hii!! I loved ur Kimi fic abt the university stress! would you mind writing some angst for female reader x Kimi?
maybe loosely based on Olivia Rodrigo’s unreleased song “never do”. Here’s the chorus if you haven’t heard of it:
“If you only want what's best for me, how come I'm always feeling blue?
I've made my wish a hundred times, it keeps almost coming true
I stretch myself a million miles across the desert to the moon
If you'd do anything for me
Pairing: Kimi Antonelli x Reader(y/n)
Warnings: Heavy angst, emotional neglect, loneliness, painful realizations, slowburn healing, eventual happy ending
Summary: After a year of being entirely invisible in Kimi Antonelli’s fast-paced racing world, you finally choose to walk away. It takes losing you completely for Kimi to realize he took your love for granted, sparking a quiet, months-long journey to slowly earn back your trust.
Author's note: This one was a bit of a emotional rollercoaster to write, but I really wanted to explore that deep, slowburn healing process. Love you all and let me know what you think, and also if you want a part 2 where they start to date again and all that!! xx
The clock on the bedside table read three in the morning, the small digital numbers glowing a harsh, judgmental red in the darkness of the apartment. You sat on the edge of the mattress, your knees pulled up to your chest, your chin resting on your arms. The apartment was completely silent except for the faint, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and the distant sound of city traffic down below.
You looked over your shoulder at the other side of the bed. It was completely smooth, the sheets pulled tight and undisturbed. Kimi was not home yet. He was supposed to be back by midnight, according to the text he had sent you hours ago. But midnight had come and gone, and so had one, and then two.
This was not an isolated incident, it was the chronic rhythm of your life over the past year. As Kimi’s racing career skyrocketed, as his name became the one everyone whispered and shouted in the paddocks, the space he occupied in your shared life grew smaller and smaller. He was always running, always rushing to the next briefing, the next simulator session, the next PR event, or the next celebratory dinner with team engineers and sponsors. And you were always waiting, stretching yourself thin across the distance he left behind.
You remembered your anniversary just three months ago. You had spent three hours preparing a dinner he loved, setting the table with candles, and wearing the dress he had once complimented. At nine in the evening, your phone had buzzed on the counter. It was not a call, just a brief text saying, “data analysis running late with the engineers, eat without me, sorry”. When he finally stumbled into the apartment past one in the morning, he had barely glanced at the cold food covered in plastic wrap or the deflated look on your face. He had merely mumbled an apology about how crucial the upcoming race weekend was, kissed the top of your head, and gone straight to sleep.
Then there was the winter break, the one time of the year that was supposed to belong to the two of you. You had planned a quiet week in the mountains, a chance to escape the noise of the paddock and just exist as a normal couple. But the night before you were set to leave, his phone had rung. The team needed him in Brackley for an emergency seat fitting and early simulator verification. You had watched him pack his bags with a focused, almost eager intensity, completely oblivious to the way your hands shook as you folded the sweaters you wouldn't be needing anymore. When you told him how much it hurt, he had looked at you with genuine confusion, saying, “Y/N, this is a factory call, I cannot just say no to them, you know how much rides on this season”.
You got out of bed, your bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. Walking over to the large window that overlooked the city, you looked out at the lights. You felt a familiar, heavy ache in your chest, the kind that had settled there months ago and refused to leave. You thought about the words he always used as a shield whenever you brought up how lonely you were, whenever you tried to explain that you were drowning in his absence.
“I am doing this for us, Y/N,” he would say, his voice soft but tinged with exhaustion, his hand reaching out to stroke your cheek in that fleeting way he always did before leaving again. “I want what is best for us. I want to build a future for you and me. Everything I do is for you.”
You leaned your forehead against the cool glass of the window. If he only wanted what was best for you, how come you were always feeling blue. It was a question that looped in your mind like a broken record. You had made your wish a hundred times, on every falling star, on every stray eyelash, on every digital clock that hit eleven eleven. You just wanted him to stay for one whole weekend. You just wanted him to look at you and really see you, not just look past you toward his next flight. Your wish kept almost coming true, there were moments when he would promise a quiet dinner, moments when he would swear that this weekend it would just be the two of you, but then the phone would ring, or a flight would get pushed forward, and the illusion would shatter.
You felt like you were stretching yourself a million miles, trying to cross the vast desert of his ambition just to reach the moon where he seemed to live. You did everything to make his life easier. You packed his bags, you managed his schedule when his management missed things, you adjusted your entire life around his career, you smiled for the cameras when you were allowed to go to the track, and you sat quietly in the back of the hospitality building when you were told to stay out of the way.
You remembered a specific race in Silverstone. You had been caught in a sudden downpour outside the hospitality suite, waiting for him because he had told you he would have a twenty minute break between interviews. You had stood under a small awning, shivering, watching him through the glass window as he laughed and chatted with a group of high profile sponsors. He had looked directly at you once, nodded quickly to acknowledge you were there, and then turned his back to continue his conversation. By the time he came outside, his break was over, and he only had time to say, sorry, got caught up with the investors, can you find your own way back to the hotel.
You would do anything for him. He said he would do anything for you too, but as you watched the empty street below, you could not help but think the truth, how come he never do.
The sound of the front door clicking open broke the silence of the room. You did not turn around immediately. You heard his heavy footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his gear bag being dropped carelessly onto the floor, and his long, tired sigh.
“Y/N,” Kimi whispered, his voice raspy as he walked into the bedroom. “Why are you awake. You should be sleeping.”
You turned around slowly, crossing your arms over your chest. He looked exhausted, his hair messy from where he had been running his hands through it, his eyes carrying dark circles under them. But he was here, physically, even if his mind was still somewhere on a track in Spain or Italy.
“I was waiting for you,” you said, your voice flat, devoid of the anger that used to accompany these late night arrivals. Now, there was only a profound, hollow tiredness. “You said you would be home by midnight.”
Kimi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture you knew all too well. “The debrief ran incredibly late. Then Toto wanted to speak with me about the setup changes for the next test, and then the traffic out of the factory was terrible. I am sorry, Y/N. I did not mean to be this late.”
“You never mean to be this late, Kimi,” you said softly. “But you always are. Just like you didn't mean to forget my gallery opening last month. Just like you didn't mean to leave me waiting at the restaurant for two hours last Tuesday.”
Kimi’s expression hardened slightly, the defensive wall building quickly whenever he felt cornered by your sadness. “Do not do this right now,” he said, his tone shifting from apologetic to frustrated. “I have been working for fourteen hours straight. I am exhausted. I am doing all of this for our future, Y/N. You know how important this season is. I am doing this for us.”
You looked at him, truly looked at him, and felt something inside you click into place, a sudden, cold realization that had been building for a very long time. “If you only want what is best for me, Kimi, why am I always crying. Why am I always the one sitting alone in the dark while you live your dream.”
Kimi stepped closer, reaching his hands out toward you, his expression softening slightly. “Y/N, please. It is just a temporary phase. Once things settle down, once I secure my place, it will be different. I would do anything for you, you know that.”
You stepped back, just enough so his hands fell short of touching your waist. The movement made his eyes widen slightly in surprise.
“You say that,” you whispered, a single tear finally escaping your eye and rolling down your cheek. “You say you would do anything for me, Kimi. But how come you never do. When was the last time you chose me over a meeting. When was the last time you stayed home because I asked you to. When was the last time you actually kept a promise to me.”
Kimi stared at you, his mouth opening slightly but no words came out. He looked frustrated, like he was trying to solve a complex telemetry problem but the data just did not make sense to him. “That is not fair,” he finally said, his voice dropping. “My career demands this. You knew what it would be like when we started dating.”
“I knew it would be hard,” you said, shaking your head. “I did not know I would become completely invisible. I cannot keep stretching myself across a million miles just to get a piece of your time, Kimi. I cannot live like this anymore.”
“What are you saying,” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp, fear flickering in his dark eyes for a brief second before it was replaced by stubborn pride.
“I am saying I am leaving,” you said clearly.
The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on the room like a physical weight. Kimi laughed, a short, nervous, disbelief filled sound. “You are being dramatic because you are tired. Let us just go to sleep, Y/N. We will talk about this in the morning when you are feeling better.”
He turned around to walk toward the bathroom to brush his teeth, completely dismissing your words, completely confident that you would be there when he woke up, just like you always were. He took you for granted so entirely that he could not even conceive of a reality where you actually walked out the door.
But you had already made up your mind. While you were sitting by the window, you realized that you had lost yourself completely in his shadow. Your suitcase was already packed, hidden away in the back of the guest closet from earlier that afternoon when the realization had first started to take root.
While Kimi was in the bathroom, the sound of the running water drowning out your movements, you walked out to the hallway. You grabbed your suitcase and your coat. You did not leave a note, there was nothing left to say that you had not already said a hundred times before. You walked out of the apartment, closing the door softly behind you, leaving the key on the small console table by the entrance.
When Kimi came out of the bathroom, wiping his face with a towel, the bedroom was empty. He walked into the kitchen, thinking you had gone to get a glass of water, but the kitchen was dark. He walked back to the hallway and noticed the set of keys sitting under the soft glow of the entrance light.
He picked them up, his heart suddenly dropping into his stomach. He ran back to the bedroom, opening the closet doors. Your clothes were gone. The space where your shoes usually sat was empty.
Kimi stood in the middle of the quiet apartment, the keys heavy in his hand. He pulled out his phone and dialed your number, but it went straight to voicemail. He sent a text, then another, then another.
“Y/N, please come back. Where are you. This is crazy, let us talk.”
There was no response. For the first time in his life, Kimi Antonelli found himself completely alone in a room, and for the first time, the silence was deafening.
The first month after your departure was a test of endurance for Kimi, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone. At first, pride dictated his actions. He threw himself entirely into his work, arriving at the factory earlier, staying later, and analyzing data until his eyes blurred. He told himself that you were just overwhelmed, that the pressure of the sport had gotten to you, and that you would call when you realized how much you missed him.
By the second month, the denial began to crack. Every time he returned to the apartment, the emptiness hit him like a physical blow. There were no shoes by the door, no faint sound of music playing from the kitchen, no familiar scent of your perfume in the bedroom. He found small remnants you had missed, a hair tie on the bathroom counter, a half read book on the coffee table, a jacket forgotten in the coat closet.
He started looking at old photos on his phone, photos he hadn't looked at in over a year. He noticed, with a sudden pang of guilt, how your smile had gradually faded in the pictures over the months. In the earlier photos, your eyes sparkled, but in the more recent ones, taken at team dinners or in the paddock, you looked exhausted, standing slightly detached from the group, an afterthought in his grand narrative.
The realization hit its peak during the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. It was a pinnacle moment for his career, a street circuit he loved, surrounded by intense media scrutiny and fan adoration. But every time he stepped out of the garage, every time he walked through the paddock surrounded by shouting fans and flashing cameras, he felt entirely detached.
He remembered the previous year at Monaco. He had promised you a special dinner at a quiet restaurant overlooking the harbor to celebrate your birthday, which fell on the Thursday of the race weekend. He had told you to dress up and meet him there at eight. But a late debrief turned into an impromptu marketing meeting, and by the time he remembered the dinner, it was nearly ten o'clock. When he finally arrived at the restaurant, the staff informed him that you had waited alone for two hours before leaving. When he got back to the hotel, you were already asleep, your birthday dress hung neatly in the closet, and a small, untouched slice of cake sat on the desk. He hadn't even apologized properly, he had just said, the team needed me, Y/N, you know how Monaco is.
Sitting in his driver room after a disappointing qualifying session where he had placed fifth, Kimi stared at his racing helmet. His manager stepped into the room, holding a tightly packed schedule.
“Kimi, we have a sponsor dinner in thirty minutes, then an appearance at the team boat, and tomorrow morning you have an early media pen,” his manager said, his eyes fixed on his tablet.
Kimi did not look up. “Cancel the dinner.”
The manager stopped, looking at him in absolute shock. “What do you mean cancel it. Kimi, the CEO of the title sponsor is going to be there. You cannot just cancel.”
“I said cancel it,” Kimi repeated, his voice dropping, carrying a cold, quiet authority that he had never used before with his team. “Tell them I am unwell. Tell them whatever you want. I am not going.”
When his manager left the room, muttering under his breath, Kimi covered his face with his hands. The truth was undeniable now. He had taken your unconditional love, your endless patience, and your constant sacrifices, and he had used them as a mattress to cushion his own stressful life, never once stopping to think if you were getting anything in return. He had stretched you a million miles, and you had finally broken.
That night, instead of attending the lavish parties, Kimi sat on the balcony of his hotel room, looking out at the dark water. He pulled out his phone and typed a message, not expecting a reply, knowing he didn't deserve one.
“I am so sorry, Y/N,” he wrote, his fingers trembling slightly over the screen. “I finally understand what you meant. I was so blind to everything you were doing for me, and I took it all for granted. I told myself I was being a good boyfriend by trying to provide a future, but I was failing you every single day in the present. You deserved someone who chose you, and I never did. I do not expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that I am so deeply sorry for how I treated you.”
He sent the message. It was left on delivered, then eventually read, but no typing bubbles appeared. He didn't push. He knew he had to earn the right to even speak to you again.
Through a mutual acquaintance, he discovered you had moved to Richmond, a quiet, picturesque town just outside of London, and had taken a job at a boutique art gallery. He knew he couldn't just show up and demand your attention. That would be selfish, the exact behavior that drove you away. He needed to prove he could change, and that meant a long, slow process of showing consistency.
The transition from late spring to early autumn brought a crisp, cool air to the streets of Richmond. You loved your new life. It was quiet, predictable, and entirely yours. You spent your days surrounded by beautiful paintings, organizing exhibitions, and speaking with local artists. For the first time in years, you did not wake up with an anxious knot in your stomach about a flight schedule or a racing result.
Yet, Kimi had not disappeared entirely. He had honored your space, he did not show up at your apartment or bombard your phone with endless text messages. Instead, he started doing things that showed a quiet, persistent consistency that completely caught you off guard, stretching out over months.
In June, a small delivery arrived at the art gallery. It was a beautifully bound art book featuring the works of an obscure Italian painter you had mentioned to him once, years ago, during a late night conversation when he had actually been listening instead of checking his lap times. Tucked inside the book was a small note written in his familiar, slightly messy handwriting.
“I remembered you said you could never find a translation of his early journals. I found this copy in Bologna. I hope your new job is going well. You always had the best eye for beautiful things. Kimi.”
There was no request for a phone call, no plea for you to see him. Just a gift that showed he had actually remembered something you said. You placed the book on your shelf, your heart fluttering slightly, but you kept your guard up. One thoughtful gesture did not erase a year of neglect.
Three weeks later, in July, another delivery arrived. This time, it was a bag of specialized coffee beans from a small roastery in Melbourne, along with a note.
“We raced here earlier this year, and I remembered how much you loved the coffee from this specific place when we visited two years ago. I asked a team member who was flying back to London to drop it off for you. I hope you are taking care of yourself. Kimi.”
As the months went by, the small tokens continued. They arrived every two or three weeks, always thoughtful, always connected to a specific memory or an interest of yours that he had previously ignored or neglected. There were no grand declarations of love, no pressure. He was just showing up in your life in a quiet, steady way, a complete contrast to the loud, chaotic whirlwind of his past self.
You also started noticing changes in how he handled his career, though you tried not to look for them. One evening, while scrolling through an article on your phone, you saw a headline that made you stop.
“Antonelli Skips Major Team Sponsor Gala due to Personal Commitments.”
You read the article in disbelief. The gala was an annual, mandatory event for all Mercedes drivers, one that Kimi had previously stressed over for weeks, telling you that missing it would ruin his career. Yet, the article stated he had politely declined to attend, choosing instead to fly back to Italy to spend his birthday with his family. He was setting boundaries. He was choosing his personal life over the endless demands of the paddock. He was doing the exact things you had begged him to do for years, but he was doing them now, when it was too late to save what you had. Or so you thought.
In September, the Italian Grand Prix took place at Monza. It was Kimi’s home race, the most stressful and chaotic weekend of his entire year. You expected the deliveries to stop during that month, knowing how intensely focused he would be.
But on the Friday of the Monza race weekend, a courier arrived at the gallery. He handed you a small, rectangular package. Inside was a framed sketch of the river Thames in Richmond, drawn by a local street artist. Along with it was a long letter, written on hotel stationery.
“Dear Y/N,” the letter began. “I am writing this from my hotel room in Monza. The noise outside is incredible, fans are shouting my name, and everyone wants a piece of my time. A year ago, I would have been completely consumed by it. I would have been checking data until midnight, ignoring your texts, and telling myself that I was doing it for us. But tonight, the only thing I can think about is how much I wish you were here, not so you could sit in the back of the garage and wait for me, but so I could skip the team dinner and take you to that small pizzeria you loved near Milan. I am learning how to say no, Y/N. I am learning that the world does not end if I am not perfect on track, but my world did end when you walked out that door. I am not asking you to take me back. I know I hurt you deeply, and I know I took your love for granted. But I want to show you that I am changing, not just for a week or a month, but for good. I want to be the man who chooses you. If you ever find it in your heart to give me just one hour of your time, I will be in London after the European season ends. I would love to buy you a coffee. No expectations, just a conversation. Yours, Kimi.”
You held the letter against your chest, feeling a familiar warmth blooming in your heart, a warmth you thought had died the night you left. He had spent four months consistently, quietly trying to show you that he understood his mistakes. He had not pressured you, he had not thrown his success in your face, he had simply listened to the ghosts of your past arguments and tried to fix them.
October arrived, bringing with it heavy rain and golden leaves that covered the streets of Richmond. The European racing season was officially over, and the sport was moving to Asia and the Americas.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, and you were standing behind the main desk of the gallery, updating the inventory on your laptop. The rain was tapping softly against the large glass windows, creating a cozy, isolated atmosphere inside the brightly lit room.
The bell above the door chimed, indicating a customer had entered. You looked up, a professional smile already forming on your lips.
The words died in your throat.
Standing by the entrance, dripping slightly from the rain, was Kimi. He was not wearing any team gear. He wore a simple black woolen coat, a dark sweater, and jeans. His hair was damp from the rain, and he looked incredibly nervous. He was holding a small umbrella in one hand and a paper cup from the local coffee shop down the street in the other.
He stood there for a moment, his dark eyes locked onto yours, searching your face for any sign of anger or rejection. When you did not immediately tell him to leave, he took a slow, hesitant step forward.
“Hi, Y/N,” he said, his voice quiet, carrying that familiar, soft Italian accent that used to be your favorite sound in the world.
“Kimi,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm. “What are you doing here.”
“I said I would come after the European season,” he said, offering a small, tentative smile that did not quite reach his anxious eyes. “I know it is a Tuesday, and I know you are working. I did not want to disrupt your day. I just... I wanted to see you. Personally. If that is okay.”
You looked at him, taking in the sight of him. He looked different. The hard, hyper focused edge that he usually carried during the racing season seemed softer, replaced by a vulnerability that you had rarely seen when you were together. He looked like the boy you had fallen in love with before the world of Formula One claimed him completely.
“You are not supposed to be here,” you said softly, leaning against the desk. “Is there not a simulator session or a sponsor event you are missing.”
Kimi winced slightly at the reminder of his past behavior, but he shook his head, his expression earnest. “There is a simulation session in Stuttgart right now. I told Toto I had an incredibly important personal matter to attend to in London, and that I would fly in tonight to do the night shift instead. I chose to be here, Y/N.”
The words hung in the air between you. He had chose to be here. He had actually skipped a session, rearranged his sacred schedule, just to stand in a rainy gallery in Richmond.
“You brought coffee,” you noticed, nodding toward the cup in his hand.
He looked down at the cup, his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. “Yes. I asked the guy at the shop what your usual order was. He said you come in every morning at eight thirty and get a flat white with oat milk. I hope that is still correct.”
You felt a lump forming in your throat. He had actually gone to the shop and asked about your routine. He was paying attention to the tiny details of your life, the things he used to overlook completely.
“It is correct,” you said, stepping out from behind the desk. The gallery was completely empty, the rain keeping customers away. “You can sit down, Kimi. You look like you are expecting me to throw something at you.”
He let out a long breath, a visible wave of relief washing over his features as he walked over to the small seating area in the corner of the gallery, placing the coffee on the low table. He took off his coat, hanging it up carefully, and sat down on the small velvet sofa. You sat opposite him on a matching armchair, keeping a comfortable distance between you.
For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the rain against the glass.
“Your letters,” you started, breaking the silence. “The gifts. You did not have to do all of that, Kimi.”
“I wanted to,” he said immediately, looking directly into your eyes. “When you left, Y/N, my whole world went dark. At first, I was angry because I was stupid and proud. I thought I was doing everything right. But then I looked at the apartment, I looked at the empty space where you used to wait for me, and I remembered every single time you asked me to stay. I remembered every single time you cried because I cancelled our plans. I realized that I was giving one hundred percent of myself to people who only cared about how fast I could drive a car, and I was giving zero percent to the person who loved me for who I was.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly. “I spent months thinking about what you said that night. You said I would do anything for you, but how come I never do. It broke my heart, Y/N, because you were completely right. I never did. I expected you to stretch yourself a million miles across the desert to reach me, while I did not even move an inch to meet you halfway.”
You listened to his words, your chest tightening. The anger you had carried for months had long since evaporated, replaced by a quiet appreciation for his growth. It took immense courage for someone as proud and successful as Kimi to admit his faults so completely, without trying to make excuses.
“I am happy you are doing well here,” Kimi continued softly, looking around the gallery. “Our friend told me you love this job. You look beautiful, Y/N. You look peaceful. And as much as it kills me that I am not the one making you happy, I am just glad you are not feeling blue anymore.”
You swallowed hard, looking down at your hands. “It was really hard at first, Kimi. I felt like I had lost my identity. I was just the driver’s girlfriend for so long. Coming here, finding this place, it helped me remember who I was before I met you.”
“I know,” Kimi said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I promise you, I will never try to pull you back into that shadow again. I do not want you to fit into my life anymore, Y/N. If you give me another chance, I want to build a completely new life, where we fit together equally. Where your job, your passions, and your time are just as important as mine.”
You looked up, meeting his desperate, hopeful gaze. But despite the warmth in your chest, the memory of the past years made you hesitate. This was the slowburn reality of healing, you couldn't just jump back into his arms because he said the right things. Trust took time to shatter, and it would take time to rebuild.
“Kimi, you cannot just change the nature of your job,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the emotion in the room. “You are still a Formula One driver. The travel, the pressure, the media, it is not going away. I cannot just pretend that the last year didn't happen.”
“I know it is not going away,” Kimi said firmly, his eyes remaining fixed on yours, accepting your hesitation without frustration. “And I do not expect you to forget. I have already talked to management. Next year, I am limiting my PR days. I am keeping my race weekends separate, and the moment the checkered flag drops, I am coming home to you, wherever you want that home to be. I want to prove it to you, Y/N. Not just with words today, but with months and years of showing up.”
He reached out, his hand resting on the table between you, palm open, an invitation with no pressure behind it. “I am not asking you to move back in with me. I am not asking you to forgive everything today. I just want to ask you for one date. A real date. No racing talk, no phones on the table, no distractions. Just you and me. Let me start showing you that I can keep my promises.”
You looked at his open hand, then back up at his face. The boy who used to dismiss your tears was gone, replaced by a man who was willing to wait, willing to work, and willing to put you first. You weren't ready to say yes to a full relationship yet, but you were ready to take the very first step on a long, slow road back to each other.
You slowly reached out, placing your hand in his. His fingers closed around yours instantly, his grip warm, firm, and slightly trembling with relief.
“Just a date, Kimi,” you said, a small, genuine smile finally breaking across your face. “No promises of anything more yet. You still have a lot of winning back to do.”
Kimi let out a shaky, breathless laugh, his eyes shining with a sudden, brilliant happiness that made him look completely radiant. He squeezed your hand gently, looking at you with a devotion that you had waited years to see.
“I will spend the rest of my life winning you back if I have to, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice full of conviction. “I promise you, I will never take you for granted again. I am going to do everything for you, starting right now.”
The rain continued to fall outside, splashing against the windows of the gallery, but inside, the cold desert that had separated the two of you for so long had finally begun to disappear, replaced by the quiet, steady warmth of a slow and careful new beginning.
