whilst standing on his seat.
Then, it’s [first name]’s turn. She stands on her seat — utterly still as she takes in the crowd and their vibrating roar. She doesn’t raise a fist, nor does she leap out of her kart. Instead, she celebrates in the only way [pseudonym] does: She puts one leg behind the other, gently bends her knees, and bows her head in a quick curtsy of humble acknowledgment.
Kimi has certainly missed seeing her do the princess curtsy after every hard-earned win.
Her familial nickname didn’t come from her signature celebratory gesture. Rather, she sought inspiration from her nickname in her quest to find one.
Just like every time he dares to stare too long, he sees a younger [first name] curtsying on her kart — still a little unsteady and a whirlwind of impulsive grace, yet captivating nonetheless.
Kimi returns to the present just as his daughter runs into his arms. He catches her with the practiced ease of a man who has done so a thousand times, ever since she started learning how to walk.
"Dad," she breathes against his ear. And that’s all she needs to say, really. I did it.
He tightens his hold before pressing a kiss on a side of her helmet. Congratulations. It’s part of their tradition, too, albeit unspoken. "I’m proud of you, [first name]."
He smiles when her helmet tilts up to look at him.
Camera shutters explode around them, adding frantic flashes to the already deafening chaos. He pays them no mind. As does [first name].
For this stolen, fragile moment, the world doesn’t exist.
Right now, there’s only him and his firstborn. No crushing weight of expectations, no burgeoning affections that might pull her gaze away, no looming threat of leaving. No gnawing presence of media vultures, either, nor consequences for forgetting. Just him. And his baby.
(Later, when they’re back in the safety of Cynder’s garage, he slips the McLaren bracelet back on her wrist with a meaningful nod.)
