valentina

Your hands slid softly over the fabric of your outfit, smoothing out any wrinkles as you anxiously waited for the drivers to arrive. A crowd of other journalists and reporters swarmed around you, eager to fight to ask questions.

Unfortunately, your boss had stuck you in the media pen today. Dozens of interviewers fought to get just one answer from whatever driver was in the center, including you. You only had about two minutes before the racer was moving onto the next question, a process rigorously enforced by PR teams. 

You absolutely hated the media pen. Even though everyone knew you were extremely talented and performed significantly better in actual composed interviews, seniority got the best of you. Since you were young and new to the company, your boss placed you in the positions that, let’s face it, no one really wanted to do. 

That’s how you ended up in this bull pen of an interview station, waiting for whatever driver would be facing the media first. It would probably be one of the podium racers, which if you were recalling correctly, were George Russell, Max Verstappen, and Kimi Antonelli. 

Not horrible. You were pretty well known in the F1 journalist world, and you could manage an answer out of all of them. Well, except for Kimi. 

If you asked Kimi a question, it wasn’t an answer, no, it was a whole monologue, often throwing in details that were irrelevant and left even you, a professional designed to analyze responses,  confused. He loved ranting past his allotted two minutes, though, in all honesty, it was great for you. It gave you something to submit to your boss rather than a half-assed two word response. And, Kimi was captivating in a way that the audience loved. His answers were always smooth, his eyes always focused on the journalist, and his demeanor always charming and personable. 

So when you saw him walk out first, you quietly thanked whoever or whatever the hell was in charge of your luck. Cameras began flashing, questions began flying, and you began rolling your eyes, stuck at the end of the line. The interviewers were snatching all of the good questions, and all you could do was watch in envy from the sidelines. 

And to make your shitty day even better, Kimi didn’t seem in the mood to answer anything. His responses were… abysmal at best, lacking his normal charm that got viewers clicking. Not to mention, you were the second-to-last journalist to get the chance to ask him anything, so you knew by then he would be even more fed up. Lovely!

Taking a deep breath, you racked your mind for a question to ask him, eventually settling on mentioning one of his minor overtakes towards the end of the race. It wasn’t a major question, nor would it elicit a stellar response, but it was the best you had. It would at least give you something to turn in to your boss. 

Kimi continued walking down the line of cameras and nosy commenters, clearly not very focused as his eyes wandered around curiously. Didn’t really matter, you still had to ask a question, even if you weren’t sure he would respond.

His gaze finally flickered to you, warmth filling his expression as a smile brightened his face. He looked younger in a way. Not necessarily young, just more like an actual nineteen-year-old, almost as if the serious professionalism required of an F1 driver had been abandoned. You let out a breath of relief, giving a small (but still serious) nod while your own smile cracked through the surface. 

There was no time to look back at the cameraman, no time to fix your hair, no time to straighten your outfit again. With a final sharp breath, your upturned mouth opened, ready to ask the question about some dumb overtake with little hope he would–

“Ciao, ciao! I didn’t expect to see you in the media pen!” Kimi interrupted, albeit with great intentions. You froze in slight confusion, awkwardly laughing it off before going to speak again. 

As if he would let that happen. 

“Y’know, I kind of hoped you would be in the actual interview. You always ask the good questions. And you write the good articles after! The other drivers think so, too. Who’d they put in there if not you?” he asked, his mind clearly going faster than he could form words. Even as an experienced journalist, who had dealt with Kimi many times before, this threw you for a loop. You paused, mouth agape in awe as you pondered if you should actually answer that. Luckily, he answered for you!

“Is it the older bald man? I forget his name, he’s kinda short? Oh, it totally is. He’s.. okay, I guess. I wonder if we can request interviewers. I would totally request you. I mean– so would the other drivers, you know, cause you’re like, very good at your job. Charles said Alexandra likes you too, but, now that I think of it, I’m not really sure how she would know. Well, I guess she watches the interviews, but still. Maybe she–”

“Kimi, we need to keep walking,” his PR manager stopped his rambling, lightly pushing him away from you and down the aisle. His head flicked around, seemingly shocked by being interrupted. Ironic.

“Oh– well ciao! I’ll see you later!” Kimi called out while being dragged into the abyss elsewhere. You lifted your hand, lending him a slight wave, your words failing you. Slowly, you turned to face your cameraman. 

What the fuck? 

Was he drunk? HIgh, maybe? Suffering post-race hysteria? Never in your (well, pretty short) career as a journalist have you ever had the interviewee ask more questions than answer them.

You stared blankly with disbelief at your cameraman who just simply shrugged. Judgy reporters glared your way in.. sympathy? Jealousy?  No one was really sure what to feel. WIth a sigh and drawn out shake of the head, you walked away, eager to escape the chaos of the media pen.

Reviewing the footage, you leered at the two minute long video of Kimi babbling on and on about literally nothing relevant to the race. You had to pause midway through the rewatch. This was god-awful.

You had absolutely nothing to submit to your boss tonight. No videotape, no interesting story, no well-written expose on George’s win or Kimi’s impressive overtakes. Clawing at your face, you turned to your friend and right-hand (camera)man, Lucas, who was there to witness the atrocity of an interview. 

“I’ve got nothing. The Big J is going to fire me, one-hundred percent,” you groaned, head lolling back in utter defeat. John, or “The Big J,” as you and Lucas liked to call him, was your boss at Apex Analytics. He was so perplexing, so kind and yet so passive-aggressive, it was always hard to tell if he was about to fire you or pat you on the back for a job well done. You liked to think he was fond of you as a worker, but you could never be sure. 

“He will not fire you,” Lucas rolled his eyes. “John isn’t evil. But you’re definitely not getting an actual interview any time soon.”

Raising your arms dramatically, you let out another dramatic groan. “That’s just as bad! The media pen is awful! I always get stuck with Kimi, and I always get some bullshit out of him.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s kinda sweet,” Lucas leaned over, hovering over the videotape and rewinding it to the beginning. You glared, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, certain there was nothing in the footage you could use. 

“What are you–”

“Just watch,” he quipped, effectively shutting you up as your eyes returned to the screen. It was right before the interview (if you could call it that), where Kimi was zoned out and walking down the line. “Look. There he is, looking lost, and then… boom.”

A soft click echoed from underneath Lucas’s fingertip as he pressed on the space bar of the laptop to pause the video. On the screen was Kimi, his eyes scrunched at the corners as his face lit up the moment he saw you. Lucas was right. It was kind of sweet, seeing him go from bored out of his mind to suddenly awake and interested. You couldn’t help the small flutter in your chest that arose at the sight.

“And then,” Lucas started, the same smug look on his face “He talked about you for two minutes.”

A blush creeped up your neck before you could stop it. Hiding your face in your palm, you avoided looking at Lucas, knowing he was wearing a stupid cocky grin. 

“Shut up. I still don’t have a story,” you muttered into your hand.

“It’ll be okay. Just email The Big J. He’ll probably be understanding, given the… situation.”

You shrugged Lucas away, already drafting an apology email in hopes John wouldn’t fire you. You detailed how you were stuck in the back of the media pen, a situation already hard enough, and how you didn’t get a chance to ask a question when Kimi finally came around. You even attached the video to prove what happened. Sending the email, all you could do was pray he wouldn’t be too mad.

The night passed without a response, leaving you sick with anticipation till eleven AM the next day, when your phone finally rang, displaying his name flashing on the screen. Not an email reply. A call. He was probably doing it so he could yell, or fire you, or both.

“Hey!” you answered, coming off a little too joyfully for a Monday morning. To your surprise, John seemed… happy. 

“Hey! I saw your email last night,” he said, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of those passive-aggressive situations where it was impossible to tell if he was actually glad or just secretly hiding his fury. You paced around the small hotel room in nervous suspense, waiting for him to continue. 

“Don’t worry, we’re not upset. It's hard to write an article based on answers from the media pen. And we were able to make a story out of it anyway, so you’re all good.”

You froze.

“A story?” you asked slowly, a little speechless. “Kimi said nothing about racing.”

John was calm, as if this was the most obvious answer. “Oh, yeah, but he said a lot of other stuff. He clearly has a thing for you, so we ran with that instead. The media's been asking for more personal life, so it fits perfectly.”

You, on the other hand, were seething with an unmaskable rage. A personal story, published by the company you worked for, about a famous driver who would definitely see.  “You did what? Can you do that, legally? Run an article about me without my permission?”

“Well, yeah, you signed a contract. You should be grateful! It came out an hour ago and it’s doing amazing. You haven’t seen?”He was so annoyingly calm for someone who was actively ruining your life. This was unprofessional, unfair, and utterly humiliating. 

“It’s out already?! You actually published it? Since when did we become a gossip channel?”

“It’s what the viewers want,” John reasoned, sensing your distress. “Oh, and hey! You’ll be in the actual interviews at next week's race. So, not so bad after all!”

Eyes twitching out of pure anger and humiliation, you hung up the phone, knowing if you spoke again it would get you fired. If you weren’t so young and broke, you’d wish you got fired.

How were you supposed to do an interview with him after this embarrassment of an article came out? The thought of even looking at him after the brand you repped posted something like that made you want to curl up and never see the sun again.

Hands shaking, you opened your phone again to see dozens of notifications that had been received while you were on do-not-disturb mode. Ignoring the messages from fans and friends, you surfed to the story. 

Oh god. Your face immediately went pale, your stomach churned, and your mind fought back every desire to jump off the nearest balcony. 

You were so fucked.

Kimi Antonelli gets a little too friendly with reoccurring interviewer! Just harmless flirtation or a new romance on the grid? Read more at Apex Analytics!

view comments...

user5- the way he looks at her 🥹

user2- miss when this was an actual f1 account

user1- kimi was definitely talking about her to the other drivers

↳ user8- right?! there's no way alexandra just brought up a random interviewer unless they were talking about her...

user3- STOPPP HIS FAVORITE INTERVIWER AWEEE

user7- the way he outed himself i'm dead

Meanwhile, in the lobby of a (much nicer) hotel a few miles away, Kimi was staring at his phone in awe. Freaked out emails from his PR team flooded his inbox, Instagram notifications rapidly took over his homescreen, even a text from his little sister Maggie asking if he was in love had popped up. His bags had been long abandoned on the floor, needing both hands to grasp his phone after reading the article. His friends and fellow drivers, Ollie, Charles, and George, who happened to be staying in the same hotel as him, sat calmly in the lobby next to him, waiting for their drivers to pick them up for the airport.

“I am confused,” Charles said, his French accent thick as he looked at the younger boy. “You do like her, non?”

“Yeah, I mean, you bring her up all the time. And it’s not like you were subtle about it either,” Ollie piped in.

Kimi shook his head, blatantly ignoring their—very good—points. “It was posted by her company. Do you think she wrote this?”

George rolled his eyes, shrugging. Personal articles like this weren’t uncommon, Kimi had dealt with them before. “I don’t know mate, probably not. Doesn’t it say who wrote it?” 

Kimi scrolled frantically, looking for the author. It was a name unfamiliar to him, thank god. 

“Do you think she’lll be at the next race?” He asked. For the first time in the past five minutes, his eyes drifted up from his phone, looking cluelessly at his friends. They all glared at him, dead-panned, almost questioning if he was serious. Ollie was the first to speak up.

“Yeah, that’s kind of her job. You know you could just… talk to her. Like a normal human being would.”

“Please. No more twenty minute long answers to racing questions, it’s getting annoying,” Charles reasoned with a peacefulness highly contrasting Kimi’s anxiousness. 

Kimi hesitated. Normally, he wasn’t one to shy away from some shameless flirting, but talking to you? He could already picture it– fumbling hands, shaky words, awkward silence, all while you sat calm and composed like a reporter. But Charles was married, and George had Carmen, and even Ollie had a steady relationship, so maybe they had a point. 

“Just ask her out, Antonelli,” George pleaded, hoping his teammate would get his act together. Pursing his lips together in consideration, the Italian boy paused.

“How would one… go about doing that?”

“...Asking a girl out?” Ollie tilted his head in disbelief. Kimi just nodded. “When you see her, you just ask if she wants to get dinner sometime. It’s really not hard.”

“Like.. ask when she’s interviewing me?”

The drivers just side-eyed each other, questioning if Kimi was actually this stupid when it came to girls. 

Charles just shook his head, ashamed. “Mais de quoi tu parles, putain? Mate, no, oh mon Dieu, no.”

“Just be normal, and do it not in front of a camera. Sweet Jesus, I didn’t realize you were this dumb,” Ollie said before grabbing his bags and walking towards the exit as he noticed the drivers waiting at the big glass doors. The others followed behind, ready to fly out for the next race.  

Kimi sat ashamed in the backseat, quietly scrolling on his phone the whole ride. A wave of guilt washed over him as he watched the clip for the thirtieth time. He was inconsiderate, and you probably felt uncomfortable, and now his stupid flirting had pushed you into a weird position, and oh god, he wanted to die. 

The week had given the dating rumors time to settle, at least a little bit. Well, not much. People had found your personal Instagram account and flooded your comments, tagging Kimi in the comments of every photo. Not to mention, Maggie had been pestering Kimi on a daily basis, giving him sisterly suggestions on how to ask you out.

Safe to say, the both of you dreaded going to the paddock on Sunday.

The paddock was booming, as per usual, filled with the roar of superfans and the chatter of sponsors. Tensions were high as teams prepared for the race that would take place in a few hours. Kimi lounged in the Mercedes garage, wearing his casual black hoodie and jeans. He hadn’t left the place since his early arrival, and it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that he was avoiding you. He was just… particularly focused on the upcoming race, or at least that’s what he told himself (and Charles, who had walked by and gave Kimi a disappointed shake of the head). 

You strolled in with your crew three hours before the race, trying desperately to hide from the media taking pictures of you. It was weird being on the receiving end of the interviewer's attention, and you silently prayed you weren’t as nosy as the paparazzi snapping pictures of your uneventful entrance. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t have a garage to hide in. You were out in the open, traveling wherever your boss needed to be, scoping for a new story that didn’t involve you this time. Lucas followed you around as you lapped the place for a third time, his heavy camera equipment in hand. Ankles aching from the harsh material of your heels, you slumped in one of the chairs nearby, out of sight from John. The cameraman plopped down next to you, also eager to catch a break from the meaningless tasks you two were sent on. 

“Lucas, this is just borderline cruel and unusual punishment,” you groaned, fingers digging into your hair as you slumped over.

“You know John’s only doing this because he wants you to run into Kimi, right?”

A scoff escaped your lips before you could help it. “Oh, really? What’s next, Sherlock? The sky is blue?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Lucas just laughed, an annoying sound that triggered an eye roll from you. You liked the guy, really, but it was hard to tolerate any annoyances when you were already ticked-off with the Kimi-situation, and it was mindblowingly hot outside. 

“The message didn’t need a messenger. It was heavily implied,” your spoke through gritted teeth. 

Lucas didn’t have a chance to reply before a loud ding came from his phone. 

“It’s John. He needs you to deliver papers to one of the interviewers across the paddock.”

“Me?!” you asked in absolute disbelief, mixed with a hint of rage. “I’m a journalist, not an assistant!”

Lucas shrugged.

Your eye twitching in frustration, you got back up without a word, shoving the chair back in its place neatly and with unnecessary force. A string of curses were whispered under your breath as you walked away, something about stupid John and stupider Apex Analytics. 

“What was that?” Lucas called out playfully, already knowing exactly what you were muttering.

You feigned a painful smile. “Nothing! Just happy to help the dearest Big J out!” 

Feet still hurting, you found your way back to John, accepting the folder of papers from him with the same fake smile you shot Lucas. Coincidently, the interviewer you were handing these papers to was right outside Entrance 7, aka, right next to the Mercedes garage!

Your grin dropped the moment John couldn’t see you anymore. Your heels clicked against the concrete floor, lanyard jangling as you sped walk to the entrance, head bowed in anger. It was safe to say you hated the company and John recently. They had lost the plot of good journalism and moved onto whatever made the most money. They treated you as a pretty secretary who they could boss around. And worst, they didn’t ask you once about the whole Kimi situation, but instead treated you as a spectacle they could force into awkward situations for a profit. 

It’s not like you didn’t enjoy the idea of Kimi having feelings for you. He was one of the kindest drivers on the grid, one of the only people who respected you and all other journalists who were just doing their job. He never complained about media days, and never made you feel like a pesky fan. Plus, he was pretty cute. 

But it was all natural before this. There were no cameras focusing on you as a couple, no irrelevant tasks forced on you in hopes of an interaction. It was just you and Kimi, interviewer and interviewee, journalist and driver. It was you asking questions, and him giving his charming responses filled with compliments that made you, a serious reporter, blush. 

And now you were under the eye of the media, being analyzed as if a spec under a microscope. Every question you asked him now had a deeper meaning, every twitch of his eye in an interview was now a hint that he was "hopelessly in love with you.” One interview where he talked a little (well, a lot) more than usual had been spun into some fairytale that simply wasn’t true. 

Your brooding was sharply interrupted by a clash as you ran into the strong chest of someone turning a corner. You nearly fell flat on the concrete, stumbling to keep your balance as the papers flew everywhere. Your gaze flickered up to the perpetrator, who, of course, just had to be the man you were avoiding– Kimi. Jesus, did every interaction with him have to be straight out of a cliche 2000s romcom?

And of course, the moment he finally left the private garage after four hours of hiding out, he ran smack dab into you. All he needed was some coffee creamer from a nearby hospitality, since the Mercedes garage had run out. A two minute trip, right next door, and he nearly sent you, the girl he was building up the courage to ask out, straight to the floor in the process. It was just his luck!

With a long, now familiar, sigh, you bent down and began picking up the jumble of papers that littered the floors. Kimi paused for a minute, quietly praying you didn’t hate him, before immediately swooping down to help. 

With a shy smile, he handed the stack of papers towards you. “Sorry about that.”

A hand flew to rub the back of his hand in pure nervousness. You looked… well, upset, to put it nicely. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered under your breath, standing back up and flattening out your outfit. He stood up with you, his eyes never leaving your frame, even if yours looked everywhere but him. 

It was awkward, so painfully awkward. The papers had been picked up, apologies had been exchanged, and there was absolutely no reason to torture yourself by staying. And yet your feet made no effort to move away.

“So...” Kimi started, clearing his throat and gesturing vaguely toward the folder in your arms. “Are those more interview notes, or is your boss making you run marathons across the paddock today?”

You couldn't help the dry, quiet laugh that escaped your lips. “Marathons, mostly. And delivering papers I shouldn't have to deliver.”

“Ah. I see,” Kimi said, a faint, sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. He shifted his weight, his mind racing back to the advice the other drivers had given him in the lobby. Just be normal, Ollie had said. Do it not in front of a camera.

Kimi tried to gauge your expression, his mind drifting back to the convo he had with the other drivers in the hotel lobby. Now was definitely a bad time—  you were so clearly frustrated, exhausted, and the two of you hadn’t spoken to you since the whole article ordeal. 

But the sunlight was framing your face just right, and despite the bad mood, you were still the person he always looked forward to seeing in the pen. 

“Do you want to go out with me?”

“Excuse me?”

Well, shit, he messed that up. You were absolutely appalled, eyes wide with complete shock. 

“I mean– um…” he stumbled, his face instantly flushing as he considered taking it back and hiding in the Mercedes garage for the rest of eternity. But it was already out there, and he was pretty sure Charles would disown him if he chickened out now. “Would you like to get dinner with me sometime?”

A very long (too long, in Kimi’s opinion) pause lingered as he waited for your response. He grinned awkwardly, praying the rejection wouldn’t be too brutal.

Moments later, you did what he thought was impossible. You smiled. Really smiled, a beautiful thing that lit up your whole face, the frustration and humiliation from the last week melting away. 

“I’d love to,” you admitted, the tension finally breaking from your shoulders. “On one condition.”

Kimi raised an eyebrow, relief washing over him in a massive wave. “Name it.”

“You’re paying,” you smirked, gesturing with the folder. “And you owe me an actual, structured interview to make up for my boss using us as clickbait.”

A bright, boyish grin spread across his face. “Deal. Consider yourself booked for an exclusive.” 

“I’m holding you to that, Antonelli,” you said, stepping past him toward Entrance 7 with a sudden, light spring in your step.

Kimi stood there for a second, watching you go, before letting out a massive breath he didn't realize he was holding and smiling like an absolute idiot all the way back to the garage.

iked by... thegianna, mercedesamgf1, and others

y/nmain- new things coming 💞🤫

view comments...

servingsienna- UGHH MISS U ALREADYYYY

↳ y/nmain- miss you more 💔

user5- HELLOOO?? MERCEDES??

user2- merccedes?! ariana what are you doinnn hereeeeee

thegianna- you and that damn bunny

↳ y/nmain- don't diss on mimi like that

ellamaeofficial- you're so nonchalant about this its crazy

↳ y/nmain- 💞🤫❤️✅💘😉

↳ ellamaeoffical- awe hell naw i take it back

↳ y/nmain- no please im nonchalant please please :(

meanwhile.. in THE ROOKIES (from kimis pov)

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Kimi’s words echoed softly on the many TVs located in the hospitality suite. “Like… the car was broken,” his voice crackled on the intercom, heavy with a watery swallow that was easily recognizable as a bitten-back sob. 

All you could do was sit and watch with a frown as the air seemingly left your lungs. Your heart throbbed dully with the ache of hearing him so broken, his strained words ringing in your ears. It was agonizing, knowing he was in pain so close to the paddock where you sat, yet completely out of reach. 

As sponsors and family chattered around you, your mind drifted back to where it all began. You had been friends since preschool, back when his hair was long and blonde and straight, though his attitude was the same. Back then, he was more soft-spoken, choosing to quietly play with his Hot Wheels while others screamed and cried. And when you sat next to him for the first time during school, he shyly shared his crayons, and you offered the Fonzies from your lunch kit. 

From then on, the two of you grew up together. The planned playdates turned to elementary school sleepovers, which turned to awkward middle school dances, and eventually to high school study sessions. 

Even back then, Kimi was one of the hardest workers you had ever seen. It had been evident since you were kids, when he began to insist on karting rather than playground hangouts. He wanted to be one of the greats, and he wanted you right by his side, cheering him on. 

Eventually, he had pursued his passion in racing, going to F1 at just 18, while you graduated and went to college. Life pulled you apart naturally, but neither of you would let that happen. You Facetimed whenever possible, often during late hours of the night. Sometimes the calls were quiet, just doing natural tasks together, glad to have each other's presence. Often, his little sister Maggie would come and interrupt to talk to you, or his mom stopped in to see how you were doing. 

Because of that distance, he invited you to every single race, but you could rarely go with all of your schoolwork. And so when you finally agreed to fly out to Britain for Silverstone, he knew he had to make it special. 

God, he wanted to win for you so bad. The weekend had started so good, winning the sprint and earning the right to start ahead of everyone else on the grid. Until the actual race day, when his car decided to fail him, and all of his hard work had come undone. Yet, the part that stung him  the most was not losing the race, but it was the painful knowledge that you were out there in the audience, watching one of the worst days of his career unfold. The beautiful fantasy he had built up in his head, where he won the race, dedicated the victory to you, and you fell head over heels for him in a grand romantic gesture, had all come crashing down. 

So when the race was finally over, he kept his helmet glued on tight, walking to his drivers room for ten minutes of peace before he had to deal with interviews. He locked the door behind him, his helmet not slipping as he crashed onto the couch. 

A faint knock filled the empty room within thirty seconds of his arrival. He didn’t make an effort to move. He was not in the mood to deal with anyone right now.

“Kimi? It’s me.”

Well, unless it was you.

His hands quickly slid to the door, unlocking it with a hushed click. It took a moment, but you slowly pushed in, your eyes meeting a defeated and exhausted Kimi. Your heart sunk at the sight, noticing the way his head slung low, helmet still on. He never kept his helmet on. Always said it was too restricting. 

“Hey,” you murmured, sinking down next to him, hands immediately reaching for the head protection. Kimi just watched through the tinted visor, letting you take off his only defences. He would never push you away.

His cheeks were red and puffy, part from exhaustion, and part from crying. His eyes were glossed over, darting around to avoid meeting yours. You had known Kimi long enough to realize he didn’t want some bullshit speech or whispers of sweet nothings, so instead, you wrapped your arms around his coiled up form.

Instinctively, he surrendered to the embrace, his damp curls tickling your neck as he nestled his head in the crook. Your hands roamed along his back, eager to soothe his sobs by providing some sense of comfort through familiarity. His chest hitched and shuddered, drained of all strength under your touch. 

“I am so proud of you, Ant,” you whispered shakily.

Kimi’s trembling hands grasped desperately at the back of your head, spread palms digging into your hair as he pulled you closer. The unshared nickname you had given long ago sent a surge of sentimentality down his spine. 

“I wanted to win for you.”

His words were muffled, but they still stabbed straight at your heart. Your head shook softly as the vibrations tickled your skin.  

“You already won in my eyes,” you started, pulling back to look at him so your words really stuck. “You are literally the most impressive nineteen year old I’ve ever met, Kimi. You race professionally for Mercedes. But–” your voice froze for a second, poorly attempting to block out tears before you continued. “But most importantly, you are so compassionate and kind and full of love, and trust me, not everyone can say the same. You make me feel like a winner for getting to be your friend. You will always be a winner in my eyes, because of who you are when the helmet comes off.”

The silence grew thick as Kimi stared at you with wide eyes, searching your face with an expression you didn’t quite recognize.

Until he lurched forward, his lips meeting yours in a passionate, borderline needy kiss. 

It took a moment before you leaned into it, the shock morphing into realization, before quickly changing into devotion. Years of built-up yearning spilled into the messy kiss, emotions overtaking any restraint. Memories of Kimi flashed through your brain, from him holding you through long nights to making you laugh so hard you fell to the floor, and it only made you pull him closer. One of his hands slid to cup your jaw, fingers trailing desperately across your delicate skin.

When you finally pulled apart, his lips were slightly-parted and glossy, and his pupils-blown out as he scanned your face. His hands stayed glued to you, not ready to let go of your warmth completely.

“I don’t want to be just friends,” he confided, his Italian accent thick in a way that filled you with wistfulness. The confession wasn’t the long, grand speech that he had prepared in his mind, but somehow the lack of words was substantially more intimate.

“Neither do I.”

A tender smile graced his face, his expression melting into a lovesick gaze. You let out a breathy laugh in response. Words didn’t feel important enough to fill the quiet space, so neither of you dared to utter another sentence. 

Unfortunately, a loud knock at the door echoed throughout the room to break that moment of peace for you. 

“Kimi! Interview in 5!” A woman’s voice rang out. It was probably some PR lady, based on the way her heels clicked and lanyard jingled as she walked away.

“After your interviews and dinner and stuff… you want to go get gelato? It won’t be as good as our spot in Italy, but it’ll be something,” you asked, slowly drifting away from his touch so you could leave before he got in trouble.

He dropped his hands, which suddenly felt dull and cold, your words still processing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll call you when I’m done.”

He nodded as you two parted, sneaking one last kiss before you slipped out of the door. God, he couldn’t wait until tonight.

You had no idea how it had progressed this quickly. 

One moment you were friends, crying in each other's arms, and the next, you were making out in the silky sheets of his hotel bed. 

The taste of pistachio gelato that lingered in your mouth swirled with his stracciatella-flavored spit as your tongues clashed eagerly. Kimi’s hands drifted everywhere, from your ass, to your back, to your hair, as you straddled him, desperately trying (and failing) to ground himself. Everything was so new, so unfamiliar in a way that only urged the two of you to keep exploring. 

His hips involuntarily grinded upwards in such a smooth motion that it made you squeeze your thighs around his. Your teeth bumped together a few times accidentally, a small inconvenience born from the consequences of your messy fervor. Cautiously, his large hands slipped under your shirt, navigating a territory unknown to him. You didn’t flinch.

The lace of your bra tickled his fingertips as he cradled your boobs, eliciting a whiny moan from his puffy lips. The gentle hum bleeded into your kiss, and you couldn’t help yourself anymore. Running along his clothed chest, your hands pawed at his belt, eager to unbuckle it without parting from his mouth. 

“Wait, wait,” Kimi stuttered breathlessly, pulling apart just slightly so he could talk. The moonlight leaked in through the partially-closed curtains, casting a silver glow on your face. For a moment, the words vanished from his mind, your flushed cheeks and loving gaze rendering him speechless. 

He swallowed nervously, the sensation bringing him back to consciousness as he remembered why he stopped. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Neither have I,” you whispered, your eyes darting rapidly across his face, searching for a slight twitch of the lip, or scrunch of the eye, anything to hint at what he was feeling. Insecurity sprouted in your head and doubt seeped into your bones. Maybe you were moving too fast, doing too much. On instinct, you shifted away from him. “Do you still want to?”

Noticing the change immediately, his arm reached to pull you closer, if you were willing. He nodded rapidly, his voice a desperate cry. “SÌ, please, yes.”

You smiled into the kiss, hands going back to fumbling with the metal clasp of his belt. Kimi quickly got the memo, frantically pulling the edge of your shirt up. Helping him out, you disentangled your lips, only to pull the shirt off, before immediately going back to the warmth of his mouth. He scrabbled with your bra clasp, his attention mainly devoted to feeling around with his tongue. His hands shook in anticipation as he finally got it undone.

You shrugged the delicate fabric off and to the sheets as Kimi gently flipped you over. He peeled his shirt off hastily, watching as you shamelessly paused to marvel at the sight looming over you. Smugly and with a newfound confidence, he grasped at your hand and brought it to feel his chest, before lowering it down slowly across his abs. If you were thinking straight, you would roll your eyes at his cockiness, but your mind was too clouded with lust to care. Even as he took away his hand to shift your skirt off, yours remained on his torso, feeling and exploring the muscles like you always dreamed of.

Meanwhile, your skirt settled to the floor, and Kimi’s breath hitched at the sight of your matching lace panties. He paused to admire the dainty pink fabric, hands trailing carefully over the scalloped edges. 

“You like ‘em?” You smirked, watching his eyes drift back up to your face as he was brought back down to earth. Doubtful his mouth could let out anything but an embarrassing whine, he shakily nodded, fingers still aflutter as they triflied around your thighs. 

Your hands strayed down, leaving the crevices of his abs and grabbing at his loose belt. 

He stopped you yet again.

With all the courage he could muster, he spoke again, voice laced with anticipation and a hint of longing. “I want to make you feel good first. Can I?”

His eyes were misty along the rims, a pleading glare cast upon his facade. It was overwhelming, going from hopelessly pining over his best friend to having her bare beneath him. 

This time, it was you who was too starstruck to reply. You agreed fondly, eyes never leaving him as he dipped down beneath your legs. 

A flush pink creeped up your neck as his hands slid your panties down, leaving you fully exposed and vulnerable. You didn’t shy away like most would. You trusted Kimi, whole heartedly.

His lips graced the plush of your inner thighs, peppering kisses gingerly across your slick skin. The warmth sent shivers up your spine, a stark contrast to the cool air spewing in through the vents and tainting your arms with goosebumps. On instinct, your fingers flew to his curls, gripping on for dear life at the gentle touches. You needed something to stabilize your body, shaking with anticipation. 

His eyes shifted up, lashes fluttering as he studied your expression with the evaluating stare of a strategist. Carefully, and without shifting his gaze, his tongue darted out to give a long, slow lick up your wet folds. Watching your eyebrows furrow in pleasure, he licked again, this time pausing to suck on your clit and coating the spot in spit. A breathy moan escaped your lips as you shifted to lean on your elbows for support.

Every whine went straight to his ego, his confidence increasing as he moved again hastily. This time, his tongue poked at your entrance, silently asking for permission to taste you deeper. Dripping with saliva and wetness, it was easy for Kimi to slide in your tight hole. Your legs spasmed momentarily around his head, while a sweet, musky taste flooded his mouth, one so inebriating that he could only compare it to fine wine. He lapped profoundly, hooked on the new taste of your salty flesh.

Quivering, you silenced your moans by biting your bottom lip, turning it cherry red. Kimi’s tongue explored your warm flesh, noting every spot that made your muscles twitch. He was so eager to make you feel good, to force the dreamy whimpers from your throat, to please you in a way no one had before. It was intoxicating to dangerous levels, an addiction forming quietly in the back of his mind.

One of his hands released from clutching your waist, gravitating down to where you needed him the most. Moving his tongue back to suck on your clit, a finger delicately replaced the emptiness inside you. Kimi went slow, his heavy eyes looming the whole time to make sure you felt comfortable. When you nodded desperately, he pushed farther. 

It was only one finger, and yet it had you clenching and twitching and moaning his name in pure ecstasy. The sight was unbelievably lewd, your nipples peaking in the moonlight, hands grasping and releasing in his curls, all while wet sloshes filled the air. His moves were deliberate, calculated almost, as if he were lovingly assessing data for race. He studied your every move, determining if you could handle another finger or it would be too much for your pretty pussy. He grinded messily against the edge of the mattress, his dick straining against his jeans at the sight of you, all disheveled for him. No one else had been able to experience heaven like he had. The thought had him throbbing harder. 

A second finger twirled around your entrance, gathering slick to make the stretch less painful. You hadn’t spoken in minutes, only breathless (and slightly pathetic) sounds escaping your mouth. His skin was so warm, palms dewy with sweat as his free hand groped around needily. The smell of sandalwood from his cologne floated faintly in the air, lingering and mixing with the smell of pure lust-filled adrenaline. 

“Is it okay if I–”

You interrupted him immediately. He could do anything he asked. 

“Yes, please, god, Kimi, yes.”

He smiled, love, and boldness, adorning his features as he probed another finger toward your tight hole. Your eyes snapped shut, swimming with tears as Kimi’s considerable fingers stretched you beyond familiarity. And just as you caught your breath, he curled them ever-so-slightly, moving against your walls until he found the spot.

A string of croaky curse words left your achy throat as he assaulted the area with a special kind of compassion. Everything was too much. His sweet taste loitered on your tongue, his hands worked with intense delicacy, his lips suckled against your clit, all working together and forcing you undone. Sopping plaps filled the hotel room, the sound so risqué you were sure the hotel had heard and blacklisted the both of you by now. 

“Oh, oh fuck, I’m gonna–”

Kimi cut you off before you could finish your sentence. Not with words, but by fucking you harder, moving his fingers faster and with more purpose, licking everywhere he knew would get a reaction out of you. You weren’t lying when you said Kimi was the hardest worker you knew. When he set his mind to a new goal, he wouldn’t stop until it was complete. And right now, that goal was you.

Waves of unexplored pleasure came crashing down in an instant, your legs quivering so hard it was foreign. Everything shook with staggering bliss, even your toes clenching to try and soothe the ecstasy. Kimi lapped your juices up fervently, devouring every drop until you physically wrenched him away by the hair. 

Your liquids leaked down his chin as he grinned dopily, so clearly proud of himself. You pulled him back up to you with a smile, wanting to feel his balmy skin against yours as your breath evened out. A few moments later, and you were reaching at his jeans for the third time, thankfully, with no push back. 

He slid off his denim pants, the heavy fabric and metal belt clasp making a thud as they hit the ground. You gulped nervously at the outline of his hefty bulge, his grey boxer briefs already stained with precum. Kimi noticed your hesitation (he had gotten quite good about noticing shifts in your mood), and instantly went to cup your jaw, a silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could. 

His touch was so comforting, and he was so patient and selfless, it only turned you on farther. You reached out, one hand sliding his boxers down carefully while the other wrapped around his length. 

Pearly drops of precum beaded and leaked from the pink tip, dripping down and spilling onto your skin. It was bigger than you expected, the girth making only enlarging it to a degree that was both delicious and nerve-racking. You couldn’t help but give it a small, drawn out lick.

A frantic, low groan grumbled from the back of Kimi’s throat, the noise so lewd it made you soak slightly. His head tilted back, revealing his pronounced Adam's apple that bobbed as he swallowed. 

“I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he whimpered, hands pawing at your head to gain some control. You smirked coyly, staring up at him with a sneaky stare.

Against his desires, he pulled apart slightly, reaching for his abandoned wallet on the nightstand and pulling out a silver foil packet. You snatched it, ripping the package with your teeth before slowly rolling it against his length. You wanted to tease a little, but you were too desperate yourself to prolong it. 

Laying you back softly against the white sheets again, Kimi pressed a passionate kiss to your lips, the taste of you still present on his tongue. He only broke it so he could look down, aligning the tip of his wrapped cock with your hole. His thumbs traced the side of your face, soothing you for the mixture of pain and pleasure that was to come. Wetness from earlier still soaked your thighs, making it easier for him to glide the tip in.

It burned at first, the initial movement stretching you past any previous limits. He shook as he slowly pushed deeper, pathetic groans echoing off the walls. 

“You’re doin’ so– fuck ! So good- f’me,” he moaned out, coaching you through it while also trying not to bust before even getting started. 

You let out a cry of gratification, the pain gradually morphing into something much more satisfying. Kimi finally bottomed out, leaving you full and needy. He had to pause and focus on soothing his erratic breathing, the feeling of your fleshy walls clenching around him making his head ring. His eyes tensed shut for a moment as he adjusted to the unknown feeling. 

When his heart finally slowed to a pace that wasn’t borderline dangerous, he glanced up through hooded lids to check on you. Nodding frantically, your nails scratched at his back, urging him to move, do something.

With a soft tug, he pulled back out, lips meeting yours again. The loss of your warmth made him involuntarily plow hard back into you, hitting that special spot that lay deep inside you. Both of you let a groan into the kiss, not daring to break it just yet.

His pace increased rapidly, drilling into you uncontrollably like a dog in heat. It was messy, and frantic, and so full of love, your mind buzzed and muted out all other senses. He wished he could speak, say anything, help you through it somehow, but his voice failed him. All his focus went into making sure he didn’t come too soon. And judging based on how his balls were clenching and his moans getting louder, it didn’t seem likely that would last long. 

You had pulled away from his lips to look into his eyes. His pupils were dilated and his lashes waved, and for the first time, you fully grasped the situation. You were sharing one of the most vulnerable moments of your life with Kimi, your Kimi. Your heart suddenly felt full at the thought.

And then he looked at you, really looked, and came to the same realization in his mind. The girl he had always dreamed of, in his arms, looking more beautiful than ever, even with flushed cheeks and matted hair. God, he couldn’t wait to spend his life with you.

“Fuck, fuck! M’so sorry, I’m sorry,” he uttered, his thrusts slowing down and hitting deeper as his climax hit. It was short. Too short. Fuck, he was embarrased. The warm cum filled the silicone as he stilled inside of you, though he silently wished the border wasn’t there. 

You both let out a sound of breathless laughter, post-nut clarity easing the mood a little. 

the rookies!- kimi, ollie, arvid, and gabriel

liked by... thegianna, mercedesamgf1, and others

y/nmain- painting complete + mercedes win 🥹 life is good

view comments...

user5- you're so talented its crazy

thegianna- UGHH ILY UR AMAZING

↳ y/nmain- 🩵🩵

user7- why is she getting popular she's supposed to be my niche art influencer 💔

↳ user2- half a million followers wow so niche!

ellamaeofficial- i'm literally drooling ur so cool

↳ y/nmain- im not sure how to respond?? thanks??

↳ ellamaeoffical- anytime 😉

user1- serving lethal face and lethal paintings

servingsienna- 🤤🤤

↳ y/nmain- why are you guys like this

user8- why is no one mentioning MERCEDES LIKING???

↳ ellamaeofficial- she's crying tears of pure joy rn trust

Your hands were quite literally vibrating. Your eyes burned holes into your phone as you stared, waiting for a woman named Kelly to call. After a series of frantic emails, she had scheduled a phone call to throw out the rest of the details at 11:00 AM sharp.

It was currently 10:58 AM.

Weren't corporate Formula 1 people supposed to be, like, terrifyingly punctual? It wasn’t eleven yet, sure, but you had calculated that she would call at least five minutes early out of sheer efficiency. Had she forgotten? Maybe scrolled through your portfolio again and decided you were ass, so she found a new artist? Or maybe she scrapped the whole project entirely?

Oh god, please no. You were a broke college student. You needed this gig.

The sudden blare of your phone shattered the silence. You lunged for the device concerningly fast.

"Hi, this is Kelly Johnson from Mercedes. Am I speaking with Y/N?"

"Yes!" Your voice cracked worse than a pre-teen boy, purely from the sheer excitement. You winced. "It's, uh, really nice to meet you. Well, on the phone. Not in person. Because we are on a phone."

Wow, could you be any more awkward?

A crisp, short sigh echoed on the other end. "Good to speak to you as well, Y/N. I’m sure you’re busy, so let’s get straight to the point. You're interested in executing the feature mural for our team garage in the UK, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am—"

"Oh, please don't call me that. I'm not eligible for a pension just yet." Her voice was stern, cutting you off immediately. "The designated space is 3 meters tall by 3.5 meters wide, so, roughly 10 by 11.5 feet. The guidelines are simple. It must be realistic, it must represent the legacy of Mercedes, and it must be fully sealed and finished by August first. Since it's at our headquarters in Brackley, we will fully cover your round-trip flights, lodging, and a generous materials budget."

She paused, taking a sharp inhale.

"For your artist fee, you will receive nine thousand US dollars upon completion, with a fifty-percent deposit cleared before you board the plane. Do you have any questions?"

Your brain practically short-circuited. Nine thousand dollars? As in, nine zero-zero-zero? Holy shit. You could buy name brand groceries with that kind of money.

"I, uh... wow. Honestly? No. No questions. That sounds incredible."

"Good. Email me your initial sketches and rough digital concepts by Friday for approval. My assistant will send over the standard contract paperwork to sign. Once both of those are squared away, we will book your flights."

"Thank you so much, Kelly. Seriously. You won't regret picking me."

"I know I won't," she replied smoothly, entirely unbothered. "Goodbye, Y/N. Email me if anything comes up."

The line went dead. You stared at the screen, your heart hammering against your ribs, wondering if it was too early to start packing your bags for England.