#fomula one

Perhaps you’ll die like this.

Beneath his scrutiny. Blue gaze glued onto you like it belongs, dark brows bemused and brooding with skepticism. It only takes him half a second to recognize that you found amusement in it all, picking up on it the first time your lips spiked into a cunning smile. 

“I know you.”

His words sound nothing like a confession, neither a lie, but more so—a fact. 

“Do you?”

There’s something sly in the way you spoke, the way you moved as you shook his hand, lingering for a moment that made his head spin. Did insanity taste this way? Like one is about to reach an all time high before cruelly falling into the great abyss? God, even your mere scent had him twisted in knots of familiarity. But he doesn’t dwell on it, no, not now.

Max blinks, forces himself out of this bubble, and shakes his head sheepishly. “I-I-I’m sorry, I probably have you mixed up with someone else.” 

Kelly chuckles beside him. Here he goes, so very like him to try and spook off the new nanny. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a bit jet lagged, is all.” Moving on, the brunette jumps up, clapping her hands excitedly. “You can’t even begin to imagine how happy I am now that you’re here. You’re about to change my life.”

“I mean—that is the point.” Your eyes flicker with something undetectable. “I’m looking forward to meeting the girls.”

“Right!” she exclaims, as if she had momentarily forgotten the true purpose for you being here. “If you want to go ahead and set your things down, I’ll run up quickly and grab them. I’m pretty certain Lily is awake by now, and Penelope is playing with her dolls.”

“Fine with me.”

She turns her head, clearly elated. “Sweetheart, do you mind showing her where she’ll be staying from now on?”

The Dutchman shifts. “Sure.”

It isn’t until you two set off in the opposite direction that he feels the same curiosity as before. It nudges him all the way to your room, kicks him as he opens the door, and pushes him to finally speak up again when you enter first. “Look, it’s not my intention to creep you out or anything, but—I feel like I know you…”

A giggle slips past you as you barely lift your head to look at him, dropping a duffel bag onto the Queen sized bed. “You’re a funny man, Mr. Verstappen.” Sitting down on the cushiony mattress, you peer up this time, soft and not at all guarded as a minute ago. “Did you know that we each have roughly about seven doppelgängers somewhere out in the world?”

His mouth slants. “First of all, just call me Max. And second of all, what does that have to do with anything?”

A shrug.“That you could’ve just met someone who looks a whole lot like me,” you claim like a matter-of-fact. “After all, I’ve definitely met guys who look like you: tall, blond, blue eyes.”

“That sounds rather generic,” he adds with a small chuckle. “Come on, just tell me.”

Pink lips press down into a fine line while your hands rest on each side of yours. “Well, I really don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve never met.”

“We must’ve.”

“How are you so certain?”

It’s rather foolish to admit out loud that he doesn’t actually have a clear idea as to how you two could possibly know one another, so he chooses to not say anything. The silence engulfs you both, clings awkwardly as the sun begins to dim from the window close by. 

The blue glow—it was past six at this point—paints the high point of your cheekbones as you stand. “Forgive me for crossing the line or whatnot, but…” Tsk. “You lack a whole lot of trust.”

He stays still.

You nod. “I mean—it makes sense, I’m not judging you for it. A stranger moves into your million dollar home almost overnight in order to take care of your two kids, and you’re doing what every other parent would rightfully do. Ask questions, that is.”

Is that what he’s doing? 

He winces apologetically. “I’d greatly appreciate it if we kept this between us. I really don’t need another reason for Kelly and I to argue.” He scoffs lightheartedly. “She already thinks I’m against this whole arrangement as it is.”

“Well..are you?” you challenge with a teasing smile.

Max scratches his temple. “I’d like to think not, but that wouldn’t quite make me the honest man I claim to be,” he jokes, voice thick in his rich accent. “You seem like a nice girl, don’t get me wrong, but I sort of thought her and I would’ve figured this all out together.”

The sound of a baby crying rings from upstairs, making the blue eyed man perk up. He shifts against his feet for a moment, but not long after, the crying stops. He visibly relaxes after that. 

“If you were to ask me, I’d say she already has it figured out,” you point out. “Looking after a newborn isn’t the simplest of things to do, especially when your partner is gone half of the time.” Pause. “She deserves the help, don’t you think?”

A wave of shame flashes across his features completely, allowing him to focus on the fact that you were right. The majority of Kelly’s pregnancy, he was traveling for work, he barely made it on time the day of her labor, and not long after, he was off racing again. None of that could’ve been as easy as she made it out to be, and she has made her decision on hiring you for help. Believing that they could’ve done this on their own—on her own—was a huge misconception on his behalf, and he sees that now.

The Dutchman tilts his head in an upward motion with a curved smile. “I see why she likes you so much already.”

-

Nice tattoo.

The sound of his groggy morning voice makes you look up from your bowl of cereal, so sweet, you can already feel your teeth rotting. It just so happens to be Penelope’s recent hyperfixation. You hum against your spoon. “P insisted on a hibiscus,” you share, glancing over your shoulder to where the pink and orange glitter tattoo hugs your skin. “Cool, eh?”

He grabs a plate, then the milk, pouring it with a yawn. “Got any real ones?”

“Not really my thing,” you respond, circling the piece of metal around the soggy marshmallows that have long melted. “Ink poisons the blood stream.”

Max snorts. “You actually believe such lies?”

“Guess so.” Pushing your chair back, you make your way to the sink quietly, wash your plate, and dry your hands. “Is it okay if I take the car out to the store? Need to restock on a couple of things.”

He blinks, finding it nearly comical how you can end a conversation, just like that without batting an eye. He nods. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

By now, it’s been five months of you being here, and yet, he doesn’t know a single thing about you. You never seemed to talk about yourself, always kept a wary distance towards any personal questions, like you could sense them before he could properly ask. It was quite theatrical, he must admit, but he can’t help but itch with curiosity. Which is why he doesn’t find his offer weird, of course. He’s only trying to get to know you.

“You know what? Let me go with you.” He grabs the keys to his car. “I’ll drive.”

But the drive is tense for him, not for you. While he turns on his blinker with a frozen jaw, you cheerfully make silly faces over at Lily who was awoken when he hit a large pothole. Lucky the tire didn’t pop. Max taps a finger against the steering wheel. 

“She loves you.”

“Mmm—sure hope so,” you joke with a chuckle, scooping her small hand against yours. “We’ve spent quite a lot of time together, I’d be horrified if she didn’t.”

He softens when Lily attempts to talk, though everything is more of a babble. “Don’t worry. You’re on the top of her list of Favorite People. Last weekend, when you were out with your friends, she lost her mind. For the longest time, Kelly and I couldn’t get her to stop crying.”

“You could have called. I would’ve canceled my plans.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” he hums out. “I mean, we’re her parents. You’re just the nanny.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. He doesn’t miss the way you flinch as if you’ve been pinched angrily. But equally enough, in a split second, whatever offense was drawn onto your face was long gone, replaced with a tight smile.

 “You know, next time either of you need help trying to calm her down—call me.” You click your tongue. “It’s a bit sadistic having her cry it out, don’t you think?”

The absolute nerve.

The moment he parks the car in between the white lines, you’re quick to unbuckle yourself, then Lily. Carefully, you hoist her into her baby sling and walk up to the entrance, pulling a shopping cart along the way. He barely even has a fair chance to register what just happened.

He knows that what he said was wrong. Degrading, even. But you weren’t any better. Either way, just to be safe, he gives you your personal space, wanders until it’s time to pay. The older lady at the register coos at the five month old as soon as she spots her. “What a beautiful baby girl, look at those eyes!” When she looks up at you and Max, her gaze lightens up far more. “You two must be proud parents.”

“Oh, she’s not the mo—”

“I’m not her mom,” you correct her warmly, swiping the credit card. “I’m only a nanny.”

He recoils with guilt. “T-T-Thank you.”

If the drive there was the slightest bit awkward, now it was far beyond humiliating, especially now that Lily sleeps and there’s no more common ground tying you together. 

“Penelope has been asking me to teach her how to rollerskate,” you say after a minute or so.

Max hums gently, not trying to intimidate you. “Yeah, she’s been begging us for a while now, but neither Kelly nor I know how.” A beat. “It’s a good thing you do, though.”

And all is well.

You smile, catching his gaze past the small mirror as he finally reaches the driveway. 

-

Ever since becoming a Dad, traveling for work has gotten a whole lot harder. It’s a challenge in a world of its own.

“What do you mean you’re not home?”

Kelly winces, her face close to the screen. The background is blurred, the noise is rather loud, and all he wanted to do was see his daughter. “I’ve already told you, I’m at a birthday dinner.”

“At two in the morning?”

She shrugs. “Is it two? Jesus. Guess I haven’t noticed.” Someone close by chants her name like a slur, evidently drunk. She laughs, responds back in Portuguese, way too quick for him to understand, and before he knows it, the line goes dead. 

“Unbelievable,” Max mutters beneath his breath. And it’s late, he really should be resting, saving up the very little energy he has left, but something within him is urging him to make the call. So he does.

You don’t pick up straight away. Not by the first ring, nor the second or third, but close to when the voicemail message is about to start. When you do, the first thing he hears are sniffles, then the sound of you clearing your throat. 

Hello?

There’s a crack to it, which causes him to sit up straight against his place on the cold carpet. “What’s wrong?” he shoots fiercely on high alert. His insides are screaming, his heart is pounding, and he’s already picturing the worst. Was it Lily? Was it Penelope? “Talk to m—”

“I think I might’ve broken my leg.”

This definitely was not what he was expecting. “O-Oh. Okay then.” Static. “Well, are you alright? What happened?”

So you begin to tell him: how you were on your way to fetch Lily’s stuffed elephant—you had forgotten it outside—but that you missed a couple steps and landed with the harsh reality that you should’ve just left it alone, it’s not like she was asking for it anyways.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you sob before going quiet. He figures you’re probably busy focusing on the fact that you just cursed in front of him, and for some odd reason, he finds your panic endearing. “I don’t even know why I’m crying, I just know that I am.” A hiccup. “But enough about me—did you need something?”

He seems to have forgotten, tongue numb. He feels bad that you’re going through all this trouble alone. Sure, you’re being paid to do so, but it’s inhumane to have you suffering all by yourself when Kelly could have been there to at least give you a hand. Suddenly, the thought of his girlfriend irritates him. 

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. Although…”

On the other side, you release a wet laugh. “My very best. I’m doing my very best, thank you for asking.” There’s a silence that follows, one where he can’t even distinguish any breathing, and for a second, he thinks he might’ve lost a signal. “I think I’m just a little stressed. Overstimulated.”

“Hey—”

“I’m not even blaming the girls for it, God no. But it just gets a bit too much at times. I reek of spit up. I can’t get this glitter to wash off no matter how hard I scrub. And my undereyes are darker than the actual pits of Hell.”

He’s heard this could happen. Baby blues, that is. Only, he never thought someone as independent as you could ever get it. He’s seen you with the girls, and you always seemed to have things under control. Always woke up with an easy grin, ruled the day with activities that made P forget she was studying for her upcoming exam, and all while feeding Lily homemade apple sauce you spent making the night before. How could he have been so selfish to overlook your distress? 

“I shouldn’t be complaining to you about my job—which I love! I love my job, I swear I do!” you yelp. “Just—forget I said anything, yeah? I just needed someone to talk to…”

“And I just needed to hear your voice.”

What. The. Fuck.

In record speed, he facepalms, eyes screwed shut in a manner that makes his skin tight and raw. Why would he say that outloud? It’s not like he planned it anyways, it just sort of slipped out before he could stop. And whether he’s twisting with humiliation or not, you laugh it off. 

“That’s very nice of you to say,” you mumble. “Almost makes me feel bad for lying to you.”

And just as before, he spikes up on edge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, yeah. I feel bad for crying to you,” you respond with a soft chuckle. “Do you realize how humbling it is to sob to your boss over the phone? It’s a total nightmare, I tell you.”

“No, you never said crying, you said lying—”

The static scratches his ear viciously. “Crap. I hate to be rude, but I gotta go—Lily just woke up.” He hears the way you jog up the stairs speedily. “Call back tomorrow and I’ll make sure the girls are awake for you to see, alright?”

You hang up.

And he doesn’t know whether he’s reading into the situation too much, it wasn’t like he could see you or anything like that, but he never once heard any kind of wince that indicated pain. 

Almost as if the fall never happened.

Which leaves him to wonder, when neither Kelly or him are around—who's watching their kids?

-

His phone buzzes the next day in the middle of an ongoing conversation. Lando’s filling him in on his recent endeavors and he wasn’t paying much attention to begin with.

“Maxie!” Penelope shouts as soon as he picks up. “I lost another tooth!”

“Wow, P, that’s great,” Max responds, smiling at the sound of her squeaky voice. His thumb slides over to FaceTime, to which she answers eagerly, showing off the small gap in between her baby teeth. He laughs. “Awesome.”

“That must be a couple euros, don’t you think?” 

“Just about.” A beat. “Hey, where’s your sister?” Right on queue, Lily appears, dressed in all pink and a small hat over her head. She giggles as soon as she spots him. “There she is!”

It’s a dialogue he doesn’t understand, but he lets her speak it anyways, nodding up and down as if she’s holding a real conversation with him. Though, as soon as she slips the phone past Penelope’s grip and into her mouth, you’re quick to intervene. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough,” you say with a small giggle, waving at him.“Thought I’d call you first. Just in case you forgot later on during the day.”

Max shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have, but that was a sweet gesture on your behalf, thank you.”

The entire interaction catches Lando’s attention, making him peer over, just enough to see, but not be seen. His eyes widen, mouthing—that’s your nanny? Max has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. 

“We were just about to go on a walk.” Lily’s tiny fingers tangle in between your hair, pulling down on it before you wince and gently free yourself. “Got the stroller ready and everything.”

“I’ll be on my rollerskates!” Penelope cheers, out of view, but he can hear all the ruckus. 

You laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. “Pray for me.”

Already am, the young Brit whispers from his chair, theatrically pressing his hands together, watercolor eyes glimmering with a look only he seems to get whenever there’s a pretty girl around. Max aims a cold glare, making him snicker and continue scrolling through his phone, already accepting that their chat was over. 

Hearing a click, he looks back towards his own screen just in time, noticing Lily is strapped in with an eager look in her eyes. He makes sure to snap a screenshot. “Please make sure Penelope doesn’t go off too far ahead. She has a tendency of doing so.”

All three of you exit the house, rays of sunshine causing you to squint for a second before placing a pair of sunglasses over the bridge of your nose. You hum in agreement. “She knows what not to do, trust me,” you respond, steps starting to pick up as Penelope glides besides you. “You see: I threatened to take away her dessert if she didn’t follow instructions.”

The Dutchman lets out a loud chuckle, and what he doesn’t see is Lando furrow his brows with a sense of surprise because never—ever—has he heard Max laugh quite like this. As if his worries don’t exist. As if he’s truly happy. Something unstrained. 

Flirtatious, one might even say. 

“You Clever Girl,” he says with a slick grin. “That’ll get her to listen—why haven’t I thought of that before?”

You nod, full with grace. “Most things slide past you, Max, that’s why.”

He squints, the image slightly pixelated, but it's quick to clear back up again. “Why’d Kelly not join you all?”

“She’s still asleep!” the young girl shouts over your shoulder, long hair blowing against the wind. 

“Are you serious?”

You wince. “She got back home a bit late yesterday,” you fill him in. “She was at a—”

“Birthday party. Yes, I know, she told me.” 

A flicker of secrecy shoots past your eyes as you nod slowly, almost unsure. “Right. Some kind of party is what she had said this morning before going off to bed.” Lily squeals. “Word of advice, Max?” Another loud sound. “You ought to start paying closer attention to things.”

With a slight frown, and as instinct, he turns around, spotting Lando sneak a peek over his shoulder, listening into something that has nothing to do with him. He shoots up against his seat, eyes narrowed with accusation. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The McLaren driver yawns, feigning boredom. “Nothing at all, why do you ask?”

“Go. Away.” 

“Fine,” Lando mutters, deep beneath his breath and finally walks away, shoulders slumped.

Max shakes his head, eyes suddenly tired and heavy. He can tell you want to laugh at the encounter, but decide not to when he groans and runs a large hand across his face, tussling his hair along the way. “He eavesdrops as if his life depends on it, that boy.”

“Let him live,” you joke harmlessly. “He’s quite cute.”

“And taken,” he adds with a soft shrug. “Has been for the past few months, though, he fails to remember from time to time.”

“Aww,” you ponder. “What a shame.”

Before he could help it, an upcoming question blossomed over him, all of a sudden. He tries to convince himself that it’s nothing but an innocent curiosity, no more beyond that, but he also doesn’t really know that with complete certainty. “Do you, um…have a boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t have been complimenting him if I did,” you retort. “I’m not a homewrecker.”

“I never thought of you as one,” he shoots out quickly. “I was simply wondering.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me about my personal life,” you sing, fixing your sunglasses when they tempt to slide down. The sound of wheels clicking reminds him that Penelope was close by, too. But why should he be worried about being heard? He isn’t saying anything wrong. 

“Where’s the trouble in being curious?” he lets out sheepishly, feeling a warmth run up his neck. 

Shoes crunch against the dirt as you continue to push the stroller. A trickle of sweat drips down your own neck as you quickly dry it off with the hem of your shirt. He’s quick to pull his gaze away for that one. 

“Curiosity isn’t really the problem,” you say flatly. “It’s thinking you’re entitled to answers.”

He blinks, taken aback by your sudden bluntness. Just when he thinks he’s getting to you, something just always seems to happen, reminding him that you weren’t an easy character to unlock, although he still hasn’t figured out why. 

“I shouldn’t have asked, you’re right,” he mumbles, not denying what you hold over him. Maybe he does think he deserves to know. Just a tad bit. Is that really the worst thing? “It’s just that…well. You never talk about your private life. What do you like to do during your days off, whether you have siblings or not, you know? That kind of thing.”

“Is that a requirement I should fulfill in order to keep this job?” you ask. “Please. Enlighten me.”

Christ, when did things start to spiral here? Everything was going fine just a second ago. He swallows nervously. “I-It’s not, I was just trying to unde—”

Ow!

The sound of Penelope’s cries quickly followed, loud and painful. Coming to a halt, you put the phone down, running out of frame. The call is starting to break up, but was it all a part of his delirious imagination when he heard Penelope sob out—

You pushed me over on purpose!

“Here. Let me see, P,” you say, ignoring her words. “You’re fine. You will be, at least. We just need to get you back home and sanati—”

And again. Just like the night before—the call falls through.

Blue eyes reflect back against the pitch black screen, breaths shallow with confusion. A cough is what ultimately gets him to look up, and against the door frame, Lando still stands, tall and firm, like he never really left. 

The Brit clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re nanny…she’s hot.” A hazardous pause. “But bloody creepy, mate.”

Max overflows with worry, fingers drumming against his lap. 

“So it’s not just me who thinks so, right?”

-

This couldn’t be going any worse.

“We can’t just fire her because you’ve got a ‘gut feeling’—which by the way—isn’t a real thing, Max!” Kelly screams, skin pink with frustration over this constant back and forth. It’s exhausting, truly, fighting all the goddamn time, and always about the exact same thing: you. She pushes her hair back. “You’re just looking for any sort of reason to get rid of her at this point, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that!” he argues back like a bull with its horns. “It’s just…she’s just…an eerie girl, is all!”

She shoots a deadpan expression. “I happen to like that so-called ‘eerie girl’.”

“Pft, no, you don—”

“Yes! I do!” she hisses sharply, eyes dark with threat. “She’s good at her job. The girls love her. She’s the only one I talk to when you’re not around. What more could I want?” She’s frantic already, hands shaking with rage and hair messy. “She’s the perfect nanny!”

His voice gets stuck in his throat. Jammed. “Then explain Penelope’s fall, huh? I heard her that day. She said she was pushed over on purpose!”

“What little kid doesn’t blame others for their own mistakes?” Kelly retorts. “Plus, P is fine, is she not? She was rollerskating, Max. She’s a beginner. Accidents happen all the time!”

“Listen,” he spits out, closing the distance between them both, causing his girlfriend to flinch. “Just because you won’t look after the wellbeing of your daughter doesn’t mean I won’t be looking out after mine.”

The very little warmth that was left in her eyes slowly gave out in that very moment. And he didn’t even feel sorry about it. 

“Vá para o inferno.”

With that, pushes past him. Leaving him standing there, alone in their shared bedroom. 

-

It takes him a while to go back downstairs after that, but when he finally does, he finds you sprawled down on the floor, coloring next to Penelope. Lily lays on her tummy closeby, itching and kicking to grab a crayon, but fails poorly. You push her stuffed animal to her, watching as she squirms, biting down on its head. 

“Purple or green?” 

“Yellow,” Penelope answers instead, but still not tearing her gaze away from her part of the page. “Make it pastel.”

You nod, but more so to yourself. The RedBull driver doesn’t make a noise, barely even breathes properly, but it doesn’t matter. Lily has already seen him. 

Pushing up against her chubby arms, the baby attempts to crawl to him, but gives up when he makes the move towards her. Max smiles fondly, picking her up into his arms and hovering over you and Penelope who continue as if nothing.

Make sure to not miss the bumblebee, you hum. It’s so tiny, you can barely even see it.

I see it, alright, she says with a giggle on the horizon. Actually, can you show me where it is again?

“How about some ice cream?” Max proposes, benign. “My treat.”

“Can you pass me the orange?”

“P…” he tries again. “Don’t you want any?”

“No, thank you,” she finally answers, blinking up at him once before looking back down. 

His brows furrow with concern. “Why not? You love ice cream.”

“I just don’t want any right now, thank you,” she answers, this time much more harshly. 

In an instant, his piercing blue eyes dart towards where you lay. “What’d you tell her?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Ignoring you despite asking, the Dutchman squats down, leveled with the young girl and Lily perched atop of his lap. You continue on your side, scribbling. “What’s wrong, Penelope?”

He watches as her eyes begin to water, how her chin starts to wobble. His heart drops at the sight, reaching for her as an instinct, only to get pushed away. “Why don’t you and Lily just go by yourselves? She’s your real daughter, anyway.”

“What?” he croaks, shrinking back. “That’s not true—”

But she doesn’t give him a chance to reach the end of his sentence, just feverishly stands and runs off in the direction of her room. He was about to follow after her if it weren’t for you clearing your throat. 

“Just…leave her alone. For the time being, at least.”

Irritation spikes within him as he hears you talk. Still. Coloring. As. If. Nothing. His teeth grind together. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“It's not that you can or can’t,” you sing once before connecting your eyes to his, not daring to be the first one to look away now that you have him. “It's just that you shouldn’t.”

“What the fuck did you tell her?” he accuses with a trace of venom. 

“I already told you, I didn’t say anything, it’s what she heard. Which was everything,” you defend. “In case you haven’t noticed, the walls around here are paper thin.” 

“Oh God,” the Dutchman groans, placing Lily back down on her stomach. He fixes himself on the floor as well, head between his hands. “Fucking hell.”

“Should the flowers be teal?”

He looks up, face full with disgust. “Are you really asking me that right now?”

You shrug. “You’re worried over nothing. She’s six. She’ll get over it before you know it.”

“Yeah, but she shouldn’t have to because I shouldn’t have said what I said in the first place.” His shoulders droop as if he’s carrying a bag of rocks. “I was angry, I never meant to imply that Penelope was some nobody to me—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” you hiss—correct—and bring your finger up against his lips. “Thin walls.” He freezes beneath your touch, soft and slender. You don’t linger, though, just drag your hand down and go back to what you were doing. Max’s pulse must’ve stopped in between those very seconds. “How else could you have expected her to react?” 

“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t go up and check on her—”

“I already said, it's best you don’t,” you advise when he attempts to get up. “Let me do it.”

“No, really, I should be the one to ta—”

But you’re already standing, leaving him with no other option than to look up at you like some golden statue. It doesn’t help that you stick your hip out, a lazy hand laid over your waistline. “Have a little bit of faith in me, okay? I’ll smooth things over for you.”

And that you do. 

But later, even when you finally get Penelope to come out for ice cream—Max drives, of course, and one would have thought nothing happened if they were to take a fast glance, overlooking her bloodshot eyes—he can’t help the uneasy feeling of it all.

That he knows you heard what he said about you too: so why didn’t you say anything about it? 

And that, somehow, makes a chill run down his spine.

-

It happens two weeks later. He was back home for a few days.

Kelly has gone out with her sister, Penelope was at a sleepover, and Lily was taking a fast nap. He finds you outside, bare feet dipped inside the pool, and a cigarette lit in between your fingers. He nearly laughs at the sight, slightly surprised. Amused.

“Let me get this straight: you believe that ink poisons the blood stream, and yet—you smoke?”

Looking up at the sound of Max’s voice, your lips curve in an upward motion, disconnecting from the white stick. “That must make me a hypocrite then, right?” 

“Hardly,” he hums. “It makes you human.”

You laugh, inhaling deeply before exhaling a large grey cloud. The sun has gone down a bit, but he can still see it. How it expands through the air and disintegrates into all sorts of directions. The baby monitor rests on top of your lap. 

“Was I not one before?” you ask with a hint of mockery. He ignores you, focuses on the way you hold the blunt loosely. You wave him off. “Kelly said I could as long as it was nowhere near the baby. Fair deal, I suppose.”

“You’re quite the class act,” he comments carefully, gaze lingering with wariness. The silence hangs heavy and as thick as thieves. The sound of you kicking your legs against the warm water ripples a couple of times before you let out a cough. “Hey. Can I say something without you getting offended?”

“That would depend,” you respond. “How bad are you planning on hurting my ego?”

Max takes his time, weighing his words on the tip of his tongue before inching closer to where you sit. An arms length, really, but he was almost certain that he was beginning to taste the tobacco himself. His tall frame over yours is enough to make you look up, raising a neat brow, patiently waiting for him to speak. 

“Everyone thinks you’re great. Kelly swears you’re her right-hand person. Penelope is obsessed over the fact that you know how to bake her favorite kinds of sweet treats. And Lily? Well. She’s only a baby. She loves just about anyone.” He pauses. “But tell me why…”

I just don’t see it.

You stare back blankly, taking another hit as he continues with a soft shake of his head. “From the very start, I didn’t buy it. Nope, never did. There were a few times I got close—so damn close—but somehow, you always either did or said something that reminded me why I couldn’t fully trust you.”

“I’m not responsible for that, Max,” you point out, plain and simple. “I could only do so much.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “But why don’t we start off with the truth?”

A small scoff erupts from you, almost mixed with something of a snort, like you found this entire interaction a complete waste of time. “Which is?”

Max narrows his eyes. “That we know each other, don’t we?”

“Jesus, this again?” you groan, tearing your gaze and rubbing your eyes sore. “Must I learn Dutch and explain to you once more that we don’t?” Reaching towards your neck, you begin to massage it as it starts to cramp from holding it up for so long. “What’s with you and insisting that we do?”

“Did we go to school together at one point? Were you a friend of Victoria’s?” he questions desperately. “I don’t understand—”

“You’re crazy,” you say, standing up to your full height and staring up at him with an eye twitching. “What is it about your past that makes you worried someone will come back and get even with you?” 

His lips twitch.

An unsettling smile forms as you wag a steady finger up at him, like an owner training its dog. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

Max flinches. “I’m not—”

“What is it?” you push eagerly with bright eyes. “What did you do?” The wind blows against your hair, kicking it towards your face, forcing you to squint before you push it away. “I promise I won’t tell. I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”

“This isn’t about me,” he finalizes with a threatening tone. “This is about you, and what you’re hiding.” The Dutchman reaches for your wrist, the one that holds onto the dying cigarette, and tugs you close enough to learn that you have a tiny mole beneath your left brow. It’s faint, but it’s there. “We’ve met before, and you know it.”

“Do I?” you taunt with a smug grin.

His blood boils as he rips away from you. “Stop saying shit like that!” he exclaims. “You know it, and I just—I just c-can’t seem to remember for the life in me!” His breathing pattern shifts. “When Kelly first introduced us—that day in the kitchen—you knew that I had recognized you, and you made it your job to throw me off. You. Played. Coy. You got the girls to adore you…so why can’t you just tell me what I did to you and why you’re here?”

There’s a way about you, something that makes his heartbeat quicken. How it drums harshly. He hears it. And he bets you can too.

With knitted brows and round eyes, you blink. 

Pure. Corrupt. Innocent. Malicious.

And it sure as hell confuses the fuck out of him.

“You’re really starting to scare me, Max,” you whisper beneath your breath, nose pink.

Have you been sleeping enough?

-

The following morning, as he’s brushing his teeth, he comes to a shameful realization: he owes you an apology.

His flight had been unbearable the night before, he was exhausted beyond belief, and he took it out on you and blamed you for things that sounded outright absurd the more he replayed the events from a few hours ago. The way you looked at him with uneasiness, as if you truly figured he would have drowned you if it really came down to it. He was twisting with guilt the second you peered up from the stove, holding out a plate of pancakes. 

“Eat them while they’re nice and warm,” you cheer like a ray of sunshine. “There’s maple on the table, but be careful. Lily spilled it, so it might still be a bit sticky.”

He blinks, partially out of barely waking up but also from how shocked he was with you acting as if nothing had occurred. Perhaps it didn’t. “Have you eaten?” he asks awkwardly, sitting down on an open chair. 

You shake your head. “I was about to, though.”

He nods. “Where is everyone?”

“Well, Penelope left for school a few minutes ago, and Kelly took Lily to her check up.” Grabbing a plate, you serve yourself breakfast before claiming a seat next to him. “Can you hand me the bowl of fruit, please?”

This entire conversation was offputting. “Sure,” he responds, giving it to you with a tight smile. “I wish I would've woken up earlier and gone with them.”

“Mmm, yeah. But you arrived so late yesterday that Kelly thought it was best to just let you sleep in.” The fork clinks against your plate as you jam it into a slice of mango. “I’m sure they won’t be out for too long.”

The RedBull driver grimaces as his mind begins to race with humiliation. “Okay, can I just start off by saying that I’m sorry about—”

A soft sigh escapes past your berry tinted lips. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yes, I do.” He aligns himself to you, leaving you with no other choice than to look at him, seeing how serious he was taking this apology of his. “I shouldn’t have lashed out on you the way that I did, and for that, I’m sorry. I-I-I think I’ve just been away for too long, a-a-and I was partially delirious, I think, so I spoke utter nonsense that had no significant meaning. I was rude to have argued that you weren’t a good enough addition to this family, of course you are, are you kidding me?”

Blush feathers onto your cheeks with his compliment. “Thank you for saying that, but you really don’t have to. I figured your words weren’t meant to hurt my feelings.”

The tension on his face fades away once you confess to that, making him flash a sheepish look. “From now on, I’m on your team, just like everybody else.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” you tease, bumping your knee against him as a silent truce. 

He flinches at the most minimal touch of yours and gulps, already pulling away and sitting straight. “Let’s get along.”

“Haven’t we?” you question with a sense of confusion. “I mean…I thought we were?”

“Right. But I want to get to know you better.”

“What else is there to know?” you mutter, frowning. “I’m not quite as interesting as you might think.”

“That simply can’t be true,” Max notes with a funny look in his eyes, like he doesn’t believe you at all. “You’ve barely shared anything with us about your personal affairs.”

“I’m considerate enough to know what not to bore you with it,” you state. “It doesn’t matter, anyways.”

“It does to me,” he confesses in a soft whisper that makes your eyes narrow suspiciously and your lips part. “For the sake of knowing who’s living in my home.” This comes across as more of a lighthearted joke. “Have you always lived in Monaco?”

“Oh. Um. No?” 

The Dutchman keeps a chuckle to himself. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“No,” you clarify. “I haven’t.”

He nods. “What was your life before this job?”

A moment passes by. “I used to work as a paralegal at a law firm.”

“Did you?” he asks with genuine interest now. “Did you like it?”

“At the time. Yeah.”

“But then?”

“I quit and became a nanny,” you respond back with a lame shrug. 

Max hums in deep thought. “Would you ever leave and go back?”

“That’s a good question. But no. I don't think so. Living behind a screen isn’t really for me.”

“But changing diapers is?”

A gentle laugh echoes as you toss your head back and grip your chair to hold yourself from sliding off. “Must be!” His own lips twitch with a tempting smile and his gaze follows to where you cut your pancake into smaller pieces. “Must be…” you repeat.

“Do you think I’m a good dad?”

The dining room comes to an uncomfortable silence. You hadn’t expected this question of his, but now he had asked, and now you were staring at him as if he handed you a gun. “Who am I to determine whether you are or aren’t?”

“You can be honest,” he reassures you. “I won’t get mad.”

And it takes a long time for you to finally answer, but when you do, you don’t hold back. 

“You’re halfway there.”

With that, you decide you’re done eating, walking your plate over to the sink and beginning to wash the porcelain dish as delicately as possible. You’ve already scratched too many. 

Max’s stomach churns with the words that seem to live in the forefront of his mind. Soap slides down your arms before you rinse and dry off. “Why is that?” he can’t help but ask, blue eyes swirling with peculiar interest. “There must be some sort of explanation to it.”

“You said I could be honest?”

“Right.”

A slow grin stretches across your pretty face. “Yet you never said I could be brutal.”

His breath hitches. “So be it—be brutal with me.”

A steady beat. “You do love Lily and Penelope, that much is true. The only problem here is that you love them in theory. In pixelated photos. In static filled phone calls. In promises. But Max—children don’t live in theory. They live in moments.”

And you’re not in most of theirs.

His mouth runs dry as you continue. “Look—everything I know about love is not much—but I do know that it’s a feeling. Not something that can be scheduled. It’s in the way you’re able to recognize Lily’s cries. Is it because she’s hungry? Tired, perhaps? Is she looking for Kelly?”

Is she looking for you?

His palms begin to sweat.

“The reason as to why you even asked this question in the first place is quite simple—you doubt yourself. You know that what you’ve been giving them is mediocre care, but how long is that going to cut it? It’s easier to tell yourself that that’ll be enough, but soon they’ll grow up—and soon they’ll see for themselves…that you were never truly there.”

A droplet hits the sink.

Slowly, you face him, eyes calm, but there remains a heavy burden that seems to drag him down with you. “But hey. You’re making millions annually. That must suffice, no?”

Max swallows a rough patch, and it costs him. It travels like a piece of cardboard, but what else was he supposed to do? I mean, he asked for your perception, and how can he admit that it knocked him to the ground so fast? You knew how to do it, too. With your tone as sweet as honey, but as real as the fear in his eyes. Was he really living out his best years on track rather than being with his family? 

“Funny, isn’t it?” you speak. “The things you forget, and the people who don’t?”

And for the first time—he sees it. He truly, truly sees it. 

All the hatred in your eyes.

It flickers by so fast that he physically has to pinch himself to believe that it was ever even there in the first place. The way it flashes cruelly, similar to a lightning strike that was meant to hit him. It’s impossible to ignore now that he has a name for it.

Wrath.

Not the kind that disappears after a month or so. No. Rather the kind that lingers for years, the kind that engraves itself into your bones. This isn’t a simple strip of anger that fades, it’s one that roots deep in pain. As if you’ve been personally wronged in a way that would haunt you until your very last breath. It accuses him of something. Punishes. 

He notices now how the girl standing in front of him isn’t a friendly face from his past. She’s an upcoming storm, with secrets that lay beneath her skin. And yet? No sense of fight or flight kicks in.

“You’re not crazy, Max,” you whisper, eyes sharp. “We do know each other…”

Max’s blue gaze flashes. His mind races.

 He knew it. He knew it. He fucking knew it. 

“But I won’t be the one to admit from where,” you say, breaking away with a deceiving smile. 

And you know what? That might be what ends up making you lose your mind.

-

It’s a figment of his imagination at this point. He hears your voice when you’re not around, he sees your shadow at every corner, and he’s not even in the same country as you.

Blinking up at the ceiling—when really, he should be doing his warm ups—Max plays with a purple stress ball, squeezing hard and loosening his grip, then repeats the same pattern. His brain hurts from simply trying to remember—where do I know her from? Roads, there’s millions, but when did you cross paths?

And so begins his insanity.

“Do you recognize her?”

Pierre and Carlos squint at his screen, finding the sweet image of both Penelope and Lily next to you on a hammock. Kelly took it, sent it, and that’s what he decides to pull up when he spots his former teammates talking about wedding rings and adoption. 

I think that’s a great idea, was the last thing the Spaniard is able to say before being cut short. Max doesn’t really know what exactly he was referring to, but he neither bothered asking. 

“You know what? I think I do—”

“She looks familiar—”

He blinks feverishly at the confirmation coming from both of them. “Y-Y-You do?”

“Sure thing,” Carlos begins, brown eyes squinting at the picture one more time before nodding with certainty. “Who can forget such a pretty face?”

His fists tighten. “Alright then, where do you know her from?”

“The Christmas party, right?” Pierre chirps from his place. “I wanna say, twenty-sixteen, perhaps seventeen?”

“Seventeen,” Carlos confirms. “She was there that night.”

“Who is she?” Max pushes adamantly. 

“You’re nanny, duh,” Pierre says with a lighthearted tone. “How’d she end up working for you, anyway?”

“Probably trusted her since they already knew each other,” Carlos butts in. “Jeez. Networking really does help, does it not?”

“I hadn’t recognized her!” the RedBull driver defends “All I know is that Kelly found a ‘good match' and hired her without consulting me first. Following day, she shows up at my doorstep and is learning how to french braid just  because Penelope said so.”

“Well. Now you know,” Carlos responded, losing interest in the topic by now. “Hey, who wants a coffee?”

“I do—”

Banging his fist against the back of Pierre’s chair, Max lets out a frantic groan. “This tells me nothing! You two recall her looks—great, that’s wonderful, really—but who is she?”

“I’m not sure I’m following—”

“How did she get into that party? Was she a friend of someone's? A girlfriend? A—”

“So what if she was? Why do you care so much?”

“I care because—” Max says, voice filled with vexation. “She’s driving me crazy.”

Pierre’s lips twitch with amusement. “Woah. I didn’t know you had it that way…”

His implication makes him wither, makes him flinch. He clears his throat rather rudely. “I don’t have it any kind of way. She’s just…odd. She keeps saying and doing things that make me not want to leave the girls with her.”

“But Kelly’s there too—”

“Only, she hasn’t been,” the Dutchman quips. “She’s been acting weird as well, never home, so who can I trust with my daughter when I’m not around?”

They feel bad for him, he can see it in their eyes, slowly forming along with knitted brows. They exchange a look before Carlos releases a heavy breath. “Listen, I only remember her face because I had asked for her number, but I quickly backed off as soon as she said she was seventeen.”

Pierre nods. “I ran into her in the men's restroom, actually. She barely even looked up at me when she said—”

The line to the ladies room was too long to wait for, you mumbled, wiping away your tears. 

The thought of you crying makes his chest tighten. “W-W-Why was she—”

“She never really got around to explaining. I can’t fully blame her. I was only a stranger.”

Max shut his eyes, shaking his head with confusion as he clicks his phone off. “Fine. So some jerk ruined her night eight years ago—what does that have to do with her coming back?”

“Well. Isn’t it obvious by now?”

The jerk is clearly you.

-

When he walks in through the door in the late hours of December eighth, he has nothing left to give but confrontation, and the only good thing about this was that Kelly had taken the girls to visit her parents in Brazil. 

But you’ll join us in a couple of days, right? she had asked when he dropped them off at the airport. 

Of course. 

She nodded, curled hair tucked behind her ear as she took the chance to kiss him. You won’t last too long being alone. The nanny leaves tonight to Paris with her friends. 

He forced his face to not react. Is she now?

A steady laugh almost escapes when she tilts her head back and quirks a sharp brow. Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re going to miss her.

What could he possibly have responded with? The truth? Nobody ever likes the truth, least of all, him. He hates it that he can hear you packing, the wheels squeak as you move throughout your room. He despises the fact that you won't be around, and not simply for the matter of taking care of Lily and Penelope anymore.

It more so had to do with the yearning question of: what now?

Walking towards the front door and putting your things aside with a flush colored face, he can tell that you’re surprised to see him here. Standing tall and ever so questionable. Your lips turn into something of a smile, almost as if you were expecting for this to be a prank.

“Do my eyes deceive me,” you tease with humor. “What are you doing here, I thought you were in Brazil?”

Max shrugs, playing coy. “Why hadn’t you told me you were going to Paris?”

You look taken aback, truly, shocked to hear his own wonder said out loud. “I figured Kelly would have. Does this come to a complete surprise to you?”

“Right. Well. Sort of,” he complains, dodging your stare now, looking down at your luggages as they seem to wait rather impatiently. A sudden urge came through, the need to burn them, simply so you wouldn’t walk past those doors, but honest to God, there wouldn’t be an ounce of care in you if he were to do just that. “I just wish you would have told me.”

“Do I owe it to you to make you the first to know?”

A moment lingers by. He doesn’t say much in between it, barely even blinks, but he’s looking at you now. Straight at you like nothing but his questions exist. Perhaps, that's really all there is.

“I know now.”

You align yourself straight with a playful expression, hands resting over your hip as if you’re ready to challenge him. Which is what you’re about to do, he’s perfectly well aware. “Are you having trouble explaining yourself in words, Mr. Verstappen?”

His jaw twitches once. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I really don’t see what the big deal would have been.” He shakes his head adamantly. “You were there that night. At Carlos’ farewell dinner, weren’t you?”

You quirk a brow smugly. “Well then, I recall something different—was it not Pierre’s welcome dinner?”

Max is really, really, really trying his best at keeping his composure, but he is not a God and there is only so much more that he can take. This was starting to feel like a bad idea. Having this conversation with you, that is. It could only ever end with something regrettable, why would he ever allow himself to be optimistic and think otherwise? 

“To whatever it may have been,” he hisses. “You. Were. There.”

And finally, you accept it, smiling so…satisfied. 

“I was there. I was there that night, you’re right.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he whispers to himself, pacing around, nearly fidgeting. He stops right in front of you, looking you dead in the eye. “And eight years ago…I did something to you?”

“Nearly nine.”

The Dutchman doubles down. “Nearly nine, what?”

“In a few days,” you say with a gentle tone. “It’ll be nine years.”

He’s full of despair at this point, brows furrowed and pinched up all at once. His blue eyes have darkened into something impure, but what else could have been so beautiful to a girl like you?

You smile, reaching to brush his hair back. You feel him get tense, like a strained muscle of some sort, but he never once steps away. No. Instead, he finds himself leaning into your touch like some deprived sicko.  

This is a humiliation ritual, he begins to think to himself as a cruel realization when his heart punches his chest hard, almost as if its intention was for him to lurch over with pain. But has it not always felt this way with you?

“Max,” you purr, softly rubbing your thumb against his temple now. “I’ll tell you what—”

“What?” he questions rapidly, desperate for quite literally anything you’re willing to give to him. 

A slow smirk. “How about you tell me what it is that you think you did that night, and I’ll let you know if you get it right, huh? How does that sound?”

He’s well aware that you’re treating him like a dog. With rules you know he’s going to follow anyways, and with a firm voice that lets him know who’s in control.

It’s you—despite living in his home, despite making a living wage under his payroll, despite watching his daughters when he’s away for months on end—it’s only ever been you in control.

And so, his confessions begin.

“It was so long ago,” he mumbles, opening his mouth like it was already looking for yours. Pressing your hands to his chest now, you keep him place but still close. He blinks, tamed by that action alone. “H-H-How could I possibly remember?”

“Think,” you demand. “Look, I’ll even help jog up your memory. I’m thoughtful that way..”

And you kiss him.

Yes, you kiss him like a dirty soul that is intending to hang onto him until he can no longer stand on his own two feet. It’s so vicious, he can feel your fingerprints color his skin all over, as if warning him: This. This. This. This will stick to you because I said so. 

His large hands grab at your sides desperately, like he’s trying to stay afloat. The sudden fiction makes you smile against his lips before tugging him towards the living room. He’s a mess, tripping over his own two feet, whimpering when you pull his hair as if directing him onto the right path. 

He groans when he falls down against the couch with a harsh thud, blinking up to where you hover over him before claiming a seat on his lap, gaze dark and tempting. He shudders beneath your body at the mere sight. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t seem to re—”

“Would it help if I sucked your cock?”

Max blinks, dazed, before you climb off, already getting on your knees and unzipping his jeans. “Wait a minute, wait a minute—” But he’s just as good as gone the second your mouth wraps around his girth. “Oh God.”

Mmm, you moan at the taste of him, fluttering your lashes as you pump the rest of him with your hands. An upward motion that makes his eyes squeeze shut in a way that has him seeing colors. You giggle, stirring vibrations that certainly didn’t help his situation.

“Do you remember me now?” you whisper as you pull away, enjoying his demise. 

As some weak attempt, his hands reach for the back of your head, holding you in place and keeping you from moving, but that doesn’t stop your tongue from licking a stripe down the base, eyes crinkling with amusement when he tenses up. 

“I hooked up with a girl that night!” he practically pants out like a cloudy revelation he hopes is nothing but right. “In a bathroom stall, I wanna say…” Pressing a kiss down to his pink tip, you nod sleepily and he feels his insides burst with surprise. “That was you?”

“Nope,” you sing, finally pushing his hands away and sucking him back in, canine teeth scratching him every time you bop your head.

A loud hiss escapes once before clenching his jaw, but keeps his eyes on you. The way your cheeks hollow, the way you inhale like it costs you to keep up, just as much as him. And yet, he doesn’t quite reason how someone could look so holy while committing such a filthy act? 

His inner thoughts come to a sudden halt when he feels your clammy hands press down against his thighs as you lean forward, deepthroating him. 

Fuck, he croaks, mouth hung open in a silent O as his blue orbs connect with yours, filled with infatuation that surely sticks to your pink tongue. Breathing hard, you gag around his length for a minute before pulling away with a loud gasp, a string of saliva stretching as far as you go with a cheeky smile. Your hand continues to pump fast, mocking his moans like a record player. 

“You’re so pretty when you’re ruined,” you praise, nodding along with him as his climax seems to build up rather rapidly. The Dutchman opens his mouth to speak, but falls short when you spit on his face, making him flinch before blinking up like a lost bunny, shocked. You giggle sweetly, jerking him off in one last hasty manner before he comes, thick ropes splurting and his groans echo. You smile, satisfied, pushing back against your heels, taking in the image of him gasping for air. “Christ,” you scoff. “If I had known you were this easy to break, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

Max winces, avoiding your gaze as he rubs his eyes, thinking surely: This must be a dream, right? A nightmare, maybe? There was really no way of him not feeling embarrassed about what just occurred. 

“If you hate me so much…then why are you doing all of this?” he asks with difficulty.

“Me?” you challenge with a frisky grin that stretches from ear to ear. “I said that?”

“You don’t have to.” His blue eyes falter into something frail, nearly grey. “I just…know.”

A beat.

Sighing—like he owes you a favor—you rise up to your feet and climb onto his thick lap, pushing your skirt up and sliding your panties to the side. He freezes when he feels your wet core slide against his cock, painfully hard. His stomach churns with anticipation. 

“Well…” you start, gently cradling his face with one hand, and slipping him into your slippery hole with the other. “It’s because I hate you, that I’m also fucking you, Maxie.”

Taking everything there is to take, your breath hitches and his brain short circuits. You roll your hips as a lazy warning before resting your hands on his broad shoulders, bouncing. “W-What?” he stutters, holding you close when you arch your back with pleasure, mouth agape. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t get it,” you breathe out, a thin layer of sweat pasting your hair down against your face. Your cheeks are red, your lips are plump and pink, and he can feel his cock twitch inside of you. You frown dramatically. “I always thought you’d be a better fuck than this.”

It’s as if you had the intention of bruising his ego, and if so, you’ve achieved it. It strikes him without any given mercy, and it’s only until then, that he feels you awake something within him. 

Fisting his grip on you even harder, the Dutchman rips you off of him, causing you to squeal before fixing you on all four on the coffee table right in front of you. It’s the perfect height too, right where he can slip back in and at an angle that makes his head roll back and your sounds break. 

“How’s that?” he asks, feeling your core tighten. Looking back at you, he takes the time to admire the white ring that forms, the way it begins to slither down and in between your thighs. Max grunts, scooping it up on his index finger before licking it clean. The taste brings him to shame, feeling it slide down his throat like some delicious nectar. “So sweet…”

“Harder,” you instruct, glancing over your shoulder with a teasing smile that makes his heart stop for a minute. “Give it to me harder, Max.” A whimper. “I wanna feel how sorry you are.”

And although he has no clue as to what he’s apologizing for, he does it anyway. Thrust in deeper. Much more ruthless. He watches as your sweaty palms slips against the glass. Catches your reflection, beautiful features twisted with pleasure. A knot forms in the pit of his stomach, and surely you sense it too, because not long after, you start to push your ass back, looking for more. 

“Oh, Maxie,” you whimper. “You feel so good inside of me.”

His visions blurs.

“And—and I feel so good around you…don’t I?”

“The best,” he assures you quickly, focused on his movements. “How could you not? You’re so w-warm and—tiny.”

You hum. “And you’re a good man, right?”

“Mhm!” He nods to himself feverishly, getting light headed at one point. “Ngh—mhm!”

“Well then—why would a good man ruin some else’s life?”

“F-Fuck!” he groans one last time before finishing deep inside of you. His breathing patterns struggle to align again as he looks up, finding you to already be staring back at him. He blinks when you glare, standing up and pulling your skirt back down. “I, uh, did what now?”

Your gaze flickers when he fixes his jeans before marching back to him, pushing him unexpectedly and causing him to stumble stupidly. “How could you?” you accuse with fury laced in your voice. “How?”

His eyes widen, startled, and lifted his arms up in defense. “I-I-I don’t understand!”

Tears threaten to spill as you stare up at him. “That night—nine years ago—we did meet. We did.” A beat. “I was visiting my brother at his new internship, don’t you remember?”

Max freezes. “You…”

“Yeah,” you hiss, hitting his chest repeatedly before he grabs your hands, fighting back when you dig your nails into him. “Me, you fucking jerk!”

He winces in pain, letting go of you as his skin begins to burn and numb up in one go. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Really?” you taunt, inching closer to him and cocking your head to the side. “You didn’t mean to?”

“I was only seventeen!” he tries to reason, flinching when your eye twitches. “I was just a teenager…”

“Ha!” you laugh out, sounding slightly deranged. Pushing your knotted hair back, you purse your lips before nodding towards him. “You thought you were the only one, or…”

Max recoils, memories flashing back to a time where he was new to the sport and didn’t know a lot of people. The other drivers, well, they didn’t count, and it was hard meeting anyone. At least, that’s what he thought.

He gulps. “When you’re y-y-young, you do dumb shit, alright?” Taking steady steps backwards, he finds that the distance between you both never decreases, and suddenly everything feels far too claustrophobic. “It was an accident.” He flinches. “And…I get why you’re mad at me. I do, I promise you that I do! But… I can’t change what happened eight years ago—”

“Nine.”

He nods robotically in agreement. “Nine. Nine years ago.” 

Guilt tricks him back to you the second you drop down onto the floor, sobbing out like an injured puppy. In the most delicate manner, he levels down next to you and wraps his arms around like some safety net. 

I’m sorry.

And just like that—you stop crying. 

“Don’t be!” you cheer, pulling away and smiling warmly. “You did nothing wrong!” Max blinks. Wiping away at your wet cheeks, you shrug him off like it’s no big deal. “Seriosuly, Max, we’re good.”

His brows knit. “But your brother—”

“Holy shit, you really can’t remember a single thing from your past, can you?” you tease, giggling. “You’ve got the wrong person, mate.”

“But—”

“You’re thinking of Clarice and Nathaniel!”

“But I thought you—”

“How many people’s lives did you fuck up that night, Max?” you joke, leaning in to peck his cheek. “Help me up?” With his brain completely numb, he lends you a hand, assisting you. You pat his head as some form of gratitude before making your way back to the main entrance to where your luggage still awaits. 

In a hurry, he jumps up and makes a beeline for you, pulling you by the wrist and forcing you to face him. He’s no longer looking remorseful, he’s no longer being gentle, no, now—now he’s enraged. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he accuses, blue eyes dark with instability. “Huh? What do you want from me?”

You smile back softly. “Well, I want a boy, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

His face drops in panic and the realization starts to settle. 

“You can’t get pregnant,” he says, body running cold. 

“Why not?” you ask with a subtle frown that makes him read right through you. “It’s science, isn’t it?”

“Don’t feed me with that kind of bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Max,” you laugh out, breaking free from him and grabbing your suitcases. “Has no one ever told you the story of the Birds and the Bees?”

“I’ll pay you—”

“Tempting.”

“To have an abortion—”

Your eyes sharpen. “Super tempting.”

He releases a heavy breath, evidently agitated.  “But you have to promise me that you’ll get it done right.”

“You’re quite the gentleman,” you say, letting out a sarcastic yawn. “And I appreciate the offer—sure, but I don't think it’ll be necessary.” Watching as you reach for the doorknob once again, the Dutchman rushes to keep it closed, forcing you to stay. You scoff, turning to face him. “Move.”

“You can’t do this to me,” he whispers, almost as if he were scared of the walls listening in on him. He swallows, blue eyes written with despair. “I have a family…”

“So what?”

“So—” he declares weakly. “You just…can’t.”

With your brows narrowed, you nod slowly, clicking your fingers. “You know what? You caught me in a good mood, and I’m feeling quite generous right now.” You beam. “I’ll give you another chance.”

He stares back blankly.

You hum. “Just tell me what you did to me nine years ago at that Christmas party, and I’ll do what you want me to do. I won’t run to the tabloids—I sure as hell won’t tell Kelly—and you’ll never see or hear from me again. Sounds fair?”

Max opens his lips, then snaps them back shut pathetically. 

“I don’t know…” he mumbles beneath his breath, avoiding your gaze. “I honestly have no idea…”

Your eyes glimmer.

“No worries,” you answer back, voice clipped and bittersweet. Leaning close, you press your lips down onto his and smile when he melts against them like he couldn’t help it. You giggle, pulling away. “No worries at all,” you whisper into his ear, sensing a shiver from him when you do.

One fateful beat.

“You’ll have no choice but to remember me this time.”

The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across their shared bedroom in Monaco, where the salty breeze from the open balcony doors mingled with the faint scent of Charles's cologne. You'd been together for over a year now, and tonight, after his latest podium finish, the adrenaline still buzzed between you. But instead of the usual quick, celebratory fuck, Charles had that glint in his eye—the one that promised something slower, more torturous. Edging. Your shared kink, the one that left you both trembling and desperate, bodies slick with sweat but denied the sweet rush of release.

"Are we doing this?" Charles murmured, his voice low and rough as he backed you against the king-sized bed. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above your jeans. You nodded, heart pounding, already feeling the heat pool low in your belly.

"Yes. No cumming. Not until... whenever." You smirked, challenging him. The rules were simple: tease until one of you begged to break, but neither ever did. It was a game of wills, of pushing limits without crossing that final line.

He kissed you then, hard and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours as he walked you backward. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling just enough to make him groan into your mouth. Clothes came off in a frenzy—your shirt yanked over your head, his tossed aside, jeans shoved down legs until you both stood in just underwear. Charles's boxers tented with his hardening cock, and you could see the damp spot forming where pre-cum leaked through.

He pushed you onto the bed, crawling over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. "Hands above your head," he ordered, and you complied, wrists crossing as he pinned them with one large hand. His free hand trailed down your side, nails scraping lightly over your ribs, making you arch. He hooked his fingers into your panties and dragged them down, exposing your already wet pussy to the cool air.

"Look at you," he breathed, eyes darkening as he spread your thighs wide. His fingers parted your folds, thumb circling your clit slowly, deliberately. You gasped, hips bucking up for more friction, but he held you down. "So eager already. But not yet."

He dipped two fingers inside you, curling them against that spot that made your toes curl. The stretch burned sweetly, your walls clenching around him as he pumped in and out, slow at first, then faster. Heat built fast, your breaths coming in short pants, pressure coiling tight in your core. "Charles... fuck, I'm close."

He smirked, feeling your pussy flutter around his fingers. Just as the edge loomed, he pulled out, leaving you empty and throbbing. "No," he said simply, licking his fingers clean while you whimpered in frustration.

Your turn. You flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips, feeling his cock twitch against your bare pussy through his boxers. Grinding down, you rocked slowly, coating the fabric with your slick. He groaned, hands gripping your ass, but you slapped them away. "My rules now."

You tugged his boxers down, his cock springing free—thick, veined, the head flushed red and glistening. Wrapping your hand around the base, you stroked upward, thumb swiping over the slit to spread his pre-cum. He bucked into your fist, but you slowed, twisting your wrist just enough to make him hiss.

"Like that?" you teased, leaning down to flick your tongue over the tip. He tasted salty, musky, and you took him deeper, lips sealing around his shaft as you bobbed your head. His fingers fisted the sheets, hips jerking, but you pulled off when his thighs tensed, breathing ragged.

"Fuck, baby... don't stop."

"Not yet." You pumped him once, twice, feeling him swell, then released, watching his cock bob untouched, a bead of pre-cum sliding down the length.

Back and forth it went. Charles flipped you again, mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking hard while his hand worked between your legs. Fingers plunged deep, thumb grinding your clit in tight circles. Your back bowed, moans spilling out as the orgasm built, hot and insistent. "Charles—please—"

He stopped, pinching your clit lightly instead, the sharp sting making you whine. "Begging already? We just started."

You shoved him off, pushing him to sit against the headboard. Climbing into his lap, you guided his cock to your entrance but didn't sink down. Instead, you rubbed the head along your slit, coating him in your wetness, the friction making you both shudder. Every slide over your clit sent sparks up your spine, and from his gritted teeth, you knew he felt it too.

"Slow," you whispered, grinding just enough to tease. His hands clenched on your thighs, nails digging in, but he didn't thrust up. When your pussy clenched, aching to take him, you lifted away, denying you both the penetration.

He growled, flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up. "My turn to make you suffer." His tongue licked a stripe from your clit to your hole, then delved inside, fucking you with it while his fingers rubbed your clit. The wet sounds filled the room, your face pressed into the pillow as you moaned. Pressure mounted again, your legs shaking, but he withdrew, blowing cool air over your soaked pussy.

"Too close," he murmured, voice strained. You could hear how affected he was, his cock heavy against your thigh.

Turning the tables, you had him lie flat, kneeling between his legs. Your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking firmly while your other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently. He cursed in French, hips snapping up, but you edged him mercilessly—fast strokes until his abs tightened, then feather-light touches until he cooled.

"You're killing me," he panted, but his eyes burned with lust.

"Good." You leaned down, taking him into your mouth again, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue. He throbbed on your tongue, pre-cum flooding your mouth, and just as he tensed to cum, you pulled off, hand squeezing the base to stave it off.

He hauled you up, kissing you fiercely, tasting himself on your lips. "On your back." You spread your legs, and he settled between them, cock nudging your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you full. The burn was exquisite, your walls gripping him tight.

He bottomed out, holding still, both of you adjusting to the fullness. Then he started thrusting—deep, measured strokes that hit every nerve. Your nails raked down his back, urging him on, but he kept the pace torturously slow. Faster now, his hips snapping, the slap of skin echoing. Your pussy clenched, orgasm spiraling close, so close—

He stilled, buried deep, grinding against your clit instead. "Not yet." You cried out, frustrated tears pricking your eyes.

Pulling out, he flipped you to your side, lifting your leg over his hip. Spooning behind you, he slid back in, one arm banding across your chest to pinch your nipples while his other hand found your clit. Thrusts came shallow and quick, building you up again. His cock dragged against your walls, hitting that spot relentlessly.

"Charles... I can't—" The words dissolved into a moan as the edge hit, your body seizing.

He stopped, fingers stilling, cock twitching inside you. "You can. Hold it."

Your hand reached back, gripping his thigh, pulling him closer. But you didn't let him cum either—when his breaths grew erratic, you clenched around him, then relaxed, denying the friction.

Hours seemed to pass like this—positions shifting, touches varying. He had you on all fours, fingers in your pussy while his thumb circled your ass, pushing you to the brink before withdrawing. You rode his face, grinding down as his tongue lapped at your clit, only to lift off when stars burst behind your eyelids.

Sweat slicked your bodies, the sheets tangled and damp. Charles's cock was red, straining, veins prominent from the repeated denials. Your pussy ached, swollen and sensitive, every touch electric.

"One more," he rasped, voice hoarse. He laid you on your back, hooking your legs over his shoulders. Sliding in, he fucked you deep, the angle letting him grind your clit with every thrust. You met him halfway, hips rolling, hands clutching his biceps.

The build was relentless this time—faster, harder, but always stopping just before. Your body trembled, muscles quivering from the strain. "Charles... please, I need—"

"No." But his control cracked; his thrusts faltered, eyes squeezing shut.

You pushed him off, taking control. Straddling him, you sank down on his cock, riding hard. Your ass bounced against his thighs, pussy swallowing him whole. He gripped your hips, helping, but you slowed when he groaned low, close.

"Please, please you win ahh I-I wanna cum," he begged, the words breaking on a whine. The sound snapped something in you. All the hours of torment, the shared agony—it was time. His hands roamed your body—pinching nipples, slapping your ass lightly, urging you on. You leaned forward, kissing him deeply.

Faster now, your hips slamming down as he thrust up, the bed shifting beneath you. His cock hit deep, grinding your clit with every movement. The coil tightened, unbreakable this time, pressure mounting without mercy.

"I'm close—don't stop," you panted, and he nodded, eyes locked on yours.

"Cum with me. Now." His voice was a command, thumb finding your clit to rub in tight, fast circles. The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the stretch of him inside you, the electric build.

It hit like a crash—your pussy clamping down hard, waves of pleasure ripping through you as you cried out his name. He followed seconds later, cock pulsing, hot spurts of cum flooding your walls. You milked him through it, grinding to prolong the bliss, bodies shuddering in unison.

You collapsed onto his chest, both gasping, his arms wrapping around you tight. Cum leaked from you, mixing with sweat, but neither moved, basking in the aftershocks.

"Finally," he murmured, kissing your temple. The denial had been exquisite torture, but the release? Worth every denied second.

To be fair, you tried to keep it secret.

When you and Lando started dating—accidentally, clumsily, falling into it after weeks of lingering glances in the staffroom and hallway flirting that made the other teachers groan—you made a pact.

No touching at school.

No glances that lasted longer than five seconds.

Absolutely no kissing on school grounds.

And for the love of all things professional: no calling each other “babe.”

It lasted… about three days.

Because you forgot that teenagers have one major hobby: spying on adults and making up elaborate love stories.

So it started small.

One of your Year 9 students raised her hand during class and went, “Miss… is it true you and Mr. Norris had coffee together in the staffroom this morning and he gave you the last custard cream?”

You blinked. “What? That’s not a—this is a biology lesson. Focus, Amira.”

The class erupted in giggles.

It only got worse from there.

Lando, bless him, was not built for secrecy.

He was the kind of PE teacher who roller-skated through the halls to get to class on time. Who high-fived every student whether they liked it or not. Who wore sunglasses indoors and called Year 11 boys “mate” while casually ruining their pride in dodgeball.

He was sunshine in human form.

You were… you. Slightly more serious, slightly more cautious, and head of the biology department.

The only thing you two had in common?

The fact that every student knew you were head over heels for each other.

“I swear to God,” Lando whispered one Thursday morning as you passed each other in the hall, “a Year 10 just fake-fainted in front of me and asked if I’d carry her to you like a princess so you’d finally kiss me.”

You burst out laughing. “Did you?”

“I almost did.”

“Lando!”

“What?” he smirked. “We’ve already lost control of the narrative. At this point I’m just giving the people what they want.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered.

Your students had theories.

“She’s secretly married to him.”

“They had their first kiss in the science cupboard.”

“I bet he carries her homework to the staffroom.”

“Miss is totally wearing his hoodie under her blazer, watch.”

Every time you walked past a group of students, they’d not-so-subtly hum romantic music.

One day, Lando walked into the biology wing and a group of Year 10 girls literally applauded.

“Why?” he asked, laughing.

“Because you’ve set the bar for love,” one said dramatically, clutching her heart.

You facepalmed.

The real chaos happened during Parent-Teacher Night.

You’d both been assigned different classrooms, but somehow, the news had spread. Parents were curious. Students had told them.

You and Lando, the school’s ultimate ship.

So when a parent sat across from you and asked, with a perfectly straight face, “Do you and Mr. Norris have any, uh… joint lesson plans?”—you blinked. She winked. You choked on your tea.

Lando later told you a dad asked if he was planning to propose on Sports Day.

“I mean,” Lando shrugged, “if I had a ring, that would’ve been iconic.”

You stared. “Lando.”

“What?”

“Don’t even joke about proposing at Sports Day.”

“You say that, but—”

“Lando.”

The students started a petition to get you both to chaperone prom.

It wasn’t subtle.

The heading read:

“Let the Power Couple Supervise Love”

It had 273 signatures.

Lando framed it.

“I want this at our wedding,” he grinned.

You threw a textbook at him. Gently.

Still, despite the teasing, the matchmaking, and the relentless obsession from your students, no one really saw the quiet moments.

The hand on your lower back when he walked past.

The soft murmurs exchanged behind the gym.

The way he waited outside your classroom with a smoothie when you were too stressed to eat lunch.

The way you straightened his tie when no one was watching.

And at the end of every long, exhausting, love-soaked day…

You’d curl up on the couch at home, tangled in his hoodie, grading papers while he threw Skittles into your mug and made up songs about mitochondria just to make you laugh.

One afternoon, just before the Easter holidays, you were walking past the art block when you overheard it.

Two Year 12 girls were painting a mural, gossiping about teacher crushes.

One said, “Honestly, if Mr. Norris doesn’t marry Miss Y/L/N, I’m never believing in love again.”

The other nodded. “He looks at her like she invented oxygen.”

You paused.

Smiled.

And for the first time, didn’t correct them.

One Week Later

You and Lando were walking hand-in-hand through a garden centre over the break, hot drinks in one hand, plans for summer in the other, when Lando stopped suddenly.

He turned to you.

“I know we said we’d wait,” he said.

You frowned. “Wait for what?”

He reached into his jacket.

He kneeled down.

Pulled out a ring.

Your heart stopped.

“Lando—”

“It’s not for Sports Day,” he grinned. “I promise.”

You laughed. Then cried.

And when you whispered yes, the girl from the cashier counter whispered to her colleague, “Oh my God, that’s Mr. and Miss Norris! They finally did it!”

You walked into class Monday morning.

Sat on your desk.

Smiled at your students.

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s talk genetics. Specifically… why your favorite PE teacher might become your favorite biology teacher’s husband.”

The room exploded.

Someone screamed.

Someone dropped their pen.

Someone shouted, “WE KNEW IT!”

And in the classroom next door?

Lando fist-bumped the air.

Thank you for reading!