#driver!reader

He fell. Oscar slipped on them. Yuki watched it all happen with a horrified face from below the podium. They all ended up on the floor. She raised a thumbs up from the ground and said:

“I stuck the landing.”

“WHY DID SHE TAKE GEORGE DOWN WITH HER”

the team radio breakdown

She was in P2. Two laps to go. The podium was hers. And then—snap. A mechanical failure. Complete power loss, everything stopped.

She rolled to a stop in sector three, heart thundering, fists clenched so tight it shook. The radio crackled. And then—anger.

“I swear, I will actually FIGHT this car. Someone hold me back.”

Luca’s silence was deafening.

Later, she laughed about it. Said she’d cool off. But fans? They turned it into a war cry.

“luca’s js used to everything she’s doing”

post race cravings

Post-race interview. She looked dead behind her eyes. Grease smudged her jaw. Her ponytail was falling apart. The race had been hell. No points, no pace. And the reporter asked what her plans were.

She sighed, blinked slowly, and went: “…nuggets. McDonald’s. I’d sell my souls for a 20 piece right now.”

And the best part? McDonald’s replied. By the next race, she had a personalized nugget box. With her number on it.

“she ate the nuggets during fp1. realest driver out there”

the lewis interview

Post race, she walked into frame next to Lewis. Exhausted, but radiating chaos. He leaned on her shoulder. She leaned back.

“We’re tired,” he said to the mic.

“We’re delusional,” she added. They both bursted into laughter.

They started high-fiving out of nowhere mid-interview. Talking over each other. Giggling at nothing.

The interviewer gave up halfway through.

“these two have NO media training and we LOVE that”

grid kid softness

He looked scared. Eight years old, holding the umbrella next to her on the grid, hands shaking.

She knelt down.

“Hey,” she said gently, handing him her cap. “You look cool. Wanna wear this?” He nodded shyly.

She fist-bumped him. “You’re braver than half the grid.”

He beamed back at her. And she stood for the anthem, capless, with one hand protectively behind his back.

“he said she makes him feel ‘safe.’ i’m actually sobbing’

the seb moment

During a race weekend, Sebastian Vettel made a surprise paddock appearance. YN spotted him from across the media pen and literally gasped. Covered her mouth. Full body turn. Then ran.

They hugged, she squealed. He called her "the fiercest thing on four wheels." She teared up.

Photos of her beaming at Seb like he was her dad? Broke the internet. They love them both.

“she looked like a kid meeting her hero”

the public nap situation

It was between sessions. Hot day. Busiest paddock of the season.

Someone walked by a tire stack and found YN asleep behind it. Fully out. Arm as a pillow. Hoodie pulled over her eyes, how did she get there?

She woke up to the sound of a mechanic accidentally dropping a wrench and sat up like a soldier in a war movie.

“Am I late for quali?” she asked. It was 11 am.

She then fell back to sleep instantly.

And for Yn, it meant everything.

At eighteen, standing in her Red Bull suit, helmet tucked against her hip, she felt like the world had finally opened up to her. Spa was her favorite track. She had told Max so more than once during the week — excitedly, shyly, and with that spark in her eyes that always made him smile.

“It feels like flying here,” she had whispered to him on the track walk two days earlier.

Max had ruffled her hair. “Then let’s make sure you fly in the good way. Not the other one.”

She had laughed. She always laughed with him.

Now, hurtling through Eau Rouge on lap 17, she wasn’t laughing — but she was alive with adrenaline, her heart hammering as she pushed the car as hard as she dared.

Max was P1.

Oscar was P2.

And she — she was right behind them in P3. Holding strong. Holding steady.

Except for the pressure behind her.

Lando.

He was quicker in the middle sector. She could feel him breathing down her neck through the radio static.

Her engineer’s voice crackled in. “Yn, Lando is half a second behind. Keep your line. You’re doing great.”

She swallowed. “Copy… but he’s moving weird. I— I don’t like it. He’s weaving a lot.”

“We see it. Stay focused.”

Her fingers tightened on the wheel.

She knew Lando wasn’t dirty. He was aggressive, sure, but never reckless — except today, something felt off. Maybe the pressure, maybe the championship, maybe the rain still lingering near the edges of the asphalt.

Or maybe he simply wanted P3 too much.

They approached Les Combes.

She exhaled shakily, trying to keep the car steady.

But Lando dove.

Too fast.

Too close.

The world snapped.

A violent jolt.

Metal against metal.

Her car’s rear lifted.

The radio dissolved into static.

She felt herself leave the ground — weightless — then slam, hard, as the car flipped.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four.

She lost count after that.

Her helmet hit something with a crack that echoed inside her skull. Her arms curled instinctively into her chest, her body thrown around as the chassis spun like a toy in a storm.

When the car finally crashed down on its side and skidded to a horrid, scraping halt, everything went silent.

Her ears rang.

Her breathing was thin and sharp.

The world blurred.

Then, faintly, she heard it:

“Yn? YN! If you hear this, please respond!”

She tried to speak, but only a painful breath escaped her lips.

Everything felt far away.

The marshals were running before the dust even settled. Cameras zoomed. The crowds had gone eerily quiet.

Seven minutes.

Seven unbearable minutes.

The medical team waited for the car to be stabilized. The marshals surrounded her, one shouting instructions, another checking the fuel leak, another making sure the fireproof foam was ready.

Then — finally — she moved.

A trembling hand gripped the halo. Her helmet tilted up.

A collective gasp rolled over Spa.

She pushed herself free — legs shaking, arms weak — and slid out of the destroyed car. Her knees nearly gave out the moment her feet touched the ground.

A female marshal — mid-30s, kind eyes, blonde ponytail — reached her first. “Hey, sweetheart, I got you. I got you…” She wrapped Yn in her arms without hesitation.

Yn clutched her suit, shaking uncontrollably. She wasn’t crying yet — shock sat like cold hands around her throat — but she was close.

More marshals crowded around.

But someone else was running.

A figure sprinting across the runoff area, helmet discarded somewhere behind him, breath heavy with panic.

Nico.

Nobody had realized he had stopped his car on the side of the track. Nobody knew he had jumped out and ran straight toward her.

He slid the last few feet, catching himself with one hand on the ground before grabbing her shoulders.

“Yn! Yn, look at me. Hey— hey, look at me.”

She blinked, finally focusing on his face.

He gently removed her helmet, hands shaking. “Are you hurt? Talk to me. Come on, kid. Talk to me.”

Her lips parted.

No sound.

Her breath hitched instead, chest jolting.

“Yn, answer me, please.” He cupped her face now, thumbs brushing her temples. “Are you hurt anywhere, Liebling?”

A tiny nod. Barely perceptible.

His eyes softened, but fear still shadowed them. “Where?”

She swallowed a sob. “M-my ribs… and my head… and— I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Okay. That’s okay. It’s okay, you’re okay—” He pulled her against him, hugging her so tightly she finally let go.

The dam broke.

She sobbed — real, shaking, broken sobs — her fists gripping the front of his suit. Nico held her, one hand on her back, the other cradling her head.

“Shh… shh… you’re safe now. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, Liebes.”

The female marshal stroked Yn’s back, whispering soft words. “Just breathe, darling. Let it out. You’re okay. You’re so, so brave.”

Yn cried harder.

Her legs finally gave out, and Nico lowered with her, keeping her pressed to his chest as he knelt on the tarmac.

The medical car arrived minutes later.

“We need to get her checked immediately.”

Nico stood, still holding her. “I’m coming with her.”

Nobody argued.

They put her in the medical car. Nico climbed in beside her, taking her hand instantly when she reached for him without even looking.

Her voice was weak. “Don’t go…”

“I won’t. I’m right here.”

At the Medical Center, Max was pacing when they arrived, hands shaking, eyes red. Isaac and Ollie stood behind him, equally anxious.

He rushed toward the door the second it opened.

“Yn!” His voice cracked. “Zusje, come here—”

But she was still clinging to Nico’s arm, too scared to move without him.

Nico whispered to her, “It’s okay. Max is here. You’re safe.”

She finally released him.

Max pulled her into his chest instantly, wrapping both arms around her head, pressing a kiss to her helmet-less hair.

“I thought—” His breath broke. “God, Yn, I thought we lost you.”

She whimpered softly, burying herself into him.

Ollie arrived right after, eyes wet. “Yn, you scared the hell out of us.”

She reached a trembling hand toward him. He took it and squeezed.

Isack hovered nearby, unsure if he should hug her or not, but she leaned into him when he approached. Isack rubbed her shoulder gently while whispering, “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

The doctor called her name, and she was guided into the exam room.

Max stayed outside, pacing again.

Ollie sat down, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “That crash— it didn’t look survivable…”

Nico was the only calm one, leaning against the wall, trying to slow his own breathing.

He had seen a lot in his career.

But nothing had hit him like watching her car flip through the air.

Max looked at him suddenly. “You were with her. Thank you. I mean it… thank you.”

Nico nodded once. “Anyone would’ve done it.”

But Max shook his head. “No. Not anyone.”

Nico didn’t respond.

The moment Nico stepped outside, cameras surged toward him.

“Nico! Why did you stop?”

“What made you run to her?”

“You abandoned your car on track — why?”

“Were you the first one to reach her?”

He lifted a hand to quiet them, jaw tight, eyes tired.

“Look…” He exhaled slowly. “If it were my kid out there flipping like that, I would want someone — anyone — to run to them. Not wait. Not watch. Act.”

The reporters fell silent.

Nico glanced back toward the medical center door.

His voice cracked just barely. “You can all thank God she’s alive.”

And for the first time in a very long time, the media didn’t ask anything else.

Inside, Yn was cleared for major injuries, but she had bruised ribs, a mild concussion, and emotional shock.

When she stepped out of the exam room, she looked smaller, wrapped in a blanket around her shoulders, eyes swollen and red.

Max walked to her. “Want a hug?”

She nodded.

He held her again, arms protective. Ollie hugged her after, gentle and careful.

“Don’t scare us like that again.” He whispered.

She let out a weak laugh. “Wasn’t… really my plan.”

Nico approached last.

She reached for him without hesitation.

He picked up her hand, squeezing it. “How are you feeling now?”

“Tired… sore… and scared.” Her voice cracked. “Thank you for coming to me. When I got out… I didn’t know where I was. And then you were just there.”

His eyes softened. “Of course I was. I’m glad you’re talking now.”

“I’m sorry I cried on you…”

“Don’t be stupid, kid. Cry all you want. I’ll be there again if you need it.”

She smiled weakly.

Max wrapped an arm around her shoulders again, pulling her gently against his side. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet, yeah?”

As they walked out together, Nico lingered behind for a moment, watching her.

Alive.

Shaken.

But alive.

He let out the breath he’d been holding since the crash.

Spa had taken many things over the years.

This time, miraculously — it hadn’t taken her.

@.mclaren uploaded a video

"Challenge accepted! Who can stack the most donuts 👀"

[video: Oscar carefully stacking as many donuts as he could and Lando just gave up and started cheering Osc on.]

Top comments

Ynuser: thanks for the donuts McLaren 😚

oscarpiastri: you literally walked up to us, grabbed two and left😭🙏🏼

Ynuser: rookie privileges 🤷🏽‍♀️

User6: McLaren PR crying rn like " this was NOT in the script"😅

User8: atp she's just speed running how many teams she can piss off in one week 💀

User16: Lando didn't just lose to Oscar he also lost to the hunger games rookie edition

DanielRic: ngl proud of her🥺

User7: Daniel??!!

User6: Danny boy?😭🙏🏼

lando: she took the last 2...they were my favourite too😞

Ynuser: you're welcome 🫶🏻

@.mercedesamgf1 uploaded a video

“Kimi vs George in a blindfolded smoothie taste test! 🥤👀”

[Video: George blindfolded, trying to guess flavors. Suddenly Y/N appears in frame, stealing a cup.]

Top comments:

georgerussell63: I KNEW IT. I SAID “why does this taste like rookie” and nobody believed me.

User7: that doesn't make sense buddy 😔

kimiantonelli12: she said she was just “quality testing.” 😭

Ynuser: you’re welcome. It was mango btw.

User6: girl😭

User1: the food goblin strikes again

@.williamsracing uploaded a video

“Carlos vs Alex 🍕 fastest pizza-making challenge!”

[Video: both Williams boys throwing dough in the air… Y/N in the background holding a finished slice.]

Top Comments:

carlossainz55: HOW DID YOU EVEN—??

charles_leclerc: she stole my slice while I was looking away 😭

User6: Y/N is officially the grid’s food goblin

User5: honestly iconic

User3: she's so unserious 😭

User8: she's too unserious

User9: shut up I don't see you in a f1 seat🤨

User1: I love her😭

User14: the way she didn’t even TRY to hide?? like she walked on set, took it, and left 😭

User2: charles looks personally victimized in 4k

carlossainz55: I haven’t been this disrespected since Monza 2020.

User3: Ferrari strategy but make it rookie food theft edition

User4: pls she’s literally speedrunning enemies to lovers with carbs

@.ferrarif1team uploaded a video

“Lewis & Charles take on the cake decorating challenge 🎂✨ who’s got the best artistic touch?”

[Video: Lewis piping icing carefully, Charles with sprinkles everywhere… Y/N already holding a fully cut slice]

Top comments:

charles_leclerc: SHE TOOK THE FIRST PIECE BEFORE WE EVEN FINISHED

lewishamilton: nah because she said “quality check” and ran

Ynuser: 7/10, icing mid, sponge good tho 🫶

User5: y/n is basically the FIA of food — she just appears and judges

User4: ferrari strategy = baking cake for the rookie apparently

@.racingbulls uploaded a video

“Burger building challenge! 🍔 Liam vs Isack — tallest stack wins!”

[Video: Isack concentrating hard, Liam laughing… rookie hand enters frame grabbing a patty.]

Top comments:

liamlawson30: she didn’t even steal the whole burger… just took the meat. 😭

isackhadjar: WHO DOES THAT??

User1: rookie’s on a protein-only diet apparently 💀

User2: y/n treating the paddock like her personal McDonald’s drive-thru

User5: not liam saying “oi!!” like a disappointed older brother

@astonmartinf1 uploaded a video

“Steak cooking challenge 🔥🥩 Lance vs Fernando — who’s the grill master?”

[Video: Fernando flipping his steak dramatically, Lance poking his with a fork… Y/N in the corner already cutting into Fernando’s piece.]

Top comments:

fernandoalonso: rookie lifespan ends tonight.

lance_stroll: SHE TOOK MINE TOO.

maxverstappen1: I warned her about Fernando… she didn’t listen.

User1: rookie vs 2x world champion death match loading…

User2: Aston: “grill challenge” Rookie: “free lunch”

User3: fernando’s face is literally “she will not survive Spain” 💀

@.haasf1team uploaded a video

“Ice cream sundae race! 🍨 Esteban vs Ollie — who can finish building the tallest sundae?”

[Video: Ollie carefully scooping ice cream… Y/N with spoon already halfway through it.]

Top comments:

olliebearman: i swear she just appeared out of nowhere 😭

estebanocon: she said “for the culture” and then ate MY cherry on top.

User1: not the rookie bullying Ollie like he’s her little brother

User4: he's literally older than her😭

User2: Haas can’t catch a break even in catering

User3: ICE CREAM GOBLIN STRIKES AGAIN 🍦👹

kevinmagnussen: respect.

User5: ??

@.kicksauber uploaded a video

“Pretzel twist-off 🥨 Nico vs Gabriel! Who’s got the skills?”

[Video: Nico with perfectly shaped pretzel, Gabriel laughing at his fail… Y/N biting Nico’s pretzel like it’s a breadstick.]

Top comments:

nicohülkenberg: rookie?? RUDE.

gabriel_bortoleto: she ate mine too… and it was burnt!!

User1: she’s literally speedrunning “how to get banned from hospitality”

User2: can we start a rookie food tax?? pay up or no snacks.

User3: imagine Nico’s face — 200% German disappointment

@.alpinef1team uploaded a video

“French baguette challenge 🥖 Pierre vs Franco — fastest sandwich maker wins!”

[Video: Pierre slicing bread with precision, Franco piling toppings… Y/N walks in, grabs the finished baguette, and just leaves.]

Top comments:

pierreG44: SHE TOOK THE ENTIRE THING. THE WHOLE SANDWICH.

francocolapinto: …I didn’t even get to taste it 😭

User1: not her robbing the frenchmen of their national treasure 💀

User2: baguette-gate will go down in history books

fan3: pierre’s face is literally “je suis fatigué.” ("I'm tired.")

charles_leclerc: welcome to the club, boys.

@.redbullracing uploaded a video

“They’ve stolen enough snacks from the other teams, so we gave them their own challenge 👀🔥 Max & Y/N take on the ultimate dumpling speed-eating contest! 🥟”

[Video: Y/N destroying dumplings like her life depends on it, Max laughing while casually eating at half speed. At the end, Y/N raises her hands in victory while Max side-eyes her empty plate.]

Top comments:

maxverstappen1: I was set up.

Ynuser: skill issue xoxo 🥟

checoperez: finally she’s stealing OUR food and not the whole grid’s.

User1: red bull saw the chaos and said “fine, we’ll fund it.”

User2: the fact that max looks like proud dad watching his gremlin rookie eat 30 dumplings 💀

User3: she’s not a driver, she’s a competitive eater who got lost and joined f1

carlossainz55: at least she didn’t raid Williams today 🙏

williamsracing: we are still not recovered😔

Lando.jpg: can we PLEASE get catering insurance before next race??

User4: netflix rn: “Drive to Survive: Rookie vs. Buffet”

pierreG44: if she comes near my baguette again, i’m fighting her.

Ynuser:💪👊

User5: dumpling menace > donut gate > pizza scandal. legacy secured.

f1fanupdates

liked by 3,420 users

f1fanupdates For the uneducated and borderline uncultured, meet the McLaren cuties. Teammates YN LN and Oscar Piastri channel the Gen Z unmedia-trained craziness. Having known each other from F3 days, their social media makes McLaren admins have heart attacks. Both having wins under their belt, it makes them a very strong team, a force. Would I be lying if I said they would be cute together...

view all 198 comments

user I love them, they are my parents, together or not

user they are iconic I hope they never get trained

user they are the hottest drivers, McLaren slayed with this pairing

user preach

user I already thought they were dating

user no they are just friendly user I bet there are underlying feelings

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, landonorris, and 2,202,420 others

ynusername checking out the opposition. checking OUT the opposition

view all 70,436 others

user she is unhinged

user she is iconic

user is she dating lewis

user nah lewis is married user since when?!?

oscarpiastri don't you dare jump ship

ynusername can't promise anything pooks oscarpiastri you better mclaren you better ynusername till death does us part x

lewishamilton you are not smart with this caption

ynusername innocent until proven guilty lewishamilton you are baiting him user WHO, LEWIS TELL US user OMgggg drama

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, lewishamilton, landonorris and 892,104 others

oscarpiastri pov we were meant to be at the technology centre at 9. One of us was

view 67,241 comments

ynusername nooo youve made me look bad, it was traffic

oscarpiastri So, thats not an ice cold coffee in the selfie you sent me ynusername no one was meant to see that oscapiastri nothing you send me is safe sweetheart ynusername I ... okay user omg is she lost for words

user thats possible??

user omg they sent each other photos

user thats not a crazy thing user just let me believe they have feelings

mclaren ohhhh thats why you were late

ynusername no not at all mother mclaren mother is disappointed oscarpiastri what is happening? mclaren its okay son oscarpiastri oh hell naw we are not siblings user hes not helping the rumours

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, mclaren, and 2,579,546 others

ynusername A visual representation of me trying to soft launch a relationship

view all 278,543 comments

oscarpiastri is this why you have been screaming/wheezing in your drivers room for the last 30 mins

user omg she is just like the rest of us oscarpiastri shes been in tears screaming 'why do i have none without his face!!' ynusername you are out of line Piastri oscarpiastri wow, not the surname

lewishamilton very very accurate

ynusername huh lewishamilton we are going to talk soon ynusername @ anyone HELP ME oscarpiastri nothing can help you now

user okay so who do we think it is

user oscar user oscar user oscar user ah so a universal thought

f1fanupdates

liked by 8,250 users

f1fanupdates It has been five months since this soft launching started! We are almost in Abu Dhabi, and YN is still just teasing her partner. We all think it is Oscar, but it is still unknown. No matter who it is though, they look good together

view all 942 comments

user OSCARRRRR

user Imagine it is not oscar and it is some poor guy and now he's upset

user oh user thats a good point

user OscarYN for life

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, lewishamilton, landonorris, and 1,240,567 others

oscarpiastri Hoping on the soft launching YN's relationship train

view all 82,459 comments

ynusername wow, thats my next post ruined

lewishamilton for the love of all that is good, just post him ynusername booo oscarpiastri no booo its getting boring ynusername you think that, really.. ? oscarpiastri i do yn girl

user this is hilarious

user i thought this was an YN post at first user same! user oscar is getting sick of it lol

mclaren There were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded

user not mclaren quoting princess Diana user wouldn't it be four, mclaren, oscar, yn, yns partner user i think you are delusional user i think they are right user mclaren outing there relationship...

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, lewishamilton, and 2,520,636 others

ynusername my man my man my maaaan

view all 97,577 comments

user its officalllll guys

user im so happy i was right user they look amazing together user hot couple

oscarpiastri finally a hard launch pookie

oscarpiastri was wondering when you would do it ynusername i was teeing it up lewishamilton its been a good 8 months of you two sneaking around the paddock landonorris we all knew maxverstappen i walked in on them making out fully behind the mclaren hospitatility alexalbon we all did that day, it was basically public information

mclaren our evil plan finally worked

ynusername your what... oscarpiastri your what... mclaren nothing, doors sometimes just lock on accident user not mclaren admin confessing to playing cupid mclaren not just me, everyone, Zak once hid YN's car keys so Oscar had to drive her home ynusername WHAT OMG I FEEL BETRAYED

oscarpiastri

liked by mclaren, ynusername, landonorris, and 1,924,250 others

oscarpiastri HR approved of photos 1 and 2 of my girlfriend

view all 45,266 others

user goddamm

ynusername OSCAR

oscarpiastri hey georgus ynusername georgus? oscarpiastri thats you landonorris you guys make me sickkk ynusername love you toooo oscarpiastri hey... ynusername x

mclaren we do not approve of the 3rd

oscarpiastri I do not want another HR meeting ynusername THIS ONE WASN'T MY FAULT! DON'T MAKE ME SIT THROUGH ANOTHER user what happened last time.. mclaren setting work place phyiscal intimacy boundaries ynusername Oscar is not a good influence on me oscarpiastri you aren't a good influence on anyone love

user I love these two so much

user best teammates on the grid

The title of the video was simple—yet powerful enough to captivate every Formula One fan who knew them.

The pair who proved that love and rivalry could coexist at 300 km/h.

“The MercBull Couple Being in Love for 7 Minutes”

The video began with a clip from Barcelona 2022, the season she burst onto the grid—a rookie with fire in her veins—and he, a reigning World Champion with a crown forged in dominance. The final notes of the Dutch national anthem lingered in the air, merging with the deafening cheers of the crowd. But the camera wasn’t on Max.

Instead, it found her.

She stood on the lowest step of the podium, just to his left. The so-called Mercedes Princess—cheeks flushed with adrenaline, eyes alight with joy, and a grin too wide for someone who’d just finished P3. But it wasn’t just a third place. It was her second podium of an already electric debut season, earned under the weight of global scrutiny and a teammate with a godlike legacy.

Her high wasn’t from champagne. It was from proving herself.

And then he turned.

Max looked at her—not with the cold composure of a titleholder, but with a warmth no one had ever associated with the man who shattered records with clinical precision. As the camera zoomed in, he leaned toward her and said something that made her laugh, the kind of laugh that spilled out before she could contain it.

The video froze mid-frame.

His grin lingered, soft and boyish. His blue eyes stayed locked on her, not with mischief, but something closer to awe. She looked down, lips curled, face glowing, and suddenly—viewers weren’t sure if her flushed cheeks were from the victory…or from him.

Text appeared on screen, playful and glowing, while animated hearts danced around the couple:

“Everyone’s Favourite Slow Burn Duo Being Absolutely Whipped for Each Other (for 7 Minutes Straight).”

It was followed by chaos—pure, unserious chaos.

A hilariously off-key rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” began to play—sung, or rather butchered, by Max in an old interview no one quite remembered… until now. The Internet had resurfaced it, of course. His accent was thick, his pitch nonexistent, but the soft look in his eyes while singing said everything. The comments were immediate: “He wasn’t trying to impress the world. He was looking at her.”

Then the scene cut to Azerbaijan, 2022.

Another podium, another round of Dutch dominance. Max stood at the top, flanked by Checo in P2, the gap between them almost insulting. And in P3—once again—the Mercedes rookie, carving her own path one race at a time. A brilliant defensive drive, strategic maturity, and sheer racecraft had earned her that step.

But it wasn’t the race fans remembered.

It was what came after.

The screen shifted to the post-race interviews—specifically, hers. She was mid-answer, breaking down telemetry data and strategy with all the calm precision of a veteran, when he appeared from just out of frame.

Max.

He stepped in with a casual confidence, uttered a quick “congratulations”—but it wasn’t just words. It was the way he did it. The way the camera caught the hug, full and easy, like second nature. His hands rested low, just where her fire suit hung tied around her waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him close like it was the most natural thing in the world. He leaned in—his head ducking to meet her height—and said something against her ear.

Whatever it was, it worked. Her grin cracked wider, cheekbones high and eyes sparkling. And that flush? That flush wasn’t podium joy. It wasn’t exhaustion or track heat. It was brighter than the Ferrari she’d battled on track—and twice as telling.

That was the moment.

The moment the rumors became whispers, the whispers became theories, and the theories? They became speculations with receipts.

The video shifted again—this time to the sun-drenched tarmac of Circuit Paul Ricard, Le Castellet. The familiar grain of race-day footage gave way to another iconic moment in the MercBull love story.

She had started the race from P6—mid-pack, disadvantaged, and boxed in. But chaos has always been her playground. With a masterclass in patience, well-timed overtakes, and a safety car that played right into her hands, she clawed her way up the grid. When the chequered flag waved, there she was again—on the podium. P3, behind her seven-time World Champion teammate Lewis Hamilton, and the man who’d won the race—Max Verstappen.

But what followed was pure cinematic gold.

The champagne bootlegs were popped, the corks flew, and the crowd roared.

Tradition dictated Max would turn and drench whoever came up to collect the Constructors’ trophy on Red Bull’s behalf. But that tradition—like many others—was quietly rewritten that day.

Instead, Max turned straight to her.

She was still fumbling with the wire cage of her bottle when he struck. In one swift move, he tipped his bottle forward, and drenched her—completely and unapologetically. Head to toe, sparkling champagne soaked into her fire suit as her shoulders jumped with silent giggles, mouth open in shocked laughter. The broadcast microphones didn’t catch the sound, but the video didn’t need it. The joy on her face—the glint in his eyes—told the whole story.

The crowd noticed. Their cheers grew louder.

Lewis, never one to sit out a party, turned with a grin and joined in the chaos, spraying them both, but the real show? It was between the two of them.

Two drivers from rival teams, standing amid bubbles and roaring fans, not looking at the cameras, not acknowledging the world watching—

Just watching each other.

In that moment, surrounded by carbon fibre, champagne, and championship tension, it became blindingly clear:

They only had eyes for each other.

The screen faded into the next clip—grainier than the rest, because it wasn’t filmed by a professional broadcast team. No. This was fan footage, the kind that would live on in Twitter threads, Tumblr GIF sets, and TikTok edits titled “he was never the villain to her.”

Hungarian Grand Prix Qualifying.

It hadn’t been a great session for Max. Power unit issues plagued his final run, leaving him stranded in P10—a rare sight for the reigning World Champion. But the cameras weren’t on him that day.

Because that day—history was made.

She had taken pole position. The first woman ever in the history of Formula One to do so. Her name blazed across every timing screen, outpacing world champions, silencing critics, and writing herself into the sport’s history books with raw speed and ice-cold precision.

The video began with her standing outside the Mercedes motorhome. Her fire suit hung open around her waist. No helmet. No cameras. Just her, talking animatedly to her race engineer about tyre degradation, her hands moving with the passion of someone born to be on track.

Then—he walked in.

Max Verstappen. Still in his Red Bull team kit, a half-empty can of the energy drink in one hand, hair still damp from the helmet. And the moment he saw her, the entire vibe shifted.

The camera caught it.

That smile.

Not a grin. Not smirk. Something softer. Like a secret bloomed between them in real time, a language of looks and timing no one else could decode.

He walked up, unhurried. She turned to greet him—and the air shifted again. He didn’t speak, didn’t tease. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

And she glowed.

Her smile broke across her face like sunlight cresting a horizon. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes flickered to the ground—and for a moment, she didn’t look like a pole-sitter. She looked like a girl being seen as more than a driver.

The phone recording the moment shook, the fan behind the lens letting out a muffled squeal that was lost in the noise of paddock voices. But the footage—the moment—was already immortal.

Then, he held out his Red Bull can. Already opened, clearly sipped. But she didn’t hesitate. She took it with a laugh, fingers brushing his like they’d done this a thousand times before.

Her race engineer glanced at Max, then at her—and quietly slipped away.

Because even though he’d qualified tenth, and she stood atop the motorsport world, he looked at her like he’d won something far greater.

The screen dimmed to black, lingering just a second longer than expected.

And then—a split screen appeared.

On the left: a grainy video feed from an interview so notoriously evasive it had spawned entire Reddit threads.

On the right: the footage that had, quite literally, shaken the foundation of the motorsport fandom.

Left side—Max Verstappen.

The reigning World Champion sat in front of a sterile grey backdrop, posture loose but eyes sharp. He looked every bit the man who’d won a championship fight against Lewis Hamilton. The interviewer, mid-forties, buttoned-up and clearly out of his depth, smiled politely before diving in:

“Are you dating someone?”

Max’s reaction was instant. A shrug. A faint scoff. That trademark curl of the lips—the kind that told you he was in on a joke no one else understood.

“I’m currently focused on racing,” he replied smoothly, voice laced with disinterest, eyes darting somewhere off-camera.

“And racing alone.”

Right side—chaos in stillness.

A video posted—and almost immediately deleted—by Charles Leclerc. The off-season had arrived, and so had Charles’ annual yacht party, which was less a party and more a Mediterranean fever dream. The posted video had meant to show him and Carlos doing tequila shots and pretending not to flirt with each other across the bar.

But the background?

That changed everything.

Because just behind the chaos and clinking glasses, just past the laughing drivers and Ferrari crew, stood them.

Max and the Mercedes Princess.

Slow dancing.

No music audible. No choreography. Just them—swaying in a rhythm only they could hear. She rested her head on his chest, eyes closed, safe and small in the quiet corner of a world too loud. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her loose hair, circling the base of her neck with an absent-minded tenderness that told the world: he knew exactly what he had.

He wasn’t looking around. Wasn’t worried about cameras, phones, or the internet.

He was looking at her like she was the only finish line that had ever mattered.

Meanwhile, Charles had realized his mistake. The video vanished within thirty minutes. But the fandom had already downloaded it, enhanced it, slowed it down frame by frame. Hard launch achieved. Reversal? Impossible.

And now—played side by side, the irony was delicious.

On the left, Max’s cold, clinical deflection: “I’m focused on racing and racing alone.”

On the right, Max—completely in love, utterly undone, swaying with her like the world had stopped spinning.

The edit cut to black again, and a single line faded onto the screen:

“And racing alone… sure,” with a smirking emoji.

The screen faded from the split-screen chaos of Charles’ yacht party, and this time, it opened to something grander. Louder. Unignorable.

São Paulo Grand Prix.

A race already etched in memory—not for the usual rivalries or lap times, but for what it came to mean.

The camera opened on pure history. Her car—trimmed in black and silver—flashed across the finish line, victorious. After months of near-misses, late-safety-cars, and bad luck, the Mercedes rookie had won her first Formula One Grand Prix.

A woman. On the top step. In Brazil.

She had done it.

Held off her own teammate—the seven time world champion, Lewis Hamilton—with iron determination and clean, defensive driving that made even the most cynical pundits call her a generational talent. The crowd roared. The commentators choked on their disbelief. Her name echoed through the paddock, loud enough to drown out everything else.

Except… not everything.

Because for Red Bull, the race had been a mess.

Max and Checo had clashed—tensions boiling over when Max refused to follow a team order to let his teammate through. The headlines were already being written, the media swirling. But the next moment—no one had seen coming.

Because when the podium ceremony began, and the Mercedes team gathered beneath the stage in celebration, Max was there.

No Red Bull gear. No media interview.

Just him, standing quietly among the Mercedes engineers, tucked near the back—watching her.

The cameras, of course, found him.

There he was, expression unreadable but eyes locked on her like gravity itself had pulled him into place. She stood on the top step, helmet off, curls wind-swept, eyes shining with disbelief and joy. Champagne dripped down her race suit. Confetti tangled in her hair. A goddess in victory.

And then—her eyes found his.

The noise of the crowd seemed to dim in that moment, like the world itself leaned in closer.

And Max, the man so famously composed, so often guarded, mouthed the words the cameras caught in perfect clarity.

“Ik ben de jouwe.” (I am yours)

The words that detonated across the fandom like a starter light going green.

It wasn’t speculation anymore.

It wasn’t an edit, or a fanfic, or a whisper behind paddock doors.

It was real. It had always been real.

The screen faded again, soft and slow.

And then came the final clip.

The one that shattered even the last holdouts, silenced the cynics, and left every fan reaching for tissues with shaky hands and full hearts.

Las Vegas, 2024.

The city of lights burned brighter than ever that night, a kaleidoscope of champagne, neon, and pure, undiluted history.

Because on that night—Max Verstappen clinched his fourth consecutive World Championship, solidifying a legacy that few in the sport’s long history could rival.

And yet, that wasn’t the only record broken.

Because just ahead of him, under the glare of the Vegas lights and the shadow of the Sphere, she stood on the top step of the podium once again—having led the race from start to finish with precision so ruthless it could’ve been scripted.

He won the title.

She won the race.

They won each other.

The camera cut to the pit lane, Red Bull’s garage a whirlwind of celebration—engineers and mechanics losing their minds, flares in team colours lit like fireworks. Max was there, in the middle of it all, grinning as if someone had carved the weight off his shoulders.

And then the camera panned.

She appeared from the far end of the lane, still half in her fire suit, tied around her waist, undershirt clinging to her like armor. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes gleaming, adrenaline still crackling under her skin. Her smile—God, that smile—stretched wide as she made her way to him with determined steps and arms outstretched.

He didn’t hesitate.

His smile bloomed before she even reached him. And the moment she collided into his chest, he folded around her like she was the one trophy he truly cared about.

The Rain of Milton Keynes beamed down at the Sun of Brackley, and kissed her. Fully, deeply, right there in front of his team and the cameras and the roaring crowd.

And the cheers? They got louder.

She melted into him like she always had, and when they broke apart—she giggled, breathless and flushed, and he blushed.

Max Verstappen, who had once said he was only focused on racing.

Max Verstappen, who once shrugged off love like it was a distraction.

Now standing in the heart of his team, holding the woman who made even winning feel better.

And then—

The screen shifted—just two pictures now, side by side, while Can’t Help Falling in Love played gently in the background, the lyrics curling through the silence like a confession long overdue.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you

On the left, a photo from Barcelona 2022—her first podium. The moment that had started it all.

She stood grinning, fresh-faced and glowing, cradling her first Formula One trophy in both hands like it was a piece of the stars themselves. The camera had caught the joy in her face, unfiltered and radiant. But just off to the side—him.

Max.

His gaze wasn’t on the crowd or the cameras. It was on her. A look so soft, so full of something quietly devotional, that only the slow-motion replay had made the world notice. He looked at her like a man already falling, even then.

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can’t help

Falling in love with you

On the right, a newer photo—more intimate, more telling. The FIA Prize Giving Ceremony in Rwanda.

She wore black, elegant and understated, silver embroidery glinting on the sleeves. He was beside her in classic formal wear—sharp lines, soft eyes. His hand extended toward her, steady and sure, as she placed her own into it, trusting, careful. The rumor was she’d twisted her ankle the day before. The truth was—he wouldn’t have let her walk alone, injury or not.

He helped her up the stairs, not as a world champion escorting a fellow driver, but as something more ancient. Something sacred. His smile was the same—the smile he wore only for her. His gaze unchanged from the one on the podium years ago—like she was still the girl with the trophy in her hands, and he, the man who never stopped choosing her.

And her smile?

That smile told the entire story.

And just below the photos, in tiny, silver letters barely visible against the fading screen, a final line appeared:

“He never needed to say the words.

He loved her like they were already understood.”

The screen faded to black—soft, final, and aching with the kind of silence that only follows something true.

And then, in the centre of the dark screen, a small white circle appeared.

The universal symbol for restart. For reliving. For never being ready to let go.

“Replay.”

Seven minutes of unscripted, unguarded, unfiltered love.

And one by one, across continents and time zones, on laptops and phones and projector screens, fans tapped it again.

Because the story these two drivers told—without ever saying the words—wasn’t just romance. It was devotion. Rivalry. Respect. Vulnerability. Fire and calm. Rain and sun.

Red Bull blue and Mercedes silver.

A storm and a sanctuary.

They were opposites, yes—but in their love, fans had found something sacred. A kind of rainbow that formed between two corners of the paddock, between two people who should’ve never fit but did—flawlessly.

So they watched it again.

Not because they had missed anything—

But because they couldn’t not.

Because some love stories aren’t about grand declarations.

Some are just about a glance on a podium. A shared drink in parc fermé. A hand outstretched on a darkened stage.

A kiss under Vegas lights.

And in every frame, every second, every breath—

in the hotel room, max's hand lingered across your back a little more as he guided you away from your hotel room and towards his. his nose brushed against your neck, taking in your scent before he went to open the door.

when he got the door closed behind you two, his hands were on you once more. his lips at your neck and between kisses he asked, "you'd pick, charles, huh?"

you squeaked, "they said pick someone else." you looked into max's eyes, "we're already teammates." and your eyes went a little wide as he pressed himself further against you. you two have had sex before, it was no secret - with the amount of time you spent together it was inevitable.

"could have picked anyone else." he said lowly as he rubbed up against you further and touched your chest, "you know how i feel about him. how he gets under my skin. i wouldn't want anyone to be on the same team as you. you're mine."

you knew his reaction was overbearing, but you knew that max deeply cared for you. he yearned for you deeply. the thump of his heart was in time with how much he adored you, needed you. so the idea of charles taking you away from him only poked at something in his brain.

you gasped when he bit into the skin of your neck, you knew it would bruise. but something curled in your gut as you felt the a certain lust wash over you.

"you're red bull or nothing." he said lowly, "by my side, or off the track." he said as he started to play with the front of your jeans, "i don't want charles to get the wrong idea, so tonight. i'm going to make sure you firmly remember who you belong to." he placed another kiss on your neck before you ended up in the bedroom and on the bed.

you could have said no, you could have stood your ground and had him slink away with his tail between his legs. but there was something about the domineering max that just made you wet. the looked in his eye, cold, commanding. he looked like the villain that everyone thought of him as.

you took off your branded t-shirt and you felt his gaze linger on your breasts. he licked his lips and you got your bra off, slowly your jeans came off too along with the rest of your under garments. socks throw in two different directions and your panties on the other side of the bed. max was quicker to get undressed before he got on top of you in bed. he pushed you up against the pillows and gazed down at you.

his cock was fully erect. you knew he got off to submitting you under him. he told you once that he liked when you posed a challenge on the track because that meant he could fuck you harder. a real champion can take anything, he told you once when he had you in a headlock and bullied your poor pussy.

"look at you." he said as he hiked your hips up closer to him, "see, this is what no other driver can have. you're just so sweet on the track, you're their little star. but you need someone to actually keep you safe. and charles would never do that." max said lowly and rubbed the tip of his cock up against you, "too trusting. you should only be trusting me."

you swallowed, "please, max." you held onto the pillows under your head and you lifted your hips a little to give him better access to your cunt. you were wet and max knew it. he loved that he carried that bit of control over you, easily making you soaked between your legs.

he remembered after a rough practice he spent what felt like half an hour rubbing your cunt through your driver's suit and he knew that you raced the next round with stickiness between your legs. risky move, but max had to plant those seeds early.

that after formula one, you wouldn't become an engineer or a reporter, or whatever else ex-drivers seemed to do. no, you'd be max's wife. and hopefully married after after that season ended.

he looked at you and licked his lips. you met his gaze as he sank his cock into you. you arched your back a little and he relaxed against you. and so did you. he planted his hands on either side of you, he leaned in to kiss you on the lips as you wrapped your legs around him.

"look at you." he said.

you shifted yourself on the bed a little and reached for him. your arms wrapped around his neck. you held on while he moved against you. pleasure moved through both of you. you loved the feeling, even with max's harsh words, you still felt affection for him. both as a teammate and a lover.

"i'm always looking out for you." he said, he drank in the sight of your face, "i want you well, i want you safe. and i want you as mine." his strokes started to move faster, he felt a slight fire in his gut from the feeling of his cock buried inside of you slick pussy.

you were on birth control, but still it was a risk to take you this way. to have him bare inside of you. but, it eased his jealousy just a little bit to know that he was the only man to ever take you this bare. to take you as his, all his.

"please, max. it feels so good." you encouraged him as you held on tighter, the pleasure was growing in your core as he rutted against you. there was something about how his cock moved inside of you that hit all the right areas that made your eyes roll a little out of pleasure.

"you don't know what you do to me." he said lowly, "i don't want you to ever think about having another teammate ever again. i want you to only need me by your side. matching cars, matching uniforms." matching last names.

he continued to thrust into you, he held onto the bedding a little tighter and felt the sweat at his brow. it was hot between you two. the movements of him against you only had you holding onto you tighter.

"max. fuck."

"i know, it feels good. you love how you feel under me. do you like being my teammate?"

you nodded and your nails nipped at the back of his neck as you held on, you swallowed before you said, "i love being your teammate, max. you know that!"

"do you want another teammate? want another man to fuck you the way i do?"

you shook your head, "never. never in a million years. i want us to win the constructor's this year!" you arched your back a little when his cock nudged against just the right spot that made you feel tingly all over. he laid another heated kiss on your lips and continued to fuck you quickly and roughly.

the headboard slammed against the wall from the force that he was fucking with you. you whined into the kiss and he held onto your hips tightly, you were pinned under him while he fucked you. he felt your body quake under him, the feeling of heat under your skin. you were the sparks in his brain and the fuel in his blood.

fucking you was the same intensity as driving. except he could let his mind grow hazy with each powerful thrust. to know you'd never want another meant the world to him, to know that you were all his. you moaned against his lips and clawed down his strong back.

you didn't last much longer. you broke the kiss and made a strong yet whiny noise as you came around his cock. you arched your back and squeezed your eyes shut as you climaxed. it only spurred him on, it made his heart hammer along with yours. the pleasure flooded your head and after you reached your peak, you let go of him and let him have his wicked way with you.

"beautiful." max said as he continued to fuck you strong thrusts. he left himself feel all of you, every inch of you felt warm under him. you were sweaty and hot. he licked his lips and the pleasure throbbed in his body.

"please, max. i'm sorry that i made that comment. i knew i couldn't pick you." you whined.

max kissed at your neck, "next time, pick someone else. alex, george, even carlos. just not charles, i won't let that sweet talker take you from me." you could feel the possessiveness in his tone.

he knew he was close, with a few more heavy thrusts he finished inside of you. he groaned under his breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. your cunt fluttered around him and he drank in the feeling. you felt amazing, warm all over and so soft. he knew he had to have you always.

"perfect." he cooed before he pulled out and laid out next to you in bed. he cupped your face with his large hand. those large hands on your soft skin. he leaned in, "tell me again."

you opened your eyes and asked, "tell you what?"

"that you don't want charles."

you shook your head, "i don't want charles. only you, max." and you curled up closer to him. his touches were more gentle, the jealous beast in him calmed down. for now.

-

"if you could be teammates with anyone else, who would it be?"

you thought about it for a moment, the reminder of last time tickled in your gut. but quickly you looked back to the camera and said, "i'd have to pick, lando! he got really close to the wdc last year, but if we were teammates he'd have a little more competition."

Speculation continues to swirl around McLaren’s Lando Norris and you, Aston Martin’s young star, with many fans convinced there's more than just friendship between the two of you. Though neither you, nor Lando had confirmed anything, and no solid evidence had surfaced—your playful interactions and unmistakable chemistry have only added fuel to the fire.

these moments do not help your case.

The water bottle

It was post-race at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Lando, Max and you, sat slumped on the nearest sofa, drained after securing P1, P2, and P3 respectively. The heat still clung to the air, even off-track, and your race suit stuck uncomfortably to your skin. The podium made it all worth it—but right now, all you wanted was a cold drink and a second to breathe.

You reached for the bottle water baside you lazily, hand sluggish and aching, half-listening to Lando as he answered a journalist's question about race strategy. The exhaustion weighed on your limbs, making the simplest takst of uncapping the bottle feel like such a challenge.

“The team knew what was needed to stay ahead of Max and—ugh, sorry. Here, let me.”

Without skipping a beat, he set down his mic, reached over, and easily twisted the cap open before handing the bottle back to you. You blinked in surprise, lips parting, but all that came out was a quiet, breathless “Thanks” as you took a sip.

Max let out a snort of laughter beside you. “Sorry, let’s pause the whole interview for this sweet little moment,” he teased, shaking his head.

Lando just rolled his eyes and grabbed his mic again, continuing as if nothing had happened. But judging by the grins from the journalists, and the certainty that the clip would be everywhere within the hour—it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

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Champagne problems

Lando is known for his champagne celebrations on the podium. Sure, it looks glorious, basking in victory, champagne flying through the air—but no one ever talks about the reality: it burns your eyes, floods your nose, and leaves your skin and hair sticky.

You stood tall on the top step, your first-ever win still sinking in. The crowd roared as your national anthem played, and you could feel your heartbeat thundering in your chest, pride swelling with every note. On either side of you stood Lando and Lewis, but it was Lando’s cheeky grin that caught your attention just as the anthem reached its peak.

The second it ended, chaos began.

Corks popped. Champagne exploded. And Lando, of course, immediately slammed his bottle down and aimed it straight at you.

You barely had a second to react. The cold spray hit from both sides, soaking you instantly as you struggled to open your own bottle. It poured down your face, into your suit, burning your eyes and blurring your vision. Lando’s laugh, loud, carefree, unmistakable, rang out over the madness.

You blinked rapidly, trying to wipe your face, unable to see a thing. Your expression probably said it all: somewhere between shocked and helplessly amused.

Then, through the chaos, you felt his hands on your face, gentle and steady. Lando’s fireproof sleeves brushed against your skin as he carefully wiped away the champagne from around your eyes, his thumbs moving with a softness that contrasted sharply with the wildness around you.

“You good?” he asked, laughing quietly, his grin now more sincere than mischievous.

You nodded, finally able to meet his gaze again, still catching your breath. “I swear, I’m never letting you near me with champagne again.”

Lando’s smile widened as he gave you a pat on the back. “I had to make it memorable!”

And God, he really had.

---------------------------------------------------------

Dinner with the Sainz Family

This video clip sent your's and Lando's shippers into a full-on spiral. After the Mexico Grand Prix, where Carlos Sainz and Lando secured an electrifying 1-2 finish, the pair were spotted celebrating with Carlos’ friends and family over dinner. A few lighthearted posts even made their way onto social media.

But what really caught fans’ attention was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it detail in one of the photos. In the background, seated next to Lando, was someone who sharp-eyed fans quickly identified, you. Wearing the same distinctive sweater you were seen in earlier that day when leaving the paddock, and the unmistakable bracelets you frequently wore throughout the season.

There was no official mention or tag, but that didn’t stop the speculation. For many fans, it was another subtle breadcrumb confirming what they’d suspected all along. The internet lit up with theories, edits, and speculation, convinced that yet another quiet public appearance had just taken place this time, tucked into a cozy moment with the Sainz family.

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daniel.jpg

Lando and you have made several unexpected appearances on Daniel Ricciardo’s iconic JPG Instagram account. While it wasn’t unusual for the three of you to be seen together, given the tight-knit friendship between Daniel, Lando, and yourself—fans didn’t hesitate to dive deep into the posts, convinced they were subtle clues feeding the long-standing theory that there’s more between you and Lando than just friendship.

One photo showed the three of you in a mirror selfie inside an elevator. Daniel, played photographer, camera in hand, while you and Lando stood casually beside him. At first glance, it looked like a typical group pic, until fans zoomed in. Slung over Lando’s shoulder was your bag, resting there like it belonged, as if it had found its place without either of you thinking twice about it.

Another upload showed a moment at a karting track. You were standing beside your kart, preparing to head out, when fans noticed the figure next to you. Though his helmet covered most of his face, there was no mistaking it, Lando. He stood close, hands carefully adjusting your helmet strap, focused and steady. The gesture was small, but intimate, and the natural ease between you didn’t go unnoticed.

Within hours, the comment sections were flooded with theories and heart-eyed emojis. To the internet, these weren’t just photos, they were proof.

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Driver's Parade

The truck moved at a crawl, weaving past grandstands packed with fans shouting your names and waving flags like their lives depended on it. You kept your sunglasses on, smile practiced, waving just enough to look friendly, nothing more, nothing less.

Lando stood beside you, doing the exact same thing. Waving, smiling, keeping the conversation low between the two of you. Like you weren’t both trying not to laugh at the stupid inside joke he’d just whispered about a guy holding a "Marry Me, Lando" sign.

He’d helped you into the truck earlier, hand out like a reflex, fingers brushing yours a second longer than necessary. No one caught that. At least, you thought so.

And then came the moment. You were both waving, smiling, still laughing at something only you two found funny, when Lando’s hand casually dropped to the small of your back as the truck began to make a turn at a corner. Barely there. Light. Familiar.

Too familiar.

It lingered for just a second before he suddenly realized. His hand flew back like he’d touched something hot, and he looked ahead like nothing happened. But you could see the panic flash across his face for a split second.

You didn’t say anything, just smirked.

Unfortunately for both of you, Charles did notice, and so did your fans. From the truck behind, he leaned over dramatically and yelled, “Oooohhh! I saw that, penalty for Norris”

Lando groaned under his breath. You tried, and failed, not to laugh, biting your lip as your shoulders shook.

“Smooth,” you teased him, still smiling to the crowd.

“Tiny slip up, just a friendly hand” he whispered, eyes still forward like a guilty schoolboy.

He glanced over his shoulder, then muttered with a grin, “If this ends up on a fan cam—”

You bumped his shoulder playfully. “Please. They’ve already made ten TikToks about us just from this truck ride alone.”

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Rain

The rain had been relentless, hammering down onto the track, forcing a red flag that left drivers scattered around the paddock like bored students on a rainy field trip. Some retreated to their garages, napping, listening to music to stay focused, while others found creative ways to pass the time. A few were even caught playing football with balled-up tire warmers.

You, Lando, and Carlos had ended up in a quiet corner of the paddock, chatting while waiting out the weather. The broadcast cameras, desperate for content, eventually found their way to your little trio, panning slowly toward the three of you laughing at something Carlos had said.

Then the focus shifted—subtly, but noticeably—to just you and Lando.

Lando stood close, holding an umbrella tilted almost entirely your way, rain spattering off the edges while he stayed mostly outside the shelter himself. His hoodie was already damp, but he didn’t seem to care. You nudged him at one point, trying to shift it so he wasn’t fully out in the wet, but he just gave you a boyish grin and said something that made you laugh.

That’s when the Max Fewtrell, Lando's good friend, side eyes his running twitch stream, knowing full well the moment the camera just caught would send fans into a full blown spiral.

Max paused. Blinked. And then, slowly, looked straight into the camera with the most dramatic, expression he could manage.

“Right,” he said, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth twitching with a grin. “So it’s that kind of weather delay, huh?”

The chat exploded within seconds, fans already reading into the umbrella, the body language, the fact that Lando didn’t seem remotely interested in moving.

Max leaned in, voice dropping and thick with teasing. “Alright chat, calm down—cut our boy some slack and give him a fighting chance.”

Back on screen, Lando caught the camera out of the corner of his eye, shifted the umbrella just enough… and casually rested a hand on your back, if only for a moment.

Carlos caught it. You caught the smirk.

Max definitely caught it.

“Look at these two—already causing more buzz than the race itself.”

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Secret Santa

To this day, fans swear the annual driver Christmas gift exchange was the clearest sign that something more was going on between you and Lando Norris.

It was already suspicious enough that, out of all the names in the bucket, you and Lando somehow ended up picking each other. But what truly sent the internet into a frenzy were the gifts—thoughtful, personal, impossibly specific. The kind of presents only two people who knew each other too well would give.

Lando was mid-unwrapping, his usual excited grin slipping into a confused frown as he rotated the box in his hands, trying to make sense of it.

“Oh, sh—” His eyes widened. “—Sorry, cut that out,” he added quickly, glancing toward the crew with a sheepish grin.

Inside the box: a 1:1 LEGO replica of Lando’s first-ever karting helmet. Every detail was there—from the exact color scheme to the little decals only a handful of people would remember. Attached to the side of the box was a small envelope. He opened it and read aloud:

“From someone who knows how much this still means to you.”

Lando went quiet. Just for a second. The camera zoomed in slightly, catching the subtle shift in his expression.

“Who do you think your Secret Santa was?” someone asked off-camera.

“Oh, I know exactly who it was,” Lando said, chuckling softly. “Still kinda freaky how she managed to pull this off—I’m guessing my mum or dad helped her out.”

“Did they do a good job?”

“It’s perfect,” he said, smiling as he gently patted the box. “I love it. Definitely looking forward to building it and putting it on display.”

“And do you think the person you got will like their gift?”

Lando laughed under his breath. “I mean… I got her. And she’s already beaten me in the gift department—but yeah, I really hope she does.”

The video then cut to you, sitting just outside Aston Martin’s hospitality unit, carefully unwrapping a paper bag handed to you just before filming began.

“Who do you think your Secret Santa is?”

You glanced up, laughing as you peeled away the last bit of tissue paper. “Charles, maybe? He’s been asking me about my hobbies recently—like, weirdly specific questions.”

Your eyes dropped to the contents of the bag: a vintage film camera and a leather-bound journal. Your race number and initials were engraved on the cover in gold. You flipped it open slowly, revealing a message on the inside page:

For every moment you want to remember, and the ones you think you’ll forget.

You let out a breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “No way. This is so—” You shook your head, smiling. “This is so nice. You guys… best Secret Santa season ever, I think.”

Then you paused, adding with a laugh, “No offense to Alex—he got me that spa voucher last year and it was amazing.”

“Any idea who your Secret Santa was?”

You smiled, chuckling as you hugged the journal to your chest. “Yeah, I do.”

“Still think it was Charles?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he was just genuinely curious about my hobbies,” you laugh.

“Any other guesses?”