my comfy place☕️

michael knew his wife had a slick mouth, vulgar even if he wanted to be technical. it’s been like that since before they got married.

she leaned back against the kitchen counter, one hip poked out and showing under her silk night gown. “please michael. you’ve been acting like a bitch since you’ve came back home”, she scoffed. michael blinked and tiled his head, trying to process what his wife just called him.

he stalked towards, his larger figure appeared before her quickly, towering. “get on your knees”, he mumbled, leaving no room up for debate as he unfastened his belt. the same belt that was hanging off of him while performing. she went willingly, plump lips parted, head tilted up with mock-innocence. she was always like this, he thought — ran her mouth one minute, then switched to listen to him like an obedient wife the next.

her eyes fluttered shut as he shoved his belt behind her neck like a reign, folding the ends into his fists, not too tight, but firm enough to keep her in place and to leave a nice little bruise. “you run your mouth so good, sweetheart. let’s see if you can put it to better use, yeah?” she looked up through her lashes, lips already parting, pupils blown wide. he jolted the belt a bit to get her attention, “words, sweetheart. don’t go dumb on me yet.”

she nodded her head to the best of her ability and gave him a verbal answer. “yes daddy”. those two words had michael letting out an audible low groan. he was familiar with her saying that, but it felt like the first time before always. he gave her the green light to take off his pants. his cock bobbing out of his boxers, standing at attention directly in her face with globs of precum leaking out his slit.

“open.” she obeyed. and he groaned low in approval, the sound alone made her thighs squeeze together. he thrusted hard into her mouth. deep. mean. putting his frustration from the words she said in his strokes. she choked, hands scrambling to grip his thighs, but the belt held her where he wanted her — face tilted up and mouth wide open.

he rocked his hips slow and deep in a rhythm, letting her feel every inch drag over her tongue, pulling out just enough for her to gasp before pushing his cock back in and holding her there. her eyes rolled and thighs pressed tight together while arousal dripped onto the floor. michael’s grip only got tighter. “such a dirty mouth”, he snarled, voice ragged. “you say dumb stuff just to get me this upset. don’t you?”

she let out a whimper, eyes glossy, tears pricking at the corners, with a mouth full of his cock. she nodded in a desperate attempt to answer his question, knowing michael didn’t like to be left unanswered. he held her jaw in his massive hand, belt in the other—tilting her face so he could watch the saliva get all over her lips and face.

he let out a mean laugh, “i know sweetheart. just take it, since you always have so much to say.” he thrust again, ragged this time, holding the belt in place as she deep throated his whole cock. he let out a breathy moan as she gagged just the way he liked. her long nails curled into the leather at his knees, thighs squirming, desperate and wet. but she didn’t pull away, she never did. even as her eyes watered while spit and precum leaked at the sides of her mouth, and her jaw began to hurt.

and when he finally let her breathe — pulling out with a slick pop, her spit dripping down her chin, she looked ruined. “are you sorry?” she huffed and puffed trying to catch her breath. “yes”, voice sounding meek and scratchy.

“thought so”, he threw the belt to the side and grabbed a handful of her hair. “‘m not done yet baby”. he gripped the base of his cock and slapped it on her spit covered lips. “open up”, he began to slowly feed her his cock, inch by inch. groaning loudly as the grip he had on her hair tightened, “never can get enough of this mouth.”

he stared down at her, she looked so beautiful in his eyes — lashes droopy, spit slick on her chin, and lips swollen from how well she’d taken him. “you always talk back,” he murmured, watching the way her eyes fluttered. rocking his hips slowly into her mouth, “but no one would ever believe how sweet you are when your mouth’s full.”

she whined softly around him, jaw beginning to ache, her throat fluttering with effort. michael didn’t rush — he wanted her to feel all of it, all of him. “just like that, sweetheart,” he rasped. “almost there. i promise.” her nails dug into his thighs, and he tightened his hold in her hair as he reached his peak — spilling his seed into her mouth with a sharp moan that bordered on a growl.

“swallow it,” he ordered, breathless, watching her with a small grin. “all of it baby.” and she did, cheeks hollowing, throat working — until she looked up again with that same mock-innocent glint in her eye, even as her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. he leaned down, cupping her jaw and brushing his thumb across her wet swollen lower lip.

“you run your mouth like that again,” he warned, “and next time, i’ll plug your nose.”

you stay very quiet and michael noticed that. later that night you're both sitting on the hood of his car outside Hayvenhurst, sharing food from a drive thru bag while the radio quietly plays in the background.

he nudges your shoulder. "You got real quiet back there, lady." You shrug. "Didn't have anything to add."

"...Why?" Another shrug. "...Never kissed, or got down to anyone." He slowly lowers a fry. "...You're serious?" He scans your face. You immediately regret saying it. "Forget it."

"No, no." He turns to face you completely. "You've never been kissed?" You shake your head, already embarrassed.

"I just... never cared that much." He studies you for a second, chin resting on his hand. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not lookin' at you any way."

"You are."

"I am not." Michael laughs, throwing his head back. "I ain't judgin' you, pretty lady."

"You totally are. Young man." You tease. "I'm jus’ surprised." You roll your eyes. "Ugh mike, shut up." 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 He shakes his head, smiling to himself. "I just figured... I dunno."

"What?" You ask curious. "Somebody would've beat me to it."

Your eyebrows pull together. "...Beat you to what?" He freezes. "...Nothin'." The fact he has the nerve to be shy after saying that. "Michael...what do you mean?"

"Nothin' pretty lady, don’t worry."

A few minutes pass before he casually says—"I could teach you both."

You almost choke on your soda. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me." He chuckles. "No, I definitely didn't." You almost choke again. He grins behind his sunglasses, even though it's literally nighttime.

"I said I could teach you."

"You've lost your mind."

"C'mon."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're my best friend!"

"So?"

"Sooo best friends don't…do that stuff."

"...Since when?"

"Since forever!"

He shrugs like you're the unreasonable one. "I think you're makin' up rules." You stare at him. "I am not kissing you."

"Didn't say you had to."

"I said I could help."

"That's the same thing."

"It's educational."

"Oh my goodness Michael."

"You gonna let some random dude be your first kiss and get down him?"

"...Eventually?"

"What if he's terrible?"

"I can take that."

"But what if he ain't patient?" You don't answer. Michael knew what you did there. His smile softens just a little.

"You'd get nervous, hm?"

"...maybe."

"You'd pretend you weren't."

"...maybe, yeah."

"And then he'd rush you." You look away. He sighs. "I wouldn't, pretty lady." That catches your attention. His voice is quieter now. "I'd wait..whenever you’re ready, I’d wait." The air suddenly feels different.

You look down at the paper cup in your hands. "...You're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"Making everything sound reasonable." He laughs. "Is it workin'?"

"...A little."

"I knew it." He hops off the hood and walks around until he's standing in front of you.

"No pressure."

"You literally just spent ten minutes pressuring me."

"I spent ten minutes presenting evidence."

"You'd make a terrible lawyer."

"I'd make a great teacher." You roll your eyes so hard it makes him laugh. "...okay, one kiss…and you learn me how to give a blowjob?," you mumble.

His grin immediately gives him away. "So you agreed." You look away shyly. "Don't sound so excited." He laughs. "I'm not!"

"Oh you are."

"I'm happy you're trustin' me." He steps closer, suddenly much gentler than before. His hand comes up slowly, giving you plenty of time to move if you want. "You really want this, pretty?"

"...Yeah." He bites his lips. "Cute."

"..Michael."

"Sorry." He's smiling, but softer now. "Just... don't think so much." Easy for him to say.

The second his fingers brush your cheek, your heart starts racing. "I don't know what I'm doing," you admit quietly. "I know, m’lady and that’s okay."

"You better not laugh, okay?"

"I won't."

"You promise?"

"I promise." He leans in slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I got you." The kiss is brief and warm. Gentle enough that it barely registers before it's over. When he pulls away, you're still blinking at him. "...That's all?"

He smiles. "For now."

"...okay well.. show the dirty deed than." He flashes that signature Bad-era grin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

he laid out on the bed , his shirt lifted and a lazy smirk on his face as you sat on your knees.

"you look a little flushed pretty girl." his hand coming up to your cheek. "you said you wanted to learn, you getting cold feet now?" Now Michael knows your inexperienced , he’d been taking things extra slow with you but sometimes you surprised him and he didn’t stop you.

"n-no." you started. "but what if i do it wrong , what if i bite you or something? I don’t know."

"you’re not gonna bite me sweetheart... and who knows i might like…that." he chuckled seeing your face flush even more. "c’mon you’re a big girl." his hands wrapping around your thighs. “and i’m here to help you , i promise."

you bite down on your lips, he let out a low groan , he didn’t care how sloppy it might be , he needed to feel your lips around him. "It’s jus’ like a lollipop."

"okay.." he smiled softly , his big hand caressing your cheek. “good girl.” he unbuckled his pants. "Go ahead, take my cock out sweetheart." his eyes were low as he watched you nervously fiddling around with his pants , lifting his hips up to allow you to pull them down enough to pull his cock out,

your eyes widening at his length. "m-Michael..you’re really big." he laughed softly. "Touch it, sweet girl." he groaned softly as you held his soft cock in your hands.

"Y-yeah my sweet girl, now move up and d-down." you obeyed. "slowly." he trailed off as you moved your hands , pre-cum dribbling down his cock. "O-oh fuck…princess , keep going."

"now , if y’want.. give the tip a little kiss." lowering your head down, kissing the tip, the sticky essence coating your lips.

"good girl, open your mouth." he ran his hands through your head softly. "g-go slow." parting your lips , letting his cock slowly slip into your mouth. "fuuuuck." he groaned softly, hissing when your teeth grazed the vein.

"Goodness baby , careful with your t-teeth , you’re doing so good though….so good f’me." he praised,your muffled moans,sending vibrations through his cock. "sh-shit, you like sucking my cock?" he groaned, he tugged at your hair softly. desperately wanting to push your head down and make you gag on his cock…shit he was about to cum. "wait fuck hold on sweet girl , stop.."

"d-did i do something wrong?" you pulled off of him, your lips swollen, eyes teary — and fucked out. "no , of course not – fuck you were too good i almost came." he huffed out a breathless laugh.

"isn’t that a good thing?" you titled your head to the side confused , you were killing him. "Ye-yeah it is angel, but i didn’t want to overwhelm you…" his cock was still hard , twitching against his stomach.

you didn’t know what you were doing, but you picked it back up. "Baby wait you don’t—fuck!" he hissed as you bobbed up and down on his length.

"Ohhhh-baby-fuck." you smiled, mouth full of his cock. "S-shit, sweetheart, i’m gonna c-cum." you kept going , jerking off what couldn’t fit in your mouth.

his cock twitched before his cum shot into your mouth , some of it leaking out the corners of your mouth. "a-ah shitttt, that’s enough f’me..pretty." you pulled off of him , cum and spit coating your lips. "did i do good big daddy." You tease.

"good?" he chuckled breathlessly. "Sweet girl, you sure you haven’t done that before?" you flushed , swatting his chest.

"Mike stop…" he pulled you into his lap. "You did so good." your need for him growing as he praised.

"m-mike-" he rubbed soft circles into your thighs. "getting needy mama?" you whimpered, nodding. "you did such a good job for your first time…only right i help you now right?" you core burning with anticipation. "Wanna sit on my face."

"W-What?" he pulled you further up. "c’mon..let me taste you." he whispered sweetly, hissing the insides of your thighs. "Want you to ride my face , use me. Please."

❤︎ © 888latte.

“Are you all right?” The sound of Michael's voice came through the muffled voices of the paparazzi. The silence in the car now filled with that delicate voice.

“Mhm, just a little nervous, y'know?” Your leg bounced up and down, causing your dress to slide up slightly, exposing the skin of your thigh through the slit of your dress.

The car jerked slightly before stopping at the start of the red carpet. Suddenly your chest felt tighter, like you couldn't breathe. Sure, it may not have been your first time being in the spotlight, but it wasn't like every time suddenly got easier, the bright flashes only getting heavier every time.

“Ready?”

“It's now or never,” you laughed nervously, the feeling of his thumb running over your knuckles stopping at the giant rock that sat on your fingers. Then the sound of the door opening caused your attention to shift, suddenly revealing the loads of paparazzi that waited on each side. The flashes from the cameras and the heavy clicking sound filled your already overwhelmed senses. Michael never let his hand loose; in fact, it only tightened as he helped you out of the car.

It was loud.

Too loud.

People everywhere, yelling to grab your attention. The only things you were trying to focus on were the few cameras that you managed to pose for, your hands still locked with Michael's, making that the only thing that somewhat eased your nerves.

“This way!”

“Over here!” You weren't sure where to look anymore as you gave a small wave.

“How's your engagement with Michael?” There was the question you knew was coming, and from there it was one question after another.

“Can we see the rock?”

“When's the big date?”

“What do your families think of your engagement?”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to answer, but your mouth seemed to no longer work. Your voice got caught in your throat as you swallowed thickly.

Michael was quick with it. He knew you better than anyone—how you got when you became overwhelmed, somewhat panicked, gone silent, your hands clammy in the grasp of his own.

"Please everyone, enough with the questions," he yelled, pushing past the crowded pathway, security guards watching closely as you followed close behind, your body hiding behind Michael's large figure as he held you close, but the camera flashes didn't stop and the questions only kept flooding in. One particular guy managed to push his camera in your face, causing you to put your hand up to protect yourself as Michael turned around.

"No, no, you do not get to stick your camera in her face." He was fully turned around now, his hand up as he angrily spoke, his voice rising, cracking that smooth, calm composure he usually held.

Oh, he was pissed, and he'd had enough of the cameras, making his way inside the building with his team trailing close behind.

"Mikey, I'm okay, really," you spoke, letting your hand trail up his arm, rubbing it in an up and down motion.

"You may be okay, but that was not okay back there." His voice was back to the soft, gentle voice you knew.

"Look, it's fine, let's just enjoy the performances and see you win some awards out there." He laughed before pressing a tender kiss to your cheek.

©angelfacediary

Requests : open

Taglist:

~1970~

the rhythmic tinkling of the doorbell rang through the house as y/n dropped the blocks in her hand, her head shooting up, alert like a puppy.

“mama, door!” she called out, hearing her mother dust off her hands in the kitchen, a few pans clattering before she wiped her hands on her apron, walking past y/n to open it.

all the houses along the street were small, only one story and painted the same, striking white colour.

y/n paid no mind to whoever was at the door, continuing her block sorting, pushing the star-shaped one into the star-shaped hole.

“i’m katherine, i noticed you moved in next to us, i thought i’d bring over some fresh cookies for you,”

“thank you so much, you didn’t have to,”

“it’s nothin’ big, don’t worry! is it just you here?”

“just me and my daughter. y/n darling, come say ‘hi’!”

at the sound of her name, y/n looked up, dropping the blocks and scampering to where her mother was at the door.

opposite her, a kindly-looking woman stood in front of her, holding a tin packed full of cookies.

“darling,” her mother crouched down beside her, “this is mrs jackson,”

y/n looked between her mother and katherine, offering a small wave.

“you know,” katherine knelt down, “i have a daughter around the same age, if little y/n was lookin’ for some friends in the neighbourhood?”

y/n’s mother looked to her, gasping softly.

“how’s that, sweetheart? you can make your first friend,”

the small girl just nodded, still too shy to say anything in front of katherine, who clapped her hands together happily.

”just send her over here whenever,” y/n’s mother smiled, “i’ll make some lemonade for them,”

that was how y/n ended up standing opposite janet, who was holding onto a doll in one hand, the other bunched into the side of her dress as she swayed from side to side on the spot.

“hi,” y/n was the first to speak, still half-shy as she held her own doll in one hand, “this is lily,” she held up the doll by the arm.

janet looked between her and the doll, before lifting hers too.

“daisy,”

and that was how the two girls started their friendship, y/n showing janet all the dolls clothes she had in a little box under the sofa.

“i think daisy would like a pink dress,” y/n fished out a little tattered dress, but janet took it like chanel, her eyes wide.

katherine came round later in the evening to find the two girls surrounded by little clothes, and shoes, and hats, and jackets, changing the outfit of their dolls every few seconds.

“they’ve been at it all afternoon,” y/n’s mother stood in the doorway beside katherine, a fond smile on both of their faces.

“just glad my janet finally has a friend of her own,” katherine said, watching as y/n helped janet wrap a tiny scarf round her doll’s neck.

“we best get goin’, we gotta take our sons for a show,” she said, her smile faltering for a second.

“a show?”

“well…see…my boys, they…they perform,”

“how so?”

“singin’…dancin’,” katherine said, her expression half-guarded, “whatever joe wants ‘em to do,”

y/n’s mother nodded, noting the look of weariness on the other woman’s face, and knowing not to pry.

she’d learn of the jackson 5 soon enough.

❀❀❀❀

~1971~

from that day on, y/n and janet had been best friends.

from visiting each other’s houses after school, to going to the park together with their mothers, the two girls were inseparable.

so naturally, y/n had met all the jackson brothers.

jackie was the oldest, then tito, and they talked to y/n the least out of all the brothers.

marlon would occasionally walk past and ruffle her hair, and randy would sometimes join in on playful teasing.

and michael, well, he didn’t talk as much either.

but all of them loved to tease y/n.

she was small, obviously being younger than them, and slightly smaller than janet too.

squirt.

that’s what they’d call her.

“watch it, squirt!” from marlon when he’d rush past, basketball in hand.

or a, “y’all playin’ dolls again, squirt?” in a mocking tone from jackie.

even michael used the nickname. “want anythin’ to eat, squirt?”

but when he used it, he made sure he didn’t hurt her feelings. he made sure y/n was actually comfortable with the nickname, and not to hurt her feelings.

the other boys teased her and janet relentlessly for being bossy and playing with dolls at their ‘big old age’.

but it was always michael who’d walk over later, holding the dress randy had snatched and hidden from her and janet, kneeling down to make sure she was okay.

“they weren’t too mean, were they, squirt?” he’d say, handing it back softly, helping push the doll’s arms back through the holes, as y/n would shake her head.

and even if she did, he’d make sure she was definitely not lying.

“they’re idiots, y’know that, squirt? pay ‘em no mind,”

and y/n would leave happy, knowing no matter where randy or marlon would hide her stuff, she’d always get it back from michael.

for a whole year, her life was perfect.

that was, until, katherine came to the door, a solemn expression on her face as she spoke to y/n’s mother.

the girl heard snippets of the conversation.

“encino…moving…the boys…the tour…music…”

moving?!

did that mean janet was going too?

that was how y/n ended up standing outside the house of the jacksons, one hand in her mother’s, and the other clinging hard to her doll, still dressed in the outfit janet had picked out.

she blinked hard, hot tears filling her eyes as she watched jackie and tito carry a heavy box into the back of their volkswagon van.

janet followed the boys out of the house, also blinking back tears as she clutched her own doll to her chest.

“katherine,” y/n’s mother said, as she walked to where they stood, watching.

janet stood beside her mother, swaying from side to side.

“i’m sorry about the girls,” katherine said, looking down where y/n and janet sniffled, mumbling things to each other.

“it was inevitable,” y/n’s mother said, watching as her daughter took off the miniature necklace from her doll, holding it out to janet.

“come on baby,” y/n’s mother knelt down, “janet needs to go with her brothers, alright?”

y/n just sniffled, gently handing the little necklace to the girl opposite her.

“it’s okay,” katherine said, “we won’t forget you, y/n,”

as much as it ached y/n’s mother to see her daughter upset, she knew visiting would be difficult too.

“bye y/n,” janet whispered, keeping her voice quiet as she sniffled.

any louder, and she would’ve cried more.

“bye janet,”

y/n watched with her mother as katherine led janet away gently, strapping her into the back of the car, not even registering the soft sound of footsteps coming towards them.

“hey squirt,”

y/n’s teary-eyed gaze was snapped from janet as michael tentatively knelt down, so he was eye level with her.

“wanted to give you this,” he held a book in his hands, the words ‘peter pan’ in cursive writing written across the front.

the girl’s attention was momentarily drawn to the book, slightly tattered round the edges, but still in good enough condition to read.

her hands were shaky as she took the book from him, holding it with both hands.

“it was my favourite book,” michael said, his voice gentle, “thought maybe you’d wanna read it,”

“oh michael…” y/n’s mother said, her voice full of gratitude as her daughter’s teary eyes flickered over the cover with slight curiosity.

michael was quiet for a second, watching the girl in front of him.

“catch you around, squirt,” he straightened, giving her hair one last ruffle as he headed towards the car.

marlon, tito, jermaine and jackie made sure to ruffle her hair as they walked past too, calling out a quick, “bye squirt!” as they did.

that was the last y/n saw of the jacksons.

she didn’t forget her old friend, but her life eventually went on without them, their memory kept alive by the doll she had, and the book michael had left her.

❀❀❀❀

~1986~

y/n had taken to modelling like a house on fire.

she had a commanding presence on the runway, a specific charm only she could muster for magazine shoots, and a face people would kill for.

but beneath all that?

she was almost still a child at heart.

it was early when she awoke to the sound of the postman walking past her house (she still lived with her mother), walking down the stairs with a mug in her hands and wrapped in her nightgown, to open the door.

a single cream, thick envelope lay at the bottom of the door, and in the front, her address scrawled.

she didn’t recognise the elegant, looped handwriting.

with a soft hum, y/n set her mug down on the table, mumbling a soft “morning” to her mother as she tore the envelope open.

a letter slid out from it, and on top?

a little, silver necklace.

the same one she had given janet when she’d left for encino.

surely not…

dear y/n, oh god it took so long to find you! but im so grateful i did, and im so sorry it took so long for me to do so. us jacksons are having a reunion in encino next week, and i’d be so grateful if you could come. I’ve missed you so much. lots of love, janet

for a few seconds, y/n was frozen still.

her old best friend, janet, had remembered her? and invited her for a reunion? how could she say?

the compound in encino was huge.

it had a fountain in the middle and a long brick path, the house separate away from the public with a large black gate that had to be opened for her by security.

y/n hadn’t exactly thought about what she’d say, looking down at the dress she’d chosen - a simple black one and some heels.

was it too little? too much?

it was too late to change now, of course.

with a deep swallow, she raised her fist to the thick wooden door, and knocked.

one…two…three…four…

the door opened before she could count to five in her head, and there she was. janet.

and god, she was beautiful.

“janet,” y/n finally spoke, her eyes wide as she stared at the best friend she had had long ago.

before either of them could say another word, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, mumblings of ‘i missed you’ and ‘you’re so gorgeous, girl’ between them.

the house wasn’t too full, with all the brothers (except jermaine), sisters and their parents in the large living room.

jackie and tito were having a full discussion on the sofa, joe sat in his armchair and smoking a cigar.

marlon, michael and randy were sat on the floor, and rebbie and la toya were in their own seats, talking softly.

they only noticed y/n at the doorway when katherine froze from the kitchen door, a tray in her hands.

“y/n,” she said, her voice full of disbelief.

she’d hardly expected y/n to actually turn up.

the whole room was silent for a second before it erupted into loud gasps and exclamations.

“squirt, that you?”

“no way that’s y/n!”

“you’re pulling my leg, jan!”

only michael watched from the floor, silent, but a small smile on his face.

of course she’d heard of his fame now.

he’d released off the wall and thriller, he was all famous now. y/n hardly expected him to remember her.

y/n and janet spent a whole hour on the sofa together, catching up on life; y/n’s modelling, how fancy janet’s life was now, all about y/n’s mother (who couldn’t make it due to work).

it wasn’t until after dinner that michael got y/n alone.

jackie and tito were arguing over a card game at the dining table, marlon and randy had disappeared outside with a basketball, and the girls were somewhere upstairs.

y/n stood by the sink with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, rinsing a few glasses despite katherine insisting she didn't have to.

"you really don't gotta do that," michael's soft voice came from the doorway.

the girl jumped, almost getting her sleeves wet as her head snapped back.

“didn’t mean to startle you,” michael said, his voice sheepish as she shook her head, mumbling a small “it’s fine”.

he leaned against the frame, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, smiling almost sheepishly.

"old habits," y/n said quietly, “my mama would've told me off if i left without helping,”

a silence settled over them.

it wasn’t uncomfortable but it felt almost…nostalgic.

it wasn’t broken til michael walked next to her, picking up a tea towel.

“wash,” he said, eyes on her hands where she’s frozen, looking to him almost confused.

“you’re helpin’?”

“course,”

there was silence for a few seconds.

“surprised you didn’t forget me,” michael said, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.

“forget you? kinda impossible now you’re a big hit- sorry,” y/n caught the expression he gave her, one eyebrow raised as she winced.

”well, marlon always took my dolls,”

“he did,”

“and randy hid their clothes,”

“he did,”

“but you always gave them back,”

“i did,” michael said, drying off another mug and accepting a plate from her.

there was another silence, but it was less awkward, this time.

janet watched, her eyes wide as she peeked round the doorframe. oh god.

she matched up the stairs where all the brothers were sitting, playing some board game between them as the sisters sat on the bed and talked.

“family meeting,” she said, her voice as bossy as it always was.

“what did i do?” marlon looked up from the game, his piece still in his hand.

“nothing,” janet waved a dismissive hand towards him.

“then why're we havin' a meeting?" jackie asked.

janet folded her arms, letting them all watch her, waiting a deliberate second too long so they’d all lean in closer, desperate to know.

"because michael's in love,”

the room went quiet.

"...what?" tito blinked.

"with who?" randy asked.

“and do they like him back?”

“of course not, it’s mikey-,”

“don’t be a jerk marlon,”

“shut up jackie,”

“why don’t you-?”

“all of you, shut up!” janet hissed, narrowing their eyes in annoyance, “focus on the task at hand,”

“so who is it?” randy asked again.

“y/n,”

there was a pause between them all as they exchanged looks, their eyes blown wide as the sisters gasped.

then the room erupted with cheers and gasps of “i knew it!” and “ain’t no way!”

katherine, who had wandered in carrying a basket of folded washing, looked around at all of them.

"..what are y'all yellin' about now?"

"michael likes y/n," janet announced proudly, a grin on her face.

katherine blinked, before she stepped into the room, still carrying the basket.

“so what are y’all waiting for?” she asked, “get them together,”

that was how janet officially started ‘operation g.t.t’ (get them together).

janet didn’t waste a second.

“okay,” she clapped her hands once, pacing in front of them like she was briefing a military operation, “we’ve got a emergency,”

“this is not an emergency,” jackie muttered, “this is michael bein’ shy again,”

“it’s an emergency,” janet repeated sharply, pointing at him, “because y/n is here now. in the house. breathing the same air. do you understand the potential?”

“so what’s the plan?” randy leaned forwards.

“we make them alone together,”

“that’s it?” tito frowned.

katherine set the basket down with a knowing smile, “just don’t make it obvious.”

“mama, it’s already obvious,” marlon said, rolling his eyes as tito gave him a slap on the leg.

janet was already halfway out the room before anyone could argue further.

“where you goin’?” jackie called after her, looking to where she walked down the hallway in confusion.

“to initiate the first phase,” she grinned, like that was the most obvious answer in the world.

y/n was downstairs in the kitchen, still drying with michael alongside her when she saw janet walk in.

“hey jan,”

“hey y/n, got a sec?”

“uh sure,” y/n said, giving michael an apologetic look as he set down another cup, stepping off with janet.

“you busy tomorrow?” janet asked, trying to hide the excitement in her eyes as y/n shrugged.

“uh…no, not really,” y/n said.

“good,” janet nodded immediately, “stay a few days,”

michael blinked.

“what?”

“you just got here. you came all this way. you’re not leaving after one night,”

“i don’t wanna intrude…” y/n hesitated, glancing between her and michael.

“you’re not intruding,” janet said quickly, stepping further in, “this is literally the least intruding situation possible. you’re family,”

that word landed softly in the room.

michael looked down at the counter, like he was trying to pretend it didn’t affect him.

y/n’s expression softened.

“…are you sure?”

“positive,”

she turned slightly, finally looking at michael now.

“right, mikey?”

“oh…uh…yeah. of course. you should stay,” michael straightened a little, caught off guard, “i mean, if you want to. not like- y’know. you don’t have to. but you can. obviously,”

y/n nodded, smiling softly.

“i’ll stay a few days, then,” she decided softly.

janet smiled, turning her back to them as she moved towards the stairs.

their plan had officially began.

❀❀❀❀

The silk of his shirt draped loosely over your frame, the smooth fabric cool against your warmed skin. Almost instinctively, you reached across the bed, your fingertips searching for the familiar warmth of his body.

Instead, they met nothing but cool sheets.

You opened your eyes fully, a slight pang of disappointment settling in your chest as you realized he was already awake. The room was bathed in soft morning light, golden rays spilling through the curtains and stretching lazily across the bedding, illuminating the traces of a night neither of you was likely to forget.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright in the middle of the king-sized bed. Every movement pulled gently at muscles you hadn't realized were sore, a lingering ache settling deep beneath your skin. It wasn't unpleasant. If anything, it was a quiet reminder, one that made a faint smile tug at your lips before you could stop it.

For a long moment, you simply sat there, fingertips absently smoothing over the sleeve that hung past your hand. The room was peaceful, wrapped in the stillness of early morning, yet everything around you seemed infused with traces of him. His smell lingered in the sheets, his shirt rested against your skin, and despite the silence, his presence felt impossible to escape.

Every part of you still carried the memory of the night before.

The way he had moved with that agonizing, heavy patience; the way his voice had dropped into a guttural, pleasure-filled groan as he whispered words of endearment against your cheek as he slid slowly and sweetly in and out of your soaking pussy.

You could still feel the phantom sensation of his hands splayed across your hips, driving you into the mattress, the rhythmic, wet slapping of his hips against yours that had left you breathless and shattered.

And then there was the way he cared for you afterward, treating you with the same tenderness he'd shown you all night.

He fussed over you with quiet devotion, wrapping you in warmth and pressing soft, lingering kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and the corner of your mouth until both of you were grinning ear to ear. Every gentle touch, every whispered reassurance, made you feel cherished in a way you hadn't thought possible.

Slipping out of bed, you padded quietly into the hallway as to not wake up the probably still-sleeping kids. The house was peaceful in that unique way only early mornings could be, comfortable silence broken only by the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant chirping of birds outside the tall windows.

As you walked down the staircase, another familiar scent found you—the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the comforting scent of butter sizzling in a pan drifting through the house.

You smiled to yourself. Of course he'd already be downstairs.

The house was wrapped in a peaceful morning hush, interrupted only by the soft crackle of a jazz record spinning somewhere kitchen as the melody drifted through the hallways.

As you rounded the corner, the scene waiting for you almost made you stop in your tracks. Michael stood at the stove, one hand resting on the countertop while the other absently stirred something in a skillet. He was dressed simply—a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. It was a far cry from the dazzling costumes the world knew him for.

This was just... Michael. Comfortable. Unhurried.

At home.

He seemed completely absorbed in what he was doing until he heard your footsteps against the hardwood floor. He turned. The moment his eyes landed on you, his entire face lit up. The kind that reached his eyes first before spreading across his lips, bright and blinding.

"There she is," he said softly, setting the spoon aside. His gaze drifted over the oversized shirt hanging from your frame, and the corners of his mouth curled just a little higher. "Good morning, sleepyhead." His voice was still rough around the edges with sleep.

"Morning, Mike," you breathed, lingering in the doorway with a sleepy smile. There was something about the way he looked at you that still made your stomach flutter. His smile softened.

"You sleep okay? I was trying not to wake you," he murmured, almost apologetically. "You looked too peaceful."

Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the kitchen toward you. When he reached you, he instinctively tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingertips linger against your cheek for the briefest moment.

There was a curious glimmer in his eyes, almost boyish, as he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants.

"I, uh..." He let out a bashful little laugh. "I have something for you."

Your brows lifted in surprise, "For me?"

He nodded, pulling out a small velvet box before gently placing it in your palm. His fingers lingered around your hand for a second, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

"I saw them a few days ago," he said quietly. "And I remembered you pointing them out in a magazine a few weeks ago." Your heart skipped.

"You remembered that?"

"Of course I did."

His answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact, that it made your chest tighten. Slowly, you opened the box.

Nestled inside were a pair of delicate diamond studs, their facets catching the morning sunlight pouring through the windows. They sparkled brilliantly, elegant without being extravagant—the very pair you'd absentmindedly admired weeks earlier before laughing them off as far beyond your budget.

For a long moment, you simply stared. You hadn't expected him to remember. You certainly hadn't expected him to buy them.

"Michael..." you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. "They're... they're beautiful." Your eyes lifted to his, already beginning to sting. "But... you didn't have to do this." You shook your head gently, almost in disbelief.

"They must've cost a fortune." A quiet chuckle escaped him.

"So?" You looked at him as though he'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable.

"So?" you echoed.

He just smiled at you sheepishly.

"If something reminds me of you," he said softly, "and I know it'll make you smile..." His fingertips brushed your cheek with effortless tenderness. "...then I don't really think about the price." Your eyes shimmered.

He stepped closer until barely an inch remained between you, his hands settling naturally at your waist before drawing you against him. The warmth of his body wrapped around you instantly, familiar now, comforting in a way.

"Baby," he murmured with a soft chuckle, "it's really no big deal."

Before you could protest again, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips warm against your skin.

"You deserve beautiful things," he whispered. "Every little thing." Your throat tightened.

You wanted to tell him he was spoiling you. That he shouldn't spend so much money on you. That it made you feel guilty.

Instead, all you managed was a shaky breath as you rested your forehead against his shoulder.

For a moment, the weight of the life waiting beyond these walls—the unanswered texts, the strained relationship, the growing guilt you tried so desperately to ignore—faded into the background beneath the simple kindness Michael showed you so effortlessly.

Your arms slipped around his waist almost on instinct, holding him a little tighter. He held you just as firmly.

One hand settled at the small of your back while the other rubbed slow, absent circles between your shoulder blades, as though he could soothe every anxious thought simply by keeping you close.

The jazz record continued to play somewhere behind him, filling the kitchen with mellow saxophone and piano. Without a word, Michael began to sway, almost imperceptibly at first, gently guiding you with him. You smiled against his shoulder.

"Were we dancing?" you asked quietly.

"We are now." His answer made you laugh under your breath.

There wasn't much room to move between the kitchen island and the stove, but neither of you seemed to mind. You simply stood there, rocking slowly together while the morning sun poured through the windows, painting warm patches of gold across the floor.

It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't dramatic. It was wonderfully ordinary. And somehow, that made it feel even more intimate. For those few quiet minutes, the rest of the world simply disappeared. The rest of the day unfolded with the same effortless ease.

Not long after breakfast, Janet called Michael over the phone. "I've decided," she announced dramatically, hinting at the three children that were gathered around the table, "that I'm kidnapping these little monsters for the afternoon."

Prince overheard it and looked up from his cereal. "Kidnapping?"

"Mhm."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Only if I don't bring you back."

Blanket gasped. Paris rolled her eyes. "She's joking."

"I am," Janet laughed, her laugh emitting through the speaker. "I'm taking you guys to the arcade, and then we'll get ice cream. Sound good?"

The children erupted into excited cheers before she even finished the sentence.

Michael chuckled into his coffee,"I don't think I ever seen 'em move that fast."

Within minutes the house had dissolved into a whirlwind of shoes, backpacks, forgotten jackets, and last-minute reminders.

"You got sunscreen?" Michael called after them.

"Yes!"

"And your inhaler, Prince?"

"Yes!"

"No too much candy before lunch," he added. Janet flashed him an exaggerated thumbs-up over her shoulder. "I'll try."

"You said that last time."

"And they survived."

Michael sighed dramatically, though the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth ruined any attempt at looking stern.

A chorus of hurried goodbyes echoed through the foyer before the front door finally closed behind them.

Then...

Silence. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Michael glanced toward the now-empty doorway before looking back at you, an amused smile still lingering on his lips.

"I love them more than anything," he said with a quiet laugh, "but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to a little peace and quiet." You laughed softly.

"I was just thinking the same thing." He looked at you for a moment, almost as if an idea had occurred to him.

"Would you..." he began, his voice carrying that familiar, almost bashful hesitation. "Would you mind keeping me company for a while?" You couldn't help smiling.

"I'd like that."

And just like that, the afternoon belonged to the two of you.

The estate felt entirely different without the children's constant chatter. Slower. Softer. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting warm patches of gold across the marble floors as the two of you wandered from room to room with nowhere in particular to be.

Sometimes you talked.

Sometimes you didn't.

Conversation came as naturally as breathing between you now. One topic drifted into another, from favorite books to childhood memories, to stories from his tours that had you laughing until your sides hurt.

Other times, the silence settled comfortably between you.

Not awkward. Never awkward.

You found yourselves sitting together on the patio overlooking the gardens, steaming mugs forgotten on the little table beside you as the afternoon breeze stirred the leaves overhead.

Every so often, you'd catch him looking at you. Not staring. Simply... looking. As though he couldn't quite help himself.

The moment your eyes met, he'd smile almost sheepishly before glancing away, only to look back a few moments later.

And somehow, those stolen glances said far more than either of you ever dared to put into words.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun began its slow descent, reality quietly crept back in. It settled in your stomach like a stone. You weren't a heartless bitch, after all.

You still were in a whole relationship. While you were fucking your boss. The drive home felt infinitely longer than the drive there. Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The little velvet box sat inside your purse on the passenger seat.

You hadn't even put the earrings on. You couldn't. Not yet.

Just knowing they were there made your chest tighten. They weren't simply a gift. They were proof that he'd remembered something you'd mentioned weeks ago in passing. Proof that he'd been listening all along.

And then there was the smell of him.

Even after hours apart, you could still catch the faint trace of his cologne lingering against your skin that seemed impossible to wash away. Every time you caught it, your heart fluttered before guilt rushed in to replace it. You just hoped that your boyfriend wouldn't notice it.

But knowing him, he probably wouldn't.

By the time you turned onto your street, the familiar knot in your stomach had returned in full force.

You pulled into the driveway but made no move to get out. Instead, you sat there in silence, the engine ticking quietly as it cooled around you.

You rested your forehead against the steering wheel and closed your eyes. 'What the hell am I doing?' None of this was supposed to be happening. You had a boyfriend. A life. Plans.

Everything had been so simple before you walked through those gates. Now it felt as though you were living two completely different lives.

One filled with distance, unanswered conversations, needs left unsatisfied, and the growing ache of feeling unseen. The other... with lingering smiles, gentle touches, amazing sex, quiet laughter, and a man who somehow made you feel treasured without ever asking for anything in return.

With a long, steadying breath, you reached up to check your reflection in the rear view mirror.

Your cheeks were still faintly flushed. You rubbed your face with both hands, willing yourself to look like you always did. Normal.

You weren't coming home from a romantic afternoon. You'd been at work. Just work.

You repeated the lie to yourself until you almost believed it.

Only then did you pick up your purse, leaving the velvet box tucked safely inside, and forced yourself to step out of the car. When you finally turned the key in the lock, you braced yourself for the familiar routine.

The muted glow of the television spilling into the hallway. The sound of a video game or whatever happened to be playing on the screen. A distracted, half-hearted, "Hey, babe," spoken without his eyes ever leaving whatever had captured his attention.

You'd already prepared yourself for the disappointment before you'd even stepped inside. But the moment the door swung open, something felt... off.

The apartment didn't carry its usual scent of takeout containers and stale air. Instead, the rich aroma of garlic, butter, and herbs drifted toward you, warm and inviting enough to make you pause with one foot still outside the door.

For a second, you wondered if you'd somehow walked into the wrong apartment.

"Hey, babe." The voice came from the kitchen. Not absent. Not distracted. Present. You looked up.

Your boyfriend appeared in the doorway, drying his hands on a dish towel slung over one shoulder. He wasn't sprawled across the couch with his phone inches from his face. He wasn't even looking at a screen.

He was looking at you. The sight alone caught you so off guard that you forgot to speak.

"You look exhausted," he said, crossing the room before you had a chance to answer. His hand settled gently on your shoulder as he slipped the strap of your bag from your arm.

"Here." He set it carefully on the little table by the door before turning back to you.

"Long day with the kids?"

You blinked. "...Yeah."

"You poor thing." His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your upper arm—a gesture so familiar, yet one you realized you hadn't felt in weeks—months, by now. At least not from him.

"I figured you'd be hungry," He nodded toward the kitchen, "I made dinner." Your eyes widened. "You... cooked?" A sheepish grin spread across his face.

"I know. Shocking." He rubbed the back of his neck, "I just..." He shrugged, "I realized we've barely spent any actual time together lately."

The words landed heavily in your chest. "I haven't exactly been... great." He looked down for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

"I've been wrapped up in my own stuff. Every time you came home wanting to tell me about your day, I was glued to my phone." He let out a quiet sigh. "I didn't even notice I was doing it until you stopped trying."

Something inside you twisted painfully. Because he was right. You had stopped trying. Little by little.

you stopped saving stories to tell him. Stopped looking forward to coming home. Stopped expecting him to listen.

"I don't want us to become... roommates," he admitted quietly. "I miss you." Your heart sank. Those were the exact words you'd spent weeks wishing to hear. And somehow... Now that they had finally arrived...

They didn't bring the relief you'd imagined.

Instead, another face drifted into your mind. Dark eyes that listened to every word you spoke. A quiet smile across a breakfast table. A little velvet box tucked safely inside your purse.

Guilt washed over you so suddenly that you almost started to tear up

Your boyfriend stepped closer, concern immediately replacing the tentative smile on his face. "Hey..." His voice softened. "You okay?"

You forced yourself to smile. "Yeah." It sounded convincing enough. At least... you hoped it did.

You sat down and ate the paster together. You found yourself telling him about Prince's latest antics, Paris proudly showing off another drawing, and Blanket's endless determination to build forts out of anything he could find.

He laughed at the stories. Asked questions. Waited for your answers.

It should've made you happy. Instead, one thought kept circling your mind.

'Why now?'

After dinner, he nodded toward the living room. "Wanna watch a movie?" You looked at him, surprised. "I get to pick?" He smiled.

"You always complain about my choices." A quiet laugh escaped you. "Fair enough."

The lights were dimmed, the opening credits already rolling, when he glanced over at you. "Hey..."

You looked away from the television. "Yeah?"

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I was wondering..." His voice softened. "Maybe... could you stay home tomorrow?"

You frowned slightly. "What?"

"I'm sure Mr. Jackson wouldn't mind if you took a day off." He looked down at his hands before adding quietly,

"I just... miss having you here."

'Where the hell is this coming from?'

You'd just wish a hole would appear in the floor and swallow you whole.

"Uh... yeah, sure," you said after a moment. "Let me just call him."

"Alright."

You rose from the couch, forcing a small smile before making your way down the hallway. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you leaned against the sink and stared at your reflection for a second before dialing his number.

The phone barely rang once.

"Hey, angel."

"Hey, Mike." There was a pause.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," you answered quickly. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just... wanted to let you know I won't be coming in tomorrow, if that's alright."

"Oh." He sounded surprised, but not upset. "Sure. Of course. Is everything okay, baby?" You swallowed.

"Actually... my boyfriend asked me to stay home tomorrow."

Silence.

When Michael finally spoke again, his voice had changed. "What do you mean?"

"He..." You rubbed your forehead. "He apologized. Said he wants us to spend more time together. He wants to try and fix things." Another long pause.

"So..." Michael said carefully, "after months of barely looking at you... now he decides he wants to be your boyfriend again?" You closed your eyes.

"Mike..."

"No, baby, I'm serious." His voice remained calm, but there was hurt beneath it now. "Where was all this a week ago? A month ago? When you were crying because he wouldn't even listen to you?"

"I don't know."

"He doesn't just get to disappear and then suddenly decide everything's fine."

"I know."

"Do you?" he asked quietly. "Because it feels like you're giving him another chance just because he finally realized what he's about to lose."

You let out a weary sigh.

"I don't know any better than you do, Michael."

"But you're still staying."

"Because he's still my boyfriend." The words came out sharper than you'd intended. "He deserves the chance to prove he means it."

The instant the sentence left your mouth, regret crashed over you. Why were you snapping at him? He wasn't the one who had hurt you. If anything, he was the only person trying to protect your heart. You were the one that started this bullshit, after all. You kissed him first. You gave him the green light.

Silence stretched between you. Finally, you spoke again, your voice barely above a whisper,"Look... I'm staying home tomorrow."

"...Okay."

"And..." You squeezed your eyes shut. "If he really does change... if he actually puts in the effort..." Your throat tightened.

"...then I think we need to end this." There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.

"Baby... what are you talking about?" His voice cracked just enough to make your heart splinter. "You don't mean that."

"I have to."

"love you." Tears stung your eyes.

"I know."

"Then don't do this." His voice had become almost pleading now, stripped of every ounce of composure. "We'll figure this out. Please."

Your hand trembled around the receiver.

"I'm sorry, Michael."

Before you could lose your nerve...you hung up. The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at the receiver in your hand, your reflection blurred through gathering tears. You felt sick.

You didn't know how you were supposed to face him again. The thought alone made your stomach twist. Should you quit? The idea surfaced almost immediately, but just as quickly, you pushed it away.

No.

That would only hurt the children, and they had done nothing wrong. You'd grown far too attached to Prince, Paris, and Blanket to simply disappear from their lives overnight. They trusted you. They loved you. And if you were honest with yourself... you loved them just as much.

Besides, ending whatever this was between you and Michael—that was the right thing to do. At least...

You hoped it was. Your boyfriend deserved a second chance. In your mind, you owed him that much. Relationships weren't supposed to be abandoned the moment they became difficult.

...Right? God. Michael probably hated you now.

The thought hollowed out your chest.

Maybe he wouldn't even wait for you to quit. Maybe tomorrow—or the next day—he'd quietly tell you your services were no longer needed. He'd smile politely, thank you for everything you'd done for the children, and that would be it.

The image hurt far more than it should have.

Before your thoughts could spiral any further, the shrill ring of your phone shattered the silence. You looked down.

Michael.

Your heart lurched.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Your thumb hovered over the screen. You couldn't do it. Not right now.

With a shaky breath, you pressed Decline before immediately switching your phone to Do Not Disturb. The silence that followed felt almost worse than the ringing.

A gentle knock sounded on the bathroom door, "Everything alright in there?" Your boyfriend's voice was quiet, hesitant, "What's taking so long?"

You quickly wiped at your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater, forcing yourself to take a slow, steady breath before answering,"Yeah." Your voice cracked.

You cleared your throat, "Yeah... everything's alright." Another breath, "I got tomorrow off."

"Oh." You could almost hear him smiling through the door,"Good."

You stared at your reflection in the mirror after his footsteps faded away. Jesus. You looked awful. Your eyes were red and swollen, your mascara had long since given up, and fresh tears were still quietly slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts to stop them. You barely recognized the woman staring back at you.

Slowly, you turned on the shower, letting the steady rush of water fill the tiny bathroom.

"I think..." you called softly through the door, "...I'm gonna take a shower first. Then I'll probably just go to bed."

"Yeah," he answered gently. "Of course."

Another brief silence settled between you.

"Take your time, I'll wait for you"

The words were kind. But they didn't make you feel anything. No love, no comfort.

Sleep refused to come easily.

After your shower, you changed into one of your old T-shirts and climbed into bed without another word. The apartment was dark, illuminated only by the pale glow filtering through the curtains, and for a long time you simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the day.

Every conversation. Every smile. Every mistake.

True to his word, your boyfriend had waited for you.

A few minutes after you settled beneath the blankets, the mattress shifted beside you. He rolled closer until one arm slipped around your waist, drawing you gently against his chest. His chin rested lightly near your shoulder, his breathing slow and even.

Weeks ago, you would've melted into the embrace without a second thought. Instead, you went rigid. Your body didn't recognize the comfort it had spent months longing for.

You almost pulled away. The urge startled you. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to relax.

Give it time, you told yourself. It's been a rough few weeks. It'll feel normal again. It had to. This was the right choice. It had to be. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you under. But sleep offered no escape.

Instead, it carried you straight back to him.

"There you are," he said with that unmistakably gentle smile.

As though he'd been waiting.

As though you'd simply come home.

Without thinking, you crossed the distance between you.

He welcomed you into his arms effortlessly, holding you close with the same quiet tenderness that always seemed to calm every anxious corner of your mind. One hand rested against your back while the other brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"You've been carrying so much," he murmured. His voice was so soft.

"You don't have to carry it alone anymore." You looked up at him, tears already threatening. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"I know." His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek. "And that's alright."

He smiled—that warm, reassuring smile that always seemed to make the rest of the world disappear.

"I'd take care of you," he whispered. "I'd make sure you never had to question how much you're loved." His forehead rested gently against yours. "I'd give you everything I could... if you'd let me." The words settled deep in your chest, wrapping around your heart with an aching tenderness.

You felt completely safe. Then the dream began to dissolve. His face blurred. His warmth slipped through your fingers. "No..." you whispered desperately, reaching for him. But he was already gone.

You jolted awake before dawn, your heart pounding against your ribs. The room was dark. Your boyfriend's arm was still draped around your waist.

sigh.

This was going to be a long night..

The first thing you did after waking up was reach for your phone. Still half asleep, you switched off Do Not Disturb, expecting a handful of notifications. Your heart almost fell out of your ass.

29 missed calls. All from Michael. You stared at the screen, your mind going completely blank.

Twenty-nine.

Your thumb hovered helplessly over his name. There were no voicemails, just call after call after call, stretching back through the night and into the early hours of the morning.

Oh, God. What had you done? Had he slept at all? Had he been pacing the house? Sitting awake with the phone in his hand, hoping you'd answer the next time he called?

A wave of nausea rolled through you. You wanted to call him back. Tell him that you're so sorry. You almost did.

Your thumb even drifted toward his contact before you stopped yourself. No. You couldn't. Not after what you'd said. With a heavy sigh, you locked your phone and laid it face down on the nightstand, as though hiding it would somehow quiet the guilt clawing at your chest.

The strangest part was what came next. The day... was good. Almost unnervingly so. Your boyfriend kissed your forehead the moment you walked into the kitchen. He made breakfast while humming softly to himself, stealing little smiles every time he caught you watching him. Later, he suggested going out for ice cream, insisting the weather was too nice to waste indoors.

As you walked through the park together, his fingers found yours without hesitation, intertwining with them as naturally as they had months ago. He laughed. He listened. He asked about your classes. He even stopped to take a picture of the two of you when you passed a flower garden.

It was everything you'd spent months wishing for. Everything. So why did it feel so... wrong? Several times, you felt your phone vibrate inside your purse. You refused to look. Not once. You were terrified of what you'd find.

Or worse... Terrified that you wouldn't find anything at all. By the time evening settled over the city, one thought had rooted itself firmly in your mind. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow you were scheduled to be back at the estate. The realization made your pulse quicken. How were you supposed to face him?

You rehearsed a dozen different scenarios while brushing your teeth that night. Maybe you'd arrive early and go straight to the playroom. Maybe he'd already be gone for work. Maybe you'd only see the children.

And if you did run into him... You'd keep it professional. You'd smile politely. Call him Mr. Jackson again. Thank him for the opportunity. Pretend nothing had happened. For the past months.

You caught your own reflection in the bathroom mirror and let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

"Oh, girl," you muttered to yourself. "Who are you kidding?"

Driving to the estate had once become your favorite part of the day. Now... every mile made your stomach churn. You almost turned the car around.

With a shaky breath, you pulled through the gates.

You weren't looking forward to seeing Michael. Not because you didn't want to see him. God, that was the problem. You wanted to see him more than you cared to admit. But you couldn't bear the thought of the way his eyes might look at you now.

The same eyes that had always softened the moment they found yours. The same eyes that had looked at you with quiet affection, unwavering patience, and something that had slowly grown into unmistakable love. What if, instead of warmth, there was disappointment?

You weren't sure your heart could take it.

With one final, steadying breath, you climbed out of the car and made your way to the front door. Before you even had the chance to knock, the front door opened slightly.

"There you are!" Prince stood on the other side, already dressed for the day, his face lighting up the instant he saw you. Without a second thought, he threw his arms around your waist in an enthusiastic hug.

"We've been waiting forever!" he complained dramatically, looking up at you with an exaggerated pout. "Blanket said maybe you weren't coming." Despite the knot still twisting in your stomach, you couldn't help but smile.

"I wouldn't leave you hanging like that," you laughed softly, ruffling his hair. "Good morning, Prince."

"Come on!" He grabbed your hand without hesitation, already tugging you inside. "Paris has like... a million new drawings to show you, and Blanket says today's the day we're finally building the biggest fort ever."

You let him pull you into the house, your smile lingering. Even as your eyes instinctively searched the hallway for one person. As Prince tugged you toward the playroom, he suddenly slowed, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Oh," he said. "Daddy's still in his office." You looked down at him.

"He said he'd come tell you when he's leaving... and when he'll be back." Your stomach tightened. "Okay," you replied quietly. "Thanks for letting me know."

Prince nodded, but instead of running off like usual, he stayed where he was. He looked up at you with those impossibly big, thoughtful eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

He hesitated.

"Do you know what's wrong with Daddy?" Your heart sank. "What do you mean?"

Prince shrugged, fidgeting with the sleeve of his shirt. "He looked really sad yesterday." His little voice grew quieter. "I asked him if he was okay, but he just smiled and said he was tired." You forced yourself to smile, even as guilt settled heavily in your chest.

"I'm sure he's just under a lot of pressure," you said gently. "Being a global superstar comes with a lot of responsibilities." Prince looked unconvinced.

"...Could you make him feel better?" The question caught you completely off guard. For a moment, all you could do was blink at him. Then you managed a small smile.

"I'll see what I can do." His face brightened immediately.

"But first," you added, gently nudging his shoulder, "how about you go get Paris and Blanket? I have a feeling someone's been promising me the biggest game of hide-and-seek ever." Prince grinned.

"I knew you'd remember!" And with that, he took off down the hallway, calling loudly for his brother and sister.

The children scattered through the house with squeals of excitement, disappearing behind doorways and ducking into every imaginable hiding place before you'd even reached ten. "Sixty seconds!" Prince shouted from somewhere upstairs. "No peeking!" Paris called.

"I'm not peeking!" you laughed, covering your eyes with exaggerated determination. "Fifty-seven... fifty-eight... fifty-nine..."

"Ready or not," you called, opening your eyes, "here I come."

The house was unusually quiet. Your footsteps echoed softly against the floor as you wandered through the halls, deliberately checking the obvious places first. Behind the grand piano. Under the dining table. Inside the little reading nook where Paris always forgot her feet stuck out. Nothing.

A small giggle drifted from somewhere deeper in the house. "I heard that", you chuckled. You followed it, turning another corner—

and walked straight into someone. The collision wasn't hard, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. Warm hands instinctively settled on your arms to steady you before you could lose your balance. You didn't have to look up. You knew exactly who it was. The familiar scent of sandalwood wrapped around you before your eyes ever met his. For one suspended heartbeat, neither of you moved.

"Oh—"

"Sorry for bumping into—"

You both spoke at the exact same moment. Silence followed. Slowly, you lifted your gaze. Michael was already looking at you.

For a fleeting second, neither of you moved. His hands, which had instinctively steadied you by your arms, slipped away almost immediately, as though he was suddenly afraid to touch you.

"Michael—"

"[Name]—"

Another painful silence.

You couldn't do this. Not if he looked at you like that. Dropping your eyes to the floor, you took a small step backward. "I'm... sorry for bumping into you, Michael," you said quietly, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. "I hope you have a good day."

You didn't wait for a response. Turning on your heel, you hurried past him before he could say another word.

"[Name], wait—" His voice followed you down the hallway. You kept walking. You heard his footsteps behind you for only a second before they stopped. You never saw him reach out, his hand hovering in the air as though he wanted to catch your wrist, to stop you from leaving. He let it fall back to his side. Nor did you see the way his shoulders slumped. Or how the hope that had flickered across his face the moment he'd seen you quietly disappeared as he watched you walk away.

Somehow, the two of you managed to keep up the exhausting dance for the better part of three weeks.

A game of cat and mouse.

Every morning, you found yourself unconsciously mapping out the safest route through the house. If you heard his footsteps coming down one hallway, you'd suddenly remember something that needed doing in another. If he stepped into the kitchen, you'd volunteer to take the children outside. If he lingered near the playroom, you'd conveniently remember a load of laundry waiting upstairs.

And when avoiding him became impossible... You became painfully polite.

"Good morning, Michael."

"Yes, everything's going well."

"The kids had a wonderful day."

Short answers. Small smiles. Never enough to invite another conversation. Every time he gently tried to stop you—asking how you were doing, if you'd been sleeping alright, whether the children had been behaving—you'd answer just enough to be courteous before finding another excuse to leave.

You could feel his eyes following you every single time. You never looked back.

It couldn't last forever. You both knew that. The silence between you had become almost tangible. The children noticed it too.

Prince asked why Daddy looked sad all the time. Paris wondered why you and Michael didn't laugh together in the kitchen anymore. Blanket simply frowned whenever the two of you happened to pass each other, as though even he could sense that something had changed. You always brushed their questions aside.

And at home...

Things were surprisingly good. Your boyfriend stayed true to his word.

He came home earlier. He cooked dinner more often. He asked about your day and actually listened to the answers. He reached for your hand when you walked together, kissed your forehead before leaving for work, and slowly began becoming the man you'd spent months wishing he'd be. This was exactly what you'd wanted. Exactly what you'd fought so hard to save.

So why did every kiss feel wrong?

Every time his hand settled on your waist, you found yourself stiffening before you could stop it. Whenever he leaned in to kiss you, you kissed him back because you felt you should—not because your heart begged you to. And on the nights when his kisses lingered a little longer, when his hands wandered with the quiet hope that they'd lead to something more... You always found a reason to pull away.

"I'm just tired."

"Long day."

"My head hurts."

Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow never came.

At first, you convinced yourself it was guilt. Then stress. Then exhaustion.

Until one night, lying awake beside him while he slept peacefully next to you, the truth quietly settled over you. Michael had ruined you.

Or maybe... he hadn't ruined you at all. Maybe he'd simply shown you what it felt like to be loved the way you'd always deserved. To be listened to. To be cherished. To have someone remember the little things you said in passing. To be looked at like you were the only person in the room.

You squeezed your eyes shut. God. Here you were, trying so desperately to be a better person. Trying to repair a relationship that had finally started healing. Trying to give your boyfriend the second chance you'd promised yourself he deserved. But somewhere along the way...

You had already fallen out of love.

And the only man who could still make your heart skip a beat with nothing more than a glance was the very man you were pretending didn't exist.

You remembered the way he made sweet love to you until the morning-sun rose.

You remembered the way his hands roamed over your body. The way his big hands squeezed your hips and your love handles, then trailing up to cup both of your tits as he angled his cock just the right way. The way he knew would have you creaming and whimpering on his cock.

"Shh baby, y'gonna wake up the kids," he had murmured against your neck as he pressed himself against your back, embracing you. Your face was half-buried in the silk sheets, your cheek squished against the cool fabric, a tiny line of drool escaping the corner of your mouth as your lips slightly parted due to the unbearable pleasure.

"I— fuck— s'your fault Mike...," You whined back, "y'fuck me soooo gooood..." You bit your lip, trying to hush your whimpers of pleasure as his cock slipped in and out of your wet cunt with ease. He chuckled, "I know babygirl, I'm so mean, aren't I?" A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as all you offered in return was a quiet, "Mm-hm."

"C'mon angel, rub that sweet lil' clit f'me" wet, squelching sounds bounced of the walls as he thrusted in and out of you, your shared mess coating his base and his upper thighs. With a trembling hand, you reached down between your thighs and rub your clit in deliberate circles.

Or the way he fucked you on his office desk.

Thank god the children where somewhere out and about with his mother, Kathrine, because you were sure that your sensual sounds of pleasure could be heard in every corner of the house.

"'m sooo deep in you baby aren't I? Y'feel me?" He had whispered. His hands were clamped tight on your thighs, pinning them back against his shoulders to drive himself even deeper, his cock hitting your cervix with a rhythmic, punishing force that made your vision blur. The rich wood of the desk groaned under the weight of your bodies, a frantic, creaking soundtrack to the wet, slapping sound of his balls hitting your ass.

But even in the heat of it, even as he was fucking you fast and hard, he couldn't help but worship you.

As he pulled back to thrust again, he turned his face to the side and reached up, his large, warm hands grasping your ankles to pull your foot closer to his face. You let out a broken, high pitched moan as he leaned forward to press a fervent, hot kiss to the arch of your foot.

"O-oh fuuuck.." That gesture made your eyes roll so far back, you swore they almost popped out of your skull.

He looked up at you— his eyes dark, blown wide with a desperate kind of adoration— even as he continued to drive into you. He caught one of your toes between his lips, sucking on it with a slow, rhythmic pressure that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your clit.

It was so fucking unhinged the way he could be so primal, so heavy and deep inside you, and yet so incredibly tender with the very tips of your toes. You sobbed, your fingers digging into the edge of the desk, your knuckles white.

The sensation was too much. the fullness of his impossible thick cock stretching you wide, the sloppy skin-on-skin sounds ringing in your ears, and the wet, worshipping heat of his mouth on your feet. You were losing your mind, caught between the sheer power of his thrusts and the delicate, sweet ache of his devotion.

Nobody had ever made you feel so seen.

On Michael's end, things weren't looking much better.

The hurt he'd carried after that phone call slowly began to change. Day after day, watching you slip past him with nothing more than polite smiles and clipped replies, the sadness gradually gave way to something else. Frustration. Then, little by little...

Irritation.

It wasn't that he became cruel. If anything, he remained just as kind as ever. But people around him began noticing the subtle changes. He was quieter during meetings, less patient when schedules changed at the last minute, more likely to sigh under his breath when something went wrong. The easy smile that had once come so naturally seemed harder to find.

He couldn't understand it. Couldn't understand you. Every time you hurried away from him, the same thought echoed relentlessly through his mind.

Why are you doing this? Why are you choosing someone who only started fighting for you after he realized he might lose you?

Michael wasn't a man who measured love by expensive gifts or grand gestures. If anything, he'd always believed the smallest acts meant the most. Listening. Remembering. Being there.

And he'd done all of it without ever expecting anything in return.

Didn't you see that? Didn't you know that if you asked him for the moon, he'd give it to you in a heartbeat? What did your boyfriend have that he didn't?

The questions haunted him.

The thing was... he knew your feelings hadn't disappeared. So why were you pretending none of it had ever existed?

The thought gnawed at him day and night. And every now and then, another thought would creep in—one he hated himself for having.

He'd picture you at home with your boyfriend. Laughing. Curled up beside him on the couch. Sharing the kind of quiet intimacy that should've belonged to the two of you. The image alone made something tighten painfully in his chest.

He'd immediately shove the thought away, almost ashamed by it. This wasn't who he was.

Michael had always laughed whenever people described jealousy as proof of love. He insisted he wasn't the jealous type. Never has been.

Funny.

Because the thought of you being... intimate with someone else, someone that isn't him, makes him all the more enraged.

It all came crashing down a week later.

You were halfway out the front door, coffee in one hand and your bag slung over your shoulder, when a thought stopped you in your tracks.

The earrings.

Your hand immediately drifted to your purse.

They were still in there.

Nestled safely inside the little velvet box Michael had handed you a month ago in the kitchen, smiling that impossibly soft smile as he said, "They made me think of you."

You had never worn them. Not once. After... everything... you hadn't been able to bring yourself to.

You opened the box, revealing the delicate diamond studs glinting back at you in the morning light. They were beautiful. Exactly the pair you'd admired in the display window months earlier. You had only mentioned them once—in passing—and somehow he remembered. Of course he had.

You turned one of them over between your fingers.

Would it be wrong?

The question settled heavily in your chest.

You'd broken his heart. You'd ignored every of his phone calls. You'd spent the past few weeks pretending he barely existed. Did you even deserve to wear something he picked out so thoughtfully?

Your thumb brushed over the velvet. Then another thought crept in.

They're a gift, and gifts were meant to be worn. Weren't they?

It wasn't as though wearing them meant anything...Right? You stared at your reflection in the car mirror for another few seconds before slowly fastening the first earring, then the second. The diamonds caught the morning sun almost immediately. Your fingers lingered against them.

"They're just earrings," you whispered to yourself.

You were standing at the kitchen counter, quietly slicing fruit for the children—and helping yourself to the occasional piece—when you heard familiar footsteps approaching from the hallway. Your grip on the knife faltered.

Please don't be him.

The footsteps stopped just behind you.

"...Morning."

His voice was quiet. Gentle.

You closed your eyes for the briefest moment before turning your head around.

"Morning, Michael." Your reply came out polite and measured. Exactly the way you rehearsed it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face as though trying to figure whether today might finally be different. It wasn't. Then, unintentionally, his gaze drifted upward to your ears. He froze. The smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You're wearing them." Instinctively, your hand lifted to one of the diamond studs. "Oh..." You looked away, suddenly fascinated by the bowl of fruit beside you. "Yeah."

He paused, weighing his next words.

"They look beautiful on you," he said softly.

Your throat tightened.

"Thank you."

It was barely above a whisper.

You busied yourself with the fruit again, hoping he'd take the hint. Instead, he remained where he was for another second. "I..." He stopped himself, swallowing whatever he'd been about to say. "I just... I'm glad you liked them." You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

"They're lovely."

It wasn't much. Just four words. But after a week of clipped answers and carefully maintained distance, they were the longest sentence you'd spoken to him. Michael noticed. A flicker of hope crossed his face so quickly it almost wasn't there.

"...I'm happy to hear that."

Then, with one last lingering look at you, he quietly turned and walked out of the kitchen.

The afternoon carried on much like every other had that week. You stayed busy. Busy enough that you didn't have to think.

The children had somehow convinced you to also bake cookies, which now left the kitchen in a state of cheerful chaos. Flour dusted nearly every surface, Prince and Blanket were arguing over who got to crack the eggs, while Paris sat carefully decorating already-baked cookies with colorful icing.

You laughed despite yourself. "Blanket, honey, if you eat all the chocolate chips before they make it into the dough, there won't be any cookies left."

"I was quality testing," he defended. Prince snorted. "That's not a real job."

"It is too." Their bickering filled the room. The back door opened. You didn't hear it over the children's voices.

Michael stepped inside, fresh from the gardens, quietly taking in the scene before him. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, a few strands of hair to his forehead from the afternoon heat. His eyes found you immediately. They always did.

"There he is!" Prince grinned. "Daddy, [Name] says Blanket's gonna eat all the cookies before they're done." Michael chuckled softly. "I'd believe that." You glanced over your shoulder just long enough to offer him a polite smile.

"Hi."

"...Hi."

It was all either of you managed.

You turned back to the cutting board, pretending to focus on slicing strawberries while your pulse quietly picked up. Then—

"You've got a little flour..." His voice was gentle. Before you even realized what he meant, he stepped closer. His hand lifted. Just enough to brush a tiny streak of flour from your cheek. It was the smallest touch.

And yet, you instinctively recoiled. One quick step backward. His hand stopped in midair. The room seemed to fall silent. Prince and Paris were suddenly very interested in the cookie dough. Blanket looked between the two of you, sensing something he couldn't understand.

Michael slowly lowered his hand. His jaw tightened before letting out a quiet breath through his nose.

"...Will you stop doing that?"

You frowned, "'m not doing anything." His eyes searched yours, disbelief flickering across his face. "No?" You shook your head, forcing yourself to keep your attention on the strawberries in front of you.

"No." A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him.

"You step away from me every single time I get near you."

"I don't."

"You just did."

"It was instinct."

"Exactly." The word came quicker than he'd intended. The children fell quiet. You finally looked up at him, irritation beginning to slowly seep through, "Michael, I said I'm not doing anything."

"And I'm telling you that you are." His voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it now—one born from weeks of swallowing down disappointment. "You won't look at me."

"I am looking at you."

"For five seconds before you find another excuse to leave."

"Because I'm working."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "Because you're running." The words landed harder than either of you expected. You scoffed softly.

"I'm not running." His eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

"You think this is easy for me?"

"I don't know what to think anymore." The kitchen had become eerily quiet. Prince glanced nervously between the two of you. Blanket had stopped licking the spoon altogether. Paris subtly reached for her younger brother's hand. Michael noticed. His expression immediately softened as he looked toward the children.

"...Guys." His voice became gentle again. "Why don't you take the cookie dough upstairs for a little while?" Prince frowned. "But—"

"It's okay." He forced a reassuring smile. "I'll come get you in a few minutes." The three of them hesitated. Paris looked from you to her father, sensing the tension neither of you had meant for them to witness. "...Come on," she whispered, guiding her brothers toward the doorway. The room stayed silent until the soft click of the playroom door echoed down from the end of the hallway.

Only then did Michael let out the breath he'd been holding. When he looked back at you, the hurt he'd been hiding for weeks was written all over his face.

"So tell me." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"What happened to us?" The question lingered in the air, hanging between you like something neither of you could take back.

You stared at the cutting board, gripping the handle of the knife so tightly your knuckles turned white. For several long seconds, you couldn't bring yourself to answer. The only sound in the kitchen was the soft hum of the refrigerator and probably your heart beating out of your chest.

"There is no 'us,' Michael." His expression barely changed, but you saw the way his jaw flexed.

"There was."

"There shouldn't have been." You finally looked up, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, though it took every ounce of strength you had. "My boyfriend and I..." You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. "We're working things out." For a moment, Michael simply stared at you.

Then, to your surprise, he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. It wasn't amused. If anything, it sounded bitter. "'Working things out,'" he repeated, rolling the words around like they left a bad taste in his mouth. You frowned immediately, "Yes."

He shook his head, looking down at the floor before rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, "That's unbelievable."

"What is?" His eyes snapped back to yours.

"He ignores you for months." He ticked a finger into the air. "Makes you feel invisible." Another finger. "Barely gives you the time of day." A third. "Then suddenly he's boyfriend of the year because he realized someone else was treating you the way you deserved."

"Michael."

"No." His voice came sharper than either of you expected. He caught himself almost instantly, inhaling deeply, but the irritation was already there now, simmering beneath every word.

"No," he repeated, quieter this time. "Don't." You folded your arms across your chest.

"You don't know our relationship."

"I know enough."

"No, you don't."

"I watched you cry." Your lips pressed into a thin line, "You saw one night."

"I saw what he did to you."

"And now he's trying to make it right." Michael scoffed, looking away for a second as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "'Trying,'" he muttered under his breath. Your patience finally began to wear thin.

"Yes. Trying." He looked back at you, eyebrows lifting.

"So that's it?"

"What?"

"One apology." He spread his hands in disbelief. "That's all it takes?"

"People deserve second chances." His lips parted, then closed again. He laughed once more, shaking his head as he paced a couple of slow steps across the kitchen before turning back toward you.

"So do I." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You felt your chest tighten. Michael noticed the flicker in your expression, but he was too frustrated now to let it go. "I never asked you to leave him," he said, taking another slow step toward you. "I never asked you to choose me." His eyes searched yours.

"But don't stand there and tell me you're happy."

"I never said I was."

"Then why are you doing this?" At that you took a deep breath before continuing, "Because it's the right thing."

"For who?" He tilted his head in mock-curiosity. "For him." His jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack. "And what about you?"

"I'll be fine." He stared at you. Long enough that the confidence behind your words began to crumble. Then he scoffed quietly, "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You can't even let him touch you." The words hit like a slap. Your eyes widened, "...Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Your face flushed instantly, anger replacing surprise, "You've been watching me?"

"Girl please, I see the way your face scrunches up when he picks you up and leans in for a kiss. I've got eyes, angel"

"That is none of your business. And don't call me that" He ignored your warning, "It became my business the second you kissed me." Your heart hammered.

"You don't get to talk about my relationship."

"And you don't get to pretend what happened between us meant nothing."

"It didn't mean nothing!" The words burst out before you could stop them. The kitchen fell completely silent. The moment they left your mouth, you wished you could snatch them back. Michael caught it. The hesitation. The panic in your eyes. His own breathing had become uneven now, his chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

"So it did mean something." You closed your eyes for a brief second. "That's not what I said." Michael raised his eyebrows now. "But it's what you meant—" "—No." You shook your head vigorously, "It doesn't matter what it meant."

"Doesn't it?"

"No."

"It matters to me." His voice was firm now, stripped of the softness he'd always reserved for you. You patience began wearing thin. "Well, it shouldn't." He stared at you. "It shouldn't?"

"You heard me." He let out another dry, incredulous laugh, dragging a hand over his face before looking back at you.

"So you're just going to go back to him."

"I'm trying to fix my relationship."

"With a man who only started caring because someone else did?" Your eyes flashed. "Will you stop talking about him?"

"No."

"Michael—"

"—No." His voice was louder this time. "You keep defending him."

"Because he's my boyfriend!" You argued back. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest as adrenaline coursed through your body. "What do you want from me, Michael?" you breathed, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to steady yourself.

Before he could bite his tongue, the words slipped out.

"Did you let him fuck you?" Your brain short-circused.

what the fuck?

You stared at him stunned, searching his face for some hint that he'd misspoken—for a twitch of amusement, a flicker of regret, anything that suggested he didn't really mean it. There was nothing. His gaze remained locked on yours, unwavering and deadly serious.

"What the fuck?" you snapped, your eyes widening in disbelief. "That is none of your business, Michael."

Then, to your complete disbelief, the frustration on his face gave way to something else. A slow, almost mocking smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What?" he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Did you spend the past few weeks pulling away every time he touched you?"

Your expression hardened. He took another measured step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "Or..." His voice dropped, quieter now, but somehow even more provoking. "Does he just not know how to touch you at all?" He wasn't even trying to hide the jealousy now, but he couldn't care less. You just continued to stare at him as he continued.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Oh..." he said softly, taking a few steps closer. "I'm right, aren't I, baby?"

Heat rushed to your cheeks. He was right. He couldn't. You refused to let him touch you like that at first, fearing you weren't even be able to finish. And then when you did let things escalate further than a kiss—only once though— it was even worse than you imagined it. Hell, after Michael, not even your own fingers were enough anymore.

Your silence told him everything he needed to know.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor until you felt his fingers gently cup your face, coaxing your gaze upward. His grip wasn't rough, but it was firm enough that you couldn't avoid him anymore.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice low and steady. His eyes searched yours for a long moment before the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest smirk.

"So..." he said quietly, "are y'finally done givin' me an attitude 'nd give up the brat act or what?" You swallowed hard, saying nothing. You refused to give him what he wanted immediately...But you didn't pull back.

He raised an eyebrow at that, "What? So y'just not gonna talk anymore, baby? We'll see how long that's gonna last." And with that he leaned in, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. You let out a surprised sound as he wasted no time slipping his tongue inside your mouth. But you wasted no time in deepening the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"That's right babygirl," he muttered against your lips, as his hands slid down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze, "'f you wanna keep bein' a fuckin' brat 'bout it..." You whimpered into his mouth softly.

"Tell me," he whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to graze his lips against yours, his eyes dancing with a wicked, knowing light. "Tell me he doesn't make you feel like this. Tell me he doesn't make your skin ache just by looking at you."

"Michael..." you gasped, your head falling against his shoulder as his lips migrated to the sensitive curve of your neck. He didn't bite hard; instead, he just let his tongue swirl against the pulse point there, a teasing, rhythmic sensation that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "He's... he's a good man..."

"Good is fine for a rainy day, baby," Michael purred, his breath a warm, teasing caress against your ear. He gripped your waist, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones. "But we both know you weren't made for 'fine.' You were made for this."

He hoisted you up suddenly, you let out a squeak, and as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, he let out a low, triumphant chuckle. He could feel the way you pressed yourself against him, the way your body was practically vibrating with need. He knew he had you. He could feel it in the way you clung to him.

He backed you up until your butt hit the cool marble of the kitchen counter and sat you down, but he didn't stop there. He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, a teasing, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. "You been tryin' so hard to be the good girl, haven't you?" he murmured, his hands sliding over your clothed pussy, teasing you.

"But you're a terrible liar," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, watching the way your pupils blown wide. "Your body 's speaking t'me, sweet girl. I know exactly what you want."

He leaned in closer, his lips a mere breath away from yours. "So, what's it gonna be? Are you gonna keep pretending... or are you gonna admit that you're absolutely starving for me?"

He leaned in closer, his lips a mere breath away from yours. "So, what's it gonna be? are y' gonna keep pretendin'... or are y' gonna admit that you're absolutely starving for me?"

Your heart was thudding so hard you were sure he could feel it against his chest, and the heat of his palm, rubbing rhythmically through the fabric of your pants, was making your head spin. You felt so exposed.

You wanted to snap at him. You wanted to tell him to shut up and stop being so goddamn arrogant. But as you looked up at him, seeing that smug, knowing smirk, the words died in your throat. A deep heat flooded your cheeks under his intense stare.

You bit your lip, trying to force a bit of your sass back to the surface, but your eyes gave you away. Pupils blown wide and dark with a need that was becoming harder and harder to mask.

"You're... you're so full of yourself," you murmured, the words coming out more like a breathless, flustered protest than a real insult. You tried to pull back just a bit, a tiny, weak attempt to reclaim some of your dignity, but his hands on your hips tightened, anchoring you firmly on the cool marble of the counter.

"Am I?" he purred, his eyes dropping to your mouth, watching the way your lips trembled slightly. He was clearly enjoying this the way you were trying so hard to be difficult while your body was practically melting into his. "Then maybe you should prove me wrong. Show me you ain't thinkin' 'bout me. Show me you don't want my hand riiiight there..."

He increased the pressure of his palm, rubbing against the center of your heat through the fabric of your pants in a slow, agonizingly deliberate circle. A small, broken sound escaped you halfway between a gasp and a whimper and you instinctively arched your hips into his hand, your body betraying the very attitude you were trying so hard to protect.

You squeezed your eyes shut, a tiny, embarrassed huff escaping your nose. "Shut up, Michael," you whispered, your voice unsteady. As you tried to hold onto that last shred of your composure, you failed miserably.

He let out a low, triumphant hum, a sound of pure satisfaction. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a velvety, intimate murmur. "There she is. There's my girl."

"Don't... don't call me that," you managed to whisper, though the command lacked any real bite. You tried to pull your hips back again, to create even an inch of space between his hand and your aching center, but he was too fast. He followed your movement, his hand pressing even firmer against the fabric of your pants, pinning you to the counter.

"Why not?" he asked, his eyes glowing with that infuriating, beautiful confidence. "You're actin' exactly like my girl. All flustered and breathless, tryin' t' fight somethin' you know you have no chance winnin'."

He began to move his hand again, but this time he wasn't just circling. He was using the heel of his palm to apply a heavy, rhythmic pressure, grinding slowly against you through the material. The friction was maddening. It wasn't the direct, wet sensation of fingers, but the broad, blunt heat of his hand was driving you toward a cliff you weren't ready to fall off of yet.

"Michael, please..." The plea slipped out before you could catch it, your voice cracking. You hated how much you sounded like you were begging, how much you were losing that 'bite' you were trying so hard to maintain. You wanted to be difficult, you wanted to make him work for it, but your body was a traitor.

"Please what, baby?" he teased, his voice a low, melodic hum. He leaned back just enough to look you in the eye, his smirk widening when he saw the sheer desperation written across your face. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?"

He slowed the movement down, making it agonizingly light, barely grazing you with the fabric of your pants, only to suddenly increase the pressure again, making you gasp and arch your back. He was playing you like a goddamn instrument, finding every rhythm that made your breath hitch and your toes curl.

"You bein' so difficult," he murmured, though he sounded like he was enjoying every second of it. He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his breath hot and demanding. "So much attitude for someone who's practically vibratin' under my hand. 'f you want me to actually touch you... 'f you want me to stop teasin'.. you gonna have to ask properly."

He stopped the movement entirely, leaving his hand heavy and hot against your crotch, but motionless. The sudden lack of friction was almost worse than the teasing itself.

"Ask me," he whispered, his eyes dark and commanding, his cocky grin telling you he knew exactly how much power he held. "Ask me like you mean it."

You looked up at him, and the last of your pride simply flickered and died. You were tired of fighting. You were tired of the heat, the friction, and the delicious, infuriating way he was making you wait.

"Mike..." your voice broke, a small, helpless sound. You didn't try to pull away this time. Instead, you leaned forward, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as you let out a long, shuddering breath. Your fingers, which had been tentatively resting on his chest, curled into his shirt, clinging to him.

"Fine," you whispered, the word muffled against his skin, thick with the embarrassment of your own surrender. "You win. You fucking win..."

He didn't move immediately. He let you linger there, let you feel the weight of your own surrender, before he slowly pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up with his thumb. You were met with a wide, teasing grin, knowing he won, but there was a softness there too. The look of a man who was about to give his woman exactly what she needed.

"Win what, sweet angel?" he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble. He was still playing the part, still enjoying the way you were looking up at him with wide, watery eyes and a flushed, beautiful face. "Tell me. Use your words."

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The embarrassment was still there, making your chest ache, but the need was louder. It was like a roar in your ears, a throb in your core that demanded immediate satisfaction.

"Please," you gasped, the word tumbling out of you, raw and unvarnished. You reached down, grabbing his wrist and pressing his hand harder against you, forcing the contact, forcing the reality of him into your skin. "Please, Michael... stop teasing me. Stop playing. Just... please, just fuck me. Right here. Right now."

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, a deep, satisfied groan. "God, you got no idea how long I been' waitin' to hear you say that," he whispered, "To hear you finally stop fightin' me and just take it."

The kiss wasn't gentle. It waa a desperate, starving exchange of clashing teeth and tongue that tasted of pure, unadulterated need. His tongue sweeping deep into your mouth as his hands worked with a sudden, frantic purpose. The cocky, teasing man was gone, replaced by someone far more primal, driven by the sound of your voice finally breaking and begging for him.

His hands slid down from your waist, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. He didn't bother being delicate; he needed you, and he knew you needed him just as badly. With a sharp, decisive tug, he began to push the fabric down your hips, almost ripping the it in the process, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs and sending jolts of electricity through your whole body.

"Y'so beautiful when you stop pretendin' baby," he growled against your lips, his voice rough and gravelly. He pulled your pants down just far enough to clear your hips, his eyes never leaving yours as he worked. The cool air of the kitchen hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the searing heat radiating from his body, making you shiver and press even closer to him.

His hands moved to the hem of your underwear, tugging them down with an urgency that made your breath hitch. Your pussy now exposed to the cool air, exposed his intense, dark gaze, and a fresh wave of shyness washed over you.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of your hip bone before sliding inward to find the slick, aching heat of you. He didn't tease this time. He pressed a heavy, firm finger against your clit, circling it with a directness that made your hips lurch upward instinctively.

"Mikey... please..." you whimpered, your head falling back, your eyes fluttering shut as the sensation flooded your senses. The friction of his thumb, the coolness of the marble against your ass, and the overwhelming presence of him standing between your thighs was too much.

"Look at me, babygirl," he commanded, his voice a low, dark velvet. You forced your eyes open, meeting his hooded, predatory stare. "Look at me while you take it."

He didn't make you wait a second longer. He reached for his own fly, his movements efficient and hungry. He swiftly pulled his cock out of his boxers, giving it a few, slow strokes before putting it against your wet entrance. However, he didn't push in just yet. He slowly slid himself up and down against your dripping hole, watching you intensely as your head lulled to the side and your mouth fell slightly open.

When he finally guided himself to your entrance, the sheer size of him made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. You'll never get used to how huge, thick and delicious his cock was.

He paused for just a heartbeat, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "Fuck... missed this sweet lil' pussy s'much...Tell me you want it. Tell me you want all of me. Please, baby"

"I want you," you choked out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. "I want you so fucking much, Mike. Please... now."

With a low, guttural groan, he drove into you in one deep, powerful thrust. The sensation was overwhelming a fullness that seemed to stretch you to your limits, a sudden, intense connection that made you cry out, your voice echoing in the quiet kitchen. You immediately covered your mouth, mindful of not being too loud. He filled you completely, bottoming out against you. Your eyes fluttered shut. "O-oh fuck.."

"Don't close your eyes," he muttered under his breath, "Keep 'em open. Look at how much of a mess you are f'me."

You tried, but the world was spinning. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive cord of your neck, and his hand moved from your hip. He reached up, hooking his fingers under the hem of your shirt and pulling it up and over your head in one impatient motion, tossing the fabric aside without a second thought.

Your bra was still on, but he wasn't interested in being polite anymore. He hooked his fingers under the lace, dragging the fabric down, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze. You felt a fresh wave of bashfulness, wanting to cross your arms over your chest to hide yourself, but he caught your wrists, pinning them to the marble on either side of your head.

"Don't you dare hide," he grumbled. He leaned back just enough to watch you, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight. He watched, mesmerized, as your full, heavy breasts swayed in a rhythmic, hypnotizing motion, bouncing in perfect, messy sync with every deep, driving thrust of his hips. The sight of your soft flesh reacting to his power seemed to drive him even crazier.

"Y'so damn gorgeous, baby," he muttered, his voice thick with a primal sort of reverence. His gaze dropped, watching his cock sloppily slipping deliberately in and out of your pussy, a creamy ring already forming at the base.

He let go of your wrists, but before you could even catch your breath, his hands descended. He reached lower, his large palms sliding under the curve of your ass. He grabbed the full, soft flesh of your cheeks, his fingers digging deep into you as he hauled your hips upward, tilting you perfectly to meet him.

The sensation of his hands broad, heavy, and possessive squeezing and molding your ass as he ruts against you was overwhelming. He was using your own body to anchor the friction, his palms sliding over your skin as he drove himself into you with a renewed intensity. Every time he into your cunt, your body jolted and the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the quiet kitchen.

"Look at you," he whispered, his breath ragged, his eyes fixed on the way your body moved under his command. "Look at how you shake for me. How perfectly you take this dick. You're made f'me, ain't you, girl? we're made f'eachother baby..." You felt so incredibly seen, so thoroughly claimed by the way he was handling your body, treating your curves like they were made specifically for his hands to grip and his hips to pound.

"Yes," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the marble. "Yes, Mikey... please... don't stop... don't ever stop..."

"Don't you worry baby, I ain't plannin' on it. Y'gonna get it every single night, yeah? You gonna let me give it to y'good every night?" You just managed to nod your head and gasped out an airy 'yes..'

With one hand he let go of your ass and pressed his hand roughly against your clit, rubbing it feverishly. Your hips jerked at the stimulation. Your toes curled, your back arched so hard it felt like you might snap, and your vision began to blur.

He felt you breaking. He could feel the frantic, rhythmic pulsing of your walls clenching around his throbbing cock, the way your entire body began to quiver with the onset of a massive, inevitable climax. He didn't slow down. Instead, he drove harder, his movements becoming primal, his breath coming in ragged, guttural grunts as he pushed himself toward his own edge.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his eyes burning with a fierce, almost possessive light. He watched your face as you came all over his dick, watching the way your eyes rolled back and your mouth fell open in a silent, beautiful gasp of ecstasy.

"That's it, baby, yeahhh.." he praised, "Take it. Take all of it, beautiful..."

Watching your face scrunch up set him over the edge as well. With one final stroke, he leaned down and buried his face between your tits as he let out a soft moan. He buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, his body tensing as he poured himself into you.

Your breath coming in short, sobbing gasps, your body still twitching from the aftershocks of the orgasm. Your skin was slick with sweat, your hair a mess, and you felt completely, utterly spent. He didn't pull away immediately; he stayed heavy on top of you, his heart hammering against your chest, his breath hot against your neck.

Slowly, he shifted, propping himself up on his elbows so he could look down at your flushed, beautiful, wrecked face. He reached out, a large, warm hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your swollen lower lip.

For a long moment, he simply looked at you. You watched his jaw tighten as though he were carefully choosing his next words, weighing every one of them. Then, almost too quietly to hear, he spoke.

"...Leave him." The words hung in the air between you. His eyes never left yours.

"He doesn't know how to love you the way you deserve." His voice remained soft, but there was an urgency beneath it now. "He doesn't know how to take care of you... how to see you. But..." He trailed off, "I do."

The conviction in his voice made your breath catch.

"Please..." he whispered, the frustration from moments before giving way to something raw and honest. "Just give me a chance." You slowly sat up as well, your eyes lifting to meet his. There was no smugness left. No jealousy. Only sincerity. Only hope.

"He doesn't make you happy, angel." Silence settled over the kitchen once more. You searched his face, looking for some sign that he was manipulating you, that this was simply another attempt to win the argument. Instead... You found a man before you with his heart completely exposed. Your shoulders sagged.

"...I'm sorry, Michael." The hope in his eyes flickered. His lips parted, as if he already knew what was coming. You shook your head.

"No... let me finish." Your voice had softened into little more than a whisper. "I'm sorry for the way I've treated you these past few weeks." Your eyes drifted to the side, unable to look him in his eyes.

"You didn't deserve any of it." A shaky breath escaped you. "I was confused... and I never gave you the explanation you deserved."

When you finally looked back up, your eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You were only trying to talk to me... and I kept shutting every door in your face." Michael's expression softened. The heat that had fueled the intense sex seemed to melt away all at once.

"I never hated you for it," he said quietly, "Not for a second." His voice cracked just enough for you to notice. "I was just scared I'd already lost you."

"I-I don't know why I convinced myself to stay with him," you admitted, your voice trembling. You shook your head, letting out a small, defeated laugh that held no humor. "I kept telling myself it was the right thing to do... that if I just gave him another chance, maybe everything would go back to the way it used to be."

Your eyes drifted away again. "But..." You swallowed hard. "I don't think I feel anything for him anymore." The confession hung heavily between you.

"I've been trying so hard to force it." Your voice cracked. "To make myself fall back in love with him." A tear slipped down your cheek.

"But every time I'm with him..." you whispered, "...it just feels empty."

He reached up, gently brushing away the tears that continued to spill down your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. His touch was impossibly careful, as though you might shatter beneath his hands.

"That's okay, baby," he murmured, offering you a small, reassuring smile. "You don't have to keep blaming yourself." His other hand settled softly against your cheek, encouraging you to keep looking at him.

"I love you." The words were spoken without hesitation, quiet but unwavering. "And so do Prince, Paris, and Blanket." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You're family to them. They adore you."

He rested his forehead lightly against yours for a moment. A watery giggle escaped you as you wiped at the last of your tears. "We should probably get back to the kids," you said with a sheepish smile. "They're probably wondering what's taking us so long."

Michael let out a quiet chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing. Then, you hesitated for a moment.

"...Michael?"

He blinked once, "Yes, angel?"

Your fingers fidgeted together as your eyes searched his for a moment. Suddenly, every word you'd wanted to say felt impossibly difficult.

"...I love you too."

For a heartbeat, he simply stared at you. His expression softened so completely it nearly took your breath away. The smile that spread across his face was small at first, then brighter than you'd seen in weeks, lighting up every inch of it.

"You have no idea how long I've been hoping to hear you say that," he whispered.

Without another word, he leaned back in, closing the distance between you, gently cupping your face once more before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then to your temple. Then to your cheek, to the tip of your nose, and lastly, pressing a sickeningly sweet kiss against your lips. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle.

"I love you," he murmured again, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you'll ever know." You couldn't help but smile.

This time, there was nothing holding either of you back.

©𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗹𝘆𝘄𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱 𓂃✍︎

୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Your eyes flicked down to where he was gripping your thigh, the veins popping in his hand and you had to bite down on your lip to remind yourself to behave.

Glancing up as the car weaved around the winding roads that led up the mountain side, you watched Michael carefully as he drove the car with his other hand. His jaw set and eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

It wasn’t often he drove, Bill usually being the one to take him wherever he wanted to go. So when you walked out of your house to see him behind the wheel, your brows furrowed.

“You okay?” You’d asked, cautious. Something was clearly bothering him.

“M’ fine.” He muttered, smile small and not quite reaching his eyes. “Just wanted a little privacy.”

And now here you were, the car rolling to a stop in the dirt in an empty spot that overlooked Los Angeles. The sun beginning to set and dusting the sky in oranges and pinks.

He shut the car off, the radio still faintly playing music and he sighed as he leaned back in his seat.

You turned, observing for a moment. The way stress seemed to coil tightly in his body. You knew Joseph had been giving him a hard time lately. If you could even say that, given it was more like always.

“What’s on your mind?” Your voice was quiet, your hand coming down as you gently played with his fingers that still rested on your legs.

He sighed, the breath coming out long and slow. “I just need a break.”

You hummed, thumb tracing over his knuckles. “Moving out still not an option?”

He shook his head, gaze focused on the city in front of him.

You dropped it there, knowing there was no point in pushing. His family always being a complicated topic to navigate.

“I’m sorry.”

Michael rolled his head to the side, his lips tugging up a bit. “You don’t have to be.”

“I know, but… still. I know it’s not easy.”

He tugged on your hand, bringing you closer, his other hand coming up to hold the side of your throat. “It’s not, but you help make it bearable.” Then he was kissing you, the pressure of his mouth against yours even. His tongue running along your lips before slipping past them, tracing the inside of your cheek and you hummed in content. Fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt to get him closer.

How you two ended up on the hood of his car was a bit of a blur. Something you didn’t really care to dwell on, given you were preoccupied as you moaned. Hands in his hair as he left open and wet kisses along your throat, his hands dancing up under shirt to palm your breasts. Groaning into your skin because you weren’t wearing a bra.

When his hips rolled into you and you whimpered, he paused. Leaning back a bit to look at you, his pupils blown and lids heavy. His teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he debated something.

You were flushed with arousal, your legs on either side of him as his hips settled against yours and not a care in the world that you two were technically in public.

“What?” You asked, voice a rasp.

“Can we do it here?”

Your mouth went a little dry at the thought, a warm feeling swirling low in your stomach.

“Mhm.” You smiled at the delighted look that came over his face, simply happy to see the stress of his life melting away and content that you could help somehow.

Your breath hitched when his hands slid up your thighs and under your skirt, pushing the fabric up around your hips and groaning at the damp spot that was showing through your panties.

“So needy,” he said, teeth sinking into his lip as his thumb ran over the wetness of the cotton and your back arched when it slid over your clit.

“Michael, please.” You didn’t mean to, but it came out as a whine. The sound music to his ears as he knelt down, spreading your pussy open under the fabric and mouth latching onto you.

A cry left you, hands burying in his hair as your hips bucked up to meet his lips as he ate you out through your underwear. Feeling incredibly damp, the fabric sticking to you like a second skin with a mixture of your arousal and his saliva. His tongue adding the perfect amount of pressure as it rolled against your clit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Michael—“

“That’s it,” he hummed against you, the vibrations shooting straight into your cunt.

You’d hardly registered him moving your underwear to the side as you felt two of his long and thick fingers sink into you slowly, the sudden pressure and fullness a shock to the nerves and you shouted. Slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound as he started to finger fuck you with a relentless pace, his mouth leaving your clit for a moment as he tugged your hand away. “I wanna hear you, mama.”

Your fingers fell back into his hair, desperate to hold onto something as he curled his fingers and you went tumbling off the edge. Your orgasm rocking into you and the pleasure only doubling as you looked down, his eyes meeting yours and he was grinning as his tongue lapped you up.

“Fuck, Mikey.”

Your chest was heaving as he stood up, watching in what must’ve been unchecked lust as he undid his belt and pants. His hand disappearing beneath the hem of his boxers before he pulled his cock out. The skin like velvet and the head swollen and glistening as it leaked pre-cum.

You bit your lip hard, whimpering at the sight as he pumped himself a few times, stepping closer to the hood of the car and taking hold of your hips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Make me feel better?”

You nodded, your enthusiasm comical and he laughed. The sound short and sharp as he took hold of himself and dragged the tip up and down your pussy, gathering wetness and loving the way your body twitched as the head rubbed against your clit.

When he sank into you, you both groaned. Michael watching with heavy eyes as his cock sank into your swollen pussy, your wetness making the inside of your thighs shine in the setting sun.

You threw your head back at being filled, the head of his cock gently bumping into your cervix as he gave you a moment to adjust.

Michael’s fingers ran gently up and down your sides, admiring you in the low lighting and breath hitching when he saw the slight bump of himself in your lower abdomen. “You look so fucking pretty.”

He then pressed his palm flat down where he could see his cock and you nearly convulsed against him, your jaw dropping open from the feeling.

“Jesus—“

He slowly pulled out, his sanity taking a back seat at the feeling of your warm and tight pussy gripping him in protest, before slamming back in.

He groaned, the sound being yanked right from his diaphragm as you cried out his name. His fingers dug into your hips, his nails leaving bloody crescents and he didn’t have it in him to feel bad. Too pussy drunk as he set a relentless, nearly violent pace as his hips rolled into yours. Seeing the way your cunt greedily ate him up each time, his cock covered in your release and his head rolled back, eyes shutting as the lewd sound of skin slapping skin echoed around them in the empty evening air.

Your back arched off the metal, your own fingers digging into his forearms. Pathetic sounds leaving your mouth as he fucked you. All of his anger and frustration pouring out into the action of love making.

It nearly hurt. His hips snapping into yours, muscle and bone colliding and your cervix being abused— but it was also lovely. Knowing he felt safe enough with you to let go like this. To see him completely unravel when he tried to keep such a pristine reputation for the rest of the world.

You clenched at the thought, dancing on the edge of an orgasm and at the feeling his eyes slid back to you.

Michael’s smile was lazy, despite the way he was fucking you. “You enjoying this? Taking my cock so well out here,” he then leaned down, lips dusting against your throat and the new angle was maddening. His pelvis dragging against your clit with each thrust. “You like getting fucked in public, mama? Should I do it more often?”

You whimpered, nails digging into his back through his shirt.

His hips snapped into yours harsher. “Answer me, baby.”

“Yes! I love it,” You cried, hot tears starting to slip out of your eyes as your orgasm started to crash over you. Your whole body trembling and he groaned as he bit down into your neck as you pulsed around his cock.

Michael’s thrusts became erratic, rutting into you so hard the car rocked against the gravel and not a moment later he cried out your name, burying his cock in as deep as he could go as he filled you up with his cum, desperate to keep every drop inside of you where it belonged.

୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

michael jackson masterlist

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it’s a crave that won’t leave. even though you embarrassed yourself that other day, you don’t believe that it’s impossible. michael’s fingers are long and slightly thick and he’s been able to get at least three inside of you once so his length should fit inside of you.

maybe you just weren’t prepped properly.

to be honest you just happened to think you were wet enough to take his girth but maybe just maybe you just weren’t worked open enough for him to fit.

you bite your lip, squeezing your thighs together in desperation.

you want him so damn bad. you need to feel the unbelievable pleasure of him inside of you.

you need it. you need it. you need it.

you can’t stop squirming in anticipation, not realising that every time you clench your thighs together, you accidentally push your ass back against michael’s groin.

michael stirs slightly, tightening his hold on your waist. “hm, stop moving.” he mumbles out, still half asleep.

“i can’t.” you whine, still fidgeting. you can already feel your cotton pyjama shorts start to get a bit uncomfortable, rubbing against your aching clit.

“baby.” it’s an almost growl, his wide palm moving from your waist to your hips, attempting to hold you still.

“mhmm i need you.” you whine. you want his dick inside you so bad that tears start to swell.

“it’s late, baby go to sleep.” michael grunts, settling his head in the dip of your shoulder.

“please.” you beg, turning your head and kissing the side of his mouth. you were hoping to latch onto his lips but because it’s so dark in the bedroom, you can’t see a single thing. “i won’t be able to sleep otherwise, i can take you this time… i promise.”

a deep rumble crawls out of michael’s throat at your filthy words. “mama… you gotta stop speakin’ like that.”

“i can take it.” you whisper. “i will take it, all of it.” you move your hand behind your back, slithering your hand down between your squished bodies and finding the waistband of michael’s shorts.

“baby hold— nghhh” his words trail off into a guttural groan when you slip your hand into his shorts and wrap your fingers around the base of his thick member.

you bite your lip giving it a small squeeze. michael digs his head in the crook of your neck, letting out tiny whimpers when you tighten your grip around him and move your hand down until your thumb reaches the tip.

“what— fuck… what if it still doesn’t fit.” michael babbles in your ear, as you continue to pump his length.

you giggle, knowing that you’ve already cracked his shy act. “then we just gotta make sure that you stretch me out good with those thick and long fingers of yours.”

and that’s how you ended up on your back with michael’s head between your thighs.

the only thing you can hear in the dark room is the loud slurps of michael eating you out like a man starved and your attempt at trying to muffle your moans.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, as another orgasm slams into you making you let out a drawled out moan. michael raises his head, his mouth slick with your juices.

“you always taste so good mama.” he coos, crawling up your body and locking his lips with yours in a messy kiss.

you hum into the kiss, licking and sucking on his plump lips. you continue kissing him until you feel his hand trail down until his thumb starts drawing short, quick circles on your swollen nub.

“ahh—” you gasp at the sudden sensation. your pussy is so sensitive after having orgasm after orgasm on just michael’s mouth.

“shh…” michael whispers, his pointer finger trailing down to your soaked hole. you clutch his shoulder when you feel the fullness of his finger sinking into you.

“you’re so goddamn tight.” michael hisses, pushing a second finger inside of you. “you wanna be so greedy and try and take my dick but you can’t even take my fingers.” he tuts.

“i can take it.” you whine, your mouth falling open in a silent moan when he starts scissoring his fingers inside of you. his fingers are so long and slightly thick that it makes you feel unbelievably full. the utter pleasure is so blissful that you can’t wait to take his whole length inside of you, because you will!

michael starts to pump his fingers faster, the wet squelch of your greedy cunt trying to suck his fingers back in with every move.

“is my baby able to take a third?” michael asks, not waiting for your answer and pushing a third finger inside of you.

“oh fuck!” you shout out, when he lowers his body so his mouth is face to face with your pussy. he continues the fast pace of his fingers plunging inside of you, but now he has his mouth closed around your clit. licking and swirling his tongue around your nub.

you grab his curls on top of his head, grinding your pelvis against his tongue. “i need it now. please i’m ready!” you plead, feeling the knot start to tighten deep in your stomach. you can feel another orgasm approaching.

michael growls, his dick so hard that it’s borderline painful.

michael sits up, taking off his shorts and boxers with quickness. you salivate at the sight of his large member, the tip glistening with pre cum. “please, please fuck me. fuck me, fuck me,” you whine, when he grabs onto your ankles and pushes them down so your knees are touching your breasts.

you let out an accidental squeal at the sudden movement. you’re even shocked at yourself at the awkward flexibility. you never even knew your legs could go that far up.

michael uses one hand to hold your ankles together and the other hand to use the tip of his dick to rub up against your cunt and gather some of your juices.

you feel his thick, mauve tip nudge at your hole, your cunt clenching around nothing. his hips push against yours, ever so softly like he’s afraid to hurt you.

“put it in!” you whine, tears of frustration starting to fall down your cheeks. you want him inside you so damn bad.

his eyes snap up to yours, narrowing. “you want it?”

you nod desperately.

“you gon’ take it?”

you huff, feeling the pressure of his wide, mushroom head tip just there. so close to breaching you walls and here he is asking you silly questions.

“yes, oh my fucking god just— nghhh fuckkkk!” you scream, when michael snaps his hips against yours, plunging his whole length inside of you with just one singular thrust.

the stretch is overwhelming. it’s something that you’ve never felt before. not when he has fucked you with his fingers, not when you were able to take just the tip a couple nights ago, no this is something different.

it feels… it feels like he’s in your throat.

“oh jesus.” michael groans, nearly crushing you with his body weight at just the feeling of your warm, gummy walls suffocating his length.

he swore that he’s never felt something so good in his life.

you only get a few seconds to breathe until michael starts moving. you’re helpless, your voice hoarse from your moans. feeling the thick ridge of his length plunging into you and stealing your breath with every single thrust.

“so,” thrust “fuckin’,” thrust “tight.”

you’re a babbling mess, drool dripping down your chin, at the quickness of michael’s movements. his pace is so fast that you have no chance to catch your breath until he’s plunging back inside you again.

michael is fucking you, the way you need to be fucked.

you’ve been begging for this, and he’s giving it to you.

another orgasm slams into you without warning, making you clench even harder around him.

“oh shit—fuck… i’m gonna… i can’t—” michael slams into you one final time, sheathing his length so far into you that when you look down, you can see the faint bulge of his length deep in your stomach. michael lets out a guttural groan, spilling his seed so far that you won’t be surprised if it meets your cervix.

he stays inside of you, letting go of your aching legs. your legs fall down limply, you arms coming around his neck so you can hold him close to you. “thank you,” you pant. thankful that after all the begging and whining he’s finally given in and gave you exactly what you wanted.

a loud knock sounds on his door, followed by a shout. “michael jackson, are you doing what i think you’re doing?” jackie yells through the door.

“he definitely is!” marlon laughs.

“i didn’t know you had that in you mike, you’re so lucky mother ain’t home tonight.” jermaine yells.

michael groans, burying his face in your neck. he’s going shy after fucking the literal life out of you.

“go away!” michael shouts, his voice muffled by your neck but somehow his brothers still heard him.

“then don’t wake us up in the night with your shenanigans then!” jackie yells, you both hear the retreating footsteps of his brothers going back to their rooms.

you giggle, cupping his cheeks and giving him a kiss on his lips. “you’re so adorable.”

“i can’t believe you woke me up to do that.” michael looks at you wide eyed, even though you can feel his length still hard inside of you.

you wrap your legs around his waist, clenching your cunt around him and making him groan.

“oh shush.” you kiss him again, this time more forcefully. “why don’t we be more quiet this time hm?”

taglist:

In the very same time frame Osar was supposed to be receiving praise and getting race wins, came Kimi Antonelli. The monster rookie. The new Verstappen who replaced the Sir Lewis Hamilton's seat. 

It wasn't like Oscar hadn't heard of him. He had always heard of him down the line. The kid in the Mercedes' junior line up. A racing prodigy. A sweet guy with all the Italian charm. When he heard Kimi was racing in F2, skipping the previous level, he had even thought of extending his hand. Sure, you couldn't be friends with everyone on track. But it didn't hurt to try.  

But Oscar was sorely mistaken.  

The ego-boosting headlines and the compliments had gotten to Kimi. He walked, no—he strode with pride. Innocent brown eyes filled with a disgusting shade of smugness that no driver could fathom. His lips in a constant curved smirk. Complaints and complaints on the tip of his tongue when nothing went his way. The coy downplay of his achievements at such as young eage. How easily he manipulated Toto and Susie to get what he wanted.  

It was different kind of art. A sick, satrical version of it. How easy the Italian charm had faded away.  

And always by his side was you. Kimi's pride and joy. His girlfriend of three years, always wrapped around his arm.  

You... You were the worst part of it all. 

Oscar had seen you like everyone else had. You were simply gorgeous. Oscar could never forget how slowly his head had turned when you had first entered the paddock. The double take he had taken along with everyone else, watching your every move.  

Everything about you seemed perfect.  

Your sparkly wide eyes. Pretty painted lips. Soft, boisterous laugh. Perfectly styled hair. Perfume that made all in your trail dizzy. You talked with your heart rather than your mind. You were a good person. Pure. Whole. Anyone could see that from a mile away.  

It was then when Oscar had locked eyes with Kimi, spotting that smirk on his stupid face and that evil glint in those brown eyes. A look of acknowlegement. Yes. It was you next to him. Not next to Oscar. Not next to anyone else.  

Oscar would never forget that very moment where Kimi's head had leaned down just a little, lips gliding over your ear to whisper something that made you laugh while his hand creeped down your waist, to your lower back and right over your ass. Fingers slightly while as he groped you shamelessly. And not a second later, his lips were on yours, kissing you deeply and messily, tongue out without any hurry. Like there weren't any cameras on him.  

He remembered your flushed cheeks while you kissed Kimi back. Eyes a little wide with disbelief but still you had kissed him anyways, smile apparent on your face. Small hands reaching for his sleeves to brace yourself.  

Then there was that mix of disgust and anger that rushed through Oscar's body. He genuinely couldn't believe it. How could anyone dating you treat you like that in public? Like you were a plaything. A trophy.  

And that's how it had gone on for months. That superiority Kimi welded with you by his side. Making you sit on his lap at dinners, hands travelling carelessly under the short skirts and dresses he had gotten you. Interrupting interviews just to go and kiss you on the camera. Letting those videos of you and him in the nightclub get posted where you danced together. 

And while it seemed like things were all sunshines and rainbows for the both of you, Oscar could see the truth for what it was. Kimi had no respect for you. In fact, he was horrible to you.  

Because behind Kimi's handsy fingers and clingy mouth were the arguments in the quiet parts of the paddock. The ones where he would make your pretty eyes cry and then pretended to kiss them better. Where he constantly made you question yourself and belittled you in front of others. Then he'd let your eyes light up with the fake promises of a future together. He didn't really let you talk to anyone either unless it made him look good.  

And you had no idea. Simply believing him with your heart. The epitome of 'love makes you blind.' 

You were like an innocent lamb in the dirty hands of Kimi's.  

It had gotten worse this season.   

The consistent wins and praise had made Kimi delirious. If he was careless before, he had not a single inch of it in him any longer. With the whispers of a Championship-winning car and a talent one people wouldn't see for years, he was driven by the foundation of immature confidence.  

Perhaps that's why Oscar had heard what he had heard in China. Seen what he had seen.  

It was Lando, Oscar, and George conversing between the Mercedes and McLaren garages. Talking about the cars and whatnot while the paddock had finally become quiet after the race. Some teams were still in their debriefs, some packing up. The sun threatening to settle, orange mixed lightly into the air.  

The conversation was coming to a swift end, Lando and George citing how they needed to grab their things from their hotel before they all met for the private flight back to Monaco. The two of them had barely walked away before Oscar had heard it.  

A deep mewl in the air.  

Oscar blinked, brows furrowed as he turned towards the Mercedes' garage. He couldn't see anyone nearby. The place empty with a majority of the team still in another debrief. He would've taken a step back and joined Lando but then he had heard it again. 

"Oh fuck!" 

Call it curiosity. But Oscar's legs seemed to move on their own, defying the rules of non-personnel entering the garage while he quietly walked onto enemy territory. It didn't take him long to navigate, the ins and outs similar to any other garage. The sounds became louder and louder with every step he took. Yet he couldn't quite discern them. 

But when he did, it made his feet stop and his blood freeze.  

He stood outside of Kimi's driver's room. It not just any sound coming into the air. It's yours. Hands imprinting onto the blurred iced-glass door, your shadowed figure could barely be made out. Your moans travelled through the glass with bare deviation from the lewd, deep slaps of skin echoing around what felt like his skull.  

"Louder, belle. Let them hear who makes you feel this good," Kimi grunted shamelessly. "God, you're so pathetic. This turned on when anyone can hear you. You make a good whore, don't you?" 

His chuckle was deep and mocking. And yet, your trembling moans merged into the air.  

Oscar could hear it. Your sharp pants. Desperate and needy. "More," you begged. "Deeper." 

Oscar blinked, breathing in deeply while he took a shaky step back. Fuck, this was so wrong. He could barely think with your sweet sounds tainted by Kimi's disgusting insults. It felt like he was watching a crime being committed.  

The struggle grounded him for a few moments. Not willing to move. But the idea of you reaching any sort of end with Kimi made a thin layer of bile crawl up Oscar's throat. So he moved before he could hear it, feet quick and light. 

He was sweating by the time he reached the McLaren suite, mind haywired, breath erratic while he tried to block out those sounds. That was a mistake, right? Something he had come across on pure accident. Yes. That was it. Kimi wasn't so vain that he'd just put you out there for anyone to listen to. That was an accident.  

Nothing more. Nothing less.  

But by the time Oscar had reached the private jet, he had once again been proven wrong. He was there, backpack slung across his back and suitcase rolling next to him as he arrived to find Lando and George waiting near the stairs of the plane.  

Oscar raised a brow. "What are you guys waiting for? Shouldn't you be onboard?" He queried. 

"I..." Lando said wordlessly, awkwardly looking over at George who looked slightly paler than usual. Neither of them could bring it up. The mere idea too shameful.  

"What?" Oscar pressed, sighing when no response was given. He moved forward, pushing past them to get up the stairs. By the time he was through the door, it had become evident as to why those two were waiting outside. 

"Oh fuck. That's it," Kimi's voice flew from the bathroom down the aisle. 

Oscar's fingers instantly tightened around his suitcase. His stomach churned with disgust as his brain familiarised itself with the situation once again. The sounds of you against one another was far less muted this time. Your whimpers curling around Oscar's ears. 

He couldn't tell what was worse. The fact that the plane hadn't even gotten off the ground yet or the fact Oscar wasn't the only one subjected to this. His coworkers down below. The staff of the plane awkwardly trying to resume their job. All while Kimi was burning your dignity to the floor.  

"You gonna cum for me, belle? Yeah?" 

Oscar's breath quickened as Kimi's voice tightened.  

"Tell me, baby. Who makes you feel this good?" 

Oscar sucked in a sharp breath, annoyance simmering in his blood.  

"You. You do, Kimi," you sobbed, gasp heavenly with every push forward harsher than before. "Kimi, Kimi—I'm going to—" 

A smug moan fell from his lips. "I know, I know. Everyone's going to know how good I make you feel, belle."  

Oscar regretted staying this time. He should've left the moment he had realised. He shouldn't have stayed to hear the sinful draw out of your voice nor the useless wavering grunt of Kimi's. Then he wouldn't of seen Kimi coming out of the bathroom, still shifting his pants on tighter, adjusting his zip with you following behind him, red in the face.  

Kimi breathed with a drop of sweat worked up on his brow. "Hey, Oscar," he greeted, tugging at his shirt without a inch of shame in the world. He looked past him, spotting the emptiness in the jet. "Are Lando and George still waiting? I'll go them, yeah? Takeoff's soon." 

Oscar's lips curled in disgust as Kimi walked past him, shoulder bustling into his before Kimi's hand, still covered in the musk of sex, patted him. His brown eyes flickered to yours, now seated with the imprints of Kimi all over you. Purple on your neck, hands on your bare thigh, poorly hidden beneath your skirt. You were tainted with Kimi. He swallowed, meeting your flustered gaze. 

You gave him a timid wave. "Hi, Oscar." 

Oscar's breath caught. He was sure that was the first time he had heard his name fall from your lips. He enjoyed the way it rolled of your tongue. It sounded much better than Kimi's. He gave you a hesitant nod of acnknowledgement. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the shame beneath your kind expression. He could feel the judgement pouring from the staff in the cabin. Remember the awkward look on Lando and George's faces. And it was all because of Kimi.  

Oscar hated Kimi. He hated that Kimi had everything he ever wanted. An easy fight for a title. The potential to win more races than he ever had in his rookie years. And you. He had you.  

Oscar was going to beat Kimi. One way or another, he was going to beat the stupid smug smirk off that Italian face. He would take everything that he had away from him. Even if that something was you.  

It was a brief glimpse Oscar had gotten from you. But that was all he needed to stop in his tracks. The sight of you in tears, cheeks flushed, and hidden in behind some corner of the Mercedes' suite. No. That just wouldn't do.  

You sniffled, tip of your nose red as Oscar placed down a cup of freshly steamed hot chocolate and sat across you. With a tight, thankful smile, you held the burning cup between your fingers.

"A-Are you sure its okay for me to be here?" You asked, eyeing the unfamiliar shades of papaya around you.  

Oscar watched you quietly, nodding unconsciously. He blinked as your eyes drifted to his. The tips of ears reddened as he had been caught. He cleared his throat, nodding more definitely. "Of course, it is. I couldn't possibly have just left you like that." 

You swallowed tightly, cheeks pouring with heat once again as you thought about how Oscar had found you just sobbing away. The concern in his eyes had been surprising. You had never seen anything like it before. A part of you wished you had. In a different pair of brown eyes.  

Oscar pursed his lips at the silence brewing in the air. He sucked in a sharp breath, leaning forward. "I know it's not my place but... is it Kimi?" 

You looked down at the mention of your boyfriend before smiling much to Oscar's surprise. "It was my fault really. I made a mistake. I just thought..." 

He raised a brow. "You thought?" 

You chuckled softly, blinking through your sore eyes. "It sounds crazy now that I think about it. I thought he was cheating," you laughed a little deeper, sighing as you shook your head in disbelief. "There was the girl and— well. He was right. I was overreacting. I just really thought..." 

The ache in Oscar's chest was unwelcome as your voice grew small and strained. He blinked at your sudden smile yet again. "I was stupid, wasn't I?" You sighed, taking a sip of your hot chocolate.  

"No, you weren't." 

Your eyes flew to Oscar, wide. Your heart thudded in your chest, fear growing like diseased vines. What did he mean by that? 

"It's not stupid to ask questions. That's the least you deserve. It's your right," Oscar murmured gently, fingers curling to move the loose tresses in front of your face but stuck at his side.  

You pulled your brows together. That's not what Kimi told you. He always said questions weren't important. Useless, really. That only stupid people ask and answer. That's why he acted the way he did in interviews—disruptive and indifferent. But what you were hearing now...  

You tilted your head, curiosity swarming through your brain. "Can I ask you questions then?" 

A gentle smile sprawled onto Oscar's face as he leaned back in his seat. "You can ask me anything you want, sweetheart." 

He watched you hum almost silently. Like you were thinking of all the new options you could explore. And for a split second, he saw it. That sliver of excitement swirling in your eyes. The expanse of your pupils. And it made his breath catch.  

"Do you believe in aliens?" 

Amusement coursed through his veins. There was something so mundane about the question. Out of all the things you could have asked... But he pushed down the quirk of his lips. "In a world of unexplained things, I think there's room for aliens." 

Your brows pulled again, doe-eyes looking at him for a second. Maybe a second too long. Long enough for Oscar's heart to test new unhealthy rthyhms. "That's the most media trained answer you could've given. Nice job." 

Oscar blinked at your response, brown eyes watching you stand as you looked at the digital clock that counted sixty minutes to the start of the first free practice. Sixty minutes that required you to be near Kimi. He breathed slowly upon your small smile beaming. 

"Thank you for... well, just thank you," you mumbled, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly. You turned on your heel before pausing, head tilting back to the brown eyes still on you. "Question. Do my eyes look puffy?" 

Oscar could've remained seated and told you from where he sat. But he stood, taking those few closer steps near you. The world seemed to slow as he leaned in, inspecting your face from a careful distance. Or the lack of. It was silent for a brief moment. "No," he decided. 

You swallowed, releasing the breath you had unintentionally been holding. You smiled lightly. "Good. Kimi doesn't like it when they are," you chuckled. "Okay. Bye, Oscar." 

Oscar pressed his lips together, biting down the distaste lingering on his tongue as he bidded you goodbye. His turmoil seemed to linger even when you were gone. Every time he thought he couldn't hate Kimi anymore, you gave him one more reason to do so.  

The crowd roared as usual. A fundamental noise that your ears had become used to as you stood beneath the podium and metres away from the finishing cars. It was Silverstone. Classical and traditional. Every driver's dream race to win. And Kimi had done it.  

You stood between the neverending Mercedes' team, dolled in Kimi's jacket waiting for for him as he did his final few victory laps around the circuit, basking in the cheers and exclaims pouring from the stadium. Yet, he wasn't the first driver you saw. It was Oscar, cladded in papaya, and the claimer of P2. You watched him down the line, greeting his team. And for a moment, you expected him to sweep right past you.  

But someone at Mercedes knew him a little better, pulling him aside with a handshake. And then those brown eyes flickered to you and over the teal and black clinging to your shoulder with an emotion unfamiliar to you. But a smile graced his face nevertheless. Boyish as usual, you noticed. 

You returned the gesture. "Congrats on second," you said loudly, hands curling over the barricade.  

"Thank you," Oscar breathed, hand dishevelling his sweat-ridden brown locks, lines of his balaclava etched into his slightly reddened face. “If only I had one more lap," he sighed tiredly, reminiscing the hundredths between his and Kimi's finishing times.  

You pressed your lips together, smile hanging awkwardly. "Next time. I'm sure of it," you nodded astutely, brows pulled with firm belief.  

A chuckle fell from his lips. Cute. His head tipped in agreement. "Yeah. Next time,"  he mumbled. He took a quick breath in. "I was wond—" 

Oscar's words were quelled as the supporting shouts grew louder with Kimi's pull into parc fermé. You both silently watched him remove his steering wheel, topping the his car with his fists in the air triumphantly. His small jump off was smooth after every recent win. You felt his head glide towards you while he inched closer to the weighing scale. Nothing decipherable about those eyes behind the helmet. 

Kimi didn't waste a second. Helmet and balacava off. Sponsor watch on. Marching towards the crowd of teal and black. Marching towards you. Aware of every lens following his every move. His stagnant gaze on you purposeful. Gait with a force so casual yet demanding.  

Forceful enough for Oscar to take a step back as he watched Kimi's hand, the very one with the sponsor watch, fall to your face and bring his lips to yours. The grandstands and pools of fans around cheer as expected. The cameras zoom in hungrily, too blinded to see the quirk of Kimi's lips. Instead disguised as the loving boyfriend depicted across fanpages and headlines.  

But Oscar could see it. He stood behind Kimi, jaw locked, teeth clenching so tightly the pain swells in his gums. He hadn't realised it until Sophie, his press officer, put her hand on his arm to attend the trackside interview, grounding him back to reality. He swallowed tightly, taking a slow breath in and out before turning on his heel, fingers curled tightly at his side.  

With every step closer to the cameras and the waiting interviewer, Oscar couldn't shake the image of you two out of his head. This was the very same guy who had sent you crying just a few weeks ago, leaving Oscar to pick up the pieces. Who had the sheer audacity to make you feel like shit just for doubting him.  

What a fucking asshole.  

Monaco was not home for Oscar. It would never be. Nowhere near as comfortable and easy as Australia was. He preferred the scorching heats and casualness of the people around him. Not the sports cars or luxury yachts collecting dust on the Monégasque waters. This was well and truly just a perk of his job. Nothing more, nothing less.  

But just when Oscar couldn't find anything happy about it, a walk outside to get his groceries left him finding you nearby, eyes glued to the clothing store nearby.  

You blinked at the call of your name, tearing your eyes away to find a familiar mop of brown hair. The smile on your face was instant. You waved in a way that made his cheeks tighten. "What are you doing here?" 

Oscar breathed in, looking around the streets he had become used to, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. "Uh, I was going to get some groceries. How about you? Not in Italy. Well, obviously," he chuckled awkwardly. 

Christ... was he always such a loser? 

You grinned, nodding in agreement. "Kimi finally moved in so I came to help. Now... I'm shopping," you said, lifting your arm with the few shopping bags you had collected so far.  

He suppressed his frown at the mention of Kimi's name. "So I guess I'll be seeing you around more often?" He queried, brows raised with hope.  

"Yeah. I mean maybe. This place is a lot," you laughed softly, eyes tracing over the endless cars, stores, and yachts. This was definitely not Bologna or even Milan. Monaco was a in a league of its own.  

Oscar nodded. "It's overwhelming at first," he agreed, swallowing tightly as a new thought popped into his mind. "I mean, if you don't mind, I could be your guide when you're here. You can give me your number. Call me when you're around." 

You mulled over his offer, surprise light but evident on your face. You never really gave your number to anyone. Especially not any of the drivers—Kimi's rule. But Oscar was just being nice. It would probably be good too. That way you didn't have to bother Kimi.  

"Sure," you said, hand reaching out to grab your phone. "Give yourself a miss call." 

Oscar's eyes lit up, faint smile on his face as he punched in his number into your phone, letting the call linger briefly. Satisfied, he saved his name into your phone. Oscar :) 

"Perfect," you breathed, eyes crinkling with a thankful glint as you pocketed your phone. "I'll let you get back to it then. I still have a few more places I wanna see." 

Oscar tried not to let his disappointment show. You just got here. "If you wanted some company... I'm happy to join," he shrugged, hoping that was as casual as it was in his head. 

Your eyes widened slightly. "Really?" 

"Yeah, sure. I know a few places too," he nodded, unable to understand your shock. As if Kimi never joined you—oh who was he kidding? Of course that asshole didn't join you. And if he did, it would be for him.  

You grinned. "Lead the way." 

You pursed your lips, eyeing the skirt you hovered over yourself as you stood in front of the store's long mirror. It was a sparkly little thing. Silver. Small. Sequined. Your eyes flickered to Oscar's reflection, finding him standing nearby some rack (as if he hadn't been quietly watching you). “Oscar, can I ask you a question?" 

Oscar raised a brow, swiftly moving away from the rack he had been pretending to rummage through. "You know you don't have to ask that every time, right? You can just ask," he grinned, inching closer to you.  

"Oh," you pursed your lips, blinking blankly as the heat in your cheeks grew. "Right. Sorry," you smiled lightly, looking back at yourself in the mirror. "What do you think of this?" You asked, gesturing to the sparkly skirt dangling over the hanger.  

He swallowed. It was pretty thing really. Made him imagine things he didn't want to imagine. But as he had watched you, he couldn't help notice the light in your eyes missing. Or the frown of your lips. He shrugged. "You don't seem to like it very much." 

You fell silent for a moment, eyes slightly wide while you blinked. How Oscar knew that... you had no idea. You sucked in a sharp breath, staring at the skirt in the mirror with a small pout. "Kimi likes these things." 

There it was. The perpetrator behind everything miserable and unbalanced in your life. Of course, Kimi liked these things like this. Short and tight. It was a way to claim you in all those parties and night clubs. One hand always on your exposed leg or on the curve of your ass as he practically screamed, "Look at me."  

Oscar bit his lip, pushing away the rousing annoyance in his chest. "What do you like?" 

The question was simple. Yet it seemed to leave you stumped. Doe eyes a bit dazed. Lips parted. Like you had never really given that much of a thought. And that only worsened the ache in his chest.  

You tilted your head, directing your gaze behind Oscar. "I think that's pretty," you murmured, eyeing the semi-long white sundress nearby.  

Oscar turned his head. With no sly comment or look of distaste you usually recieved, he stepped towards it, grabbing the hanger with ease before bringing it back to you. "Then wear it." 

You pursed your lips, unsurely flickering over the dress. "But—" 

"Just try it. You won't know if you don't try," Oscar said, firm yet gentle as he took your previous shopping bags slung on your arm and moved them to his. He pushed forward the dress again. "Go on." 

He watched you swallow awkwardly, gingerly picking the dress out of his hand before drifting towards the fitting rooms. He followed after you, stopping when you suddenly turned back to face him.  

"Will you wait for me?" 

Oscar blinked. He hated how foreign the idea sounded to you. That you actually had to question it because your piece of shit boyfriend couldn't spare one second that wasn't for him.  

He smiled warmly, not missing a beat to respond. "I'll be right here. Don't worry." 

You nodded thankfully as he took a few steps back, taking a seat while he waited. And with every second the passed, Oscar couldn't help but think of it. The few times Kimi would come with you. Probably when the fans were out or along with the paps. How he'd probably walk around, not paying attention to you. Picking out clothes that he liked. Standing there, convincing you that you liked it as much as he did.  

The clothes were just one example. Oscar was almost a hundred percent sure it was Kimi who had gotten you to publicise your socials to get more coverage. Every second post being a photo of you together where you looked happy and Kimi looked like presumptous asshole he was.  

Had Oscar spent an unhealthy amount of time looking at your account? Yes. Maybe. But he couldn't help it. It was almost intuitional. The more he found to despise about Kimi, the more he seemed to sink deeper into the world that was you.  

"Oscar?" 

Oscar blinked, head lifting up as though he had been called by a siren. He found you peeking out of the curtain with a fretful smile. He raised his brows curiously. "Yeah?" 

"Do you think you can help me with the strings? Or find someone who can? I can't really do them by myself," you chuckled awkwardly, cheeks slightly flushing. 

He was standing on his feet when you called his name. Walking as you asked. Without as much of a fight or resistance you usually experienced, he had said yes.  

You breathed in, feeling the narrow confinements of the fitting room become even smaller as Oscar entered. You pursed your lips, eyes darting between anything and Oscar in the mirror. "Just... those ones," you murmured, hovering over the two long strings sitting at your lower back.  

Oscar held his breath in his lungs, fingers stretching and curling around the two attached pieces. He told himself he shouldn't look up as he looped each string. Because if he did, he was scared to see what he'd find. But he did.  

He wasn't sure what fucked up his brain chemistry more. The heat radiating between your bodies from something a simple as a little knot. Or the brush his fingers over the fabric of your dress. Or perhaps the bob of your throat as you caught his eye. Like he made you nervous. And that thought alone made him warm all over.  

He fastened the last knot, watching your breath hitch. "There," he said, voice gruff and strained while he committed the sinful cling of the fabric to your body to his memory.  

He kept quiet, observing your eyes drift over yourself in the mirror. He saw it. That missing light. The small look of approval in the quirk of your lips. "Buy it," he simply said. "If you don't, I will." 

Your lips parted with nothing quite to say as Oscar excused himself from the room, finally taking a breath of fresh air. His lungs burned as if he had denied the right to breathe with you, happy to let you suffocate him. 

"Jesus Christ," Oscar muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

He was so fucked.  

You swallowed tightly as Kimi threw his phone in front of you, left open with a picture of you and Oscar talking outside the store yesterday. He stood in front of you, arms folded with an incredulous smile on his face. "I called you here to help me," he said chuckled, shaking his head. "I mean... I can't believe you thought I was cheating. How hypocritical can you get?" 

You blinked, scatter of red creeping up your neck and cheeks instantly. "I... we were just talking, Kimi. I bumped into him on accident." 

The scoff from his lips made your eyes sting. Not an ounce of trust rested in him as much as it did in you.  

"Accident?" He questioned, raising his brows with amusement. "Nothing accidental about that prick. Don't think I haven't noticed him being around you more often. I mean come on, ___. Are you his girlfriend or mine?" 

You frowned. "Of course, I'm your girlfriend, Kimi," you instantly said, not missing a beat to respond. "Why would you even ask that?" 

Kimi tilted his head. "You're asking me that? Then don't do things that make me question you, belle," he grunted, jaw tight. He sucked in a breath when he spotted the thin shine over your eyes. He almost rolled his own. Of course. You couldn't go a conversation without crying.  

"Why are you being so mean?" You murmured, eyes brimming with tears, tip of your nose beginning to flush.  

After a moment a sigh fell from Kimi's lips. He stepped forward, hands holding you at either side of your arms. He leaned forward, meeting your gaze, brown eyes suddenly gentle. "I don't want to be. You just make it difficult, belle. You know I love you so much, yeah? Don't cry. I hate seeing you cry." 

You blinked, feeling Kimi's lips gided over your eyelids briefly. For a moment you felt like your soul had separated from your body. Like you were watching yourself from another plane. You breathed in, sniffling quietly to yourself as he pulled away, thumb grazing your cheek.  

"You understand, hmm?" He hummed, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

You smiled tightly, giving him a nod. "I understand, Kimi. I won't do it again," you promised, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. "Ti amo." 

Oscar hated clubs. There was nothing more uncomfortable for him as an introvert. The loud music, flashing lights, sweaty bodies, and an unhealthy amount of alcohol. All features of a nightmare he's had time and time again.  

But he was here. Under the strobe lights, music vibrating throught the floor he stood on while his eyes searched through the dancing crowd. He was here because you were here. A small detail you had slipped into your texts with him recently. A night out with the drivers and their partners.  

Lando spotted him first, surprise evident on his face as he came closer. He eyed the blue jeans and black polo shirt his teammate wore and chuckled. "Well this is out of the norm. I wonder why." 

Lando wasn't as daft as some made him out to be. Of course, things were a lot easier when his usually composed and calm teammate was riled up by the simple mention of you. Oscar had made the mistake many other drivers had once made. Everyone had seen you once Kimi moved up racing categories. No one was going to deny it. You were a gorgeous girl with a pure heart. But you were young. And that was always risky territory. That fact you were Kimi's... it rubbed everyone the wrong way. Where as everyone saw you for what you were, Kimi saw you as the shiny trophy to put his on his arm.  

But no one had tried to go against him. The effort against someone so cocky and arrgoant was tumultuous. Formula One was already bad enough as it was. The last thing any driver wanted was an extra target on his back when they raced.  

But it seemed Oscar had willingly taken it up. And it ws going well. By sheer luck or pure talent, he had finally thwarted the neverending Mercedes domination and Kimi's winning reign. With a few race wins up his sleeve, Oscar loomed over the championship leader with a confidence Kimi would almost find familiar.  

"Shut up," Oscar rolled his eyes at Lando, returning his gaze back to the crowd. There was no question as to who he was searching for. And he found you where he had expected. On Kimi's lap. His chin nestled into your shoulder, hand over your thigh while he talked to Ollie like you weren't there. And there you were again, dressed in the clothes that your fingers threatened to tug down.  

Oscar watched silently as your lips dipped towards Kimi's ear, whispering something that made him nod and made him loosen his grip on you. His own feet moved across the club before he knew it. But he wasn't so obvious, blending with the crowd as you seemed to near the bathroom. At least from Kimi's angle. But from his, he could spot the right turn towards the stairs immediately.  

The strobe lights turned red as Oscar walked up the stairs. The atmosphere up there, though still loud, seemed different. Slower and slurred. Crowded yet less chaotic. And in the mix of it all he found you. Sitting in an empty booth, head in your hands, resting on the table.  

"You okay?" 

You lifted your head at the voice, ears perked instinctively. You breathed a little more calmly when you realised who it was. "Oscar," you greeted with a small smile though you didn't hide your surprise. You watched him slide into the booth, sitting across you. "What are you doing here? This doesn't really seem like your scene." 

Oscar rested his arms on the table. "Doesn't seem like yours either," he simply retorted. He grinned at your pursed lips and briefly stoic face. Like he had caught you in a lie.  

You sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back into the booth. "It's not," you admitted with a sheepish nod. The sheer amount of eyes and people made you want to throw up. "But—" 

"But Kimi likes it... right?" Oscar bitterly finished, brows raised.  

You smiled lightly, nodding once again as your eyes drifted across the dancing crowd, swaying a bit more softer to the electric beat. "I came up here to breathe a little," you mumbled. "It's better than down there. He would've found me outside." 

It was silent for a moment. Just Oscar watching quietly and you basking in something that didn't have Kimi's name scrawled all over it.  

"Can I ask you a question?" 

You blinked, peeling your gaze away from the scene and back to Oscar. You furrowed your brows. That was usually your line. But hearing it come from his mouth was humouring. You smiled lightly, gesturing for him to continue.  

"Do you like to dance?" Oscar asked. It was a bold ask. One that made him regret it almost instantly. Lodge his breath in his throat as he waited. 

You folded your arms, pondering over his question. "At home. Usually by myself. Kimi doesn't really enjoy it anymore," you sighed sadly, corners of your mouth frowning. You had tried asking once or twice. But the outcome was always the same. He was too busy or too weirded out. 

Your eyes fell to the outsretched hand in front of you and then to the standing Oscar. You raised a brow.  

"Let's dance then," he breathed.  

You swallowed tightly, thinking back to the night just weeks ago where you and Kimi had argued about Oscar. About the promise you had made. You rubbed your lips together, looking at him fretfully as your stomach churned. "I don't know if that's a good idea." 

Oscar tilted his head at you. "Stop thinking about Kimi and think for yourself. If you want to dance, then dance." 

You should've kept your hand to yourself. You should've gone back downstairs. Whether it was those brown eyes staring back at you or the determination in Oscar's voice, you couldn't decide. But you gave him your hand and let him guide you to the floor.  

It was a tight fit with the occassional bump of a shoulder or body nearby. Your eyes locked under the flashing red lights as you stood in front of each other. The music you could feel through your heels. For a moment, you do nothing. Just stare at each other.  

"Do you even know how to dance?" You asked with a small but teasing smile, eyeing his frigid posture. He was like a frozen block of ice. Unable to move. Cautious of the surrounding movements. The awkward tipped grin on his face told you everything. And it made you laugh. Earnestly and genuinely.  

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek, preventing him from smiling too hard when he felt the brush of your head fall against your chest. He watched as you lifted yourself up, amusement littered all over your face. Your hair dishevelled, tresses flying in different directions. Eyes sparkling under the lights. Smile beaming at him. And he could've sworn his heart stopped. 

"They say to just feel the music. Move your body," you advised, brows scrunched like you were trying to remember. 

He raised a brow. "They?" He repeated with a grin. "Who's 'they?'"  

You pursed your lips, shrugging. "Club people. You learn a thing or two when you just sit there." 

Oscar snorted. There was something unexplainably enjoyable when you became a little more loose-lipped without Kimi nearby. He cleared his throat. "So... you just move your body? That what you said?" 

You nodded, beginning to move your hands. "I think if you imagine yourself like a fish it works better," you wiggled your brows, trailing your hands across your body to the beat thundering around you.  

For a brief second, Oscar laughed. But the picture of a fish dancing died in his head quicker as the rhythm filtered through his ears and his eyes fell to you. The world instantly lingered in his head. Siren. That's what you reminded him of. Every twist and turn of your body making the movement of your hair seem like some art.  

He wasn't sure when he himself had begun moving. The bob of his chin. The shuffle of his feet. But he couldn't call it dancing. It was more the appreciation of you in front of him. Admiring how lost you were for just a moment in time.  

He couldn't believe it.  

How could Kimi deny this? Deny you?  

To not dance with you was a sin in itself. The mere idea of missing this bright smile of yours... his fear grew stronger.  

The gap between you and Oscar had substantially gotten smaller. Like it was the natural order of things. Heat radiated from every angle possible, the air thick with sweat and something you couldn't quite pinpoint.  

You hadn't realised how close you were till you felt the glide of Oscar's hand against the curve of your waist. Your gasp was soft and barely audible. But you could feel the small electric sparks running down your body. You flitted your eyes to Oscar hesitantly and it almost made you take a step back.  

He was looking at you already.  

Darkened brown eyes strained with red underneath the lights. His large hand pulled you a little closer, letting you see the traces of his moles and freckles. Feel the heat of his skin against yours. The press of his fingers. The scatter of his breath. Any closer it would be his pacing heartbeat.  

Oscar looked... good.  

More than good. Hot. He looked hot.  

You breathed in as he turned your body, leaving your back pressed against his chest. His arm curled around your waist. You pulled your lip between your teeth when you felt his lower half press into you. Not forceful or insistent. Just there. Teasing. And for some godforsaken reason, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.  

You swallowed hard, feeling his breath skim past your ear. His lips rested close by.  

"The dress... Kimi's choice?" 

Your thighs pressed together at his tight voice. As though he was struggling. You didn't understand the extent of the heat unfurling in your stomach. You had never felt this way. Not even with Kimi.  

You cleared your throat, nodding against him. "Hate it?" You asked, breath shaky when you felt the tip of his nose graze the column your neck. You could've sworn your knees melted when you felt his smile lines ghost your cheek, lips brushing against the curve of your ear.  

Your eyes widened slightly as you faced him once again. His hand never left you, snug and comfortably around your waist. Your body burned as he rested his head against yours, brown eyes holding your gaze so carefully. So heavily.  

"I was taught that if I don't have anything respectful to say, I shouldn't say it at all," Oscar breathed tightly, jaw half clenched. 

It was no ordinary beat your heart followed. With large gaps and ample opportunity to miss as you tried to decipher what he was saying. But before you could, it was Oscar who stepped away.  

You struggled to catch your breath, staring back at him with your doe-eyes and your stomach churning.  

Oscar blinked, brown eyes raking over you for one last time that night. Because if he stayed here a second longer, he'd do something he couldn't. He smiled at you, tight yet warm. "You're a good dance teacher, ___." 

You hadn't talked to Oscar since the club. You couldn't quite bring yourself to. Neither did Kimi really let you, keeping you by his side at all times.  

You were confused. You still didn't have a full grasp on what had happened. One moment you were dancing and then the other you were... God, you had no idea. You could just feel him. Hear him. See him. For a moment, everything was just Oscar.  

But things had dampened down since then. You ocassionally saw Oscar here and there. You'd look. But you never quite did much more than that. Especially as Kimi fought with Oscar on track. Both contenders for a championship. Both their first. It was like a cat and mouse game. If Kimi won once, it was Oscar's turn the next.  

And today, Kimi had taken back that victory chainmail, standing on the podium with a smirk so wide, you almost hadn't recognised him. Nor the extra clingy behaviour as he came off of it, kissing you, hand on your waist, and showering you with sweet little comments.  

But you supposed this was why.  

To have you all pressed up in the men's bathroom with rushed urgency after his media duties and debriefing. Shorts and boxers slung low around his legs. You propped up against the sink, skirt bunched up. His head tucked into your shoulder, groans and grunts muffled. Hips moving into you with desperation and pleasure.  

It seemed Kimi had it all planned out.  

Except for one little thing.  

The door cracked open.  

You weren't sure what it was. Whether he had genuinely forgotten or he thought no one was actually going to walk by. And well, if they did, it was only his ass that was going to be seen. 

But you couldn't have counted for the possibility of Oscar passing by and stopping, frozen in his tracks.  

Your heart almost stopped right there and then. Your eyes stuck with the brown orbs staring right back at you. Your lips parted. Perhaps with the intention to stop Kimi. But you didn't. You didn't understand why you didn't. 

You hadn't been wet for the past ten minutes but now the slick was beginning to pile up. The squelch of Kimi's cock driving into you, lewd and obscene.  

"Oh fuck," Kimi swore into your skin. "You're getting so wet for me, belle," he panted, grunting as his teeth nibbled into your shoulder. "So fucking wet." 

You could see the bob of Oscar's throat. Like a deer in headlights. He didn't move either. Instead the press of his teeth against his lip made you moan against Kimi's ear. The first sound you had made since you had gotten in here.  

You focused on the betraying pull of Oscar's brows at the sweet sounds pouring from your mouth. How his fingers curled so tightly against his side. You wondered what he could see. how much of you he could see. The thought only made you clench tighter around Kimi's cock.  

"Cazzo," Kimi hissed, hands digging into your hips. "Doesn't that feel so good, baby? Yeah? I'm making you feel so good," he groaned, pushing deeper into you. The sound of your skin against one another now escaped the bathroom with ease.  

You choked on the air, hand falling to Kimi's brown curls while you eyed the flush of Oscar's skin. How dark his eyes were. How they fell to where you and Kimi met, enchanted. And for a moment, your breath matched his. Every heave of your chest... it was like he was guiding you just metres away.  

You could barely comprehend the heat in your core. All you knew was it was messy. Juices running down your thighs. So wet a ring of white formed around Kimi's cock as he pushed in and out of you. The soft sounds tumbling from your throat uncontrollably as you watched Oscar's tongue swipe his bottom lip.  

Oscar should have moved. Like he had done all the other times he had heard the both of you. But he could see it in your eyes. With every praise Kimi gave himself or you... the only thing turning you on right now was him.  

His shorts, unexplainably tight around his more than obvious large bulge, only worsened as he watched your hand move between your and Kimi's bodies. Your eyes never moved off of him. His own lips quirking when your fingers pressed against your desperately sore bundle of nerves.  

Because Kimi couldn't get you off.  

Oscar could have laughed if it wasn't for the situation he was in. Or for the fact he could see this new pleasure so clearly on your face. Your brows furrowed tightly, teeth sinking into your lip, cheeks red, eyes dazed... he could tell. You were close.  

Kimi seemed to be too. Speeding his hips up against yours. Still in his own little fantasy where he was the one making you feel so good. He came quick, stuttering against you with his lust-driven grunts. He was decent though, still moving for you.  

Oscar had to give it to him. If Kimi hadn't continued and left you there to fend for yourself, it would've been him taking out his own cock and making sure you saw stars.  

It was wrong. God, it was so wrong. You knew it. Oscar knew it. But you had never felt like this. So... good. Still the mix of shame and pleasure coursed through you simultaneously, hand gripping Kimi's brown curls while your fingers pressed and rubbed your clit breathlessly. This was it.  

"That's it. Cum for me, belle." 

But it wasn't it Kimi you were listening to. At least not directly.  

Your hazed eyes capturing the small, encouraging nods of Oscar's head. His uneven silent breaths. And you can see his lips mouth the words. 

Cum.  

Cum.  

Cum for me.  

Oscar wanted to fall to his knees as he watched the peak of ecstasy hit you. You were seeing white. He could almost fucking feel it with how tight your body locked up, your lips parted in pure awe. But especially as you ensured your eyes were on him for every goddamn second.  

Holy fuck.  

Oscar had to step away. Any moment now it would be Kimi turning around. And this... whatever it was, would be over.  

The walk to his driver's room was faster than anything he had ever done. He did his bare duties; strained smiles and nods. A brush past the few team members packing up. His door was locked in an instant, back pressed against the wall, and his hand under his waistband.  

It was a wonder Oscar hadn't cum right there and then as he looked down at his cock, hung with urgency. His red tip leaked profusely, throbbing with a need he had never succumbed to before.  

He had been careful in the past few months. Not to get wrapped up with your name on his lips and his hand on his cock. Because that journey would never go down well for him. But that night in the club... his hand on your waist and your ass against him... it had ruined him. He had gone home, jerking off like it was the first time he had ever felt someone this close to him.  

But this... this was different. Oscar's brain was rushing. No. Overflowing with what he had just seen. And he couldn't get it out of his head. The way your breath caught when he had walked by. The honey-like sounds falling from your lips. The obscenely wet sounds coming from your cunt. And the most damning fact of all—you had kept going after you had seen him.  

Oscar bit down into wrist, face contorted with pleasure, moans muffled as he fisted himself. His eyes and hips rolled with as much desperation as you had just shown. It was almost mimickable how wet he sounded, shaft and tip just doused in his neverending pre-cum.  

He couldn't decide what set him off. The orgasmic bliss on your face or the knowing that it was him. Him that made you cum. Maybe not physically. But it was not Kimi and his idiocy. Your fingers and his presence... that was what had done it.  

Oscar's body convulsed, hips stuttering as the pleasure climbed over him rapidly. His teeth clamped harder into his skin, spurts of hot cum coming out in long strings. Leaving his hands and shorts stained with the mess you had created.  

Removing his wrist from his mouth, he breathed silently and hard, staring at the idle components of his driver's room.  

Jesus. He might have been fucked before. But there was no going back after today.  

You couldn't count how many times you had been like this recently. And by this, you meant curled up somewhere and in tears.  

You had been a mess since Kimi's race. What you had done... that was so wrong on so many levels. There was no beating around the bush. You had cheated. One way or another. 

And it was humiliating. Because that was probably the best you had ever felt in your life. But not because of your actual boyfriend, Kimi. But because of Oscar.  

You had skipped as much races as you could without Kimi getting suspicious. You couldn't look at him without feeling ashamed. Nor could you look at Oscar. He had sent you texts. Too many of them. So you had blocked him and deleted his number.  

But you couldn't get out of this one. You could see the questions brewing in Kimi's head when he had asked you if you were coming. And you had run out of excuses.  

You thought it would be fine. That you could get through this weekend without any tears or any fights. But much to your disappointment, you were wrong.  

Kimi's fixation with winning had turned into agitation now that Oscar was taking even bigger chunks of points out of his lead. He wasn't happy with the car's performance during practice. He had given the team hell after it. And when that wasn't enough, you were the next available target.  

You had lost count of the type of things he had said to you in front of the team. How you weren't supportive enough. That you never stuck through with him like he did with you. How it was your fault that his car, which you had no connection to whatsoever, was bad. That you had somehow bewitched Oscar into being good.  

The message was clear: it was your fault.  

Humiliation didn't even cover it. Mortified was more like it. The awkward gazes of the team. The tears ramping up in your eyes. Your flushed cheeks. You hated it. And you hated it even more because it was your fault.  

So you sat on the dry concrete in Belgium, between the awkward space of two team suites, head tucked into your knees as wave after wave of anger and embarrassment hit you. Your tears had partially died down, caught on your trousers and shirt.  

Your jaw clenched as you glared at the concrete, chewing your lip anxiously. Why did you have to go screw this all up? You should have listened to Kimi. You should have never accepted that dance because then you would've never found Oscar like this. So good. So ugh... you wanted to scream at yourself.  

"Hey, hey," a familiar voice echoed into the air, making the hairs on your body stand up. “What’s happened?" 

You lifted your head slowly, reddened eyes meeting the concerned brown pair staring right back at you. It was Oscar, of course. Bent down, knees embedded onto the concrete and hands on the sides of your own knees. Your chest ached at the sight of him and yet the anger seemed to roar in your head when you thought about what you had done. You sighed almost annoyed, tilting your head back against the wall.  

"Nothing. Just forget about it," you wiped your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your hand.  

Oscar's brows mended together at your reaction. As if it was a crack in the perfect glass world you had been living in. "___, you know you don't have to be embarrassed around me—" 

"This is embarrassing," you gritted out, hurt eyes drifting to him. "It's always embarrassing that you always finds me like this. Crying like some pathetic waste of space." 

"No. That's not true," Oscar murmured, head shaking as he tucked your hair behind your ears. "Kimi should be the one that's embarrassed. Making you cry like this," he said, jaw twitching. He could only imagine what he had said to you. Piece of shit.  

You chuckled dryly. "I'm a horrible girlfriend, Oscar. What I did that day... that's unforgiveable.,'" you whispered, eyes tearing up yet again. "I deserve this. It all makes sense now. The paddock was never boring. People don't talk to me because they know how bad I am." 

Oscar almost wanted to laugh in disbelief. How bad you were? All you had done was dance a little and feel the best you had ever felt in your life. All you had done was live a little and  here you were denouncing Kimi's actions like he had done no wrong.  

"Sweetheart, people don't talk to you because of you. They don't talk to you because of Kimi. No one wants to tell you but I will," he swallowed the lump in his throat, chest sore at the sight of your reddened eyes.  

You sniffled, confusion visible on your face. "What?" 

"That Kimi doesn't deserve you." 

Your brows furrowed, affronted in an instant. The memories seemed to hit you one after another. He was your first for everything. First kiss. First time. First boyfriend. First love. He was perfect, wasn't he? "That's not true. Kimi's—" 

"An asshole," Oscar cut in firmly. "Someone who loves you doesn't hurt you. Someone who loves you doesn't make fake promises. Or put limits on how you act. Who you can see." 

You shook your head. No. Your Kimi wasn't like that. "He's just protective—" 

Oscar's hands moved to grab your face, holding your gaze so fiercely, for a moment you forgot to breathe. "___, someone who loves you doesn't make you question yourself." 

You fell silent, not bothering to wipe the fresh tears spilling from your eyes. Your brows quivered and your stomach churning. Your heart echoed in your ears while your brain flashed between your altered memories.  

It was like watching some sort of stained glass shatter right in front of your eyes. Your perfect Kimi no longer perfect.  

"He wasn't like that at the start. I swear," you whispered, looking back at Oscar, lip trembling. 

Oscar sucked in a sharp breath at the crack in your voice. Fuck. He sighed quietly, arms wrapping around you and bringing you to his chest, lips pressed to the side of your head. "I know, sweetheart. I know." 

"Can you stop brainwashing my girlfriend?" 

Oscar looked away from his trainer, conversation coming to a screeching halt. His eyes travelled around the room, ensuring it was still cladded in papaya. He smiled at Kimi. "Are you even allowed to be in here?" He raised a brow, folding his arms, leaning back in his seat. 

Kimi tongued the inside of his cheek. He was sure he had never met anyone as obnoxious as Oscar Piastri. "Did you hear me? Stay away from my girlfriend. Or else," he glowered, jaw tight, turning on his foot.  

"Or else what?" Oscar goaded, making the Italian stop dead in his tracks and his trainer sigh. He stood up from his chair, eyeing the figure in front of him with disgust. "Kimi, piece of advice. You should probably try treat your girlfriend better." 

It was like something in Kimi had snapped. Turning around with such force, the air had bended as he stalked up to Oscar, his breath in his face. "Don't fucking tell me how to treat my own girl," he spat, chest heaving.  

Oscar's mouth quirked. "You treat her like shit and come here acting like you don't," he chuckled, shaking his head, brown eyes hard with annoyance. "You don't deserve her. You don't deserve anything you have." 

Kimi blinked, scrutinising the man in front of him before letting out a scoff. "I get what this is." 

Oscar raised his brows, bored and tired. "Do you now?" He asked dryly, not so easily entertained by Kimi's smirk.  

"You're jealous," Kimi deducted, smirk widening with every passing second as he thought back to the past year. His debut compared to Oscar's. "I'm so young and yet I have everything you were ever promised. The team. The car. The wins." 

Oscar, the master of composure, remained stoic. Not a budge on his face to give him the true inkling—that he was right. That this was how it had started. But that wasn't going to be how it ended. "If that's all you can think about after treating her the way you do... you are exactly who I think you are," he muttered with distaste heavy on his tongue. "She's not yours, Kimi. She's her own person." 

Kimi stood in front of him, unimpressed as his lips parted to retaliate. But Oscar leaned in, lowering his voice to a more inaudible frequency. "And even if she was yours, no honourable man would leave his girl to get off by herself," he murmured with a gentle smile, basking in the drop of Kimi's smirk.  

Oscar patted Kimi's shoulder with feigned condolences, heading towards the exit of the McLaren suite. Leaving Kimi to stand by himself, pale in the face and sick to his stomach.  

Kimi had crashed. it was horrible. Pieces of the car flying everywhere. The gasp of the crowd. The bang of his fist against the snapped halo. The replay was all you could think of as you finally made your way to the medical bay, eyes glossed with tears, stomach churning, and heart pacing erratically. You hadn't taken a breath until you opened the door, finding him sitting on the couch, icepack to his hand .  

You sucked in a shaky breath, feet rushing before you could even think your hands flew to his face, frantically examining his entire body for something that maybe the doctor or nurse had missed. "Oh Kimi," you choked, tears spilling. "A-Are you okay? D-Do you want me to call anyone?" 

A piece of your heart broke as Kimi slapped your hand away with his bandaged fist, icepack falling to the floor. He glared at you, disgust swarming in his eyes. "Don't do that. Don't pretend you care."  

You kept your hand close to your chest, brows furrowed. "Kimi... what are you talking about? Of course, I care. I—" 

"I crashed because of you." 

You froze at his words. "W-What?"  

He stood from the couch. He jammed his finger into your chest. "This is your fault," he gritted out, lip trembling with pure anger. " Oscar this. Oscar that. Oscar, Oscar, Oscar," he spat out.  

"Kimi—" 

"You might as well come out with it. Luring Oscar to mess with my championship. How could you do this to me? When I've been here for you since the very start?" Kimi exasperated, own eyes pricking with tears.  

You swallowed the bile creeping up your throat as the tears seeped into your cheeks. You looked at him, repulsed and with your brows mended. Your skin ached where his finger landed, invisible bruises already forming. "You're really questioning my loyalty? Once. Only once did I ever question you. After all those signs... the looks to those other girls. I ignored it because I thought you really loved me. And I questioned you once and you ridiculed me. And you really think I did something as elaborate as tricking Oscar?" 

"Who knows?" He heaved dryly. "You've changed, ___. Years ago, you would've stuck by me," Kimi hissed. 

You chuckled despite the tears falling one after another. "I have been. Every single goddamn day. You’re the one who's changed, Kimi! I don't see the guy who stayed up all night outside my house to wish me happy birthday. Or protected me from the photographers. No. Now... with you it’s... it’s clubs. And parties. Cameras following our every move. You degrade me in front of your co-workers. Disrespect me in front of millions. You show me off like I'm some trophy and put me to the side when you don't need me." 

"Right..." Kimi laughed bitterly, shaking his head with utter disbelief. "Oscar doesn't do that then?" 

Your face burned with anger, lip twitching. How dare he...  

"Well at least he doesn't make me cry!" You exclaimed with an exhausted sob, shoulders heavy and burdened. "That's all you ever do, Kimi. You make me cry, then you love me. You criticise me, then you love me. I do what you want and it's still never enough for you. I will never be enough." 

And suddenly, you were young kids all over again. Facing each other outside of school under the blues skies and warm winds of Bologna. Your smile so bright for him, he promised never to make it go away. Eyes so full of light, he never wanted to see a single tear.  

Kimi blinked, lips parting for a response but nothing ever came out. Just the croak of realisation as he stood in front of you, finally taking in your reddened eyes, tear stained cheeks, and flushed skin.   

It was like a slap to the face.  

That was his doing.  

He had made you cry. 

He had hurt you.  

What had he done? 

You wiped your cheeks hastily as he stepped forward, hand hesitantly reaching out. Your throat burned, raw and sore from yelling. "I'm done, Kimi. Don't call me. Or my parents. Don't come by my house," you sniffled, lip quivering with disgust. “I don't ever want to talk to you again." 

Oscar had recognised your downbeat face in a heartbeat as you sat in the McLaren motorhome, in his room, waiting with a cup of hot chocolate in front of you. A familiar sight. But something was different. He could tell.  

No longer could he see the awkward, nervous demeanour Kimi had elicited from you. Instead a frame of exhausted freedom in your sunken eyes. Tip of your nose red and cheeks flushed from crying.  

Oscar could tell this would be the last time he'd ever let you cry.  

He breathed in quietly, removing his cap as he took a seat next to you. For a brief moment, he didn't say anything. A minute of silence for what was gone. For all your efforts that had been disrespected in every manner. 

"We don't have to talk about it," Oscar mumbled, grabbing your hand, frowning at your cold skin. Warming your hand gently, he took in another breath. "Or do anything. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." 

You moved your eyes from the coffee table drearily to Oscar, your hand, and then back to him. "Can I ask you question?" 

Oscar swallowed, nodding with a perfect ease. "Of course," he said softly. 

"Would you ever make me cry?" 

Not one second wasted to think when he already knew the answer. "Never," he breathed, moving to tuck your dishevelled hair behind your ear. "There is no world or universe where I could even fathom it." 

You pursed your lips, searching his eyes, trying to understand the weight of his words. Waiting for a split second to see if you could find the lies you had ignored in Kimi. But you found none. Just his warm gaze and the feel of his hand on your cheek, resting. 

The corners of Oscar's lips teetered. "Was that a good media trained answer?" 

You couldn't help but laugh a little, chest just a bit lighter now. You nodded your head. "Nice job," you murmured teasingly, nudging him with your elbow.  

Oscar smiled, boyish and gentle as his thumb grazed your cheek back and forth before tracing over the small crinkles near your eyes, raised from your own smile. His chest ached slightly. Happiness looked far better on you.  

You watched Oscar's eyes dip, falling to your lips for a brief moment. A silent struggle he decided to shake away. You sucked in a quiet breath, gentle fingers raising to brush over his lips, making him freeze. Meeting those brown eyes, a new shade you had come to enjoy, you tilted your head up and leaned in, pressing your mouth to his briefly. 

Oscar's breath caught and his pulse jumped as you pulled away a smidge, shy smile faint on your face. Without a second thought, he brought you right back to him, lips pressed against yours with a barely contained urgency. His nose knocked against yours, head tilting while he parted your mouth with a simple ease.  

The air in your lungs seemed to burn, caught and stuck while your brain turned into mush. It had been a while since someone had kissed you like they had meant it. Not for any camera or audience. A moment just yours. Your breath to steal.  

You shifted against him, feeling his hand move to your waist in an attempt to bring you closer. The soft noise from your throat made the both of you shudder. The thud against the couch was gentle as you fell on top of him, never quite parting. as though the taste of each other was all consuming. 

Oscar begrudgingly pulled away, breath shaky as he rested his head against yours. He swallowed, trying to compose himself. A gentle laugh fell from his swollen lips, brown eyes flickering to you and your flushed cheeks. "I was supposed to take this slow," he sighed.  

Your body shook lightly with an amused laughter. "You have all the time in the world to try," you teased. "I'm giving you my heart, Piastri. Don't screw it up." 

Oscar softly blinked, smile slowly stretching onto his face. "I promise," he breathed, pressing a long kiss to the top of your cheek. 

Radio silence. That all Kimi had heard from you. He had ignored your warnings. Called and called. Text after text to try and rectify his wrongs. But you had quickly blocked his number. And it wasn't the only gruelling problem in his life.  

Kimi didn't know what was going on but he was losing. He was losing bad. Every race... it was like he was taking a thrashing. And each one from them coming from Oscar. From wins and podiums... he was stuck at the bottom of top ten towards the end of a season. His big point lead now heavily eaten into. His confidence on thin ice. 

And it was all Oscar's fault.  

It was driving Kimi crazy. Leaving him in tears. because nothing quelled his anger. No workout. No crash. Nothing. He was even beginning to hallucinate. Hoping to turn around in the paddock and see you nearby. Hearing echoes of your voice in the air. Anything to keep him sane.  

But you weren't here. Because he had fucked up. because Oscar Piastri had decided to get in the way.  

Here Kimi was. After all of it. Entering the paddock miserably for the third to last race of the season. One of the championship deciders. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep on the plane. Long hours spent in silence and with his brain.  

He needed to head towards the Mercedes' suite for a morning brief. Pick up any instructions from the communiations team, maybe train a little before he went off to complete his media duties for the day.  

His smile was tight and dull for the nearby cameras, hand hanging onto the bag slung over his shoulder. He walked with no extra pep or ego in his step. No cocky cadence that he once exhibited. Only with a sliver of hope that he could win. Even by a single point. Because suddenly the season he had been dying to start was the same one he was dying to be over.  

Kimi's brows furrowed at the surprised looks of the photographers and people nearby. Their eyes travelling to the scene behind him, wide and cautious. He paused in his steps, body slowly turning to satiate his curiosity. But what he saw made his heart freeze and his blood run cold.  

He blinked once. Twice. And another two more times.  

But the sight never changed.  

Kimi wasn't hallucinating. It was you.  

For a second, Kimi's heart soared. A genuine smile threatening to spring onto his face. But as his eyes dropped down to your hand intertwined with another, he followed the arm to the familiar face of Oscar's and whatever happiness he had felt for a brief second had been smashed to smithereens.  

He watched silently. Forced to do so, if anything. Watched as Oscar did the opposite of everything he ever did. Guiding you through the hoard of photographers and fans, keeping you close by as you both meet with Lando nearby. Watched as Oscar noticed your untied shoe and bent down to tie them without a second thought. Coming back up to give you a gentle kiss on your cheek as you enthusiastically engaged with his teammate.  

Respectful and gentle with you. Fufilling all the promises Kimi had once made. 

You looked unexplainably happy. Talking to someone that wasn't him. Someone that was no longer afraid to reciprocate any conversation with you. 

For the first time in a while, Kimi could see the very same light in your eyes and your bright smile under these blue skies. None of which were for him. And it was like a stab to the heart.  

But nothing worse than the smooth swivel of Oscar’s head, brown eyes meeting his as he smiled at him. Not a grin. Or smirk. A smile. Innocent and kind on the outside was the gesture. But the lingering stare emphasised it all.  

It was official.  

His wins.  

His podiums.  

His reputation.  

His happiness.  

His first love.  

Oscar Piastri had stolen everything Kimi once had. 

In 2026, you attended like you always did. Only this time it wad clad in Ferarri red, prancing horse emblem proudly sitting on your cap and running after a severely depressed Charles Leclerc after his season seemed to go just as fucked as Lando’s car was.

Your best friend had tried to hide his distaste, keyword being tried, but ultimately he frowned whenever he had to see you dressed in the other teams colors. Not accepting it even if it was simply in a professional setting and instead flicking your cap off your head to replace it with his own papaya one.

Charles had found it quite amusing, teasing the Champion mercilessly to the point you were scared for the Monegasque whenever Lando was behind him on the track.

And with Max and Pietra living close by, it was only a given that there was an obligatory hang out scheduled during that week.

Nothing could have ruined your mood that night, so you thought.

If only it wasn’t Magui opening the door for you as you arrived a bit later then Lando at the couples place.

Barely suppressing a noise stuck between horror and utter surprise you choked out a little, “hi!”, eyes blown wide before searching for help from Pietra who had appeared behind the actress.

“Y/n, it’ so nice to see you again!” the words were lied straight through her teeth, Magui not moving herself out of the door as if wanting to stop you from entering altogether.

Moving around the blond Portuguese, Pietra gently moved her out of the way to let you in. She wrapped her arms around you, having last seen you when in Monaco when she and Max had visited you and Lando for the weekend.

“I’m sorry y/n, we didn’t know Lando would bring her! Did you–?” she whispered into your ear as she swayed with you for a moment.

“Of course not! Last thing I knew was that they haven’t talked since that soccer game!” You hurried to whisper back, not wanting to appear as if you’d be talking about Magui when said woman was still standing right there, staring at you and P with a glint of annoyance in the blue of her eyes.

In your head you cursed Lando to hell and back, even hoping that stupid engine of his car was going to blow up on Sunday just to be spiteful.

The question why he apparently saw it fit to invite a woman he knew you couldn’t stand and most likely also knew, couldn’t stand you, was burning in you hotter then the sun ever could.

Last years conversation during the F1 75 Event suddenly was at the back of your mind, remembering how he had ensured you that it was nothing serious with them. Not in so many words but you did feel like that’s what he meant. And since you haven’t heard of the actress much since then, you had thought that had been the end of it.

Seemed like you were wrong.

“Hurry, its getting cold…” The other woman fake shivered, the temperature of 27°C making it impossible for her to be actually cold.

Rolling your eyes so hard they might as well have seen your brain for a second once Magui turned to get inside, rubbing at her arms and announcing loudly to everyone that you had “finally managed to make time in your busy schedule to grace them with your presence,” you fought the urge to fight her.

“How you can be friends with her, I truly wonder,”

The door fell shut.

Pietra looked a bit pained, knowing very well that her other friend did have the tendency to lay it on thick when it came to you and that since your first time meeting, there has been a certain tension that wasn’t exactly unjustified.

“She’s not so bad when it’s just us, I swear,”

Giving her a look Pietra knew you didn’t believe her.

Fair, she thought.

“Just don’t let her get to you, okay? She has to leave in about an hour either way,”

“I’ll try but no promises!” you answered with a pointed look.

However when you walked into the livibg room and saw Magui settled comfortable attached to Lando on the couch, a place that was by default reserved for you, you immediately regret to agreeing.

The McLaren driver looked comfortable, even indulgent into her little giggles that grated on your nerves even from afar just as Max appeared with a glass of your favorite wine in his hand.

He quickly wrapped his arms around you as best as he could, a short kiss pressed against your temple, “Just smile and pretend, sunshine. She’ll be gone soon.”

Pietra had sat down with the two lovebirds shamelessly flirting at the moment, though you thought Lando seemed a bit distracted when his eyes met yours over Max’s shoulder.

“Lets pray you got enough wine until then, Maxie.” You accepted the glass with a grateful hum, taking a larger than maybe reasonable sip right after he had let go and earning a snort from your other best friend.

The Brit stirred you towards the single seater across the balcony door, giving you a direct route of escape should your patience run out quicker then the said hour of her presence.

You settled into the throw pillows, hands clutching the wine as if it were you safety line in this situation. Maybe it kind of was…

“I heard of your movie release a while ago. Congratulations for that, Magui.” You smiled forced, hopping that small talk would make he stop clinging to your man lando so much just to be horribly disappointed as she grabbed Lando’s hand while she talked animatedly about her premiere.

Nearly dissociating during her monologue you kept nodding along, eyes pointedly avoiding the man beside your rival? Enemy? You didn’t know what to think of her really.

It wasn’t easy, your eyes flicking back to Lando every so often just to see his reaction to the girl next to him.

It made your stomach drop, to see him mostly focused on Magui, a fond smile plastered on his face even if it looked a bit forced. The little green eyed monster on your shoulder with his claws buried deep and whispering in your ears, not leavibg you alone for a second.

And when he turned to meet your sharp gaze, yu answered by lifting your glass in a mock toast, the corners of your mouth curling into the sweetest smile you could fake.

Max sighed into his beer while Pietra shot her boyfriend a knowing look that said this is going to end interesting.

You took another long sip of wine, hoping it would drown out the ugly knot twisting tighter in your chest, because jealousy had never been an emotion you had to handle often or well.

Magui laughed loudly at her own joke that you seemed to have missed and leaned her head against Lando’s shoulder as if she belonged there, making your grip on the stem of your glass tighten until your knuckles turned white.

Was this why Lando had told you that the almost kiss you shared shouldn’t have happened? Because he had already started seeing Magui again?

God you wanted to throw up at the thought of them together again.

Lando’s smile faltered for the briefest heartbeat when he caught the hurt that slipped through your carefully crafted expression, his fingers unconsciously loosening where Magui still held his hand.

You wanted to go home, maybe get a hug from your mom like you did when you were a child and never see them again.

Half of the conversation you completely tuned out. You didn’t hear Max talk about the Pop Up in London, or Pietra getting up to take Rio out for a walk, or that Max kept refilling your glass whenever it started to look a bit more empty until you were on 3rd glass within the hour until finally the Portuguese woman rose and finally let go of Lando.

Just to have him get up too to walk her out.

The room suddenly felt suffocating, everything fading into meaningless background noise as the realization settled heavily in your stomach that maybe you had misunderstood everything happening between the two of you recently.

“Are you okay?” Pietra dared to ask as she looked into the hallway to check if Lando was coming back. Max eyed you carefully, watching how you looked up sharply as if ripped out of your own world.

“Yeah!” you said almost to fast, voice a bit to high and loud. “Yes, of course why wouldn’t I be? I– I…”

They both saw the exact moment in which your eyes went glassy.

“…I need some air…”

Neither Pietra nor Max managed to get a word out before you were out the balcony door. Wine glass abandoned on the table now and neither able to fault you for needing a moment.

Max had known that the situation had turned messy long before today. Maybe it had always been messy, he wondered then and Pietra, having been on the receiving end of your rant calls for quite some time now, knew that it had only been a matter of time until something spilled over.

And even if that didn’t have front row seats to the disaster that was you and Lando, anyone else seeing you together knew that this wasn’t just friendship.

The balcony door slid shut behind you with a soft click, muffling what was going on inside until all you could hear was the distant hum of traffic, the chirping of a bird and the frantic pounding of your own heart as you gripped the railing hard enough for the sun heated metal to burn your fingers.

Inside, Lando’s laugh abruptly died the second he stepped back into the living room and found your seat empty, his eyes immediately searching the room before landing on the untouched wine glass you had left behind.

Max didn’t even bother hiding the disappointed look he sent his best friend, taking a long pull from his beer before muttering, “Congratulations, mate. You finally fucked it.”

Behind you, the sliding door opened again a bit later and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him, the familiar weight of presence and the soft hesitation in the steps giving him away before he said a single word.

“Hey…” he started carefully, like he was approaching a skittish animal but the word alone made your throat tighten as you finally looked at him with glassy eyes you couldn’t fully hide.

“Why was she here?” you demanded to know with force, trying to will away the tears wanti g to spill out.

Lando stood still for a moment. He hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. Maybe anger for bringing Magui or maybe annoyance but this? This raw and utter defeat tangled with rage? That he hadn’t expected.

“She had a few days off and was at the Pop Up so I thought, why not catch up with everyone,” he said carefully just to receive a scoff.

“Catch up, hm? Sure looked a lot more comfortable then just catching up to me.”

Lando frowned at that.

“That’s not— it’s not like that love,” he started, then stopped himself knowing that you didn’t believe him either way.

The petname usually able to warm your heart now simply served to make you mad.

“Then pray tell me what it is like, hm? Why invite her after no contact for months?” you hissed back, tone scratching at his patience.

“Like I said, just catching up!”

“Question. Do you think I’m dumb? Or blind?” you asked with your arms now crossed and you chin tilted up with a kind of sass only you could bring to the table.

“No but I think you’ve twisted this thing between me and Magui—”

“So there is a thing now?”

Taking a step forward Lando inhaled slowly to not let it show how much it got to him being called out about this thing he was trying not to make one. “No, like I was trying to say youre twisting it into something its not!”

Your laugh came out pained as you shot back, “Right, because I just imagined her nearly crawling into your lap just now.”

“You said there was nothing between you! You, said that last year!” you spat, voice cracking under the weight of it.

„An I wasn’t lying y/n,“ Lando said quietly, his jaw tightening as he held your gaze.

Your breath hitched, anger and hurt tangling so tight in your chest that it felt like you couldn’t separate one from the other.

He took another careful step closer, lowering his voice, “I didn’t lie then and I’m not lying now— there is nothing between me and Magui, not like you’re thinking.”

What was meant to be reassuring was everything but that. You felt hot, not because of the weather but because of burning anger boiling your blood. “Then why was she fucking here?“

Lando took another step closer, his voice dropping as frustration finally cracked through the careful restraint he’d been holding onto.

„Why do you even care who I fuck, hm? You aren’t my girlfriend,“ he snapped, the words tasting wrong on his mouth as he said them.

„And she isn’t either, so why was she here?“ you forced out darkly followed by a silence that knocked the air out of your lungs. Your shoulders that had been tense before dropped significantly and your voice a bit breathless „She isn’t… right?“

Lando’s expression broke for a second, all the frustration draining out of him as he stepped closer and murmured, „Y/n, love…“.

He shook his head slowly, voice quieter now, insisting again that there was nothing between him and Magui.

Your throat tightened as you stared at him, barely breathing when you repeated, „Lando tell me she isn’t… please…“.

Lando standing in front of you now reached out but stopped just short of touching you, exhaling sharply before answering, „She isn’t anything like that, I swear— there’s no her and me.“

The words should have soothed you, but instead your eyes filled anyway as you stood there frozen.

„Why do you even care?“ he asked quietly, eyes shaking a bit at his own question.

„Because you can’t be her’s!“

The words echoed in Lando’s ears. Breath caught sharply at your words, his eyes fixed on you like he had just been hit harder than any crash he’d ever taken on track, and for once Lando looked completely lost.

„Then who’s am i, huh?“ he whispered into the closing gap between you.

Your words were stuck in your throat and you didn’t know what to say. The question was good. Who’s was he because it wasn’t you. It had never been you and even if you hated that he wasn’t, you still saw him as your’s.

„Say it, who’s am i?“ he said again, wanting to know what you were going to say. He couldn’t help but stare at your lips stuck between your teeth as you tried to come up with something to say.

„Lan—“ you breathed shakily.

„Say it.“ Forehead touching yours now he wasn’t asking anymore. He wanted an answer. “Come one, my love just say it…”

The air between you felt impossibly thin, like one wrong breath would snap whatever fragile line was holding you both together.

You swallowed hard, chin lifting in that stubborn, petulant way that had always undone him and forced out, „You’re mine!“

Lando went completely still, like the world had short-circuited, his hands finally closing the last inch between you as they came up to hold your face.

„Damn right i am.“

His lips found your own in a demanding kiss that knocked the air you had left in your lungs completely out again. It was far from gentle but just as satisfying as the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place after hours of searching for it.

Your fingers found the front of his shirt, tugging and pulling him in to prevent any distance forcing you apart again until you had to come up for air.

His mouth stayed only inches away from yours, thumbs brushing feather light over your cheeks and sending shivers down your spine.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though neither of you dared to move away.

Instead, you shook your head quickly and that was all the permission he needed to lean in again.

In the living room Max and Pietra had tried not to listen into to fight happening outside. Due to the volume it was nearly impossible to do so however and even while talking about their upcoming week didn’t distract them enough to miss what was going on outside.

And then there was silence all of a sudden.

Scared that you and Lando had finally murdered each other now, Max whipped around just to have his jaw nearly drop. P quickly reached out to hold onto his arm, trying to steady herself and equally as shocked as her boyfriend.

Max’s best friend. His best man. The human equivalent of a migraine wrapped in a tux.

He was somehow still laughing, still talking, still managing to irritate you from across the room without even opening his mouth. It was a talent, really. You thought he was smug, insufferable, and entirely too pleased with himself for someone who hadn’t contributed anything meaningful to society except chaos and a few podiums.

As for what he thought about you?

You didn’t care. Truly. Deeply. Profoundly.

(And if you repeated that enough times, maybe one day it would even feel true.)

The only downside to Pietra marrying Max was the unfortunate, unavoidable reality that Lando Norris was now a permanent fixture in your life. A recurring character. A long-term problem. A headache with a lifetime warranty.

The thought alone made your skin crawl in a way that felt almost personal.

The weirdest part wasn’t the disappearing guests or the suspiciously pale groomsman who nearly face‑planted into the cake. No, the weirdest part came when you realized you hadn’t seen Pietra in… a while.

At first, you brushed it off. She was a newlywed. Newlyweds vanish. It’s practically a wedding tradition. Maybe she was touching up her makeup. Maybe she was having a moment with Max. Maybe she was hiding from Lando, which would be completely understandable and honestly relatable.

But something felt off.

Pietra wasn’t the type to disappear without a word, especially not from her own reception—the event she’d planned down to the color of the napkin rings. And the longer you went without seeing her, the more that uneasy little knot twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t panic yet, but it was definitely panic‑adjacent.

So, for your own peace of mind, you pulled out your phone and called her.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then it connected.

“P? Where are you? Are you okay?”

There was a pause—the kind that immediately tells you the answer is no.

When she finally spoke, her voice was thin and shaky, nothing like the glowing, ecstatic bride you’d been celebrating with an hour ago.

“Can you come to our room?”

That was it.

No explanation. No reassurance. No “don’t freak out.”

Just those six words.

The call ended a second later, leaving you staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.

And suddenly, that uneasy feeling in your stomach sharpened into something much closer to full‑blown panic—the kind that makes your heart thump too hard and your brain start listing every possible worst‑case scenario in alphabetical order.

Because if Pietra sounded like that on her wedding night, something was very, very wrong.

You hurried through the hotel hallway, moving as fast as your heels would let you—which, unfortunately, was not very fast at all. Your phone was still in your hand, screen glowing with the last call, and you were so focused on Pietra’s shaky voice replaying in your head that you didn’t even look up when you turned the corner.

Which is exactly why you slammed straight into someone.

“Ow!”

You stumbled back, clutching your phone like it might soften the impact. And then you looked up.

Of course.

Of course it was Lando Norris.

Because why wouldn’t the universe add insult to injury.

He steadied himself, then gave you a once‑over that somehow managed to be both annoyed and judgmental, like you’d personally offended him by existing in his path.

“Watch it,” he said.

“You watch it,” you shot back, because you refused to let him have the last word. Not tonight. Not ever.

You pointed a finger at him, ready to continue the argument you two had apparently been having since the day you met—but then you both reached for the same door handle.

Pietra and Max’s room.

You froze.

He froze.

“What the fuck are you—”

Before either of you could finish, a voice croaked from inside the room. Weak. Miserable. Dramatic in a way only one person could manage.

“Stop flirting and come in! Both of you!”

Max.

Or, more accurately, whatever was left of Max. 

Lando grimaced so hard it looked painful. “If he says that again, I’m going to be sick.”

He shot you a look—the kind that said this is your fault somehow—before pushing the door open.

Honestly?

You felt the same way.

Instead of dignifying him with a response, you rolled your eyes so hard it was practically a workout and followed him inside.

Whatever was happening inside the room looked like something straight out of a low‑budget horror movie—the kind where you already know half the cast won’t make it to the sequel.

The wedding? Completely forgotten. Pietra’s dress was crumpled in a sad little heap on the floor, like it had given up on life. Max’s tux jacket was draped over a chair in a way that suggested he’d either thrown it or collapsed out of it. Hard to tell.

Pietra was curled up on the bed, pale and miserable, clutching a pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. Max sat hunched over at the table with his head in his hands, breathing like someone who had seen things. Terrible things. Things he would never emotionally recover from.

“For newlyweds, you two look horrible,” Lando observed, because apparently he felt the need to narrate the obvious.

As if the scene didn’t already scream we are dying.

“You have no idea,” Pietra groaned, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Never eating seafood again,” Max muttered into his palms.

You frowned, stepping further into the room. “What happened?”

“The seafood happened,” Pietra said weakly, like the words themselves were painful.

Max lifted his head just enough to confirm it. “It was bad. Everyone’s sick.”

“Everyone?” you repeated, because surely this couldn’t be as dramatic as it sounded.

“My parents are sick. Pietra’s cousins are sick. Half the wedding is sick.” He swallowed hard, face twisting. “I think I’m gonna thr—”

“Okay, mate, we get it,” Lando cut in quickly, hands up like he was warding off a demon.

Neither of you needed the visual.

A heavy silence settled over the room—the kind that comes right before someone admits something truly stupid.

And then Lando, because he physically could not help himself, added,

“I told you seafood was a terrible idea.”

Max slowly lifted his head, eyes dead, soul gone. “Not helping.”

“Just saying.”

Of course he was.

Suddenly, a thought hit you—sharp and obvious, like the kind of realization you really should’ve had ten minutes earlier.

You turned to Lando, narrowing your eyes.

“If everyone ate the seafood… why aren’t you sick?”

He looked at you like you’d just accused him of kicking puppies for fun. His whole face twisted, offended on a spiritual level.

“I hate seafood,” he said, dripping with disgust. Like it was common knowledge. Like it was printed on his passport. Like you were personally stupid for not knowing his dietary preferences.

Before you could roll your eyes hard enough to sprain something, he pointed right back at you.

“Could ask you the same. Why aren’t you sick?”

“I’m on a diet,” you said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

His eyebrows shot up, and he looked far too pleased with himself as he looked toward Max.

“See? This is what happens when you order seafood even though half your guests don’t even eat it.”

“You two don’t mean half the guests,” Pietra muttered from the bed, rolling her eyes so weakly it was almost impressive she managed it at all.

“Well—but that’s not why you’re here,” Max started.

The tone in his voice shifted. Instantly. Like someone had dimmed the lights and added ominous background music.

This wasn’t a joke anymore.

Even Lando went quiet—which was honestly the most alarming symptom in the room.

“We can’t go on our honeymoon,” Max said weakly. “We literally can’t even stand, let alone fly to the Maldives.”

Pietra raised a shaky hand from the bed, like she was giving sworn testimony. “Also… it’s non‑refundable.”

As if that somehow made the situation more tragic.

Which, unfortunately, it did.

“And?” you asked slowly, because you already didn’t like where this was going. “What does that have to do with us?”

Max glanced at Pietra.

Then at you.

Then at Lando.

Then back at you.

“Since you’re the only ones who are able to go…”

No.

No, no, no.

Absolutely not.

Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like missing a step on the stairs.

Did they just—

Did they seriously just—

“Absolutely not,” Lando cut in immediately, shaking his head so hard his curls bounced.

For once, you agreed with him.

Violently.

Because there was no universe—none—where you and Lando Norris should be sent on a romantic, luxury honeymoon together.

Which, of course, meant that was exactly what was about to happen.

No.

No, absolutely not.

Your stomach dropped so fast you felt it in your toes. They weren’t actually suggesting this. They couldn’t be. This had to be a fever dream caused by secondhand seafood fumes.

For once, you were perfectly aligned with him. A rare, terrifying moment of unity.

But Max wasn’t done.

“It’s a private villa,” he said, voice wobbling. “Some newlywed activities—”

You stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. “Did you hit your head while eating the seafood too?”

Because that was the only explanation. Truly. The man had lost brain function. You were going to wake up any second now. Maybe you’d fall off a chair and snap back into the correct timeline. Or maybe you should hit your head and skip straight to the part where none of this was happening.

“It’ll go to waste if you don’t go,” Pietra added, sounding both tragic and dramatic, which was impressive considering she looked like she might faint at any moment.

Lando let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Then let it go to waste. Problem solved.”

“Good thing we’re not asking you,” Max said, ignoring him completely. “We’re telling you.”

Silence fell over the room.

Not the normal kind.

The bad kind.

The kind that meant decisions had already been made without your consent.

“I already called the resort,” Max continued, like he was ripping off a Band‑Aid. “We told them we’re sick and can’t go. But our—also freshly married—friends will go instead of us.”

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

No.

No.

Absolutely no.

What the actual fuck.

This had to be illegal. Or a prank. Or a shared hallucination brought on by the cursed seafood poisoning half the hotel.

Max was clearly too exhausted to keep talking. Pietra, unfortunately, was not. She pushed herself up just enough to finish his sentence, her voice thin but determined.

“We just changed the names,” she said, like that explained anything at all.

You stared at her, waiting for the part where she clarified. She didn’t.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Pietra smiled—weakly, proudly, and completely out of touch with reality. She looked like she might faint at any second, yet somehow she still had the nerve to look pleased with herself.

“From now on, you’re Mr. and Mrs. Norris!”

The words hung in the air like a bomb that hadn’t decided whether to explode or not. Too cheerful. Too final. Too insane to process.

For a moment, nobody reacted. The room went still, like even the walls were trying to understand what she’d just said.

Then everything reacted at once.

“I hope you’re fucking kidding,” Lando said, voice flat and sharp.

“No,” Pietra replied immediately, not even blinking.

“I’m not going anywhere with her,” he snapped, pointing at you like you were the problem.

“I’m not going anywhere with him,” you shot back at the exact same time, because if he was pointing, you were pointing too.

Silence fell again—heavy, miserable, the kind that made you want to walk straight into the ocean.

Max didn’t even lift his head. He just groaned into the table like he’d accepted his fate and yours.

Pietra sighed, sounding far too calm for someone who had just detonated your life. “Well,” she said, “good thing it’s already done.”

And just like that, your nightmare didn’t just have a name.

It had a reservation.

A villa.

A flight to the Maldives.

And a husband you didn’t even like.

When the realization finally settled between you and your apparently new husband, all you could do was let out a long, exhausted groan—the kind that came from deep in your soul, the kind that said I did not sign up for this. It was the only reaction your brain could manage. Your thoughts were basically just static and disbelief.

Lando, on the other hand, had plenty of energy left to complain.

“Mate, I love you,” he said, turning toward Max with the dramatic flair of someone delivering a eulogy, “but right now I hate you so much.”

Max didn’t even lift his head. He didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself. He just sat there, hunched over the table like a man who had accepted every bad decision that led him to this moment.

Pietra gave a weak little wave from the bed, like she was blessing a doomed union. “You’ll thank us later,” she mumbled, which was bold for someone who looked like she might pass out mid‑sentence.

Lando exhaled sharply, then looked between you, Max, and Pietra with the expression of a man who had lost all hope in humanity. “Enjoy your free honeymoon,” he said flatly. A beat. “Lovebirds.”

You and Lando turned to each other at the exact same time.

“No.”

It came out perfectly synchronized—same tone, same disgust, same absolute refusal. If you weren’t so horrified, you might’ve been impressed.

And for the first time all night, even Max looked slightly amused. His mouth twitched, just barely, like he wanted to smile but didn’t have the physical strength to commit to it.

Which was great.

Fantastic.

Wonderful.

At least someone was enjoying the beginning of your shared nightmare.

────────────

The moment you stepped off the boat, you regretted not eating the seafood too. Honestly, at least then you’d be back at the hotel, curled up on a bathroom floor, dramatically begging for death like everyone else. Instead, you were here—in paradise—with the one person who could make even the Maldives feel like a punishment. You were at that stage of life where you would genuinely prefer food poisoning over spending any time alone with Lando Norris. And that said a lot.

The Maldives were gorgeous, of course. The water was so turquoise it looked fake, the sand was blindingly white, and the palm trees swayed like they were performing for a commercial. Everything around you was warm and soft and perfect, the kind of place people saved up for years to visit. It should have been paradise. It should have been peaceful. It should have been romantic.

But then there was the idiot standing next to you.

Lando looked around with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, somehow managing to look annoyed despite being surrounded by literal postcard scenery. His expression said he’d rather be anywhere else. You hoped he was regretting this as much as you were. Preferably more.

A pair of resort employees approached with bright, excited smiles—the kind of smiles people only have when they have no idea what kind of disaster they’re dealing with.

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Norris! Congratulations on your honeymoon.”

Your eye twitched so hard you were surprised it didn’t fall out. If one more person called you that, you might actually swim back to the mainland.

“Thanks,” Lando said smoothly, flashing them one of his signature smiles like he hadn’t spent the last 48 hours insisting he wasn’t going anywhere with you.

You shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.

What happened to I’m not going anywhere with her?

He caught your glare and shrugged, all innocent and useless.

Traitor.

Not wanting to be rude to the only people here who hadn’t personally ruined your life, you forced a polite smile. Before you could correct them—or scream—one of the employees picked up your suitcase with cheerful efficiency.

“Come with us,” she said brightly. “We’ll show you your villa.”

The walk to the villa was painfully, almost comically silent. Not a single word passed between you. You stared straight ahead like you were being marched to your doom. Lando did the same, jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he was being forced to attend his own funeral. The two resort employees leading the way kept glancing back at you both, probably wondering what kind of honeymooning couple walked like they were on their way to court.

Eventually, one of them cleared her throat, clearly trying to break the tension before it swallowed all four of you whole.

“I’m sorry about your friends.”

You blinked, pulled out of your internal spiral. Right. Max and Pietra. The actual newlyweds. The ones currently dying in a hotel room.

“Yeah,” you said. “It sucks.”

“They were very upset when they called,” she continued gently. “But they seemed happy that you two could still enjoy the honeymoon.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet.

Happy.

That was certainly one way to describe it. Delusional was another. Criminally optimistic was a third.

Beside you, Lando made a noise—something between a laugh and a strangled groan. Honestly, it could’ve been either. Or both.

“And how long are you two married?”

You froze.

Well.

Eh.

You didn’t exactly have a script for this. You didn’t know whether to lie, tell the truth, or throw yourself into the ocean and let the fish sort it out.

Before you could decide, Lando spoke.

“Two months.”

You whipped your head toward him so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Lando didn’t even look at you. He just kept walking beside you like he hadn’t casually invented an entire fake marriage timeline out of thin air. No hesitation. No shame. No warning. Just two months tossed into the universe like it was a normal, reasonable answer.

The employee beamed at the both of you, completely fooled.

“How lovely! Newlyweds.”

“Yeah,” Lando replied smoothly, slipping into the role like he’d been practicing in the mirror. “Still getting used to it.”

You stared at him, your brain short‑circuiting.

Still getting used to it.

Still. Getting. Used. To. It.

Was he insane? Was he actually insane? Because that was the only explanation for the confidence with which he delivered that line. You caught the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—the smallest hint of amusement, like he knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying every second of your suffering.

The bastard was enjoying this.

“Oh, absolutely,” you said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile so stiff it could’ve cracked. “Every day is a surprise.”

Lando finally glanced at you, and for a split second, you saw it—the spark of amusement in his eyes, the quiet little I’m having fun and you can’t stop me glint.

You hated it.

You hated him.

The villa was ridiculous.

Not just nice—insultingly nice. The kind of nice that made you question every choice you’d ever made in your life. The terrace stretched out over the water like it was showing off. There was a glass slide straight into the ocean, an infinity pool that blended into the horizon, an outdoor shower, two separate bathrooms (mercifully), and enough space to host three families, a wedding, and maybe a small cult.

It was paradise.

And you hated that you were seeing it with him.

The second the employees left, you spun toward Lando.

“What the hell was that?”

Lando dropped his bag onto the floor like he owned the place. “What was what?”

“‘Two months’?” you repeated, voice rising. “Where did you even get two months from?”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Sounded believable.”

“Believable?”

“What was I supposed to say?” he shot back. “‘Actually, we’ve known each other for years and can’t stand one another, but our friends got food poisoning and sent us on their honeymoon instead’?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it. and opened it again.

“…Well, maybe not like that.”

“Exactly,” he said, like he’d just won a debate on national television.

“That doesn’t mean you get to invent an entire marriage!”

“Oh, come on,” he said, already wandering deeper into the villa like a man on vacation. “It’s harmless.”

“Harmless?”

“Yes.”

“You made me your wife.”

Lando paused mid‑step and turned, looking genuinely confused.

“You already were my wife.”

The room went still. You stared at him. He stared back.

Three long, painful seconds passed.

Then something flickered across his face—realization, horror, embarrassment, all at once.

“Oh.”

Your eye twitched. “Oh?”

“Okay,” he winced, “that sounded worse out loud.”

“You think?”

“I mean she called you Mrs. Norris first. She made you my wife,” Lando tried to defend himself.

Before you could continue tearing him apart, a knock interrupted you.

Both of you froze.

The door opened immediately—because apparently privacy was optional here—and one of the resort employees peeked in with an apologetic smile.

“Oh! Sorry, one more thing.”

You instinctively stepped away from Lando like he was radioactive. He noticed. Of course he did. The employee didn’t.

“Your first romantic dinner is at eight tonight.”

Silence.

“What?” you said.

“Romantic dinner,” she repeated cheerfully. “On the beach. Just the two of you.”

You slowly turned your head toward Lando.

He turned toward you. Then both of you turned back to her.

“We don’t need—”

“Wonderful!” she cut in. “See you at eight!”

The moment she left, you pushed open the bedroom door.

And immediately stopped. Of course.

Of course there was one bed. Not just any bed—one large, perfectly made, aggressively romantic bed positioned directly in front of the ocean like it was trying to prove a point. Rose‑petal energy without the actual petals. The kind of bed that practically whispered consummate something.

You just stared at it, frozen in place.

Lando leaned against the doorframe, peered inside, and let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “There’s really only one bed in this big‑ass villa?”

“Well obviously,” you snapped. “It’s a honeymoon villa, dumbass.”

“Right,” he muttered, like the universe had personally wronged him.

Silence settled between you—thick, awkward, the kind that made everything feel ten times worse. You could practically hear the ocean outside judging both of you.

Then Lando nodded toward the bed with the seriousness of someone offering a noble sacrifice.

“I’ll happily take the floor,” he announced.

You blinked.

Once. Twice.

“Wow,” you said. “Generous of you.”

Then you turned fully toward him, crossing your arms. “I’m going to be kind and let you take the couch in the living room. You’re absolutely not sleeping in the same room as me.”

“Right,” he said slowly, glancing toward the living room. “The couch.”

He nodded like he was processing a complicated mathematical equation.

“I should’ve thought about that earlier.”

────────────

The restaurant was somehow even more ridiculous than the villa—which felt almost impossible, but here you were, living proof that the universe had a sense of humor and it wasn’t a kind one.

A table for two sat directly on the sand, candles flickering in the warm evening breeze while waves rolled onto the shore like they’d been hired for ambience. Fairy lights hung from the palm trees overhead, glowing softly against the darkening sky. Music drifted through the air, gentle and warm, the kind that made everything feel softer than it actually was.

And you…

You looked beautiful. A yellow summer dress, light and easy, catching the breeze just enough to move with you. Your hair had settled into soft waves, brushing your shoulders every time you turned your head. You definitely hadn’t taken extra time to get ready because of your “husband.” Absolutely not. That would be ridiculous.

It looked like a scene from a romance movie.

Unfortunately, you were starring in it with Lando Norris.

The hostess smiled as she pulled out your chair, glowing with the kind of joy only people who believe in love have.

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Norris. We hope you have a magical first dinner as newlyweds.”

You forced a polite smile, the kind that felt like it might crack if you held it too long.

“Thank you.”

Lando matched your expression perfectly, like he’d been trained for this exact moment.

“Very kind of you.”

The hostess practically melted on the spot.

“Oh, you two are adorable.”

The second she walked away, both of your smiles dropped so fast they might’ve left dents in the sand.

“She called us adorable,” you muttered.

“She also called us married,” Lando replied, sounding personally offended.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

And for a moment, the two of you sat there in the middle of paradise, united only by mutual suffering.

You reached for the bread basket.

At the exact same moment Lando did.

Your hands collided in the middle of the table, a sharp little smack that made you both freeze. You pulled yours back instantly, like touching him might give you a rash.

“Watch it,” you muttered.

“You watch it,” he shot back, just as fast.

Before either of you could escalate, a waiter appeared beside the table carrying what looked like a tropical explosion in a glass—flowers, fruit, colors that didn’t exist in nature.

“For the honeymoon couple!” he announced proudly.

He set it down between you.

One glass.

Two straws.

A crime.

You and Lando stared at it like it had personally insulted you.

“No,” you both said at the same time.

“Oh, it’s complimentary!” the waiter beamed, completely missing the mutual horror, and vanished before you could protest.

Silence settled over the table again, warm and heavy like the night air.

“Well?” Lando said.

“Well what?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“So am I.”

Another long stretch of stubborn quiet passed—thirty seconds that felt like a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.

Finally, you both leaned forward at the same time.

And immediately bumped foreheads.

“Ow!”

You rubbed the spot, wincing, while Lando leaned back with a glare sharp enough to cut through the candlelight.

“Could you be any more dramatic?”

“You literally ran into me.”

“You ran into me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re annoying.”

The argument fizzled out only because you both leaned in and took a sip of the drink at the same time—careful this time, no forehead injuries—and neither of you dared admit it tasted incredible. Sweet, cold, perfect. A tiny piece of heaven in the middle of your personal hell.

The appetizers arrived a few minutes later, carried by a waiter who looked like he’d been waiting his whole life to serve a honeymoon couple. Every time he or anyone else walked by, you and Lando transformed instantly into the world’s most convincing romantic pair. It was almost impressive how fast the switch flipped.

“So, darling,” Lando said with a smile so bright it could’ve powered the fairy lights above you, “would you like the lobster?”

“No, sweetheart,” you replied just as sweetly, matching his tone like you’d rehearsed it. “You know I don’t eat seafood.”

The waiter’s face lit up.

“How lovely.”

The moment he walked away, your smile dropped. You kicked Lando under the table.

“Ow!” he hissed, jerking his leg back.

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me darling.”

“You started it.”

“You kicked me.”

“Good.”

Another waiter approached, moving carefully across the sand as if he were carrying something sacred. He placed two plates in front of you with a soft smile.

Steak and fries. Finally.

Separate plates.

Thank God.

You sat up a little straighter, almost relieved enough to forget who you were sitting with.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, her smile warm and hopeful, like she genuinely wanted your night to be perfect.

You returned it, stretching your own smile so wide your cheeks started to ache. “Everything’s perfect.”

Beside you, Lando nodded with the enthusiasm of a man who had fully committed to the bit. “Best honeymoon ever.”

The waiter beamed, delighted. “We’re so happy to hear that. Enjoy your evening!”

She walked away, leaving the two of you alone again—candles flickering, waves rolling in, the whole scene soft and romantic in a way that felt almost cruel.

The second the waiter disappeared, your foot shot out under the table and connected with Lando’s shin again. Maybe you were provoking him. Maybe you weren’t. Maybe the universe was simply guiding your leg. Either way, you weren’t about to admit anything.

He jerked back, glaring at you like you’d personally ruined his life.

“Can you fucking stop?”

“Stop lying.”

“You’re the one smiling.”

“I’m being polite.”

“You look psychotic.”

“Because of you.”

Lando stabbed another fry with his fork, then looked up at you with a confidence he absolutely did not deserve.

“You know,” he said, leaning back slightly, “for someone who supposedly hates me, you’ve been looking at me all evening.”

You scoffed, loud and sharp.

“Could say the same about you.”

And that was the first time since arriving that he actually went quiet.

Because you had noticed.

The little glances he kept sneaking across the table.

The way his eyes lingered a second too long before he looked away.

The absent-minded way he wet his lips whenever he was thinking.

The way he kept shifting in his seat like he was trying not to stare at you too openly.

None of it meant anything.

Obviously.

You weren’t delusional.

Still, something flickered across his face—something quick, something he tried to hide—before he straightened again.

“You’re imagining things,” he said.

“Am I?”

He held your gaze for a beat too long.

“Trust me,” he said, voice low and annoyingly confident. “If I was staring, you’d know.”

Your heart did something incredibly inconvenient—a tiny jump, a tiny skip, the kind of reaction you immediately wanted to throw into the ocean. You grabbed your glass instead, lifting it like it could physically reset your brain.

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he replied, reaching across the table to steal one of your fries like he had every right to, “you haven’t left.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That was my fry.”

He took a slow, deliberate bite. “Tastes better when it’s yours.”

You kicked him under the table. Hard.

He hissed, jerking his leg back. “Jesus—are you trying to break my leg?”

“Debatable,” you said, taking a calm sip of your drink like you hadn’t just committed violence.

Lando rubbed his shin under the table, glaring at you like you’d personally ruined his evening. “You’re a violent wife.”

Your mouth twitched before you could stop it. “You’re an annoying husband.”

A beat passed—warm, tense, too quiet.

Then he leaned back slightly, smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes glinting in the candlelight.

“You realize if you break my leg, you’d have to take care of me, sweetheart?”

You didn’t even blink.

“I’m gonna throw up.”

His smirk widened, slow and smug, like he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.

And the worst part?

Your heart did that inconvenient little jump again.

────────────

The morning started peacefully. Too peacefully. The kind of peaceful that made you suspicious, like the universe was holding its breath before dropping something heavy on your head.

You and Lando sat at the breakfast table like two people who had agreed to a temporary ceasefire. No shin‑kicking. No dramatic sighs. No sarcastic comments sharp enough to cut through the tropical air. Just quiet eating, the soft clink of cutlery, and the occasional scroll through your phones.

Almost normal.

Almost comfortable.

Then Lando opened his mouth.

“We’re going golfing,” he said casually, not even looking up, biting into a pastry like he was reading the weather report.

“No.”

That one word snapped his attention up instantly. He blinked at you, confused, like he’d never heard the word before.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean I hate golf.”

“That’s not a valid reason.”

“It’s a very valid reason.”

He sighed dramatically, like you had personally ruined his entire morning, his week, and possibly his life.

“I can’t play alone.”

“You absolutely can.”

“I can’t.”

You narrowed your eyes. He was lying. Badly. A man who drove cars at terrifying speeds for a living could absolutely survive a solo round of golf.

“You race cars for a living.”

“And?”

“You can function independently.”

He ignored that completely, like you hadn’t spoken at all.

“We’re going. It’s already booked.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“You’re my wife,” he said flatly.

You froze.

Slowly lifted your head from your plate.

Stared at him like he’d just confessed to murder.

“I’d rather swim back than be your wife.”

“From the Maldives?”

“Especially from the Maldives.”

He opened his mouth, probably to say something smug, but you cut him off with a raised hand.

“And I’d make it.”

He snorted. “You’d get eaten by a shark.”

“Better than golfing with you.”

Twenty minutes later, you were standing in the golf club lobby anyway. You still weren’t sure how it happened. One moment you were saying no, the next you were being dragged into a shuttle like a hostage. Against your will, obviously. Completely against your will.

Lando was at the counter, talking to the staff like he owned the place, arranging equipment and carts as if this was his idea of a perfect morning. He looked relaxed, confident, annoyingly at his element.

You slipped away toward a small souvenir shop tucked beside the path.

Just for a moment. Just to breathe.

Inside, everything was glossy, overpriced, and aggressively tropical. Shelves full of shell necklaces, handmade bracelets, tiny carved wooden animals, and bright fabrics that probably cost more than your entire suitcase. The kind of things tourists bought when they were sun‑drunk and sentimental.

Then you saw it. A necklace.

A simple one—a thin cord with a small carved turtle pendant hanging from the center. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… cute.

You picked it up, letting the pendant rest in your palm. It made you smile before you could stop yourself.

You flipped the tag over and your smile died instantly.

You frowned. Hard.

“You like it?”

Lando’s voice came from behind you.

You jumped slightly, turning to see him leaning in the doorway, holding two golf clubs in one hand and the cart keys dangling from the other. He looked annoyingly casual, like he hadn’t just snuck up on you.

“It’s cute,” you said, “but the price is not cute.”

“How much?”

You held it up for him to see.

He squinted, leaned in a little, then let out a laugh—loud, surprised, real.

“Jesus Christ. That’s the price of the whole honeymoon.”

You huffed. “Exactly.”

You placed the necklace back carefully, almost gently, like it had personally betrayed you but you didn’t want to hurt its feelings. Way too expensive for something that would end up tangled in a drawer anyway.

“Be right back,” you said, already backing away from him. “Bathroom.”

“Don’t get lost,” he muttered without looking up.

“Try not to choke on your ego,” you shot back, turning before he could respond.

The bathroom was exactly what you expected from a place like this—unnecessarily fancy, spotless, and scented with something soft and expensive you’d never be able to justify buying in real life. You lingered longer than you needed to, letting the quiet settle over you. It wasn’t the bathroom you needed. It was the break from him.

When you stepped back out, the sun was brighter, the air warmer, and Lando was still near the shop.

Except… something was off.

He wasn’t doing anything dramatic. He wasn’t pacing or fidgeting or causing chaos. He was just standing there, a little too still, a little too focused on nothing. And the second he saw you, his eyes flicked up fast, scanning you like he was checking for something.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you walked toward him.

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

That was worse. Lando never said nothing quickly. If anything, he usually dragged it out just to annoy you.

You frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just waiting.”

“For what?”

He shrugged, already turning away, heading toward the golf carts like the conversation bored him. “Nothing.”

You watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what that tiny shift in his expression had been. Something flickering behind his eyes. Something he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

But you decided you didn’t care enough to dig into whatever weird Lando thing this was.

Probably just him being annoying.

You followed him anyway, even though you told yourself you weren’t following him at all—you were just walking in the same direction.

Coincidentally.

Obviously.

The golf course looked like it had been designed specifically to humiliate you. Endless stretches of perfect green, artificial lakes sparkling in the sun, and way too much open space for you to miss shots in front of strangers. It was beautiful in a smug, taunting way.

Lando, unfortunately, looked right at home.

“Okay,” he said, handing you a club like he was already regretting every life choice that led him here. “Just don’t hit anyone.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“You’re not strong enough.”

That alone made you swing harder than necessary.

The ball went approximately nowhere. It hopped. Maybe. Barely.

Silence.

Then Lando clapped once.

Slowly.

“Fantastic.”

“It moved,” you said defensively.

“Barely.”

“It moved.”

He shook his head, stepping up beside you with the confidence of someone who had been waiting all morning to show off.

“Okay, watch and learn.”

You crossed your arms. “Impress me.”

He didn’t even bother hiding the smirk. It stretched across his face, warm and smug, like he’d been born for this moment.

“One day you’re going to have to admit I’m good at something.”

“Not likely.”

He swung.

Perfect form. Perfect sound. Perfect shot.

The ball sailed clean across the course, cutting through the air like it had been personally trained by God.

Of course it did.

You hated that. You hated how easy he made it look. You hated the way his shoulders relaxed after the swing, the way he exhaled like he’d just done something casual instead of showing off in front of you.

“Show-off,” you muttered.

Lando didn’t even look at you. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“It’s not jealousy. It’s disappointment.”

“In me?”

“In the universe for letting you be this confident.”

He finally turned, leaning on his club like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t actively ruining your morning.

“You know, for someone who keeps insulting me, you’re very invested in my performance.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not,” he said easily. “Just observing.”

“Stop observing. It’s creepy.”

“You started it.”

“I did not start it.”

“You literally tried to hit me ten minutes ago.”

“That was character development.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re insufferable.”

“A perfect match, then.”

You shot him a sharp look.

“Don’t get delusional. This is a forced golf situation, not a personality assessment.”

He stepped closer—not much, just enough to make the air feel warmer—lowering his voice like he was letting you in on something you didn’t want.

“Careful,” he said. “Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you enjoy my company.”

You rolled your eyes. “In what world?”

He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his mouth.

“The one where you’ve been watching my swing for the last ten minutes.”

“That’s because I’m hoping you fall into one of those lakes.”

“Sure,” he said, smirking wider. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You opened your mouth to fire back—

But he cut in, casual, careless, like he wasn’t dropping a verbal grenade at your feet:

“Relax. I promise I’m not trying to get you into bed over a golf lesson.”

You froze.

Then stared at him.

“…What is wrong with you?”

Lando blinked, like he genuinely didn’t understand the problem.

“What? I was being nice.”

“That was not nice.”

“It was honest.”

“That makes it worse.”

“Gimme the keys. I’ll drive,” you said, holding out your hand like you were doing him a favor he didn’t deserve.

“Absolutely not.”

“You race cars for a living,” you reminded him, already leaning toward the ignition with far too much confidence for someone who had never driven a golf cart before. “And you’re scared of a golf cart?”

“I’m not scared of it. I’m scared of you driving it.”

“You should be,” you said with a small, satisfied smile as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Get your ass in there or walk.”

Lando let out the kind of long, dramatic sigh that suggested he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment. “Do you even have a driving licence?”

“I do.”

You absolutely did. Unfortunately for him.

He hesitated for a beat too long before climbing in beside you, gripping the side of the seat like it might suddenly eject him into the bushes. The second you pressed the pedal, the cart lurched forward—not dangerously, not wildly, just enough to make him tense like you’d launched a rocket instead of a glorified toy car.

“You’re overreacting,” you said, steering them down the path with what you considered perfect control. The breeze was warm, the sun was bright, and the cart hummed along peacefully. “You’re sitting in a golf cart, not a missile.”

“I’m observing risk factors,” he muttered, eyes fixed ahead like he was preparing for impact.

“That’s exactly what someone driving like you would say.”

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

He was absolutely not relaxed. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched, and he kept shifting like the seat was made of spikes. You took a slightly sharper turn—not reckless, not even fast, just sharper—and the cart tilted a little to the side.

Lando jolted.

His hand shot out without thinking, grabbing your thigh to steady himself.

Both of you froze.

The warmth of his hand lingered for a second, heavy and unexpected, before he snatched it back like it had betrayed him. His face was tight, his voice too quick.

“…That was balance,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I was balancing.”

You looked down at his hand, then back at him, unimpressed and far too aware of the moment. “Put that away.”

“I didn’t mean to—it slipped.”

“Sure it did.”

“It did.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t tease him. You didn’t even look at him again. You just kept driving, eyes on the path, pretending the moment hadn’t happened. And you definitely didn’t mind that it had.

Not that you would ever admit anything.

────────────

The boat rocked gently over the turquoise water, sunlight bouncing off the surface so brightly it almost hurt to look at. It should have been peaceful, the kind of morning people wrote postcards about. But unfortunately, part of the honeymoon package included couples snorkeling—something that would have been lovely if your “husband” wasn’t Lando Norris.

You sat beside him with your legs tucked under you, still mid‑argument from the pier, still annoyed, still refusing to let him win even a single point.

“No, I’m telling you,” you said, pointing at him like you were presenting evidence in court, “you cheated yesterday.”

“I did not cheat,” he replied flatly, not even blinking. “You just don’t understand basic physics.”

“I understand physics perfectly fine, actually.”

“Clearly not.”

“You literally aimed your ball into a bush and called it strategy.”

“It was strategy.”

Before you could continue, another couple sitting nearby—around your age, relaxed, sun‑kissed, clearly enjoying their vacation—turned toward you with amused smiles. They had that look people get when they stumble into entertainment they didn’t pay for.

“Are you two always like this?” the woman asked, still smiling.

Lando didn’t hesitate. Not even a breath.

“Yes.”

You cut in immediately, shaking your head. “No.”

That earned you a side glance from him, sharp and quick, like he couldn’t believe you’d contradict him in public.

The couple laughed, clearly delighted.

“You’re on your honeymoon, right?” the man asked.

Silence.

A very suspicious silence.

Lando nodded slowly, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. “Unfortunately.”

You kicked his foot under the seat, not gently.

The man looked between you both, still smiling, clearly enjoying the chaos you and Lando brought with you like it was part of the entertainment package. The boat rocked gently beneath you, warm wind brushing your face, but the question he asked cut straight through the easy atmosphere.

“So… why did you get married then?”

It hit a little too directly. A little too cleanly. You didn’t even think before answering.

“Because he’s rich.”

Lando’s head snapped toward you so fast you genuinely thought he might fall off the boat. His eyes were wide, offended, and a little betrayed.

“What?”

The couple laughed, assuming it was a joke—because of course they did. No one sane would say that seriously on a honeymoon boat.

You waved your hand quickly, trying to soften it. “I’m joking.”

“Mostly,” Lando muttered under his breath.

You elbowed him, but the couple didn’t seem to notice. They were still smiling, still entertained, still convinced they were witnessing some adorable newlywed banter instead of two people barely holding their fake marriage together.

“Fair enough,” the man said with a shrug, still amused. Then he leaned forward Lando slightly, curiosity bright in his eyes. “So what do you do, then?”

Your eye twitched at the word husband. It felt too heavy, too sharp, too wrong in your ears.

Lando answered before you could even inhale.

“I drive.”

The man blinked. “Like… cars?”

“Yeah.”

There was a beat—a tiny pause where the man’s face went blank, like his brain was flipping through a mental Rolodex. Then his eyes lit up all at once.

“Oh! Formula 1?”

Lando nodded once, calm on the outside, but you saw the tiny shift in his shoulders. The man’s expression changed instantly, excitement blooming across his face like someone had just handed him front‑row tickets to something huge.

“No way—Lando Norris? My brother is a huge fan! He never shuts up about you.”

Lando froze for the briefest second. It was small, barely there, but you noticed. Of course you noticed. You always noticed the little things he tried to hide.

“Oh,” the man continued, grinning even wider now, “I didn’t know you were married, mate.”

The silence that followed could’ve sunk the boat. It stretched between you and Lando like a rope pulled too tight. You both turned to look at each other at the exact same time, eyes locking in a silent, panicked conversation neither of you wanted to have out loud.

Then, without missing a beat, Lando smiled.

“It was a small wedding, y’know. Kept it private. I like keeping some things to myself.”

The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly it was almost concerning. He didn’t even blink. He didn’t hesitate. He just… said it. 

The man nodded approvingly, buying every word, then turned to you with a warm smile.

“Well, you’re lucky. Having a world champion at home.”

Pardon?

Absolutely not.

You smiled sweetly, matching his tone with practiced ease. “He’s the lucky one.”

Lando glanced at you, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, amusement, maybe a hint of something softer—but you didn’t give him time to process it.

“He’d be hopeless without me,” you added, completely unfazed.

“Oh, absolutely,” Lando replied, his grin returning, though it was a little tighter this time. “I’d forget where I left my trophies.”

The couple laughed, delighted, convinced they were witnessing a charming, playful honeymoon moment.

They had no idea you were both lying through your teeth.

Five minutes later, another problem appeared—one that had nothing to do with fake marriages or curious strangers. The snorkeling mask refused to cooperate. You adjusted the strap once, then again, then a third time, each attempt somehow making it sit even more crooked against your face. The elastic kept slipping, the plastic pressed awkwardly against your cheek, and the whole thing felt like it had been designed specifically to test your patience.

“For God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath, tugging at the strap like it had personally wronged you.

Lando looked over from where he was already wearing his own gear, mask perfectly fitted, snorkel in place, looking like someone who had never struggled with anything in his life. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make this stupid thing fit,” you snapped, still wrestling with it.

He watched you for a few seconds—long enough to be annoying, long enough to make you feel judged—before letting out an exaggerated sigh that carried across the entire boat. “C’mere.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Clearly.”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through the ocean breeze. “I said I can do it myself.”

“Just come here,” he said, already holding out his hand like he’d made the decision for you. “I want to look like a decent husband while I’m apparently married. The last thing I need is gossip pages saying I abandoned my wife before she even got in the water.”

“How embarrassing,” you muttered, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

He ignored the comment completely. Instead, he reached out, gently catching your wrist with warm fingers, pulling you the last step closer before you could protest again. The movement was soft, almost careful, and your argument died somewhere in your throat before you could shape it into words.

He reached behind your head with the confidence of someone who absolutely believed he knew what he was doing. His fingers brushed your hair as he tried to fix the loose strap, and within two seconds you felt a sharp tug at your scalp.

“Ow! Stop pulling my hair!”

“I’m not pulling your hair,” Lando said immediately, like the accusation offended him on a personal level.

“You are pulling my hair!”

“Then stop moving!”

“I’m not moving!”

“You’re literally flinching.”

“Because you’re yanking it!”

A couple of snorkelers nearby glanced over, clearly wondering if they needed to intervene. You forced a bright, strained smile, teeth clenched so tightly it almost hurt.

“Everything’s fine,” you said, voice pitched a little too high. “Totally fine.”

Lando didn’t even look up. He was still tangled in the straps, still muttering under his breath like you were the problem and not his complete lack of technique.

“It is not fine,” he grumbled. “You have the coordination of a broken GPS.”

You stared at him, offended on a spiritual level. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He tugged again.

“Ow—Lando!”

“Relax, I’m fixing it.”

“You’re making it worse.”

“I’m literally not.”

“Yes, you are.”

He paused, leaning back just enough to look at the mask like it was a failed engineering project he’d been assigned against his will. His brows pulled together, his mouth flattening into a line that told you he was already blaming you for whatever he saw.

“…Okay, I see the problem.”

“You are the problem.”

He ignored that completely, like he’d trained himself not to hear your insults anymore. Instead, he shifted closer again, this time slower, more careful, his fingers brushing your hair aside so he could get to the strap properly. The boat rocked gently beneath you, and for a moment the world felt strangely quiet—just the warm air, the soft slap of water against the hull, and his hands working behind your head.

“Stop moving,” he said again, but his voice was quieter now, less irritated and more focused, like he was trying not to mess it up this time.

You went still.

Not because he told you to.

Definitely not.

It was just easier than arguing while he was this close, while his fingers were sorting through your hair with surprising gentleness, while the sun warmed the back of your neck and made everything feel a little too noticeable.

After a few seconds of concentrated effort—the kind where he muttered something under his breath that you pretended not to hear—he tightened the strap properly and stepped back, letting his hands fall away.

“There,” he said, sounding far too proud of himself.

You tested the mask with a small tug.

It didn’t move. Not even a little.

“…Huh.”

“Yeah,” he said, smugness blooming across his face like he’d just solved world peace. “Miracles do happen.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a smile.

“Don’t get used to it.”

He grinned, bright and unbothered, the wind catching his hair as the boat rocked again.

“No promises, wife.”

The boat slowed to a stop, the engine cutting out until all you could hear was the soft slap of waves against the hull. It rocked gently over the open water, turquoise stretching in every direction, sunlight so bright it turned everything into glitter. It should have been peaceful. It should have been romantic. It should have been the kind of moment people remembered forever.

But you were here with Lando.

A guide stepped forward with an easy smile, gesturing toward the water. “Alright everyone, this is one of the best spots. Coral reef just below, lots of fish. Stay in pairs, enjoy yourselves, and don’t wander too far.”

“Stay in pairs,” Lando repeated under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “Heard him, wife?”

You shot him a warning look. “Don’t start.”

But he was already smirking, already enjoying himself far too much for someone who’d spent the entire morning annoying you.

Before either of you could argue, the guide clapped his hands. “Okay—snorkeling time!”

You turned to adjust your mask one last time, fingers brushing the strap—

And Lando shoved you. Hard.

There was no time to react. No time to yell properly. Just a sharp gasp and the sudden, shocking drop as the world tilted.

You hit the water with a splash that swallowed the sound instantly. Cold, bright blue wrapped around you, rushing over your head, filling your ears, stealing your breath for a moment. The ocean felt huge, endless, everywhere at once.

You resurfaced seconds later, coughing, hair plastered to your face, mask askew.

“Lando—!”

He was already in the water beside you, laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. The sun caught the droplets on his face, turning him into something annoyingly golden and carefree.

“You were taking too long,” he said, still grinning.

“I hate you!” you yelled, already swimming toward him with more force than necessary.

He only laughed harder, kicking away just enough to stay out of reach, the water rippling between you.

You made it exactly two strokes before something brushed your foot again. It was light, barely there, just a soft flick against your skin—but it didn’t matter. Your entire body locked up instantly, every muscle going stiff like you’d been hit with electricity.

“Nope—nope—nope—” you sputtered, kicking upward in pure panic.

“Relax,” Lando called, still laughing, still floating like this was the easiest thing in the world. “It’s just fish.”

“I don’t care what it is!”

Another brush—this time against your ankle, quick and cold.

That was it.

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. You didn’t even breathe. You just launched yourself forward on instinct, arms flailing, legs kicking, heart pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears—

—and you basically jumped straight into his arms.

Lando caught you automatically, the impact pushing him backward a little in the water. His hands came up around you without hesitation, steadying you, holding you up as you clung to him like the ocean was trying to drag you under.

For a second, he didn’t move. He just stood there in the water, arms half‑raised, eyes wide, like he wasn’t sure what version of reality he’d just stepped into.

Then he looked down at you.

“…Are you hugging me right now?”

“No.”

“You are literally attached to me.”

“I am stabilising myself.”

“Against my chest?”

“Shut up!”

His laugh came immediately—bright, loud, helpless—the kind that shook his shoulders and made the water ripple around you. He tilted his head back, still laughing, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

And even though your heart was still racing, even though your legs were still wrapped around him more than you wanted to admit, even though you were absolutely not letting go yet…

You felt something warm slip into your chest.

Something you refused to name.

────────────

By the time the snorkeling trip ended, you had decided—very calmly, very rationally—that you deserved a drink. Preferably several. The kind that came in tall glasses with too much ice and not enough sense. The resort bar overlooked the ocean, the sky turning soft shades of gold and pink as the sun dipped lower. Music drifted through the warm evening air, blending with the sound of waves and the low hum of guests laughing around candlelit tables.

Lando stood a few steps away, somehow already deep in conversation with his new friend from the boat. They were talking with their hands, laughing too loudly, probably bonding over Formula 1 or golf or whatever else inflated his ego. You didn’t care enough to find out. You just wanted something cold, something strong, something that would make the memory of fish touching your legs fade into the background.

You leaned against the counter and ordered the strongest cocktail on the menu. The bartender slid it toward you with a practiced smile, the glass sweating in the warm air. You wrapped your fingers around it, grateful for the chill, ready to take the first blessed sip—

When a voice spoke from beside you.

“Try smiling a little.”

You turned your head slowly, already tired, already annoyed. A man stood there, a few years older, wearing a shirt that tried too hard and a smile that tried even harder. He looked at you like he’d just delivered the most charming line in the world, like he expected you to melt on the spot.

You looked at him. Then at your drink. Then back at him.

“Try minding your own business a little.”

“I’m just being friendly.”

“Then be friendly somewhere else.”

He laughed, the kind of laugh men use when they think you’re playing hard to get instead of trying to end the conversation. His elbow slid onto the bar, his posture loose, confident, practiced.

“That attitude won’t get you very far.”

“I’m already exactly where I want to be,” you said, lifting your drink like a shield.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning in just a little. “You look lonely.”

You opened your mouth—ready to shut him down properly this time—when a warm hand settled lightly on your waist.

Not gripping.

Not pulling.

Just… there.

“Everything okay, baby?”

Lando.

You turned so fast you nearly sloshed your drink over the rim. For what might have been the first time since this entire ridiculous honeymoon began, you felt something close to relief wash through you. His presence cut through the moment like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

The stranger blinked, looking between the two of you, confusion flickering across his face.

“And you are…?”

Lando didn’t hesitate. Not even for a breath.

“Her husband.”

He said it smoothly, easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand stayed on your waist, warm and steady. The stranger’s expression shifted, surprise tightening his mouth before he stepped back a little.

“Oh,” the man said after a moment, blinking like he’d just been handed information he didn’t know what to do with. “Didn’t know she was married.”

Lando offered a small, polite smile—the kind he used in interviews when he was pretending to be patient.

“She is.”

The conversation should have ended there. It should have drifted off into the warm evening air and disappeared like every other awkward bar interaction on vacation.

Instead, the man chuckled and looked right back at you, like he hadn’t learned a single thing.

“You should teach her some basic manners, man.”

The easy smile vanished from Lando’s face so fast it was almost impressive.

“What?”

The stranger shrugged, casual, careless, like he was commenting on the weather. “She’s got quite the attitude.”

“And so what?” Lando shot back, voice sharper now. “She doesn’t owe you a shit.”

The man lifted a brow. “Doesn’t mean she can act like a bi—”

“Hey!” Lando stepped forward so quickly the man actually leaned back. “Don’t talk about my wife like that or I’ll beat the shit out of—”

He was too close now. Way too close. His shoulders were tight, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the guy like he’d forgotten this was supposed to be an act. You didn’t even know if he was pretending anymore.

“Lando,” you said quietly, reaching for his wrist. Your fingers brushed his skin, warm and tense. “Drop it.”

He didn’t look at you right away. He stayed there for a heartbeat longer, breathing hard, anger still simmering under the surface.

Then, slowly, he stepped back.

Not because the man deserved it. But because you asked. The irony wasn’t lost on you—the one time he actually acted like a husband was the moment you needed him to stop.

“You okay?” Lando asked.

You blinked, because the question caught you more off guard than the argument ever had. It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the way he said them, low and tight, like he’d been holding them in since the moment he stepped between you and that guy at the bar.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “I had it handled.”

Lando let out a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t even come close. “Yeah. I could tell. You were doing a great job being harassed at the bar.”

Your jaw tightened, heat rising in your chest. “I didn’t need you to save me like that.”

“Right,” he said, nodding once, sharp and clipped. “So next time I should just stand there and let him keep going?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“That’s what it sounded like.”

“I didn’t ask you to play my husband.”

That one landed differently—you felt it the second it left your mouth. Lando went quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t defensive or angry, just… wounded. He exhaled through his nose, looking away toward the ocean like he needed a second to reset whatever expression had almost slipped through.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Fair.”

You took a sip of your drink, more out of habit than thirst, trying to steady yourself, trying to find the right words before the wrong ones kept spilling out.

“I can handle myself,” you added, quieter now, softer, because you meant it but you didn’t want it to sound like a wall.

“I know you can,” he replied immediately.

That made you pause.

He looked back at you then, the sharpness in his expression easing just enough that you could finally see the truth sitting underneath it—not anger, not irritation, but something quieter. 

“I just didn’t like the way he was talking to you,” Lando said, voice low, steady, almost too honest.

You scoffed lightly, because that felt safer than acknowledging whatever was happening in your chest.

“Since when do you care?”

That earned you a small, humorless smile—the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, the kind that told you he’d already had this argument with himself long before you opened your mouth.

“I don’t,” he said. “Usually.”

A beat.

“But he was being a dick.”

You rolled your eyes, but it wasn’t as strong as you wanted it to be. It felt flimsy, thin, like you were trying to hold onto a version of the conversation that had already slipped away.

“And you decided that made you responsible for the entire situation?”

“I decided,” he corrected, leaning back slightly, shoulders tense, “that I didn’t want him standing there talking to you like that.”

You studied him for a second—the set of his jaw, the way he kept glancing at the ocean like it might give him an escape route, the way his fingers tapped once against his thigh before he stilled them. He wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just… telling you the truth.

“Still didn’t need to act like that,” you said, quieter now.

“Neither did he.”

Another pause—heavier this time, stretched thin between you like a wire ready to snap.

Then Lando tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he looked at you.

“You’re really going to stay mad at me for this?”

The question wasn’t defensive.

It was something else entirely—something that made your breath catch, because suddenly it felt like he wasn’t asking about the bar anymore.

He was asking about him. About you. About whatever the hell had been simmering between you long before tonight.

You opened your mouth again, still riding the leftover adrenaline from stopping him.

“I just think you don’t get to—”

“Shut up.”

You stopped. Blinking. “Excuse me?”

“I said shut up.”

“I’m literally in the middle of talking.”

“Yeah,” Lando said, stepping a fraction closer, eyes locked on yours, “I noticed.”

You frowned, heat rising in your chest. “Don’t tell me to—”

He cut you off. Not with words.

He just kissed you.

Quick. Firm. Completely unexpected. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t planned, and it definitely wasn’t something either of you had agreed to in any universe where you were still pretending to hate each other properly. It hit you like a spark—sharp, bright, over before you could even process it.

It lasted maybe two seconds.

Then he pulled back like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just short‑circuited your entire brain.

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then, very calmly, he said, “I said shut up.”

Your brain lagged, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the moment, the heat still buzzing on your lips.

“…Norris, what the fuck?”

He didn’t answer right away. His chest rose and fell once, slow, steady, like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t affected at all.

But his eyes told a different story.

A very different one.

Lando didn’t even blink. “What?”

“You just—” you gestured wildly between the two of you, your voice climbing without your permission. “You just kissed me.”

“Yeah.”

“‘Yeah’?” you repeated, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

He frowned slightly, like you were the one being dramatic. Like you were the unreasonable one here.

“You were overthinking it,” he said, tone maddeningly calm. “Overthinking’s bad for you, baby.”

That made you pause. You hated that it made you pause. You hated the way the word baby slid under your skin like it belonged there.

“…Right,” you said slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. “Doesn’t mean you can just kiss me.”

“Pretty sure I can,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms, trying to rebuild whatever dignity you had left.

“Hm. Don’t think this means anything though.”

“I would never,” Lando said immediately.

Too immediately.

The kind of immediate that wasn’t casual at all. The kind that sounded like he’d rehearsed it. The kind that made something warm twist low in your stomach.

You studied him, searching his face for even a flicker of something he didn’t want you to see.

He held your gaze without flinching, jaw set, eyes steady, like he was daring you to call him out. “…Good,” you said finally, lifting your chin. “Because it doesn’t.”

“Of course not.”

His voice was smooth. Too smooth. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. And the worst part? You weren’t convinced either.

────────────

The villa was suspiciously quiet, the kind of quiet that made every thought in your head sound louder. You sat on the edge of the outdoor couch with your legs pulled in, staring out at the dark water. The waves moved in slow, steady lines, catching bits of moonlight and breaking them apart. It should have been calming.

It wasn’t. You were trying not to think. Which, of course, only made you think more.

About Lando. About the kiss. About the way he’d looked afterward—too calm, too steady, like he hadn’t just scrambled your ability to act normal around him. About how everything had been… different since then. Not worse. Not better. Just different in a way neither of you had dared to name.

And about how today was the last day. The last night of this ridiculous honeymoon.

Behind you, the sliding door opened.

You didn’t turn. “Go away,” you mumbled.

“I live here too,” Lando said, dropping onto the couch beside you. He didn’t look at you. He just stared out at the ocean like he’d been doing it long before he walked outside.

Silence stretched between you, warm and heavy.

Then, after a minute—

“Well.”

“Well,” Lando echoed.

You exhaled slowly, eyes still on the water. “At least tomorrow we can go back to normal.”

He finally glanced at you. “Normal?”

“You know,” you said, still refusing to look at him. “You hating me. Me hating you.”

“Right.”

But he didn’t sound convinced.

And the worst part? Neither did you.

The breeze moved through the villa again, soft and warm, brushing over your skin like it knew something you didn’t want to admit. Lando shifted beside you, just enough that you felt the movement, not enough to call it anything.

Normal. You said it like you wanted it. But the word didn’t sit right anymore.

The silence fell again, stretching out between you like a thin thread. But this time, Lando was the one who spoke first.

“This trip wasn’t that bad.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Hm.” You looked back at the water, the moonlight breaking across the waves. “At least we survived.”

A beat.

“Now we’ll just go back to avoiding each other like before.”

“Yeah,” Lando said.

Then, after a pause that felt a little too long—

“Yeah,” he repeated, quieter. “That’s the problem.”

You finally turned your head. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the horizon like he didn’t trust himself to look at you. The warm breeze moved through the villa, brushing over your skin, but it didn’t soften the moment. It only made it clearer.

For the first time all night, you couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Or if he meant it.

And the way he sat there—shoulders tense, hands still, breath a little uneven—made something in your chest shift in a way you weren’t ready for.

You swallowed, the words catching in your throat.

“…Lando?”

He didn’t look away from the ocean. But his voice was low, honest in a way that made your heart stutter.

“I don’t want to go back to that.”

You looked at him, confused.

“What?”

Lando kept staring out at the water. And for the first time since you’d known him, he looked nervous. Actually nervous. His shoulders were tight, his jaw working like he was trying to choose the right words and failing.

“I didn’t want to come here,” he said quietly.

“I noticed.”

“I thought it’d be the worst week of my life.”

You smiled faintly. “Again, noticed.”

A small laugh escaped him—soft, almost embarrassed.

Then—

“But somewhere between you nearly killing me with a golf cart…”

“You grabbed my thigh.”

“Not helping.”

You let out a quiet huff of laughter despite yourself. “Continue.”

Lando exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m serious.”

“I know.”

A beat passed—warm, heavy, stretching between you like a held breath.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke again.

“It stopped being annoying.”

Your smile faded a little. “…When?”

Lando shrugged, like the answer wasn’t important even though it clearly was. “Dunno.”

Silence settled again. The ocean kept moving, steady and calm, like it didn’t care that something between you had just shifted in a way you couldn’t undo.

Then he finally looked at you. Really looked.

“And now I don’t really want it to end. Us.”

Your breath caught—just a tiny, sharp inhale—but you masked it quickly with a scoff, like you could pretend the moment wasn’t sitting between you, warm and terrifying.

“Somewhere between pushing you into the ocean and kissing you to shut you up…” Lando said, his voice quieter now, steadier in a way that made your stomach twist. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or smirks or that stupid confidence he wore like armor. He was just looking at you—really looking—and it stripped away every layer of distance you’d been pretending still existed.

“I think I fell in love with you.”

You stared at him.

For a moment, your brain simply refused to cooperate. The words sat there in the air, warm and heavy, like a language you almost understood but couldn’t quite translate. You blinked once. Then again. Your heart thudded in your chest, too loud, too fast, like it was trying to catch up to something your mind hadn’t processed yet.

“…That’s actually really embarrassing for you,” you managed, because your mouth was apparently determined to save you from sincerity at all costs.

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t laugh.

Didn’t roll his eyes or shove your shoulder or call you dramatic. He just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you’d said that. Like you’d knocked the air out of him.

“Are you serious?” he asked, voice flat, almost stunned.

“A little.”

“I just told you I love you.”

“I know.”

“And that’s your response?”

You exhaled softly, something nervous and warm and terrifying settling in your chest all at once. You felt it rise up, felt it push against your ribs, felt it spill into your throat before you could stop it. And then your mouth betrayed you—not with sarcasm this time, but with a smile.

A real one. A soft one.

The kind you didn’t give to people you hated.

“Good thing I love you too.”

The words left you before you could second‑guess them, before you could hide them behind a joke, before you could pretend you didn’t mean them. They hung there between you, gentle and impossible to take back.

Lando’s breath caught—just barely, just enough for you to notice. His eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders loosening like he’d been holding something in for days.

Lando didn’t move for a second.

Just stared.

Like he was waiting for a punchline that didn’t come. Like he was bracing for you to laugh or shove him or turn everything into a joke the way you always did when things got too close.

Then, quietly—

“…What?”

You let out a breath, half‑laughing, half in disbelief at yourself, because you couldn’t believe you were actually saying this out loud. “I said I love you, idiot.”

His expression shifted immediately. The shock didn’t disappear, but it softened into something raw, something unguarded, something he clearly wasn’t used to showing anyone. His eyes searched your face like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you right.

“You can’t just say that like it’s—”

“What? A prank?” you cut in, shaking your head. “No. Unfortunately for both of us, it’s real.”

Silence again.

The ocean kept moving. The wind didn’t care. The whole world stayed exactly the same while your heart tried to beat its way out of your chest. You looked down at your hands, then back at him, because avoiding his eyes wasn’t helping.

“You were pissing me off the entire trip,” you admitted, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

That got a faint, incredulous laugh out of him—the kind that slipped out before he could stop it. “Cheers.”

“It’s true,” you said quickly, pointing at him like it helped your argument. “You were annoying. Arrogant. You shoved me into the ocean. You called me a violent wife.”

“I was right about that one.”

“Shut up.”

But your voice wasn’t sharp anymore. It wavered slightly, like the truth underneath it was pushing its way through.

“And I really did hate you at the beginning,” you added, quieter now. “Like, properly.”

Lando’s gaze didn’t leave you. Not for a second.

“But?”

You hesitated.

That part was the hardest one. The part that felt like stepping off a ledge and hoping he’d catch you.

“But…” you exhaled, looking away toward the water like it might make this easier. “I think it started changing when you defended me at the bar.”

He went still.

Your fingers tightened slightly in your lap, the memory hitting you harder now that you were saying it out loud.

“That guy was being an asshole,” you continued, your voice softer, steadier. “And I was handling it, or trying to. And you just… stepped in.”

A small pause.

“And I remember thinking you were so angry,” you said, almost like you were discovering it again. “Like actually angry. Not joking, not teasing. Just… protective.”

You glanced at him again.

“That confused me more than anything you did on this entire trip.”

A faint breath left Lando, like he didn’t know what to do with that. His shoulders dropped a little, the tension easing in a way that made him look younger, more open, more real.

Then he finally spoke.

“I just hated the idea of somebody talking to you like that.”

His voice was quieter than before. Not defensive. Not playful. Just honest in a way that made your chest tighten.

A beat passed.

He gave a small shrug, like he was trying to pretend it didn’t matter as much as it did.

“I don’t know,” he added. “It pissed me off.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It didn’t feel sharp or heavy or awkward. It was just… full. Like something had finally settled into place between you, something neither of you could pretend wasn’t there anymore. The air felt warmer. The night felt closer. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for the moment to break.

You swallowed slightly, still looking at him, still trying to understand the way your chest felt too tight and too light at the same time. “…Thank you,” you said quietly.

Lando gave you a small, almost confused glance, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. “For what?”

You let out a soft breath, half a laugh, half something else. “For… all of it, I guess.”

That earned you a look from him you weren’t used to—soft, steady, not trying to twist into a joke. He didn’t hide behind anything this time. He just looked at you like he was letting himself be seen.

Then he shifted slightly, reaching into his pocket. “I have something for you.”

You blinked, watching as he pulled out a small silver chain. A turtle necklace. The same one you’d stared at in the shop. The same one you’d pretended you didn’t want.

Your breath caught. “…You bought it?” you asked, taking it carefully from his hand.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“You said it was cute.”

“But it was so expensive!”

“And?” he said simply, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Do I look like I care?”

Your fingers closed gently around the necklace, holding it like it might slip away if you weren’t careful. The charm felt warm against your skin, like it had been waiting in his pocket for this exact moment.

“…You didn’t have to,” you said again, quieter now, the words almost slipping out on their own.

“I know.”

A beat passed.

“But I wanted to.”

That was it. No joke. No smirk. No dramatic line to cover the truth. Just him. Just honesty. Just the kind of softness you never expected from him and didn’t know how to handle.

You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to—long enough to feel something shift in your chest, long enough to feel your breath catch again.

Then you moved before your brain could talk you out of it.

You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in.

The kiss was softer this time. Not rushed. Not defensive. Not a reaction to anything. Just real. Just warm. Just the two of you finally letting something happen that had been building all week. His hand came up to your jaw, gentle in a way that made your heart stutter, and for a moment the whole villa felt still.

When you pulled back, you were both slightly breathless, and for once neither of you pretended it meant nothing. You stayed close, your forehead almost touching his, your breath mixing with his in the warm night air.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words brushing against his lips.

Lando let out a quiet breath of a laugh, soft and disbelieving. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. Then, after a beat—one that felt like it stretched forever—he added, “I love you.”

Your heart stuttered. For a second, you just stared at him, like you were making sure you hadn’t imagined it, like you needed to see the truth in his eyes before you let yourself believe it.

Then your mouth softened into a small smile, warm and helpless. “…You’re so annoying,” you murmured.

He frowned slightly. “That’s not an answer.”

You exhaled, still smiling, still feeling that strange, steady warmth spreading through your chest. “I know.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—completely sure this time: “I love you too.”

And this time, neither of you joked your way out of it. Neither of you looked away. Neither of you pretended it didn’t matter. It mattered. And you both knew it.

© verstarris 2026

babsie radio ! had so many problems while editing this 🫩 I hit the damn 1000-block limit way too soon!!! I literally wanted to write one more last scene where they come back and P and Max are so confused because they don’t hate each other anymore 😩 I’m so annoyed! I might write a short oneshot of that if you guys want. I hope you enjoy this! This story is so dear to me <3 first fic of summer 2026! 💗

You quietly entered the bedroom to grab clothes. You were wearing only panties and an oversized T-shirt that barely covered your ass. Not even thinking about how seductive you looked from behind, you approached the large white wardrobe to choose an outfit. You bent down to the lower shelf, and the thin fabric of the T-shirt stretched, completely exposing your slender legs and the curves of your hips.

When you finally found the right clothes and turned around, you suddenly discovered that Oscar was no longer sleeping.

He was lying on his back, with one hand tucked under his head. Oscar slowly raised his eyes from your legs, slid across your waist, and finally stopped his gaze on your face. His brown eyes were half-open, indicating he had just woken up, and a lazy, satisfied smile played on his lips.

“I have to admit, this is one of the best views I’ve ever woken up to,” he drawled in a low, hoarse voice still thick with sleep.

You laughed quietly, hiding your embarrassment. His compliment ran through your body like a real electric current, leaving a pleasant shiver.

“Well, I didn’t plan to please you first thing in the morning, but it turned out that way,” you replied playfully, stepping closer to the bed.

Oscar’s eyes shamelessly scanned you from head to toe. His gaze literally devoured your legs, then moved higher, lingering on your breasts, where your nipples instantly hardened under the fabric of the T-shirt from just his voice.

Oscar lay with his legs casually spread, and the light summer blanket covered only his groin. His abs were tense and sharply defined. In your head, an intrusive image instantly appeared of you slowly running your tongue from his chest down to the very bottom of his stomach. You forced yourself to shake your head and quickly looked away, trying not to think about what you couldn’t allow yourself right now. But your eyes treacherously dropped lower — to where a significant morning erection was clearly visible under the thin blanket.

You involuntarily lingered there with your gaze, clearly imagining how your fingers touched his cock through the fabric, squeezing that incredible hardness. It was just a second of weakness, but it was enough for Oscar to completely read your thoughts. When you finally came to your senses, he was already looking at you with a sly gaze that promised nothing chaste. You ironically raised an eyebrow, as if asking why he was so pleased.

“Don’t you want to please me even more this morning?” he asked with a hint, nodding his gaze toward his groin.

In reality, you wanted it more than anything in the world. Your body reacted so wildly to his dark gaze that you were already wet through your clean underwear. You wanted to jump on the bed right now, straddle your boyfriend, and feel him inside you with your whole body. But the rigid timing held you in a vise.

“Unfortunately, love, no. I’m in a hurry for my appointment with Jade,” you had to refuse.

“Reschedule the appointment,” he suggested.

You turned away to the dresser to get hand cream, trying to distract yourself:

“I can’t do that. Jade’s schedule is booked by the hour, and I can’t wait another week. My hair requires meticulous care. Besides, in a week I won’t be in Monaco at all, because we’ll be with you in Belgium.”

“Okay, then let’s do it quickly so you make it,” Oscar persisted, still hoping you would break under his pressure.

You glanced at your boyfriend again, and he looked fucking hot. He was fully ready to enter you and give you unforgettable pleasure. The temptation to neglect the procedure was enormous. But the voice of reason reminded you: you could have sex with Oscar anytime, but you had to get to Jade strictly today. You pressed your lips together and forcefully tore your eyes away from him, walking over to your side of the bed where lay the clothes which you chose a several minutes ago.

“No, Oscar. I just took a shower and applied makeup. I can’t sweat right now. I don’t have time to wash again.”

“Too bad,” he replied absolutely calmly, but a seductive fire flashed in his brown eyes, “Then I’ll have to take care of it myself.”

You frowned in surprise, holding the clothes in your hands, when you were about to step away from the bed. When you turned around, you froze in complete shock. Oscar casually slipped his hand under the blanket. Right in front of your eyes, he began openly touching himself, and this spectacular gesture instantly shut off any rational control in your head. A hot wave of arousal hit your lower belly, and you felt yourself become even wetter between your legs than before. Holding back was simply impossible.

“Are you serious, Piastri?” you half-whispered, aroused and indignant.

Throwing the clothes onto the nearest chair, you decisively approached the bed and climbed onto it, ending up above Oscar. A triumphant, wildly sexy smile stretched his lips, but you no longer cared. All you could think about was his hand hidden under the fabric.

With one sharp movement, you threw the blanket aside, and an incredible sight opened before your eyes: his palm was hidden under his home shorts, and his massive erection clearly and prominently protruded through the fabric, demanding immediate release.

Oscar didn’t even think about removing his hand; he just looked up at you from below with his incredibly dark gaze full of passion. He was enjoying his victory. He knew you wouldn’t resist.

“You’re in a hurry, baby,” he reminded you, barely noticeably moving his fingers under the shorts, causing the fabric to stretch again.

You didn’t answer. The sounds of the outside world, time, Jade, and your perfect makeup — all of it instantly lost any meaning. You leaned over him, sliding forward, running your fingers into his messy bed hair, and greedily captured his hot lips in a deep, demanding kiss. Oscar instantly responded, seizing the initiative. His tongue dominantly slid into your mouth, intertwining with yours and turning the kiss into wet madness.

Meanwhile, your free palm slid lower, landing right on top of his hand, which was still inside the shorts. You pressed hard on his crotch with your palm, forcing Oscar to let out a low, satisfied groan straight into your lips.

Without breaking the kiss, you slipped your fingers under the elastic waistband of his shorts, finding his own hand. You roughly pulled his wrist upward, forcing Oscar to remove his palm.

“I’ll do it,” you said, breathing heavily into his lips, looking down at him.

Oscar allowed you to do whatever you wanted without hesitation, but his large palms had already possessively settled on your thighs under the T-shirt, digging his fingers firmly into your tender skin and pressing your wet crotch against his thigh.

After kissing him on the lips, you pulled away a moment later and moved lower, confidently pulling his shorts down. He wasn’t wearing boxers underneath. You freed his erection, which, as expected, was already covered with a network of tense veins.

Your heart pounded somewhere in your throat. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, feeling how warm and hard it was, and made several slow, firm strokes from base to tip, gathering drops of morning precum.

You leaned down to his cock and touched the sensitive head with your tongue. Oscar sharply inhaled through his nose, his abs tensed like steel, and the fingers that had been possessively on your thighs a few seconds ago now gripped your hair.

You took his length less than halfway, rhythmically moving your lips along his cock. Your saliva mixed with a small amount of his precum. Oscar began moaning a little louder each time your lips moved.

Fuck.

That low groan of his made you so greedy for his cock. You continued sucking him, helping with your hand. Between your legs was a complete mess. You were very wet, and your clit ached from arousal and needed attention.

“Fuck…” Oscar drawled when he lightly pressed on the back of your head so you would take him deeper. You gave in without any resistance. “Fuck yes… this feels so good,” he groaned.

You took him deeper, completely surrendering to his soft but confident pressure. Oscar arched on the mattress, his hips instinctively thrusting toward your lips, catching this sweet, lingering moment. Your saliva generously lubricated the hot flesh, and each of your movements was accompanied by a wet, teasing sound that echoed in the silence of the morning bedroom.

His fingers tangled in your hair, but he wasn’t rough — he only kept control of every centimeter of pleasure you were giving him. Your tongue caressed the sensitive tip of his head while your lips rhythmically slid down, making Oscar moan dully and brokenly again and again. His abs were iron-hard from tension, and his breathing became increasingly heavy and ragged.

“It’s always so good…” he groaned lowly, and in his usually calm voice now rang pure wild passion. He barely managed to lift himself to look at you. And when he saw you between his legs, he wanted to feel your pussy.

Oscar stopped you, forcing you to release his cock from your mouth. He pulled you toward him, and you found yourself face to face with him, breathing heavily, with lips wet from arousal. His brown eyes had completely darkened, turning into two deep whirlpools.

Oscar slipped his large palms under your T-shirt. His slightly rough fingers slid up your ribs, immediately finding your tense breasts. He squeezed them, rolling the hard nipples between his fingertips, causing you to moan loudly and helplessly right into his neck. Your completely wet and pulsating pussy rubbed against his firm thigh, seeking at least some relief.

“Look at yourself,” Oscar said, propping himself up on his elbows and making you straighten your back. He pulled the T-shirt off you and threw it somewhere on the floor. “So greedy for me that you even forgot you’re running late.”

His palm unceremoniously found the edge of your thin panties. With one confident movement, he pulled them down your thighs and got rid of them the same way as the T-shirt. Your panties landed near your T-shirt somewhere on the floor. Your pussy was now completely exposed before his heavy, burning gaze. Oscar slowly ran his middle finger along your folds, collecting abundant, clear wetness, and immediately pressed the pad of his finger to your swollen, burning clit.

“Ah… ah,” was all you could squeeze out of yourself. Everything inside clenched from such sharp, concentrated caress.

“You’re so wet, baby. Just dripping for me,” Oscar smiled, continuing to rhythmically and tenderly rub your most sensitive spot, making you tremble and literally melt on his fingers. Then his long middle and ring fingers smoothly slid into your tight depth, checking how ready you were. You were ready more than completely — your muscles greedily clenched around his fingers, pushing out even more moisture.

Pulling his hand out, Oscar didn’t let you catch your breath. He grabbed your waist, lifting you slightly higher, and authoritatively spread your knees to the sides, placing them on either side of his hips. You were now directly above his erection, which was pressing like a spear between your buttocks.

“We don’t have much time, you still have to make it,” his low voice seemed to mock. You didn’t care anymore. You were no longer in a hurry. You would apologize to Jade and survive the fact that you’d have to deal with untreated hair for a few weeks. This Oscar right now beneath you was worth forgetting everything in the world. You needed him right now.

It was as if he read your thoughts and directed the head of his cock straight to your wet entrance. His palms firmly fixed your thighs, giving no chance to retreat.

He thrust his hips upward while simultaneously pulling your thighs down, and with one powerful, smooth thrust, he entered you to his full considerable length.

Your loud cry from his penetration drowned in his new, greedy kiss. Oscar filled you so deeply that your vision darkened for a moment from pure, concentrated pleasure. Your hot pussy tightly, without any gap, embraced his thick shaft, taking every centimeter. Oscar froze for a few seconds, breathing heavily into your lips, giving your body time to adjust to his size, and then his hands guided you and you began to move.

You moved up and down, setting your first, still somewhat cautious rhythm. However, maintaining this pace on your own turned out to be a real challenge. Oscar filled you so tightly and deeply that with every movement, powerful bursts of pleasure shot through your body. Your inner muscles clenched his thick shaft like hot vises, and each thrust was accompanied by an open, wet squelching sound that echoed throughout the bedroom.

“Oscar…” you exhaled raggedly, throwing your head back. Strands of your freshly washed hair chaotically scattered over your shoulders, tickling your back.

Oscar grabbed your breasts with one hand and massaged them, heightening your sensations. He knew that breasts were one of your strong erogenous zones. He wanted you to feel maximum pleasure.

Piastri no longer wanted to just lie there and passively receive your caress. Oscar’s large palms authoritatively moved higher, gripping your waist and completely taking over the initiative. He began thrusting his hips upward — sharply, strongly, with hungry and merciless force, which made you completely lose your footing.

Each of his powerful thrusts drove his cock to the hilt, hitting your most sensitive spot inside. The rhythm became frantic and relentless. Your clit rubbed perfectly and tightly against his pubic bone with every movement. A hot wave of concentrated ecstasy began to rapidly coil into a tight, aching knot in the very bottom of your belly. You helplessly gasped for air, clutching his shoulders tightly with your fingers, leaving pale marks from your nails.

“Look at me,” Oscar said hoarsely, almost commandingly.

You opened your eyes, hazy with arousal, and met his gaze. His honey eyes had darkened so much that his pupils had completely swallowed the irises, reflecting pure passion. He looked straight into your eyes, breathing heavily and frequently, while his hips continued relentlessly and deeply driving his cock into your exhausted depths. This eye contact finally finished off your endurance.

“Oscar, I’m about to… I can’t anymore…” you moaned helplessly, feeling the walls of your pussy begin to convulse in small, spasmodic pulses around his flesh.

“Wait just a little longer,” he asked gently, in dissonance with how he was looking at you. But you could no longer hold back this reaction.

“I… can’t…” you moaned while Oscar fucked you senseless. He made a few more deep, strong thrusts, then pulled you toward him. He breathed right into your lips, catching your mouth in a kiss and making several final, hardest and deepest thrusts.

You were overwhelmed by a blinding, devastating wave of orgasm. You moaned loudly and protractedly into his lips, clenching tightly around his cock with spasms and pushing out even more wetness. Feeling your contractions, Oscar let out a low groan. He made two final, quick thrusts, then lifted you off himself, spilling his cum onto your stomach and his own. His abs hardened, and a noticeable shiver ran through his body.

You both limply collapsed onto the bed. You fell onto his chest, breathing heavily and listening to Oscar’s heart beating wildly and loudly. His strong arms smoothly moved to your back, firmly pressing you to him and soothingly stroking your hot skin. Your light makeup was slightly smudged from sweat, but it didn’t matter at all right now.

Several minutes passed in complete, relaxed silence until your breathing finally evened out. Oscar slightly turned his head and left a soft kiss on the top of your head. In his hoarse, still deep voice, a familiar, slightly sly smile broke through:

toto sighs, and you can just visualize him in his office, a hand clutching his forehead and the other throwing an imaginary headset in frustration.

"there's been a situation," he starts off before his voice drops an volume, "—with kimi. the, ah, food shipment was ordered late then delayed, so he wasn't able to eat."

your polite, cautionary tone with toto completely goes out the window.

"what..? how does that happen? he hasn't eaten since australia!"

you were never one to play with when it came to kimi's wellbeing. every feeding was planned out, on time, in order to prevent the vampire "hunger frenzy" that was well documented in the media. mercedes had paid a pretty penny in order for the blood dispensary to send discreet deliveries to satiate kimi's hunger.

this time, toto's tone sounds apologetic, almost.

"yes, i understand. we are hoping his previous feed can last until after the race today, but we are checking to see if any shipments can be expedited. for now, it seems like kimi has shut himself in his drivers' room."

we are checking...taking a page out of ferrari's book, huh?

"the race is starting in a five hours and we really need kimi... out in the garage by then. he's refused to talk to anyone and keeps asking for you. will you be able to get here—?"

toto didn't have a chance to finish his sentence before you snip back, angered at mercedes' incompetence.

"don't touch him before i get there. mercedes better fly the bags to shanghai, first class, priority shipping, whatever you need to do, now."

"kimi, open up please," you whisper through the crack of his drivers room door. "it's me."

a hiss sounds through the flimsy aluminium— a warning sound that would typically scare off anyone else.

however, ten months into your relationship, you were practically immune to his tactics—he was all bark and no bite—so you yank open the door anyways.

at once, familiar metallically sweet scent wraps around you, beckoning you forward naturally like a moth to a flame. it's the smell that naturally seeps from kimi, lulling you into a familiar sense of comfort.

the room is a mess. sergi's resistance bands were all over the floor, his mercedes team kits laid in crumpled heaps on the ground, and stack of unsigned fan cards sprawl everywhere, corners creased and bent. kimi curls up in the middle of it all, back heaving, gasping.

"-i need, i need," kimi repeats like a broken record.

fuck.

once you slam the door closed, you hurriedly drop down in a kneel by his side. kimi stirs at the sound of your knees thumping to the ground, letting out a weak whimper at your presence.

your fingers loop into his brown curls in order to raise his head towards you, allowing you to assess his features in a desperate attempt to see how far he is gone.

kimi's eyelids flutter open and closed, exposing wandering eyes and pupils blown so wide that you could barely see the whiskey brown of his irises.

when his hazy mind finally lets his eyes lock onto the sight of your face, his mouth immediately drops open, wet and pink, exposing his fully extended fangs.

it's like the sight of you unlocks something feral in him — something dark and untamed.

unstable hands scrabble frantically at you, yearning.

"kimi, i—"

what the fuck did toto expect you to do? you weren't a vampire expert. the majority of the knowledge you had came from google searches and vampire movies that kimi complained were inaccurate, and of course, from kimi himself. however, it didn’t take an expert to know that kimi was in no condition to head out the the garages.

wrenching yourself from kimi's grasp, you ransack his bags, looking for anything substantial. notebooks, his paddock pass, and racing gloves make their way from his shelves onto the floor, and yet you come up with nothing.

behind you, kimi stumbles up out of his curled-up state. he looks as desperate as you feel when his fingers wander towards you again— towards your body. you can feel the imprint of his muscled body press against you, firm but with no warmth. his mouth finds a home on pulse point.

as far gone as he looked, kimi had some type of semblance to restrain himself from breaking the skin. still, he did not restrain from clamping down hard enough to satiate his biting instincts and break the delicate vessels that lie underneath.

a strangled gasp leaves your mouth.

kimi must be able to feel it — the thing he hungers for, lusts for, all in one, close enough that he can almost taste it.

you try to fumble through his bag again to find any hidden compartments with an emergency blood supply while kimi's hands begin to wander up under your shirt, tracing. vessels, veins, arteries with names he doesn't bother learning.

it's only when kimi's hand start to dip under your belt when you realize his intention.

you stand up quick enough that you feel lightheaded and push him away with great difficulty than before.

"why don't you lay down on the couch," you suggest instead, breathless.

as much as you want to reciprocate, you restrain yourself. it's not him— the kimi you know. he's under some type of spell of hunger, yes, a hunger spell, that somehow makes him act like this. you just have to keep him at bay long enough for mercedes to come with the blood bags, and then he will be normal again, the sweet and kind kimi that just so happens to have a pair of fangs.

he whines like it's painful when you are severed from his touch, and you have to practically wrestle him into a lying position on long end of the the small l-shaped couch.

kimi settles for grasping ahold your arm, grip bruising, while you sit at the head of the sofa. it's subtle, but you can see the way he twitches, hips jerking up subtly.

fuck.

you're not sure how long you can hold this up for, seeing your boyfriend in this state.

fumbling for your phone, you dial toto.

one ring, two rings, three rings, go by.

"the person you are calling is unavailable. please try—"

sergi.

"you have reached—"

rosa.

"hi there! it's rosa venegas. i'm not available to take your—"

you grit your teeth.

bono.

"hello?"

"ohmygodbono," you exhale in one breath. "no one is answering my calls. is there an update on the delivery or...?"

his english accent peeks through as he speaks.

"everyone is trying to fix the issue. i heard it was on it's way, but i'm not sure the exact whereabouts of the shipment. i'm really sorry. is everything alright there with kimi? do i need to call anyone? the medics?"

you turn your head to look at kimi. his eyebrows are scrunched, almost in pain, and he mouths at the pulse on your wrist. when he looks up at you, his irises, edging out toward the sclera, are almost jet-black.

you're quick to voice your refusal to bono. the chance of this incidence spilling to the non-mercedes media would skyrocket, ultimately causing the ruination of kimi's career. they would chalk up his success to his supernatural abilities and call him a monster behind his back.

"i'll manage," you sigh.

bono sounds unsure but ultimately murmurs an agreement before hanging up.

kimi lasts all but ten minutes before he starts hyperventilating again, breaths heavy. your bare touch becomes insufficient; he needs more, craves more.

"mi bella, per fervore," he moans, voice all slurred. he resorts back to his native language, mind too hazy to translate.

your eyes rake over kimi's writhing body before flickering back to your phone where a google page is pulled up to a frantic search.

google spits out one singular match: here are results with the keywords "vampire", "hungry", "horny".

you pull up the anonymous post, last updated twelve years ago.

vampires in heat ??? the title reads. i read somewhere that apparently some vampires get frenzied, both in hunger and lust when they are starved long enough. is this real? can anybody confirm??

nuttinbutt295 replies: 100% real. i have a friend who is involved in that stuff and his boyfriend literally went ballistic after he missed his feeding time once. some omega in heat shit. crazy stuff. you didn't hear it from me though.

right.

you weren't sure how much you could trust a user named nuttinbutt295 from twelve years ago, but it was all the information you had. a confirmation of kimi's symptoms.

from the look of it, kimi was already too far gone. quote on quote ballistic. in heat.

with the promised delivery nowhere in sight, what else could you do but to quench kimi's thirst?

you both have done this before, but never in this state.

kimi's anguished pants become low guttural moans when you finally comply with what he's begging for.

your perfect pussy, enveloped around his needy cock.

it's slippery and wet in the place where you meet. kimi slides in like he belongs there, like he's meant to be there. it's how a plant reaches for a sun and a river reaches for the ocean— instinctual and natural.

kimi manhandles you with his muscular arms, moving you up and down his dick like it is nothing. gone is his weak, fatigued state. he moves with a sense of purpose now, tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth next to his fangs in the way he does when he's concentrated.

he somehow hits that spongey spot in you that makes your toes curl and eyes roll into the back of your head every time. you wonder if he uses his heightened senses to feel that rush of ecstasy in you.

all too aware of your position entrapped in the paper thin walls of kimi's driver room, you force yourself to bite your lip to constrain your moans, yet there's nothing you can do to quiet the lewd slaps of skin on skin that echo through the room.

"kimi— hah— fuck—"

a cry bubbles up in your throat, vulnerable and mortifying, causing you to muffle it by biting down on your bottom lip hard.

you realize your mistake the same time kimi smells it.

blood.

a scarlet rivulet drips from your mouth from the wound, tracing a trail down the swell of your bitten-raw lips.

kimi's head snaps from its home in the crook of your neck to face you, watching the rivulet like a child at a candy store. his breaths quicken, brain going into overdrive.

it's primal instinct, the way a wolf zeroes in on its prey, senses sharpening.

kimi's mouth chases yours, and you feel him ferally licking up the sweetness dripping from you. his hips lurch and thrusts become frantic.

a fountain of ichor, flowing just for him. so addictive and syrupy, ambrosia on earth.

"bite," you suddenly whisper into his mouth, voice thin and ragged.

kimi's rhythm falters minutely.

your voice raises a pitch higher, firm.

"bite me, kimi."

kimi can see it when you come on his cock, pushed over the edge by his bite, body shaking in his arms. he hears you too, ears ringing with your strangled gasp. best of all, he tastes it—the rush of adrenaline in your blood that he licks up from the wound on your neck as he chases his own high.

when he finally comes, seed pumping into your sopping pussy, his eyes glow black and his mind goes blank.

you both bathe in the calm afterglow, lazily redressed.

kimi laps like a puppy dog at your neck, catching the drizzles of thick blood.

he moans in contentment.

"that good, huh?" you giggle, running a hand through the sweaty curls that line the nape of his neck.

"mm, like morphine," he replies, tone light and hazy.

he reminds you of those videos online of the soup-shaped kittens, bellies full and satisfied.

a sudden sharp rap on the door the both of your attentions.

an employee with mercedes insignia plastered all over his shirt scoots in, a medical-grade bag filled with deep maroon liquid in his arms.

his face goes white when he sees the sight in front of him.

"the— the delivery for kimi..?" he stutters.

although you understand the poor employee has done no wrong, you can't help but to sneer at the sight of the overdue blood bag while kimi reattaches himself to your neck.

"tell toto that there's no need for that anymore," you instruct.

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kimi.antonelli: delete this.

yn.antonelli: no ❤️

georgerussell: 😭😭😭😭

kimi.anotnelli: mate HELP ME

landonorris: kimi blink twice if you need help

yn.antonelli: he absolutely does not.

user1: WAIT KIMI HAS A SISTER!?

user2: HOLD ON

user3: new paddock sibling duo unlocked

max.verstappen: 😂 liked by author

The Mercedes hospitality is already buzzing by the time you arrive. Mechanics move between garages carrying equipment, journalists rehearse questions into voice recorders, camera shutters click every few seconds. You instinctively slow your pace, letting Kimi walk half a step ahead, because you'd learned years ago that being his sister meant allowing him to take the lead here. This was his world.

"You'll meet everyone eventually," Kimi says, adjusting the strap of his backpack.

"I don't have to."

"You do."

"I came to spend time with my little brother."

"You also came to see where I work."

"I've seen enough already."

"You've been here for... six minutes."