“ DRIVEN TO YOU. ” ( kimi antonelli ! )
SUMMARY: the reader swore that she will never fall for a driver—but fate has a way of forcing you to break the rules you made to protect your heart.
warnings: enemies to lovers, lots of banter, chaotic timeline, mentions death, mentions crashes
pairing: kimi antonelli x female!reader
FLASHBACK – EIGHT YEARS AGO
Abu Dhabi Grand Prix – Final Lap
THE WORLD WAS on its feet.
The sky was painted in orange fire and smoke as the sun set over Yas Marina, casting long shadows across the pit lane. Your fingers curled around the armrest of the VIP paddock seat, knuckles white.
"Dad’s gonna win," You whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the roar of engines.
He was flying down the straight, purple sectors lighting up the timing screen. His name is in bold gold. Your heart raced as you clutched the little plush your dad gave you before every race.
Not yours. The tires. The engine. The crowd. The silence.
The screen flickered and cut to the on-board camera. Then off.
You stood, too stunned to cry.
The car had flipped—rolled once, then twice, before slamming into the barriers. Sparks. Fire. Smoke.
You didn’t remember how you got to the hospital. Only the cold sterility of the waiting room. Your mother holding you too tight. Reporters outside. The security trying to keep them out.
And the doctor. White coat, clipboard. Words you couldn’t understand until your mom collapsed into sobs.
Your father. The world champion. Your hero.
You were only ten. Too young to lose him.
That was the moment you made the promise.
I’ll never love another driver. I won’t love anything that can be taken from me like that ever again.
“You’re coming,” Ollie insisted, holding the door of the Haas motorhome open like it was a threat.
“You owe me. I was there for your university showcase, remember? Now you show up for my FP1 debrief.”
Reluctantly, you followed him inside. The scent of rubber, adrenaline, and overpriced coffee clung to the air. You tried not to look too long at the cars—especially not at the one with “ANTONELLI” written in bold on the side of the W16.
That was the other problem.
Ollie’s best friend. The new golden boy at Mercedes. A name with pressure carved into it and a future brighter than the sun. And a complete pain in your ass.
Both of you had met once. That was all it took to decide you couldn’t stand each other.
FLASHBACK — A FEW MONTHS AGO
Your memory of your first encounter with Kimi still made you cringe. You were just a shadow in the paddock, trying to stay out of the way, when Kimi had walked up to you, all confidence and arrogance wrapped in a Mercedes jacket. His piercing gaze had swept over you in a way that made you feel like you were under a microscope. And, of course, that’s when you opened your mouth.
“Seriously, who are you? Some kind of new poster boy for Mercedes?”
He had laughed, his eyes glinting with mischief. “No. I’m just the guy who’s going to take your precious Ollie down a peg.”
“Right. Like that’s gonna happen.”
You didn't mean to sound so dismissive, but something about him rubbed you the wrong way—his smug attitude, the way he carried himself as if he was already the champion of F1.
“I’m Kimi, by the way,” he said, extending his hand with a sly grin.
He had chuckled and dropped his hand, unbothered. “Well, you’re cute when you’re mad. You should smile more.”
You stared at him, speechless, and muttered, “I hate you.”
The smirk never left his face. “Likewise.”
You didn’t look up when he entered the lounge, but you felt him—like static in the air.
“I know that glare,” he said, grabbing a water bottle. “Who pissed you off this time?”
“I haven’t said a word yet.”
He sat across from you, stretching like a cat who knew he was being watched.
“Take a shower, Antonelli. I can smell you from here.”
He smirked. “Care to join me?”
“You’re not denying it’s your dream too.”
“I’m denying everything about you.”
You groaned. “I don’t get it.”
“Why everyone fawns over you. You’re not that good looking, alright?”
“So you admit I’m good looking?”
“Too late. Already heard it.”
“You’re impossible...” You started. “It’s impossible not to hate you.”
“It’s impossible not to hate you,” he mocked in a voice that made you throw a cushion at him.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like you want to murder me but also like… you want me.”
He paused, just for a second, eyes flickering over your face. “That’s oddly specific.”
You stood abruptly. “I need air.”
“No. Leaving, because you’re unbearable.”
“You sure it’s not because you like me?”
You froze in the hallway, heart lurching. “I don’t like you.”
He stared at you, gaze unreadable. “You sure?”
BARCELONA — A FEW DAYS LATER
At Barcelona, the media pen was buzzing with post-race chatter, and you were standing impatiently, waiting for Ollie to finish his interviews. But before you could zone out, a familiar voice broke through the crowd.
Kimi, leaning against a nearby wall, smirked as he crossed his arms. “Didn’t know the devil followed races now.”
You didn’t even glance at him, eyes still fixed on the chaos around you. “Didn’t know children were allowed in the paddock.”
He took a step closer, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “You’re cute when you’re mean.”
Your patience snapped. “Yeah, well, I’m cute when I punch people, too.” Without waiting for his response, you spun on your heel and stormed off, your heart racing. You didn’t look back, but you could practically feel his smirk following you.
MONTREAL – A FEW WEEKS LATER
A few weeks later, while you were both waiting for their drivers’ meeting in the paddock, Kimi leaned casually against the wall, watching the bustle of activity around them. You stood nearby, focused on your phone, trying to ignore him.
Kimi’s voice cut through her concentration. “You know, if you ever want any advice on how to look less miserable, I’m your guy.”
You shot him a sideways glance. “Oh, right, you’re the expert on looking happy while being an arrogant prick.”
He grinned. “It’s an art, really.”
“Yeah,” You said with a sharp exhale. “A sad, sorry art.”
Kimi’s smile only widened. “Maybe I like making you mad. Makes you more fun.”
You glared at him. "I’m not here to entertain you, Antonelli."
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Too bad. You’re way more entertaining when you’re pissed off.”
You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said, his voice teasing. “But you still don’t hate me enough to leave.”
SPIELBERG – A FEW DAYS LATER
During Free Practice, you and Kimi were both standing near the track, watching the cars zoom by. Kimi, ever the teasing presence, couldn’t resist.
“You know, you look better when you’re focused on something other than me,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “I wasn’t aware I was ever focused on you.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he replied, a mocking tone in his voice. “But I’m pretty sure your mind just doesn’t shut up about me.”
“Oh please,” You shot back, “My mind’s too busy thinking about more important things than your annoying face.”
Kimi chuckled, leaning closer, his voice lowering slightly. “Well, I don’t mind being the thing you think about, even if it’s only in passing.”
You groaned, knowing he was trying to get under your skin. But as much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t help but notice how distracting he was at that moment.
That night, after another grueling FP3 session, you found yourself standing outside the garages, the chill of the night air cutting through your jacket. You were exhausted, but you needed a few moments to breathe before heading back to your hotel.
But you hadn’t expected to see him.
But there he was, leaning casually against the wall, his Mercedes jacket unzipped, his arms folded.
“Thought you’d run off already,” he said, his voice carrying the same playful tone as always.
“I’m not running. I’m staying away from you,” you replied, your voice sharp.
He raised an eyebrow. “Still mad I beat Ollie in qualifying?”
You couldn’t hold back the frustration anymore. “God, it’s not about that,” you snapped. “You always think it’s about you.”
Kimi straightened, stepping closer. “What is it really, [L/N]? Why do you hate me so much?”
“I hate Formula 1. I hate you.”
There was a pause—a heavy silence that lingered like a storm cloud. He couldn’t have expected your words to cut so deep.
“Why?” he asked, his voice quieter this time. “Did your ex used to race or something?” He chuckled
You froze. His words hit too close to home. Your body trembled as the memories came rushing back.
“My dad was a driver,” You said in a raw whisper, barely able to contain the emotion. “He died in a crash. I watched it happen. That’s why I hate this world. And you—” You shook your head, blinking furiously to hold back the tears. “I swore I’d never love anything that could be taken from me like that.”
For a moment, there was no sound. Just the rush of blood in your ears.
Kimi took a small step forward, lowering his voice. “I didn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t have known,” you whispered back.
“I’m sorry,” Kimi said, his voice barely audible.
“Don’t. Don’t apologize. It doesn’t change anything,” You said, wiping your face.
And then, as if to put distance between the two of you, you crossed your arms and said, “By the way, nothing is gonna change between us because of this, okay?”
His gaze softened, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
Because they both knew everything had changed.
They hadn’t spoken about that night.
Not in Silverstone, not in the messages Kimi never sent, and certainly not now—walking past each other in the paddock like nothing had changed. But it had.
You felt it every time he looked at you.
It wasn’t hatred anymore. It wasn’t even annoyance.
Knowing your grief. Knowing the promise you made. Knowing how close he was to breaking it.
And worse? You were letting him.
That terrified you more than the memory of the crash.
Ollie had finished P5. Kimi took P2. You found yourself in the back of the paddock, waiting for Ollie, when you saw Kimi approach—sweaty, still in his fireproofs, a towel around his neck.
“You came,” he said, not smug for once. Just surprised.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I came for Ollie.”
“Right,” he said, stepping closer. “You always hang around where I am, for Ollie.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. “I’m not here for you, Antonelli.”
“Sure you’re not,” he said softly, and for once, there was no edge.
Just something warm. Dangerous.
You looked away. “You still drive like a maniac.”
“You still look at me like you want to throw something.”
But the banter had lost its bite.
After the red flag incident at Spa, you found yourself back in the garage, trying to shake off the trembling feeling you got from seeing the crash footage. Your hands were still shaking, and you kept your head low, hoping no one would notice. But Kimi noticed. He always noticed.
As you turned to leave the garage, Kimi followed you, his footsteps purposeful and steady. He caught up with you just outside, where the noise of the race seemed to fade, and there was only the sound of breathing.
"You good?" His voice was low, almost careful.
You didn’t answer immediately, unsure of how to explain the way the sight of the crash rattled you. He waited, not pushing, but not walking away either. It was a rare moment for Kimi—showing concern without making a joke.
“I’m fine,” you finally muttered, but the words felt weak.
“You’re lying.” His bluntness was almost comforting. Kimi wasn’t one for small talk or pity. He was straightforward, and there was something about that honesty that made you want to open up.
“I don’t... I don’t like seeing crashes,” you admitted quietly, almost as if you hadn’t intended to say it out loud. “It reminds me of... something.”
Kimi didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he stepped a little closer, his expression unreadable.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked simply. No teasing, no sarcasm—just a genuine offer to listen.
For a split second, you almost said yes, but you swallowed the words. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "I just need some air."
Without another word, Kimi simply nodded, respecting your space. But there was a subtle softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. A quiet understanding made your chest tighten.
Kimi found you again in the paddock the next week. And the next. Every time, a little softer, a little less like a contest.
He’d offer you a water bottle after a tough session, like he cared but didn’t know how to show it. He’d pass you a jacket when you stayed too long in the cold, only to have you stare at it with suspicion before you wrapped it around your shoulders.
None of these moments were confessions. But they were becoming something.
One evening, after another sweaty FP3 session, he handed you a bottle of water. “You look like you’re gonna faint.”
You stared at him, not blinking. “And I suppose that’s a you problem?”
“You sure?” Kimi smirked. “’Cause I’m concerned.”
You narrowed your eyes. “And I suppose you think I’ll just melt into your arms now?”
You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Get lost.”
In another night, when Ollie left to debrief with his team, Kimi found you lingering in the garage. Alone.
“Stay in here too long, and you’ll freeze to death,” he said, throwing a jacket over your shoulders.
“You’ve been watching me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kimi shot back, eyes avoiding yours. “Just—take the jacket.”
You didn’t respond, but for the first time, you didn’t push it away.
Eventually, the boundaries between hate and something else got thinner.
You would never admit it but truth be told, you liked him in ways you couldn’t explain—especially when you remembered the promise you made to yourself. So you hated him instead.
Sometimes, you pass each other in the paddock tunnels, and Kimi would mutter something under his breath — usually sarcastic, occasionally sincere — and you’d snap back with something equally sharp, but neither walked away fast enough.
There was the time he stood behind you in the coffee queue and, without asking, added an extra sugar to your cup before handing it over like it was no big deal. “You always forget,” he said, without looking you in the eye. You didn’t remember ever telling him how you liked your coffee.
Another time, you tripped over a cable while backing up from a chaotic post-race moment, and Kimi instinctively caught you by the waist, steadying you. His hand stayed there longer than it needed to. Long enough that when he finally let go, her skin still felt warm.
There were more moments like that. Subtle, unspoken exchanges chipped away at the distance between them. Like when he unexpectedly stood next to you, post-race. Neither of you spoke, but just having him there—his quiet presence beside you as both of you pretended to ignore the world around you—was enough. It was different than before. More comfortable. More... real.
You tried to ignore the growing feelings that you couldn’t quite shake off. It was stupid. You hated him. You had to. He was an F1 driver. He lived a life that was dangerous and unpredictable. He reminded you too much of what you had lost, what you had sworn to never let back into your life. And yet, with every passing day, it became harder to deny the pull between the two of you.
You still hated him. But there was something else, too.
Something you couldn’t name yet, something you weren’t ready to confront.
After a tense week of press events and interviews, you and Kimi found yourselves in an unusual situation: standing on the roof of the Mercedes garage. It was late, the stars bright against the clear sky, and the bustling noise of the paddock below felt far away.
Kimi was leaning on the railing, his eyes on the horizon. You stood next to him, still trying to figure out why you didn’t feel like pushing him away.
"What's your deal?" you asked, your voice breaking the silence.
He didn’t look at you, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "What do you mean?"
"You’re not the same," you said, unsure if you even meant to say it aloud. "After that day, you're... different."
Kimi let out a slow breath, then finally glanced at you. “I didn’t expect you to break down in front of me, you know. But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t notice things.”
You shrugged, feeling the familiar guard come up. “I don't need your pity.”
But Kimi shook his head. “You don’t have to act tough all the time. It’s alright to let people help.”
The words hung in the air between them, and for the first time in a long time, the walls you'd built up felt a little thinner. He didn’t need to say anything more. Kimi was never one for comforting words, but somehow, his presence was more than enough.
“I don’t need your help,” you muttered, but the way you said it was different this time—softer.
Kimi raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like you need it?”
You didn’t answer, but for a brief second, you allowed yourself to lean closer, just a fraction. He didn’t pull away.
“Maybe I do,” you whispered, the admission more vulnerable than you ever intended it to be.
MONZA – A FEW WEEKS LATER
You were in the Haas hospitality lounge when it happened. Watching from the screen.
Lap 27. Wet track. Cold tires.
Kimi was fighting for P3. Fast, aggressive, typical Kimi. Then—
Yellow flag. No movement from Car 12.
Your heart dropped into your stomach as the screen cut to the crash angle. His car crumpled against the wall. Debris was scattered across the track.
“No,” you said louder, this time running.
Ollie shouted after you. People turned. Cameras clicked, but you didn’t care.
You were already sprinting toward the medical center, soaked by rain, panic building with every step.
You burst through the doors of the medical center, breathing heavily. You almost stumbled when you saw him sitting there, his helmet off and looking slightly dazed but not seriously hurt. Relief flooded through you, and you rushed to his side.
He looked up, eyes unfocused for a moment, before he smirked. "You came to see me?"
"Don't get used to it," you muttered, your voice betraying how shaken you were. "I just—"
"Yeah," Kimi interrupted with a teasing grin, "You care. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone."
“I thought—” your voice broke, tears spilling. “God, I thought you were gone.”
He stood, pain shooting through him, but he moved anyway. “Hey, hey, I’m okay.”
You clutched his arm, sobbing, forehead against his chest.
You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were. “I just... I couldn’t lose someone else,” you whispered, barely audible.
Kimi's smirk softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your arm. "You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere."
For once, the teasing was gone. He wasn’t making light of the situation, but instead, offering something far more genuine: reassurance.
The quiet tension between them melted, and in that moment, for the first time, you let yourself relax.
“I should’ve stayed away from all this,” you whispered.
“I swore I’d never fall for a driver. Never again.”
Kimi fully turned to you, his gaze steady. “But you did.”
Then, barely audible: “Yeah.”
A breath. His thumb brushed against your face.
“I was scared of you,” you admitted. “You reminded me of everything I lost.”
“You still scare me,” he said. “You made me feel things I wasn’t ready for.”
“I don’t want to lose you like I lost him.”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You won’t. But even if—if that day comes—I’d rather have you now than regret never letting you in.”
A tear slid down your cheek. You didn’t wipe it away.
“You make it really hard to hate you.”
“I’ll take that as progress,” he said with a small smile.
You sniffed. “By the way, nothing’s changed. I still hate you.”
He laughed softly. “Of course you do.”
