#I love how Max is the one who's concerned

[zirconpetals]

Absolutely love this bit from the Hit the Road credits sequence where they crash into an actual police bike

[skrunksthatwunk]

just finished s2 of kaiji and it was good i really liked it but i hope i never see that fuckass pachinko machine again!!!

[trainsinanime]

I've seen a number of people worried and concerned about this language on Ao3s current "agree to these terms of service" page. The short version is:

Don't worry. This isn't anything bad. Checking that box just means you forgive them for being US American.

Long version: This text makes perfect sense if you're familiar with the issues around GDPR and in particular the uncertainty about Privacy Shield and SCCs after Schrems II. But I suspect most people aren't, so let's get into it, with the caveat that this is a Eurocentric (and in particular EU centric) view of this.

The basic outline is that Europeans in the EU have a right to privacy under the EU's General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), an EU directive (let's simplify things and call it an EU law) that regulates how various entities, including companies and the government, may acquire, store and process data about you.

The list of what counts as data about you is enormous. It includes things like your name and birthday, but also your email address, your computers IP address, user names, whatever. If an advertiser could want it, it's on the list.

The general rule is that they can't, unless you give explicit permission, or it's for one of a number of enumerated reasons (not all of which are as clear as would be desirable, but that's another topic). You have a right to request a copy of the data, you have a right to force them to delete their data and so on. It's not quite on the level of constitutional rights, but it is a pretty big deal.

In contrast, the US, home of most of the world's internet companies, has no such right at a federal level. If someone has your data, it is fundamentally theirs. American police, FBI, CIA and so on also have far more rights to request your data than the ones in Europe.

So how can an American website provide services to persons in the EU? Well… Honestly, there's an argument to be made that they can't.

US websites can promise in their terms and conditions that they will keep your data as safe as a European site would. In fact, they have to, unless they start specifically excluding Europeans. The EU even provides Standard Contract Clauses (SCCs) that they can use for this.

However, e.g. Facebook's T&Cs can't bind the US government. Facebook can't promise that it'll keep your data as secure as it is in the EU even if they wanted to (which they absolutely don't), because the US government can get to it easily, and EU citizens can't even sue the US government over it.

Despite the importance that US companies have in Europe, this is not a theoretical concern at all. There have been two successive international agreements between the US and the EU about this, and both were struck down by the EU court as being in violation of EU law, in the Schrems I and Schrems II decisions (named after Max Schrems, an Austrian privacy activist who sued in both cases).

A third international agreement is currently being prepared, and in the meantime the previous agreement (known as "Privacy Shield") remains tentatively in place. The problem is that the US government does not want to offer EU citizens equivalent protection as they have under EU law; they don't even want to offer US citizens these protections. They just love spying on foreigners too much. The previous agreements tried to hide that under flowery language, but couldn't actually solve it. It's unclear and in my opinion unlikely that they'll manage to get a version that survives judicial review this time. Max Schrems is waiting.

So what is a site like Ao3 to do? They're arguably not part of the problem, Max Schrems keeps suing Meta, not the OTW, but they are subject to the rules because they process stuff like your email address.

Their solution is this checkbox. You agree that they can process your data even though they're in the US, and they can't guarantee you that the US government won't spy on you in ways that would be illegal for the government of e.g. Belgium. Is that legal under EU law? …probably as legal as fan fiction in general, I suppose, which is to say let's hope nobody sues to try and find out.

But what's important is that nothing changed, just the language. Ao3 has always stored your user name and email address on servers in the US, subject to whatever the FBI, CIA, NSA and FRA may want to do it. They're just making it more clear now.

[verstappenverse]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader

Summary: Your rivalry with Max Verstappen is legendary, but behind your fierce performances a chronic condition is slowly wearing you down. When Max starts to uncover the truth he has to decide, win the title at all costs or protect the one person who may have come to mean more than it.

7.9k words / Masterlist

The crowd was deafening. Cheers, chants, and the rhythmic pounding of drums thundered through the air as you stepped onto the flatbed truck for the drivers' parade. Flags waved like wildfire, and fans pressed up against the barricades, screaming your name with faces painted in your colours. You gave them a wave, heart thudding not from nerves, not exactly.

The season wasn’t just heating up… it was boiling over.

Roughly a third of the way through the calendar, the championship fight had already narrowed to two names. Yours and Max Verstappen’s. The sport’s fiercest rivalry in years was dominating headlines, you’d traded podiums and paintwork, elbows out at every corner, and now, as you glanced across the flatbed and spotted Max surrounded by cameras your stomach twisted.

This wasn’t just about racing anymore.

The rivalry had been brewing for years and had in turn become infamous "the clash of titans," they called it. A new golden age of Formula 1. The media couldn’t get enough of the drama: two elite drivers, one championship, and absolutely no love lost. But they didn’t know the full story.

Because the truth was, your battle with Max wasn’t only happening on the track.

You were hiding something. Something big. And if Max, or anyone, found out… you weren’t sure you’d even make it to the final race, let alone walk away with the title.

You shifted your weight, careful not to wince. The pain had become familiar, a dull hum beneath your skin, a reminder with every breath that you were running out of time.

Max was only a few feet away now, stepping up onto the flatbed at the last second with his usual casual confidence. His race suit hung open at the neck, fireproofs damp with sweat already, and yet he looked unbothered, cool, collected, irritatingly calm.

As much as you sometimes hated to admit it, you’d always respected him.

“Ready for another close one,” he said, flashing you that infuriatingly smug smile, “or are you finally going to give me a little room today?”

You raised an eyebrow, already steeling yourself for the mental game he always played before a race.

“Room? I didn’t realise this was bumper cars Verstappen. Keep pushing me like you did last week and I’ll send you into the gravel.”

Max chuckled, the sound surprisingly light. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried. But we both know you’re going to be glued to my rear wing for half the race, just like usual.”

A twinge of frustration flared in your chest. Max knew how to get under your skin. His self-assuredness, his relentless confidence, it felt like he was mocking you, but that wasn’t what really stung.

What hurt was that he was probably right. You were slipping. You could feel it, the sharpness in your driving dulled by something you couldn’t control. The exhaustion was creeping in, and the physical pain was harder to ignore with each race. You knew you were hiding it well enough from the cameras, the media, even your team, but for how much longer?

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, “don’t get too comfortable up front. You won’t see me coming.”

Max studied you for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly. There was something indecipherable in his expression, a flicker of curiosity or concern, but it was gone before you could pin it down. He shrugged and gave a nod.

“We’ll see.”

As he turned away, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Max didn’t know. No one did. You still had time to figure things out, time to win this race, this championship, before everything came crashing down.

The race had been brutal.

Max’s Red Bull stayed just barely ahead, the gap flickering between eight-tenths and half a second, a cruel reminder of how close you were, and how far. Every time you lunged, he countered. Every time you found grip, he found more, but as the final laps closed in, it wasn’t the tires or the fuel or even Max that started to wear you down.

It was your own body.

The first flare of pain hit you under braking at Turn 6 a stabbing bolt in your ribs that nearly made you lift. You ground your teeth, forced your foot down harder, trying to drive through it. But it didn’t go away. It spread. Fast. Each breath felt like knives slicing through your chest, stealing oxygen, focus, control.

Your hands clenched the wheel in a death grip, sweat slicking your gloves, vision starting to grey at the edges. You were spiraling.

Not now. Not here.

You clenched your jaw, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. You’d been fighting this for too long. Too many sleepless nights, too many doctor’s visits in secret. The diagnosis had been a shock, a harsh reminder of how even the strongest athletes could be brought down by something they couldn’t control.

Chronic pain, they’d said. Something to manage, not to fix. And no one could know, not your team, not the press, and certainly not your rivals. If they did, it would be seen as weakness.

Weakness wasn’t an option.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered, the corners felt tighter, your vision slightly blurred at the edges, but you couldn’t afford to back off. Not now.

Max was just ahead, his rear wing taunting you down the straight. You pushed harder. Too hard.

On the second-to-last lap, you misjudged the corner. A split-second of lost focus, and your tires hit the curb too hard, sending the car into a brief spin. By the time you regained control, Max was already crossing the finish line.

The race was over.

Max had won.

The car coasted to a stop, and all you could do was sit there, helmet still on, pulse thudding in your ears, pain radiating like a siren call through your ribcage.

You’d lost. You slammed your fist into the steering wheel, the pain in your ribs now radiating with every breath. It wasn’t just the defeat. It was the knowledge that you weren’t at your best. That you might never be again.

As you climbed out of the car, you could feel the weight of disappointment settle over you like a cloud. The team surrounded you, offering words of comfort and encouragement, but none of it really sank in. Your mind was elsewhere, consumed by the fear that had been growing in the back of your mind for months.

Max approached, still wearing his helmet but with a glint of triumph in his eyes. He pulled it off, sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead, and gave you a nod.

“Hell of a race,” he said.

You forced a smile. “Yeah. You got me this time.”

“This time?” He raised an eyebrow, his usual teasing tone creeping back. “I’ve been getting you quite a bit lately.”

You laughed, but it came out more like a cough. “Don’t get used to it.”

Max’s gaze lingered on you, more intense now. His eyes flickered down to your waist, where you’d been subconsciously holding your side. You quickly dropped your hand, straightening up.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice lower now, a little less casual.

“Yeah, just… just tired,” you lied, trying to sound convincing. “Long race. Long season”

Max didn’t say anything for a moment, then he shrugged, a small smile returning to his face. “Right, well, rest up.”

But the way he looked at you, you knew he didn’t entirely believe your answer.

The following weeks were grueling. Training sessions were harder than they’d ever been, your body refusing to cooperate despite your best efforts. Every stretch, every weight rep, every sim session pushed you closer to the edge. What used to be routine now felt like punishment your body refusing to respond, refusing to bend without protest.

You spent more time in physiotherapy and doctor's offices than you did on the track, always in secret, always through back doors, under fake names on appointment logs, always careful to keep up the facade of strength. You couldn’t afford questions. Couldn’t afford whispers.

But the cracks were showing. And Max… Max was noticing.

At first, it was nothing, just the way he watched you more closely during press events, his eyes narrowing whenever you winced or shifted uncomfortably. The casual questions about your health, disguised as jokes. You tried to brush it off, deflecting with humor, but Max wasn’t stupid. He was as sharp off the track as he was on it. He saw patterns. He felt when something was off. And now, you were off and he was tracking it like telemetry data.

“Lose a fight with your seat insert?” he’d ask when you sat down a little too slowly.

You brushed it off every time. “Just sore from carrying the team,” you’d quip. But his eyes would flick to your side, or your hand when it rubbed a phantom ache across your ribs, and he didn’t laugh like he used to.

One evening, after a particularly brutal qualifying session where you’d barely managed to secure P7, Max found you behind the hospitality motorhomes, still in your race suit, half hunched over with one hand braced on a railing, trying to catch your breath without drawing attention. You straightened when you heard his footsteps, but it was too late.

“You’re not okay,” he said bluntly, his usual playful tone absent.

You blinked, surprised by his directness. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

Max crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “No, you’re not. I’ve seen you, the way you’ve been moving, the way you’ve been driving. Something’s off.”

“I’m just tired Max, it’s been a long day,” you sighed, trying your best to divert the conversation, but Max wasn’t having it.

“Cut the crap. This isn’t tired. This is different. You’re hurting” he said, his voice firm. “What’s going on with you?”

You hesitated. No one had pushed this far before, not even your team. The truth burned on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to say it. Just once. To let someone else hold the weight of it, even for a second. But then you saw the season flash in your mind, what you’d risk, what you’d lose if it all came crashing down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, turning to walk away.

Max grabbed your arm, not hard, but enough to make you stop. “You can trust me, you know,” he said quietly, his voice softer now. “If something’s wrong…”

His words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you almost caved. Almost.

But then you remembered what was at stake. Your career. The championship. Everything.

You pulled your arm away. “I’m fine Max. Let it go.”

Max looked at you for a long time, his eyes searching yours. But eventually, he nodded, stepping back. “Alright. For now.”

You turned and walked away, but the pit in your stomach only grew, because Max was getting closer to the truth, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep running from it.

The race in Monza was supposed to be your redemption. After a brilliant quali this was a chance to prove you still had what it took to win, to show Max and everyone else that you weren’t done yet. That the whispers, the doubts, the endless speculation about your decline were nothing but noise, but it quickly became clear that your body had other plans.

The pain was worse than ever, radiating from deep within your chest and flaring through your ribs every time you hit a kerb or took a high-speed corner. You gritted your teeth and kept pushing, but by lap thirty your arms were trembling. Sweat clung to your skin beneath the race suit, and your hands shook as you tried to keep a steady grip on the wheel.

Max was behind you, closing in. Not just with raw pace but with that ruthless, unrelenting pressure he was known for. He was waiting for a mistake.

Your vision began to blur somewhere around lap forty. It took everything just to stay on the racing line, and then suddenly the rear snapped. The car spun. Your world whipped around in a blur of colours and screeching tires before the impact came, jarring your entire body and sending pain lancing through your ribs like a knife. The barrier caught you hard on the left side. The engine cut out and smoke billowed. Your hands were trembling as you ripped off your gloves and undid the harness.

As you sat in the wreckage of your car, the pain in your chest now unbearable, you couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight of defeat. It wasn’t just the end of the race. It was the end of the illusion. You weren’t okay. And no amount of pride or stubbornness could mask it anymore.

You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. This wasn’t the place to break down. Not here, not now.

By the time the medical car got you out, you were biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You waved off their questions, said you were fine, but you weren’t even sure what fine meant anymore.

The walk back to the paddock felt longer than the entire race weekend. Your helmet dangled from one hand, your other pressed tightly against your ribs beneath the suit. But later as you walked back through the paddock Max was already there, he was leaning against a stack of crates just outside the Red Bull motorhome, arms crossed, cap pulled low, but when he spotted you, he straightened immediately. His expression shifted the moment your eyes met

You barely had time to react before he was in front of you, one hand reaching for your arm, the other hovering like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure where it wouldn’t hurt.

“Come with me,” he said under his breath, glancing around.

Before you could argue, he was already steering you gently but firmly into a quiet corner away from curious eyes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, voice sharp with worry. “You should’ve pulled into the pits. You could barely hold the car straight by the end.”

You opened your mouth, tried to say something, anything, but no excuse felt good enough. So you said the only thing you could.

“I didn’t want to stop.”

Max ran a hand through his hair, pacing half a step away before turning back to you.

“You’re done hiding this,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “Whatever it is, I’m not letting you keep it to yourself anymore.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you just stood there, the pain and exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Max looked at you for a long moment, then took another step closer. “You can barely stand,” he muttered. “Jesus, I knew something was wrong. I could see it in how you were driving, you never make mistakes like that.”

“I’m fine, this is none of you business Max” you tried, but the words were weak, barely more than a whisper. They sounded pathetic even to your own ears.

“No. You’re not,” he snapped, louder this time. “You’re not fine. You could’ve been seriously hurt. Or worse, do you not get that? You put the car in the wall going 200 mph and then walked back here like nothing happened, like you didn’t just scare the hell out of me—” His voice caught, and for a moment, it was like the weight of what he wasn’t saying hung between you. “Do you even understand how close that was?”

“I didn’t mean—” you started, but he cut you off with a frustrated breath.

“You didn’t mean to? That’s not good enough,” he said, voice sharp with emotion. “You drove knowing you weren’t okay. You risked your life because what? You didn’t want anyone to know you’re hurt?”

He exhaled hard, stepping back like he needed to breathe or else he might say something he couldn’t take back.

“I thought I was going to see you being pulled out of that car unconscious,” he said, his voice low now, broken at the edges.

You stared at him, your own throat tight, unsure what to say.

His expression softened, as his hand came up, hesitated, then landed gently on your shoulder. Warm. Steady. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He watched your eyes flicker, like you were on the edge of bolting, and his voice dipped, almost pleading. “Please.”

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t argue.

It was late that night when you finally told him. You sat together in the shadows, tucked in a forgotten corner behind your hospitality unit, your back against the cool metal wall, your legs stretched out.

Max still hadn’t left your side. Not after the crash. Not after the walk back. Not even after you tried to brush him off the fifth time with a tired excuse.

He just stayed.

And maybe that’s why the words finally came.

Of all the people you could tell, Max Verstappen probably wasn’t the smartest choice. He was your fiercest rival. The one person you’d spent the better part of your career trying to beat, trying to outdrive, outlast, outdo in every possible way. You had a whole history of near-misses and podium scuffles and tension thick enough to choke on. So why him?

You should tell your physio. Your team principal. Your family. Your press officer even. Anyone but Max.

But instead here you were, in a dark corner of Monza, unloading your deepest vulnerability to the one man who’d spent the year trying to beat you.

And yet… something about it felt right.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, not with pity, not even surprise, but understanding. Quiet and real and grounding. Like he got it, in some strange way. Like there was some unspoken language between you, forged through years of competition and split-second decisions and shared silence in the paddock long after the fans went home.

You hated how easy it felt with him.

And God, that scared you.

Because you didn’t want to need anyone, especially not Max, with his impossible standards and his cutting sarcasm and the kind of intensity that could burn through stone. You’d built entire walls around yourself to survive in this sport, and Max Verstappen was one of the only people who had ever seen behind them.

“Why are you even here, Max?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “You didn’t have to stay.”

He turned to you, eyes meeting yours in the dark. “Yeah,” he said simply, “I did.”

And damn it, there it was again, that thing. That something between you that neither of you ever named, never acknowledged, but always felt. It lingered in the way you pushed each other harder than anyone else. In the way he always found your eyes on the grid. In the way you could never quite root against him, no matter how badly you wanted to beat him.

“I have chronic pain,” you admitted, your voice small, barely audible over the distant hum of a generator. “It started last year. Nothing major at first, twinges, tightness… easy to write off, but it got worse this season. I’ve been hiding it, trying to push through, but… it’s not working anymore.”

Max didn’t speak. He turned slightly to face you, legs bent at the knees, arms resting loosely on them. He didn’t rush you, he just listened quietly, his usual brashness gone, didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask questions, he just let you talk.

“I’ve been hiding it from everyone. From my team. From you. I’ve been managing it or trying to, physio, meds. I thought I could push through, like always. Just grit my teeth and keep racing. I thought for a while maybe it was all in my head” You let out a hollow laugh. “It’s not.”

Max’s jaw tightened, but still he said nothing.

“I didn’t want anyone to know. If the team found out, they’d pull me. If the media knew, they’d crucify me. And you… I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

That’s when he finally spoke.

Max frowned at that, shaking his head. “Weak? You’ve been racing like this all year and you think that makes you weak?”

You laughed bitterly. “I haven’t won in months, Max. I can barely finish a race without screwing up. I put it in the wall today. That’s not strength. That’s pathetic.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the night sky. “You’re not weak,” he said after a long pause. “You shouldn’t have been in the car today. Hell, you shouldn’t have been in the car for the last few races. You’re stubborn as hell, but not weak.”

You let out a breath. Your whole body ached. Not just from the crash, but from months of pretending.

Max sighed, leaning back against the wall, glancing up like he was searching for the right words. “You’re not weak,” he said again, softer this time. “You’re just tired. And in pain. That’s not the same thing. You’ve been shouldering something most people wouldn’t even start a race with. And you kept going. Alone. That’s not weakness. That’s something else entirely”

You looked away, jaw tight, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over. It was one thing to admit it. It was another to have someone see it.

Max moved closer “You should’ve told me... or someone at least.”

“I didn’t know how,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to make it real. Saying it out loud makes it feel like it wins.”

He shook his head. “No. Saying it out loud means you’re still fighting. And you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

You smiled, a small, grateful smile, but it didn’t last long.

“So what’s the plan?” He asked.

You blinked. “The… what?”

He shrugged, but there was nothing casual in the way his eyes locked onto yours. “You said it’s getting worse. You can’t keep racing like this. So what’s next?”

You looked down, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

“Then let’s figure it out,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head. “Max, this isn’t your problem.”

“You think I waited for you after every race, checked in between flights, watched you limp through interviews because I was just being nice?”

You looked up, and he was right there, eyes blazing.

“I care about you, and you trusted me enough to tell me,” he said, softer now, like it hurt to say it too loud. “That means this is my problem. Whether you like it or not.”

Your throat tightened. “It’s not that I don’t want you here Max. It’s just… I’ve been carrying this for so long, I don’t know how to let someone else in.”

He gave a small, almost sad smile. “Then start with me.”

You hesitated. “Even if the plan means stepping back? Even if it means disappearing from the grid for a while?”

“None of that matters,” he said. “What matters is that you’re okay. That you’re healing. That you’re not destroying yourself just to prove you belong, because you already do."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. He was right, of course. You’d been fighting this battle on your own for too long, and it was killing you. But asking for help… it still felt like admitting defeat.

Max was quiet for a moment, then he looked at you, his expression serious. “You need help. Real help. You can’t do this alone anymore. Taking time for yourself doesn’t make you weak either, please believe that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, blinking back tears. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “But I’ll be there, every step of the way. If you let me.”

“But if I stop now…” you whispered, “…it’s over isn’t it? I stop, and they’ll replace me. And even if I get better… what if I don’t get the chance to come back?”

Max shook his head. “No, it’s not. You take the time to get better, to figure out what you need to do. And when… when not if you come back… you’ll be stronger.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. For all the years of rivalry, the banter, the competition, you hadn’t expected this.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back tears. “You really think I’ll get the chance?”

“I think you’re one of the best drivers on the grid,” he said, without hesitation. “And I think anyone who’s seen you drive knows that. This isn’t the end. Not if you don’t let it be.”

You dropped your gaze to your hands, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you'd just given him. “You know this changes things right? You knowing.”

“I know,” he said. “But not in the way you think.”

You looked up at him again.

“I’m not gonna see you as anything less because of this,” he said firmly. “If anything, I respect you even more… if that’s possible. Even if I hate that you didn’t tell anyone sooner.”

“You could use this against me, you know,” you said quietly. “If you tell anyone…”

Max met your gaze, his blue eyes steady. “I won’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You won’t?”

Max shrugged. “I’m competitive, not cruel. If I’m going to beat you, I want to beat you at your best.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of deception, but there was none. He was being honest.

For the first time in months, you felt a flicker of hope.

Maybe you didn’t have to fight this alone anymore.

“Thank you,” you said finally.

He gave you a small nod, then reached over and nudged your knee with his own. You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop smiling. Not this time.

The decision to step back wasn’t easy.

It didn’t happen in one dramatic moment. It was a slow, aching acceptance, drawn out over sleepless nights, quiet tears in hotel bathrooms, and the gnawing worry for the future that refused to be silenced. It took soul-searching. And honesty, the brutal kind. With yourself. With your team. And, surprisingly, with Max.

Somehow, over the course of the ordeal, Max had become your anchor. The rivalry that once defined your relationship had softened, twisted into something far more complicated. He listened without judgment, pushed when you needed it, and called you out when you tried to pretend you were still invincible.

“I think you’re brave enough to admit it,” he’d said one night, “and I think you’re strong enough to come back.”

That stuck with you.

So when the decision was finally made, it wasn’t with fireworks or fanfare. Just a quiet nod to yourself, a shaky breath, and the understanding that sometimes stepping away took more courage than staying in the fight.

You announced it publicly just before the next race weekend, standing in front of a press room full of cameras and microphones that never seemed to miss a tremor in your voice. You told them a half truth, the version of it you were ready to share.

You needed time. Time to heal. Time to breathe. Time to come back stronger.

The media response was predictable. Headlines spun into chaos. Speculation ran rampant. Some questioned your drive. Others called you finished. They debated what was “really” wrong, but through it all, Max stayed silent.

Not once did he give the press a quote. Not once did he betray what he knew. Even when reporters tried to bait him, digging for scraps of scandal or sympathy, he deflected effortlessly changing the subject, shutting it down with a single look.

You’d never been more grateful.

As the weeks turned into months, you watched the races from the sidelines. At first, it felt like slow torture. Your body rested, yes, but your heart ached. Frustrated because every fiber of your being missed the track, the competition, the sheer thrill of racing. And yet, there was relief too, quiet and unfamiliar. You were no longer holding yourself together with adrenaline and fear. For the first time in ages you were breathing without pretending.

Max of course continued to dominate the championship. Beneath the cold stats and glowing headlines, there were moments that didn’t make it into the press, moments that were just for you. He’d call or text, checking in, making sure you were doing okay.

He’d text after qualifying, sometimes just a one-liner:

Track’s a mess. U would’ve hated it.

A call between flights, memes sent at 2AM with no context, only to be followed by a simple you okay? And sometimes no words at all, just a photo of the garage, or the view from his balcony, or his cat curled up on a travel bag, like he was reminding you that life was still moving and you were still part of it.

He didn’t ask invasive questions, he never pushed, but he always checked in. Subtly. Consistently. Like clockwork. Like he was making sure the world hadn’t swallowed you whole while he was out there conquering it.

It was strange, at first, getting used to the version of Max who wasn’t trying to out-qualify you or bait you in press conferences. This Max was… patient. Steady. A little sarcastic still, the texts always came with a dose of dry humour, but there was warmth beneath it, a quiet sort of care.

And you found yourself replying more than you expected, telling him small things. That your shoulder finally didn’t ache when you lifted your arm. That you missed the smell of burning rubber. That you’d accidentally called your physio by your engineers name out of habit. That you'd tried your first ever Red Bull drink and hated it much to his chagrin.

The friendship that formed was easy in ways nothing else in your life was.

It didn’t demand anything of you. There was no pressure to be strong or fast or okay. With Max you didn’t have to pretend, he never told you what you should be feeling, he was just there in anyway he could be, again and again, until you started to wonder what life had even looked like before he was in it this way.

One evening, late after another one of his perfectly executed wins you picked up your phone and typed out a message. You hesitated before pressing send, unsure why you felt nervous. Maybe it was because lately your heart beat faster than it used to when you saw his name light up your screen. Maybe because this was all still new, this version of you, this version of him, this version of you and him.

Because you’d spent your whole career learning how to stand alone. How to keep everyone at arm’s length. Rivals were rivals. Friends were rare. And Max… well Max had never fit neatly into either box.

Congrats on the win. Just don’t get too used to it alright? I’ll be back soon.

You hovered over the send button for a second longer, wondering if he’d see through it. If he’d hear what you weren’t saying.

I miss it.

I miss you.

I don’t know what this is, but it’s starting to matter.

The reply came almost instantly.

Looking forward to it. But seriously take your time. We’ll settle this on the track when you’re ready.

There were no fireworks in the message. No confessions, no overreaching sentiment.

But it meant more than he probably knew.

You leaned back on the couch, phone still in your hand, the hum of the television playing highlights in the background. For the first time in months, you felt something like peace settle over you.

You didn’t know when you’d be back. Or if you’d ever be exactly the same driver you were before, but you didn’t feel alone anymore.

The new year and the new season came around quick, and finally after what felt like a lifetime of recovery, rehab, and soul-searching, you were ready to return to the grid.

It wasn’t easy. It never would be.

The pain hadn’t vanished. Some days were better than others, but you knew by now that it would always be there, lingering under the surface like a shadow. What had changed was how you dealt with it. You’d learned to listen to your body, to recognise the difference between pushing your limits and hurting yourself.

Telling your team hadn’t been easy either. There were long, uncomfortable meetings behind closed doors, doctors’ reports and second opinions, legal clauses and moral dilemmas. Everyone had the same questions: Was it safe? Were you sure? Could you handle it if it went wrong again?

You didn’t pretend it was foolproof. There were no guarantees in motorsport but there never has been. You looked them all in the eye and told the truth, you were ready, and more importantly you promised that if it ever got too much again, you’d say something. No more silence. No more hiding.

What surprised you most was that they said yes. That they took the risk on you. And somewhere in the mess of nerves and determination, that gave you a quiet sort of strength.

By the time race week rolled around, your nerves were frayed and your heart was racing before you even set foot in the paddock. But the second you did, something clicked. The smells, the sounds, the adrenaline in the air it all came rushing back.

And then there was Max.

He was one of the first people to spot you as you walked through the paddock gates, your jacket tied around your waist, race bag slung over your shoulder. He made a beeline towards you grinning like a kid.

“About time you showed up,” he said, his usual cocky tone back in full force.

You rolled your eyes. “Miss me that much Verstappen?”

He stopped in front of you, eyes glinting. “Maybe. Or maybe I just got bored winning without any real competition.”

“Careful,” you said, nudging his arm with your elbow, “you’re starting to sound sentimental.”

He grinned. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

But then, softer, barely audible beneath the bravado he added, “It’s good to see you back.”

You looked at him for a moment longer than necessary, trying not to let the warmth in his voice get to you. But it did. It always did now.

The race that day was one of the hardest of your career. Every lap was a war between muscle memory and the cautious voice in your head. Every corner was a test of discipline, control, trust in your body. And when you crossed the finish line just behind Max you didn’t care that it wasn’t a win. You didn’t care that your suit was soaked with sweat. You’d made it. You’d done it.

You were back.

As you climbed out of the car, your chest heaving, Max was already striding toward you. He didn’t wait for the cameras to move. Didn’t play it cool. He pulled off his helmet, a wide grin stretched across his face and pulled you into a crushing hug.

“Not bad for your first race back,” he said, cheeks flushed, eyes alive with adrenaline, “but next time I expect you to give me a real challenge.”

You shot him a look, wiping the sweat from your brow. “Oh, don’t worry,” you said, breathless but smiling. “I will.”

The weeks following your return were a whirlwind, races, press conferences, back-to-back simulator sessions, long nights with your physio, and an endless stream of media narratives. They called it the comeback of the season, painted you as the fighter, the underdog, the miracle story. But you knew the truth.

It was hard. Every lap still demanded more from you than it ever had before. And the only constant, familiar and infuriating, was Max.

The rivalry between you had never been sharper. He didn’t go easy on you. If anything, he pushed harder, drove aggressively when you were in his mirrors, blocked with precision that made you curse into your radio. But even through the heat of battle, there was something else brewing.

It was in the way he waited for you after races now. The way his calls came after rough weekends without needing an explanation. It was in the long glances across the paddock. The casual shoulder bumps that held just a little too long. The way you both kept pretending it was nothing, even when it clearly wasn’t.

Max had always been your toughest competitor, but now… now, he was something more. He wasn’t just the guy pushing you on the track. He was the one who had stood by you when things had fallen apart. He had seen you at your worst and hadn’t walked away. He was the one who knew how bad your ribs hurt when the track leaned right. The one who’d stayed the night when you cried after a brutal practice in Singapore. The one who never once told you to be stronger, he just reminded you that you already were.

A late evening, after a draining Friday practice session, you found yourself next to him on a concrete wall in the far end of the paddock, away from everyone you sat shoulder to shoulder. The track was silent now. The stars were barely visible, but the moon hung low and bright, casting long silver shadows over the empty circuit.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” he asked.

You looked over at him, brow raised. “What’s weird?”

He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “This. Us. Sitting here. Talking. Not trying to rip each other’s heads off. You didn’t even call me a smug bastard today. I’m starting to worry.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Yeah it is a little strange. Guess we’ve come a long way.”

“Seriously though,” he said, his smile fading into something quieter, more sincere, “I never expected this.”

You tilted your head. “Expected what?”

“This... us. I’ve always kept people at arm’s length. Easier that way, you know? Just focus on racing. Keep everything else out.”

You swallowed, something catching in your throat. “Well, to be fair you were kind of an asshole when we first met.”

He let out a soft laugh, the sound light but a little sad. “I still am sometimes.”

He looked at you again, longer this time, the silence stretched on, not awkward, but heavy

“I think about it sometimes,” he murmured. “If things were different. If we weren’t in this job... or if we didn’t have to pretend...”

“Do you?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “Pretend?”

He hesitated for a heartbeat too long. “Every day.”

The air between you crackled. Your hand was resting next to his on the wall, your pinkies brushing lightly, and neither of you moved away. You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

“Max…” you began, not sure if it was safe to say what had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for weeks.

“Anyway,” he said, standing and stretching, slowly as if reluctant to break the moment. “We’ve got a race tomorrow better get some sleep.”

And as he turned to leave, his hand brushed against yours, deliberately this time and he let it linger just long enough to send your pulse racing.

You watched him disappear down the paddock, your heart a tangle of adrenaline, but this time it didn’t feel like an open ending. It felt like the beginning of something that had been slowly building, quietly, stubbornly, undeniably and now, finally, it was starting to take shape.

Your first win of the season felt like a dream. The chequered flag waved, the crowd roared, and for a moment, the entire world blurred into a rush of relief and triumph.

You’d done it. You’d won again.

You didn’t even get your helmet off before Max was there, grinning like he hadn’t just spent seventy laps trying to ruin your life.

“You actually made me work for that one.”

You pulled off your helmet, shaking out your hair, heart still pounding from the final laps. “Admit it you were sweating.”

“Oh, I was sweating,” he said, stepping closer. “Just not only because of the race.”

Your brows lifted, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Wow. Bold move, Verstappen you flirting with me now?”

He shrugged, eyes dropping to your mouth for half a second too long. “Been doing that for a while. You’re just slow.”

You let out a breathy laugh, half exhausted and half completely wrecked by the way he was looking at you, like you were the finish line and he’d been chasing you all season.

Later you stood on the top step of the podium, champagne dripping down your fireproofs, heart pounding as the anthem played. And right next to you, among the flashes of cameras you caught Max looking at you. Not with envy. Not with rivalry.

With something else entirely.

Pride. Awe. Maybe even something dangerously close to love.

You thought that was it. The end of a perfect day, but long after the night fell silent there was a knock at your hotel door.

You opened it to find Max standing there. Freshly showered, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped over a Redline t-shirt, eyes impossibly blue in the hallway light.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, gaze flickering from your face to your bare feet, then back up.

“You gonna invite me in?” he asked eventually, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips.

You stepped aside, pulse quickening as he walked in.

The room was quiet. You were still in the oversized team tee you wore to bed, the one that fell to your thighs and smelled faintly of fuel and champagne.

“You okay?” you asked, closing the door gently behind him.

He nodded. “Yeah just... couldn’t sleep.”

You tilted your head. “You? The king of sleeping through debriefs?”

He gave you a look. “That was one time.”

You smirked, walking over to the small kitchenette to grab a bottle of water, needing something to do with your hands. “So what’s really going on?”

Max didn’t answer right away. He moved toward the window, looking out over the glittering city lights, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell to say to you for weeks,” he said finally.

You froze, the cap of the bottle halfway twisted. “Yeah?”

He turned, and the look on his face was... different. Unarmored.

“You winning today,” he said softly, “it made everything harder.”

You frowned. “Harder?”

“Because I keep telling myself to keep this simple,” he went on, walking toward you now, slow and careful. “Just racing. Just rivalry. Just… whatever it’s always been between us.”

Your heart pounded louder with every word.

“But it’s not that anymore,” he said, stopping just a few feet away from you. “Hasn’t been for a while.”

You swallowed hard. “So what is it, then?”

He looked at you like he wanted to memorise every inch of your face. Like saying the next words out loud might break him open.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, voice hoarse. “And it terrifies me.”

The air left your lungs. The words hit you like a gut punch not because they hurt, but because they were so impossibly vulnerable coming from him. For a second, you just stood there, blinking at him.

“Max…”

“I didn’t come here expecting anything,” he said quickly, “I just… I needed to say it. Because watching you win today, watching you come back from everything and still be that fucking brilliant made me realise that if I don’t say it now, I might never get the chance. When you won all I could think about was how much I wanted to be the first person you saw after you crossed that line.”

The room felt suddenly too small, the silence between you too loud.

You swallowed again. “Max—”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “That it’s too complicated. That there’s too much at stake. But you can’t stand there and tell me you haven’t felt it too. Don’t do that to me.”

His voice cracked at the end, and it shattered something inside you.

Silence stretched, thick and fragile.

Of course you had felt it. You felt it in every late-night phone call. Every text that made your chest ache. Every glance across the garage. Every time his car sat just ahead of yours on the starting grid and you felt more pride than envy.

You stepped closer.

“I was afraid,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. We worked so hard for this friendship, for trust, and wanting more felt greedy. Like it might cost me the one person who never looked away when things got ugly. You reminded me who I was when I forgot. And I—I didn't want to risk losing that. Losing you.”

He gave a breathless laugh, almost disbelieving. “You think I could ever go back to before… to pretending?”

Your hand brushed against his.

He didn’t pull away.

Neither did you.

“I feel it too, of course I do.” you whispered. “You were there when everything fell apart. And you stayed.”

He reached for you then, not to kiss you, not yet, but to cradle your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently along your cheekbones.

“I’ll keep staying,” he said. “As long as you’ll let me.”

And that was it.

You leaned into him, your hands gripping the front of his T-shirt, and kissed him like you’d been holding it back for far too long. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was deliberate. His hands found your waist, gentle at first, then firmer, like he’d been holding himself back for so long, unsure if he was allowed to want this. But now that the dam had broken, he wasn’t going to pretend anymore. You kissed him like you meant it. Your lips moved with his like you already knew the rhythm, like your bodies had been waiting to catch up with what your hearts had already decided.

When you pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, he was smiling.

“So,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours, “does this mean I can stop pretending I only text you for tire strategy talk?”

You rolled your eyes, and kissed him again just to shut him up.

And just like that, the noise of the world faded, the lights outside blurred, and for the first time, your heart wasn’t racing because of fear, or pressure, or pain.

It was because of him.

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Part 6 (the finale)

Our time has come, this labor of love is *finished* (at least for now, i could probably be convinced to return to these loves soon)

warnings: none pairing: lando x singlemom!reader word count: 2k words

- A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - A Package Deal - Part 4 - A Package Deal - Part 5 - Master List

yourusername (private) posted

yourusername cold but happy carlossainz still can't believe you convinced Lando to spend Christmas in the cold. >>>yourusername oh it wasn't me! Stella said she wanted to learn how to ski, next thing I know he's booking a 2 week trip to Switzerland! >>>landonorris what my girl wants, my girl gets. 🤷🏻

Christmas, 2025 "Momma, are you sure Santa knows to bring my presents here this year and to not leave them at home?" The concern etched on Stella's face has you grinning into your wine glass.

"Yes, my darling." You assure her, patting her head as she snuggles deeper into Lando's side. "I wrote him a letter weeks ago, remember? You were with me when we mailed it! When you wake up tomorrow morning, all of your presents will be underneath that tree right over there."

This had been Stella's number one concern ever since Lando had announced that he'd booked a house at one of the most exclusive resorts in Gstaad, Switzerland for the Christmas holiday. You had spent a significant amount of time since discussing the fact that yes, Santa did know she wasn't going to be at home this year and yes, he would be able to deliver her presents here instead.

You had been in the mountain town for a few days now, spending nearly every waking moment on the slopes. It was beginning to feel routine, the way you all woke up around the same time and had breakfast together before getting your snow gear on and heading out onto the mountain. You had enrolled Stella in ski school that first day, despite Lando's protests that he could absolutely teach her to ski by himself, and she was thriving. It took a Herculean effort to get her off of her skis every evening but you were happy Stella was having fun.

Today you had managed to get Stella off the mountain early in order to go to dinner with Max and Pietra, who were also staying at the resort for Christmas. Max's initial reservations about Lando dating a single mom had long since evaporated into thin air, after he had seen how much both Stella and Lando adored each other this year. By the middle of the summer, you and Pietra had also become much closer as well, so you enjoyed traveling with Lando's friends who you now considered yours as well.

There was a crackling fire in the huge fireplace that took up most of the external wall of the large four bedroom chalet-style home and above the fireplace, Elf played on the tv. Stella was snuggled up between you and Lando, her head buried underneath Lando's arm, while her feet were stretched across your lap. Lando's arm is flung over the side of the couch, his fingers tangled in yours as his thumb brushes soft circles over the back of your hand. After a few days with a lot of activity, it felt nice to finally spend the evening relaxing in the quiet of your own space.

As the credits to Elf begin to roll, you tap Stella's feet, a signal that it's time to get moving. "Come on, baby girl, it's time for bed. Go brush your teeth and then I'll be in to read more of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and tuck you in, okay? The sooner you get to sleep, the faster Santa comes!"

Stella stretches out her legs and whines, sounding a lot like a cat after it wakes up from a long nap. "I want Dad to tuck me in tonight."

The entire world goes still as you suck in a breath at the name she just used for the very first time. On the other side of the couch, you see Lando freeze too, gaze snapping straight to you as his fingers tighten around yours. The request has your heart squeezing in your chest, a response to her question simply unable to form in your brain.

Stella senses the mood shift in the room and glances up first at you and then over at Lando. "What? Can't Daddy tuck me in just this once?"

Daddy.

Lando's stomach does a somersault up into his throat as he grips onto your hand for reassurance. Had she just...

It really shouldn't have been a surprise, he'd realize later once Stella was fast asleep and you were curled up in his arms in your shared bed. Ever since Silverstone back in July, Lando had practically moved in to your house in all but name. He'd decided to rent out his Monaco apartment to one of the new rookie drivers next season, choosing to remain full time in England where you were. The teachers and parents at school all knew him not as Lando Norris, Formula 1 driver but as the man that often picked up Stella from school whenever he was able to. Stella's teacher had even begun including him on her weekly email newsletters she always sent out on Friday afternoons. He was as ingratiated into this family as both you and Stella were.

But hearing her call him dad for the first time? The new title did something to Lando's heart that he wasn't sure he'd ever recover from.

Emotion claws at his throat as he struggles to find the simple words to answer her request.

"Of course he can, honey." You whisper, seeing the shock and adoration sit heavy on Lando's face. Your own voice is with thick with emotion too. "Do you need help finding some jammies to change into?" You ask as Stella slowly gets up from her little nest between you and Lando.

"Dad can help me." She says with a shrug, as if the name is the most natural thing in the world.

Lando moves to get off the couch as Stella pads down the hallway, the brand new teddy bear she had conned him into buying at a shop today tucked into the crook of her elbow. He squeezes your shoulder as you look up at him, brilliant smile stretching over your face.

"You okay?" You ask as he rounds the couch, following behind Stella, dazed look still on his face.

Lando rubs at the back of his neck, stopping for a moment before turning back to you. His eyes shimmer with tears as he glances behind him and then back at you. "I think so...is...is that okay with you? Her calling me..." He pauses, trying to work his mouth around the next word, "dad like that?"

You're surprised to see concern flit across his face, like you could possibly be upset at what had just happened. "Lando." You murmur, rising from the couch to stand in front of him. You slip your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. His lips are warm despite the fact that his kiss is hesitant at first. He quickly reads the emotion you pour into him though: confidence, love, desire. All of it positive and he knows without needing to hear anything vocalized that you're just happy about his new title as he is.

You tuck your head into his neck, nuzzling at the warm spot you love so much. "She loves you so much and so do I. You're the best thing that could have ever happened to us, Lando Norris."

Lando chuckles. "I think it's the opposite way around, my love. You two are the best thing that could have ever happened to me."

"DAAAAAAD" From the end of the hall, Stella's little voice calls out and you both can't help the laugh that pulls you apart. "I'm waaaaaaiting!!! Stop kissing Momma and come read to me!" She demands.

"The Princess awaits." Lando mutters before giving you one last peck on the cheek and turning away to walk down the hall towards Stella's room.

Over an hour later and you're 2 glasses of wine deeper than you were when Lando left you, still sitting alone on the couch. You're beginning to think he's fallen asleep putting Stella to bed only because you've done the same thing countless amounts of times over the years when you hear the door to her room whisper open.

"You were in there a long time." You murmur as Lando sits down on the couch before he pulls you into his lap. You set the wine glass down on the side table next to you so you can wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

"Stella and I had some things to discuss." He says lightly.

Lando's body relaxes as he tucks his head into your neck. If there's one thing you adore about your boyfriend you'll adore until the ends of time it's how affectionate he is. He's always touching you when you're near and he never gives half-hearted hugs, they're something he pours his full body into. The same goes with cuddling, it's never halfway with Lando when it comes to physical affection and you simply cannot ever get enough.

"Oh?" You laugh, grinning at him. "And what are you two plotting now?"

Lando shifts, glancing away as if he's nervous to answer your question. "Stella calling me dad just had me thinking about things..."

You lift an eyebrow. "Things?"

"Yeah" Lando nods. He takes a deep breath and pulls you closer into his chest. "I just got to thinking and maybe it’s time we make things official."

"What are you talking about?" Confusion has you pulling away from him so you can look at him. There's a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth and you have to resist the urge to kiss him, despite the fact that you are fully lost as to what he's talking about. "You’ve been calling me your girlfriend for months now?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, I mean official official. With this." Lando lifts his hips off the couch and pulls out a black velvet box from his pocket. For the second time that night, your heart stalls in your chest, world tilting a bit on its axis.

"Lan." You whisper before sucking in a breath as he opens the top of the ring box. Nestled in the black velvet sits the most gorgeous ring you'd ever laid eyes on. It's simple and perfect and something you would have picked out on your own had you been let loose in a jewelry store.

"Marry me, baby." Lando's voice is thick, anxiety and nerves evident in every syllable that comes out of his mouth. "I never want to go back to a world where you and Stella aren't in my life. Stella sees me as her dad, I hope you can see me as your husband and father of the rest of our babies one day. I love you so much l. Spend the rest of your life with me?

It's a wonder the sound of your heart clattering against your ribcage doesn't wake Stella up it's so loud. Blood rushes past your ears so loudly, the sounds of the house are muffled for a moment and all you can do is stare at Lando. He doesn't move, a look of anxiety and love and hundreds of other emotions sitting so plainly on his face you can barely form a thought.

"Of course. Oh my god. Of course." Your right hand finds his cheek and you frame his face with your hand as he takes your left hand before slipping the ring on your finger. A perfect fit.

"Yeah?" A wash of relief crashes over Lando because for a moment he thought you were about to reject him.

When he had finished reading a chapter of Stella's book to her, he had as casually as he could brought up the idea of them being a family for real next year. Stella had been a bit confused, asking him if the weren't already a real family but Lando had quickly explained he meant he wanted to marry you but only if Stella thought that was a good idea because she was part of their family too and what she thought mattered to him just as much as what you thought.

You nod, laughing through your tears before crashing your lips to his in a heated kiss. "Yeah." You mutter against his mouth.

"I was going to do this tomorrow morning" Lando pulls away, glancing down at your hand that's still captured between his. "But it just felt right tonight. Stella was so excited, she started asking what kind of dress she’d get to wear at the wedding."

"Oh Lando." You coo before you allow him to lay you down on the couch, kissing you as he goes.

yourusername (private) posted

123 likes liked by BFFSarah, CarlosSainz, yourdad, and others yourusername mrs. norris has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? 😘 BFFSarah OH. MY. GOD. I'm sobbing. Bestie. I love you. I love him. I love Stella. I'm so happy for you!!! >>>yourusername ❤️❤️❤️ thank you babes >>>BFFSarah sorry, back again to tell you holy SHIT that ring!! @/landonorris you did good!! >>>landonorris why thank you! ☺️

landonorris posted

1,098,874 likes liked by yourusername, mclaren, zakbrownceo, and others landonorris santa can't compete with my present this year zakbrownceo congratulations to both of you!!! we'll have to throw a little party when you're back in the new year! >>>yourusername thanks zak!! you are too good to us! user009 the gold digger got what she wanted...how long til she's knocked up with baby number 2? gotta get that bag somehow... >>>user221 seriously. bro fell for the oldest trick in the book. fucking gross. >>>user223 hey so this is a fucking WILD thing to say about someone you don't even know so publicly. JESUS. user928 OH MY GOD THEY'RE ENGAGED user230 we're going to get dad lando content FOREVER >>>user929 the way i live for stella/lando content and now we get even MORE??? Yes please!!!

@shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland @chlmtfilms @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @chelseyyouraverageluigi @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff

[dannyriccsystem]

so random but could you do one where the reader flashes the driver 😭 during a podium, at home, wherever you feel like lol xx

TAKE A LOOK AT ME!

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

SUMMARY: You flash the drivers

WARNINGS: Mature, nudity, Y/N usage, not proofread

FEATURING: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, YT22, LH44, CS55, GR63, OP81

No Kimi or Ollie just because I feel a bit awkward writing them in this scenario 😇

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

Max was a busy guy. As your boyfriend, he always tried to make sure you were a part of his schedule one way or another. He didn’t want the two of you to grow distant, especially considering you were an anchor of sanity for him. Without you, he’d be a madman by now.

You always tried to reward him, whether it be with a gift or your undying love. He didn’t need these prizes, but Max certainly wouldn’t be complaining when he came home to a warm body to worship, or a good meal to keep himself full and happy. You took care of him just as much.

Today, he wanted to surprise you. It was a week off, and he woke up extra early to cook you breakfast. It was simple, nothing that required lots of skill or practice, but he knew you’d be happy nonetheless.

Indeed you were. You came waddling out into the kitchen, still partially asleep. One hand slid up your shirt to scratch your own stomach as you snatched a piece of bacon, humming in delight. “Max, baby,” You pointed to your half eaten bacon. “Cooked to perfection.”

He laughed and shook his head lightly, but you weren’t done. You held the piece between your teeth, using both hands to pull your pajama top up, letting your breasts spill free. His gaze dropped instantly, and he stared silently for what felt like hours.

He finally reached out to lift you, hoisting you up onto the counter. Max gently tugged your shirt back down. “That’s certainly one way to say thanks.” He kissed your lips, and then went back to cooking, leaving you to sit there. “Quit distracting me.” You both laughed.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

Danny always went all out for you. He pulled out all the stops, and that included date night. You were at the highest rated restaurant in all of Monaco currently— The waitlist was months long, but Danny managed to weasel his way into an earlier reservation. You didn’t know how to show your thanks.

When he left to quickly use the restroom, you got to scheming. You couldn’t just repay him with sex, because you did that anyway. It had to be something new— Something that surprised him. He had all the money in the world, so gifts were a lost cause. What did you get for someone who had nearly everything?

When he returned, you had an idea in the back of your mind. You were both securely tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, with your back to the rest of the room. He sat down, giving you a quick smile before picking up his menu again. There was lots to look at, but the menu wasn’t your biggest concern.

“Danny,” His head snapped up at your voice, and his jaw dropped. You had quickly pulled down the neckline of your dress, and your boobs popped out. He leaped over the table, careful to not knock anything over, and pulled your dress back up to cover your chest.

“Woah!” He settled back down, eyes still wide. “In public? Baby you know I love your tits, and it was a great surprise, but maybe we should keep those for my eyes only.” You laughed, straightening your dress out.

“Alright, alright. I just wanted to surprise you.” You winked, and he huffed a dramatic sigh, his hand over his heart.

“You certainly surprised me.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Even if it was meant to be silly, and he’d never admit it, the nickname ‘Lando Nowins’ had weighed heavily on your boyfriend’s performance. He really loathed it, and was practically seething every time someone dared to call him the mean name. It started way back when you guys first began dating, meaning that throughout his Lando Nowins era, you were still there to support him.

Years ago you made a promise with him that once he made it to P1, you’d flash him while he was up there. Now, in 2024, you were certain he had forgotten that silly little deal, which would make it all the more fun considering he’s just finished first in the Miami Grand Prix. He was already ecstatic with his win, unable to completely process the glory.

You waited until he made it to the top step, holding up his trophy with a victorious stance. Then, as his eyes locked with yours, you made the move. You grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, only for a split second, but he for sure got a view of your breasts.

He suddenly fell silent, a look of disbelief on his face as Charles and Max sprayed him with champagne. Nobody but him noticed, including the thousands of people watching from the stands. That was a moment for just him, displayed to the public.

He snapped out of it and joined the others in his celebration, but he couldn’t seem to get the image of your topless body out of his mind.

He found you in his drivers room afterwards, and immediately pushed you back up against the door, pulling your shirt up just enough to slide his head underneath, followed by your giggles.

“Did you forget about that promise?” You asked, holding back your laughter as he buried his face between your boobs.

“I did, and I’m glad I did.” He hummed, breathing you in. “A pleasant surprise.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles was in one of his slumps lately. Ferrari had not been performing to his liking, and it was taking a toll on his mental state. It was obvious with the way he moped around the house, usually cuddling with Leo in silence.

You tried various things to cheer him up. You offered to go on a walk with him and Leo, made his favorite food, put on his favorite movie— Everything. You even tried terrible jokes, which usually just made him pity laugh. You finally decided to pull out your trump card— Something you had been saving for dire situations. You planned on using it to get out of an argument, or persuade him into doing you a favor, but this was more important.

You approached him during one of his moping sessions. He was sitting on the couch watching TV, that same frown that’s been haunting him the past week ever so present. You stood right in front of him, blocking his view. As he looked up, you pulled your shirt up, effectively flashing your tits.

He couldn’t help but smile, a laugh leaving his lips as he covered his eyes with one hand. “Mon ange, what are you doing?!”

“Cheering you up,” You replied before putting the hem of your shirt between your teeth, and climbing on his lap. He lowered his hands to your hips, staring down at your chest without shame.

“It worked. It definitely worked.” Yeah, you could feel that it worked.

—

YUKI TSUNODA - YT22

Yuki was not a morning person. It took forever to get that man out of bed, and then for the following thirty minutes he’d just complain about how he wanted to go back to sleep. Eventually he’d shut up and carry on with his day, but the whole ordeal was no fun for either of you.

“Yuuuukkki, wake up.” You were sat on your knees hunched over him, shaking his side. He groaned, grabbing his pillow and putting it over his ears— Acting like a drama queen, that’s for sure. “Yuki, it’s time to wake up! Quick, there’s a fire in the house!” No response. This guy had zero survival instincts.

You tried for probably another five minutes, using various tactics to wake him up. You even tried wafting the smell of his favorite food in front of his nose, but it didn’t work. You were finally starting to give up, deciding he could just sleep some more, when you suddenly remembered his greatest weakness: Your boobs.

“Yuki, my tits are out-” You were gonna finish your sentence by saying ‘you have to wake up to see’ but he immediately sat up, staring directly at you. You sat on your knees on the bed, your pajama top lifted to reveal your chest.

“I’m up.”

“I can’t believe that worked…”

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Lewis was a guy who loved nature. He was always dragging you along on hikes, despite the fact they weren’t your favorite thing. He wanted to share his passions with you, and since racing wasn’t something you could quickly join in on, he figured hiking would be just as good.

You complained half the time, but then would be super ecstatic when you came back, like it was the best hike of your life. He didn’t really get your weird way of showing enthusiasm, but he found it entertaining nonetheless.

Today, you were extremely tired, but Lewis just kept pushing the limit. Every time you’d stop to catch your breath, he’d tell you “just a bit further.” Every. Single. Time.

You finally got sick of his nonsensical behavior, and decided to give him a reason to turn around. You stopped, taking a moment to catch your breath before calling out to him. He turned around to face you, and then you quickly lifted your shirt, leaving him speechless.

“Can we turn back now?” You asked as you lowered your shirt, leaning over to continue with your deep breathing.

You could hear him swallow, loud as hell. “Yes. Yes we can.” Good use of free will.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You actually had a good reason for this. Ever since the move to Williams, Carlos hadn’t been feeling quite like himself. He was struggling with the major downgrade, even with the immense amount of support he was receiving. From you, from his new co-workers, from the fans. It certainly made the blow less harsh.

He just kept getting in his head about things. He wasn’t the smooth operator anymore— He was just your average racer, trying to drag a less than perfect car to the finish line. You could tell he wasn’t suffering on the track, so you chose to surprise him.

One day you came home a little later than normal, and he greeted you with a confused expression, along with his normal forehead kiss. “Where were you?” Coming home late typically meant you were running errands, but your hands were empty.

You didn’t give a proper reply. Instead, you lifted your shirt. Your breasts spilled free, but that’s not what he was focused on. Nestled between them was the number 55– His number. He melted on the spot, grabbing your hips.

“Do you like it?” He nodded, unable to say anything. He leaned down, but you gently pushed his head back. “I just got it done, so no kisses there.”

“Fine,” He grumbled begrudgingly, instead opting to kiss both breasts tenderly. “Your support means everything to me…”

—

GEORGE RUSSELL - GR63

Your boyfriend was always without his damn shirt. At home, after races, on his instagram— The world got to see his abs. At first you were always startled when he paraded around your home without a top on, but eventually it became part of the norm.

You could only wonder how he’d react if the roles were reversed. What if one day you just started to walk around with a shirt or bra? The curiosity got to be too much, so one day when you excused yourself to the bathroom, you stripped down to just your pants, letting everything up top hang loose.

You came back, flaunting yourself as if it were nothing abnormal. George noticed immediately, his eyes shamefully staring at your assets as your strutted by. He kept his firm gaze, jaw clenched and all, trained on you. Finally, he couldn’t keep silent anymore and addressed the elephant in the room.

“What are you doing?” You bit back a laugh, turning around to face him. He didn’t seem to mind, but it was definitely out of the ordinary.

“You walk around shirtless all the time. I just wanted to join.” He nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t even seem that fazed by your behavior.

George shrugged, “You got me there.”

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar Piastri was a gentleman at heart. He knew you were a capable person, but he always held doors open for you, pulled your seat out, offered you his jacket— Everything. He wasn’t stuck up about it, though. If the roles happened to be reversed, he’d politely accept your kind behavior.

Oscar is the type of guy to ask you if you want to come back to his house at the end of the date because he sincerely just wants to continue being around you, not because he’s looking for a quick fuck. He was the perfect guy— You, on the other hand, were his more devious match that paired with his gentlemanly demeanor perfectly.

He could tell you had something up your sleeve all night, because you were abnormally giggly. He just didn’t expect it to quite literally be up the sleeve of your jean jacket, which topped the nice dress you wore to the date nicely.

“A gift for you,” You held out a small photo, face down for him. He raised a brow, and hesitantly took the polaroid picture from you. His cheeks flared up in a bright red cover and he quickly laid it back down on the table, covering it with his hand.

“Why do you have that?!” It was a photo of you, wearing only a pair of heels and his racing helmet. You laughed at his dramatic reaction, sliding the photo back into your own grasp.

“Did you not like it?” You asked, faking a pout as you tucked it back into your bra.

“Well- Obviously I did, but why-?!” He shook his head, laughing at your antics.

“Why not?” Evil laughter ensued.

[pucksandpower]

Come Undone

Day 26 → Cum Marking 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent, and somnophilia

Kinktober Masterlist

Charles can’t remember the last time he’s been this agitated. The tension has been building for days, coiling around his chest like a tight wire, and it all seems to be connected to one thing — or rather, one person.

You.

He stands in the Ferrari garage, arms crossed, leaning against a wall with his eyes trained on you. You're talking with Lewis again. That familiar laugh escapes your lips, the one Charles loves, but now it grates against his nerves.

Lewis is close, too close, and Charles can’t help but notice the way Lewis’ hand brushes your arm as he talks. It’s subtle, probably innocent, but it still sends a spark of irritation through him.

“Everything alright?” Joris asks, coming to stand beside him. His tone is casual, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes.

Charles doesn’t answer immediately, jaw tight as he watches you laugh again at something Lewis says. “Yeah,” he replies, but his voice is strained, even to his own ears.

Joris raises an eyebrow, following his gaze. “You sure about that? You’ve been glaring at Lewis like he’s the second coming of 14-year-old Max.”

Charles lets out a huff of air, half-laugh, half-sigh. “I’m fine,” he insists, though he can’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

Joris just smirks, nudging him with his shoulder. “You know, if you stare any harder, you might just set him on fire.”

Charles finally looks at Joris, who is grinning like he’s thoroughly entertained by this. “I’m not-” he starts, but Joris cuts him off.

“You’re not what? Jealous? Possessive? Both?” Joris teases, but there’s no malice in it.

Charles sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just … he’s always around her.”

“Maybe because she’s your girlfriend and he’s trying to be friendly?” Joris suggests, but Charles shakes his head.

“There’s something about the way he looks at her. It’s not just friendly.”

Joris considers this, then shrugs. “Maybe. But you know, she’s with you. Not him. And she doesn’t seem to notice anything unusual, does she?”

Charles glances back at you, still deep in conversation with Lewis, completely unaware of the turmoil in his mind. “No,” he admits reluctantly. “She doesn’t.”

“Then maybe you’re overthinking it.” Joris claps a hand on his shoulder. “But if it’s bothering you this much, maybe you should talk to her.”

Charles frowns. “And say what? ‘Hey, I think my new teammate is flirting with you, can you please stop talking to him?’ That sounds ridiculous.”

Joris laughs. “It does when you say it like that. Just … I don’t know, make sure she knows how you feel about her. So there’s no room for doubt.”

Charles nods, but his eyes drift back to you. The way Lewis leans in slightly as he talks, the easy smile on his face … it’s driving him crazy. Joris is right — you’re with him, not Lewis, but that doesn’t stop the uneasy feeling gnawing at him.

“Thanks,” he says, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Anytime,” Joris replies, patting his shoulder before walking away, leaving Charles to stew in his thoughts.

He knows he should focus on the race tomorrow, but all he can think about is how Lewis seems to find every excuse to be near you. At first, he thought he was imagining it, reading too much into friendly interactions. But as the days went on, it became harder to ignore. The casual touches, the lingering looks, the way Lewis always seems to find you when Charles isn’t around … it’s all too much.

Charles doesn’t want to be that boyfriend — the one who’s insecure, who reads into things that aren’t there — but every instinct he has is screaming that Lewis is interested in you. And the worst part? You don’t even seem to notice.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your voice. “Charles?”

He blinks, realizing you’re standing in front of him now, a concerned look on your face. Lewis is nowhere to be seen, and Charles feels a small surge of relief at that.

“Yeah?” He replies, trying to shake off the tension.

“You okay?” You ask, tilting your head slightly as you study his face. “You seem … off.”

He forces a smile, but it feels tight. “I’m fine.”

You don’t look convinced. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting weird for the past few days.”

He hesitates, wondering how much to tell you. Part of him wants to just brush it off, to avoid any potential conflict, but another part of him — the part that’s been simmering with jealousy and frustration — wants to tell you everything. Maybe Joris is right; maybe it’s better to be honest with you, to clear the air before this eats him alive.

“I’ve just … I’ve noticed how much time you’ve been spending with Lewis,” he says, trying to keep his tone neutral.

You blink, clearly surprised by the direction the conversation has taken. “Lewis? What do you mean?”

Charles rubs a hand over his face, feeling a little foolish now that he’s actually saying it out loud. “It’s just … he’s always around you, and it feels like he’s flirting with you. And I don’t like it.”

Your eyes widen slightly, then you frown. “Lewis isn’t flirting with me. He’s just being friendly.”

“Maybe,” Charles concedes, “but it doesn’t feel that way to me. He’s always touching you, always finding excuses to talk to you …”

You stare at him for a moment, then shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re being ridiculous. Lewis is just … Lewis. He’s like that with everyone.”

Charles feels a flicker of irritation at how easily you dismiss his concerns. “Not like this,” he insists. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “And how does he look at me?”

“Like he wants something more,” Charles says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you laugh — a short, incredulous sound. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious!” Charles snaps, more frustrated by your reaction than anything else. “I know what I’m seeing, and it’s driving me crazy.”

Your smile fades, replaced by a look of confusion and something else — hurt, maybe? “Charles, I’m with you. I love you. Why would you think for a second that I would be interested in someone else?”

“It’s not that,” he says quickly, regretting his tone. “It’s not about you. It’s about him. I just … I don’t trust his intentions.”

You stare at him, and he can see the gears turning in your mind. “So you’re saying you don’t trust me?”

“No,” he replies, but the word comes out too quickly, too defensive. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

You sigh again, rubbing your temples. “Charles, I don’t know what you want me to say. I can’t control how other people act. And if Lewis really is flirting with me — which I don’t think he is — then he’s wasting his time because I’m with you. You’re the only one I want.”

He wants to believe you, and deep down, he does. But the jealousy is still there, a dark cloud that refuses to dissipate. “I just … I don’t like it,” he repeats, feeling like a broken record.

You step closer to him, reaching out to take his hand. “Then talk to me about it, okay? Don’t keep it bottled up until you’re this upset. We can work through it together.”

Charles squeezes your hand, grateful for the gesture even if the tension hasn’t fully left him. “I will. I promise.”

You smile softly, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good. Now, can we stop worrying about Lewis and focus on the race tomorrow?”

He nods, but his mind is already racing, thinking about what he can do to make sure Lewis knows you’re off-limits. It’s not enough to just talk to you about it, he needs to take action, to show both you and Lewis that you’re his and his alone.

After the race, he tells himself. After the race, he’ll do something to make it clear to everyone — including Lewis — that you belong to him.

And this time, he won’t hold back.

***

The hotel suite is quiet, save for the soft rustling of the pages as you flip through your book. Charles can hear it from where he stands near the window, staring out into the darkened city. The lights outside blur together, a sea of neon and streetlights that fail to hold his attention. All he can think about is you — lying in bed, lost in whatever story you're reading, completely unaware of the turmoil still swirling in his mind.

He turns away from the window, glancing over at you. The lamp on your nightstand casts a warm glow, illuminating the relaxed curve of your body under the sheets. Your face is serene, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you read, and Charles feels a wave of affection that is quickly followed by a surge of something more primal, something that has been simmering under the surface all day.

He walks over to the dresser, where the hotel has placed a few empty glasses, neat and pristine in a row. He picks one up, the cool glass smooth against his fingertips, and his mind is already racing with thoughts of what he’s about to do. It feels a little crazy, maybe even a little wrong, but the idea has taken root, and he knows he won’t be able to shake it.

You don’t notice when he slips into the bathroom, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The light is harsh, and it jolts him slightly, making him take a deep breath as he stares at himself in the mirror. His reflection looks back at him, eyes dark with the need he’s been trying to suppress all day.

He sets the glass on the counter, steadying himself with another deep breath. His thoughts are consumed by you — by the way you laughed with Lewis, by how oblivious you seemed to the effect it had on him, by how badly he wants to remind you that you’re his.

Slowly, he reaches down, undoing the button on his pants. His hands are shaking slightly as he lowers them, along with his boxers, the cool air of the bathroom hitting his skin. He closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he wraps his hand around himself.

It doesn’t take much to get him going. He’s been half-hard all day, the tension of jealousy and desire building up inside him. His mind drifts back to the way you looked at him earlier, the concern in your eyes when you asked if he was okay. He thinks about how soft your skin is under his touch, how you feel when he’s inside you, how you moan his name in the dark.

His strokes are slow at first, deliberate, as he imagines you on the bed, waiting for him, completely unaware of what he’s doing. The thought only heightens his arousal, and he bites his lip to stifle a groan as his hand moves faster. He can picture it so clearly — coming back into the room, seeing you lying there, trusting him completely.

The pressure builds quickly, and he has to brace himself against the counter with his free hand, his breathing ragged as he nears the edge. He forces himself to keep quiet, to not alert you to what he’s doing, but it’s difficult when the pleasure is so intense, so all-consuming.

Finally, with a choked gasp, he spills into the glass, his body trembling as he comes down from the high. He stands there for a moment, catching his breath, before he carefully sets the glass down on the counter. The sight of his release, warm and viscous, in the clear glass sends a thrill through him, a reminder of what he’s about to do.

He cleans himself up quickly, adjusting his clothes and wiping the outside of the glass clean. Then, with one last look in the mirror, he picks up the glass and exits the bathroom.

You’re still in bed when he comes back, your book now closed and resting on your chest as you lie with your eyes shut. You look so peaceful, so relaxed, and he feels a rush of tenderness mixed with the lingering heat of his arousal.

He sets the glass on his nightstand, careful not to draw your attention to it. “You still awake?” He asks softly, moving closer to the bed.

“Mm-hmm,” you murmur, not opening your eyes.

He hesitates for a moment, then sits down on the edge of the bed. “You look tired,” he comments, reaching out to gently stroke your arm. “You should get some rest.”

You smile slightly, eyes still closed. “Just winding down. It’s been a long day.”

He nods, even though you can’t see it, his fingers tracing small circles on your skin. “I was thinking …” he starts, his voice low and careful. “Maybe I could give you a massage? Help you relax.”

You hum in response, a pleased sound that makes his heart skip a beat. “That sounds nice,” you reply, shifting slightly under the covers to give him better access to your back.

Perfect, he thinks. His plan is falling into place.

He reaches for the glass on the nightstand, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to alarm you. You’re still lying with your eyes closed, completely unaware of what he’s about to do, and the thought of it sends a fresh wave of excitement through him.

“Just relax,” he whispers, leaning over you as he carefully pulls the sheets down to expose your back. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You nod slightly, your trust in him evident, and it only fuels his determination. He dips his fingers into the glass, coating them in the warm cum before setting it back down. His heart races as he leans over you, his hand hovering above your skin for a moment before he finally makes contact.

The feeling of his release on your skin is electric, sending a jolt of arousal through him. He starts at the base of your spine, his fingers gliding smoothly over your skin, spreading the liquid across your back. You sigh softly, completely unaware of what he’s using, just enjoying the sensation of his touch.

He takes his time, his movements slow and deliberate as he works his way up your back, his fingers kneading the tension out of your muscles. The room is filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, the occasional murmur of contentment escaping your lips, and it drives him wild.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “How does that feel?” He asks, his voice rough with need.

“Good,” you reply, your voice sleepy and content. “Really good.”

He smiles, a mix of pride and possessiveness swelling in his chest. “Good,” he echoes, his hands still moving over your skin, spreading his mark across every inch of you.

His touch becomes firmer, more insistent, as he moves higher up your back. You shiver slightly under his hands, but still, you don’t open your eyes, completely trusting him. It’s intoxicating, the power he feels in this moment, knowing that he’s marking you as his in a way that no one else ever could.

He dips his fingers back into the glass, gathering more of the cum, and starts working on your shoulders. The thought of his release mingling with the natural scent of your skin is almost too much for him to handle, and he has to take a steadying breath to keep from losing control.

You let out a small moan as his fingers dig into a particularly tight spot, and he can’t resist leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck. “You’re mine,” he whispers against your skin, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

You don’t respond, and for a moment, he worries that he’s gone too far, that you’ve realized what he’s doing. But then you sigh contentedly, shifting slightly under his hands, and he realizes that you’re still half-asleep, blissfully unaware of what’s really happening.

The realization sends a thrill through him, and he resumes his ministrations with renewed fervor, his hands moving over your skin with purpose. He wants to cover every inch of you, to make sure that there’s no part of you that hasn’t been touched by him, that hasn’t been marked as his.

He’s lost in the sensation, in the feeling of your skin under his hands, in the thought of what he’s doing. The rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, and he knows that he’s never wanted you more than he does right now.

Finally, when he’s satisfied that he’s covered every inch of your back, he pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders. He’s breathing heavily, his heart racing, and it takes a moment for him to gather his thoughts, to come back to reality.

You’re still lying there, your eyes closed, completely unaware of what he’s done. He feels a rush of possessiveness, a fierce need to protect you, to keep you all to himself. He knows that what he’s done is risky, that it could backfire if you ever found out, but in this moment, he doesn’t care.

You’re his, and now there’s no doubt about it.

He leans down to press another kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin for a moment before he pulls back. “You should get some sleep,” he says softly, his voice low and rough.

You murmur something in response, too tired to form coherent words, and he smiles, pulling the sheets back up over you. He watches as you settle into the pillows, a contented sigh escaping your lips, and he feels a surge of satisfaction.

He moves to the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers beside you. You instinctively curl into his side, your head resting on his chest, and he wraps an arm around you, holding you close. The warmth of your body against his is soothing, grounding him after everything that’s happened tonight.

As you nestle closer, you mumble, “Whatever lotion you used feels amazing.”

He swallows hard, his heart racing all over again, but he manages to keep his voice steady. “I’m glad you liked it,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You sigh contentedly, already drifting off to sleep, completely unaware of the truth. And as Charles holds you in his arms, he can’t help but smile, knowing that tonight, he’s left a mark on you that only the two of you will ever know.

***

The sun has barely begun to rise, casting a soft, golden light over the Monaco skyline as Charles stands in the kitchen of your shared apartment. The place is quiet, the kind of peaceful that only comes in the early hours of the morning. He’s dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts, barefoot on the cool tile floor as he busies himself with breakfast.

There’s a calmness to this routine, a tranquility that he cherishes. It’s just the two of you here, no prying eyes, no tension — just the comfort of home. But even in this serene setting, a part of him is buzzing with anticipation, a subtle undercurrent of the possessiveness that he’s been feeling more and more of lately.

On the counter, among the fresh fruit and yogurt, sits a small glass, nearly identical to the one he used just a few nights ago. It’s filled with the same substance, warm and opaque, waiting for the moment when he can mix it into something that you’ll consume. The thought of it sends a thrill through him, a reminder of the secret he’s been keeping, the private bond he’s been nurturing in ways only he knows.

He’s almost lost in thought when he hears the soft pad of your footsteps approaching from the hallway. You enter the kitchen, still sleepy-eyed and wrapped in the comfort of an oversized sweatshirt, your hair slightly tousled from sleep. There’s something about seeing you like this, so natural and unguarded, that makes his chest tighten with affection — and with that familiar, possessive need.

“Morning,” you murmur, your voice still soft with sleep as you come up behind him.

He turns to greet you, a smile already playing on his lips. “Morning, mon amour,” he replies, pulling you into his arms. You melt into his embrace, your head resting against his chest, and he holds you there for a moment, savoring the feeling of you in his arms, so close, so his.

You’re warm against him, the scent of your skin mingling with the fresh coffee he’s brewed, and it’s all he can do to keep from letting his hands wander, to keep from pulling you even closer. But he knows he has a plan to stick to, so he leans down to kiss the top of your head instead, a soft, lingering gesture that makes you hum contentedly.

“I was thinking about making smoothies,” he says, his voice casual as he pulls back just enough to look down at you. “You want one?”

You nod, eyes still half-closed as you lean into him, not fully awake yet. “Yeah, that sounds nice,” you murmur, your hand coming up to rest on his chest, fingers idly tracing the fabric of his shirt.

He gives you a reassuring squeeze before gently disentangling himself from you, turning back to the counter. “Sit tight. I’ll have it ready in a few minutes.”

You wander over to the kitchen island, pulling up a stool and resting your head on your folded arms, watching him with sleepy eyes. He glances over his shoulder at you as he starts gathering ingredients — the yogurt, the fresh berries, a banana — carefully setting each one on the counter in front of him.

“You sure you’re awake enough for this?” He teases, his tone light, though his mind is already on the next step, on the glass sitting just within reach.

“Barely,” you admit with a small laugh, your eyes closing as you rest your chin on your arms. “But I’ll manage. I could use something refreshing.”

He grins, a soft chuckle escaping him as he reaches for the blender. “This should do the trick, then.” He starts adding the ingredients, layer by layer, taking his time to make sure everything is just right. The kitchen fills with the sound of fruit hitting the blender, the soft clink of the yogurt spoon against the glass, the low hum of the machine as he blends it all together.

And then, with a practiced ease, he reaches for the glass, the one that holds his release, and adds its contents to the mix. The thick liquid disappears into the smoothie, blending seamlessly with the other ingredients, leaving no trace of what he’s done. It’s the perfect secret, hidden in plain sight, and the knowledge of it sends a shiver of excitement through him.

He caps the blender, turning it on once more to make sure everything is thoroughly mixed, and then pours the smoothie into a tall glass. It’s a vibrant, inviting shade of pink from the berries, the kind of drink that promises sweetness and freshness, and he can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction as he walks it over to you.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the glass in front of you with a smile.

You sit up, blinking your eyes open as you reach for the glass. “Thank you,” you say, your voice still soft with sleep, but there’s a warmth in your tone that makes his heart swell.

He watches, his breath catching slightly, as you take a sip. Your lips wrap around the straw, and for a moment, he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of you drinking, the subtle curve of your mouth, the way your throat moves as you swallow. It’s such a simple thing, but knowing what’s in that glass, what you’re consuming, makes it feel like so much more.

“Mmm,” you murmur after a moment, pulling back with a pleased smile. “This is really good.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice a touch huskier than he intended.

You nod, taking another sip, completely unaware of the deeper meaning behind the drink. “Yeah, really good. You always make the best smoothies.”

His heart swells with pride, even as the possessiveness lingers, wrapping itself around his thoughts like a vice. You’re his, in every way that matters, and this smoothie is just another reminder of that fact — a reminder that only he knows about.

“Glad you like it,” he says, leaning against the counter as he watches you take another drink. “I put a little extra care into this one.”

You laugh softly, setting the glass down as you meet his gaze. “I can tell.”

For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, a quiet connection passing between you that feels almost electric. There’s a warmth in your eyes, a softness that makes him want to reach out and pull you into his arms again, to hold you close and never let go.

But instead, he pushes off the counter, walking back over to where you’re sitting. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your skin in a slow, deliberate motion that makes your breath hitch just a little.

“Do you have any plans today?” He asks, his voice low, intimate.

You shake your head, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him. “No, not really. Just thought I’d relax, maybe read a bit.”

He nods, his hand sliding down your arm to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Good. You deserve to relax.” He lifts your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering against your skin.

You smile, a soft, contented smile that makes his chest tighten with emotion. “What about you?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve got some training later, but nothing too crazy,” he replies, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I was thinking we could spend some time together before that, though. Just the two of us.”

You nod, your smile widening as you squeeze his hand. “I’d like that.”

He feels a warmth spread through him, a deep, satisfying contentment that comes from knowing you’re his, that you’re here with him, that you trust him completely. It’s a feeling he wants to hold onto forever, to keep close to his heart.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling back to look into your eyes. “Finish your smoothie,” he says, his tone gentle but insistent. “I want you to be well-fed before we start our day.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you pick up the glass again. “Okay, okay,” you say, taking another sip. “Bossy.”

He grins, his heart swelling with affection as he watches you drink, knowing that with every sip, you’re taking in a part of him, a part that only he can give you.

And as he watches you move around the apartment, smiling and laughing, completely unaware of the deeper connection you now share, he can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction, a certainty that no one else could ever have what you have with him.

You’re his, in every way that matters. And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

***

The late afternoon sun casts a warm, golden light across the Monaco apartment, bathing everything in a soft glow. The air is filled with the distant hum of the city below, but inside, all is calm, quiet — a perfect oasis for the two of you.

Charles moves around the spacious bathroom with purpose, the sound of running water filling the air as he prepares a bath for you. It’s been a long few weeks, with races and travel and the endless demands of his career, but now, finally, there’s a moment to breathe, to relax. And Charles is determined to make sure you do exactly that.

He watches the water fill the tub, swirling with bubbles from the bath salts he added, filling the room with the soothing scent of eucalyptus. But even as he sets the scene for a moment of peace, his mind is elsewhere, focused on the next step of his plan, the one that’s been playing out in quiet, secret moments ever since that night in the hotel.

He glances at the door to the bathroom, half-closed, knowing you’re just in the other room, curled up on the bed with a book, completely unaware of what he’s about to do. His heart beats a little faster at the thought, that same possessive thrill coursing through him, mixing with the tenderness he feels every time he looks at you.

The water’s almost ready now, the tub nearly full, and he knows it’s time. With a practiced ease, he reaches for the waistband of his shorts, slipping them off and setting them aside. He’s already half-hard, the anticipation of what he’s about to do sending a rush of heat through his body.

He moves to the edge of the tub, positioning himself just right, and with a deep breath, he lets his hand drift lower, closing around his length. The sensation is immediate, a familiar pleasure that he’s come to associate with these moments, these secret acts of intimacy that only he knows about.

His thoughts are filled with you, with the image of you sinking into the bath, the water wrapping around your body, warm and soothing. He strokes himself slowly, his eyes fixed on the water, imagining how it will mix with his release, how it will touch every inch of your skin, marking you as his in a way that no one else will ever know.

It doesn’t take long before he’s spilling into the water, his cum clouding the surface, disappearing into the bubbles. The sight of it sends a shiver of satisfaction through him, a sense of completion that’s as much emotional as it is physical.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, to let the last remnants of pleasure fade before he straightens, pulling his shorts back on. The water is ready now, the bath perfect, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips as he turns to leave the bathroom, ready to call you in.

“Mon cœur,” he calls softly, stepping out into the bedroom. “Your bath is ready.”

You look up from your book, your eyes lighting up at the sight of him. There’s a softness in your expression, a trust that makes his heart ache with affection, and he crosses the room to you, holding out a hand to help you up.

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Thank you,” you say, your voice warm and full of gratitude as you follow him back into the bathroom. “This is exactly what I needed.”

He leads you to the tub, the water steaming gently, the scent of eucalyptus wrapping around you both. “Just relax,” he murmurs, his hands finding the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod, your eyes closing as he helps you undress, his touch gentle, reverent. There’s something almost ritualistic about the way he moves, his hands sliding over your skin as he removes each piece of clothing, until you’re standing naked before him, your body bathed in the soft light of the setting sun.

He guides you to the edge of the tub, helping you step in, and you sink into the water with a contented sigh, the warmth enveloping you, easing the tension from your muscles. Charles watches you, his gaze fixed on you as you settle back against the tub, your eyes closing in bliss.

“How’s the water?” He asks, his voice low, intimate.

“It’s perfect,” you murmur, your lips curving into a soft smile as you lean your head back. “So warm … feels amazing.”

He smiles, a wave of satisfaction washing over him at your words. “Good,” he says, kneeling beside the tub, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You deserve to be pampered.”

You open your eyes, looking up at him with a gaze so full of trust, so full of love, that it nearly takes his breath away. “I’m lucky to have you,” you say softly, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin in a tender caress.

His heart swells at your words, at the sincerity in your voice. “I’m the lucky one,” he replies, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to memorize the feel of you, the scent of you.

He pulls back slightly, his hand moving to the edge of the tub where a bottle of shampoo waits, carefully placed within reach. “Let me wash your hair,” he offers, his voice gentle, almost a whisper.

You nod, your eyes closing again as you relax back into the water. “That sounds nice,” you say, your voice soft, almost drowsy.

He reaches for the shampoo, pouring some into his palm, the familiar scent filling the air. But as he moves to work it into your hair, he pauses, his eyes flicking to the small cup he’d placed on the floor behind him earlier, hidden just out of sight.

With a quick glance at you to make sure your eyes are still closed, he reaches back, his fingers closing around the cup. He moves carefully, mixing its contents with the shampoo in his hand, watching as the two substances blend together, the color and texture indistinguishable from the original.

His heart beats a little faster as he begins to work the mixture into your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp with a practiced ease. The scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam rising from the water, filling the room with a heady aroma that makes everything feel even more intimate, more connected.

You sigh softly as he works, the tension melting from your body with each gentle stroke of his fingers. “That feels amazing,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions — love, possessiveness, satisfaction. “I’m glad,” he replies, his voice low, soothing. “I want you to feel good, to feel relaxed.”

You hum in response, a sound that’s almost a purr, and he can’t help the way his chest tightens at the sound, at the sight of you so vulnerable, so trusting under his care.

As he continues to wash your hair, his fingers moving through the strands with gentle precision, he feels that same familiar thrill, the knowledge that he’s marking you in a way only he knows about. It’s a secret bond, a connection that runs deeper than words, deeper than anything else.

He finishes rinsing the shampoo from your hair, his hands cradling your head as he pours the water over you, careful to keep it from getting in your eyes. You let out another contented sigh, your body sinking deeper into the water, your skin glowing in the soft light.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your eyes still closed, a smile playing on your lips. “You always take such good care of me.”

His heart skips a beat at your words, a rush of warmth flooding his chest. “I’ll always take care of you,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

You reach up, your hand finding his, your fingers intertwining with his in a gesture that feels as natural as breathing. “I love you,” you whisper, your voice filled with a depth of feeling that takes his breath away.

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a tender caress. “I love you too,” he replies, his voice steady, but there’s an intensity in his gaze, a fierceness that speaks to the depth of his feelings, to the possessiveness that’s only grown stronger over time.

As you relax back into the water, your eyes drifting closed once more, Charles watches you, his heart swelling with a mixture of love and possessiveness, satisfaction and desire. You’re his, in every way that matters, and with every secret act, every hidden gesture, he’s reminded of that fact.

And as he sits there beside you, his hand still holding yours, he can’t help but feel a sense of completion, a certainty that no matter what happens, you’ll always be his, in ways that no one else could ever understand.

***

The room is quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets and the rhythmic hum of the city outside. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the bedroom, creating long shadows that stretch across the floor. The air is cool, a gentle breeze slipping through the cracked window, stirring the fabric of the curtains ever so slightly.

Charles lies beside you, his body still as he watches you sleep. The steady rise and fall of your chest, the soft flutter of your eyelashes as you dream, the way your lips part slightly with each breath — it’s all mesmerizing to him, a sight he never tires of. There’s a peace in this moment, in the quiet intimacy of sharing a bed with you, knowing you’re safe, warm, comfortable, that you trust him completely.

But there’s also something else — a restlessness, a need that’s been simmering beneath the surface, growing stronger with each passing day. He’s been patient, careful, methodical in the way he’s been marking you as his, but tonight, that need has reached a peak, a point where he can’t ignore it any longer.

His gaze drifts down to your lips, the soft curve of them, the way they part slightly with each exhale. An idea takes root in his mind, one that’s as thrilling as it is intimate, and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s already moving, slipping out from under the covers with a practiced ease that keeps the bed from shifting too much.

The room is still cool as he stands, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor as he walks to the foot of the bed. He pauses there for a moment, his heart beating a little faster as he considers what he’s about to do. There’s a thrill in the secrecy of it, in the knowledge that you have no idea what’s coming, that you’re completely at his mercy in this moment.

With a quiet breath, he moves to the other side of the bed, his hands reaching for the waistband of his shorts. He slips them off, the fabric pooling at his feet, leaving him bare in the dim light of the room. His body responds immediately, the anticipation sending a rush of heat through him, his desire hardening almost instantly.

He looks down at you, your face still peaceful, unaware, and he knows he has to be careful, gentle, if this is going to work. He lowers himself onto the bed, positioning himself over you with practiced care, his body hovering just above yours. He leans in close, his breath warm against your skin as he brings himself closer to your lips.

Your eyelashes flutter, a soft murmur escaping your lips as you start to stir, but before you can fully wake, he moves, pressing the tip of his length against your mouth, the contact so light, so delicate, it’s almost like a dream.

Your lips part instinctively, a reflexive action born of years of being together, of knowing each other so intimately. Charles’ breath hitches as he feels the warmth of your mouth, the softness of your lips as they brush against him. He’s careful not to move too quickly, not to startle you awake, but even this small touch sends a shiver of pleasure through him.

“Shh, mon amour,” he whispers, his voice low, soothing. “Just relax. It’s okay.”

You murmur something unintelligible, your head shifting slightly on the pillow, but you don’t wake. Your body is still relaxed, still trusting, and that trust sends a wave of possessive satisfaction through him, a reminder that you’re his in every way that matters.

He presses forward slightly, just enough to let the tip of himself slip between your lips, careful to keep his movements slow, deliberate. He watches your face, the way your brows furrow slightly in your sleep, the way your lips instinctively close around him, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes his breath catch.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just like that.”

He moves carefully, slowly, guiding more of himself into your mouth, each inch sending a thrill of pleasure through him. The sensation is almost too much, the combination of your warmth, your softness, and the knowledge that you have no idea what’s happening, that you’re completely at his mercy in this moment.

But he’s not doing this just for his pleasure. There’s a purpose to this, a plan that’s been forming in his mind ever since he started marking you, ever since he realized how much he needed you to be his in every way. He wants you to associate this with feeling good, to connect the taste of him with pleasure, with satisfaction, even if you don’t fully understand why.

His free hand moves to your thigh, gently caressing the soft skin there, his touch light, reassuring. “You’re doing so well,” he whispers, his voice soothing, even as his heart races with the intensity of the moment.

You stir again, your lips tightening slightly around him as your body responds to his touch. He can feel the tension in your muscles, the way your breathing changes as you start to wake, but he doesn’t stop. He’s careful, precise, his movements designed to keep you on the edge of consciousness, just aware enough to feel the pleasure, but not enough to fully wake.

“Just let go,” he murmurs, his hand trailing up your thigh, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there. “I’ve got you.”

Your breathing quickens, a soft moan escaping your lips as your body responds to him, even in sleep. He can feel the way your muscles tense, the way your hips shift slightly, as if seeking more contact, more pleasure.

He keeps his movements slow, controlled, his own pleasure building with each careful thrust, each soft sound that escapes your lips. He watches your face, the way your brows furrow, the way your lips part around him, and he knows he’s close, so close to the edge.

But he doesn’t want to finish yet, not until he’s certain you’ve felt it too, that you’ve connected the taste of him with pleasure, with satisfaction. He moves his hand higher, his fingers brushing against the warmth between your legs, finding you already wet, already ready for him.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of affection and possessiveness. “That’s my good girl.”

He strokes you gently, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, his touch just enough to push you closer to the edge, but not enough to wake you fully. He watches as your breathing quickens, your body responding to his touch, to the combination of sensations he’s giving you.

It doesn’t take long before he feels you start to tense, your muscles tightening, your breathing becoming more erratic. He can see the pleasure building in you, can feel the way your body is reacting, and it’s almost too much for him to handle, the intensity of it sending him right to the brink.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice filled with satisfaction as he watches you, as he feels you. “Just let go, mon cœur. I’ve got you.”

And then, with one final thrust, one last stroke, he feels you fall over the edge, your body trembling with the force of your climax. The sight of you, the feel of you, sends him over the edge too, his own release spilling into your mouth, the pleasure almost overwhelming in its intensity.

He stays there for a moment, his breath ragged, his heart racing, as he watches you slowly relax, your body sinking back into the bed, your breathing evening out as you slip back into a deeper sleep. He’s careful as he pulls away, as he adjusts the covers around you, making sure you’re comfortable, making sure you’re warm.

He watches you for a moment longer, his heart swelling with a mixture of love and possessiveness, satisfaction and desire. You’re his, in every way that matters, and with every secret act, every hidden gesture, he’s reminded of that fact.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as he whispers, “Je t’aime,” into the darkness.

And then he slips back under the covers, his body curling around yours as he holds you close, his heart still racing with the intensity of what just happened, of what he’s just done. But there’s no regret, no second thoughts, only a deep, abiding satisfaction, a certainty that you’re his, in every way that matters.

As he drifts off to sleep, his hand resting possessively on your hip, he knows that he’ll continue to mark you, to claim you, in all the ways that matter, in all the ways that only he can. Because you’re his, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you that way, forever.

***

The night air is thick with celebration. Monaco is alive with the sounds of revelry — cheers and laughter drifting up from the streets below. It’s late, but the adrenaline from Charles’ latest victory keeps you both buzzing. You’re in your shared apartment, the lights dimmed low, the atmosphere electric with the thrill of his win. Champagne flutes sit abandoned on the table, half-full and forgotten in the wake of more pressing desires.

Charles can’t take his eyes off you. You’re draped in his suit jacket, the oversized fabric slipping off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone, the delicate line of your neck. There’s a flush to your cheeks, the result of both the champagne and the heady excitement of the night. You’re beautiful, radiant in the aftermath of his success, and he feels a swell of pride, of possessiveness, as he watches you.

The victory tonight was sweet, but what’s even sweeter is knowing you’re his. Completely his. He’s trained you well — his perfect, responsive lover — and tonight, he’s going to show you just how well that training has paid off.

“You’re happy,” he says, his voice low, tinged with satisfaction as he watches you lean back against the sofa, your eyes bright with joy.

“Of course I am,” you reply, your smile wide, genuine. “I’m so proud of you. You were amazing out there.”

He steps closer, his gaze intense as he takes in the sight of you, his fingers itching to touch, to claim. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’m pretty sure your skill had something to do with it.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “But I’m serious. You’re my good luck charm.”

You tilt your head, leaning into his touch, your eyes softening as you look up at him. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he replies, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt.

He moves closer, his body pressing against yours as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. It’s slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against yours with practiced ease. He knows exactly how to kiss you, how to make you melt beneath him, and he feels that familiar thrill of satisfaction as you respond, your lips parting to let him in.

But tonight, he’s not just interested in kissing you. Tonight, he has something else in mind, something he’s been working towards for weeks.

He pulls back slightly, his breath warm against your lips as he murmurs, “I have something for you.”

Your brows furrow in curiosity, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he takes your hand, guiding it down between your bodies, letting you feel the hard evidence of his arousal. Your eyes widen slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you realize what he’s implying, what he’s about to do.

“Charles …” your voice trails off, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty coloring your tone.

“Shh, mon amour,” he whispers, his voice soothing as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Trust me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, his hand moving to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, positioning you just right. And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he guides himself to your lips, the tip of his length brushing against your mouth, warm and inviting.

You hesitate for a moment, a flicker of surprise in your eyes, but then your body remembers the way he’s been with you, the way he’s trained you, conditioned you, and that hesitation melts away. You part your lips slightly, allowing him to slip into your mouth, your breath catching as you taste him, as you feel him.

It’s a taste you’re familiar with by now, a taste that’s been ingrained in your subconscious over weeks of careful, methodical training. But this time, it’s different. This time, you’re awake, fully aware, and the intensity of it hits you like a tidal wave.

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft moan escaping your lips as he presses deeper, the familiar warmth and saltiness of him filling your senses. There’s something about it, something intoxicating, and you can’t help but respond, your body instinctively seeking more, craving the pleasure that’s become so closely associated with this taste.

Charles watches you, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and satisfaction as he sees your reaction, sees the way your body tenses, the way your breath quickens. You’re perfect, absolutely perfect, and the knowledge that he’s the one who made you this way, who trained you to respond like this, sends a rush of possessive pride through him.

He moves carefully, his hips shifting slightly, allowing him to press deeper into your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your head, holding you in place. He’s careful not to go too fast, not to overwhelm you, but there’s a thrill in knowing that you’re so close, that he’s about to push you over the edge.

You whimper softly, your lips tightening around him as the pleasure builds, as the taste of him floods your senses. It’s almost too much, the intensity of it, the way your body responds so instinctively, so powerfully to this simple act. You’re teetering on the edge, so close to falling, and you can feel it, the tension building in your core, the overwhelming need for release.

Charles watches you, his own breath ragged as he feels your body’s response, as he sees the way you’re teetering on the brink. “You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, with desire. “My perfect girl.”

And then, with one final thrust, one last push, he feels you fall over the edge, your body trembling with the force of your climax. The taste of him, the feel of him, it’s all too much, and you can’t hold back, can’t stop the wave of pleasure that crashes over you, leaving you gasping, shaking, lost in the sensation.

He holds you there for a moment, letting you ride out the wave, his hand stroking your hair gently, soothingly. He can feel the way your body shudders, the way your breath hitches as you come down from the high, and it fills him with a deep, satisfying sense of accomplishment.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice filled with affection as he gently pulls away, his hand still cradling the back of your head, holding you close. “You did so well.”

You’re still breathing heavily, your body trembling slightly as you look up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of shock and wonder. “Charles … I …”

“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay. You’re perfect. You’re mine.”

You nod slightly, your breath still shaky, but there’s a look of understanding in your eyes, a recognition of what just happened, of how far you’ve come, of how much you’ve changed. And Charles knows, without a doubt, that you’re his, completely his.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you both settle back onto the sofa, the aftermath of the moment settling over you like a warm, comforting blanket. There’s a sense of peace, of contentment, as you rest your head against his chest, your body still humming with the afterglow of pleasure.

Charles strokes your hair, his fingers gentle as they move through the soft strands, his heart filled with an overwhelming ove for you. He’s proud of you, of how perfect you are, of how well you’ve responded to his training. And as he holds you, he knows that this is just the beginning, that there’s so much more to explore, so much more to experience together.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again, his voice filled with a quiet, possessive satisfaction. “And you always will be.”

You don’t respond, not with words, but the way you snuggle closer to him, the way your body relaxes in his arms, says it all. You’re his, in every way that matters, and there’s no place you’d rather be.

[lcvecove]

Cleaning Max’s apartment while he’s gone and you accidentally break one of his race trophies.

𝒏ote , stop i loved writing this so much! thank you for sharing your little thought with me nonnie <3

fem!reader who is very sensitive (like me🥲) I don’t love how I ended this but that’s okay. . .

you had been so careful. so unbelievably careful not to touch the trophies as you dusted the shelf max’s whole life was displayed on.

you’d tiptoed around them like they were sleeping dragons. you used the softest cloth. held your breath. didn’t even blink too hard when you passed certain ones.

and still - still - you heard it.

that sickening clink.

that tiny shift in balance that meant something had moved when it shouldn’t have. you turned just in time to watch the austria trophy teeter and then crash.

you step down the little stool you used to reach up high, making your way over to the scene. your fingers hovered over the damage, the cloth still clutched in one hand like a murder weapon.

you whispered a panicked, “no, no, no…” under your breath, as if that would rewind time.

you hadn’t even touched it. just brushed too close, just shifted the air wrong, apparently. and now . . .

you sit back, legs folded, hand over your lips as you weigh your options.

you could call him.

you could confess in person.

you could flee the country.

“oh my god” you whisper, picking up the two pieces and inspecting them like maybe, just maybe, they’ll magically snap back together if you’re gentle enough.

but no. the clean break down the middle is unforgiving. you hold both halves in your hands like a confession.

“this is fine,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone else. “this is totally, completely-”

a soft mrrp interrupts you.

you glance up to see donatello perched on the edge of the shelf, right where the empty spot now is, tail flicking innocently, blinking at you like what?

a few feet away jimmy is sprawled across max’s couch, utterly unconcerned.

your eyes narrow. “you guys suck” you huff with a pout and place the two broken halves down in front of you.

donatello lets out a quiet meow, almost smug. you look down at the broken trophy, then back up at the cat. you consider blaming him. briefly. desperately.

but you had always been a terrible liar and max would see right through it. he’d take one look at your face and know.

still you point a very stern finger “you better back me up when he gets home” as if the cat’s going to deliver a grade A defence statement in your honour.

when max steps through the door of his apartment, he’s immediately concerned by how eerily quiet it is. there’s no music softly playing like there usually is, no clatter from the kitchen.

the kind of silence that makes his chest tighten.

he toes off his shoes, hanging his keys up at the door, carefully holding the bag of takeout in his hand. “baby I’m home” he yells, a faint smile on the edge of his lips over how domestic his life has become.

when there’s no answer in response max frowns and rounds the corner into the living room, stopping in his tracks when he sees you.

sees you curled up on the couch, jimmy in your lap, tissues scattered next to you, eyes puffy and cheeks red, tears streaming down your face.

max’s heart drops straight into his stomach. the bag of takeout hits the floor with a dull thud, completely forgotten.

he’s by your side in two strides, crouching low in front of the couch, his hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to touch first. your knees, your arms, your face.

“what happened?” his voice is gentle but panicked, like it’s being strangled by fear. “are you hurt? what’s wrong?” he spits question after question.

you shake your head quickly, clutching jimmy tighter to your chest. the cat doesn’t protest. just purrs against you like he knows your heart is in pieces and somehow cuddling him will fix it.

“I broke it,” you whisper. your voice is hoarse, quiet, like admitting it again might make it worse.

max blinks. “broke what schat?”

your lower lip wobbles as you glance toward the shelf. his eyes follow yours, and land on the empty space where his austria trophy used to sit.

max exhales. not a sigh of anger. just a quiet release of tension. relief. but you misread it.

“i’m so sorry,” you rush out. “I was being careful, I swear. I didn’t even touch it, I just — donatello jumped up and — I don’t even really know how it happened. if it was me or the cat and I tried to catch it but I was too late and then it broke and —” you stop and take a shuddering breath that sneaks right into max’s heart.

your voice breaks as you say “and I ruined it.”

max doesn’t say anything at first. just studies you. his eyes soft, expression unreadable. then he reaches up, gently brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he says quietly

“but—” you go to protest but he just shakes his head, cutting you off, “it’s just a trophy baby” he reassures you, wiping more tears and sitting on the couch. pulling you onto his lap, jimmy jumps off and your head falls into that familiar crook of his neck.

“it’s okay” he soothes, running his hand through your hair slowly.

he lets you calm down a little before saying, “thanks for cleaning my shelf” with a kiss to your head

“didn’t even finish cleaning it. I was too scared” you admit with a little pout lifting your head to look at him. “i’m so so sorry max, really. i’ll win you another one myself if I have to” you say sincerely

“first you break my trophy and now you’re threatening to beat me in a race? who needs enemies when I’ve got a girlfriend like you” max jokes with a click of his tongue.

a breathy chuckle escapes him when you hit his chest with the back of your hand, a little glare on your face as you start to tear up again.

“i’m just kidding baby. my sweet girl. stop crying now please? it’s breaking my heart” he says, kissing your tears away and cupping your face gently.

“it’s okay. it’s just a trophy. I have lots of them. it was an accident and we can fix it. it’s not the end of the world. you’re okay. we’re okay. everything is okay. okay?” he says and you nod, pressing your lips to his softly.

“i love you” you whisper and he smiles, kissing you again.

“i love you more” he says, gently moving you next to him and getting up to grab the food he dropped earlier. somehow its all still perfectly packaged and in place and max starts placing things on the table.

“wanna watch the austria race? we could relive the trophy’s glory days” max jokes as he settles back on the couch, laughing when you throw a pillow his way.

“you’re an ass” you say, kicking his thigh with your foot, but both of you settle into that comfortable silence as you watch tv, the broken trophy long forgotten.

[jo-com]

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ ➛ So this is love?

Max Verstappen x Fem!Sainz reader

Summary: The man who always put racing above anything else; not even caring or investing about others because he thinks it’s a waste of time—What did you do to him to make him change his mind?

Genre: Cold!Max x Persistent!reader

Note: Grammatical errors and this is not proofread!! Enjoy thoo

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚💕 ─ ───────

Max stared blankly at his mates as he tuned out the noises that they spoke. His eyes narrowed and brows knitted in a frown— obviously not invested in their conversation.

“Yeah, she’ll be coming here, so be nice guys” Carlos spoke,his tone laced with a warning, glaring back at other drivers who he thinks will scare you off.

And of course he was staring directly at max.

Max cocked a brow,“What?”,he was clearly not listening to them, so why the hell are they looking at him?

The other driver rolled his eyes, “i said don’t be batshit crazy and be nice to my sister”.

“Crazy?” Max scoffed, “i don't even give a damn about her, so why do i have to be nice?.”

The room then fell quiet at his words; no one even muttered a single sound as the heavy atmosphere intoxicated them—awkwardness spreading across the drivers as they stare back and forth at each other.

For a whole five minutes, none of them had the courage to speak up and end the insufferable silence.

Not until Charles let out a scrappy cough, making the others sigh in relief from his boldness.

“Carlos didn’t mean it like that, he meant that you should just be a little nice, his sister's pretty sensitive, you see” Charles exclaimed, his voice shaking from the previous tension.

Max tutted in response, mumbling a low ‘whatever’ before standing up and leaving the Ferrari garage.

…

It was finally the day of your arrival, everybody were excited to meet the you… well almost everybody.

Max just slumped in the corner, his body leaning against the wall with his usual scowling face— avoiding others that tries to converse with him.

He was minding his own business and letting his mind wander off.

What’s so special about her that people kept fussing over her.

His train of thought quickly got interrupted as people swarmed the front door, their voices echoing and colliding with one another making a god awful sound.

He rolled his eyes with judgement as he stared abruptly at the doorframe— not even bothering to check or give the slightest interest on you.

But as you walked closer to his eye range, his breath seemed to hitch and his jaw slowly hung opened.

He doesn’t know how or why, but as soon as his eyes met yours it felt like his world suddenly turned in slowmo and all the others that surrounded you, now disappeared— it was like there were only the two of you.

Max never felt something like this before, it’s a weird and uncomfortable feeling. How the hell do you make it stop?

His once cold and composed look now turned into a love sick fool expression.

“Hey man you okay?” Logan asked, his tone dripped with pure concern over his fellow driver.

Max suddenly jumped from Logan’s presence. He never even saw that he came and leaned besides him. It was so unusual for him to be that unattentive.

Max lets out an awkward cough, “yeah, i am good, just looking like everyone else.”

“Looking? Dude you look like you want to get down on your knees for her” the other joked, easing up to max.

But to him it wasn’t a joke, he was conflicted on why he looked like that and was it obvious to everyone?. What the actual fuck is happening to him.

He then raised his hand and gently lay it to his forehead to check whether or not he has a fever. Damn no fever.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Logan responded, his eyes curled into a soft concern gaze.

Max didn’t answer and flickered his eyes back to yours. His face suddenly heats up as you stare back and smile at him. Your smile that was radiant like the sun and eyes soft like sky.

After that short and subtle interaction, he can’t seem to keep his focus and just let his thoughts wander off that lead to that moment.

…

“You’re max right?” You greeted, tugging the excess hair to your side and smiling softly at him. Having him a clear view of your angelic appearance.

Max could feel his whole face being flushed, god he wishes you don’t notice, “uhm yeah” he spoke, his tone that was always high and mighty now turned into a low and shy ones.

You hummed in response and puckered your lips with a pop, “well I’ve been seeing you all day and you’re always avoiding me, is there something wrong?”

Max’s eyes widened, “no..i-uhm there’s-“ he stuttered; trying to find the right words but nothing came out right.

You examined his actions and then let out a few giggles at his antics. You didn’t understand why they call him mean, to you he was just adorable.

…

After that day, the two of you often hang out with each other and would hear whispers and murmurs about you guys, but always brushed it off and ignore people.

“Here try this max” you beamed, handing him the mango that you were holding— smiling from ear to ear as you share your favorite fruit to someone speacial. You loved mango, i mean how could you not? It’s tasty and delicious.

He gave you a look of uncertainty, he never liked mango, it’s weird looking and nothing will ever change his mind about it, even you.

But maybe one bite won’t hurt.

“Haha sure” he replied, taking the fruit from your hand and gently taking a bite out of it. He then gulped it down his throat and stared back at you— your eyes sparkled with joy and excitement, as you await for his response.

“It’s alright” he answered, giving you a thumbs up to which you retorted with a happy clap.

“Thank god you like it, I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d like one of my favorite fruits”

Hmm maybe mangoes aren’t that bad.

…

It didn’t take long before max realized how inlove he was with you and as soon as he did, he asked to court you.

Of course you agreed to it, you as well fell for him but you also wanted to get the approval of both your parents and brother.

That’s why Max took it upon himself to make your parents like him, though he knew that the real obstacle was Carlos.

“So, you’re telling me that you want to date my sister?” Carlos asked, his voice dripped with sarcasm and anger.

Max smiled nonchalantly, “yes”

“You want to date her with that attitude?” Carlos spat, his teeth gritted with each word.

“Yes” he answered again bluntly.

He was getting on Carlos nerves and you could tell.

“Haha uhm Max can you come here for a sec?” You laughed dryly, grabbing Max’s sleeves and dragging him to the side.

“What did we talk about? I told you to be nice” you scolded, rubbing the bridge of your nose to ease your stress.

“I was being nice” max grumbled, his brows knitted in a frown out of habit.

Unbeknownst to them, Carlos was in the sidelines listening, laughing silently at his fellow driver, ‘hehe he’s done for, he never admits his mistake and apologize’ he thought.

“Sorry, I’ll try okay?” Max mumbled, making you smile and kiss his cheeks in response.

Carlo’s jaw dropped, What the fuck, why was THE max verstappen apologizing, is this real??

The two of them came back hand in hand and faced Carlos once again.

“I am sorry for being rude, and yes i am dating her so please approve”.

Carlos was still in shock, never in his life had he seen Max act like a puppy and apologize to anyone.

“No uhm it’s okay we’re good” he replied, his voice shaky from disbelief.

So that’s what max is like when inlove. Damn he’s like a lost puppy.

…

Sorry for not uploading too much🥹🥹 I’ve been busy but i hope you enjoyed this!!💋

[astars-things]

Hi!!! Could I request a Lando x reader based on the Quadrant Hole in the Wall video? Where, because it’s cold, there’s already a bunch of cute moments between Lando and the reader but then she gets dunked and the moment after is even cuter, in which everyone goes crazy over the moment once the video is released. I hope that made sense. Thanks love 💗

here you go babes <3

When Lando came up to you with this quadrant video idea you were sceptical at first and thought it would make a great video, he knew you loved watching from the sidelines, watching the chaos and cheering everyone on from the safety of your little folding chair with snacks.

When he suggested you be in it that was another story "No no absolutely not"  you protested but one flash of his famous puppy eyes and you caved, and that’s how you ended up at the karting track, bundled up in one of Lando’s oversized hoodies, tucked tightly in his arms as cameras were being set up around you.

"Today we're playing whole in a wall but with a twist" Lando spoke to the camera his arms still wrapped securely around you like you might bolt at any second (which wasn’t completely off the table). While Aarva was explaining the rules and going over the three rounds Lando gave you a small kiss on the forehead, "Now the real question is who wants to go first?" Lando asked everyone pointing to each other but most pointed to Ethan 

"Three two one" Max called out and off Ethan went and he made it through no problem, once most of them had gone it was your turn, grabbing one of Landos old F2 helmets and putting it on your head you tilted your head up towards him. "Bub, can you do it up for me?" you asked softly, nerves starting to bubble in your stomach.  He gave you a small kiss on the top of the helmet like you normally do before he got into the car, The group around you let out a collective "Awwww," and you fought the urge to hide behind the visor. 

You sat in the kart, internally panicking and rethinking your life choices, you didn't have much experience with karting maybe ten minutes worth and most of that was spent accidentally bumping into walls. But here you were. Once you heard them scream "one" you were off, the foam wall was getting closer and you panicked serving into the wall at the last minute, Lando quickly rushed over to make sure you were okay 

"Babe! Are you okay?" Lando was at your side within seconds, concern etched across his face as he quickly undid your helmet and pulled it off gently. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “You alright?” You nodded, cheeks flushed from embarrassment more than anything. "Yeah, just… maybe not my calling in life."

"To the tank to the tank" You heard Max and Steve yell, you sat on the white ledge with fear written all over your face, "Ria I swear to-" You screamed but soon your body was submerged in the ice cold water 

Lando quickly ran over to help get you out and wrapped you up with a towel that he had under his hoodie to keep warm. He held you close, trying to rub some warmth back into your frozen arms as you shook like a leaf. "Why did I agree to this?" you muttered into his chest, teeth chattering.

"Because you love me," he whispered with a soft smile, holding you even tighter like he could shield you from the cold with sheer willpower. You went into the bathroom to change out of your soaking wet clothes and chucked on some quadrant joggers and the hoodie Lando had been keeping warm for you 

You rejoined the group now with a hot chocolate in your hands that Lando had been stealing sips out of, "fuck off this is my drink" you laughed snatching it back while he pouted dramatically. He responded by wrapping his arms around you again, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead despite your protests.

View comments 

@.user Y/N wearing his old F2 helmet is killing me they’re too cute.

@.user2 Petition for Y/N to be in every Quadrant video forever.

→ @.Quadrant we will try and convince her don't worry 

@.user3 I swear this video is just 50% Karting and 50% Lando being soft with Y/N.

please reblog and like 🫶

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 9

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 8 of...who knows.

It felt like forever. He knew it wasn't. It must have been minutes until the car door was ripped open and Charles slipped in right next to him.

It wasn’t until the doors were slammed shut behind Charles that Max dared to look at the Monégasque.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight. Charles was still in his racing suit just as him, the suit itself streaked with sweat.

The moment the car door closed, the car started riving.

"Merde," Charles cursed. Max could only agree. "I am sorry, that it took this long."

Max gave a sharp, jerky shake of his head. "You don’t have to apologize," he somehow managed to get the words out. "I’m just..." he trailed off, a shaky exhale escaping him. "How could you make it here so fast?" he asked, casting a quick glance in his friend’s direction.

Charles snorted. "Your press officer had a shouting match with Ferrari's,“ he said simply.

If Max wasn’t so focused on not completely losing it, he might’ve been amused with the mental image. But at the moment, he could only shake his head.

Next to him, Charles let out a sigh. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"No. You?" he gave back.

"I don't have a bad feeling," Charles said quietly. “Not worse than it has been for days at least.”

Twin Telepathy was apparently a thing as far as Charles and Colette were concerned. 

Quite frankly, till this day, it still weirded Max out. They just seemed to know when the other one wasn't feeling well. 95% of the time, they got sick at the same time. They communicated more easily with each other than with anyone else, and regardless of what game they played...they needed to be put on opposite teams, because otherwise nobody had a chance against them.

Max was well aware of Colette and Charles' strange connection. Even if he didn’t fully understand it. They both had some sort of sixth sense when it came to the other one, and it sometimes felt like they were talking in secret code.

"What’s it telling you right now?" he asked, his voice barely above a rough whisper.

Charles turned to him fully at that, and Max saw the way his eyes swept over him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

Max could only imagine what Charles was seeing. He felt like a walking wreck, and there was no doubt his appearance was mirroring that.

"Colette is in pain," Charles finally said, his voice strangely quiet. "She’s scared."

That answer felt like somebody shoved a knife into Max’s stomach. He inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat. “Of course, she is,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Charles seemed to sense what he was thinking, even without being telepathically connected through whatever the hell Colette and him had going on. The Monégasque reached out and took a firmer hold of his hand, the grip almost crushing.

"Don’t," Charles said firmly, his voice leaving no room for arguments. "Don’t go there. We’re gonna get to her as fast as we can."

There was a brief moment of silence, as Max tried to collect himself. He focused all his attention on the pressure of Charles' hand on his, and somehow, it actually helped.

"I feel so goddamn useless," he finally admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to be with her."

"You want to try calling her before we are in the air?" Charles suggested.

That was not a bad idea, not at all. Max let out a low and slightly shaky exhale, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I…” he had to stop and clear his throat. “Yeah, I’ll try to call her.”

His hands were shaking when he pulled out his phone out of the backpack that somebody had handed off to him, already packed. Regardless of all the drama that had gone on in the RedBull garage during the year… if it really mattered, the people in there pulled off minor miracles.

Within minutes, his entire day - hell, his entire week - had been packed for him, with all the essentials of clothes and everything else he would need.

He had almost forgotten about the phone in his shaking hands, but now he just stared at the screen for a moment. His fingers were trembling so badly that just unlocking the phone was a challenge in itself.

Jimmy and Sassy were on his lockscreen...a picture that Colette had once sent him when he had been away for one of his races...the two of them laying on top of her on their couch...

Every other time Max saw the photo, it made his heart do a little funny jump. Now though, it made his chest ache. It felt like a sharp stabbing pain, and for a moment, he just sat there and stared at the picture.

Then he called her.

It rang. And it rang, and it rang again. With each passing second, that horrible knot in his stomach tightened a little more. With every ring of the bell, it got harder to breathe.

Finally, to Max’s immense and enormous relief, the line connected.

"Hey, Maxie. I put you on speaker," Victoria's voice came over the phone, sounding surprisingly calm.

A shiver of something resembling dread ran through Max, at the sound of Victoria’s voice. But he pushed past the feeling.

His thoughts were once again running wild - was it a bad sign that Colette wasn’t the one speaking to him? Or was he just overreacting..?

“Hey,” he forced the word out past the lump in his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asked, pleading for Colette's voice. Was it selfish that he just wanted to hear her tell him that everything was going to be okay?

"Better now," Colette's voice came, sounding slightly hoarse.

The words were like a shot of adrenaline, and for a moment, Max actually felt a little lightheaded. “Liefje.” He closed his eyes, just hearing her voice sending another wave of relief through him. “Are you okay? How is Bébé?”

"Bébé has decided that they would rather be born today, so I would suggest you hurry up," Victoria said drily.

"Seems like the kid already inherited Max's need for speed," Charles quipped. "How are you doing, Coco?"

"I'm good," Colette's voice replied, and Max could only imagine the eye-roll that was currently happening. He knew his girlfriend, and he had no doubt that she had been glaring at Victoria ever since the phone was put on speaker.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice suddenly turning much softer. "You're coming, right?"

"Coming," he assured her, his heart aching. "We're coming, I promise."

"I know. I’m not worried." She sounded like she meant it, but Max could easily imagine the anxiety in her eyes.

"You'd better not worry," Charles said, and then added, "I’m keeping him from doing anything dumb."

Max shot Charles a dirty look at that, bt he swallowed down the annoyed protest and focused back on Colette instead. “Just…hold on a little longer, okay?”

"It's not like I can go anywhere else," Colette replied, her voice slightly amused. "I’ll keep our little speed demon in there a little lo...." She broke off and let out a quiet hiss of pain, her voice once again cut off by what Max suspected to be a particularly painful contraction.

“Colette,” he said sharply, all kinds of emotions washing over him, one by one. “Liefje, just…just breathe through it, okay?”

There was a second of panting, then, he heard her take a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” she finally said. “Just…hurts like hell.”

He swallowed and clenched his free hand tightly into a fist, fighting against the urge to just jump out of the car and start running towards the airport.

Colette being in pain was not something he could deal with.

He heard her take a few more deep breaths, and he just sat there, waiting and listening and feeling absolutely useless.

"How long until you get here?" she asked after a moment, her voice breathless. He could see her in his mind, his sweet girl, sitting on the bed and clutching her belly as another contraction hit her.

"We're not even at the airport yet," he told her, and damn it, why were his eyes suddenly burning. "We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just...hold on a little longer."

"What your dad said..." Colette said with a shaky voice.

"I know," he said simply, the grief raw in his voice. Neither of them were ever really going to get over the two babies they had lost. They had learnt to live with the pain, they had dealt with the heartbreak an grief...but it was always going to be scar for them.

"Max, if something…" she began, her voice a little wobbly. He could tell that she was crying, by the way her breathing got a little more hitched and ragged.

But she suddenly cut off and gasped, letting out an even breath. Another contraction..."Hey, nothing is gonna happen," he quickly said, trying to soothe her. "Nothing. I'll be there soon. I'll be there before you know, and our child will meet their parents. We will be fine, we will get through this. You, and me. Together."

"If something happens," Colette continues. "If..."

"No," he cut her off, the word coming out as a growl. "Nothing is gonna happen. You will not talk that way. You’re going to deliver a gorgeous and healthy baby, and I won’t hear anything else."

"Max..." she protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said firmly, putting as much steel in his voice as he could. "You will be fine. Our baby will be fine, and I will be there soon and I will hold your hand and you can threaten to geld me and all of it will be okay. Just breathe.” 

He could hear the sound of her breathing, deep and even. She was trying to steady it, and Max gripped his phone tighter. He didn’t know if he was trying to hold himself together, or if he was trying to hold on to the sound of her voice.

The seconds ticked by, and then another contraction hit, and he heard her gasp out another ragged breath. Max felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. The idea of her in pain was like an invisible knife twisting a little deeper in his gut, each time.

"We need to go," Charles said suddenly. "We need to get into the plane." The car slowed down at that moment. "Coco, listen to me. I am going to be absolutely fucking furious with you if something happens to you," Charles told her fiercely. 

"Trust me," Colette’s voice said, sounding slightly tired. "I am very, very motivated to stay alive."

That was good. That was a good sign. If she was still being sarcastic and even a little bit cheeky…it was good.

"Just hold on," he told her again, the familiar feeling of helplessness seeping into his bones. "Just keep hanging on, for me. I love you."

“I love you too,” the words were as immediate and as fast as the sunrise each morning. "Hurry up, dammit."

"I’m trying," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I’m trying. We’re at the airport now. We’ll get there as fast as we can-" he had to stop, when he heard her let out another pained gasping sound, as another contraction clearly hit her hard.

“Goddamn,” he exclaimed, all of his muscles tense with the urge to do something. He wanted to help her, he wanted to be there to comfort her…but more than anything,  he was terrified of losing her. "Liefje, just keep breathing, okay? Breathe and stay calm."

"I’m trying to," her voice was breathless, and he knew that she was probably trying hard to fight the urge to cry out. Oh God, he hated that. He hated seeing her in pain, he loathed feeling this utterly useless.

"Go. Love you," she told him.

"I love you," he told her emphatically, wanting to say something more, but then Charles impatiently gestured at him to hurry up and get out of the car. "I...I’ll see you soon, okay? Just hang on, okay?"

"Yeah," he could tell that she was trying even harder to control her voice, trying to put on a calm and steady front for his benefit. "Just..." she cut off and let out a gasp, another contraction evidently hitting her hard. "...just hurry up before this baby decides to make their way out before you arrive, okay?"

"I will," he promised through gritted teeth. "I will, goddammit, I will, just…hang on."

He heard Colette’s pained panting, and each of her breaths was like a stab in the gut.He hated having to hang up on her

Everything in him rebelled at that. How could he, how could he possibly abandon her like that, how could he let her take on this pain and fear all by herself, without him there to hold her hand...but goddamnit, he had no choice.

He took a shuddering breath and pushed past the urge to scream, to slam his fist into something, anything. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from the desperate need to get to her, to overwhelming panic, to anger at the universe for forcing them apart and for putting her through this pain.

Into the plane they went…it was probably the shortest amount of time between entering a plane and taking off Max had ever experienced. 

Before too long they were up in the air, flying towards Nice.

The minutes ticked by, each one passing by like a century. Max would sit in restless agitation at his seat, his mind racing back and forth. Every thought and memory came back to Colette. He just wanted to be at her side, he just wanted everything to be okay…

And instead he would be stuck on this plane for 6 hours.

He would be stuck on this goddamn plane for six hours. Six hours, each one of them filled with the knowledge that the love of his life was giving birth to their child, and he was not there to support her, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything was okay.

It was driving him absolutely insane. He couldn’t take it, he just wanted to be there, with her. He could vividly picture her, sitting in the hospital bed and gripping the rails, her face screwed up in pain as she fought through another contraction. And he was not there to comfort her.

"Maman is with her. Your sister is with her. Lorenzo and Arthur too." Charles said at that moment. “We aren't there but everybody else is."

"How can you be this calm?" Max asked him, dragging a hand through sweat damp hair.

"Don't mistake calm for not being worried," Charles said evenly, his eyes tracking Max's restless pacing of the plane. "I am worried. For her, for you and for the little one. But freaking out isn't gonna do anyone any favours right now."

"I know,” Max said, his voice still strangled tight with stress. He just couldn't get any of the images out of his mind - her struggling and fighting her way through the pain, looking more vulnerable and pale than he had ever seen her...and he was not there.

“Besides, I shouted at Ferrari’s PR and got it out of my system, so currently, I am feeling quite calm.” Charles said darkly. “I imagine that’s going to change again when I am sure that Colette and the baby are alright.”

Max just stared at him. Charles had done what?

If there was a religion that Charles Leclerc believed in then it was Ferrari.

Charles Leclerc was their golden boy. Their Il Predestinato. There was no good-natured fobbing to be had about Ferrari regardless of what issues there had been had through the years, and there had been a lot.

Charles worshipped Ferrari like a malevolent goddess. He didn’t want to hear any criticism of his team and Max had given up on that a very long time ago. 

Charles and Colette both could be the most stubborn people Max had ever match. The only one who could match their stubbornness were each other. 

"You did what?" Max stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Charles was an absolute Ferrari fan and loyal to the very core…why the hell would he yell at the PR people?

"Why...? What did they do?"

"They weren't even going to tell me that something was wrong with Colette," Charles said darkly. "I knew it. I knew that something was off. But they didn't say anything. It was one of Red Bull's PR Staff that got me out of the cooldown room. Ferrari wouldn't have said anything to me. Ferrari didn't want me to leave either. They wanted to debrief, they wanted me to give interviews,"

Max had to resist the urge to swear. He had been so focused on the fact that he was not with Colette that he hadn't even processed the fact that Ferrari had actually kept her labour a secret from Charles, simply to make him stay and do his goddamn job for them.

"You know that that is not normal, right?" he asked him drily. "I am not telling you that everything is perfect at Red Bull but Christian would never fucking stand for that."

"You know I never expected it," Charles told him, his mouth a thin hard line. "We are the drivers. We are the stars. But we come second. First and foremost, we are assets to the team. What Ferrari wants, Ferrari gets. We drive, we get podiums, we hold the trophies, and we smile for the cameras. Everything else comes second. It doesn’t matter to them. To them, only the trophies matter. "

"That's what they want," Max told him, anger seeping into his voice. "But that's not how it should be. Ferrari is wrong. If something is wrong with your loved ones, they have no right to keep it from you like that. Especially not for the sake of a goddamn interview."

"I know," Charles said, his lips thin with bitterness. "But there's not much I can do about it, is there? We may be the top drivers on the grid, but we drive the car that the teams give us. There's only so much that we can do when the team has power over pretty much every aspect of our career. And believe me, I am going to pay a fucking price for doing what I did. I just don't care at all. It's Colette," he said sharply. "I love all my siblings. I do. I love Lorenzo and Arthur. I would do everything for them. But they aren't my twin. They aren't the second half of me," Charles said simply. "Ferrari be damned."

Max hadn't thought that he was ever going to hear these words out of Charles' mouth but here they were.

"What the fuck did Jos say by the way? What did Coco mean?" Charles demanded.

"He gave an interview to Sky Sports," Max said, fury still embering deep in his gut.

"Of course he did." Charles said, not sounding surprised at all. "What did he say?"

"Confirmed the relationship...and the pregnancy," Max said clenching his teeth. "And if that wasn't enough...he made a...comment about how it had taken us long enough to have a baby."

There was a sharp indrawn breath as Charles absorbed that. "...What?" Charles said after a moment, his voice strangled. "...he made that comment in public? Are - are you serious?"

"I never told him about the two...miscarriages," Max said quietly. "I couldn't deal with whatever well meant advice he was going to have...but I...We lost two babies," Max said weakly. "My father went out there and confirmed our relationship and the pregnancy without talking to either of us. He just made that decision because it's "ridiculous" that we kept it a secret for so long. An it’s making me furious. This wasn't his decision to make. This was ours."

"Yes," Charles said, his jaw clenching. "It was. Your decision. Nobody else’s. He had absolutely no right to do that. Goddamn it, I have never liked that man, but I've never had the urge to punch him as much as I do this very moment."

"You and me both," Max said. The anger he was feeling would have been burning through him like a damn inferno if he hadn't been so worried about Colette.

"This should have come from us," Max repeated quietly. "Not from anybody else."

"It still can come from you," Charles said.

Max paused, looking up at him. "Are you saying we should..." he began uncertainly.

"You want to tell the entire world that you love my sister and that she is having your baby? You have an Instagram account and a phone with an internet connection," Charles said drily. "Tell them the truth. Your truth."

Max opened his mouth and then closed it again. Charles had a point. It was obvious what the news was going to be now if people had seen Jos's interview.

But he wanted to be the one to tell the world. He wanted it to be on his terms. He wanted it to be public but on his public terms. Not his father's.

"Are you ever going to ask my sister to marry you?" Charles asked him suddenly.

The question caught him completely off guard. "...What?" He said blankly, stunned by the change of the conversation.

"You gave her a ring when you were both 18 that you both insisted was only a promise ring," Charles said drily. "Are you ever going to replace it with the real thing?"

He thought back to that ring that still sat on Colette's finger to this day. A simply gold band with a tiny heart-shaped diamond.

He had given it to her in 2016, after his very first Grand Prix win in Spain. He had gone out and bought it that very same day to be exact.

He had bought Victoira a handbag the first time he had scored his championship points...but the first time he had won...he had bought Colette that ring.

"Apparently the baby is only going to have your surname too, because you have an agreement," Charles continued. "Do I actually want to know what that agreement was?"

"We were 18. Both our father's would have probably killed us, if we came to them and told them that we were engaged," Max said with a sigh. The Leclerc's had always been supportive of their relationship but Hervè Leclerc had very much thought that both Colette and him were far too young to get married. 

Jos on the other hand...Max didn't even want to imagine that screaming fit.  "So I gave her that ring and we agreed that..."

"You agreed that..." Charles repeated slowly, silently urging him to continue.

Max let out a deep sigh and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, mussing it up even more. "We agreed that we didn't really need a piece of paper to tell us what we already knew," he said simply. "Colette and I had been together for 6 years at that point, we already knew and accepted that we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. It was just a matter of when. So we decided that we didn't need a damn piece of paper to know that we were committed to each other. We already knew that, without a doubt," Max said simply. "It was a promise ring. To love and to cherish, till death us do part. One day we would do it properly, but till then...that ring was a promise."

Charles stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You have been married to my sister for 10 years?" he asked him sharply.

Max winced. Okay. Put like that, it sounded kinda bad. "We never had the actual wedding," he said sheepishly. "We both know it wasn't necessary for us, so...we kinda just...never got around to it."

"I mean, I did ask your father for her hand in marriage when it was clear that he wasn't going to be there...when we eventually did it properly...but...for us that ring was… It was more than enough," Max said quietly. "I knew damn well that I would be with her for the rest of my life. She knew it. We both knew it. And that ring was a symbol between us that sealed the deal. We both knew that it was going to be for forever and always. It was a promise. A promise to always stay by each other’s side. No matter how badly things fell apart around us. No matter how much the world wanted to tear us to apart. We were going to stay together, come hell or high water. We didn't need a paper to prove that to us or the rest of the world," Max said firmly.

Charles stared at him for a couple of long moments, processing this. Max was well aware that, from an outside perspective, it might sound weird. That they had been so young, but so utterly certain that they were going to spend their lives together.

But he and Colette had been together for years. And he had seen how strongly they had bonded over the years, seen what they had been able to deal with as a team, as one, and how they had come through every single thing that the life had thrown at them together.

"You two are utterly ridiculous," Charles finally said drily. "You didn't get engaged because as far as you two were concerned you already got married years ago."

Max winced a little bit and couldn't really refute it. If he were to be honest, he'd have admit it did sound utterly ridiculous, when Charles spelled it out like that.

But that just...that was how badly they had known right from the very beginning that this was it for them. They didn't need a piece of paper to tell them what they already knew.

"I'll ask her properly," he promised Charles. "I already got the ring. But Colette doesn't want to overshadow Lorenzo and Charlotte and I knew that she wasn't going to want to have a big party while pregnant so I figured I would just wait."

Charles was slightly taken aback by his words, before he gave a small smile. "She'll definitely say yes, you know," he said, the corner of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Max smiled in return. His heart ached with the thought of her. "I hope so," he said quietly, feeling like there was a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. "I really, really hope so."

[clovermoters]

we love, love day! ln4 x reader

summary - with a wedding on the way, lando makes sure this years valentine’s day is one you and him will remember forever.

warnings - fluff, small amount of smut towards the end (oral fem receiving) extremely established relationship, lando is a loverboy, extreme valentines adorableness. wc: 2.8k !!

a/n - happy love day loves! i hope u all enjoy this little fic i wrote for yous <3 id like to give a big big thank you to @landopoet for being my lovely proof reader/editor/person i bounce my ideas off of! anyways with love..enjoy 💗

February 4th 2025

the calm hum of the McLaren Technology Centre was quiet in the background of your boss going over the preseason marketing plans for the team.

your face rested on your palm as you fought the urge to fall asleep in your chair. you’ve been in meetings all day and all you want to do is go home and cuddle with your fiancé, who’s been texting you updates throughout his day off at home. receiving pictures of him on the couch watching movies and playing games with Max Fewtrell. his updates however, went radio silent during your previous meeting.

“and with that i’ll leave you to your assignments for the week, please email me if you have any questions or concerns, see you Sunday for our livery launch” your boss announces.

you swiftly pack up your supplies into the purse Lando had bought you for christmas mere months ago.

making your way towards the spot lando agreed to pick you up, your eye catches a mix of red and pink balloons tied together, next to them stood your loving fiancé holding a pink drink with a delicious looking cake pop sticking out of it, looking at you with a giddy smile.

“well hello to you too...” you eye your boyfriends cheeky look on his face as he hands you your drink. you take the cake pop out, revealing the simple sharpie writing on the plastic lid.

will you be my valentine? <3

you laugh softly looking up to see your boyfriends eyes. the hopeful look on his face makes your heart melt.

“lan, baby, we’re getting married in 4 months” you say with a giggle. the boy scoffs at you “oh i'm well aware love, but i still need to ASK you to be my valentine. it's how the holiday works, sweetheart!”

you smile taking a sip of the drink before reaching out to link your hand with Landos, giving him a soft peck on his lips. “of course i’ll be your valentine, my love”

Landos eyes sparkle, smiling from ear to ear as he gives a gentle fist pump to the air, whispering a playful “yes! let’s gooo!” under his breath before pulling you into a tender kiss. you giggle into his lips as he pulls you closer by the hips, your lips moving together in sync before you gently pull away, reminded that you left your planner on your desk.

“i'll just be a second.. i need to grab something from my desk quickly” you mumble into his lips

he nods “okay, i’ll wait here.” you turn on your heels, speedily navigating through the quiet office. it was getting late on a friday evening and you weren’t surprised to see others having already gone home to their families.

on your way out, you cross paths with your co-worker, she smiles at the drink in your hand.

“it’s sweet how he feels the need to ask his fiancé to be his valentine” she comments, your cheeks go pink as you gaze down at the cup in your hand. you try to memorize the scribbled sentence on the plastic, wondering what you did to deserve the man who’s currently waiting for you downstairs. “he just loves love,” you reply with a shy smile.

wishing her a lovely evening, you quickly make your return to find Lando holding your balloons while typing away at his phone. his face lights up at you, taking your hand in his.

you walk to his mclaren 765LT, your personal favourite car of his. he opens the door for you before rounding the car to get in himself.

“alright pretty girl, time to get my valentine home,” he adds playfully, starting the car. he leans over the console to place a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before merging onto the country roads, taking you two home.

February 7th 2025

the soft stream of sunlight filtering through the curtains woke you up. you rolled over in your sheets expecting to find your sleeping fiancé next to you, only to be met with cold, pulled back sheets.

you frown, lando hadn’t mentioned going on a run this morning and your shared calendar hadn’t shown a meeting being scheduled. on a regular day, it’s rare for him to wake up first.

a pout forms on your face as the smell of maple syrup fills your senses. you sleepily make your way through the apartment. slippers shuffling across the hardwood floor, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you turn the corner into the kitchen.

there at the stove stood a shirtless Lando, his hair askew from sleep, grey sweatpants sat on his hips, he’s smiling back at you, spatula in hand.

your breath halts in your throat when you spot the table he had set. roses and other flowers placed strategically around the table for two, surrounded in a sea of orange and red flowers. the table already set with fruit and a variety of your favourite pastries. your heart squeezed at the thought of him taking the time to set this up.

“what is all this for?” you ask, hands fluttering softly against his back before gently wrapping your arms around his bare chest. Lando smiles, rocking you both side to side.

“can’t a guy treat his girl one week out from love day?” he asks, mocking offense. you giggle, turning to give a kiss to his back before lando spins around, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss on your lips.

“i’m just surprised you managed to do this all on your own,” you tease.

he chuckles “i did actually have to call my mum.” he admits “but it still tastes the same!”

February 11th 2025

Lando left for testing yesterday and you’ve been home alone. five years into your relationship you and Lando no longer felt the need to go to testing together. you spent your day puttering around the apartment cleaning and resetting your mind for landos return.

you’d been cleaning all day, reorganizing clothes, doing laundry and even venturing into landos office to clean his helmets. just after lunch you decided a nap would do you good. right before you decided to take yourself to your room, your phone chimes.

lan <3: hey love, just hopped out of the car. it feels great! how are you doing?

you smiled at his text, a picture attached of his sweaty post race face showing you a goofy smile.

gosh you already missed that face and it’s only been a day.

you: hi baby! i’ve cleaned so much i’m about to pass out, about to take a nap but i’m happy to see ur cute face before i sleep <3333

you sent a photo back of you poking your tongue out at the camera.

lan <3: aw there she is! love you baby, enjoy your nap, call me when your up xx

liking the message you click your phone off, placing it on the nightstand before getting comfortable in your bed. letting the sleep pull you into an essential nap.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the sun had moved through the sky when you woke, a pink glow flowing into the room. you sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. you felt well rested from your catnap, turning in your spot you catch the singular rose sat on the foot of the bed.

you scramble to your feet picking up the rose, examining it in your fingers. your look around your room slightly panicked, thinking someone broke in, you open the door to check the rest of the house.

swinging the door open you step out into the hallway, you feel a flutter at your feet, looking down you see a trail of rose petals. you gasp slightly, slowly following the flowers into the living room you stop in your tracks when the room is filled to the ceiling with bouquets of roses.

there were too many bouquets to count, you tried. you got to thirty before you gave up. moving to the kitchen where there were more bouquets to be found covering every surface there was.

placed in the middle of one of the bouquets was a letter, reading the envelope your stomach erupted to butterflies

my love

recognizing the handwriting was landos, you rip open the letter.

hey beautiful, i know i can't be home right now but i wanted to do something special because i love you more than words. 72 bouquets of roses for the 72 hours im away from you. see you soon pretty girl, i love you xx

L <3

flipping the card over you chuckled at the parting message

ps. max used his spare key to place these while you were asleep, i know you were probably worried about someone breaking in. he should still be outside if you wanna go say hi, love you, call me when you can!

you dashed to the front door, opening it to see a very disheveled max fewtrell stood on the other side. The man still had stray petals in his ruffled hair. you had to cover your mouth to muffle the giggles from escaping.

“lando promised me best man if i did this, you're an EXTREMELY heavily sleeper by the way” is all he says before raiding your fridge for leftover pizza, as you pick up your phone to ring the love of your life.

February 14th 2025

Lando woke up first again. the sunlight peeking through the curtains. he rolled over to find you sleeping soundly next to him, he couldn’t help but admire your peaceful state, you looked adorable with your face squished into the pillow.

he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before crawling out of bed. Today was the day he had planned down to a T. he spent the past two weeks waiting to shower you with his love.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

you stirred in your sleep to find Lando laying between your legs, soft kissing fluttering across your stomach, as he lifted your his shirt. You whimper softly when he sucks on the valley between your tits. your hips bucked as the heat between your legs grows.

“ ‘mmf- fuck lando” you moan when he trails kisses down your stomach, to settle between your thighs. licking his lips when he pulls your panties to the side. your core was dripping, Lando taking his fingers, spreading your wetness through your folds, praises falling from his lips as his nose brushed against your clit.

your hands found his curls, tugging softly to guide him through your folds, his tongue working wonders on every nerve ending. sending you dizzy.

Lando curled his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that had you like putty in his hands.

he loved seeing you like this, you looked angelic, eyes closed with your lips slightly parted. you tasted amazing, he groaned as he ate you out like a starved man. his tongue running up and down your folds, sucking on your clit while his fingers worked inside you.

“oh fuck…. lando!” you were a fucking mess above him, hardly able to form a sentence as you choke on moans. landos knees went weak at the noises you made, grinding slightly into the mattress to find from release. he relished in the sounds that tumbled from your lips just for him

“ come ‘for me baby, let me hear ya” he slurs into your folds, drunk on your taste.

the vibrations sending you over the edge as your finish on his face with a loud moan, your slick coating his goatee, lips puffy as he takes you through your orgasm.

you catch your breath as he places soft kisses on your clit, earning small whimpers as you come down from your high. you pull him away from your legs, his eyes blown out as he licks his lips before raising to place a sweet kiss on your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“happy valentines day gorgeous” he mumbles into your lips.

“happy valentines day lan” you reply sweetly. Lando switches to lie down next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. the two of you choosing to spend a few minutes tangled together before you get up to start your day.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

your first gift of the day was a basket filled with your favourite goodies, an array of chocolates and sweets overflowing a small crochet basket partnered with a small jellycat lando had seen you dot over when you two took a trip to the market last week. you had ooo-d and aww-d at the plushie for five minutes before deciding you don't need it.

he went back and bought it the next day.

you were ecstatic when you saw the jellycat, throwing your arms around his neck while a string of thank you’s fell from your lips right before attacking his face with kisses on every inch of his tanned skin.

he laughed, “don't thank me yet, you still have one more gift.”

you raise your eyebrow at him, he matches your expression playfully before pinching your hips. lifting you off him to stand up. he leans down slightly, his face coming close to yours.

“but that's for later,” he says with a wink.

your face flushes pink and he swiftly makes his way out the room, leaving you standing frozen at his boldness.

“c’mon baby! we gotta get going!” Lando shouts to you, like he didn’t just send shivers down your spine at his words

you spent the day hand in hand, walking through London drinking overpriced coffee with Lando carrying multiple designer shopping bags with your name on it. he loved spending his money on you, letting you waltz around a high-end store with him and his wallet in tow while he got to sit on comfy couches and watch a personal fashion show.

that's his favourite pastime.

the day was filled with love and kisses, even after years together every kiss felt as special as the first. Lando loved you the same way now as he did when you were twenty and following him around the world with lovestruck hearts in your eyes. when you stumbled back into the apartment, clothes slightly misplaced after a steamy car ride home. you prepared for dinner while Lando took a nap, letting you do your thing.

the dress you’d chosen for tonight was one of Lando’s favourites, light pink silk that hugs your body in all the right places. Landos eyes lit up when you walked out, him sporting a white button up shirt with the top few buttons undone.. just how you like it, and black slacks.

“wow…you look gorgeous” his eyes raked up and down your body as you applied your lip gloss.

“and you look handsome as ever” you say, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the restaurant was a small, italian, hole in the wall just outside of monaco. you and Lando adored dining here because you never had to worry about paparazzi, you could enjoy the company of each other during your meal.

you sat across from each other, your glass filled with some expensive scarlet wine while Lando nursed his whisky. he looked delicious, the dim lighting coating his tan skin like he was sent down from the gods just for you, chestnut curls tamed perfectly, matched with your favourite chain sitting on his neck.

your hands linked as he played with your engagement ring, your conversation casual as the waiter arrives with her notepad. Lando speaks up to order for the two of you

“she’ll have the fettuccine alfredo,” Lando points to you with a smile, “and I will have the penne marinara.” handing your menus off, you're left alone once again.

“now before food comes i want to give you one last gift” Lando speaks, reaching under the table, your browns knit in confusion as he places a small gift bag in front of you.

carefully pulling the tissue out of the bag a small jewelry box sits inside. your eyes meet Lando's and he's smiling back at you like you're the only girl in the room. “go on… open it,” he whispers with a slight nod.

inside the box sits a dainty silver necklace, tears prick your eyes as you touch the pendant. a small L with the number 4.

“lan.,” you sniffle “it's beautiful, thank you..” you take the necklace into your hands, immediately clasping it around your neck, getting up to give Lando a sweet kiss on the lips.

even after five years, and with his ring sitting on your finger, Lando loves to show the world, and you, that you are his and how much he loves you. he loves everything about you, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, your home cooked meals that welcome him home after a race weekend. you had been his rock for years and will continue to be in for the rest of his life. He smiled watching you sit across from him, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

“just think, next valentines day,” he leans forward slightly, “we're gonna be married!” he whispers excitedly like you were keeping a secret. you giggle at him, matching his excitement.

“i know, i'm worried that if you went all out this year, what's gonna happen next year when i'm your wife!?” you joke, he giggles, throwing his head back slightly as his chest shakes with laughter.

“don't underestimate me baby, i've already got plans.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

thank you for reading ahhh i hope u enjoyed

love ya see you soon (hopefully)

[jungwnies]

under pressure - max verstappen

୨ৎ : pairing : max verstappen x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : a childhood love turned power couple, you and max find comfort in each other, navigating love and pressure together.

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : wc : 838

! requested !

The hum of the engine roared through the grandstand as Max Verstappen crossed the finish line, securing yet another win. The crowd erupted, but his eyes didn’t search for the team celebrating wildly in the paddock. Instead, they darted to the VIP box, scanning for you. And there you were, perched on the edge of your seat, a bright orange scarf wrapped around your neck despite the blazing summer heat. The Wimbledon trophy you’d won just last month had barely left the headlines, but here you were, blending into the world of racing like you belonged—because you did. You always had.

Max’s grin faltered slightly as he caught sight of you clapping. The usual spark in your eyes was dim, the weight of the constant media scrutiny hanging over you like a storm cloud. He knew that look all too well. It was the same one he’d worn after enduring years of relentless pressure, harsh words, and impossible expectations.

By the time he reached the motorhome, you were already there, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed. Your fiery confidence, the one that made headlines and caused commentators to stumble over themselves, was replaced with a quiet exhaustion.

“Another win,” you said, forcing a smile. “Does it ever get old?”

Max chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Not when you’re watching.”

You scoffed lightly but didn’t respond. Instead, you turned and stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Max followed, his brows furrowed with concern.

“You didn’t stay for the celebrations,” he noted, his voice softer now.

“Didn’t feel like it,” you replied, sitting on the couch and burying your face in your hands. “Max, I…” You trailed off, your voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

He was by your side in an instant, his hand resting on your knee. “What happened?”

You lifted your head, eyes glassy but defiant. “Same old story. The media tearing me apart, saying I’m too aggressive on the court, that I’m not ‘graceful’ enough for women’s tennis. They’re calling me a bad role model, Max.”

His jaw tightened, anger flashing across his features. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re the best player out there, and they’re just threatened by it.”

You shook your head. “It’s not just that. They’re saying I’m only winning because I’ve got you as my ‘emotional support,’ as if I haven’t spent years grinding it out on the court. They’re making me sound like I’m nothing without you.”

Max’s heart ached at the bitterness in your tone. “That’s not true. You’re a force of nature, with or without me.”

“I know that,” you snapped, then immediately softened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey,” Max interrupted gently, “it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the hum of the motorhome’s air conditioning filling the space. Then, quietly, Max said, “You’ve been there for me through everything. My dad, the pressure, the times I thought I’d never live up to the expectations. You were the one who pulled me out of it.”

You turned to him, your expression softening. “Because I love you, Max. And I hate seeing you hurt.”

His throat tightened at your words, a mix of gratitude and something deeper threatening to overwhelm him. “And I hate seeing you like this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not just my world champion; you’re my everything.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. But the vulnerability lingered, raw and unspoken. You both understood what it meant to carry the hopes and dreams of others, to bear the scars of relentless ambition.

“Max,” you began, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this—pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. I don’t know if I can keep being strong.”

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me. We’ve been through too much to hide from each other now.”

Tears spilled over as you leaned into his touch. “I’m so tired, Max. Tired of fighting, of proving myself, of… everything.”

“Then let me be strong for you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Let me carry some of the weight. We’ll figure it out together, like we always do.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to crumble, burying your face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. The barriers you’d both built to survive in your respective worlds came crashing down, leaving nothing but the raw, unfiltered truth of your love for each other.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his once more. “I love you,” you said, the words heavy with meaning.

“I love you too,” Max replied, his voice steady and sure.

And in that moment, amidst the chaos of your lives, you knew that love—vulnerable, messy, and real—was enough.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[piastri-fvx]

A Ferrari fan and a Red Bull Driver. Max Verstappen.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x FerrariFan!reader, Max Verstappen x Leclerc!reader, social media and a very short irl part

Summary: When Max Verstappen develops a crush on a Ferrari fan, who happens to be a Leclerc.

Word Count: 1,089

Face claim: different girls from pinterest & Sabrina Carpenter

Disclaimer/s: None!! Just fluff and a bunch of bickering.

Authors Note: yayyyy second story, here we go!! Hope u enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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

@yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrastmleux, lorenzotl, jade_distinguinn, charlotte2304 and 637.581.274 others

yourusername family day in the paddockkkk ❤️

| view all comments...

alexandrastmleux trop belleeee liked by creator

-> yourusername my wife 💕

-> charles_leclerc ???

user1 okay but Max posting her...

-> user2 HE DID???

-> arthur_leclerc he did?

-> user3 i smell overprotective brother

-> yourusername @arthur_leclerc don't even

charles_leclerc my favorite little sister ❤️ liked by creator

-> yourusername i'm your only sister?

-> user4 damn 💀

-> user5 i'm so invested in the Max and Leclerc stuff

user6 i need more footage of y/n meeting people in the paddock 😣

-> user7 real

jade_distinguinn 🥰🥰🥰 liked by creator

-> yourusername my loveee 🩵

-> user8 awwww

maxverstappen1 loved meeting you liked by creator

-> user9 what is going on

-> user10 someone please pinch me

user11 you are gorgeoussss liked by creator

-> yourusername thank youuuu

user12 woahhhhh 😍

user13 oh to have y/ns life

@maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, user1, alexandrastmleux, landonorris, estebanocon and 4.284.395 others

maxverstappen1 finally summer break

tagged: @yourusername

| view all comments...

yourusername forza ferrari 🥰

-> maxverstappen1 no

-> user1 i'm afraid she slayed

charles_leclerc why are you posting my little sister???????

-> maxverstappen1 what? which sister? you have a sister?

-> user2 damnnnn, the gaslighting

user3 i'm so invested in all of this

landonorris i don't know about you guys, but this looks like a girlfriend appreciation post to me 🙃 liked by creator

-> user4 i fear he ate

-> user5 damn, lando has a point

-> arthur_leclerc they're not dating

-> user6 he refuses to believe it lmao

user7 the leclerc brothers being in denial is my favorute thing ever

-> yourusername real

-> user8 omg hiiii

-> user9 is that a confirmation?

arthur_leclerc no

-> user10 overprotective brother alert

user11 MAX LIKING LANDO'S COMMENT ABOUT Y/N BEING HIS GF????

-> user12 i'm so glad i get to live in this world

user13 okay but why is no one talking about how pretty she is?? like damn liked by creator

scuderiaferrari she's ours

-> redbullracing she won't be for long liked by creator

-> user14 not ferrari and red bull fighting over her 😭

user15 just fell to my knees in a parking lot

-> user16 valid reaction

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

Sitting in the passenger seat of Max's Aston Martin, y/n let out a thoughtful hum, directing her gaze to Max. He glanced at her, noticing the weight of her gaze on him.

"Penny for your thoughts, mijn liefde?" He spoke up, his voice softer than usual. He seemed to have noticed her thoughtfulness as her mind seemed to be racing. He knew the expression on her face all too well.

"What if they're mad..?" She then spoke, her body visibly tensing at the thought. Her shoulders slumped, making his eyes meet hers again, now filled with concern.

"Lorenzo, Arthur and Charles?" He asked, despite already knowing the answer. Of course she was talking about her brothers, she had been quite anxious to tell them about her relationship with Max, and Max knew that.

She tilted her head, her eyes full of nervousness. "Yeah," she simply said, nodding her head and biting her lips, looking out the window of the car to try to distract herself from her thoughts.

"Why would they be? You make me happy. I love you and you love me. They should be happy for us," Max calmly spoke, attempting to make her relax a bit. And he seemingly succeeded, as she slightly relaxed.

"Yeah, you're probably right," She couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach as he said that he loved her. He had said it before, since they had been dating for multiple months at this point, but it still felt like the first time.

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

@charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, redbullracing, landonorris, lorenzotl and 1.384.294 others

charles_leclerc me when my little sister hangs out with my rival 😒

| view all comments...

maxverstappen1 did someone mention me? liked by creator

-> user1 max verstappennnnnn

user2 lestappen?

landonorris wait until you see his newest post, charles liked by creator

-> user3 i love how invested in this lando is

-> user4 he's just like us

-> user5 he lives for the drama

user6 y/n mentioned

maxverstappen1 me when y/n leclerc 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

-> arthur_leclerc i will fight you.

-> lorenzotl me too. back off, verstappen

-> charles_leclerc i will crash you into the barriers on purpose if you hurt her

-> user7 them wanting to fight max is so funny to me

user8 the last few months on f1 social media have been so amazing 😭

alex_albon max has rizz

-> user9 true

-> user10 preach, alexander albon

user11 do do do do max verstappen

-> user12 i live for that song 😭

@maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, redbullracing, charles_leclerc, niallhoran, louist91, liampayne, joaofelix79 and 5.482.385 others

maxverstappen1 girlfriend appreciation post

| view all comments...

yourusername mon amourrrrr 🥰 liked by creator

-> maxverstappen1 forever yours ❤️

-> user1 your honor, i love them 😭

-> user2 we got y/n and max together before gta 6

user3 i mean, we did get lestappen ☺️

-> user4 yeah, just with a different leclerc than we thought

-> user5 this is so cute

user6 i hope they get married

-> user7 same

louist91 so happy for you both!! liked by creator

-> yourusername thank you, lou!!

-> user8 i love that she's friends with zayn, louis, liam, harry and niall 😣

liampayne yayyyyyyy!! now she won't have to pine when we text or call and talk about how amazing you are and how much she likes you liked by creator

-> yourusername i'll still do that, what are best friends for? 💕 liked by creator

-> user9 i love her sm

-> user10 i love their friendship

zayn my boy finally got the girl liked by creator

-> maxverstappen1 such a romantic way of saying it

-> user11 so real of them

niallhoran romeo and juliet minus the dying liked by creator

-> user12 so slay of niall to be here

harrystyles wanna write songs about you and him with me? liked by creator

-> yourusername check our chat 🥰

-> user13 HS4?????

-> user14 featuring y/n?

-> user15 y/n in her singer and songwriter era?

-> user16 oh, i am SO here for this

joaofelix79 congratssss liked by creator

charles_leclerc don't your dare break her heart, verstappen liked by creator

-> user17 he wouldn't

-> maxverstappen1 i wouldn't, she'll be my woman forever

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

A/N: woooooo!!! second story in two dayssss!! thank you so so much to everyone who liked and reblogged my story, and thank you to everyone who follows me now <333 let me know if you have requests or you want to be on my permanent tag list!!!

[requiemforthepoets]

ain’t nothing like an asian wedding! ⟢ LN4

part two of the crazy rich asians au ⟢ part one part three

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!asian!reader

SUMMARY: you and lando just wanted to make the most of your singapore trip before heading off to the UK, but it seems like everything descended into series of unfortunate events. though maybe, this is also a way to get lando be acquainted with everyone that may or may not drive your whole family crazy and singapore’s social elites on a daily basis.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: non-use of y/n, reader is asian, foul language, traditional family, asian culture & tradition, food, google translated chinese, mentions of gutted fish, crazy rich asians inspired + plot, heiress reader, named characters (except reader, names are mostly taken from CRA), social status, high society, minor public indecency (not main characters), mentions of marriage & grandchild, mean/bully characters, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 18k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!! i hope you are all having a very wonderful holidays! so i have decided to post the part 2 of ‘stickwitu’, ask and you shall receive! lolz but i love crazy rich asians so much and i just can’t let go of this kind of crossover (?). i had decided to chop off this one to three parts, with 20k max of word count since i wanna get it all out there. this one is open for taglist as well since there will be a part 3 of this, so just comment if you wanna be tagged hehe. your comments/reblogs are highly appreciated 🥺 hope you’ll enjoy this second part! <3

The early return was unplanned but felt necessary after everything that happened at Araminta’s bachelorette party. The atmosphere among the girls was tense, full of subtle jabs and veiled competition that you and Rachel simply were not in the mood to tolerate any longer.

On the second day, when you got the chance, over breakfast, you leaned over to Rachel and whispered your plan. She hesitated at first, unsure if Araminta would even believe it, but eventually nodded in agreement, trusting you to handle the situation.

You approached Araminta just before the midday activities, adopting a concerned tone as you told her that Rachel was not really feeling well. You explained how she had been feeling faint and a bit queasy since the night before but had been trying to push through. Araminta’s face immediately fell into worry, and she reached out to Rachel, who played her part perfectly, adding a weak smile and saying she just needed rest.

“I’m so sorry,” Rachel murmured, holding Araminta’s hand. “I really wanted to stay, but I think it’s better if I head back to the city.”

Araminta turned to you, her concern for Rachel deepened. “Do you need me to come with you? I don't want you both traveling alone if she’s not well.”

You shook your head, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Absolutely not. Minty, this is your bachelorette party, and you shouldn’t leave everyone behind. I’ll take care of everything. We’ll be fine, I promise.”

It took some convincing, but eventually, Araminta relented. She hugged you both tightly, telling Rachel to rest and recover, that she’ll be seeing you both on the wedding day. As you left the island, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the lie, but the overwhelming relief of leaving outweighed it.

The flight back to the city was quiet at first, the two of you decompressing from the tension of the past day. Rachel let out a laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t believe we pulled that off. I feel terrible lying to her, though.”

You sighed, leaning back into the plush seat. “I know. But honestly, that crowd was unbearable. You shouldn’t have had to endure that.”

“Thank you for getting me out of there. I owe you one.” Rachel smiled gratefully at you.

Once you landed, the two of you decided to make the most of the unexpected free day. You took her to some of your favorite spots in Singapore, then introduced her to local dishes and hidden gems around the city. From the bustling hawker centers to the serene gardens, you wanted her to see more than just the usual tourist spots.

“You weren’t kidding when you said Singapore is magical,” she said as she admired the view from Marina Bay Sands.

“It’s home,” you replied with a small smile. “And now you’ve seen a little piece of it.”

By the time you dropped her off at the hotel, it was late, the city lights twinkling against the dark sky. As you hugged her goodbye, Rachel whispered, “thanks again for today. I really needed this.”

“You’re very welcome, and hey, if anyone asks, you’re still recovering from that ‘terrible stomach bug.’”

Your family driver was already waiting as you stepped out of the hotel. You gave Rachel one last wave before sliding into the car, sinking into the leather seat as the city blurred past the window. The relief of being home and away from the chaos of the island was evident, and for the first time in days, you felt at ease.

The house was quiet as you stepped inside, but your mind was already racing with the thought of seeing Lando. The faint hum of the air conditioner and the soft creak of the floor beneath your feet were the only sounds accompanying you as you called out his name. No response.

You wandered from room to room, checking the living room, kitchen, even the study, but there was no sign of him. Then, as you approached the sliding glass doors leading to the patio, you saw him sitting there, phone in hand, smiling and laughing as he talked to someone on facetime.

Lando’s gaze shifted towards the door as you slid it open, and his face lit up when he saw you. He motioned for you to come over, his smile growing even more brighter. You made your way to him, the cool evening breeze brushing against your skin.

As you reached him, you wrapped an arm around his neck, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. His free arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer, and he returned the kiss, deeper and more deliberate. When you pulled away slightly, he looked up at you, his eyes filled with warmth and a hint of surprise.

“You’re back early,” he murmured softly, his thumb grazing your hip.

“I’ll tell you everything later,” you said, glancing toward the phone in his hand. It was that you noticed the familiar face on the screen, Max. “Hi, Max,” you greeted warmly.

“Hey, you,” Max replied with a grin, leaning closer to the camera. “Back already? Thought you were off on some wild bachelorette adventure?”

You laughed softly. “Something like that. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you guys. How have you been? And Pietra? I can’t wait to catch up when we're in the UK for Christmas.”

Max chuckled. “We’re good. Pietra’s already planning the whole holiday—dinner menus, decorations, everything. You’ll have to let her drag you into the chaos.”

Lando shifted slightly, pulling you down onto his lap, his hand resting on your waist as he held his phone with the other. You settled against him, his fingers idly tracing shapes on your side while you continued chatting with Max.

“She doesn’t have to drag me. I’m ready for it,” you replied, smiling. “Tell her to save me a spot in the kitchen, I’m good at taste-testing.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Max and Lando shared a laugh, but then Max’s expression softened. “Honestly though, it’s good seeing you hoth happy. Pietra and I were just talking about how happy you’ve made this muppet. But you know, we were skeptical at first.”

“Oh, I remember,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Something about expecting me to be snobby?”

Max laughed, holding both his hands up in defense. “Hey, it’s not everyday that someone from your background walks into our lives. But you proved us wrong pretty quickly. You’re as down-to-earth as they come, and more importantly, you make little Lando happy. That’s all we care about.”

Your gaze shifted to Lando, whose thumb was tracing idle patterns on your side, a content smile resting on his face. “Well, he makes me happy too,” you said softly.

Max smiled. “Good. That’s all that matters. Anyway, I’ll let you two catch up. Don’t keep him up too late.”

You laughed, nodding. “I’ll make sure he gets some sleep. See you soon, Max.”

“See you soon,” he replied, before ending the call.

As the screen went dark, Lando set his phone down and wrapped both arms around you, holding you close.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice low and earnest.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, leaning into him, the weight of the past few days melting away in his embrace.

The evening air was cool and crisp as you sat comfortably on Lando’s lap, the soft hum of distant city noise blending with the quiet rustle of leaves. His arm rested securely around your waist while his other hand lazily drummed against the armrest of the chair. He tilted his head slightly to look at you, his expression soft but curious.

“So,” he began, voice low and easy, “why are you back early? I thought you had a few more days of bachelorette shenanigans left.”

You let out a small sigh, glancing at the darkened sky before turning your gaze back to him. “It’s a long story,” you said, trying to suppress the frustration that the memory brought up.

Lando’s brows lifted slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’ve got plenty of time and I’m not going anywhere,” he teased, tone light as he tightened his arm around you.

You laughed softly before settling deeper into his embrace. “Okay, so Rachel traveled with Minty and the other girls ahead of me to Samsara, right? I had to leave later because of a meeting, so I got there after everyone else.”

Lando nodded, his thumb tracing small circles on your side, silently encouraging you to continue.

“When I arrived at the villa,” you said, voice dropping slightly, “I saw Rachel speed-walking back from the spa. She was just wearing her robe, and she looked…off. Like she was about to cry, so I went to her and asked what happened, but she didn’t answer me right away. She just kept walking, looking like she wanted to disappear.”

His expression shifted to one of concern, his brows furrowing as he listened intently.

“I followed her back to the villa she was staying,” you continued, tone growing more serious. “And that’s when we saw a huge gutted fish on her bed, with pink lipstick scrawled across the glass window that said, catch this, you gold-digging bitch.”

Lando’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his jaw tensing. “What the hell?” he muttered, his voice edged with disbelief.

“I know,” you said, exhaling sharply at the memory. “I wanted to call security right then and there, but Rachel stopped me—she didn’t want to make a scene. She was so humiliated, Lan. You could see it all over her face.”

He shook his head, voice low. “That’s fucking awful. Who even does something like that?”

“Oh, I know exactly who’s capable of pulling this kind of stunt,” you said scoffing, tone sharp with certainty. “Francesca Shaw. That little bitch.”

“Who’s Francesca Shaw?” Lando asked in curiosity.

You tilted your head, letting out a dry laugh. “She’s Nadine Shaw’s daughter, one of Auntie Eleanor’s closest friends. Francesca used to be an heiress to the Shaw Foods fortune, but her grandfather cut her off completely from the will after waking up from coma. Guess grandpa Shaw didn’t like how little miss two-faced was spending the family money.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “So, she’s broke now?”

“Eh, pretty much,” you said. “And before you ask, yes, she’s also Nicky’s ex. They dated briefly years ago, but it didn’t go anywhere because Nicky didn’t like how her attitude began to change for the worse. Francesca clearly thought she still had shot, but when Rachel came into the picture, that dream was practically over. She’s been a bitter bitch ever since.”

Lando leaned back slightly, grip still firm on your waist. “So, she’s trying to ruin things for them all because of jealousy?”

“Not just jealousy,” you corrected. “Envy. She’s spent her whole life in circles like ours, and now that she’s lost her position, she’s desperate to claw her way back in. She probably sees Rachel as a threat, someone she thinks doesn’t belong.”

He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “That’s pathetic. I can’t believe someone would go that far.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But Rachel didn’t want to make waves, especially not at Minty’s party. It wasn’t the time or place, and honestly, I just wanted to get her out of there. I wasn’t going to let Rachel stay there a second longer, so I told her to act like she was sick, and we left. The toxicity is just too much.”

Lando’s eyes scanned your face, then pressed a soft kiss to your temple, voice filled with reassurance. “You did the right thing. I’m glad that you were there for her.”

You gave him a small smile, “I just couldn’t stand by and let Francesca get to her. Rachel doesn’t deserve any of the shit they’re throwing to her at all.”

“Neither of you do,” Lando said firmly. “But I’m glad you’re back.”

You nodded, feeling the tension in your body ease slightly as you settled back into his embrace, the weight of the day beginning to dissipate.

The next day, you and Lando found yourselves back at your Ah Ma’s estate, where everyone was gathered in the big, spacious dining room that was only reserved for the family. The air was warm with the aroma of fresh dough and seasoned fillings, as half a dozen maids moved seamlessly, rolling small balls of dough into flat circles and forming minced meat into dozens of uniform, expertly shaped balls.

You were seated beside Nick, with Lando on your other side. While this was not Lando’s first time making dumplings, you often found yourself teaching him the technique whenever you were in Monaco. It had become a little tradition between the two of you as well, and you always made sure to leave him with a stack of freshly prepared dumplings to store in his freezer before you fly back to New York.

Lando had a knack for making dumplings by now, though you couldn’t always trust him with all the cooking in general, especially after the time you learned through Max’s stream that he had been running on no sleep for twenty-six hours, eaten out-of-date food, and spent his break before the Las Vegas GP playing call of duty. Dumplings, at least, were something he could handle—trusting not to burn his own kitchen down.

A maid carried a tray of the minced meat balls to the center of the room, where your mother and other family members—Nick, Rachel, Oliver, and your Aunties Alix and Eleanor, were all gathered around a large table. They worked busily, folding dumplings with swift, practiced hands and placing them neatly into stacked bamboo steamers.

This was a cherished family tradition, and your Aunties led the effort with the ease of many years of experience, their hands moving expertly while they kept up a lively flow of conversation. The hum of chatter filled the dining room, blending perfectly with the rhythmic movements of the dumpling-making process.

Your Auntie Eleanor carefully inspected the tray of folded dumplings and gave a satisfactory nod of approval, her sharp eye ensuring every piece was up to standard. Meanwhile, your mother glanced at the dozen trays already filled, her expression betraying a mix of alarm and disbelief.

“This is all too much,” your Auntie Alix remarked, shaking her head as she folded another dumpling with her precise fingers. “We’re only hosting a rehearsal dinner, not feeding an entire army.”

Your Auntie Eleanor countered almost immediately, her tone firm yet practical. “It is better that it’s too much than too little. Imagine people saying we’re stingy, that’s much worse.”

On the other side of the table, Nick was patiently teaching Rachel how to fold her first dumpling. He held the thin dumpling dough in his hand, placed a small ball of minced meat in the center, and carefully folded the edges, sealing it closed with practiced ease.

“It’s like tucking in a baby,” Nick explained, glancing at Rachel with a smile.

Rachel’s face lit up at the analogy. “That’s so cute,” she said, then added with mock horror, “and then you eat the baby.”

Her comment sent everyone into fits of laughter. Then Oliver, always quick to join in on the fun, leaned forward and added his own take on how to fold a dumpling.

“Grand Auntie Mabel taught me that folding dumplings is like getting botox,” he said, picking up dumpling dough. “The filling is the botox, and the wrapper is the face. You pinch it here and here, and voilà! You now have a flawless face.”

The whole table erupted with laughter again, and Rachel, shaking her head at the humor, asked, “did you all learn how to make dumplings when you were kids?”

You turned to her and nodded, folding another dumpling as you replied, “we didn’t exactly have a choice, it was mandatory.”

Then your mother chimed in from across the table, her voice carrying a mix of pride and amusement. “We taught all of you so that you’ll all understand the blood, sweat, and tears it took to raise and feed you monkeys.” she said, folding her dumpling expertly and placing it on the tray.

Your Auntie Alix nodded in agreement with your mother. “Not like the ang-mohs, microwaving everything for their children. No wonder, when their parents grow old, they send them to the old folks’ home.”

Lando turned to you, asking silently that only the two of you could hear, “babe, what’s ang-mohs?”

“Oh, it’s a colloquial expression used to refer to Caucasians or Westerners.” you replied as Lando nodded.

“Exactly. That’s what Ah Ma always says, if we don’t pass down traditions like this, they slowly disappear.” your Auntie Eleanor chimed in, tone firm.

You snickered, rolling your eyes playfully as you murmured loud enough with the intent for everyone to hear, “well, God forbid that we lose the ancient Chinese tradition of guilting your children.”

“Honestly, learning how to make these dumplings is totally worth it. I remember back when I was little, Mom used to wait for me after school with a basket of fresh dumplings.” Nick added, voice softened at the memory, and your Auntie Eleanor smiled, corners of her mouth tugging upward in quiet nostalgia.

“幸運嘅男孩!” (lucky boy!) your Auntie Alix said.

You turned to your mother and teased, “how come I never got after-school dumplings?”

Before your mother could muster out a reply, Oliver had beat her to it, smirking as he quipped, “well, probably because Auntie Elizabeth was busy having an after-school microdermabrasion.”

Your mother gasped, mock-scolding him in rapid Cantonese. “你真系个叻嘅屁股！ 如果你嘅祖父仲在生，佢會直接將你踢到下周.” (you’re such a smart-ass! if your grandfather were still alive, he’d kick you straight into next week) with a quick flick of her wrist, your mother threw a piece of dumpling dough at Oliver, which hit his shirt with a soft plop.

“Auntie!” Oliver looked down at the dough stuck to his chest, brushing it off with an exaggerated pout. “This is Dolce, you know.”

Laugher rippled through the room again, the air filled with warmth, teasing, and the familiar comfort of family banter.

Your Auntie Alix turned to Rachel, her expression curious yet kind. “Rachel, do you speak Cantonese?”

Rachel shook her head, smiling politely. “No, I don’t,” she admitted, then quickly added, “but it’s so great seeing your family bond like this.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Oliver, all of you caught slightly off guard by her statement, except Nick. It was not something you really thought about, it was just how things were.

Rachel seemed to sense everyone’s confusion and explained further, “growing up, it was just me and my Mom. We didn’t have a big family like yours, this is really special.”

“We’re glad that you appreciate it,” Oliver said softly. “You’re right, we’re lucky to have this.”

Your mother and Auntie Alix both smiled, their postures relaxing just a little. Your Auntie Alix even murmured, “it’s nice to hear someone appreciate it.”

Rachel, emboldened by the shift in mood, turned her attention to your Auntie Eleanor, who had been largely quiet, methodically folding dumplings with precision. Her gaze fell on the large emerald ring your Auntie Eleanor was wearing, glinting under the soft light as she carefully placed a dumpling into a bamboo steamer.

“That ring is very stunning, Auntie Eleanor,” Rachel said, voice genuinely admiring. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You paused mid-fold, glancing at Lando, who was already looking at you, his eyes widening slightly. The conversation from the other night before leaving for Samsara immediately surfaced in your mind.

Your mother and Auntie Alix both turned to look at your Auntie Eleanor, their expressions carefully neutral as they waited to see how she would respond. Your Auntie Eleanor looked genuinely surprised, her delicate hands momentarily pausing their rhythmic folding of dumplings.

“This ring,” she began, glancing at the emerald on her finger, “was made by my husband, Nick’s father, when he proposed to me.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up with interest. “That’s really amazing. Did he design it himself?”

She gave a small node, movements deliberate as she reshmed folding another dumpling. “He did. He wanted it to be one of a kind.”

“That’s incredible! Where did you two meet?” Rachel's eyes lit up with curiosity, leaning slightly forward.

Nick jumped in, tone light and proud. “They met at Cambridge, both are studying law.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I didn't know you were a lawyer.” she said, admiration apparent.

Your Auntie Eleanor resumed folding, her expression calm but firm. “I didn’t finish,” she clarified. “When we got married, I chose to withdraw from university.”

Rachel blinked, clearly taken aback. “Oh,” she said softly. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry…”

Noticing the slight tension that was slowly forming, your Auntie Eleanor elaborated, voice steady as she carefully sealed another dumpling.

“I made that decision to help my husband run his business and to raise a family. To me, that was a privilege,” she glanced at Rachel, her gaze sharp yet polite. “But to some others, it might seem old-fashioned.”

Rachel hesitated, not really sure of how to respond, but before she could say anything, your Auntie Eleanor continued.

“It’s nice of you that you appreciate this,” she said, gesturing to the room that was filled with chattering and dumpling-making. “Everyone together, contributing, creating something. But I want you to fully understand that all of this doesn’t happen by accident or with the snap of a finger. It’s because we’ve always prioritized family above all else.”

Her voice took on a slightly sharper edge, though still calm. “Sometimes, that means letting go of personal ambitions for the greater good. It’s a lesson I learned early on and one I hope will never be forgotten.”

A very heavy awkward silence settled over the table. You felt Lando’s hand subtly intertwining your fingers under the table, as you glanced at Rachel. Her smile faltered slightly, and her posture stiffened as though she was not entirely sure how to respond.

Your mother and Auntie Alix remained silent, both just looking at their dumplings, minding their own business, their expressions natural but tense. You knew they were traditional in their own ways, yet far more accepting than your Auntie Eleanor. They were not going to intervene, but their discomfort was apparent.

Rachel finally nodded, voice quiet but steady. “I see. Thank you for sharing that, Auntie Eleanor,” she said, offering a faint smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

Then, the dining room doors opened with a soft creak, and your Ah Ma entered with her Thai maids following closely behind, their presence as graceful and composed as always. She was wearing a beautiful silk blouse in shades of soft jade, with her posture upright and regal despite her old age. Your Ah Ma’s presence immediately shifted the atmosphere in the room, dissolving the lingering tension.

Everyone rose to their feet, a chorus of respectful greetings filling the space. You and Lando followed closely behind Nick and Rachel as you walked toward her, hand firmly clasping Lando’s.

Your Ah Ma’s face lit up when her gaze fell on Lando. “Ah, Lan Lan!” she exclaimed, voice warm and filled with genuine affection. “I’m happy to see you again. Tell me, has your dumpling folding improved since the last time?”

Lando smiled, bowing his head slightly in respect. “I think so, Ah Ma,” he replied, voice steady but tinged with amusement. “But you’ll have to judge for yourself.”

Nick stepped forward, taking your Ah Ma’s arm gently, and you mirrored his action on her other side. Her smile widened as she turned to Nick, patting his hand affectionately. “我很高興你帶瑞秋來了.” (i’m so glad you brought rachel) she said, voice kind but observant.

Your Ah Ma’s sharp eyes landed on Rachel, who stood politely beside Nick. She scrutinized her face for a moment, her expression contemplative before breaking into a small smile. “在白天，我可以清楚地看到她。 非常漂亮的臉蛋.” (ah, in the daylight, i can see her clearly. very nice-looking face)

Rachel’s lips parted slightly, unsure how to react, but she eventually nodded and smiled, choosing to take it as a compliment. “謝謝阿媽.” (thank you, ah ma) she said, in a respectful tone.

With Nick and you guiding her, your Ah Ma walked toward her seat at the head of the table. When you reached the chair, Lando quickly stepped forward, pulling it out for her with fluid motion. Your Ah Ma gave Lando an approving nod before settling into the seat, her movements deliberate but elegant.

Once your Ah Ma was seated, she gestured with a delicate wave of her hand. “坐下，你們所有人.” (sit down, all of you) she instructed, tone commanding but not harsh.

Oliver leaned back slightly and chimed in, tone light and teasing. “We’re almost finished, Ah Ma. Just a few more baskets left.”

“Good, good,” she said, a trace of satisfaction in her voice.

While your Ah Ma was observing everyone, her gaze swept over the trays of folded dumplings, her discerning eyes pausing on a particular set of dumplings that stood out. Without any hesitation, she gestured toward the batch and turned to your Auntie Eleanor.

“埃莉諾，你做了這個批次嗎?” (eleanor, did you make this batch?) her tone was sharp, but not unkind.

You Auntie Eleanor straightened slightly, nodding with a subtle air of pride. “是的，阿媽,” (yes, ah ma) she replied, voice composed but tinged with a hint of accomplishment.

Your Ah Ma’s eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned in for a closer look, inspecting the dumplings with the same scrutiny she might give to a priceless piece of jade. Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly, and she tilted her head, her words carrying a weight of blunt honesty.

”他們看起來不太好,” (they don’t look very good) she remarked, tone in a matter-of-fact but leaving little room for dispute. “你失去了你的觸摸,埃莉諾.” (you’ve lost your touch, eleanor)

The room seemed to pause momentarily, the faintest ripple of tension spreading across the table. You glanced at Rachel, who sat stiffly, her expression carefully neutral, clearly unsure how to react to the sudden critique.

You turned to Lando, who had been watching the exchange with curiosity, leaning slightly toward you as he whispered, “what did Ah Ma say?”

Lowering your voice, you translated quickly but gently, “Ah Ma said the dumplings don’t look good, and that Auntie Eleanor has lost her touch.”

Lando made a face, and though he made no comment, the slight twitch of his lips suggested he was trying not to laugh. You gave him a soft nudge under the table, silently reminding him to keep a straight face.

Even with your Ah Ma’s comment, your Auntie Eleanor maintained her composure, her lips tightening as she focused on folding another dumpling, pretending as though the comment did not bother her at all. But still, you knew that everyone at the table heard everything, and no one was really surprised by your Ah Ma’s brutal honesty.

As the final dumplings were folded and placed neatly into the bamboo steamers, Rachel excused herself, standing from her seat with a polite smile. “I’m just going to the restroom,” she said softly, tone light.

Nick immediately offered, “I'll come with you.”

Rachel just shook her head gently, declining with a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, I can find my way.”

With that, she turned and walked off, navigating through the hallways of the estate, leaving the rest of you to finish arranging the trays.

Meanwhile, your Ah Ma’s sharp eyes scanned the remaining dumplings, her attention landing on the ones Lando had folded. Despite her age, her vision remained sharp as ever, and she leaned forward slightly, inspecting his work. A small but genuine smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“這些很漂亮,” (these are beautiful) she said, nodding approvingly.

Lando lit up at the compliment—well, he didn’t really understand what your Ah Ma had said, but based on her reaction, it’s a positive one. His cheeks colored faintly as he looked at you for a moment, seeking your silent confirmation that he had done well.

Your Ah Ma then turned to you, tone warm but firm as she continued, “你教他很好,我的孫女。 我可以看到他爲此付出���努力。 你跟他幹得真不錯.” (you’ve taught him well, my granddaughter. I can see the effort he’s put into these. you really did a good job with him)

You smiled, bowing your head slightly in acknowledgment of her praise, but before you could respond, her attention shifted back to Lando. Your Ah Ma’s expression softened, yet her words carried a note of earnestness.

“Lan Lan,” she began, “好好照顧自己，好好吃飯,” (take care of yourself, eat properly) she spoke slowly enough that he could understand the weight of her words even if he did not catch every meaning of it.

Your Ah Ma paused, gaze flicking back to you for a moment, before continuing. “I remember when my granddaughter came back here to Singapore after being in Monaco. She was so worried about you.”

Then she turned again to Lando, tone shifting slightly to a mock-scolding one, though her affection for him was evident. “She told me how you hadn’t slept for twenty-six hours and were eating expired food. How can you not take care of yourself?”

Lando ducked his head slightly, his smile sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks.

Switching to Mandarin, she fired rapidly at Lando, though there was no malice in her tone. “你認爲僅僅因爲你年輕，你的身體會原諒一切嗎？ 不會的 你很幸運，我的孫女飛到摩納哥爲你做飯.” (you think just because you’re young, your body will forgive everything? it won’t. you’re lucky my granddaughter flew to to monaco to cook for you)

You were trying not to laugh as you translated everything your Ah Ma said to him, and Lando nodded earnestly, voice quiet but sincere. “I know, Ah Ma. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Your Ah Ma turned to you with a knowing smile. “我什麼時候能指望你結婚?” (when can i expect you to get married?)

You froze on your seat, eyes widening in disbelief as he words hung in the air. You felt Lando’s hand tense slightly in yours under the table, though you were sure he hadn’t understood any of it.

“我想在我死之前見到我的曾孫們。 我已經沒有多少年時間了.” (i want to see my great-grandchildren before i die. i don’t have that many years left) your Ah Ma continued.

The room erupted into laughter at your Ah Ma’s bluntness, a mix of amused chuckles and good-natured teasing. Even your mother, who rarely join on such jokes, could not help but wink at you across the table.

“Ah Ma,” you began, swallowing hard, trying to find the right words to appease her. “蘭多和我還年輕。 他有一個非常忙碌的職業生涯，我們現在都專注於我們的目標.” (lando and i are still young. he has a very busy career, and we’re both focused on our goals right now)

“太年輕了？ 胡說八道！ 你們兩個都老了，有什麼目標？ 家庭是人生最重要的目標,” (too young? nonsense! you’re both old enough, and what goals? a family is the most important goal in life) she retorted, waving her hand in the air as if brushing aside your excuses.

She leaned slightly forward, her gaze fixed on Lando now, as if silently willing him to understand what she was saying. “我走之前要抱着我的曾孫,” (i need to hold my great-grandchild before i go) she reiterated, as though her insistence alone could make it happen.

Lando, who had been smiling politely, began to glance around the table, sensing that the laughter was at his expense but unable to piece together what was being said.

“What’s going on? What did Ah Ma say?” he said, leaning towards you.

Before you could think of a way to downplay it, Nick—ever the troublemaker, grinned wickedly and leaned over. “Oh, I’ll tell you,” he said, just loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Ah Ma’s asking when you’re getting married. She wants great-grandchildren before she dies.”

His jaw dropped slightly at what Nick said, cheeks already tinged pink. “What?” Lando stammered, glancing at you for confrontation.

The laughter just grew louder as Nick continued, “she’s serious too. She’s already planning your family timeline.”

You groaned inwardly, shooting Nick a sharp look that only made him smirk wider. Meanwhile, Lando’s blush deepend, spreading across his ear and down to his neck. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and lips twitching into an embarrassed smile.

“I…uh…” he stuttered, clearly flustered, and you couldn’t help but smile despite the situation.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze under the table, leaning closer to whisper, “don’t worry, she just likes to tease. You’re doing great.”

Your Ah Ma smiled warmly at Lando, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening with the kind of affection reserved for those who had truly earned it. She placed her hands gently on the edge of the table, her gaze shifting between you and him as she began to speak again in Mandarin.

“我愛你這個年輕人,” (i love this young man for you) she said, tone resolute yet tender. “我等不及你們倆結婚的那一天了。 當然，這必須在我死之前發生，但沒有壓力.” (i cannot wait for the day you both get married. of course, this must happen before i die, but no pressure)

The table chuckled softly at her words, though you could feel the weight of her underlying sincerity.

“我希望你們的關係最終會導致婚姻。 它必須，我很高興是他。 我認識你以前約會過的所有男孩，但沒有你介紹他們給我,” (i expect your relationship will lead to marriage in the end. it must, and I’m glad it’s him. i knew all the boys you dated before without you introducing them to me) she continued, tone sharpening lightly as she referred to your past. “他們都不值得。 蘭多是。 他是個好人，是個紳士。 我看得出他讓你多麼高興.” (none of them were worthy. but lando is. he is a good man and a gentleman. i can see how happy he makes you)

Her gaze lingered on Lando, eyes bright with approval. “你選的不錯,” (you chose well) she said firmly, her words almost carrying the weight of a blessing.

You glanced at your mother, who was watching the exchange quietly with a soft smile. When your eyes met, she gave you a small nod, as if to echo your Ah Ma’s sentiments. Your heart swelled, knowing that this was not just about Lando being accepted by your family, it was about him being fully embraced in a way that rarely happened in a family as traditional as yours.

“我們的家庭一直重視傳統的重要性，在我們自己的背景，我們自己的文化中結婚。 這就是讓我們堅強的原因。 但有時，當心髒看到什麼是正確的時，必須做出例外.” (our family has always valued the importance of tradition, of marrying within our own background, our own culture. it is what keeps us strong. but sometimes, exceptions must be made when the heart sees what is right) your Ah Ma’s eyes softened further as she looked at you. “你已經看到了什麼是正確的。 我相信你的選擇。 他會給你帶來快樂，你也會給他帶來同樣的快樂.” (and you have seen what’s right. i trust your choice. he will bring you happiness, and you will bring him the same)

Lando, though unable to follow the Mandarin, seemed to understand the atmosphere and the sentiment. He offered a polite smile, his hand tightening slightly around yours under the table.

“你知道，你是第一個正式向我介紹這樣一個人的人。 這不是一件小事。 它表明了對我們家庭的尊重，它表明你是認真的.” (you know, you are the first to formally introduce someone to me like this. it is no small thing. it shows respect for our family, and it shows me that you are serious) she paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “這就是爲什麼我相信這將工作。 你有我的祝福.” (that is why I trust this will work. you have my blessing)

You felt a lump in your throat as you glanced again at your mother, who was still smiling softly. There was no need for words, her expression said it all. The weight of family approval—especially your Ah Ma’s, was very significant. It was not just about you and Lando anymore, it was about the life you were building together, one that your family wholeheartedly supported.

You turned to Lando and gave him a small smile, and squeezed his hand, a private gesture of reassurance for him. Though he could not understand the exact words, you knew he felt the love and acceptance in the room, just as deeply as you did.

While everyone was now immersed in a new topic of conversation, you can’t help but notice that Rachel was taking longer than usual. Rachel hasn’t gone back yet, the same as your Auntie Eleanor. Just before your Ah Ma would say his monologue about family tradition, your Auntie Eleanor had excused herself.

You glanced at the door Rachel and your Auntie Eleanor had exited through earlier, your eyes narrowed slightly in concern. This was a sprawling estate, one where getting turned around was almost inevitable for someone unfamiliar with its labyrinth of hallways and grand rooms. You couldn’t shake the sense that something was amiss.

Minutes passed. Neither Rachel nor your Auntie Eleanor had returned. Your unease deepened. So you leaned slightly toward Lando, your voice low enough not to disrupt the ongoing chatter around the table.

“I think I’ll go check on Rachel,” you murmured. “She’s taking a little too long, and Auntie Eleanor too.”

Lando nodded, his eyes flickering with slight concern. “You think everything’s okay?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” you replied. “But I’ll find out.”

You leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his cheek, the faintest smile touching your lips despite the worry now bubbling beneath the surface. Straightening up, you excused yourself from the table, smoothing down your dress with a quick, practiced motion.

As you step away, the chatter behind you fades, replaced by the muted hum of distant sounds in the house, the faint clatter of dishes being cleared in the kitchen, soft shuffle of footsteps from maids moving about their duties.

You moved quietly, your steps deliberate as you followed the path Rachel had taken earlier. You knew this house like the back of your hand, each twist and turn etched into your memory, but even for you, it was easy to imagine how someone so unfamiliar might lose their way.

Your eyes scanned the hallways as you moved, the ornate decorations and rich furnishings familiar yet suddenly feeling imposing in the quiet. You still could not shake the thought that perhaps your Auntie Eleanor had cornered Rachel somewhere in the house, and the idea made your pace quicken.

The moment you approached the grand staircase, you approached quietly, you heard voices and stopped just short of the landing, hiding yourself out of sight behind the very heavy drapery of a nearby window. You knew it was wrong to eavesdrop on other people, but your concern for Rachel overpowered the voice of reason.

Peeking through the fabric, you saw them. Your Auntie Eleanor stood on the top step of the staircase, her posture sharp and commanding, while Rachel stood two steps below her, visibly uneasy. The height difference only seemed to amplify the imbalance in their dynamic—your Auntie Eleanor looking every bit like a hawk, and Rachel was the unwitting prey.

“I’m glad I found you,” your Auntie Eleanor began, voice low and calm, but laced with a kind of weight that felt impossible to ignore. “I felt…perhaps I was unfair to you earlier.”

Rachel immediately shook her head, her voice soft but apologetic. “No, no, it’s alright. I didn’t mean to offend you, and I’m really sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t offend me, Rachel,” she said quietly, almost too quietly, as though she were weighing each word before releasing it. “But since we’re already here, I feel it’s only fair to share something with you. Something that I don’t often talk about.”

“Alright,” Rachel said, voice barely above whisper.

“The emerald ring,” she began, lifting her hand slightly to glance at the emerald on her finger, “had been customized by my husband, Philip, because Ah Ma didn’t want to give him the family ring.”

“She…refused?” Rachel was clearly surprised.

Your Auntie Eleanor gave a small, humorless smile, the corner of her lips barely turning upward. “She didn’t think I was worthy of it. Didn’t think I was worthy of Philip.”

At that, you felt your breath catch. This was new information, something you had never heard before. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the two of them, even as guilt tugged at you for listening in.

“Why would she think that?” Rachel’s voice was cautious, tentative.

Your Auntie Eleanor’s expression hardened, though her voice remained calm. “Because I didn’t come from the right family. I didn’t have the proper connections, and I was not what Ah Ma envisioned for his eldest son. To her, I was inadequate. Not a suitable wife for the future head of the family.”

Rachel looked stunned, her hands fidgeting slightly at her sides. “I…I didn’t know.”

“No, of course, you wouldn’t,” she said softly. “It’s not the kind of thing people would discuss so openly, and why would they? It’s already humiliating to admit that you weren’t the first choice.”

Rachel’s lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out of her mouth.

“I wasn’t even the second choice. You’re Ah Ma wanted someone else entirely, someone from a family with status and wealth that matched ours. But Philip, he chose me.”

From your hiding spot, you could see the faint sheer in your Auntie Eleanor’s eyes, though her expression remained resolute. You felt your stomach tighten. This was far more personal than the surface-level gossip you and your mother often indulge in about your Auntie Eleanor.

Rachel seemed to struggle to find the right response. “I think that’s very brave of you, to have gone through that.”

“Brave?” she echoed, almost as though testing the word on her tongue. “Perhaps, or perhaps I simply had no choice but to endure it. That’s what women like me are expected to do. Endure. Sometimes, there were days when I wondered if I would ever measure up.”

Another pause filled the air, heavy and suffocating. You glanced back toward the hallway that leads to the dining room, where laughter and conversation continued, oblivious to the tension unfolding right outside.

Your Auntie Eleanor looked down at Rachel, her tone softening just slightly. “I don’t say this to make you uncomfortable, Rachel. I say it because you remind me of someone I once was, a young woman trying to find her place in a family with traditions that can feel suffocating at times. But here’s the thing.”

“To belong here,” your Auntie Eleanor said quietly, “you must learn when to bend and when to stand firm, and above all, you must understand that family will always come first before passion, before dreams. It’s not easy, but it’s the way it is.”

Her words lingered in the air, cutting deeper than anything you had expected. You tightened your grip on the drapery, heart thudding in your chest.

“But Rachel,” she said softly, almost gently, as she took a slow step closer to her. “Having been through it all myself, I can tell you this much…you will never be enough.”

The words hung in the air, deceptively gently, yet sharp enough to pierce. Rachel was eviscerated, as your Auntie Eleanor draws back, placid and calm, as if they were talking about the weather. Her hand lightly touched Rachel’s arm, almost a contradictory gesture to the blow she had just delivered.

“We should head back, I wouldn’t want Nick to worry.” your Auntie Eleanor’s tone did not falter, nor did her gaze waver. She slowly began descending the stairs.

You’re still hidden—more like frozen in place. You watched as Rachel’s expression crumbled ever so slightly, her face a mixture of hurt and confusion, though she tried valiantly to hold her composure. You felt a pang in your chest for her, but before you could decide whether to step out, you felt a presence approaching from behind.

You turned your head quickly, startled to see Lando walking towards you. His lips were already parting, likely to ask what you were doing or what was taking you so long, but you reacted instinctively. You brought a finger to your lips in a sharp shushing motion, then darted towards him as quietly as possible, pressing a hand gently over his mouth before he could make a sound.

Lando’s brows furrowed in confusion, but he obeyed your silent command, his wide eyes flickering between you and the staircase. You both froze as the unmistakable sound of your Auntie Eleanor’s heels began clicking rhythmically against the marble floor, growing louder with each step.

Peeking back around the corner just enough, your Auntie Eleanor was already headed your way, her expression calm and composed, never even looking back at Rachel, who remained standing frozen in place.

Without any second thought, you grabbed Lando’s hand firmly and began pulling him back down the hall, away from the grand staircase. His confusion deepened, but he did not resist, allowing you to guide him. You stopped just short of the door, turning to face him, you placed a hand on his chest and pressed a little to keep him from moving any further. Lando tilted his head slightly, silently asking for an explanation, but you shook your head.

“I’ll tell you everything later,” you whispered firmly, voice barely audible. “When we’re home.”

Lando frowned slightly but nodded in understanding, his gaze softening as he squeezed your hand gently. You exhaled, releasing the tension in your shoulders, and took a moment to steady yourself. Lacing your fingers together, you took one more deep breath, and walked back into the dining room with Lando by your side.

You plastered on a casual smile, even as your thoughts raced, determined to keep up the act for now.

Later that evening, you were now back to the safety and comfort of your home. You and Lando were now settled into the bed, the room quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. Lando was lying on his back, one arm tucked under his head, while his other arm rested lightly on your arm. The dim glow from the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows across his face as you propped yourself up on your elbow, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Okay, here’s the tea,” you began softly, keeping your voice low in the stillness of the room.

Lando turned his head to look at you, his brows knitting slightly. “What’s the tea?”

You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before recounting everything you had overheard between Rachel and your Auntie Eleanor by the grand staircase. You spoke carefully, detailing the conversation, voice growing more serious as you described your Auntie Eleanor’s sharp words, her admission about the family ring, and the way she had undermined Rachel. Lando listened intently, his gaze never leaving yours, expression shifting from concern to quiet disbelief as you continued.

“And then,” you said, voice dropping even lower, “she told Rachel she would never be enough. I just couldn’t believe it, honestly. It was so cruel.”

“That’s awful,” he said firmly. “I can’t imagine how Rachel must’ve felt when she heard that. She must’ve been gutted—no pun intended.”

You chuckled, then suddenly feeling the weight of the moment settle between you. “I wanted to step in, but I didn’t know how without actually making it worse. Then I saw you coming,” you paused, sighing. “I just don’t know how to fix it.”

Lando reached out, taking your hands in his, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “It’s not your fault,” he said reassuringly. “Your Auntie Eleanor has her own set of issues. But Rachel seems strong, I’m sure she’ll handle it.”

You nodded, though the worry lingered in your chest. “I just hope my whole family can be as welcoming to Rachel as they’ve been to you. She deserves that. Nick deserves that.”

“Your family has been incredible to me,” he said. “Your Ah Ma, your Mom, even your Auntie Alix, they’ve all made me feel like I belong, even though I’m not from the same background—traditionally, as you. That means everything to me. It’s rare to find that kind of acceptance.”

You felt your chest warm at his words. “I’m so happy they’ve accepted you,” you murmured. “It makes me love them even more, knowing they see how amazing you are.”

He chuckled lightly, ears turning red at your compliment. “Well,” Lando said, tone turning playful, “Ah Ma did say she expects a grandchild, so I guess I’m officially part of the family now.”

You laughed softly, then tension from the earlier conversation easing slightly. But as you rested your head against his chest, you whispered, “I just hope Rachel gets that chance too. To feel what we have with my family.”

Lando pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice gentle as he said, “she will, it might take time, but your family loves deeply. They’ll come around, and if not, well, Nick and Rachel would always have us. That’s a pretty good start, don’t you think?”

You nodded. “But hey,”

“Hmm?” he hummed, looking at the ceiling aimlessly.

“I was thinking,” you started, “tomorrow’s our last free day before Colin and Araminta’s wedding. I was wondering if it’s okay with you if I spend it with Rachel. I feel like she could use some company, and I’d love to catch up with her one-on-one.”

Lando’s lips curved into a small smile as he nodded. “Of course, love. You don’t need to ask, and I think that’s a great idea.”

“Are you sure?” you pressed. “I don’t want to leave you feeling bored or anything.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, take your time. I can keep myself busy.”

At that, you looked at him with curiosity. “Oh? What’s your plan for the day?”

Lando grinned, “actually, I was thinking of hitting up your Dad for a few rounds of golf. He told me during Ah Ma’s dinner party to let him know anytime I wanted to play, so I figured I’d take him up on that offer.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the thought of Lando and your father on the golf course together. “That sounds perfect. I think he’d love that.”

“It’ll be nice to spend some time with him, and,” he added with a playful grin, “it’ll give me a chance to show him I’ve been practicing my swing.”

You chuckled, “well, don’t let him win too easily, or else he’ll never let you live it down.”

Lando laughed along with you, then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Go spend the day with Rachel,” he said warmly. “I’ll be fine, and later, you can tell me all about it over dinner.”

“Deal,” you said with a grin.

The warm scent of roasted coffee filled the air as you and Rachel sat across from each other at the small patio table. The sunlight filtered gently through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the table between your cups of coffee. Rachel stirred her latte absentmindedly, her eyes occasionally drifting to the street beyond before meeting yours.

“I’m really glad you agreed to meet with me,” you began, voice steady but soft.

Rachel offered a small smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. “Of course. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk after everything.”

You took a deep breath, setting your coffee cup down carefully. “I wanted to talk because I owe you an apology. For everything.”

She tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing. But she let you continue speaking.

“I’m sorry for how you were treated at the dinner party by my family,” you continued, gazing at her earnestly. “Especially by my Auntie Eleanor. I know she was cruel, and I won’t make any excuses for her just because she’s family. You didn’t deserve that.”

Rachel let out a shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she leaned back in her chair. “Thank you for saying that, it truly means a lot.”

There was a brief pause before you added, “and I need to come clean about something.”

“I overheard everything Auntie Eleanor said to you by the staircase,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands for a moment before looking back at her. “It wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop, I swear. I was going to get something from the car, and I happened to pass by.”

She studied you for a moment, then let out a soft sigh. “Honestly, I’m not even surprised you overheard. She wasn’t exactly trying to whisper.”

You gave a small, rueful smile. “Still, I should have stepped in sooner. I hate that she made you feel the way you did.”

Rachel’s grip on her coffee cup tightened briefly before she let out a small, humorless laugh. “It was pretty intense, I’ve got to say,” she admitted. “I mean, I felt like I was going to cry and puke all at once.”

The two of you exchange a glance before breaking into laughter. The sound was a relief, breaking the lingering tension like the first warm breeze after a storm.

“Well,” you said. “I bet if you tell her that you’d leave Nick for a million of dollars, she’d write that check on the spot.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she burst into laughter again, this time louder and freer. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you replied, grinning. “It’s a pretty normal thing to do here. A million-dollar breakup is just another Tuesday.”

Rachel shook her head, still laughing, and took a sip of her latte. “That’s terrible.”

“Maybe it is,” you smiled and shrugged. “But I know my Auntie Eleanor.”

She then set her coffee cup down, fingers fiddling with the edge of her napkin as her expression shifted something akin to serious.

“You know, I just…I don’t even know what to do anymore. Whether I will tell Nick everything or not,” she admitted, voice quieter now. “I can see how much Nick practically worships his Mom. I mean, it’s like she can do no wrong in his eyes.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing her words. “I fully understand that,” you said carefully, tone gently. “It’s common, especially with Chinese sons. They hold their mothers on a very high pedestal, and it’s not just cultural, it’s ingrained, passed down through generations. Mothers are revered, respected almost to a fault.”

Rachel let out a small, defeated sigh, leaning back in her chair. “So what am I supposed to do? Compete with that?”

You shook your head, giving her a smile. “No, you don’t need to compete with anyone. Look, on the bright side of all things, Ah Ma loves you. Did you notice how she complimented you yesterday? That’s pretty big.”

Her brow furrowed slightly as she thought back, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “She did, didn’t she? I was not really sure what to make of it at first, but I guess that was her way of showing approval.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Let Auntie Eleanor stew in her own bitterness if she wants to. She can hate you all day long or even her whole life if that’s what she’s determined to do.”

“That’s…comforting?” she raised an eyebrow, her smile wavering.

“Just let Auntie Eleanor be, she has nothing against two thousand years of Chinese filial piety.” you chuckled.

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked, intrigued but unsure.

You gestured gently with your hand, voice steady but light. “At the end of the day, it’s not really about Auntie Eleanor. It’s about what Ah Ma thinks, and in this family, her opinion carries the most weight, and she’s already decided that she likes you. Auntie Eleanor might throw tantrums and make her snide comments, but she can’t overturn the foundation of how this family works. What Ah Ma says, goes.”

Rachel sat back, her lips curving into a small, thoughtful smile. “So, you’re saying that I don’t need to fight back? Just let her do her thing?”

You nodded. “Exactly. She’s not the one you’re trying to win over, and frankly, she doesn’t hold the power she thinks she does. As long as Ah Ma’s around and on your side, you’re practically untouchable.”

“You make it sound so simple.” she let out a soft laugh, her tension finally easing.

“It’s not simple,” you admitted with a small shrug, “but it’s the truth. You’re a part of this family now, Rachel—whether they like it or not, and you’ve already got the most important ally you could ask for.”

Rachel’s smile grew warmer, and for the first time, she looked truly at ease. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I needed to hear that.”

The midday sun cast long shadows over the manicured fairways of Sentosa Golf Club. Lando steadied his swing, aiming for the flag ahead. Your father stood a few paces behind, watching his stance with an appraising eye. The gentle rustling of the trees and occasional chirping of birds provided the only background noise. Lando took the shot—clean, low drive that rolled smoothly onto the green.

“Good shot,” your father remarked, nodding in approval as they walked toward the cart together.

“Thank you,” Lando replied, brushing his hands against his shorts.

As they drove to the next hole, your father leaned back slightly, gaze fixed ahead. “So, Lando,” your father began, his tone casual. “What are your plans?”

Lando glanced at him, slightly startled by the abruptness of the question. “Plans, sir? You mean with golf? Or…generally?”

Your father chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, no. Not with golf, I meant your plans for the future. It’s a broad question, I know, but I’m curious.”

He straightened. “Oh, well…I’m focused on my career right now, of course. Racing tends to keep me pretty busy, but I try to balance things as best as I can.”

Your father nodded as they both stepped out of the cart. He let a few moments pass before continuing, voice taking on a more serious tone. “When my wife came back from her mother’s estate last night, she mentioned something to me over dinner.”

Lando tilted his head, curious. “What is it?”

“She said that Ah Ma gave you and my daughter her approval,” your father said, eyes steady on Lando. “Ah Ma hopes your relationship will end in marriage someday.”

Lando blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the statement, or just how straightforward your father is. He shifted his weight slightly, unsure of how to respond to your father.

Your father, noticing his hesitation, offered a small smile. “Don’t worry, Lando. I’m not here to pressure or scare you away. But I thought it might be important for you to understand something about how everything goes on around here.”

“In our culture,” your father explained as he placed the golf ball on the tee, “relationships are viewed differently than in the West. They’re not just about love or companionship, they’re built on sacrifice, duty, and responsibility. When you commit to someone, you’re committing to the entirety of it all—even to the family. It’s a partnership that demands effort and selflessness.”

“Now,” your father took his shot—a smooth, powerful drive that sent the ball soaring down the fairway. He straightened and turned back to Lando, resting the driver on his shoulder. “I’m not saying this to intimidate you. It’s far from it. I know how much my daughter cares for you, and from what I’ve seen, you care for her just as much. But I want to make sure you understand what this means to us—our family and her. It’s not just about dating or having fun. It’s about building a life together.”

Lando swallowed, feeling the weight of your father’s words. “I…I get that, sir. I really do, and I want you to know that I take our relationship seriously. She’s,” he paused, searching for the right words. “She’s the most important person in my life. I may not have everything figured out yet, but I’m fully committed to her. I want to make her happy and support her in every way I can.”

Your father studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’s good to hear, Lando. You’re a good man, and that’s all I needed to know.”

Lando exhaled softly, relieved but still thoughtful. Your father clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s see if you can make this shot. I’m one up on you, and I don’t plan on losing today.”

”We’ll see about that, sir.” Lando grinned.

The two of them had just finished their round and were sitting in the shaded patio area of the clubhouse, sipping on cold drinks. Your father leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed.

“You know, back in her teens, she was quite the handful.” your father began, voice carrying an edge of humor.

Lando turned to him, intrigued but slightly nervous. “Oh?”

Your father nodded, a sly smile on his face. “She used to escape the house and date boys behind our backs. Thought she was clever about it too.”

Lando’s lips twitched into a smile, imagining you as a teenager, trying to outsmart your parents. “Really? I can’t imagine her sneaking around like that.”

“Oh, she was good,” your father said, in a playful tone. “She never introduced us to those boys, but we always knew who they were. We made it our business to know. Still, we never made a fuss, we figured she’d grow out of it—and she did.”

He just smiles as your father tells these little snippets of anecdotes of your life that you had never told Lando before. Lando just kept silent, and continued listening to your father.

“So when she introduced you to us, we were shocked to be honest.” your father laughed, a deeper, more genuine sound. “It was the first time she brought someone home. That was our first indication that this was serious, different from anything she’d had before.”

“To tell you the truth,” your father continued, tone shifting to something more reflective. “We always thought she’d end up seriously dating one of the sons from our family’s business partners, since that’s how these things tend to go. But looking at it now, we’re thankful that it’s you.”

Lando blinked, caught off guard. “Thankful? Why’s that?”

Your father leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “Because those boys, they have big, fragile egos. Pampered from birth, they’ve never had to work for anything, and never had to learn humility. Trust me, there’s nothing worse than a man who can’t admit his faults.” he looked at Lando meaningfully. “You’re nothing like that, you’ve worked hard for everything you’ve achieved. You respect her, and that means a lot to us.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lando replied as he felt a warmth spread through his chest. “That really means a lot to me.”

Your father nodded, a small but approving smile on his face. “Just don’t let her outplay you on the course of life, Lando. She might be silent and reserved most of the time, but she’s competitive.”

Lando laughed. “Oh, I know. She’s already winning in a lot of ways.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” your father regarded him for a moment, then smiled. “Now, shall we see if they have any dessert worth trying here? Golf always leaves me craving something sweet.”

“Sounds good to me, sir.” Lando chuckled.

The house was still dark when you arrived, a quiet stillness greeting you as you set your things down and flicked on the lights. After slipping into more comfortable clothes—a loose white shirt and soft shorts, you made your way to the kitchen.

You had informed Lando earlier that you had decided it would be steak night, so you tied your back and opened the fridge, pulling out the steak to defrost, then setting them on the counter before gathering ingredients for the side dishes. You peeled and chopped the potatoes, boiling them in a pot of salted water, and then turned your attention to the vegetables.

Then you sliced the carrots, zucchini, and bell peppers—the rhythm of chopping and preparing was soothing, you then drizzled them with olive oil, sprinkled them with salt and pepper, then slid the tray into the oven to roast.

By the time the vegetables were roasting and the potatoes were soft, the steaks were now finally defrosted. You began to season them generously with salt, pepper, and a hint of garlic powder, then heated a cast-iron skillet until it was searing hot. The steaks sizzled as they hit the pan, filling the kitchen with the rich aroma of cooking meat.

While the steaks rested, you drained the potatoes and mashed them with butter, cream, and a touch of garlic. The creamy texture was perfect, and you set the pot aside before arranging everything on the plate.

Tonight, you wanted to dine outside by the pool deck, where the view of the city lights was nothing short of magical. Grabbing a couple stacks of plates and utensils, you stepped out to the deck and set the table. The air was cool, and the glow from the pool lights danced against the walls, creating a cozy ambiance.

Just as you returned to the kitchen to plate the food, you felt an arm wrapped around your waist and a soft kiss pressed to your cheek. Startled, you spun around to see Lando smiling down at you, hair slightly mussed from the day.

“You scared me!” you said with a laugh, leaning up to kiss him on the lips.

“Sorry,” he murmured, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “It smells amazing in here.”

“So, how was your day with Dad?” you asked smiling, brushing a hand over his arm.

“It was good,” he replied. “Tiring, but good. I think I held my own.”

You smiled at that and patted his chest gently. “Go change into something comfortable and grab a bottle of wine from the rack, we’re eating outside by the pool deck.”

“On it,” Lando said with a quick kiss to your temple before heading off to the bedroom.

You carried the plated food out to the pool deck, setting it down on the table. The city lights twinkled in the distance as you adjusted the chairs and smoothed the tablecloth. Lando soon joined you, a bottle of red wine in hand, dressed in a simple shirt and joggers.

“That looks incredible, love.” he said as he set the wine down and pulled out a chair for you.

“Why thank you,” you smiled, settling in on the chair. “Let’s eat.”

As the two of you began eating, the sound of clinking utensils and the occasional splash of water from the pool filled the serene evening air. You cut into your steak and took a bite before glancing at Lando, who was pouring wine into both of your glasses.

“So, as promised,” you began, setting your form down for a moment. “I wanted to tell you about the conversation that I had with Rachel earlier when I met up with her.”

Lando looked up from his glass, giving you his full attention. “Yeah? How did it go by the way, how’s she holding up?”

”She’s trying, but she’s still shaken from what happened with Auntie Eleanor.” you replied. “She told me that she finds it hard to tell Nick everything because Nicky practically worships her Mom, because well, that’s how Chinese sons are—they think their Moms fart Chanel No.5.”

He froze for a moment, processing what you said, and then burst into laughter. Lando set down his wine glass as he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

“That’s such an oddly specific comparison, babe. But honestly,” Lando said through his laughter, “it’s kind of perfect. I admit that at times, I notice that’s how Nick acts around Auntie Eleanor, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” you confirmed as you took another bite of your steam. “Rachel feels like Nick would never fully stand up to his mother and I get why she’s worried. But I explained to her how Auntie Eleanor is basically defenseless against two thousand years of Chinese filial piety.”

“Filial piety?” Lando repeated, brows furrowing slightly.

You took a sip of wine, then set the glass down carefully before explaining. “It’s this concept in Chinese culture that emphasizes respect, obedience, and care for your parents and elders.” you continued, “it’s not just about being polite, it’s deeply rooted in our traditions and values. Sons, in particular, are expected to honor their mothers in every way possible. That’s why it sometimes feels like their Moms can do no wrong.”

Lando nodded slowly, taking in your words. “So it’s more than just a family dynamic—it’s cultural, like a duty?”

“Exactly,” you said with a small smile. “It’s why Rachel feels the way she does, but I told her that she shouldn’t worry too much. Ah Ma has taken a liking on her, and that’s already a gold sign. Auntie Eleanor might act high and mighty, but at the end of the day, she doesn’t really have a say in Ah Ma’s decisions.”

“Basically, you’re saying that Auntie Eleanor has no powers here?” he tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Not over Ah Ma, no. Hell no,” you said, chuckling. “And honestly, I think it’s about time someone stood up to Auntie Eleanor. Rachel is strong, even if she doesn’t always realize it, Nick and her will be fine. It’s just a matter of time she finds her own footing and Nick learning to balance his loyalty to Auntie Eleanor with his commitment to Rachel.”

Lando chuckled softly, raising his wine glass. “Well, here’s to Rachel and Nick figuring it out, and to Ah Ma—who clearly runs the show.”

You clink your wine glass against Lando’s with a grin. “Family is really fucking complicated, but hey, cheers to that.”

When Lando finished the last bite of his steak, he set his fork down with a satisfied sigh. “Speaking of Ah ma,” he began, swirling his wine glass, “you Dad told me something very interesting stuff today.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? What did he say?”

Lando smiled, leaning back in his chair. “He mentioned how he knew that Ah Ma already gave us her blessing and that she’s expecting this relationship to end up in marriage.”

You froze mid-bite, fork hovering above your plate. “Wait,” you said slowly, “did Dad give you the talk?”

His grin widened, and before he could even answer, you groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Oh my fucking god, that’s so embarrassing.” you mumbled, voice muffled.

“It wasn’t bad,” Lando said laughing. “He was just laying it all out on me. Talking about how serious relationships are in your culture and how family values commitment. Honestly, I kind of expected it.”

You peaked through your fingers, cheeks burning. “Still,” you muttered, “he didn’t have to do that.”

Lando leaned forward, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh, but that’s not all he told me.”

Your hands dropped from your face, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What else did he say?”

He smirked. “Apparently, back then you had a rebellious streak. Sneaking out to go on dates with different boys, huh?”

You groaned, slumping back in your chair. “Nooo. He did not tell you that.”

“Oh, he did,” Lando teased, clearly enjoying himself. “And he said that they knew exactly who those boys were because they were keeping track.”

Your head dropped to the table with a dramatic thud. “Why does Dad always have the need to air my embarrassing phase like that,” you said, voice muffled against the table.

Lando laughed. “Hey, it’s not that bad,” he reassured you.

Lifting your head, you frowned at him, still mortified. “Okay, but in my defense, I always had a feeling that they knew. Especially dad. I wasn’t exactly completely sure, you know? But now…” you sighed, gesturing at him. “Now I know that they know. Great.”

He reached across the table, fingers brushing against yours. “Is that why none of those boys ever made it past your family’s front door?”

“Yup,” you said, nodding. “Not a single one got far enough to meet my parents, I couldn’t really stand the thought of introducing someone who didn’t actually care about me at all.”

You continued, leaning back in your chair. “Along the way, I realized that they only wanted to be with me because of my family. They saw me as some kind of tool…I guess. Like being with me would give them status, connections, or some kind of benefit.”

Lando’s smile faded slightly, his expression turning serious. “I can imagine how tough it must’ve been.”

“I know,” you admitted. “I just wanted genuine connections, but they just saw me as an opportunity. So, before things got messy, I was always the one who ended it first. That’s why none of them ever got through the door of my parent’s house, or let alone set foot on our estate. They weren’t worth it at all.”

Lando reached across the table, hand covering yours. “Well, for the record, I’m glad your Dad approves of me, and I hope I’ve made it clear that I’m here because of you, not anything else.” he then added, “I do hope that I’ve done a better job at proving I’m not one of those boys.”

You smiled, finger tightening around his. “You’re not even close. You’re nothing like them, Lan. You’ve made it more clear, that’s why you’re here now.”

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains as you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing out the delicate fabric of your gown. The gown was breathtaking, every inch was meticulously crafted by Giambattista Valli himself. The subtle shimmer in the fabric caught the light as you moved, and you smiled, tracing your fingers over the discreet initials that had been embroidered near the hem—a personal touch that made the gown uniquely yours. Lando’s suit complemented you perfectly, a sharp, tailored masterpiece with matching initials of his name on the inner lapel.

Lando adjusted the cuffs on his crisp white dress shirt but fumbled slightly with the cuff links. Noticing his struggle, you stepped in closer, gently taking the cuff links from his hands.

“Here, babe, let me,” you said softly, deftly fastening the sleek gold links.

His eyes met yours, a small smile forming on his lips. “Thanks, love. You always know how to save me, huh.”

“You’d manage eventually,” you replied with a teasing smile, your fingers lingering for a moment on his wrist. “But we can’t afford to be late.”

Just as you finished, a soft chime from your phone notified you of the arrival of the car. “The car's here,” you said, stepping back to grab your clutch.

Lando picked up his jacket, slipping it on before crossing the room to you. “Ready?” he asked, offering his arm.

“Ready,” you confirmed, taking his arm as he led you to the door.

The car was waiting at the entrance, its sleek black exterior gleaming in the sunlight. The chauffeur quickly stepped out, opening the door for you, and Lando helped you down the small steps, his hand steady at your back as you navigated the delicate heels you were wearing. He opened the car door, his free hand gently resting on yours as you lowered yourself into the plush interior.

“Careful,” he murmured, making sure you were settled before following after you.

Once he was seated beside you, the car pulled smoothly away, the soft hum of the engine filled the air. You glanced at the matching embroidery on your outfits, a quiet sense of anticipation washing over you as you looked ahead to the day’s events.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the First Methodist Church, the scene outside was a whirlwind of flashing cameras and steady buzz of voices. There was a long line of luxury vehicles stretched down the street, each one spilling out more high-profile guests—foreign dignitaries, government leaders, business tycoons, and a studded lineup of Asia’s brightest stars.

Crowds outside were a sea of media personnel, their cameras aimed and ready to capture every moment of what deemed Singapore’s wedding of the century, akin to Royal Asian Wedding. The chauffeur stepped out and swiftly opened Lando’s door. He exited gracefully, buttoning his tailored suit jacket before turning to offer you a hand. You placed your hand in his, and helped you out of the car.

The moment you fully got out of the car, the flash of the cameras intensified, different photographers yelling questions and calling your names. You paused beside Lando, your arm loosely looped through his, both of you offering calm, poised expressions for the cameras.

“This is a lot,” Lando murmured under his breath, leaning closer so only you could hear.

“Welcome to Singapore’s media circus,” you replied quietly, managing a polite smile as you stood in place for a few more seconds.

The attention was relentless. A few reporters called out to Lando directly, asking for interviews or comments, their voices cutting through the crowd. He shook his head subtly, lifting a hand to politely decline as the two of you turned to make your way towards the church entrance.

You glided across the red carpet, your hand still resting lightly on Lando’s arm. As you approached the grand doors, the tall, ornate arches of the church loomed above, intricate carvings catching the light. The media frenzy continues behind you, but you maintain your composure.

Then, as you entered the threshold, a familiar face came into view, one that is so familiar with you—Francesca Shaw. She stood just off the side, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd as if assessing everyone in attendance. Her pristine gold dress was undoubtedly designer, her hair styled to perfection.

Your expression shifted instantly, a smile vanishing into a deadpan look. Francesca caught your gaze for a moment, her lips twitching as if she might say something, but your firm expression was enough to make her quickly redirect her attention to something, or rather someone else.

Lando noticed the brief exchange as you both walked past her. “Who’s that?” he asked, voice low but curious.

You glanced at him. “Francesca Shaw,” you replied simply, keeping your tone neutral.

He furrowed his brows. “Should I know who she is? Friend of yours?”

“Fuck no,” you answered quickly. “She was the one that’s responsible for the gutted fish in Rachel’s bed during Minty’s bachelorette party.”

Lando blinked, steps faltering for just a moment. “Wait, that’s her?!”

“Mm-hmm,” you confirmed, leading him further into the church. “Best to steer clear. Nothing good comes from her.”

He nodded, expression tightening slightly as he glanced back toward Francesca. “Noted.”

As you and Lando stepped into the main part of the church, the sheer opulence of the space struck you in awe. The vaulted ceilings were adorned with intricate gold details, and the air was filled with soft strains of a live string quartet stationed discreetly in one corner. Every surface seemed to glisten, whether from the polished marble floors, crystal chandeliers, or the hundreds of white orchids cascading over every available surface. It was evident that no expense had been spared—the grandeur practically screamed wealth and power.

Lando’s eyes scanned the space as he whistled low, “this is extravagant.”

You smiled, leaning slightly closer to him as you whispered back, “wait until you see the reception. This is just the warm-up.”

You and Lando moved further into the church, where you caught sight of your family by one of the pews. Your mother stood alongside your Auntie Alix, Auntie Eleanor, and Auntie Jacqueline, their presence commanding attention as they chatted with a group of equally polished society wives. It was a familiar tableau—your aunts all clustered together, forming an impenetrable circle of sharp eyes and even more sharper tongues.

Predictably, your Auntie Eleanor seemed to be critiquing the whole setup. She gestured subtly towards the floral arrangements, her expression a mix of disapproval and thinly veiled judgement. While your Auntie Jacqueline, ever the pragmatist, seemed to be nodding in agreement, and your mother maintained her usual composed smile, occasionally offering diplomatic comments.

You and Lando approached them briefly, exchanging polite greetings. Your mother’s smile softened when she saw you, and she leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“You look very lovely, my darling,” she said, before glancing at Lando and adding, “and the two of you together—perfection, as always!”

After a few moments of pleasantries, you had excused yourselves, knowing the four of them would stick together for the ceremony and be seated in the same pew.

You made your way to the second row, you noted that the first row had been reserved for the Khoos and Lees, with Colin and Araminta’s immediate families already seated. You scanned the room quickly but no sign of Rachel yet, though Nick was near the altar with Colin and the other groomsmen, laughing and chatting. You assumed Rachel must be somewhere nearby.

Upon reaching your seats, you and Lando slid into the second row, settling into the plush velvet cushions. Three rows behind you, your mother and aunts had taken their places, their polished presence unmistakable even without turning around.

You leaned towards Lando, lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “So, I heard from Auntie Alix,” you began, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, “that Colin and Minty’s family spent sixty-five million dollars on this wedding.”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly, though he managed to keep his expression neutral. “Sixty-five?” he repeated under his breath.

You nodded, biting back a laugh as you added, “and it made me laugh because I heard Auntie Jacqueline said, ‘we’re Methodists, forty million is our maximum budget for a wedding like this.’”

That was enough to make Lando chuckle softly and shake his head in disbelief. “Forty million is the maximum?” he echoed, tone incredulous but amused.

You grinned, leaning back slightly but keeping your voice low. “Apparently, anything above that is considered excessive—even by our standards.”

Then, you turned around discreetly in your seat to scan the church again, searching for Rachel. It didn’t take long to spot her, she had just arrived and was being greeted warmly by Oliver by the entrance. She moved with a quiet confidence, her luminous presence immediately drawing attention. Heads all turning as she walked past, captivated by the stunning dress she wore—a rich light blue that complimented her complexion perfectly and subtly shimmered in the light.

Your aunts, seated a few rows behind you, were visibly taken aback. Auntie Eleanor, who rarely displays much reaction, looked momentarily stunned, her usual sharp expression softening into one of unguarded surprise. Your Auntie Alix leaned closer to whisper something to her, and Auntie Jacqueline adjusted her posture, almost as if reevaluating Rachel in that moment.

Your mother, however, was all warmth. You could see her beaming brightly at Rachel, her smile filled with genuine approval. You knew immediately what she was thinking, she completely adored the dress and the elegance Rachel exuded.

But something else caught your attention. Rachel glanced towards the pew where your mother and aunts were seated, but she didn’t move towards them. It was obvious she had not been invited to sit with them. Likely, they had made some excuses about how their pew was full, even though you could see there was space.

Rachel hesitated for a brief moment, her eyes scanning the room for an empty seat. Without thinking twice, you raised your hand and waved her over, her eyes lighting up when she saw you, and she made her way towards you. When she reached you, you immediately stood up and pulled her into a warm hug.

“You look absolutely incredible,” you whispered, meaning every word. You stepped back slightly to admire the dress. “That color on you, it’s just so perfect.”

Rachel smiled, her cheeks flushing just slightly. “Thank you,” she replied softly, clearly touched by the compliment.

You gestured to the space beside you. “Come, come. Sit with us,” you said, nodding toward the pew. “There’s plenty of room here.”

She hesitated for only a second before accepting. “Thank you,” she said, voice genuine.

Rachel slid into the pew beside you, and you could feel a subtle sense of relief in her presence as she settled into the seat. Lando leaned over slightly to greet Rachel with a polite nod and warm smile, and exchanged a quick look with him, silently acknowledging how significant this small act of kindness was, especially considering the dynamics at play.

Then, the murmur of the crowd faded into silence as Colin, Nick, and the four other groomsmen made their entrance alongside the pastor. Together, they formed an impeccable picture of elegance and charm, with their perfectly tailored suits catching the soft glow of the church lights. They walked with synchronized strides, confident yet there’s a reverent air about them, like a dashing pack.

Your attention drifted to Rachel, seated beside you, and the way her expression softened when her eyes found Nick. You caught the subtle shift in her demeanor as their gazes locked, a quiet exchange of affection that needed no words. There was something magnetic about the way they looked at each other, as though the entire room fell away for just a brief moment.

A hush of anticipation swept over the congregation as Kina Grannis took the stage by the live string quartet. Her voice rose delicately, the familiar strains of I Can’t Help Falling in Love filled the whole church with a dreamy, romantic air. The melody was sweet and tender, it struck a chord deep within, making the atmosphere impossibly more magical.

Two tiny figures appeared at the entrance—adorable flower girls, their tiny hands clasping wicker baskets as they scattered delicate petals along the aisle. They moved in a choreographed sweetness, bright smiles stealing the hearts of everyone in the room.

Behind them, toddled an equally charming ring bearer, clutching the pillow with seriousness that belied his young age. Each careful step he took earned a quiet chuckle from the crowd, his determination clear as he reached the altar. Nick crouched slightly, taking the ring pillow from the boy, and the playful high-five exchanged between them drew a ripple of soft laughter and smiles.

There was a collective gasp echoing through the church. Water began to flow, a gentle cascade spilling onto the aisle, shimmering as it caught the light. It trickled in perfect harmony, creating a luminous, rippling path that stretched from the entrance to the altar. The sound of water intertwined with the stillness of the music, holding everyone in awe.

The lights dimmed suddenly, and the soft flicker of long delicate stems with glowing tips spread through the crowd like fireflies. One by one, everyone in the congregation reached for the stems and held it aloft, their glittery illumination casting a celestial over the church, all eyes turning towards the entrance.

A group of bridesmaids stood poised, holding beautifully decorated large fronds that veiled what could only be Araminta. Their positioning was precise, deliberate, and graceful. With a choreographed motion, the bridesmaids slowly lifted the fronds, revealing Araminta, standing right next to her father. The moment was breathtaking—she radiated an ethereal elegance that made her appear almost otherworldly.

Araminta held her father’s hand as she gracefully stepped out of her towering heels. The hushed audience barely had a chance to react before she stepped forward, placing her bare feet onto the watery aisle. The music resumed, delicate yet triumphant, as she began her slow, graceful walk.

The bridesmaids followed closely behind her, their steps echoing her elegance, as the congregation swayed their glittery lights in unison. It was a scene out of a dream, a river of light and water that guided Araminta towards her future. From your seat, you could see Colin at the altar, his composed demeanor wavered, expression softening as he took in the sight of Araminta, eyes glistening with unshed tears, emotion written plainly on his face.

You didn’t exactly know what came over you, but as you sat there in the church, watching Colin and Araminta exchange glances filled with love and anticipation, a thought took root inside your mind. The entire wedding, its grandeur, intimacy, and the sense of two people stepping into forever had stirred something within you. It was not a matter of envy or longing for the spectacle itself, but it was the way Colin looked at Araminta—the way she smiled back at him, and the unspoken promise that passed between them.

Perhaps, selfishly, you found yourself imagining that kind of future for yourself. Not just marriage for the sake of it, but a marriage with Lando. The idea settled gently, not as a plan or something to be rushed, but as a hope—a quiet wish for someday. Though it was still too early now, you both were at the top of your careers, still growing individually and as a couple. A year of dating was only the beginning, and there was no need to rush, but the seed of the thought was already there, talking with surprising ease.

It made you genuinely happy to see Colin and Araminta standing at the altar. You had been an observer of their relationship from the beginning, a silent witness to the small and significant moments that had brought them to this day.

Growing up, Colin had been a near-constant presence in your family’s life, a fixture at every gathering and celebration. He was practically an honorary member of your family, and it felt like he belonged there just as much as anyone else. You had seen how Colin pined for Araminta, how he had talked Nick’s ear off about her, recounting every detail of their interactions with the kind of fervor only someone deeply in love could manage. Nick had confided that much to you during your conversations over the years, shaking his head fondly at how his best friend could turn any discussion into one about Araminta.

Your relationship with Nick has always been different from that with your other cousins. Despite the age gap, there was a closeness there that came naturally. Unlike many of your other cousins, who were either too competitive or too caught up in their own bubbles, Nick had always been kind, grounded, and someone you can rely on. Growing up, you often found yourself gravitating towards him, trusting him in ways you could not with the others.

So, seeing Colin—Nick’s best friend, your family’s honorary member, now finally standing with Araminta, the woman he had loved for so long, felt like a full circle of something extraordinary. It made you believe in the kind of love that could weather time and challenges, the kind of love that could one day be yours with Lando.

The reception took place at Gardens by the Bay, where the Botanical Gardens had been transformed into a scene straight out of fairytales. It was utterly breathtaking—every detail meticulously designed to create an almost otherworldly atmosphere. The iconic supertrees stretched overhead, illuminated with soft lights that shimmered in sync with the music. A Chinese big band played softly, filling the air with a nostalgic charm, while fireworks erupted in bursts of vibrant color against the dark night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the festivities.

Colin and Araminta were having their first dance at the center of it all, moving effortlessly in harmony. The wedding party stood loosely circled around them, watching the moment in admiration. You stood close to Lando, his arms loosely draped around your waist, holding you gently but securely. Chest pressed against your back as he swayed with you to the rhythm of the music, a silent echo of the couple’s dance.

Lando leaned in closer, voice low and intimate as he said, “you know, I didn’t really get the chance to tell you earlier, but you look absolutely stunning today, baby.”

His words caught you slightly off guard, but the sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten with warmth. Before you could respond, he placed a soft kiss on your cheek, lingering just long enough for his breath to tickle your skin.

“And this dress,” he added, lips brushing against your exposed shoulder now, “it’s beautiful. But it doesn’t even come close to how insanely beautiful you are.”

Your heart raced as Lando shifted, tilting your face gently towards his. His lips captured yours in a kiss, slow and tender, yet filled with a quiet intensity that made the world around you momentarily dissolve. When Lando pulled back, his eyes met yours, a glint of affection and something deeper reflecting in the warm light of the supertrees.

When Colin and Araminta’s first dance came to an end, the band seamlessly transitioned to a lively and upbeat tune. The atmosphere shifted immediately, with laughter bubbling through the crowd, and Araminta, radiant and full of energy, already had an outfit change, began beckoning guests onto the dance floor.

“Come on, come on!” she called out, her voice carrying over the music. “The party isn’t going to dance itself!”

You and Lando exchanged a quick glance, a shared look of amusement and anticipation. Without any single hesitation, he took your hand gently, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Let’s go,” he said, tone light and teasing.

“Lan, babe, I don’t really—” you began, hesitating slightly, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.

“You’re with me,” he assured, grinning reassuringly. “I won’t let you look awkward, I promise.”

The music pulsed through the whole garden, and the dance floor was quickly filling with guests, each one letting loose in the joyful chaos of the celebration, singing along with the band. You had never considered yourself much of a dancer, the thought of dancing always made you self-conscious. Your movements felt stiff and unnatural, and the fear of looking out of place usually kept you from even trying. But with Lando, it was different.

Lando kept a firm but gentle grip on your hand, spinning you lightly to the rhythm of Wo Yao Ni De Ai. His energy was very contagious, movements all natural and easy, and he guided you effortlessly, making sure you felt comfortable.

“Just follow my lead,” he said, voice steady over the music. “And don’t think about it too much.”

You did as he said, allowing yourself to let go of the self-consciousness. You focused on him, and only him—Lando’s playful smile, the way his hands steadied you, the warmth of his presence. Soon, the tension that you’re feeling in your body eased, and you found yourself laughing as you moved to the beat.

“I told you you'd be fine,” Lando said, voice filled with a playful confidence.

“I still think I look very ridiculous,” you replied, laughter spilling out.

“You look amazing,” he countered without missing a beat.

The two of you moved seamlessly among the crowd, completely immersed in the music and the moment. Lando twirled you under his arm, making you laugh again as you stumbled slightly, but his steady hands caught you before you could lose balance.

As the music reached its end, he pulled you in closer. Lando’s movements slowed, the lively rhythm fading into the background as his gaze locked with yours. There was an intensity in his eyes, a soft, unspoken emotion that made you breath catch. Without a word, he leaned in, lips capturing yours in a kiss—gentle, tender, and filled with quiet passion that seemed to echo everything unsaid between you.

When he pulled back, a small smile played on his lips. “See? You’re a natural,” he teased, tone soft and warm.

You just rolled your eyes at him, but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. The music had picked up again, and without hesitation, you two returned to the rhythm of the night, dancing together with an ease and happiness that made the rest of the world fade away, leaving you and Lando in a little bubble that you made yourself.

As the party went on, you and Lando continued swaying to the rhythm of the music, letting the night carry you in its revelry. The energy of the party was contagious, and you both were determined to make the most of it. The crowd around you was lively, a series of laughter and chatter blending into the music.

Suddenly, someone bumped into you, jostling you slightly. Turning to see who it was, you found yourself face-to-face with Rachel, who was looking very upset, her expression disoriented and distressed as she weaved through the throng of dancing guests.

“Rachel?” you called out, instinctively reaching out to her, your brows furrowing with concern.

Lando gently let go of your hand, his expression mirroring yours. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

Rachel, however, did not respond. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her gaze darting around as if trying to find something, or someone. Her pace was erratic and quickened as she moved further into the crowd.

You were about to follow her when a piercing scream cut through the music, causing heads to turn. There was laughter and the unmistakable hum of a crowd gathering, phones were raised in unison, their screens glowing as guests pointed toward something, or someone hidden behind the bushes near the edge of the garden.

Your stomach dropped as you and Lando turned to see what the commotion was about. Emerging from the bushes was half-naked Bernard Tai, his shirt already gone and his pants barely clinging to his hips. His movements were chaotic, clearly drunk, and he pawed at Kitty Pong, who struggled to pull herself away.

Kitty, the girlfriend of your cousin Alistair, looked utterly mortified. Her dress was disheveled, and her face was flushed with shame as she desperately tried to cover herself. Bernard, oblivious to the humiliation that they are now facing and radiating off of Kitty, stumbles toward her again, but she shoves him back.

The crowd wasn’t really helping. Instead of intervening, they just stood there, laughing, and some guests outright pointing and jeering, others filming the entire scene as Kitty managed to pull her dress up and flee from the scene, heels clicking sharply against the pavement as she disappeared into the night.

You felt a mix of shock and disgust twist in your stomach, gaze flicking between the fleeing Kitty and the drunken Bernard, who was now slumped against a nearby table, seemingly unaware, or uncaring, of the chaos he had caused. At Colin and Araminta’s wedding, nonetheless.

Lando shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.

Though your attention snapped back to Rachel. She had managed to stop briefly during the commotion, her body all stiff and face unreadable as she watched the scene unfold.

“Rachel!” you called again, but by the time you stepped forward, she was already gone, melting into the crowd and disappearing from view.

A few moments later, Nick came running toward you and Lando, face flushed and breathing uneven. “Have you guys seen Rachel?” he asked urgently, eyes scanning the crowd as though hoping she might reappear.

You glanced back toward the direction Rachel had gone, your worry mounting. “She was just here, but—”

“She already left, mate.” Lando finished, voice somber.

Nick looked around frantically, but it was clear he was too late. Rachel was already nowhere to be found, and whatever had just unfolded seemed to mark the abrupt descent of what had been.

As the night wound down, you and Lando decided it was time to call it a day. The events of the wedding had been unforgettable, but the exhaustion was starting to creep in. Knowing that you only had one day left in Singapore before flying to the UK for Christmas, you both set out to find Colin and Araminta to thank them properly.

After weaving through the remaining guests hand in hand, you finally spotted the newlyweds near the dance floor, glowing with happiness as they spoke to family and friends. When you approached, Colin was the first to notice, greeting you and Lando with a wide smile.

“Hey, you two! Having a good time?” Colin asked, tone warm and genuine.

“A very amazing time,” you replied with a smile. “Thank you so much for inviting us. This was truly the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever been to.”

“Absolutely,” Lando added, nodding. “It was really incredible. Congratulations again to both of you.”

Araminta beamed, her hands resting lightly on Colin’s arm. “Thank you so much for coming. It means the world to us to have you here.”

“Though we wish we could’ve stayed longer,” you said, “but we’re flying back to the UK the day after tomorrow to spend Christmas with Lan’s family.”

Araminta’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s very wonderful! But before you go, we absolutely need a picture together.”

She glanced around and quickly called over a photographer, waving him toward your small group. “We need a picture of the four of us,” she told the photographer with a laugh.

The photographer positioned all of you, and Colin gently placed a hand on Lando’s shoulder while Araminta stood beside you, her arm lightly around your waist. The flash went off, capturing the moment perfectly.

“Wait, wait,” Araminta said after the photographer stepped away. “We need one on your phone too!”

You quickly pulled out your phone, handing it to her so she could take the picture. She directed Colin to pull in a little closer so you could all fit on the frame. This time, the pose was more casual, with everyone leaning in and smiling brightly.

After the pictures were taken, Colin suddenly chimed in. “Oh, by the way, Harrison mentioned the other day that you’re moving to Monaco soon?”

You nodded. “That’s the plan. Everything’s set to go in a few weeks.”

“Then we’ll probably see you in Monaco soon!” Araminta said with a smile. “We’ve got a few trips planned early next year.”

“Definitely! Let us know when you’re coming,” Lando said. “We’ll take you around and catch up.”

“For sure, man! Absolutely.” Colin replied, grinning wide.

You and Lando hugged Colin and Araminta goodbye, exchanging heartfelt well wishes for their honeymoon and married life ahead. As you turned to leave, Araminta gave your hand a quick squeeze.

“Have a safe trip, and Merry Christmas!” she said happily.

“Merry Christmas!” you and Lando said in unison before heading off to find your mother.

Your mother was seated at a table, chatting animatedly with your Auntie Eleanor. When she saw you approach, she stood up and pulled you into a warm embrace.

“You two leaving already?” she asked, tone affectionate.

“We are,” you said softly. “But it was such a beautiful wedding. Everything was perfect.”

“I’m so glad you could be home,” she replied, smoothing a hand over your arm. “Have a safe flight to the UK, and please give my regards to Lando’s family.”

“We will,” you promised, hugging her tightly once more before stepping back. “Lando and I will be back for the New Year’s.”

Your mother stretched out her arms to Lando, giving him a hug. “Thank you for everything.”

“Take good care of her, okay?” your mother reminded, as she smiled at Lando kindly.

“Always,” Lando replied with quiet sincerity.

When you and Lando finally walked through the door of your home, a deep sense of relief washed over you both. The quiet was a stark contrast to the chaos of the day, and you couldn’t help but sigh as you finally slipped off your heels by the entryway. Lando stretched his arms over his head, letting a low groan before giving you a small smile.

“Fucking finally,” he said, voice filled with exhaustion but tinged with amusement. “Home sweet home. That was…something, huh.”

You nodded, placing your clutch by the glass table. “Eventful doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

After settling down on the couch, you pulled out your phone and sent Rachel a quick text:

Hey, Rachel. I hope you’re okay. If you need anything or just want to talk, I’m always here for you.

You stared at the screen for a few moments before putting the phone down. There was a lot on your mind, but Rachel’s well-being was at the top of the list right now. Lando was already seated, leaning back against the cushions with his tie undone and his jacket draped over the armrest. He turned to you with a tired grin.

“That’s got to be the most entertaining wedding reception I’ve ever been to. Not wild, exactly, but definitely eventful. I mean—” he gestured vaguely with his hands. “What even was that? Who are those people?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You mean Bernard and Kitty?”

“Yeah.” Lando nodded.

You sighed deeply, not really knowing where to begin or how to start the conversation about Bernard and Kitty. “Bernard Tai is…well, where do I even fucking start with that guy? Let’s see…he’s the only son of Dato’ Tai Toh Lui and Carol Tai, an insanely wealthy family. The Tai Fortune is massive, and Bernad’s basically the heir to all of it. He’s a former classmate of Nick and Colin back in the day.”

“And?” Lando prompted, tilting his head.

“And he’s spoiled as fuck,” you said bluntly. “Like, obnoxiously spoiled. He’s been handed everything his entire life and spends his day burning through money on the most ridiculous shit. He lives for excess and has zero accountability for anything he does. Basically, to sum up all of it—he’s a walking disaster who somehow gets away with everything because of daddy’s money and his family’s influence.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by all of it. “Sounds like he’s a real charmer.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s one way to put it.” you hesitated for a moment before continuing. “And then there’s Ms. Kitty Pong.”

“She’s Alistair’s girlfriend, right?” Lando asked, recalling her name from earlier.

“That’s ex-girlfriend now,” you corrected. “Kitty’s…a real piece of work. She used to be a soap opera star who decided to pivot into climbing the social ladder. She’s been trying, well, desperately, to get into the higher social circles here, but that’s not really going well for her.”

You continued, “most people look down on her because they see her as a gold-digger, and honestly, they’re not really wrong. She's always relying on people like Oliver or Corinna Ko-Tung—Fiona’s cousin, to help her navigate these circles.”

Lando frowned slightly. “And Bernard?”

“Not much better, honestly,” you shrugged. “Yes, he’s a part of our circle, but no one takes him seriously because he’s…well, Bernard. After tonight? Him and Kitty just cemented themselves as gossip fodder for weeks, maybe months. What they pulled tonight at Colin and Minty’s wedding reception is only going to add fuel to the fire. Kitty’s already seen as an outsider, and now, people have an excuse to talk, ridicule, and ostracize her even more.”

He let out a low whistle, leaning his head back against the couch. “That’s rough. But honestly, I don’t get why they thought this, of all nights, was the right time to make a scene.”

You exhaled sharply, the frustration you had been holding back starting to bubble up. “Exactly. Colin and Minty’s wedding was supposed to be their moment. They’ve worked so hard to make it perfect, and then Bernard and Kitty come along and turn it into…that.”

Lando reaches over, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, don’t let them ruin it for you. The wedding was still beautiful, and Colin and Minty looked so happy. That’s what matters, right?”

You nodded slowly, trying to let go of your irritation. “Yeah, you’re right. It's just…makes me mad, you know? They deserved better than that.”

They did,” Lando agreed, voice soft. “But it’s already over now, and you can’t control what other people do. All you can do now is focus on the good parts of the day, and trust me, there were a lot of those.”

You smiled faintly, leaning into him. “Thanks for the reminder. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lando pressed a light kiss to the top of your head. “Always.”

[its-avalon-08]

would you consider writing a Raikkonen or Vettel reader x grid, where she’s a lawyer w the same fierceness as her brother, and the drivers get into media trouble and she goes all harvey specter on the problem and leaves the drivers speechless/ scared/ impressed/ proud etc. thank you for considering this love your work!!!

objection bitch

✦ pairing - f1 grid x female!lawyer!vettel!reader

✦ genre - all fluff

The FIA had crossed the line. Again. In a shock to nobody.

A new rule had come into place penalizing drivers for swearing in post-race interviews and the race. Ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. The grid was in an uproar, but no one had the power to do anything about it. No one except Y/N Vettel.

If there was one person who could go toe-to-toe with the FIA and emerge victorious, it was her. A formidable lawyer, sharp as a blade, and just as relentless as her brother, Sebastian Vettel, in a fight. The drivers had learned long ago not to underestimate her. But this? This was war.

And Y/N was ready as ever.

“What are they gonna do? Fine us for every ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’ we let slip?” Lando scoffed, shaking his head as he, Charles, and Max sat in a conference room waiting for Y/N.

“They already have,” Carlos muttered, tossing a paper on the table. This was unacceptable. How were the drivers not allowed to CURSE? Were they toddlers?!

Y/N entered the room with a folder in hand, slamming it down with a force that made George sit up straighter. “Alright, let’s get one thing straight,” she began, voice crisp. “This rule is unconstitutional, violates multiple freedom of expression precedents, and is fundamentally stupid.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Hamilton said with an approving nod.

Y/N continued, eyes glinting. “The FIA is overstepping. Swearing is not slander, it is not defamatory, and it is not harming anyone except for some pearl-clutching bureaucrats who think drivers should be robots. I am filing a formal challenge.”

“A lawsuit?” Charles asked, eyebrows raised.

“A lawsuit,” Y/N confirmed, leaning forward. “We will argue that this rule is vague, arbitrary, and restricts free speech. We’ll also highlight that no other sport enforces such nonsense. If footballers can scream expletives mid-match and not get fined, why should you?”

Daniel Ricciardo grinned. “You are actually my hero.”

Max, arms crossed, smirked. “This is going to be fun.”

It was finally courtroom day.

The FIA’s lawyers sat across from Y/N, already shifting uncomfortably in their seats. She was poised, calm, and radiating pure authority. Dressed in an all black ensemble she looked like she ate losers for breakfast.

The lead FIA attorney cleared his throat. “Ms. Vettel, the FIA merely wishes to maintain a professional environment in post-race interviews for viewers.”

Y/N tilted her head, her smile sharp. “Define ‘professional,’ then. Because as far as I know, passion is part of the sport. Swearing out of frustration, joy, or sheer adrenaline doesn’t harm anyone. If anything, it makes drivers more relatable. Unless, of course, the FIA prefers that they all sound like pre-programmed AI.”

Murmurs from the audience. The drivers, seated together in the back, exchanged smirks.

“Furthermore,” Y/N continued, “this rule is selectively enforced. Are you prepared to produce data showing that every instance of swearing has caused a dip in viewership or complaints? Or will I have to subpoena past race interviews to prove bias?” (guys im sorry I googled most used lawyer terms so idk if its correct or not)

The FIA’s lawyers hesitated.

Y/N leaned in. “Let’s talk precedents. In 2019, the Court of Arbitration for Sport ruled that sports organizations cannot impose arbitrary speech restrictions unless they are justified by legitimate concerns. Tell me, gentlemen, what legitimate concern does the FIA have?”

The lead attorney fumbled with his papers.

Y/N smirked. “Nothing? Thought so.”

She turned to the judge. “We are requesting an injunction on this rule, as it is vague, inconsistently enforced, and lacks merit. We also seek damages for the fines already imposed.”

The judge glanced at the FIA’s team. “Do you have a counterargument?”

Silence.

Carlos leaned over to Charles. “She’s terrifying.”

“I know,” Charles whispered. “It’s bloody amazing.”

The ruling came swiftly. The swearing fines were scrapped.

The drivers were ecstatic. In celebration, Daniel made it his mission to curse as colorfully as possible in his next interview, just because he could.

Y/N received a round of applause when she walked back into the paddock that weekend. Max, standing off to the side, simply smiled. “Proud of you, schat.”

She nudged him playfully. “You should be. I’m basically the FIA’s worst nightmare now.”

Max grinned. “Oh, you definitely are.”

And she loved it.

Later that night, the drivers sat around in the paddock lounge, laughing as Lando held up his phone, Sebastian's name glowing on the screen.

“Do it, do it!” Charles urged, barely holding back his grin.

Lando hit the call button and put it on speaker. The dial tone rang before Sebastian picked up. “Lando?”

“Seb!” Lando beamed. “Mate, your sister is an absolute legend.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I assume she won?”

“Won? She obliterated them,” Daniel chimed in. “I’ve never seen FIA lawyers look like they wanted to evaporate before today.”

“She literally made them speechless,” George added. “It was… kind of scary.”

Sebastian sighed dramatically. “And to think, I used to help her with her homework.”

“You should be honored, mate,” Max teased. “Your sister might be more feared in F1 than you were.”

Sebastian groaned, but they could hear the pride in his voice. “Don’t tell her that, or she’ll never let me live it down.”

Lando grinned. “Too late.”