I'M NOT IN LOVE, SO DON'T FORGET IT
“ — it's just a silly phase i'm goin' through! ”
ˋ°•*⁀➷ a kimi antonelli x f1driver!reader imagine
warnings & tags- cursing! female reader (important for plot), lots of talk of misogyny in racing world, little bit of google translate italian sorry, sad honestly, angst with comfort
[a/n]- requests are open! "ti amo tanto"- i love you, so much in italian. also i use an emdash once or twice dont try and burn me at the stake for using an ai I DONT, i'm just a fanfic writer sue me
3.9k words
Your forearms were burning, your throat felt like sandpaper, and your heart was hammering frantically against your ribs at a rate that could only be described as medically alarming. But as the checkered flag finally flew and the crowd exploded into a frenzy, the pain seemed to vanish. The car's radio crackled with celebration, your engineers and team shouting over one another as pure exhilaration poured in from the speakers.
Your gloved hands trembled, flooded with raw adrenaline as your car rolled to a stop into parc fermé in first place. You scrambled out of the cockpit, the roar of the grandstand hitting like a physical wave. Despite your legs quivering like jelly, you sprinted to the pit wall.
“Phenomenal! Truly amazing race. Congrats!” Mekies, the Red Bull team principal, exclaimed as he pulled you into a hug over the barrier. Before your feet could grace the ground again, another engineer caught you in another embrace.
Your whole team bombarded you with congratulations, hands clapping your shoulder as you vaulted over the pit wall. You exchanged high-fives all the way down the line before a staff member grabbed your arm, steering you towards the scales before you could bounce off somewhere else.
The transition was jarring. One moment your ears rang with praises from mechanics, and the next, you were in the quiet, sterile garage on an industrial scale. As the adrenaline pumping through your veins faded, the aches and exhaustion took hold again. Your helmet was now suffocating, your muscles on fire, and throat drier than the Sahara.
The moment the scale flashed green, your frantic hands tore off the tight helmet and balaclava. Cool air met the sweat that pooled on your forehead, sending a welcome chill down your spine. You trainer shoved a water bottle in your hands, already sending you down the corridor and towards the reserved cool down room.
"Congrats!" The familiar Italian voice echoed down the empty hallway, sending a wave of warmth through your exhaustion.
"Kimi!" You leaped towards him, energy spiking again at the sight of your friend. He was quick to catch you, nearly lifting you off your feet in a breathless hug. "Congrats to you, too!" You laughed into his shoulder.
"Grazie, grazie," he beamed, setting you down. His hair was in shambles from the helmet, his curls sticking out in a multitude of different directions.
Another small laugh involuntarily escaped your lips at the sight.
Kimi tilted his head, his eyes playfully scanning your face. “What?”
“Your hair,” you managed to choke out between winded breaths, “Was that the helmet, or did you accidentally stick your finger in an electrical socket?”
“Uh, it’s called aerodynamics. You should try it sometime, might make you faster.”
You scoffed, pushing the door open to the cooldown room that was reserved for the top three. “Woah, slow your roll there, P2. You can criticize my aerodynamics when you're first.”
George was already sitting on the couch when you got there, a cold towel draped over his neck as he watched replays from the race on the screen.
“Aye, P3! How’d you beat us here?” you asked, crashing on the sofa next to him. Kimi slid down next to you, looping an arm around George’s shoulders to pull his teammate in for a messy sidehug. George didn’t flinch at the sudden pile-up on the couch, just offered a tired but genuine smile and made room.
“You guys took forever,” he shrugged, his eyes darting between you with a knowing glint. “I thought you had skipped the cool-down room to go have a celebration of your own. Though, clearly, Kimi was busy… losing a battle with a hairdryer?” You laughed once again, your head rolling back to rest on the couch as you lazily glanced at Kimi. He gave George a playful shove, but didn’t deny a thing.
He was probably used to it by now, given how often people would make comments about the two of you together. But beside him, your stomach did that familiar, heavy flip, the one that always made you question everything.
“Strictly aerodynamics talk. Very professional,” you quipped. You hastily unscrewed your water bottle cap, taking a long sip to deflect from the involuntary heat rising to your cheeks.
“Mhm, sure, whatever you say.” George flashed a smirk that proved he didn’t buy a word you said. You set the bottle down with a deliberate click against the table.
“Maybe if you listened to our aerodynamics chats, you’d be the one sitting P1, Russell.”
George let out a dry chuckle, obviously not taking your insults to heart. “Chill, rookie, it’s your first P1. Don’t let it get to your head just yet.”
“I know!” The sheer excitement and realization peeked through your cocky mask. “First P1! First woman ever to win a Grand Prix. You’re looking at history, baby!”
George’s smirk instantly melted into a genuine, brilliant smile. He reached across the back of the sofa, giving your shoulder a rough, proud shake. "Alright, alright, fair point. History has been made. I suppose I can allow the arrogance just this once."
"Just this once?" you scoffed, leaning into the warmth of the couch.
Beside you, Kimi hadn't spoken, but when you glanced over, his eyes were locked on you. The playful, teasing glint was gone, replaced by an expression that was entirely soft, and entirely too dangerous for your peace of mind.
For the rest of the time, the three of you just watched the race replays on the big screen until an official popped their head in to signal it was time for the podium.
The room had fallen into a peaceful silence, and suddenly the distance between you and Kimi felt miniscule. It would be so easy to shift your weight. To lean into his embrace, to let your exhaustion win, and let him hold you the way you knew he wanted to. But you forced yourself to remain upright, your eyes locked on the screen to prevent them from drifting in his direction.
You loved him. It was a terrifying, undeniable truth that had haunted you for months, a lingering feeling that sat heavy and suffocating against your chest. Kimi was the one who spent all those late nights analyzing telemetry data with you, the one who made you his favorite Italian dishes when you cried over cruel media headlines, the one who made loving someone seem so easy in such an awful world.
It was no secret he felt the same. It had become an unspoken barrier in your relationship, the quiet knowledge that you both felt entangled with one another in a way, though neither of you dared to utter the words into existence.
As a woman in such a male-dominated sport, you couldn’t afford a romance with another driver. All of your energy already went into proving yourself, fighting to be respected in a world that cared more about your gender than your lap times. Dating Kimi would ruin everything you worked so hard for. You would become a WAG first and a driver second, and compromising your values and career wasn’t an option. So, you held back, choosing to suffer with the ache of “almost” rather than the risk of losing everything you had built.
“Time for podiums,” An FIA official announced, popping their head into your room. The three of you sluggishly rose from the couch. The celebrations were fun, of course, but nothing could beat the craving of rest after a grueling race like that. George strolled ahead, leaving you and Kimi walking together slowly.
“What are you doing tonight?” Kimi asked, shattering the comforting silence between you.
“After the never-ending press conferences? A team dinner, I think,” you sighed, adjusting the sleeves on your race suit.
Kimi slowed his pace just a fraction, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead as he spoke. “You wanna come over after? We can have celebratory affogato and watch that new movie you were talking about.”
Your chest tightened. Say no, your brain demanded. Tell him you’re too tired, the team dinner will run too late. Hanging out in his hotel room at night, even if nothing actually happened, was far too intimate for just friends. You knew how it would go, laughing in the kitchen, holding hands under the blanket, splitting the dessert with a shared spoon, all while desperately pretending nothing was going on. It heavily blurred the dangerous line between friendship and something more, and you couldn’t risk that right now. Please, god, just say no.
“Yeah,” you murmured, your smile masking your internal panic. “I’ll text you when I’m done with media.”
Screw his stupid, messy curls and his stupider eyes that you were powerless against.
By the time you had finished surviving the dozens of interviews, smiled through a fancy team dinner, and escaped back to your hotel to change, it was past midnight. You pulled up to Kimi’s room in an oversized tee and comfy shorts, knowing not even the affogato could stop you from passing out soon, probably in his arms. He opened the door in his Mercedes hoodie and plain sweatpants,his hair now clean but still adorably messy.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Kimi muttered a few minutes later, hips resting on the counter as he watched you struggle with the espresso machine.
“I am literally just pressing a button, Kimi,” you said, not bothering to look up as he scooped vanilla gelato into a large bowl. “How can someone press a button wrong?”
He abandoned the spoon and headed towards you, swooping in to fix the machine. “You’re too aggressive. You need to be gentle. It can sense your stress, like a wasp,” he nodded and softly clicked a button, and of course it worked now. “See? Fine Italian engineering requires respect.”
You rolled your eyes, picking up the spoon and licking it clean. “It’s a cheap hotel coffee maker, not a Mercedes. And speaking of terrible engineering, have you used the showers in this place? They’re so… confusing.”
Kimi shot you a dirty look at the Mercedes dig, but decided to let it slide. “I know, right? So many dials and levers, and half of them are useless.”
You laughed, the easy warmth of the moment filling the space between you as he poured the hot espresso over the gelato. Taking the bowl, the two of you moved away from the counter and sat cross-legged on the edge of the hotel bed, facing each other. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound being the metal spoons softly scraping against porcelain. You ate in a peaceful manner, enjoying each other's presence silently with no pressure.
Kimi looked up from the bowl, his eyes slowly tracing your face. He studied the way your eyelashes fluttered calmly, the way you tucked your hair behind your ears when it drooped down, and the way your lips wrapped delicately around the spoon. And suddenly, it was all too much for him.
“You were incredible today," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, quiet register that made your chest ache. "But watching you up there... it just made me realize how hard it is to keep pretending that you're only my friend."
You finally looked up at him, a cold sense of dread spreading throughout your chest and poisoning your heart. You knew where he was going with this, and you knew what it would cost you to say no.
“Kimi, please,” you whispered, voice shaking as you set the bowl on the nightstand. Your heartbeat rang in your ears as tears blurred your vision, a silent, desperate plea for him to stop talking. “Don’t do this. Don’t say it.”
“I have to,” he said softly, reaching out to grasp your hand, unaware his touch only made everything sting more. “Because I love you. Ti amo, tanto. I’ve known for months, and I tried to keep it hidden for your sake, but I can’t, not anymore.”
Each word was like a violent strike to your chest. His eyes were filled with absolute certainty, a look that was hauntingly beautiful, terrifying, and completly devastating. The exact words your heart so desperately longed to hear were also the same words that could ruin your career and passion that you had sacrificed your whole life to build.
Hot tears streamed down your face before you could stop them. “I can't," you choked out, pulling your hand out of his grip as if his touch burned. “I can’t do this, Kimi.”
You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes as you said it, grabbing your keys and fleeing before he had time to even try and understand. The weight on your chest had crushed your heart, sobs filling the corridor as you bolted from his room.
The heavy door of your own hotel room shutting behind you felt like the final nail in the coffin. It was over. Everything was over. There would be no more midnight sleepovers, no more running around the paddock together, no more Kimi.
Sliding against the door, you fell to your knees and gave in, violent, painful sobs racking your body. His voice replayed in a cruel loop, consuming your entire mind.
Ti amo, tanto.
You loved him too, so much, and that was the worst part. It made your stomach twist into sharp knots thinking of what you had lost, of all that you had sacrificed for your career that now felt insignificant. For just a fraction of a second, the trophy on the counter felt worthless compared to his touch. But of course, reality always won. You couldn’t let yourself be diminished to just his girlfriend in the eyes of the world. You wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror again if you ever willingly let your work be overshadowed. So, you spent the rest of the night crying in the darkness of your room, praying to whoever would listen, begging for someone to take your feelings away so it would stop hurting.
The sudden silence after the slam of his door was utterly deafening.
He sat still on the edge of the mattress, his hands still outstretched to the empty air where you had just been moments ago. The room, which had just felt so warm and cozy, was now large and freezing. On the nightstand, the abandoned affogato melted, the flavors swirling together to create a murky puddle.
He had imagined that conversation a thousand times in his head, but he never pictured this. He thought you felt it too, the lingering glances in the paddock, the squeeze of your hand under blankets, the unspoken gravity that pulled you together every racing weekend. Had he read everything wrong and fucked it all up?
A sickening flood of regret suddenly threatened to drown him. He hadn’t meant to push you away, and he certainly hadn’t meant to make you cry. But he couldn’t bury his feelings any longer. He couldn’t hide how every weekend, when his mind should be focused on racing, his eyes always searched for you in the crowd. He couldn’t hide how empty he felt during breaks when you weren't by his side. The weight of it had become too much to bear, and it had all just spilled out.
For a second, he thought about following you into the corridor, but the memory of tears streaming down your cheeks as you fled kept him exactly where he was. It was over.
The next two weeks between racing weekends had been, simply put, an agonizing blur. You hadn’t spoken to Kimi since the night in his room. No texts, no calls ,no late-night hangouts, nothing. Just radio silence, from both ends.
Which only made your arrival at the next track ten times worse. The paddock buzzed like usual, teams from everywhere meeting, testing, and socializing under the beaming sun. Normally, you and Kimi naturally found one another among the chaos, sneaking snacks between data analysis, or even just sitting silently together whenever you could grab a moment of freetime. This time, you could pass as strangers.
When Kimi eventually passed the Red Bull garage, deep in conversation with one of his engineers, you purposefully pulled out your phone, pretending you were busy (you were staring blankly at the weather app). You didn’t look his way. He didn’t look yours. The distance between you felt loud, a noticeable pause in the crowded paddock.
“What’s going on with you two?”
You nearly jumped out of your racing suit, looking over to see Max leaning next to you, also watching Kimi disappear as he turned the corner. Max wasn’t one for prying into people’s personal lives, but as your teammate, he spent way too long with you to not know when something was wrong.
“Nothing,” you shook your head, eyes locked on the ground. “I’m just trying to stay focused on the season.”
“Bullshit. You haven’t stood within ten feet of each other since the last podium, and your telemetry data from yesterday looked like you were distracted,” Max said, his tone surprisingly blunt as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “You can lie to Mekies, but you can't lie to me. Did you guys fight or something?”
The walls you had been hiding behind for the past fourteen days suddenly came crashing down. You dragged him to the side, a spot hidden from nearby cameras and reporters, before pouring your heart out. You spilled everything. The espresso machine, the ti amo, the panic, and how you had fled out of a terrifying certainty that letting yourself love a competitor would turn your career into a media shitshow.
Max sat and listened silently as you rambled on, his expression not wavering even as he wiped a stray tear from your face.
“You’re overthinking this,” He stated firmly.
You blinked, caught off guard slightly. “Max-”
“No, listen to me,” he interrupted, looking at you sternly. “It doesn’t matter what they think. It doesn’t matter who you date, or how fast your laps are, those people won’t respect you either way. Fuck them. Don’t waste your time trying to win them over. Who you love won’t change your times ”
You let out a sigh, exhaling all of the stress that had been accumulating deep inside your chest for the past two weeks.
Max watched you for a second, the harshness in his expression softening just a fraction, before he gestured vaguely toward the Mercedes garage. “Besides, he’s been driving awful all week because he’s miserable, and frankly, it’s getting dangerous for the rest of us on the grid. So do everyone a favor and go fix it. I'd like to win the race on Sunday without your boyfriend running me off the track.”
Max’s words echoed in your head all day, looping like a broken record. He didn’t understand the struggles you faced, the misogyny that affected you on the daily. He had the luxury of being judged based on his race times. He didn’t feel what it was like to have your wins dissected and analyzed until being invalidated by a flimsy excuse. If you let Kimi in, you knew the headlines would only grow worse.
By the time you were done with strategy meetings and engineering chats, night had already fallen. The frantic daytime rush of the paddock had died down by now, replaced by a quieter atmosphere where only a few hard-workers remained. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you made up your mind, grabbing your team jacket and running to the (mostly) empty Mercedes hospitality unit.
You stopped outside Kimi’s driver room, taking one sharp, steadying breath before knocking softly.
A moment later, the door swung open, revealing an exhausted Kimi. His curls had that familiar messiness to them, but his eyes now held a new, tired burden to them. They widened slightly as his brain finally caught up and realized who he was looking at.
“Hi,” you whispered softly, throat tight with all the words you longed to say.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice incredibly fragile, as if bracing for you to put another barrier up.
The silence floated heavy in the air, filled with unspoken confessions. Kimi didn’t move, just waited for you to say something, anything.
“I’m sorry,” you started, voice already cracking on the first syllable. The tears you promised not to shed had betrayed you and began pooling in your waterline. “I just left you there, and I’ve felt sick every day since. I am so, so sorry, Kimi.”
Kimi’s eyes softened immediately as he shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed like that. If I made you feel trapped, or ruined our friendship–”
“You didn’t ruin anything!” you snapped, unable to listen to him take the blame. “It was me, Kimi. It was never you. When– when you said those words to me, it was everything I had ever wanted to hear, but it felt like a trap. I’ve sacrificed everything to be an F1 driver. My friendships, my relationships, my teenage years... everything. Just to be treated like shit by half the reporters out there. And I was so scared that if I let myself have you, it would all fall on me again. I thought they would stop seeing me as a driver. I thought for my career to work out, it couldn’t work out between us.”
You took a ragged breath, a hot tear finally spilling over your lashes.
“But these two weeks without you have been hell. I miss everything, and I miss you the most of all. Not speaking to you hurt worse than any headline ever could. I don’t want to live in fear of what people might say anymore. I don’t want to celebrate a podium if you aren't there with me.”
More tears fell as you took a step closer, your vulnerability spilling out.
“I love you, Kimi. Ti amo, tanto. And I’m so sorry it took me breaking down like this to finally tell you.”
Kimi didn’t say a single word. He simply closed the remaining gap between you, throwing his arms around you and pulling you tightly against his chest. He held you through every single sob, feeling your chest rise and fall rapidly against his. You could feel his own heartbeat racing wildly against your ribs as his hands ran comfortingly along your back, holding you so deeply it felt like he was trying to erase those two weeks of radio silence in a single moment.
Slowly, the frantic pace of your breathing began to match his steady, grounding rhythm. Kimi pulled back just enough to look down at you, his thumbs tenderly wiping away the damp tracks on your cheeks as a soft, breathless laugh escaped him.
“You are the only thing that keeps me sane out here, and no one on this grid could ever erase how incredible you are in that car,” he murmured, his voice thick with relief as his eyes searched yours. “We will handle the media, okay? Side by side. I just need you. Ti amo, tanto.”
As he pulled you back into a tight embrace, the stress of the last few weeks dissipated from your chest. The terrifying noise of the paddock, the fear of the headlines, and the doubts that had kept you awake for weeks all faded into nothing but background noise. You finally let yourself breathe again, knowing that no matter what, you would be okay, because you had Kimi by your side.
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