vali 𐙚

the air in the preserve is always thick, but tonight it feels heavy. heavy with the smell of pine and damp earth and something else. something metallic and wrong. it's the smell of your blood.

it's all over stiles' hands. slick and warm and impossible. he keeps pressing, keeps trying to stop it, but it just keeps seeping through his fingers, a relentless tide of red. his hands are shaking so badly he can barely keep the pressure steady.

"okay, okay, just... just stay with me," he's saying, his voice a frantic, high-pitched thing you barely recognize. it's usually so full of sarcastic quips and nervous energy. now it's just raw. shredded with panic. "you're fine. you're totally fine. we're fine. scott's coming. he'll be here any second and he'll... he'll do his wolfy thing and you'll be good as new. just... just don't close your eyes. hey. look at me."

you try. you really do. you try to focus on his face, on the constellation of moles across his cheekbone, on the desperate, pleading look in his whiskey-colored eyes. but everything's blurry. the edges of your vision are softening, darkening, like a photograph left out in the sun too long.

it was peter hale. it's always peter hale. one minute you were walking with stiles, complaining about the latest supernatural nonsense, the next there was a flash of blue eyes and a sickening crunch. you don't even know what he hit you with. you just remember the pain, a blinding, white-hot agony in your side, and stiles screaming your name.

"please," he whispers now, and his voice cracks. a tear escapes, tracing a clean path through the dirt and blood on his cheek. he doesn't even seem to notice it. all his focus is on you, on the gaping wound in your side that his hands are failing to fix. "please, just... just breathe. you can do that, right? just... in and out. with me. come on."

he tries to demonstrate, taking a shaky, hitching breath, but it dissolves into a choked sob. "shit. shit, i'm sorry. i'm trying. i'm trying so hard."

you want to tell him it's okay. you want to reach up and wipe the tear away, to tell him that this isn't his fault, that he's the best thing that's ever happened to you. but you can't. your limbs feel like they're made of lead, heavy and unresponsive. all your energy is focused on the simple, monumental task of trying to draw another breath.

"scott!" he yells, his voice cracking on the name. he's not yelling at you anymore. he's yelling into the trees, at the empty darkness. "scott, where are you?! i need you! we need you!"

the pressure on your side lessens for a second as he fumbles with his phone, his bloody fingers slipping on the screen. "no, no, no," he chants, a desperate mantra. "pick up, pick up, pick up."

he gives up, throwing the phone aside with a cry of frustration. his hands are back on you, pressing harder than before. "it's okay," he says, and he's talking to himself now as much as he's talking to you. "it's okay. we don't need him. we can do this. me and you. we always do this. remember that time with the pixies?^1^ you were so annoying then. you kept... you kept making jokes and i wanted to... i wanted to..."

his voice trails off. the memory is too painful. too happy. a stark contrast to the horror of right now.

you can feel the cold starting to set in. it's a strange kind of cold, a deep, bone-deep chill that has nothing to do with the night air. it's leeching the warmth from your body, replacing it with a numb, heavy stillness. the pain is fading, becoming a distant echo. that's almost scarier.

"no," stiles says, and he knows. he can see it in your face. he can feel the way your body is going slack beneath his hands. "no, no, no, no. don't you dare. don't you dare leave me. you hear me? you don't get to do this. you don't get to... to die in the woods like some... some stupid horror movie cliché. that's not our story. our story is... it's annoying, and it's complicated, and it's got a really killer soundtrack, but it's not this. it's not this."

he's crying in earnest now, his shoulders shaking with silent, racking sobs. his tears are falling onto your face, hot and salty. "please," he whispers, his forehead dropping to yours. it's a desperate, final plea. "please wake up. just open your eyes. one more time. just... look at me."

but you can't. the darkness is pulling you under, a soft, quiet blanket. the last thing you hear is the sound of his heart breaking, a single, ragged gasp of your name.

and then, nothing.

he stays there for a long time. hours, maybe. or maybe it's only minutes. time has lost all meaning. he just leans over you, his body curled around yours, his hands still pressed uselessly against the wound that's no longer bleeding. he's not trying to fix it anymore. he's just... holding on.

the distant sound of yelling eventually cuts through the fog in his head, and the frantic crashing of someone running through the underbrush. scott. it's scott. but it doesn't matter. it's too late.

he doesn't move when he gets there. he doesn't answer when his best friend calls his name. he just keeps his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed, whispering the same words over and over again, a prayer to a god who isn't listening.

"come back," he whispers. "please, just come back."

you know those moments in life that feel like a scene from a movie? not the big, dramatic moments with swelling orchestras and rain-soaked confessions. i'm talking about the quiet, intimate moments. the ones where the camera zooms in on a tiny detail, and the sound fades away, and all that's left is the feeling in the air. thick. heavy. charged.

that's what my bathroom felt like right now.

the shower had just shut off, and the air was thick with steam, smelling of my coconut and vanilla body wash. i was wrapped in a fluffy towel, my hair dripping onto my shoulders, leaving little cold trails down my back. beyond the slightly ajar bathroom door, i could hear the soft rustle of sheets. lando. in my bed. waiting for me.

my heart was doing this frantic, fluttery thing against my ribs, like a trapped bird. this was it. this was the night. we'd been dancing around this for months, this electric tension that hummed between us whenever we were in the same room. stolen glances in the garage, hands that brushed "accidentally" when passing a coffee cup, late-night texts that grew progressively more flirtatious.

and now, he was here. in my flat. in my bed.

and i was having a full-blown panic attack about being naked.

which is ridiculous. i mean, it's just a body. i have one. he has one. we've both seen the human form before. but this was different. this wasn't some clinical, detached observation. this was... vulnerable. this was lando, who i adored with an intensity that sometimes scared me. this was letting him see all of me. not just the funny, sarcastic me who could quote every line from 'love actually', or the supportive me who wore his lucky hoodie on race days. but the soft, unedited, completely exposed me.

i took a deep breath, trying to steady my hands. i could do this. i dropped the towel.

and immediately snatched it back up, wrapping it so tightly around myself i think i cut off my own circulation. what was i thinking? i couldn't just... walk out there. like some sort of... naked person. a million insecurities flooded my brain. my thighs touch. my stomach isn't flat. there's a weird little scar on my knee from when i fell off my bike when i was twelve. what if he looks at me and... is disappointed? what if the reality doesn't live up to whatever fantasy he's built up in his head?

"you alright in there?" his voice called out, soft and a little hesitant. it cut through my spiral of panic.

"yeah! just... moisturizing!" i called back, my voice cracking embarrassingly. i squeezed my eyes shut. moisturizing? really? that's the best i could come up with?

i heard a soft chuckle from the bedroom. "take your time. no rush."

his gentleness was my undoing. it would be so much easier if he was some cocky arsehole. but he wasn't. he was lando. patient, kind, thoughtful lando. who was probably lying in my bed right now, wondering if i'd gotten lost or maybe decided to renovate the bathroom.

i looked at my reflection in the foggy mirror. my face was flushed, my eyes wide. i looked terrified. this was stupid. i was being stupid.

with another shaky breath, i made a decision. i was going to do it. i was going to be brave. i dropped the towel again, quickly, before i could change my mind, and grabbed the silk robe hanging on the back of the door. it was better than nothing. a small, flimsy shield, but a shield nonetheless.

i opened the bathroom door.

the soft lamplight from my bedside table cast the room in a warm, golden glow. he was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching me. he'd kicked off the duvet, so he was just in his boxers, and the sight of his bare chest and the familiar constellation of his tattoos did absolutely nothing to calm my racing heart.

when he saw me, his face broke into this soft, easy smile. "there you are. i was about to send a search party."

i tried to smile back, but it felt wobbly. "sorry. got... distracted."

i stood there, frozen by the side of the bed, clutching the front of my robe like it was a life vest. i felt so awkward. my limbs didn't feel like my own. what was the protocol here? was there a smooth, sexy way to get into bed? i clearly didn't know it.

his smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of gentle concern. he sat up a little, the sheets pooling around his waist. "hey," he said softly. "what's up?"

"nothing," i squeaked. "i'm fine."

he just looked at me, his eyes so open and perceptive it felt like he could see right through me, through the robe, through all the walls i'd just thrown up. "you're standing a mile away from the bed and you look like you're about to face a firing squad. that's not exactly 'fine' in my book."

i deflated. the fight, the pretense, just drained out of me. i shuffled closer to the bed, but still didn't get in. "i'm just..." i trailed off, not knowing how to say it without sounding completely insane.

"what?" he prompted, his voice impossibly gentle. he reached out a hand, palm up, an invitation. "talk to me."

i took his hand, his fingers lacing with mine, grounding me. i took a deep breath and just... said it.

"i'm shy," i admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "about... this. being naked. in front of you."

i braced myself for the laugh, or the confused look, or the "why?" but it didn't come. instead, his expression softened into something so tender it made my chest ache. he gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

"oh," he said, like he was just putting together a puzzle piece. "really?"

i just nodded, feeling my cheeks heat up.

he sat up fully, moving closer to the edge of the bed, our joined hands resting between us. "hey, look at me," he said. i reluctantly met his gaze. "there is literally nothing to be shy about."

"easy for you to say," i mumbled, looking down at our hands. "you're... you. you're literally built like a greek god and you're used to being, like, half-naked all the time for your job."

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "that's different. that's... for a camera. that's a performance. this," he gestured between us, "is just... us. and i don't care about any of that stuff. i care about you."

"but what if—" i started, but he cut me off.

"no 'what ifs'," he said firmly, but his voice was still soft. he let go of my hand and instead placed his on my waist, right over the silk tie of my robe. his touch was warm and steady. "can i tell you what i see when i look at you?"

i nodded, my breath held tight in my chest.

"i see the girl who snorted so hard laughing at one of my terrible jokes that she spat wine all over max's new shirt. i see the girl who stayed up with me until 4 am after a shitty race, just letting me vent, never once making it about herself. i see the girl who has the most incredible smile, and when you're happy, it's like the whole room gets brighter."

his thumb was stroking slow circles over the silk, and i could feel the heat of his hand seeping through.

"i'm not looking for perfection," he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "i'm not looking for some airbrushed ideal. i'm just looking for you. all of you. the shy bits, the loud bits, the weird bits, the naked bits. i want it all."

my eyes were stinging. i couldn't believe this. this wonderful, beautiful man was sitting here, dismantling every single one of my insecurities with just a few quiet words.

he tugged gently on the tie of my robe. "you don't have to be anything you're not with me. ever. okay? just be you. that's all i want."

i took a shaky breath, and then another. and then, with trembling fingers, i reached up and undid the tie myself. the robe fell open, and i let it slide from my shoulders, pooling in a soft heap on the floor.

i stood there, completely exposed, my heart hammering, waiting.

lando didn't say anything. he just looked. his eyes roamed over me, not with judgment or critique, but with a quiet, reverent awe. he looked at me like i was something precious, something to be cherished. it was the most overwhelming, terrifying, and beautiful thing i had ever felt.

after a moment that stretched into eternity, he reached out and gently took my hand, pulling me towards him. i climbed onto the bed, and he immediately wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. skin to skin. his warmth seeped into me, chasing away the last of my chills.

he tilted my chin up, his eyes searching mine. "there you are," he murmured, a soft smile playing on his lips. "hi."

i let out a watery laugh. "hi."

okay, so, you need to understand something about me and michael jackson. we're friends. like, actually friends. which is still a sentence my brain short-circuits trying to process on a good day. i'm just... me. i work in costume design, i have a cat who hates everyone but me, and my idea of a fun friday night is reorganizing my bookshelf. and he's... well. he's michael. living legend, global icon, king of pop. it's absurd.

but somehow, it works. we clicked over a mutual love for old films and terrible puns. he'll call me at 2 am to ask if i've seen some obscure 1940s comedy. i'll text him pictures of my cat, mittens, sitting on a copy of 'thriller' like she owns the place. it's easy. it's comfortable.

except for the part where i'm hopelessly, head-over-heels, can't-breathe-when-he-looks-at-me in love with him.

which, you know, is fine. totally fine. i can be normal about it. i've been normal about it for years.

except for today.

today was not a normal day. today was the final fitting for the new tour costumes, which meant i was at neverland from 6 am until... well, it was now 10 pm. i'd subsisted on a diet of black coffee and the half a bagel karen from wardrobe had pushed on me around noon. my brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. my eyes were burning. i was running on pure, unadulterated fumes and desperation.

michael had found me hiding out in the screening room, curled up in one of the plush velvet chairs, trying to muster the energy to drive home. the lights were low, some old frank sinatra crooning softly from the speakers. it was peaceful.

"there you are," he said, his voice soft. he didn't startle me. i'd developed a sixth sense for his presence, a specific kind of quiet energy that was uniquely his. he sat down in the chair next to me, not too close, but close enough that i could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne.

"just recharging my batteries," i mumbled, not looking at him. if i looked at him, i'd forget how to words. my brain was already malfunctioning. looking at him would be like pouring water on a frayed electrical socket.

"long day?" he asked, and i could hear the smile in his voice.

"long decade," i corrected, finally risking a glance at him. bad idea. terrible idea. in the dim light, his eyes were impossibly soft, and he was smiling this little half-smile that made my stomach do gymnastics. i immediately looked away, focusing my gaze on a very interesting spot on the velvet armrest.

he chuckled, a low, warm sound. "karen said you were a drill sergeant today."

"someone had to be," i said, my voice a little too high. i cleared my throat. "sequins don't just sew themselves on, you know."

"i know," he said, his tone gentle. "you're a miracle worker." he paused, and i could feel him looking at me, really looking at me. i started fidgeting with the drawstring on my hoodie, twisting it around my finger until it cut off my circulation. anything to avoid looking at him again.

"you're acting weird," he said, and it wasn't an accusation. just an observation. curious. gentle.

"no, i'm not," i said, way too fast. way too defensive. my heart started hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. this is it. this is where he figures out i'm a complete weirdo and our friendship dissolves into awkward silence.

he just raised an eyebrow, that perfect, expressive eyebrow. "yes, you are. you won't look at me. you're talking like a robot. you're about to unravel that drawstring." he gestured with his chin towards my hands.

i dropped the drawstring like it was on fire. my face felt hot. i could feel the panic rising in my throat, thick and suffocating. i was tired. so, so tired. and he was looking at me with those big, concerned eyes, and the filter between my brain and my mouth, which is already pretty flimsy on a good day, had completely disintegrated.

the words came out before i could stop them, a rush of sleep-deprived, panic-fueled honesty.

"i'm sleep deprived and i have a crush on you and so i don't know how to act normal right now."

silence.

complete and utter silence.

frank sinatra kept singing, blissfully unaware that my entire life had just imploded in this dark screening room. i squeezed my eyes shut. i wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. i wanted to rewind time by thirty seconds and staple my mouth shut. i wanted to evaporate.

i waited for the awkward laugh, the gentle let-down, the "oh. i see."

but it didn't come.

instead, i heard a soft sound. a huff of air, almost like a laugh, but quieter. more... breathless.

i risked opening one eye.

he was looking at me, but his expression wasn't weirded out or uncomfortable. it was... soft. so incredibly soft. a slow smile was spreading across his face, reaching his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. he looked... pleased. genuinely, deeply pleased.

"oh," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "is that all?"

i stared at him. my brain, already running on empty, completely bluescreened. "is that all?" i repeated, my voice squeaking. "michael, i just basically confessed my soul to you in the least smooth way possible. that's... that's not a small thing!"

"no," he agreed, and he reached out, his fingers gently brushing my hand where it was clenched into a fist on the armrest. his touch was hesitant, warm. "it's not a small thing. it's a very big thing." he paused, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. "a good thing."

"a good thing?" i was an echo at this point, just repeating whatever he said in a state of disbelief.

"yeah," he said, his smile widening. he shifted closer, the space between us shrinking until our knees were almost touching. "so... sleep deprived, huh?"

i let out a shaky laugh, a weird, hiccupping sound that was half sob, half relief. "catastrophically," i admitted. "i think i hallucinated a dancing teacup on the freeway on my way here."

he laughed then, a real, proper laugh that filled the small room and made my heart feel like it was expanding in my chest. "okay," he said, his voice still laced with amusement. "first, i'm having someone drive you home. you are not getting behind a wheel. second," he squeezed my hand, "we're going to talk about this. but maybe after you've had, like, twelve hours of sleep."

i just nodded, speechless. he was still smiling at me, that soft, fond smile that was now reserved for me, for this moment, for my ridiculous, clumsy confession.

"you know," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in a little closer. "for the record, i think you act pretty normal for someone who's catastrophically sleep deprived and harboring a secret crush."

i managed a weak smile. "is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"it is," he said, his eyes twinkling. "it means even when you're not trying, you're still my favorite person to be around."

the thing about me is that i have absolutely no volume control. none. zip. zilch. my internal monologue and my external monologue are basically the same thing, and they both operate at like, a solid 8/10 on the volume scale at all times. it's gotten me into trouble more times than i can count, but it's just... who i am. i feel things loudly, i talk loudly, i exist loudly.

max figured this out pretty early on in our relationship. we were at some gala, one of those fancy events where everyone whispers and clinks champagne flutes and talks about mergers or whatever. i was telling him a story about something ridiculous that happened at work that day, my hands flying everywhere, my voice getting progressively louder as i got more into the story. i was in the middle of a particularly dramatic reenactment when i felt it. this warm, firm pressure on my thigh, right above my knee. i glanced down. max's hand. he squeezed, just once, a gentle, grounding pressure.

i trailed off, looking at him. he had this tiny, almost imperceptible smile on his face, his blue eyes soft. "lower," he murmured, just for me. and just like that, the bubble of my loudness popped. i hadn't even realized how loud i'd gotten until he did that.

it's become our thing now. our silent little language.

like today, for example. we were at his parents' house for a sunday lunch. his mom was asking about my latest work project, and i was explaining the whole ridiculous saga with my boss and the impossible deadline. i could feel myself getting worked up, my voice rising with indignation as i recounted the fifth ridiculous demand of the week.

"—and then he had the nerve to say that my presentation lacked 'creative spark'! can you even believe that? after i spent the entire weekend—"

there it was. the gentle squeeze on my thigh, hidden under the table. max didn't even look at me, just kept nodding along to my story as he took a bite of his potatoes, but the message was clear. breathe. you're getting loud. i immediately modulated my voice, finishing the story in a more normal, indoor-appropriate tone.

later that evening, we were curled up on the sofa watching some dumb action movie. the hero was about to do something incredibly stupid, and i was getting antsy.

"no, don't go in there! you idiot, they're obviously waiting for you, the whole building is a—"

squeeze.

i deflated like a balloon, sinking back into the cushions. max chuckled, pulling me closer and pressing a kiss to my temple. "it's just a movie, liefje," he whispered. "he can't hear you."

"but someone should warn him!" i whisper-yelled back, gesturing indignantly at the screen.

he just laughed, his thumb rubbing slow circles on my jeans where his hand still rested. the touch was so familiar now, so comforting. it never feels like he's shushing me, or telling me i'm too much. it's not a criticism. it's a partnership. it's him saying, "i see you, i hear you, and i've got you."

the best part is when i'm excited, though. like after he wins a race. the adrenaline is still buzzing under my skin, and i'm basically vibrating with pride as we walk back to the motorhome.

"—and that overtake on lap 42 was pure poetry, max! the way you just slipped past him like he was standing still! and managing the tires like that, everyone said it was impossible but you—"

squeeze.

i'd look down at his hand on my leg, then up at his face. he's always smiling when he does it then, this proud, fond little smile that makes my heart do stupid flippy things. "i know," he'll say, his voice low and amused. "you've told me. approximately seven times now."

"well it deserves to be said seven times!" i'll retort, but my voice is already softer, more intimate, just for him.

it's funny, really. for a guy whose entire career is built on speed and noise and roaring engines, he's the calmest, quietest presence in my life. he's my anchor, my volume dial. and sometimes, when his hand is on my thigh and my voice has dropped to a whisper, i think the quiet moments are the loudest ones of all.

LANDO NORRIS

The living room smells like pine and cinnamon, lights blinking unevenly as you step back to admire the tree. Only one problem—the star. You stretch, standing on your toes, fingers barely grazing the tip.

“Need a pit stop?” Lando grins from behind you.

Before you can protest, he gently takes the star and reaches up effortlessly, fixing it perfectly. When he steps back, his arm slips around your waist.

“There,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your head. “Championship-winning tree.”

You laugh, leaning into him, warmth blooming stronger than the lights.

CHARLES LECLERC

You huff softly, wobbling on the chair as you try—again—to place the star.

“Mon amour, please don’t fall,” Charles says, already moving.

He steadies you with careful hands before taking the star, lifting it with quiet grace. The lights glow against his soft smile as he adjusts it just right.

When he hops down, he kisses your temple.

“It’s perfect,” he whispers.

You shake your head, smiling. “You just say that.”

He looks at you like you’re the only decoration he needs—and suddenly, Christmas feels complete.

CARLOS SAINZ

You’re determined. Stubborn, even. One hand stretches upward while the other steadies the tree.

“Amor,” Carlos laughs, stepping in. “You are doing this the hard way.”

He gently lifts you by the waist just enough for you to place the star yourself. Your laugh fills the room as you succeed.

When he sets you down, he keeps his hands there, forehead resting against yours.

“You see?” he says softly. “Teamwork.”

The tree sparkles behind you, but his smile is what makes your chest warm.

MAX VERSTAPPEN

You’re muttering under your breath when Max walks in, arms crossed, amused.

“You know,” he says casually, “you could’ve just asked.”

He takes the star, reaches up, and places it with precise focus—like everything he does.

When he steps back, he pulls you close, one arm firm around your shoulders.

“There,” he says quietly.

You glance up at him. “Thank you.”

He shrugs, but his thumb traces gentle circles against your arm.

“Christmas champion,” he adds. You smile, knowing that’s his version of affection.

ALEX ALBON

You laugh nervously as you try to reach the top, nearly knocking an ornament loose.

“Whoa—okay, I got it,” Alex says, hands already steadying the tree.

He takes the star and places it carefully, smiling shyly as he steps back.

When you cheer softly, he blushes.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, quieter than the lights twinkling.

You hug him without thinking, and he hugs back just as tight.

The room feels warm, peaceful—like this moment was always meant to be shared with him.

KIMI ANTONELLI

You’re standing on the couch, arms stretched, when Kimi bursts out laughing.

“Okay—no, that’s dangerous,” he says, rushing over.

He helps you down before grabbing the star and reaching up easily. The tree lights reflect in his excited eyes.

“There!” he says proudly.

You smile, teasing, “Show-off.”

He grins, bumping your shoulder.

The two of you step back together, admiring the tree.

“It feels real now,” he says softly.

OSCAR PIASTRI

You sigh, dropping your arms. “I’m too short.”

Oscar doesn’t say anything—he just steps forward, takes the star, and places it gently on top. Simple. Perfect.

When he steps back, you catch his small smile.

“There,” he says.

You lean into his side, and he lets you, hand resting comfortably on your shoulder.

The lights glow softly around you both.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper.

He glances down at you, eyes warm.

“Best one yet,” he replies—and somehow, you know he means more than just the tree.

GEORGE RUSSEL

You’re stretching dramatically when George clears his throat.

“May I?” he asks, already smiling.

He takes the star, placing it with careful precision, stepping back to adjust it just slightly.

“There,” he says, satisfied.

You laugh. “Of course you’d align it perfectly.”

He chuckles, wrapping an arm around you.

“Details matter.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, watching the lights shimmer.

A quiet moment settles between you—warm, calm, and full of promise.

LANDO NORRIS

You’re curled on the couch, blanket cocooned around you like a warning sign. Lando notices the silence first. That’s how he knows something is wrong. You’re never this quiet unless the world has personally offended you.

“Do you want… a joke?” he asks carefully. You glare at him. He panics.

Ten minutes later, he returns with an armful of items: a banana, three energy drinks, a LEGO car half-built, and a plush dinosaur wearing a McLaren hoodie.

“I Googled ‘what helps when girlfriend is mad,’” he explains. “It said potassium.”

“I am bleeding internally,” you snap. “And you brought me fruit.”

He freezes. “Right. Bad fruit.”

He sets everything down anyway, accidentally knocking the LEGO car apart. The sound is your final straw.

“Oh my god.”

“I can fix it!” he blurts. “Or—wait—do you want the dinosaur?”

The dinosaur stares at you with stitched optimism.

You groan and turn away, face buried in the pillow.

Lando sits beside you, unsure, hands hovering like you might explode. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits softly. “But I really want to help.”

You don’t answer, but you don’t move when he gently drapes the blanket back over your shoulders. He stays. Quiet. Still.

Five minutes later, you reach out and steal the dinosaur.

He smiles like he’s won a championship. Again.

CHARLES LECLERC

Charles realizes something is wrong when you sigh for the twelfth time in a minute.

“What’s wrong, mon amour?” he asks gently.

“Everything.” That’s not helpful, but he nods like it is.

He disappears and comes back with tea, chocolate… and a violin. You stare. “Why do you have a violin.”

“I thought maybe music would soothe you,” he says earnestly. “Mozart is very calming.”

“My uterus is trying to kill me, Charles.”

He pales. “Oh.”

He still plays, softly, beautifully—wrongly timed. The sound makes your head pound. “Please stop.”

He stops instantly, horrified. “I’m sorry, I’m so bad at this.”

Then he returns again. This time with candles. Scented ones. Strongly scented.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I hate lavender.”

His shoulders slump. “I made it worse.”

You’re still annoyed, still hurting, but the way he looks at you—like he’s personally failed you—softens something.

He sits beside you, hand warm and hesitant on yours. “Tell me what you need,” he whispers. “I will learn.”

You don’t answer. You just lean into him.

And he stays silent, finally doing the right thing.

CARLOS SAINZ

Carlos thinks he’s prepared.

He is not.

You snap at him for breathing too loud, and suddenly he’s on a mission. Fix-it mode activated.

He returns with a heating pad, which is good—then ruins it by also bringing protein bars, a foam roller, and a motivational quote book.

“I thought maybe movement helps?” he suggests.

“I will throw that book.”

He laughs nervously. “Okay, no book.”

You glare as he starts reading one quote anyway. “No pain, no—”

“Carlos.”

He stops.

He sits beside you, rubbing your back like he’s defusing a bomb. “I don’t understand this,” he admits. “But I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

You huff. “You brought gym snacks.”

“I panicked.”

That makes you snort despite yourself. He grins, hopeful.

Then he offers you the heating pad properly, tucks it in, and pulls you against his chest.

“I’ll stay,” he says. “I won’t fix anything.”

Finally. Relief.

MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max does not panic.

Max overcompensates.

You snap at him once and suddenly he’s placing things in front of you like offerings: painkillers (wrong brand), a sandwich (wrong texture), and an ice pack.

“Why is it cold?” you groan.

“Inflammation,” he shrugs.

“I need warmth.”

He stares. Processes. Replaces it with a hoodie—his hoodie—dropped directly onto your head.

“Max.”

“It’s warm.”

You push it off, annoyed, but you keep it.

He sits nearby, awkward and quiet. “I don’t get this stuff,” he mutters. “But you’re allowed to be angry.”

That helps. A little.

He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t joke. Just stays, guarding the space.

Eventually, he nudges chocolate toward you without a word.

You take it.

He smirks like that was the plan all along.

ALEX ALBON

Alex is sweet. Too sweet.

You’re grumpy, curled up, and he keeps asking, “Are you okay?” every two minutes.

“No.”

“Oh. Do you want soup?”

“No.”

“Tea?”

“No.”

He returns anyway with mismatched mugs, socks, and a stuffed bear wearing a Williams cap.

“I thought comfort items help,” he says softly.

You groan. “I hate being perceived.”

He laughs, relieved you’re still you. He sits beside you, gentle, rubbing circles on your arm.

“I’m sorry I can’t fix it,” he says.

You sigh, annoyed but calmer. “Just stay.”

He does. Quietly. Perfectly.

KIMI ANTONELLI

Kimi is visibly out of his depth.

You’re moody, quiet, clearly uncomfortable, and he’s Googling furiously.

He returns with: gummy bears, a space documentary paused on his phone, and a bottle of sports drink.

“I read sugar helps,” he says. “And distractions.”

You blink at him. “Why space.”

“It’s cool?”

You sigh dramatically.

He sits beside you anyway, nervous hands folded. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You soften despite yourself. He’s trying so hard.

“You didn’t,” you mumble.

He smiles, relief flooding his face, and hands you the gummy bears like they’re sacred.

OSCAR PIASTRI

Oscar approaches the situation like an engineering problem.

You’re irritated. Variables unknown.

He returns with a checklist. Literally.

“Pain relief?” he asks. “Heating pad?”

“Yes.”

He adds snacks. Correct ones. Then ruins it by setting a timer. “We should monitor—”

You glare.

He stops immediately. “Right. No monitoring.”

He sits quietly, arm around you, steady and calm.

“Tell me if you need anything,” he says. “Or nothing.”

You choose nothing.

He understands.

GEORGE RUSSEL

George goes full caretaker.

Too full.

Blankets, tea, candles, soft music—all at once.

“It’s too much,” you groan.

He freezes. “I’m sorry.”

"Just be here" He sits beside you, tall frame gentle, hand warm on yours.

“I don’t need to fix it,” he says. “I just don’t want you to feel alone.”

That, finally, is perfect.

Max Verstappen — “You Named Him What?”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Max doesn’t expect to meet your cat this early. He’s barely met you early. Third date, casual dinner at your place, no pressure. Or so he thinks.

The apartment is warm, cozy, unmistakably you. Max slips his shoes off, eyes scanning shelves cluttered with books and racing memorabilia he pretends not to notice. Before he can comment, something orange darts past his legs.

“Whoa—” Max freezes. “Was that…?”

You grin. “That’s my cat.”

The cat jumps onto the couch, tail flicking like it owns the world. Max stares. The cat stares back. Same intensity. Same unblinking confidence.

“What’s his name?” Max asks, already suspicious.

You hesitate just a second too long. “Max.”

Silence.

Max blinks. “Max… what?”

“Just Max.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, half disbelief, half amusement. “You named your cat Max?”

“I had him before I met you!” you defend. “He’s loud, competitive, and refuses to back down.”

The cat meows, as if agreeing.

Max squints at him. “He’s got attitude.”

“He bites ankles when he loses at laser pointer,” you add.

Max drops onto the couch beside you, shaking his head, smiling despite himself. “So I’m dating someone who already had a Max in their life.”

The cat hops into your lap, instantly settling. Max watches the way your hand moves automatically through fur, gentle and familiar.

“…He’s cute,” Max admits. “Annoying. But cute.”

“Like you,” you tease.

Max smirks, leaning closer. “Careful. If I start sleeping on your couch and stealing your attention, this cat and I are going to have problems.”

The cat flicks his tail. Max sighs. “Yeah. I figured.”

Charles Leclerc — “Mon Chat" *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*

Charles is soft from the start. He always is with you—quiet smiles, lingering touches, the kind of dating that feels intentional.

When he comes over, he brings pastries. Of course he does. You barely have time to thank him before a white blur darts across the kitchen floor.

“Oh!” Charles laughs. “You didn’t tell me you had a cat.”

“He’s shy,” you say.

As if offended, the cat jumps onto the counter, blue eyes locked on Charles.

Charles freezes. “Why does he look like he’s judging me?”

You sigh. “Because his name is Charles.”

The cat meows. Loudly.

Charles’s mouth falls open. “Non. No. You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

He crouches slowly, eyes softening. “You named him Charles?”

“I adopted him in Monaco,” you explain. “He was elegant, dramatic, and screamed constantly.”

Charles laughs, hand over his face. “That is not fair.”

The cat walks over, sniffing him, then presses his head into Charles’s hand like he’s known him forever.

Charles melts instantly. “Oh no,” he whispers. “I love him.”

You watch as he pets your cat with reverence, like this is some sacred bonding ritual.

“So,” Charles says gently, glancing up at you, “if this works out… am I allowed to be Charles Two?”

You smile. “You’ll always be my favorite Charles.”

The cat jumps into his lap.

Charles sighs happily. “I can live with that.”

Carlos Sainz — “The Other Carlos”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

Carlos is mid-story, hands animated, voice warm, when something furry barrels into the room and skids across the floor.

He laughs instantly. “Okay, that was dramatic.”

“That’s Carlos,” you say casually.

He pauses. “…Sorry?”

You gesture to the cat now aggressively grooming itself. “Carlos.”

Carlos stares. Then bursts out laughing. “No way. You named your cat Carlos?”

“He answers to Carlito,” you add.

Carlos crouches, grinning. “I respect it.”

The cat walks over, sniffing him, then sits. Just sits. Like he’s evaluating.

Carlos nods solemnly. “I understand. You’re the original.”

Later, when Carlos drapes an arm around you, the cat wedges itself between you.

Carlos sighs dramatically. “I see how it is.”

But he’s smiling the whole time.

George Russell — “Proper Introductions”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

George wants to make a good impression. He always does.

When your cat strolls in, tail high, George straightens. “Hello there.”

“That’s George,” you say.

He blinks. “As in… me?”

The cat jumps onto the table.

George laughs, delighted. “Well. That explains a lot.”

Later, as the cat curls up beside him, George murmurs, “I think he approves.”

You swear you’ve never seen him look prouder.

Kimi Antonelli — “Name Twins”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

Kimi’s young, excited, nervous in that sweet way.

Your cat launches onto his lap like a missile.

“That’s Kimi,” you say.

His eyes go wide. “Wait—really?”

The cat purrs loudly.

Kimi laughs, cheeks pink. “Okay. I think this means we’re friends.”

He doesn’t stop smiling the rest of the night.

Lando Norris — “Lando²”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lando hears the name before he sees the cat.

“Lando, stop that!” He freezes. “…I didn’t move.”

The cat knocks something over.

Lando points. “NO WAY.”

You’re laughing too hard to deny it. “Meet Lando.”

He crouches immediately. “You’re kidding. You named a menace after me?"

The cat bites his shoelace.

Lando gasps. “I feel seen.”

By the end of the night, Lando’s lying on the floor, cat on his chest.

“This is my legacy,” he says proudly.

Oscar Piastri — “Quiet Approval”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Oscar notices everything.

So when the cat hops up beside him, he asks calmly, “What’s his name?”

“Oscar.”

He pauses. “…Huh.”

The cat leans into him.

Oscar smiles softly. “I think that’s a good sign.”

Alex Albon — “Albon²”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Alex laughs the second you tell him.

“I knew I liked you,” he says, petting the cat. “You have excellent taste.”

The cat purrs.

The sky over Monaco was a dull grey, heavy clouds rolling over the coast like someone had drawn the blinds on the entire city. The rain hadn’t let up since dawn, the soft patter against the windows weaving in and out of your thoughts like background music to a film.

You stood barefoot in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken noodle soup with one hand, phone cradled between your shoulder and cheek. You were talking to your mom, half-distracted, eyes occasionally darting to the hallway leading to the living room.

“…no, Mom, he’s not dying. It’s just the flu,” you said with a small laugh, though your brows furrowed slightly. “Yes, I made him tea. No, not the ginger kind. He hates ginger. Yes, I made him change his socks.”

You hung up just as the soup hit a slow, rolling boil. The entire flat smelled like garlic, thyme, and something soothing. Comfort food. You hoped it would help. Charles wasn’t a good patient—he hated being down, hated being weak. Maybe it was the athlete in him, or the Monegasque stubbornness, or both.

You ladled the soup into a bowl, grabbed a glass of water, some tissues, and the cold medicine you’d all but forced him to take earlier. You balanced everything on a tray and padded into the living room.

Charles was exactly where you’d left him: slumped sideways on the couch in a sea of fleece blankets, his face half-buried in a pillow, damp hair matted to his forehead. His usual olive skin was paler than normal, with a rosy flush over his cheeks and nose that would’ve been cute if he didn’t look so miserable.

“Soup delivery,” you announced softly.

He stirred, blinking blearily. “You’re an angel.”

“You say that now. Wait until I make you take another dose of that disgusting syrup later.”

He groaned, weakly. “I’d rather crash the Ferrari.”

You laughed, setting the tray down and sitting beside him. You pressed a hand to his forehead, frowning. Still too warm. “Your fever’s not breaking.”

“Maybe it’ll go away if I just… stop acknowledging it.”

“Oh, so we’re doing the ‘ignore it and hope it disappears’ method? Very scientific, Mr. Leclerc.”

He cracked a tired smile. “It works for tire degradation.”

You rolled your eyes and handed him the soup, waiting as he slowly sat up to sip at it. He made a small, appreciative sound in the back of his throat after the first spoonful. You reached over and tucked the blanket around his legs again—he’d been kicking it off in his sleep all morning.

“Do you want to try eating more later?” you asked, gently carding your fingers through his hair.

“If it’s this soup, then yes.”

You tilted your head. “You’re sweet when you’re feverish.”

“I’m always sweet,” he croaked, before breaking into a harsh cough that made him double over. You rubbed his back until it passed, then handed him the water.

“I don’t know how you still look good like this,” you muttered. “It’s genuinely unfair.”

He sniffled dramatically. “Don’t lie. I look like a sickly goat.”

“You do not. Goats don’t have eyelashes like yours.”

He leaned his head against your shoulder after a few more bites of soup, warm and slightly damp. “Marry me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled, throat raw. “Not now. But one day. When I’m not disgusting.”

“Charles,” you said with a soft smile, wrapping an arm around him, “you could propose in the middle of a tissue avalanche and I’d still say yes.”

He paused, eyes lifting toward yours in that half-sleepy, vulnerable way you’d only seen a handful of times—moments when the helmet was off, the walls down.

“…Yeah?” he whispered.

You kissed his temple. “Yeah.”

A few hours passed in quiet.

Charles fell asleep against you, the soup forgotten, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours. You scrolled through your phone, read a few pages of a novel, checked his temperature again. He stirred every now and then, mumbling in French, half-lucid dreams mixing with the sound of the rain.

At one point, he startled awake, sweating and disoriented.

“Shh, baby, it’s just the fever,” you murmured, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth. He leaned into your hand like it grounded him.

“I thought I missed the race,” he said, still halfway in the dream.

“There’s no race. You’re safe. You’re home.”

He exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

Later, you coaxed him into a lukewarm bath to help bring his temperature down. He sat in the water like a sulking cat, hair damp, eyes drooping.

“I hate this,” he muttered.

“I know. But you’ll feel better. And I promise not to take any embarrassing photos.”

“…You better not.”

You tossed a clean towel at him. “I’ll delete the ones I already took, then.”

“Chérie!”

That evening, the rain let up for a while. The apartment glowed gold with lamp light, warm against the grey outside.

Charles was bundled in fresh pajamas and propped up with pillows in bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. You sat beside him with a heating pad over your lap and a book in hand. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus from the diffuser you'd set up earlier.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said, voice still rough but clearer.

You looked over. “You’d do the same.”

“I know. But still. You could’ve just left me to wallow.”

“You’d get soup on the ceiling if I did.”

He laughed—really laughed, even if it turned into a cough halfway through. You leaned over and pressed your lips to his cheek, letting them linger.

He reached up and gently cupped your face, thumb brushing along your jaw. “You make even the worst days feel bearable.”

You kissed him again, softer this time. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

His eyes searched yours, even glassy and heavy-lidded, and there was something more serious behind them now. “If I ever got really sick—like, properly sick—would you stay?”

The question knocked the breath from you for a moment.

“Of course I would. You don’t even have to ask.”

“I think about it sometimes,” he admitted, “how racing is everything one day, and the next… it’s gone. What if I wasn’t Charles Leclerc anymore?”

You closed the book and set it aside, fully turning toward him.

“You’d still be you,” you said, fingers brushing his. “I fell in love with you. Not just the driver. Not the Ferrari suit. Not the podiums. You, who snores when he’s stuffed up and eats cereal with a fork when we’re out of spoons. You who loves his family more than anything and sings off-key in the shower.”

He swallowed hard. “You make it sound like I’m worth staying for.”

“You are,” you said simply.

A long pause, just the sound of the rain starting up again outside.

Then: “I’m definitely marrying you.”

You laughed, threading your fingers through his again. “Not until you can say it without coughing halfway through.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Lando, staring at Max in a cage: …Why is he in a cage? George: Because he growled at me.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Alonso: "I am not petty. I am strategic. If karma doesn’t hit you, I will. With tire degradation."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Kimi R: "I don’t care what the strategy is. I’ll figure it out when I’m halfway through doing it wrong." Engineer: "But—" Kimi R: "Leave me alone, I know what I’m doing."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Lando: "You can’t just drive calmly and hope the chaos avoids you!" Oscar: "Watch me." (finishes P4 while saying nothing for 58 laps)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Charles: "I have the speed. I have the talent. I have the car." Ferrari Strategy Team: "Do you though?" Charles: (crashes into emotional damage)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Nico R: "We were friends once." Lewis: "And then you brake-checked me in Spa, and I knew peace was never an option."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Valtteri: "I used to be an F1 driver. Now I’m a mullet-powered legend with nothing to lose and a podcast."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Checo: "I don’t qualify well because I believe in dramatic arcs." Helmut Marko: "You're not the main character." Checo: "Tell that to the script."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Nigel Mansell: "You modern drivers have too much power steering, not enough chest hair." George Russell: "I moisturize." Nigel: "Exactly my point."

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Reporter: Do you talk to your car? Kimi R: No. It doesn’t talk back. Reporter: That’s... fair.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Senna: I brake late because I believe in God. Prost: I brake early because I believe in physics.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Engineer: How’s the car feel? Piastri: Like regret and aluminum. Engineer: ...Copy that.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Keke: I smoke, I drink, I slide the car. Prost: I calculate the optimal racing line. Keke: That’s why I’m cool and you’re French.

yourusername ✔︎

liked by elianakalogeras, noahrisling, danielricciardo, demitrakalogeras, sundaykalogeras and 1.3m others

yourusername editing the new video for y'all 😘

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user1 in y/n we trust ☺️

user2 i still don't know who's the oldest

user3 y/n is the oldest she's 25 then sunday she's 21 then demitra she's 18 and then eliana she's 17

user4 what's y/n's hair type??

user5 i'd say 3a or 3b

user6 i might be crazy...but is that daniel ricciardo in the likes??

user7 i thought it was a glitch!! omg he actually liked her post

elianakalogeras send me that picture pleaseee

yourusername ofc that's all u ask for 🙄

yourusername ✔︎

liked by yourbff, demitrakalogeras, danielricciardo, chrissturniolo and 3.2m others

yourusername life lately

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user1 she has a bf?? oh ma gawd will he be in the next vid??

user2 that would be epic but i doubt it

elianakalogeras just so y'all know that man could be her father 🙂

yourusername ELI!! STOP IT!

user3 lmao she's into older guys?? i get it i get it

user4 who is it please tell us!!

user5 do you guys think it's daniel??

user6 nah but he is suspiciously liking her posts 🤔

user7 he could just be a fan like us

user8 he's 35 i doubt he watches four girls on youtube for fun

user9 i put my bet that its daniel

kalogeras_news

liked by 64k users

kalogeras_news y/n kalogera accidentally shared faceless pics with her new mystery boyfriend—probably meant for her ‘only friends’ or private account! the photos were up for just a minute before getting deleted, but over 4k people already saw them. still no word on who the guy is…

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user1 it’s gotta be daniel, he’s always liking her stuff

user2 nah, i’m not convinced it’s him, could be someone else

user3 wait, daniel ricciardo? i can totally see it tho

user4 but like, why would she post it if she didn’t want anyone to know?

user5 that's why its called an 'accidental post' sherlock 🙄

user6 i lowkey thought it was a random dude but the likes make it suspicious

user7 i bet it’s someone from her friend circle, not him tho

user8 people are saying daniel because of the likes, but what if it's a whole different person?

user9 honestly, the way daniel likes all her posts, it’s gotta be him

user8 nah i don't think so. i mean she liked a lot of pedri's posts before and they aren't dating

user10 maybe she just didn’t want to make it public yet, idk

user11 either way, i wanna know who he is!

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, sundaykalogeras, noahrisling, elianakalogeras, demitrakalogeras and 2.3m others

yourusername i ain't saying anything 😤

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user1 yo that tattoo looks like daniel’s, am i tripping?

user2 that leg tattoo is too recognizable, c’mon now

user3 if that’s not daniel, i’ll eat my hat

user4 a lot of people have tattoos like that tho…

user5 okay but you look fire in these photos, y/n

user6 y/n really out here serving looks

user7 you look so good, forget the tattoo, we need more of these pics

demitrakalogeras gurl is that my bag??

yourusername yes? i'm the oldest i can take anything i want

user8 not sure why people are acting like daniel would ever date her, lmao

user9 if you’re gonna hate, at least make it creative. this is weak

yourusername

liked by elianakalogeras, demitrakalogeras, yourbff, danielricciardo and 3.5m others

yourusername i guess i do like older men

user1 i knew it was him! y'all look so cute together

user2 called it!! i knew daniel was the one she was talking about

user3 yoooo i was right all along, it was him! love this for you guys

user4 she’s 25, he’s 35… kinda creepy, no?

user5 yeah, it’s kinda weird. i’m not sure how i feel about it

user6 i mean, age gaps like this are more common than we think. not a big deal

user7 idk, i feel like people make a bigger deal out of age gaps than they need to

user8 10 years difference is wild, but okay

user11 i love you y/n, but i’m not feeling daniel. he’s just too old for you, girl

user12 honestly, why does it matter how you feel about it if she’s happy? let her live her life

kolagerascompalations ⤑ y/n and daniel being the best couple for 2 minutes straight

y/n stood next to eliana on the ice, talking to the camera while noah struggled to keep his balance on his skates, holding the camera steady. y/n turned her head to see daniel sitting on the bench, scrolling through his phone with a coffee in his hand. she skated away from the camera, and it followed her as she went to hug daniel. eliana let out a soft “aww,” while demitra chimed in with a playful “eww.”

---

while everyone’s getting ready for the video, daniel hums a random song, and y/n immediately joins in, singing the lyrics out loud. eliana and sunday give them weird looks, but daniel and y/n just smile at each other like no one else is around. “okay, that was cute,” y/n says, and daniel gives her a playful wink.

---

while filming a fun video with her sisters, demitra suddenly asks y/n, "how would you scream if you caught daniel in bed with someone else?" y/n raises her eyebrows, laughing. "that's a dramatic question!" demitra smirks, "let's recreate it!"

demitra and daniel hop into bed together, with demitra pretending to be the 'random lady.' y/n stands at the foot of the bed, taking a deep breath. "okay, here we go!"

y/n throws her hands up dramatically and lets out a loud, exaggerated scream, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" daniel bursts out laughing while demitra tries to stifle her giggles.

y/n dramatically points at demitra. "how could you betray me like this?" she fake pouts. daniel can’t stop chuckling and says, "babe i'm sorry!"

y/n finally drops the act, shaking her head with a smile. "okay, but for real, I would probably cry, not scream!" daniel stands up from the bed and leans over to her, chuckling, “I’d never do that to you, I promise!”

---

y/n and her sisters are gathered around a pottery wheel, filming a fun video. y/n glances at the camera and says, “you know, guys are really hot when they do pottery. there’s just something about it.” demitra nodded agreeing with her

just then, daniel walks into the frame, looking curious. y/n smirks at him. “what do you think? can you be a hot potter?”

without hesitation, daniel grabs a lump of clay and sits down at the wheel next to y/n, saying confidently, “watch and learn.” he starts shaping the clay, glancing over at y/n with a cheeky grin.

“okay, this is getting serious. look at you trying to prove you’re hot!” she playfully rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide her smile.

as daniel works on his pottery, y/n pretends to critique him. “that looks like a blob, daniel. I think you need more practice.” he looks over, feigning shock. “excuse me? this is art!”

eliana, watching from the side, laughs and says, “honestly, you both are cute, but i definitely wins the pottery competition!”

daniel playfully huffs, “well, I can be cute and hot at the same time, thank you very much!”

---

as daniel carries y/n, noah zooms in, teasing, “look at this simp, carrying his girl like a queen!”

yourusername

liked by lando, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 34k others

yourusername try to be a good woman in a world of bad bitches 💪

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user1 queen 😍

user2 good women are the real badasses

yourusername 😎

yourbff not the whole f1 grid liking your posts lately 🤔🤔

yourusername babe you know i don't speak that language 😭

carlossainz55 i finally found you

lando NO! CARLOS GET OUT OF HERE

charles_leclerc i wanna see why you're so into her too

user3 how are you senna's grandniece and have no idea about f1 😭😭

yourusername i just don't find interest in it 🤷‍♀️

user4 where is that sweater from wifey 😍

yourusername

liked by yourbff, bsennaofficial, lando and 65k others

yourusername kind people are my kinda people

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user1 stop i love your aesthetic sm

lando i'm kind! can i be yours??

user2 lando?? lmaoo

user3 she has lando wrapped around her finger without even posting her face

yourbff wife?? sorry... wife??

bsennaofficial lindas fotos

yourusername obrigado papai 🥰

charles_leclerc does lando have a thing for portuguese women or??

yourusername who's lando?

charles_leclerc a friend who's in love w u

yourusername

liked by lando, alex_albon, sebastianvettel, yourbff and 143k others

yourusername love grows wherever you plant it

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lando i planted our love in the dms

user1 you what?? user2 they are dating huh??!

user3 lando casually revealing their relationship

user4 i don't think they are dating

user5 beautiful

user6 mother giving us content again

user7 you know you're a beauty when lando is all over you she's a lucky one

user8 i don't think she gives a fuck honestly

lando.jpg

liked by danielricciardo, charles_leclerc, yourusername and 534k others

lando.jpg we are definetly two of a kind

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user1 lando??

user2 is this magui again??

user3 no magui has blonde hair that can't be her

user2 hair dye exist yk

user4 y/n in the likes?

user5 i think it's her

user6 lando pinned over her sm she actually gave in lmao

user7 they would actually be a power couple tho

user8 we need a confirmation from anyone else please

yourusername who's that??

lando it's the most beautiful girl ever whatchu on about??🤔

user9 ulala lando has some game??

user10 but y/n never shows her face so we will never see this wag content 😭

user11 chill we don't even know if its her

yourusername

liked by lando, yourbff, logansargeant, francocolapinto, oscarpiastri and 132k others

yourusername maybe saying yes wasn't such a bad thing after all

tagged: @/lando

daniel.jpg ✔︎

liked by lando, quadrant, yourusername, yukitsunoda0511 and 625k others

daniel.jpg she took my drink to 'try' and gave me back an empty one

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user1 i love when hot people date hot people

user2 she's a goddess 😍 and a diva 😘

user3 why

user4 couldn't even form a hate comment😭😭

yukitsunoda0511 she once took my bag of cookies bc i was supposed to be on a 'driver diet' i never got it back

user5 poor yuki lmaoo

user6 gf material!! i want one

user7 why couldn't he find someone... well ... yk

daniel.jpg no i don't know actually 🤔

user8 bro was gagged by the honey badger himself

user9 is he silent or was he silenced

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, alexandrasaintmleux, lando, f1wagsnews and 34k others

yourusername fellin' kinda hot rn

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danielricciardo mommy?? sorry... mommy??... sorry.. mommy??

user1 lmao danny 😭 true tho

user2 this made my hole weak... sorry i mean this made my whole week

user3 ayoo

lando holy mama 😍

danielricciardo holy-- BACK. OFF.

user4 agreeing with the caption

user5 she makes me question my sexuality

user6 leave daniel and come to me mama 😝

alexandrasaintmleux you're so beautiful

yourusername you areee

yourusername

liked by lando, danielricciardo, f1wagsnews, yourbff and 75k others

yourusername best part of the relationship: 'here's my card, stop yapping baby'

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user1 she's such a goldigger 🙄

user2 the caption is the oldest joke in the books lmaoo

user3 yess!! queen

yourbff beauty 😍

yourusername wifey 🥰

lando give me a chance 🥲

yourusername i might ask danny about this one lan 🥰

user4 where did you boy the bag

user5 her and daniel literally don't go together i don't get PR couples 🙄

user6 they aren't PR they are actually together

lando ✔︎

liked by nicosantos, f1, scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55, lewishamilton and 1.4m others

lando no matter where you go, you'll still be my best teammate

view all 644k comments

user1 lando what does that mean 😭😭

user2 i'm panicking... what do you mean by that

user3 i think he's leaving mclaren

user4 wait what?? lando or nico?

user3 nico probably bc of everything that has been happening lately

user5 ferrari liked- why did ferrari like this

user6 stop!! i don't want him to leave 😭😭

user7 what if he's leaving leaving

user8 no he isn't he's just changing teams

f1 ✔︎

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, nicosantos and 3.2m others

f1 nico santos is set to join ferrari for the 2025 season! wishing him all the best of luck!

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user1 don't you dare

user2 wait he will be replacing carlos?? then who's replacing nico??

user3 oscar piastri, who was a reserve driver for mclaren

user4 i kinda wanna see nico in red tho ngl

user5 samee he has a bright future in ferrari

user6 imagine he moved to red bull tho

user7 nah he'd be in his prime in red bull

user8 i thought nico and charles didn't like eachother

user9 in 2020 when nico was a rookie, yeah thats when they hated eachother. they are friends now

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by lando, alex_albon, yukitsunoda, galisteuoficial, mickschumacher and 2.3m others

nicosantos woooow i swear i was a pro but look at me now, just send me down the slope already, i’ll be fine… probably. but hey, at least the snow’s soft, right?

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user1 someone check if he's alive 😭

user2 bro i think you’ve discovered a new form of snow angel

user3 helpp

user4 i think ferrari already got to him

user5 how much did you need to pay for that window 😭😭

user6 did you just invent a new way to fall or…?

user7 i don’t think that’s how skiing works, but okay

user8 i think he knows user7 it was a joke

user9 that was the least impressive wipeout I’ve ever seen. try harder next time

user10 that's so fucked up

user11 guess we won’t be seeing you in a ferrari anytime soon, huh?

user12 just make sure you don’t hit your head... ifykyk

user13 the way i gasped

user14 why did adriane like this 💀

yourusername ✔︎

liked by joaofelix79, kyliejenner, oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter and 4.5m others

yourusername is he a wag? or am i? or is it us both?

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user1 who is he talking about??

user2 his bf but we don't know who it is yet

user3 you are both wags for eachother

user4 i thought only non athletes can be wags tho

user5 he's joking. he know that lmaoo

user6 kylie what are you doing here?? 🤔

user7 she's been stalking him for months

kyliejenner 😍

user8 girl did not read the caption lmaoo

joaofelix79 ✔︎

liked by pedroneto_30, pedri, chelseafc, colepalmer10, yourusername and 1.3m others

joaofelix79 great game! moving forward

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user1 i watched the game 😍 loved it

user2 miss you in barca

colepalmer10 💪💪

user3 y/n in the likes??

user4 so what? when joao is in his likes no one says anything

user5 who's y/n

user3 he's a swiss hockey player who has a bf but doesn't wanna tell who it is so we have to find out ourselves

user5 well if he doesn't wanna tell respect that tf

user6 ik you and y/n have something joao

user7 no they don't what the hell

user8 if joao and y/n are actually dating i love the diffrence in their captions

user9 that's why i think they aren't bc their posts are so diffrent

yourusername ✔︎

liked by swissicehockeyfederation, joaofelix79, kyliejenner, nhl and 3.6m others

yourusername we’re just really good at hiding in plain sight

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user1 y/n please!! i can't anymore i need to know

user2 let him have his fun he'll get bored eventually and tell us

user3 i think i know who it is

user4 who?? oml i wanna know so bad

user3 joao felix, he's a football player i think

user5 please tell us

user6 joao in the likes again!!

user7 he always likes but doesn't comment

kyliejenner stormi misses you 🥰

user8 kylie please you're embarassing yourself

user9 what is happening 😭😭

enews ✔︎

liked by 56k users

enews joao felix and y/n l/n were spotted kissing outside an airport restaurant in switzerland 😳 it’s looking like the whole ‘instagram’ thing might’ve been a bit of a cover-up after all.

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user1 i knew it

user2 honestly that's so disrespectful...they wanted to keep it private

user3 they should think of that before kissing in an open space area

user4 that's honestly kinds cutesy

user5 aww my two fav athletes are a couple 🥺

user6 it was kinda obvious by the likes on every post

user7 i just thought they were friends supporting eachother 😭

yourusername ✔︎

liked by joaofelix79, jackhughes, pedroneto_30 and 2.1m others

yourusername take a note: if you're a celebrity in a private relationship, don't kiss your partner in public 🥲

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joaofelix79 you're an idiot

yourusername i'm your idiot

user1 YESSS!!

user2 ha! take that kylie jenner!

user3 she can go back to timothee now

jackhuges my ship 🥺

user4 lmaoo jack was holding this secret in for so long

user5 when is the wedding and are we invited?

user6 kylie has been awfuly quiet 😭😭